62F. This has happened twice now, once last summer and again a week ago. Literally just leaned over (from a standing position), slowly not suddenly, ever so slightly twisted to the left, reaching out my left hand to pull a weed in my yard and BANG! Sudden severe pain under my left breast, a little lower than bottom of sternum, enough pain to make me yelp out loud and nearly start crying. It lasted only a few seconds but that spot has been sore and tender for ten days, hurts to take a deep breath or stretch (which, having had broken ribs in the past, I'm gently doing anyway to keep things from seizing up.) Finally gave up and went in for an xray today which (of course) showed nothing wrong. Same exact thing last summer except on the right side. I've had subluxed ribs which always cause back/shoulder blade pain but that's not what this was. It was almost like the inner costal tips of my ribs slipped over each other? I'm wondering if anyone else has experienced this. An ultrasound last summer did show some calcified cartilage, so maybe it's that...

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

[prev]
As it stood, my crazy plan certainly seemed to resonate with the gathered leaders, though they did offer their own suggestions as to how best to implement improvements and contingencies. I of course welcomed each and every one of them, then debated their merits and as the hours flew by we weeded out the ideas that simply would not work and expanded on those that would.
It was quite honestly refreshing to not have to do all the thinking for once, it felt nice to do a little outsourcing as one might describe it. Besides, as many would say I only had one point of view, well, two if we’re being literal, that of a human and an arachne, the former coming from a world without magic and monstrous beings like those I had surrounded myself with.
Their unique viewpoints had offered a wealth of possibilities and were in their own ways invaluable to the war effort. I am glad that they all managed to get along as well. I had seen no hint of animosity or long held grudges between any of them, not even the age old and quite frankly stereotypical hostility between the elves and dwarves had reared its head. In fact, the two races had seemingly fed into each other's ideas with excited glee, and I had almost expected there to be a bout of mad cackling near the end of their ramblings.
Of course now the meeting was over and we were all starting our preparations. The basic prep wouldn’t take that long, ensuring our warriors were all well supplied, their weapons and armor at peak quality before the battle was paramount. It was everything else about the plan that would take time, time we must ensure we had if we were to succeed. And so I headed for the Aberrant Spire, a place I had not been in a long time.
As I followed the streets I was reminded of my first delve into this city, back when it was fully under the control of vile abominations. I paused, looking at a short building on my right, large claw marks scoring the wall near the lip of the roof. I remember one of those beasts had attempted to climb up to get me as I traversed the rooftops.
Remembering that I felt a shiver run down my spine and issued a silent word of thanks that such horrors no longer existed in my new home, that vibrant life had returned to these hallowed streets. It was a place of hope now, not terror.
It was with this remembering of certain facts that I began looking for a faster means of travel to reach the Spire, as walking would be a long and arduous task indeed. Thankfully this was something that was already thought of, for as I meandered through the streets in my search I came across a somewhat raised walkway, except this walkway had a pair of lines worked from crystal or metal, I couldn’t rightly tell which, running through it.
I paused, wondering how I had never seen this thing before and in doing so I bore witness to its purpose. A merchant with a large wagon approached a circular pattern on the walkway, ensured his wares were well secured and then spoke a destination. At once a ball of energy surrounded him and the wagon, raising it all off the ground and then sending him zipping along, following the right hand line. Even as I watched, another traveler came from the opposite direction, the magic wrought into the pathway depositing them gently off to one side and they continued on their merry way.
I had to wonder why thing wasn’t around the first time I had come here, though the more I looked at the construction the stone looked somewhat fresh, perhaps it was simply a new addition and not something from the city’s past. Either way, it looked mighty useful so I stepped into the circle and took a deep breath.
“The Aberrant Spire.” I spoke clearly, and felt myself go weightless. The magic ball of energy formed around me, lifting me off solid ground and leaving me floating, which certainly triggered a slight fear response from my arachnid instincts. I was moved into position and then shot forward. It took all I had to not scream, sudden fear turning into excitement as my human experiences harkened back to several amusement park visits as a kid and getting to ride the roller coasters.
Though instead of loop the loops and corkscrews it was naught but straight lines and gentle curves that weaved through and over the city streets. Everything was a blur and yet I hardly felt it, really all that I felt was a vague sense of motion in my gut and the wind pulling at my hair, but that was it. I did see the spire come into view however, and steadily it grew larger and larger till at last it dominated the skyline.
My breakneck pace started to slow and just as it had with the other traveler, the magic gently shifted me to one side and then put me down softly. I found my legs were incredibly wobbly and as such I simply stood there and waited for the wobbling to cease. Once it had I stepped off the platform and down onto the street proper, finally taking in the sights as it were.
If the areas around the palace and the rest of the city were for merchants, common folk and nobility, then this area was almost exclusively inhabited by those with magical talents. I saw robed figures flitting to and fro, some hovering along on disks of light or wind, one even walked into a shadowy patch and vanished, presumably reappearing elsewhere. And over it all loomed the Spire, still as pretty and strange as it had been, though it seemed to glow with newfound life and vigor.
The teleporter complex seemed in working order as well, though it would have to be since new mages had taken up residence in the spire above. I made for the complex, many mages who had been engrossed in walking and thinking doing double takes as I passed. I simply nodded at each in turn and continued on my merry way, entering the complex and getting bombarded by the sounds of a busy building. Pages and mages zipped about, conducting their various tasks as they did, stepping into or out of the teleporters as needed. It felt almost like that one time I’d visited Grand Central, boy hadn’t that been fun.
I decided that I should probably get some directions to the person that would be most suited to help me with my plan, really whomever happened to be in charge of this place would be perfect for that and so I stepped up to a circular desk that seemed to be staffed by a mixture of elves, dwarves, humans and even a slime person, the latter wobbling in place and simply shifting their features about to face anyone that spoke to them.
I stopped before an elf, the woman looking up and recognition dawning on her face as she beheld me.
“Y-Your majesty! What brings you all the way out here?” She stammered even as she made to stand and bow. I waved her back down into her seat with a smile, the elf sinking back down into her seat.
“I have business with whomever is in charge of the Spire and I have found that I have no idea who that happens to be. I was hoping to change that, and get directions as well.”
The woman nodded, still a bit frazzled thanks to an unannounced visit by royalty.
“I-I can do that, a moment please your majesty.” She said, hunching over a large book that sat before her and furiously flipping through it. Once she found what she needed, she opened a drawer and pulled out what looked like some sort of talisman, setting it down before me on the desk. “Firstly, this will identify you as not only an authorized visitor to the spire, but also as royalty. Granted we all know you are but the spire itself wouldn’t and so would treat you as an intruder if you didn’t carry this with you at all times. And considering your authority over us all, it will allow you to access areas that would be otherwise restricted to normal visitors.”
As she explained its function I picked the talisman up and looked it over. It was a simple thing, not too gaudy though I couldn’t help but notice a coat of arms upon it that had a distinctly arachne flavor to it. I could swear I’d seen it before somewhere else, perhaps that would have to be something else I looked into later.
“I can call an escort for you, they can guide you right to the Archmage.” The receptionist spoke, snapping me from my thoughts as I affixed the talisman to my breast.
“That won’t be necessary, a map will suffice. I am an adventurer first and a queen second after all.” Chuckling, I watched her nod and pull a sheet of parchment towards her, a hand hovering over the surface and magic flowing from her palm onto the page. What looked like ink appeared on it, which then took the shape of the current room I resided in. Words even appeared, informing me that I could use any of the teleporters I wished.
“The man you are looking for is Archmage Yesric. As far as I know he doesn’t have any pressing duties today so you should find him sequestered in his office.” The receptionist rose and bowed again, keeping her hunched over pose even as I started to walk away.
“Thank you, you’ve been most helpful.” I said. I took a subtle look over my shoulder and was relieved to see that she’d sat back down and was currently in the midst of furious conversation with her coworkers. Which was fair, not every day a member of royalty comes asking for help right?
Stepping into the teleporter I was promptly deposited into the halls of the Spire, which now bustled with activity. Mostly staff it seemed, though I spotted several gaggles of younger folk all dressed in something reminiscent of school uniforms rushing through the halls, their expressions belying a desperate desire to reach their destination as quickly as possible. I had heard nothing about the spire being used as some sort of school, though I suppose it only made sense to train the next generation of magic users in a place where magic was dominant.
Looking down at the map I’d been provided, I was pleased to see that my current position was reflected upon its surface. But now there was a handy dandy guiding line that pointed down a hallway to my right. And so without further ado, I followed it. People naturally got out of my way, though whether that was because I took up most of the hall or because they knew who I was I wasn’t sure, either way I did my best to not impede their progress too much.
Turning a corner I was suddenly met with an empty hallway, one that slowly began to fill with black smoke. My gut twisted and my head felt heavy, my eyes began to flutter and then I blinked, the hallway was bustling with people, no longer filled with the smoke. I licked my lips, trying to shake the ghosts of the past and move forward, though my legs couldn’t help but shiver slightly with every step I took.
Floor by floor I made my way closer to my target, till eventually I was directed through a door into what looked like every executive's office that I’d ever seen, just with a fantasy twist to it. Or rather, it was the little office for a secretary that I entered, which presumably meant that through the next door was what I was looking for.
A bespectacled goblin lass looked up from a large tome and blinked at me, her eyes rather enlarged thanks to the lenses that sat before them.
“Can I help you?” She drawled tiredly, and I stepped up to a good distance from her desk.
“Yes, I’m here to speak with the Archmage.”
“I do not recall setting any meetings today. May I ask who wishes for this audience?” She said, flipping through another much smaller tome that sat nearby.
“Safa Eventra.”
She continued to look through this smaller book, before freezing, her head slowly turning towards me. Now she really seemed to be looking at me and I could only smile politely back at her.
“A-Apologies your majesty, a moment if you please, I must inform the Archmage of your presence.” She said, hopping down off her chair and scampering hurriedly towards the other door. I didn’t say anything, instead just engaging in the arachne equivalent of rocking back and forth on my heels. She slipped through the door and I could hear muffled speech before several loud thuds and some not so muffled cursing ensued. The goblin secretary appeared, leaning against the door after closing it.
“The archmage will see you in just a moment, your majesty.” She said, resuming her post and doing her best to look professional for me.
“That’s quite alright, I’m in no rush.” I responded, humming softly to myself as I looked around the room. A moment later, I heard a voice call out from the office and since that was my cue, I bowed my head to the secretary and stepped through the door into the archmage's office.
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I have two reddit accounts, so if these stories are familiar, that's why. Someone commented that one of these sounds like abuse from my Christian parent to me. So I've compiled all most of them here. (Most of them are to do with Christianity, the hypocrisy of Christianity, or the consequences of my choice to leave it.) Please be honest but also recognize that this isn't all the times sometimes these are amazing people and I love these people but for my sake I need to know if it's really that bad.
"I'm rather young. My mom (42F) and my dad (41M) both grew up in the church. My grandfather is the pastor of his own church and my mother was raised by her grandmother who played piano in the church. Growing up I'd say I was the perfect little Christian girl. I liked praying and went to church, I wanted to help the world, and I wanted to be baptized before I even started kindergarten. I remember that vividly. I was sitting in the kitchen in one of our folding chairs because we couldn't afford real ones and I was begging my mom to let me get baptized.
My family and I are African American. The church I went to when I was little was a black church. My mother was the praise dance choreographer so of course I did praise dancing. I'd go to Sunday school, I wore the big puffy dresses, and I knew all the songs. Of course I had the common experience of being assaulted in a sexual manor by someone I went to church with. But we were both the same age and I just knew I was uncomfortable and she just knew that's how people bigger than us touched each other. All that came of me telling my mom and me not having to go to her house anymore. I was always told that I was intelligent and I believed everything I was told without question. Then my sister was born and we moved. At first everything stayed the same. We ended up having to switch churches as the previous one was an hour away from our new home. We found a new church. A church were you can wear your hoodie and jeans like it's a Tuesday. I made friends and played sports and nothing really changed until I was eight. When I was eight there was a girl on my softball team I'll call E. E is Jewish and at the time I thought everyone was Christian. As in Christianity was the default and only option. But my friend E's church wasn't called a church but a synagogue, and she couldn't eat specific foods together. E also talked about BaBat Mitzvah's. When I brought that up to my mom she said my friend was Jewish and that being Jewish is like being Christian but they read from the old testament exclusively but they don't believe in Jesus.
Which a while later caused me to spend all night crying because I put the two and two together of: Believing in resurrection Sunday and that Jesus was gods son is what got us into heaven and I cried worrying one of my closest, sweetest friend and her nice family would go to hell. Then school, which had always been easy, became hard. Which made me feel dumb. Especially since my self worth was put into how smart I was and I wouldn't dare get below an A or high B because I was scared I'd get punished. Like the time I slammed my fingers a metal door on accident and spent the next fifteen minutes in tears and my mom told me if I kept crying she'd take me to the hospital to have them cut off my fingers. Because of moments like that disappointing my parent or having to big of an emotional reaction was not okay and it made me scared and uncomfortable. They knew I was struggling, they were the ones who stayed up till four something in the morning with me trying to explain the concept. But with every minor and major struggle I felt like my worth was slipping away. But the better I did in school the more my outstanding grades became the expectation which resulted in acknowledgement for my academic achievements disappearing. I felt like I was falling apart so I'd spend hours pray and begging god for help. To take the feeling of being worthless away. I developed an eating disorder sometime before ten. Specifically binge eating. My parents would find the trash, not understand that it was more than just "the sin of gluttony" and yell which made me feel threatened and eat more food.
And then I'd pray on my knees on the hard wood outside my room door with nails and splinters in it and hurt myself because not only was I a dumb glutton but I also apparently wasn't good enough for god to save or help. It made me think if he wants a relationship with me so bad why does he ignore me? I'd hold a knife to my wrist when I'd wash dishes to see if I felt him then. I questions if I'd even go to heaven. For all my problems the answer was to pray but the problem was I'm doing that but my prayers aren't being answered. I was having thought of death no twelve year old should have. On my birthday I was like a puppet simply going through the motions. Then I started questioning my sexuality. Not to mention, I'm now cut off from the world because this is all during covid, on the bright side they gave me my door back. Now I'm older and I have questions like. How was Adam able to name all the animals and understand god not wanting him to eat from the tree and their need to stay in the garden, but not comprehend his nakedness? How was Eve able to be tempted and not understand her nakedness? Why did they and apparently god think being naked was wrong? How are we not all messed up from tons of inbreeding and how do animals still exist after the inbreeding the would've occurred after Noah's ark if he only saved one male and female of each species? Why did god want to flood the Earth and purge it of it's evil humans if he was the one who decided free will would be a good idea? Since he is perfect and all knowing their shouldn't have been a moment of let me make something I'll destroy, wait nvm. My parents have changed a lot since I was little and have let me go to therapy. Of course I have a Christian therapist. Which I wouldn't mind if it wasn't for the fact that every time I bring up trauma that's linked to religion or need advice in terms of how to change a bad behavior or over come anxiety the advice is to pray. And at times I feel like I'm in a moment of doubt she feel she should try and pull me back in. But they also said I have to volunteer in the childern ministry at church.
I used to work with children ages three to five. Now I'm in one to three. And it feels like I'm spreading propaganda. They tell me what to say and what the goal is for the kids to believe by the end of the month. After I can't help but feel dirty. I'm at the point in my journey were I don't believe. But I have to keep working in the childern ministry, I have to go to church every Sunday, my parents are both devotional authors with published books. I'm the only one in my family who doesn't believe both extended and intermediate. I just wanna know I'm not crazy. I feel like I'm being brainwashed or something. Like drink the blood and eat the body of Jesus!? It's all too much. And now that my parents know they're trying to make me go back to believing. And I listen to them talk and it's like I can't have a conversations with you. You put your faith above all else. You believe whole heartedly, my point of view is automatically wrong to you because faith trumps logic so why would I share it with you? But at the same time it's majority of the music they play, it's all their advice, I go every Sunday, my classmates and friends are majority Christian and yet I even though I see the flaws and hypocrisy, I still can't help but wonder, am I the crazy one?"
"My grandma would grab me and call me "big booty Judy." And my butt was grabbed, spanked, and frequently talked about. Sometimes she'd just sit there tapping it while she talked. It started when I was around three or four and just continued. Though now I'm in my teens and rarely see her. But my breast were also a topic for a while. Comments like "where'd you get those from?", "she's bigger than you.", and "her sisters the tall one but she's the curvy one." They felt icky but I didn't dwell on them. But she's also an alcoholic along with many other things. She dated my mom's friends when she was in college, gets shit faced in at events like birthdays and funerals. Shakes her ass on family members and frequently offered us alcohol. But I always took pride in being her favorite grandchild. Which she constantly reminded me I was. She also has a serious spending problem. But the funny thing is. She goes to a church church. She's in the choir and used frequently as a look example. She hosts church events and potlucks. She even remarried in the church. Never mind the things I just said that'd be considered sins. She's the perfect Christian woman."
"How do you cope with the level of disrespect? I'm not eighteen yet, but I'm still able to be disrespected. My main problem is the disrespect from my parents. My parents who wish to be respected in their beliefs and don't want their minds to change. But at the same time, my dad has sent my scriptures and stuff for the past couple of months since it came out. I don't believe in God or Jesus. They force me to serve and volunteer at church and attend every Sunday. They paired me with a not so ethical Christian therapist. Then both gang up on me about it and take my silence as defeat when I'm just respecting their beliefs. I'm literally the only non Christian in my family. I also have mental problems from staying with them and just in general, but they won't test me because I don't behave in such a stereotypical manner. I want to say they love me, but does someone who blatantly disrespects you love you? I'm having a hard time with seeing if I should do something as drastic as no contact after I reach a certain age.
But at the same time their those awful parents who don't just blatantly suck but also have messed me up quite a bit, resulting in me not feeling like I have a right to be upset. I've told them about how Christianity mixed with their parenting drove me to suicidal thoughts, almost going through with it, and an eating disorder I'm still battling. I also can't just leave and close the door behind me. I'm the oldest, and their are two more kids just like me, and if I turned my back on them, I'd never forgive myself. They're my siblings, but they're also what stopped me from going through with the bad thoughts I was having. They need someone who will be honest, say the weird things, and answer the ignored questions. So, how can I deal with the blatant disrespect so that I'm around for them? What skill for stress management can I use? How do I block out the constant religious gaslighting that happens in church? Because I have over two more years of this."
"My dad said if people don't wanna have a baby, they shouldn't have sex even if they're married. But sir, you had three babies while financially unstable because you couldn't keep your damn hands off my mom. You were planning me, but your job fell through, and when my mom went to get back on birth control, it was too late, so I'll give you a pass with me. But my siblings were both surprises. So, quit judging and practice what you preach. But that's not what pissed me off the most. He said women will put all their time into work and not their husbands, and that's why some men cheat, but the way he said it, it was like he was justifying it. But my dad, he'd go to hooters alone, and when I needed tights, he got them from a woman their and it made me think what if. And I know it's stupid, but that what if. It is so loud.
And it's not even the first time he's said something along the lines of justifying it and almost blaming the woman who gets cheated on. But then he likes to be all up in arms about how his friend married a woman who cheated on him multiple times. My dad's like, I wanna pour into my kids but then makes no effort, and when we spent time with him, we had to initiate it. He doesn't do the hey you wanna . . . stuff. But he has his own company, and they can't get any work right now, so he spends most of his time at home. And then says I'm just to tired to spend time with ya'll.
My mom was sick to the point of being half passed out in a drive-thru after taking my brother to karate and having to pick up dinner. I would've offered to drive him if I could. I'm still leaning, and I'm bad at staying in one lane. But my dad was really busy on his PS5 with his made-up football team. So busy he couldn't take my brother to karate nor could he pause his game to get dinner. I'm kinda starting to hate him. He's also done a couple of other things, but that's what recently has made me mad. But I don't feel like I have a right to be mad because he's here and a lot of my friends dad aren't, and he's not physically abusive like my best friends dad is. I just don't know how I should feel. Is everyone's dad like this?
Edit: It's mothers day and he couldn't be bothered to get the food, pick up the groceries, nothing. #1Dad guys."
​
So is it truly a horrible go no contact at eighteen situation, a be watchful situation, or is it fine? I know some of this stuff is a lot but some of it was also in a moment of extreme emotion. Remember like I said in the beginning they're not always like this.

first
Luna VI query: Set the source to the leaked files of the first reconnaissance operation of Irisa.
Certainly!
Luna VI query: What did Ryo do during the first hour of the war?
***
Ryo had already reached a state of full awareness after waking up, and yet he hadn't moved an inch, immersed in his inner world as he thought about what he and Elysira had done at night.
And what a wild night it was.
The way that she had skipped the journey to go straight for the finishing line had caught him unprepared. Still, with the mystery of their physical compatibility out of the way from the get-go, Ryo had been left with a lot of time to explore the other hiccups and perks of this interspecies endeavor.
From the occasional accident with her claws to the new possibilities her tail brought to the table, Ryo had enjoyed everything.
There was not an ounce of regret in him, but the memory of their last act lingered incessantly in his thoughts—a vivid Recollection of Elysira’s tail wrapping around his leg and letting silence prevail as his arm shyly enveloped her, allowing them to fall asleep side by side.
The one memory that held him in place, fearing their next interaction when the slightest of his movements would inevitably wake her up, mirroring what had happened all in the previous mornings.
What would she say?
Would she think that they are in a relationship now?
What would he do if the concept of casual hook ups didn't exist for the Irisians?
Ryo touched his face and shook his head, instantly deciding it was time to start his morning routine to distract him from those absurd thoughts.
The brain IO interface captured his intention, turning on the lights on the ceiling with maximum brightness, something that he was sure would wake her up at once given how sensitive to change all Irisians were.
And yet he was wrong.
Elysira’s head tilted away from the light as eyelids fluttered, but the only other thing she did before stopping moving was strengthening her grip on his leg quite a bit, making him realize that her tail had not let go of him the whole night.
Upon noticing how numb his leg felt, Ryo propelled his body upwards, intending to uncoil her tail from his leg and start his day. Hopefully, Elysira wouldn't mention what they did, and he too would be able to pretend it never happened.
However, the moment his upper body lifted from the ground and he got a full view of her body, he was unable to remove her tail from his leg, captivated by a simple but powerful sight.
With her hands inside the pockets, Elysira had used his jeans to restrain her claws, putting herself in a very uncomfortable position, likely afraid of hurting him during her sleep.
His eyes widened, dispersing his previous train of thought from existence. The hand that was supposed to be dealing with her tail moved toward Elysira's exposed neck instead, aiming to wake her up with a gentle touch.
And as if he had just perturbed the stillness of a calm lake with a stone, a barely perceptible ripple of yellow spread on her skin from the contact with his fingertips. It traveled through her neck, reaching the soft lines of her face, and even traveled down her long hair strands.
At the same time that it felt wrong to be able to take a peek at her emotions so easily, Ryo couldn't help but wonder—which other colors had the darkness stolen from him? While immersed in this question, Ryo kept caressing her neck until her eyes opened slowly, resetting all the back spots of her body at once as consciousness took control over instinct.
Elysira’s grip on his leg loosened when she realized she was overdoing it. Her gaze started scanning every inch of him, starting from the accidental scratches of her own making and unashamedly stopping at places she had not seen before.
Unbothered by her curiosity, he even removed some of the loose strands in front of her eyes and threw them behind her long ears to make her job easier, feeling some apprehension only when she lost interest and sought eye contact.
Traces of purple appeared around her black spots as she spoke. "What do you humans do after... what we did?"
Ryo winced, but his tone was gentle. "Silly girl!" He felt deep regret for how he had skipped the part of Irisian relationships in favor of politics when she was teaching him about her species. "It could be everything or nothing."
He expected some intense reaction from Elysira, but there wasn't a lot of emotion showing. As he searched her skin, he also realized he was unable to look at her the same way as before.
From seeing her small breasts, which he now knew for a fact fit on his hands, to the very memory of all evenness that he now was able to associate with the sheen her skin exhibited from certain angles, Ryo realized he had lost the ability to gauge her emotions without feeling a hint desire.
She noticed how long he was staring at her and a hint of yellow appeared. "I don't need everything, but nothing is not enough!"
How did Ryo fail to see that this conversation would inevitably happen when they were having fun at night?
"Oh!" He was unable to keep his mouth shut, which resulted in red and purple manifesting on her skin as he felt the pressure for a quick reply.
He had heard the Irisians speaking terms such as chosen, mate, and family, but Ryo didn't know much about this, and now was not looking like a good time for asking for clarification.
The translator would do its job in conveying his intention. But what would he say? Friends with benefits maybe? He gave up that one on the spot; he didn't consider their previous relationship a friendship, and somehow, he felt a dangerous desire to want more than that from her.
Under the pressure of his previous mistake, he told her the highest relationship he was willing to have without a care in the world for consulting his superiors. "Is girlfriend good for you?"
Elysira’s eyes widened as her skin maintained the same tones. But it lasted only a second before a golden hue took over, leaving little room for her black spots. "Wait, are you serious? I never thought you would consider anything more than being my exclusive pair."
"I am serious, but what's the difference?" Ryo instantly felt he could have gotten away with being just friends with benefits.
"Two differences." She took her clawed hands from the pockets of his jeans and pressed them against his neck in a fast but controlled movement. "One is implied trust." Her head approached him slower as if she would kiss him, but instead, her lips diverted toward his ears where she whispered, "And the other is a promise for the future."
"That seems alright."
As he said that, Elysira had already started taking little bites on his earlobe, her other hand joining around his neck while her tail was sneakily pushing the rest of her body on top of him.
"This will have to be quick, we-"
Ryo was about to give up the time they had for breakfast, when a powerful explosion shook the ground, causing the whole tent to vibrate.
Elysira’s pointy ears began to twitch and her body receded, trying to get of clue of what happened as she displayed purple. "I hear nothing."
"This was not far from here; I don't think it was a landslide." Ryo summoned a window with all the cameras outside and found nothing unusual, even with the infrared inspection.
Elysira could see what he was doing since they had never left the shared augmented space.
"Can we see what Amara is doing? She might know more than us."
He still was incapable of referring to her as his girlfriend even in his thoughts, but he still felt a hint of pride for her quick thinking. "Let's see."
He quickly summoned a live feed and promptly instructed the AI to go through the recordings of the whole night. "Nathan and that princess are still inside the tent. Time to go there."
Ryo wasted no time explaining, quickly standing up to begin the search for his underwear. The floor was still littered with paper sheets, and there were even some opened water bottles around, but he still found what he was looking for before pulling his jeans from under Elysira’s butt and getting dressed with haste.
He wore his shoes but didn't bother with his shirt and jacket, just taking his already loaded gun from the holster and getting some spare ammunition before heading outside cautiously.
"I'm going with you." She got out of the tent almost at the same time as him, proving that not needing clothes had its advantages.
"Stay close." He activated the infrared view mode and scanned the surroundings just to be sure, then hasted his steps towards Nathan's tent which was about forty meters ahead.
There was little he expected would go wrong on such a short journey, but Elysira’s ears began to twitch halfway through, prompting him to stop advancing. "Hear someone?"
"Something." She then used her tail to point uphill, in the direction where the rest of the group had set camp on the previous day. "I think it's a drone."
"Fuck, I hope you are wrong." He raised his 3D-printed revolver and felt like cursing more at the fact he didn't even have a proper pistol, pulling back the harmer and getting himself in front of Elysira.
Thanks to her acute hearing, when he heard the buzzing of the drone, his gun was already pointing in the right direction. Upon getting the first glimpse of the flying object and noticing how fast it was moving, he didn't hesitate to do a partial activation of combat mode.
The world slowed down for a moment, allowing him to see the device flying among the very few beams of blue light that made their way through the canopies. He didn't wait a single second and corrected his aim slightly to the left before pulling the trigger.
Bang!
The drone was torn to pieces and many parts fell about twenty-five meters away from them, at a distance that any explosives wouldn't hurt himself or Elysira.
When his eyes found her behind him, there was yellow and purple on her skin as she asked, "What if it was friendly?"
"The owner can send the bill up the chain for all I care." Ryo lowered the gun and did a full scan all around once more, only to find nothing again.
Her tail wrapped around his arm as all purple on her body disappeared, leaving only a hint of yellow. "Amara won't be happy if it was hers."
Just as Elysira spoke, a circular door opened on Nathan's tent, and Amara took a step outside with red filling her body.
Ryo pictured a scene of a princess complaining about her lost drone, but things only got more complicated instead.
Nathan emerged after her, and the pair began to argue loudly about what to do now that a war had broken out; Amara wanted to march uphill to join her guards, but Nathan held her by the tail when she was about to leave and prevented her for moving, saying it would be too dangerous.
Their argument turned into a messy mixture of the present situation with Amara sulking about a wasted night, which led Ryo to exchange a look of surprise with Elysira.
But their surprise only lasted a moment and Ryo decided he couldn't let those fools keep wasting valuable time.
Clap.
Clap.
Clap.
He had their attention now. "Please don't tell me you're mad because the plant lover couldn't get it up."
Under normal circumstances, Ryo had no doubt his assholish behavior would only instill shame and improve their cooperation.
However, he forgot to account that he was not wearing a shirt, leaving all his scratches exposed while Elysira was disheveled by his side, which caused Nathan's jaws to drop followed by Amara throwing an indignant gaze at Elysira and then at Nathan, who gave Ryo the feeling he might snap at any time.
"Why are you here?" Nathan's calm voice didn't match his clenched fist and rigid posture.
"Information. I want her to tell me what she knows about this war." Ryo had learned about the war by overhearing their previous argument.
Surprisingly, Amara was cooperative. "My brother's army found our position. They were not aware I was here with Nathan and ambushed the rest of my people and Zara; you destroyed their drone but if they saw us they might have a good reason to come here."
"Fuck!" He turned to Elysira and ordered. "Go back and gather my things. Take the essentials first, we are leaving."
Elysira used her tail to squeeze his arm in acknowledgment and rushed back. But when she had barely taken a few steps, she stopped as her ears moved. "More drones are coming!"
After alerting him, she ran to accomplish her task, leaving Ryo in the company of just Nathan and Amara.
"Isn't that great?" He grumbled to himself, but his voice carried loudly, obtaining the pair's attention as he raised his revolver again.
Knowing that the enemy was probably aware of their position, Ryo used infrared view mode to ensure they weren't using the drones as a distraction to pull off an ambush.
And that didn't seem to be the case when the first machine appeared, flying downwards in zigzag from the concentration of trees uphill.
Again Ryo used a partial activation of combat mode and aimed at the drone, yet this time more of them appeared, leaving the cover of the woods in groups of three until there were nine of them in total. But they didn't even try to get close this time, choosing to hover next to the canopies more than two hundred meters away from him, and assuming something akin to a structured formation.
This was extremely weird and enough of a reason for him to retreat a little, getting closer to his tent and taking cover behind a tree.
Nathan and Amara moved too, the botanist getting inside and returning with his gun while Amara's colors blended with his tent becoming hard to spot.
Assessing the new situation in an instant, Ryo concluded it would be better not to engage and retreat considering that those drones would be hard to take down at such distance. But things changed again quickly when the AI triggered a pop-up window, showing that several of the cameras he had set up in strategic places were capturing movement.
And what he was seeing now were several armed groups of Irisians heading towards their position, confirming Amara's supposition that the rebels were coming for them.
With the situation getting grimmer with every passing moment, Ryo thought of a possibility for what the drones might be doing, but his mind was still refusing to believe that the rebels could be as organized as his worst-case scenarios were giving them credit for.
To test this, he immediately tried to contact the space station through radio transmission, and since being found by the enemy was no longer an issue, he set the transmitter to maximum potency to validate his test.
Unable to establish a two-way connection.
He frowned even though that was not totally unexpected.
With only a few minutes at best before this place was filled with enemies, they would have to leave fast or they would be at the mercy of the enemy.
But first, there was something he wanted to say to Nathan, who now was using his tent for cover together with Amara. "Listen up, those fuckers are jamming our comms and they will be here at any time. Take the MLBCS and find a clearing to use it, I doubt they can interfere with the laser. Just don't forget that your immediate safety comes first or else you might not be among the living when the pod arrives."
Ryo and Nathan were technically enemies, but the last casualty in the war between Earth and Mars had happened several years in the past, ensuring that he had no reason to wish any harm for the botanist even though he didn't like him.
As for Amara, it was a little different. He hurried back to his tent without saying anything to her. And he did that not because he wished her harm, but simply because he didn't understand what she had at her disposal to offer any useful advice.
"Wait, what are you gonna do?" Nathan shouted from a distance.
With the adrenalin of seeing how many Irisians were coming helping his sincerity, he shouted back. "I'm not leaving the planet unless mission control finds a way to save Ely too."
After that, Nathan and Amara disappeared from his mind as he took cover behind his tent, slamming his hand against the foldable fabric many times to get Elysira's attention. "Hurry up, we can't stay here any longer."
She left immediately after, struggling to maintain balance as she used a hand plus her tail to carry his backpack, while her gun threatened to tumble from her gasp in her other hand.
And besides, one thing that Ryo’s eyes were immediately drawn towards was the clothes she was wearing—his clothes. While her legs were still exposed, his jacket still covered a bit more than her hips, loosely engulfing her slender frame like a billowing sail.
"I put the food and water in your backpack." She let go of the heavy item right over his feet as she put the gun on the ground and lifted her arms for him to recover his jacket and t-shirt. "You can get dressed while the tent folds."
He might have allowed her to keep the jacket if not for it being an inconvenience to her, so he just took it, making the first time he saw her wearing clothes a very short experience.
"No time for that, it won't fold with all the paper you left on the ground." He said as he swiftly slipped his arms into the sleeves of the jacket and zipped it up in one smooth movement.
Ryo was already considering which path they would take to flee when he noticed something terrible—Elysira’s skin had just been filled with gray as tiny black spots began to appear and disappear as if rain on the sand of a desert.
"What's it now?" He asked, trying to hide how unprepared he was to deal with this.
"Nothing has changed." Elysira averted her eyes. "I'm a burden to you just as I was to Amara. If I had-"
"Oh, shut up and quit the self-pity!" Ryo realized he was being too harsh, but still went on to finish it. "The paper is our mistake and I'm staying because I like you. This simple. Now get your gun and use your goddam camouflage, just like that princess is doing."
Ryo felt awful after saying this, and Elysira seemed quite taken about as she stared at him with wide eyes.
A moment later, however, she bent over and took the gun from the ground, her exterior blending quite well with the surroundings.
Ryo felt bad for her, but now there was no time to talk. "We run now, let's go."
The sound of his own steps was all he heard as they were putting some distance from the tent, making it so that he had to check on Elysira every couple of steps he took to ensure she was following him.
It was only when he heard some gunshots from far behind that he felt her claws tugging at his jacket from behind. "I hope Nathan is like you."
***
This was an account based on what Ryo did during the first hour of the war. The previous narrative is based on the events of the morning of the twentieth day of the exploratory mission of Irisa. According to your current settings, no queries will be suggested.
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What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

As If It Were Kismet: Prologue
Matt tore through the brush, blind in the dark. He didn’t care where he was going. He only knew he needed to be elsewhere. Far from here.
Behind him a creature howled that shocked his mind. It’s form was cruel and dangerous, though female. Nothing like the young woman she had once been. Nothing but a girl, a small and slight female.
It’s guttural growls and howls only grew closer as Matt tried to pick between seeing where he was going and getting away. The few times he looked he caught sight of the creature behind him. Hopping through the air with a speed that told him he was being toyed with. As if he were a mouse being played with by a cat.
But the reflex in him to run kept him going. His adrenaline going as hard as it could. The tightness and burning in his core tensing and locking up as his legs felt like there were being burned from within while taking on more of a heaviness.
His lungs were starting to betray him as he tried to gulp big breaths of air but only rapid and shallow breaths were all that he could manage. His brain was starting to burn….and then he was falling.
Falling down the side of a hill he saw the creature dart in a spring towards him, imperceivably fast almost. Catching him in mid air it seemed.
Managing to wrap its body around him and cushion his impact against the ground as they rolled. His mind barely took in what was happening during the roll. Only starting to understand what was happening once they were still.
The creature's triple D-cup breasts were unmistakably pressed hard against his back as he laid facing up at the night sky.
For a few seconds the world stilled and the needle light pain hitting the center of his brain took over for the cooking heat his brain had felt. His whole body felt heavy and reluctant to move.
Even if he could have really moved, a dull ache came over his limbs making them feel stilled and trapped as if by immeasurable amounts of sand that had engulfed him.
Slowly the arms holding him started to move. Moving so the creature's hands could start exploring him. Causing Matt to unstoppably let out a pathetic moan that made him go cold inside as hands lifted up his shirt and started to touch his exposed stomach and then his chest.
He would have whimpered so pathetically had he not still been in the depths of terror.
As its hands felt and groped his pecs he tried to situp as if to get away. For his efforts, his reward was a hand around his throat and a collection snarls and growls against his ear. A beastly, guttural voice spat words at him while somehow holding a feminine tone.
“Don’t move….I don’t know if I can calm down…”
Her words were not helped by her moans in his ear and the subsequent kissing of his ear. The flesh of his ear going between her lips as she moaned and seemed to pant. Releasing it and licking the side of his face with a moist warmth. He could feel its spittle, viscous and coating his flesh where the tongue touched. He could smell something in his saliva. Something that subtly entranced him.
Matt went stock still with fear and the confusion of mixed arousal. He barely perceived her right hand traveling lower on his body. A surprised moan and shudder echoed in the night from Matt’s lips as she took ahold of him. Her hand above his pants but still….stimulating him.
A light squeezing and almost probing of her digits kept him aroused and confused within her grasp. Resigning himself to the strange fate, Matt looked up at the stars as his mind tried not to shatter under the strange maelstrom of events and sensation that had started mere minutes ago.
His mind was only more confused as a slight figure, feminine in build, how it seemed to thunk the ground audibly as she landed on her feet out nowhere. Her knees barely bending under the pressure of the landing. Yet dirt was kicked up anyways and some of it onto Matt. Feeling it pepper his shirt and pants as it fell.
The figure, lit only faintly by moonlight, roared some dark tone Matt could only perceive as a demon as her eyes went bright with a crimson light. A light in the darkness that should not have been. “Let him go you bitch.” Was its words following the roar. Spittle escaping its mouth with faint droplets hit Matt's face.
The creature holding him by his throat and crotch seemed to tighten the grasp of both hands as it roared back. “HE IS MINE!”
The figure paused with a moment's hesitation. He was also her quarry. She had felt his fear without him knowing. His confused arousal. His fear. His terror.
And now he laid at the center of a struggle between two monsters. Unsure of who he wanted to win.
As If It Was Kismet Ch. 1
Matthew Berkshire hadn’t seen his mom in two years. Not that he had seen her much over the last six years.
A messy divorce between messy people and mom’s chaotic want for a life in Alaska had been one of the most…upsetting times in life. Setting him up for so much of what had defined his life thus far but then that had really started two years before he ever turned.
His ear buds were basic and simple. A part of cheap five pack, common for his life as he was known to lose little things. Small things. They had a mix of metal and hard rock playing in them. Some classics, some alternative. Whatever made him feel something, anything. Even if it was hate. Anger. Rage. It was better than feeling numb. Not belonging.
The escalator down to his lone bag to go with his lone carry on showed his mom waiting for him. His had a type, that’s for damn sure. Not that it helped him in the genetics department as he was stuck at 5’9” to go along with his mother’s five foot even as his dad stood six foot. Forever leaving him to feel small, to pale, under his dad’s shadow. Did he ever stand a chance?
The guy next to her with the unkempt former seventies porn stache was “Dave.” He’d met him twice when his mother came and visited him in Florida. To his credit the guy didn’t look annoyed. Kind of concerned kind of which made Matthew want to break his frozen look but he was well practiced. Having removed any note of sadness from his face through much…tribulation.
His mother’s look on her face betrayed a hint of worry as the bruises on his face lightly showed up close. Saying his name was his like a distant echo that belonged to someone else.
Dave cut in and pulled out his right headphone. “What the hell bud, they knock you hard enough to hurt hearing? Your mom’s asking how you are doing.”
Matthew pulled out the other bud and grunted an empty “sorry.”
“You still have bruises after two week? What did they do to you?” His mom’s voice was full of worry. Something he hadn’t heard in….too long. Too long to make him feel anything. To ever make him believe there was any sincerity to her words. To not think her voice and mannerisms were an act. An act by someone who…wasn’t really there.
“It’s only fair. I took a nose. Fractured a couple orbital bones. Left one with having to get his jaw wired shut. And one will never walk right again for what I did to his knee cap.” Matthew said it all with a bored and disinterested tone. Perhaps well rehearsed.
“My man, handing out ass kickings, not bothering to take names.” Dave was quick to be the typical man’s man about it. Matthew wasn’t quite done yet. Lifting up his shirt to expose the right side near his kidney. Revealing a nasty scar from a six inch blade. “Luckily they gave me this first so they could rule it all in self-defense. The fuck didn’t get it in more than inch before I ruined his knee cap and then I took the nose of one of the fucks holding me.” Now he chose to smile keeping the well practiced dead look in his eyes.
No retorts. No questions. Just horrified looks on their faces. As he liked. As he preferred. They could hate him. They could be disgusted by him. But by God they would fear him.
“Well the doc did a good job sewing you up.” Dave commented uncomfortably. “Dissolving sutures. Ain’t they grand.” He smiled again and let it abruptly fall off his face and started walking to the carousel for the baggage claim.
Waiting and making small talk with Dave as his mother stood in silence. He was not the little boy she abandoned. The little boy she left with an angry man. While never hitting him. Left him in constant fear till he turned twelve and just didn’t care anymore. Something snapped. Broke. And he didn’t care if he died. Didn’t care if he stole. Didn’t even care if he killed. He just knew not to get caught. Something left over from his grandfather’s wisdom which came to make more and more sense with each passing year of life since that thing inside him broke.
Finally his bag came around and Dave went to try first to grab it but Dave practically leapt ahead of him. “Is that your grandfather’s rucksack bag?” his mother asked in a perplexed voice.
“Figured it’s been around since Viet Nam. So it’d serve me better than any of the worthless stuff they called luggage.” Dave commented after Matthew’s words. “Well hell yeah I still got mine from Desert Storm. You know the first one.” Dave laughed and Matthew eyed him oddly. Be it in the south or whether it was Alaska, country boys are country boys he guessed.
The car ride to the two people’s house, as Matthew thought of them. Was uneventful and full of vistas he imagined metropolitan types wetting themselves over. At most they meant isolation to him. Furtherness from the world as there were no mountains in Florida. And what mountains he had last seen in another state had been when he was eight. Another life, to Matthew it felt like. A life alien to him.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 2
Dave and his mom’s place was some two story type tucked into a tree line far up an elevated point. It was by no means the highest point in the mountain but it certainly felt up there.
Rocks were where the driveway should have been Matthew thought. Grabbing his backpack and rucksack from Dave’s jeep was no hard thing for him. Matthew was in formidable shape for someone his age, maybe even five years older. He had gotten a mix of fairly big shoulders and arms along with the chest to go for it when compared to most kids his age. A side effect of working out at least twice a day. First thing in the morning, some time in the evening, and the school’s gym when had had a good semester in school before he had to leave Florida.
Dave tried to come up and help him but Matthew walked past him towards the house. His mom was not sure what to make of his demeanor. Matthew was not the sweet kind boy he had once been. But she had been gone from his life essentially for a long time.
Ushering him into the house she cracked some joke he did not hear. He was too busy looking about and seeing a mix of old outdated decorating mixed with the strange and odd flair of his mother. Color contrasting against drab and dated. Like brightly painting over an old home that was falling apart he thought.
“Your room is this way Mattie.” His mom brightly intoned.
Without expressing any interest he followed his mother. Still faced and nonplussed. Just going along with the current. Pushed and pulled with its roll like a piece of driftwood.
The room was simple. A single small bed. A set of rubber weights with a curl bar and barbells. “Your dad said you were into weight lifting so we got you a bunch of stuff. Dave says it looks like his department’s gym almost. The woman’s smile felt very alien to him.
“Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ve got most of my stuff from home.” Matthew starting unpacking his rucksack and pulled out cables of repetitive and mixed colors. A single plastic barbell handle. The ruck sack could be filled with water bottles for added weight during pushups he figured. Remembering a Michael Keaton movie he watched with his dad post-Batman movies where he played a convicted killer using plastic bags filled with water for weights.
Matthew caught movement outside his lone fairly large window that could let him step out onto the roof of the house given its layout.
He saw a number of people running together through what he guessed was the backyard of the property, not that it had any fences to mark boundaries
They wore clothes that looked similar yet different from each other at the same time.”Oh those are the Johnston’s. Really nice bunch of people. Been on the mountain for a long time Dave tells me.”
Matthew looked at the group of people running and noticed the lack of resemblance. “They are related?” Matthew quizzically asked. Seeing a black and possibly a hispanic person amongst the bland looking white people.
“Oh well they are all adopted but for one or two of them…besides the parents of course. The family has a long tradition of taking in orphans they say. Real nice of them to do that don’t you think.”
Matthew looked at his mother and the hosier accent made no sense to him as he arched his left eye brow. Her and his dad were both from Florida. Born and raised. Sure her parents were from New York city but…
Matthew shook his lightly without turning to look at his mother as his vision was grabbed by one of the runners in particular. A girl of moderate height. Soft brunette. A plain beauty he figured with a slim build….and lack of remarkable breasts and rear to make any note of but….girls in general were his type at his age.
She was pretty enough. He couldn’t deny that but he found himself transfixed by her visage.
But the way she turned and looked at him, especially at that distance felt very disconcerting to him. Even if she was smiling like…she was a taste of a bright shiny day. Somehow.
Matthew’s mom noticed the exchange and smiled to herself with closed lips. “Oh that’s Vicky. She’s your age I think. Very sweet girl, who does the charity functions. You know bake sales, blood drives, car washes and the like. I think you should get to know her. Might be good for you.”
A truck horn sounded a couple of beeps in rather succession. “Oh that must be Mack, he said he might come by later this evening but he seems early.”
Matthew’s mother turned and left his room. Leaving Matthew to exchange a few looks with the alluring Vicky as she turned her head away from him to talk to the others in her group and look back at him.
Still Matthew’s left eyebrow was arched. In a way that reminded him of Spock from Star Trek that he and his grandpa used to watch on some streaming service or another.
As he heard ambient chatter elsewhere outside the house he figured to check it out as the alluring sight of Vicky would be around he figured. It was dull to stare at artwork. He was a boy who preferred jet skis and the like. Something he could ride and enjoy immensely. Even if at times it got him stabbed.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 3
Matthew sauntered out of the house and down the rockway that stood in for a driveway.
A few new people had come over from what he could first surmise of the situation. As he got closer it was obvious they were indigenous people. A couple of grown men…and a girl?
She was mousey. Maybe five foot. Hiding behind glasses and a big camo jacket that was far too big for her. It looked made for a grown man and the backwards trucker hat on her head kept her long black a beautiful mess of sorts.
She was cute in a way. A little androgynous but she had a cute energy to her. She reminded him of the more tomboyish Puerto Rican girls he had gotten into back in Florida. Given the deer corpses in the back of the truck….probably more dangerous to play with given the men in her family.
Small chatter passed between the adults when the girl noticed but turned away, trying to hide the tiny hint of a smile.
“Oh Mattie, this is Mack. He works with Dave at the sheriff’s department and John, he’s with fish and wildlife.” Matthew nodded at his mom’s words with some blankness as he looked at the deer the in the back of the pickup truck.
“Gale tells us you hunted with your dad some in Florida and Georgia.” Mack offered with a light hearted laugh camouflaged by his big simple and cheery but husky way he spoke.
Looking in the back of the truck he spoke. “We used lever action thirty-thirties and Mosin Nagants in seven-six-two-fifty-four-rimmed.” Mack and John whistled in an exaggerated fashion. Leaving Matthew to wonder if they were mocking him.
Mack spoke. “Well we just used thirty-odd-six in a custom gussied Garand.” That caught Matthew’s attention. “You have a Garand…” Matthew finally demonstrated interest in anything. “My dad has an SVT-40 and a Hakim 8mm but he always wanted a Garand but was too cheap to buy one.”
Gale, his mother, chimed in loudly. “Oh his Dad loved his guns but was such an odd duck about how he bought or why he bought them. Never made sense to me how he wasn’t a collector but he didn’t get the latest and greatest.” Gale laughed uncomfortably. At least it seemed that way to Matthew.
Matthew pointed to the girl with an underhanded pointing hand. “And who is this? A cute little mute mouse or does she have a name?” Dave and the other men laughed.
Mack again spoke. “Well you people call her Rebecca, she’s my adopted daughter.” Matthew was taken aback by what he heard. “You people?”
Rebecca kindly spoke with a soft but almost melodic voice as she struggled to maintain eye contact. “White people or rather not members of our tribe. It’s just easier to appease the colonizer kind of thing. Borrowed from when the Jesuit missionaries chased us up here.”
Mack stepped in. “It’s just easier to have white people names than have them try to say our tribal names. And we don’t want them shortening or Anglicising our names kind of thing.” Rebecca stepped back into the conversation cutting off her adopted father. “It’s an insult to our history basically.”
Matthew cocked his head sideways raising his eyebrows shortly before letting them drop. “Well as soon as I’m eighteen I’m out of here and back to Florida so I’m a sort of involuntary colonizer of sorts. So I won’t be taking any of your land from you. The Seminoles on the other hand are still shit out of luck.”
Rebecca’s smile caused Matthew to reflexively smile. Mack made the moment more awkward. “See Becca, I told you someone off the reservation would like you some. You just have to be creative.” Mack laughed in a chiding manner…Matthew presumed. He sensed that he was the butt of some kind of cultural joke. Like marrying a white guy was some sort of insult or mark of shame. That kind of thing.
Rebecca turning away from him was not something he had been expecting. Her then getting in the truck in a huff left the group in a silence for a moment.
Dave spoke to break the awkward silence. “Well just bring the truck to work on Monday and leave it for me to grab up.” Mack acknowledged Dave and they started to get off as Rebecca looked at Matthew for another instance. Matthew couldn’t look away for some reason as the two seemed to lock eyes for an instance.
Till Vicky and family seemed to come jogging down the road. While Matthew’s eyes diverted from Rebecca’s. Hers did not till she realized he was looking elsewhere. And her vision found Vicky and what had been a hint of smile on her face turned glum and disappointed.
Matthew did not look away from the vision of Vicky but instead of a starry eyed fool looking longingly. It was a baffled look. Well baffled for him, with his eyes drawn narrow and night with a focus.
There was something about her…he couldn’t quite put a name too. The way she appeared to him. One second brunette. The next second blonde or blonde like. As if the color appeared in her air and disappeared in fractions of seconds. Much the same way her body almost seemed to…shift…very subtly…smoothly. A nicer bum. Larger breasts. And then back to a simple and plain form. Feminine no doubt. Attractive. But not so…remarkable.
As If It Was Kismet Ch 4
The next two days passed without incident. Nothing of any real substance or challenge to note.
Matthew got settled somewhat and started working out almost immediately. Exploring around the woods but Dave told him not to go far. Especially without a hunting rifle. Dave had left a simple semi-auto Winchester out for him. His bear gun as Dave referred to it with its four round magazine. But Matt figured till he got some practice with the rifle to leave it alone. He made a hiking stick like his grandpa taught him and treated it over a low fire. He would take some electrical tape for the end his hand would grip around. Plenty enough to ward off anything smaller than a bear he figured.
The ride to school was a pain in the neck but simple enough. Dave would let him use a clunker pickup truck he had laying around. It wasn’t pretty but it would get him to and from. Even if it was from the eighties and still backfired on occasion. But for now Dave and his mom took him on their way to the sheriff’s department.
It wasn’t much of a school. It wanted to be modern but its fifties original construction was very obvious. It serviced the pipeline families and familys’ of fisherman who worked the seasons in between their time at the pipeline.
Matt was to report to the principal for some reason Dave and his mom wouldn’t share. Which annoyed him but he figured it was to read him the law of land. Small towns with their big views of the outside world and like.
Dressed in jeans, a grey sweatshirt under a light jacket with steel toed boots set him more apart then he expected. His buzzed head didn’t help matters. Already he was feeling like a stranger in a strange land but he was quite strange after all. And he liked it that way. Normal people were so pathetically disappointing to him.
A secretary or assistant or some such led him to the principal’s office. Where it reeked of real wood that was old and fabric and upholstery that needed to be updated for the last twenty years, Matt figured.
“This is Matthew Berkshire, Principal Andrews.” The man was turned with his back to the door and he was quick to wave her off as he turned her around.
He was an older man. Fat and large. Tall with a body built like he had once been fit and a demeanour of annoyed and irate already as he fixed Matt with a scowl and look of disgust. Another worthless government whore. Matt thought to himself. His father and his grandfather had bestowed unto him a natural disrespect for government workers and the figures that wore unjustified authority as a shield but pretended the weight of the state was not at their back ready to crush all who resisted. Little figures of valor pretending to be mighty and alone but acting with the tyranny of the state and all the backing.
“Mr. Berkshire, please sit down.” His tone wasn’t unusually hostile, just gruff. As if he had better things to do.
Matt complied and took a seat in the chair while maintaining a friendly facade. Not everyone was an enemy. And not everyone needed to be an enemy. Even if anybody could be any enemy. There was no reason to make enemies you didn’t have to. Another of his grandfather’s bastardised wisdoms.
“Well I looked over you file and you have quite the history Mr. Berkshire.” Matt resisted qiuping back a joke. Instead he waited for Principal Andrews to continue as he remained nonplussed and looking as if he felt no need to respond. A simple head tilt with dead eyes looking back at the principle as if he was not even there would suffice.
Matt’s reaction or lack of a reaction rather made Principal Andrews only narrow his eyes with examination. He was not used to a kid not responding to him. Especially with his gruff and hard act going on.
“Well by all accounts you moved here after some problems at your last school. A fight broke out and you did some real harm to your fellow students it appears.” Of course, he would take the side of the perpetrators. School administrators always did. Especially when they weren’t white. Just a fact of the times. Cowardice and pathetic mediocrity was the way they leaned, like good government workers sucking the dick of Big Daddy government. Worthless whores.
Matt chose to reply. “Oh you mean the criminals that stabbed me. Got arrested at the hospital and then pled to felonies. Yeah Florida, with the American counties are good like that.” Principal Andrews went real still. No shame. No fear. No penitence. He didn’t like that.
“Well be it as it may Mr. Berkshire we don’t tolerate that kind of behaviour here…” Matt cut him off responding with a deadpan tone. “You mean self-defense meant to save one’s own life while the cowardly and pathetic school workers look on with zero interest but to keep their money rolling in and will allow known gang members with records of violent acts and crimes that should have them expelled many times over, where in certain Democrat counties such cowardice and idiocy empowered a couple school shooters?”
Principal Andrews looked at the Matt with a note of disgust. “Look here Mr. Berkshire, your beliefs matter not one bit here. This isn’t Florida. We don’t like our way of life being disrupted by outside agitators who have problems with authority.”
Matt did his best not to roll his eyes and let the older fat man drone own as he dead-stared him. Lifeless and without emotion.
The man came to a finish and Matt spoke up without having listened to him or paid him any attention. “Great now that’s taken care of. Can I please get to class and finish my sentence of two years at your wonderful school?”
Principal Andrews huffed and snorted before calling in Vicky. Vicky stood in the corner after entering with a quiet and seamless presence. Matt felt disturbed and tried not betray his feelings as the young Vicky was perceived and not perceived to be moving.
Principal Andrews made the introductions and Matt nodded back. She was to be his chaperone for the day. They had the same classes and she was to show him the ropes so to speak. The ins and outs of the school. The locations of their classes.
He recognized her. It was hard not to. The way her appearance seemed to shift fluidly almost. The petite and skinny brunette ever so lightly had a big bust and blonde hair with curves added when she seemed to shift before his eyes. Like watching a film but each frame had a different person.
Matt didn’t say anything about it. Even if he did he would only be acknowledging his crazed state, if he had one. If.
Unlike an obedient puppy dog he got up in a slow and awkward fashion and followed behind her as his oddly disproportionate frame allowed. Causing her a note of concern for some reason. As if she was seeing something she shouldn’t have been….Or he was just weird. And Matt could admit to himself he was just weird. Part of his charm, he would jest about it at times. Not that he had many people to jest to now.
As If It Were Kismet Ch. 5
Following Vicky into the hall off to their first class was simple. She exchanged small talk and he slightly smiled as if to obviously suggest he was just being polite.
Inside his head, Matt was trying to figure out if he was having a psychotic break. The way Vicky looked kept changing and he looked at the other people around him and they stayed the same.
He was searching his mind as they were walking. And thus he wasn’t paying attention to where he was looking and so fell to his face forward over his feet seemingly out of nowhere.
A series of laughs erupted as it sunk in that he was obviously tripped. Like in prison this was a challenge to his superiority. If he let this pass he would be mocked and sneered at by this same group of boys. He wouldn’t walk to them like he was going to do nothing like a little bitch.
In a rage he turned and punched the stomach of the first face he saw. Some typical blonde haired wannabe jock. He knew from experience not to aim for the ribs. Instead he needed to aim for where he thought the belly button was.
Yells and screams blindly echoed around him as his after the punch he followed up his elbow of the opposite arm slamming into the face of the jock. Harder than a fist, the elbow struck the jock’s jaw and seemingly dropped him against a locker. Just in time to catch an errant and soft punch to the nose that sure enough hurt but did little to slow him down as his dad had taught him to fight through the pain. Blood and scars happened. They were a natural consequence of life to a man.
Taking the punch and falling further into his red state Matt headbutted the punch thrower before another guy arm bared his throat from behind. Which he managed to get his grip on the arm over a letterman jacked and jerk the unprepared boy to the side with him still latched on.
A few feet away from the lockers Matt knew his only chance was to jump and push off the lockers and knock the boy to the ground and so he did. He heard a thunk of the boy’s skull bouncing off the ground and he turned to pull out of the grapple.
The beatings he had taken from his father, the grapples, being choked unconscious. Had prepared him for fighting little bitches who didn’t know what a fight was. It wasn’t gay porn with rabbit punch fists flying.
Blood was running down his face and the pain started to hit him as the threats had been eliminated. Only then did he remember to breathe. Taking breathes as Vicky came up to him with tissues and took a hold of his nose.
“Owww owww owww what the fuck my nose could be broken.” He said to Vicky as she pulled his head up and back.
“It’s ok Carl. It’s done.” Matt tried to look to see who Vicky was talking to. It was a boy taller than his 5’9” by more than a small margin. The boy eyed him bored and annoyed before speaking. “What happened here?” An unoriginal line but one Matt couldn’t be a smart aleck about. “Well you see there was an outbreak of tripping and we all tripped over my dick. It happens.” Matt was about to laugh when Vicky seemed to pull up while still gripping his nose causing Matt no small amount of pain which he audibly evidenced.
Vicky spoke in a tone he wasn’t expecting. As if she was accustomed to issuing orders. “Keep Iris away from the hall till we sanitize the site. We have blood from at least three people contaminating the site. And have Jake bring me a spare jacket and shirt for this moron.”
Carl seemed to acknowledge her orders and seemed to blink away. Maybe the punch hit harder than he expected. He had no time to wonder as Vick took her hand away from his and pushed him against the lockers. With ease he had not been expecting from her form and stature.
Before he could respond Vicky licked his blood covered chin and then his lips and spoke to him. “Focus on me you little blood bag.” Her tone had an annoyed yet feminine sneer.
“Look into my eyes. Look at me. You belong to me. You are just another food source in a collection of food sources.” Her eyes were a beautiful hazel Matt thought. Almost green. Pretty like jewels in some old treasure collections. The eyes he could get lost in before kissing her. Finally Vicky was just a slight and petite brunette and he thought she was beautiful.
She would make a hell of a girlfriend. Some cute thing he could see laying on the beach in Florida on their sides laughing and smiling before trading light kisses while hands wandered innocently. Before his mind could drift further he felt her lips on his. It took him a second to mentally grasp the kiss but his arms were around her back as her hands were at his sides. His eyes reflexively closed as he saw hers close.
It was ineffable to Matt. Beyond words, what was happening. The kiss, the moments beforehand. The way his brain tickled with electricity and gentle warmth. He had never had a kiss like this and he had traded more than a few kisses with at least a few girls.
The kiss was like a warm bath with his consciousness slipping beneath the surface. Their lips only parted to try new angles and approaches as Matt struggled to take in breath. It was a moment he could have stayed trapped in for….he didn’t know. But a curt throat clearing by another girl pulled them out of the moment.
The girl was taller than Vicky. Blonde. With slight curves. Vicky addressed her bewildered and gobsmacked, and perhaps a bit embarrassed. “Tina?”

Hi I’m 34 , and I’ve had a mammogram before quite a few years ago where simple cysts and fibroAdenomas were found . I’ve had a tiny pea size lump in my lower left breast for about 10 months .. I’ve kept a very close watch on it and keep thinking it must be a cyst and it should go away. It can kind of slip around and it’s movable but has not grown at all . I haven’t really wanted to go and get another mammo but wondering if anyone knows if cysts can last up to a year ?

Note: I posted a parody comment yesterday on one of Kelly's birth saga posts and some people kindly asked me to keep going. So, I wrote some more. Hope it raises a smile or a puff of air through the nose! Let's get into it...
Part 1: Shadows in the Candlelight
It was 8:20 PM, and all was peaceful. Geppetto was at his place by the fire, whittling a puppet—a simple fancy for my little Atticus, fast asleep in the hayloft above.
I sighed, laid down my hoop, and gazed through the rain-streaked windowpane at the impetuous treetops. Suddenly, my babe gave a violent kick, and I was flung upon the kitchen flagstones. A mighty gust tore through the room, pressing candle flames flat and ripping at the pages of my Bible.
“Geppetto!” I cried in alarm, but he was lost in his work. I gasped, staring at the candle Moonfawn had bought me that same afternoon (how we had laughed at its comical scrollwork and, as mirth subsided, danced with naked exaltation in the deep pools of our eyes). Despite the buffeting gale, it had remained lit with a steadfast flame where the others had snuffed out!
With throbbing, passionate conviction deep inside me, I knew it was the hand of the Lord who had stayed the cursed wind. And then I saw the blood-slicked stones, scarlet as an accusation, red and obscene like a harlot’s lolling tongue. Had Geppetto cut his thumb? Was this blood … mine?
“Go hence to the healer’s house,” Jesus said into my heart with a silvery laugh. “Find you there a surgeon, for your wound lies beyond a midwife’s skill to mend.” And at once, I was overcome with serene certainty that come what may, Moonfawn’s love would guide me through this hour of darkness.
“Geppetto,” I grated harshly, and he looked up in astonishment. “Saddle the mare and hitch the buggy. The hour has come, and we have a long mile to step this night.” Oh, Moonfawn! Where are you?
(To be continued)
Part 2: Ships in the Night
Geppetto lashed reins against the mare’s flanks, shielding his eyes against the driving rain and guiding us through the slow-moving I-80 traffic. I lay propped against a pile of macrame-bound decorative gourds in the buggy, wrapped in a periwinkle towel, though the clean straw Geppetto had forked in to soak up the blood was quickly turning red.
Floating in and out of a lucid dream, I could see Moonfawn’s haunting visage in front of me, but when I leaned in to kiss her pale face, she faded from my sight. Oh! You promised me, my dearest heart! You promised to be with me here at the end! Bitterly, I left another message on her machine, and tossed the phone over the side of the buggy.
“Easy now,” chuckled Geppetto, over the sound of screeching brakes and breaking glass. “That phone cost me three copper shillings! And see, we’ve arrived at the inn.”
He hoisted me from the buggy and thumped heavily on the iron-banned door with his gloved fist. I noticed he was still holding the half-finished puppet. Jesus again. It had to be, who else?
“Open up, in the name of Yuaha, Pentach of the Golden Isles!” he cried hoarsely. The din inside subsided, but the door remained shut fast. “Please,” I whimpered. “In the name of J.C. Penny, leaders in affordable home decor!” The door swung inward, light spilling over the street.
And there, in the doorway, stood Moonfawn.
I dashed headlong into her arms, relief and joy overwhelming me. I drank in her perfume, kissed her neck, and knew no more.
The door swung shut.
(To be continued)
Part 3: An Unexpected Guest
Moonfawn swept an arm over a table of the smoky inn, sending dishes of stew and tankards of ale crashing to the floor. She laid me on the tabletop and ripped the bodice of my maternity corset wide so that I might breathe. She laid a spring of palest winterfrost blossom twixt my breasts, to aid my breathing and share the poignant sorrow of the last day of spring. I whispered a silent prayer I had on my cleanest camisole. Jesus again. It had to be.
And so, at 10:50 PM the surgeon-general swept into the room. “What is the meaning of this?!” he roared. “This woman is dilated half a crown! And the babe is crying for brandeh, is there no one in this rom without cloth for ears?? I can see its wee face peeking out from here. Nurse! Attend me at once, this instant!”
Nurses appeared bearing silvery trays forceps of cold steel and several large bottles of brandy. I shivered, yet was not afraid. Somewhere close, I felt Moonfawns cool hand slip into my own.
Shrugging into his white coat, the surgeon general turned to me. “I’m dreadfully sorry about all this,” he mumbled. “Now, where on earth is that chloroform?”
“Not so fast,” someone drawled from a darkened corner of the inn. A figure rose, casting back a deep hood.
The room gasped in shock.
“Fraulein Fännyfärhht!”
(To be continued)
Part 4: Showdown at Dan’s Bar & Birthing Center
“Step aside, doctor,” the matronly lady commanded. Her hair was swept into a bun of iron, hard and cold like the flat planes of her face. “I have tended to this woman in eons past! I know the petals of her flower better than her own husband here,” she gestured towards Geppetto, and paused. “Though perhaps not so well as some.”
Beneath my swoon, I felt my face burn crimson in sweet shame, remembering again that night at Henley Manor, on the beach, when I was named Starchild in the light of the sacred candle. I gripped Moondawns hand tightly.
The surgeon general made a lunge for the door, but the Fraulein’s booted foot shot out and tripped him up, sending him sprawling to the floor.
“Let’s see who you really are, doctor!” I watched aghast as the midwife reached down to the hapless doctor’s neck and with one smooth motion, whipped off the indiarubber mask.
“Jesus Christ!”
There on the floor, grinning weakly, was Jesus, the son of God. A nurse moaned and slid to the floor, and lay there, twitching. Through the fog of chloroform, I gazed on his face in utter rapture.
“Hi, guys,” he said into the shocked silence. “I’m back. Uhhh… sorry, I got kind of held up.”
Standing up awkwardly, Jesus stepped to the table and faced Moonfawn. “I think the jig is up,” he murmured, reaching out to her neck. Moonfawn held her head proudly, eyes glittering with tears, as Jesus slipped off her mask.
“Marmee!”
Another nurse slumped to the floor, brandy glass shattering.
“You know,” said a small piping voice from between my legs. “I’ve been out for the last 10 minutes, and I could really use a drink.”
And that, my dearest friends, is the story of the birth of Tess Stickle, at 12:09 PM.

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Slutty Sister Has Her Brother Locked For Life (non-con, forced chastity, bondage, punishment)
Part 1
The keyholder nurse gave me instructions and explained everything after it was all over. My family had told me that I was a sex pervert and I was "being dealt with". I knew I was in trouble, but I was a young man, only 18 and I didn't understand what was going on. No one had told me anything after the hearing.
Mom drove me to an odd building, led me to a secure room and left. A young nurse told me to undress. I was totally naked. An older woman in scrubs and a man entered. They strapped my arms and legs down to a cold steel table. The nurse offered the woman a syringe, but she declined and said "No, I want this creep to feel it".
It all started a month ago. I lived with my mom and sister, dad was gone. My sister was 19, with a tight body and medium sized, perky tits. Mom was thick, curvy, with giant tits. Both recently got their naval's pierced with matching studs. Neither had boyfriends, but they were very promiscuous. We lived in a mobile home with thin walls, so I could hear them getting fucked often.
I made some mistakes. First, my sister caught me peeping on her in the shower and told mom. Then, two of her "friends" came over for sex. They took turns on her. She got very loud. After they left, I went in her room. She covered herself, but I saw her pussy and stomach first. There were small puddles of cum around her pantyline, and some more of it leaking out of her. I told her I was still a virgin and asked if I could "go next" on her. She yelled "get out" and told mom when she got home from work.
The third incident was more serious they said. Mom would sometimes drink and pass out. I'd never felt tits before and hers were so enticing. She had some drinks and went to bed. I snuck in. She was asleep, uncovered, wearing a gown. I grabbed her heaving boobs. Then I took one of my hands off her chest and pulled the gown above her waist, exposing her. I slid my hand between her legs and rubbed her pussy. She woke up and caught me. She was pissed. The next day my sister told me they had turned me in and there would be a hearing.
So I knew why I was on the metal table, but I didn't know what was next. I couldn't see, there was a drape at my waist. It started with gloves and cold metal on my genitals, then clamping, pinching, pulling, and eventually a sharp puncturing pain near my balls. I begged them to stop, but they did it 2 more times, once on my cock. Finally a metal device was brought out. I could feel it being slid on, clamped down, tightened, then locked. "All done" they said and left. The young nurse stayed behind.
She removed the drape and released the straps. I inspected the "device". My cock and balls had been fed through a steel ring that tightly encircled them at the base. It was secured to a piercing just above my taint and another at the top. My penis was locked in a tight steel "cage" with a hole at the end for pissing. The head had been pierced and a metal bar went through me as extra security. It wasn't going anywhere. The whole thing was super tight.
"What is this?" I asked.
She explained. "It's your chastity device. Your genitals have been locked up. At the hearing, your mother and sister requested that you be put in chastity. The safety council asked them how long they thought would be appropriate and both wanted you locked forever. Since the incidents involved incest, the council agreed. Your penis is locked for life. I'm your keyholder nurse. I will help with adjustments, cleanings, draining your balls, and anything else needed for chastity".
"When do I get to take off?" I said.
She answered, "You're locked forever. So you wont get to take it off. They have to keep you locked so your sister is safe and to punish you for what you did to your mom. You wont be able to have sex or force anyone. Since you can't masturbate, your balls might swell, so you will see me every other month to drain them, do a deep cleaning, and tighten your cage, if necessary.
--------------------------------XXX--------------------------------

Part 2

The room was cold. My keyholder nurse was a cute twenty-something. A name tag with "Beverly" was pinned above her perky boobs. Her scrub top was tight around her chest. I could see the shape of her breasts and her hard nipples pressing againt the fabric. I stared and my cage got tighter. She noticed and grinned slightly.
I got back to business, "Can I appeal or get parole or something? What happens next?"
She answered, "Sorry, no appeals for chastity. There is parole, but not for incest cases. What you did is considered extremely disgusting, so they deemed you a "most extreme pervert". Incest offenders get more severe penalties and no parole. I'm not supposed to be judgemental, but you're my first incest case and it sounded really awful at your hearing. It's hard to believe creeps as bad as you even exist, who rubs their own mom's pussy? This case is really bad, so I'm gonna go harder on you than my other guys. I hope it was worth it. So here's what's next...your mother and sister are entitled to a final inspection of your genitals, then you'll go directly to prison to be processed and locked up in the chastity unit."
I was confused and responded with frustration, "I can't believe this is happening to me. I just got too horny seeing the girls dressed like sluts and listening to them getting fucked all the time. After seeing my sisters cum-filled pussy, I lost control and slipped up. If she just gave me sloppy seconds, I wouldn't have done all that to mom....What do you mean prison?!?!"
She responded, bursting with excitement, "Dont worry, you'll learn your lesson! OH! I see they didn't tell you about prison yet, since you were a rush case. Chastity is just an add-on to your prison sentence as an extra penalty and to keep everyone safe. Let me look at your file to see how much time you'll serve."
Looking at her tablet, she smiled big and replied, "I've never gotten to do this before! Most guys hear about their sentence before they get to me...Ok, so they actually got you taken care of pretty good here. It got split up into multiple counts, so fortunately, they were able to put you away for a long time."
She continued, "Your sister had you convicted on two charges, one for the shower incident and one for the bedroom incident. You got two more for mom, one for groping her tits and another for going between her legs. I'll read them off...
Count 1, Incestual peeping, sentence: 1 year special confinement
Count 2, Incestual peeping with propositioning, sentence: 1.5 years special confinement
Count 3, 2nd Degree Incestual Sexual Battery, 2 years special confinement
Ok and here's the big one! For touching mom's pussy...
Count 4, 1st Dregee Incestual Sexual Battery, 4.5 years RIGOROUS confinement in the SCU-I, (Special Chastity Unit, Incest wing), with intensive perversion correction."
So you'll do nine years total, with the first four-and-a-half in the incest wing."
I was completely shocked, "Nine years!? Are you serious? What's special confinement? Am I going to regular prison or what?
Beverely explained, "Special confinement means you'll be put in the chastity unit. It's a separate level for inmates that have their genitals locked, like rapists and other perverts. It's a little different. The cells are super small, you don't get any privileges like TV, and you stay locked in your cell for 23 hours a day. But don't worry. Most of my guys are in the chastity unit. They all want out really bad, but they're fine. Some eventually leave for regular population if their sentence allows, but you'll actually just be finishing up in the main chasity unit after you're done with rigororous confinement for the first four-and-a-half. You'll start off in the incest wing".
"What is all that? I asked
Beverly explained further, "It's a big deal. That's why I got so excited when I read your sentence on count 4. It wasn't just the amount of time you got, but what'll be happening to you that makes it a heavy one. I've heard it's very extreme. Since you're my first incest case, I'm not as familiar with it, but I've heard you're basically caged up 24/7 and pretty much treated like an animal. I'm not sure if you even get a toilet or a bed. You only leave your cage once every two weeks for perversion correction, which I might get to assist with, and you'll get another device I've heard about, called the "silver bullet". I think it's an anal device? You'll learn more about that when you get there. Oh! Looks like it's time to get you ready for inspection."
The door opened as she left and two female guards entered. One had a tazer. They led me to another table. This one had wheels. I sat on the edge. One grabbed my ankles and another tried to push me on my back. I resisted, trying to spin off the table. I was immediately tazed, then sedated, imobilizing me. "This will be easier for if you just comply" she said. I was on my back again. My ankles were lifted toward my head, folding my legs over me. Thick zip ties were placed around my ankles and calfs. My hands and forearms were looped through both, then "zzzzzzzztttt", it was all cinched down tight, securing my arms to my legs. A bar was secured between my knees, keeping me exposed. Beverly came back in. One of the guards said "He's all yours hon" as they left.
"Let's get you cleaned up" Beverly said. "Your mom and sister are on their way and they're excited to see your private parts all locked up for good.
She put gloves on, then approached the table, placing one hand over my nose. I opened my mouth and she shoved a gag in and secured it around my head. "This is just a temporary gag. Your sister didn't want you talking during inspection. I believe you'll get more securely gagged and muzzled when you get to processing. I've heard the guys don't get solid food in the incest wing, you get fed a liquid diet, like that soylent stuff, that you'll take through a drinking tube in your gag. It's really amazing how good they have you incest perverts locked up over there. I can't wait to see you like that.
She started the cleaning by soaping and lathering around my crotch, exposed parts were shaved. She walked away, coming back with a tube and a bag full of fluid that she hung from a pole. The label read "Enema". Beverly explained, "Gotta clean you inside and out. First I'll get you lubed up". She grabbed a metal syring, inserted the tip in my ass, and injected me with lube. At the end of enema tube, there was a detachable nozzle with two inflatable bulbs. One was forced in my ass and both were inflated, locking it in place. I could see the tube going from the bag to inside me. I felt like I was being treated like an animal already. She turned a valve, the fluid began flowing and filled me up. She set a timer for 35 minutes, and sat on her stool, reading cosmo. After an agonizing wait, she removed the nozzle plug, allowing me to release. Finally, thank goodness. I was soaped up again and rinsed. She cleaned up the enema nozzle plug, added more lube, and shoved it back1 inside me. "Putting this back in so we dont have any potential leaks" she said, as she inflated it. She disconnected the outside end of the inflatable nozzle where it attached to the longer enema tube, clamped it off, and let go of it. I felt it bounce around as it settled. "You're all set" she exclaimed.
I was wheeled on the cart-like table through a long, busy hallway to a different room for inspection. I could feel the protruding nozzle plug in my ass flop around as the cart moved. The other employees stared as I went by, a few smiled with satisfaction. How humiliating I thought. I heard murmuring. "Bitchtied pervert getting what he deserves!" one girl said angrily.
Finally in the inspection room, I waited. The door opened, Beverly entered with two blondes behind her, my mom and my sister. The two gorgeous sluts were dressed similar. My mom was wearing tight, denim, high waisted shorts that displayed her ass and curvy hips, they were pulled-up high in a way that you could see the denim tight against her twat. My sister came dressed in super short spandex yoga shorts, tight ones that lifted her already firm butt into perfection. Both wore crop tops with their stomachs and matching naval piercings exposed. Images of my sister's sloppy pussy flashed in my head, my cock and balls both swelled. I stared at their bodies and let out a loud, desperate moan as my cage grew excruciatingly tight.
Part 3 to follow...

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

What am I doing? Dominick Mason asked himself for the hundredth time that night. It was late on a rainy Sunday evening and Dom, a tall, lanky man-boy of twenty-five with a prominent Adam’s apple and too big eyes, stared out the rain-slicked window of the 905. The big bus swayed and jostled as it lumbered down Central Avenue, the movements strangely comforting, conducive to reflection…and self-doubt.
As if on cue, his phone buzzed, and a pit opened up in his stomach. He fumbled it out with long fingers and read the text. Are u almost here
His thumb hovered over the screen, but he did not reply. Part of him wanted to block the number, slink back home with his tail between his legs, and forget the whole thing. He could boot up his PS4 and play Red Dead Redemption or GTA V like always. Safe. Familiar. The thought, however, stirred a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach.
It was dread.
Every night, he did the same thing. He came home from work to his tiny prison cell apartment. He had a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. He played video games until it was time to go to bed. The worst part of the whole night was when he turned off the TV and saw his murky reflection in the screen. Plaid. Scrawny. Disgusting. He hated being locked in that apartment, with its old smells and white walls, but he hated going out even more. At least in his hole, he was safe, like a mouse. No one hurt or lied to him there. No one gave him funny looks. No one rejected him. He was completely safe in his solitude, a wounded animal hiding in its den and licking its wounds.
He was wounded and he knew it.
And he hated himself for it. Hated that he wasn’t stronger or better. Hated that even though he tried so hard, everything he did fell apart…if it even came together in the first place, which it rarely did.
The phone buzzed again.
Just a question mark this time.
His heart began to race and a steely fist slowly closed around his lungs. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and took a deep breath. He pictured himself alone in his little apartment. He loved the image, but he hated it too. Most nights, he didn’t mind being alone. He had to not mind it, because he didn’t have a choice. Some nights…some nights he didn’t want to be alone. Some nights he wanted warmth, he wanted tenderness…some nights, he wanted to be human.
Every so often, Dom would get the urge to find those things. They came less frequently than they did before, but unfortunately, they still came. He would create an account on Plenty of Fish and OKCupid, maybe some of the other sites as well. He would agonize over his stupid intro and his stupid list of hobbies. He would spend hours - literally hours - writing and rewriting them, trying at first to be serious, then light and funny, then cool, then aloof, then vulnerable. He would take the best possible pictures from the best possible angles, then upload them, never lingering over them because he hated the way he looked. He didn’t think he was ugly - mid was more like it - but apparently, he was ugly. Too ugly for love, too ugly even to talk to.
The ugly barnacle. So ugly that everyone died. The end.
All of Dom’s pictures were all selfies, of course. Guys he listened to on YouTube said he needed action shots, shots with friends, shots that showed women he had a life, was valued by those around him, and knew how to have fun. Too bad for him, he had no friends and no one valued him, not even his own mother. On the surface, maybe, but she had hurt him so many times over the years in so many ways that even the most devout son would stop and think.
It had to be selfies.
When his profile was in order - or as much in order as he could get it - he would start to browse. Dom knew his place and never messaged women who were too beautiful. He used to, but they never responded. He eventually began to skip their profiles with a pang of loss and a quiet what if? Now, he barely noticed them. Blonde. Petite. Blue eyes. Maybe she was a cheerleader at one time, maybe she was the type of girl who looked down her nose at guys like him. Maybe she was a sweetheart. In any case, he would never find out, so who cares?
He went for women he could realistically obtain…the type of women he’d dated and hooked up with in the past. Some were attractive in their own way, others were hard to look at, he wasn’t picky; he couldn’t afford to be picky. One woman he saw was a good three hundred pounds. She was nice and he liked her enough, but he lapsed into depression while they were dating and he never messaged her back…not that she made a huge effort to message him. Another was a pre-K teacher in her mid-thirties. Overweight with a big nose, glasses, and a plain face when she wasn’t wearing make-up. He liked her a lot and wanted to be with her, but after a month of weekend hookups, she said she didn’t love him. She told him she wanted a family - three kids, to be exact - but “changed her mind.” No, she didn’t. She just didn’t want those things with him.
Now she was in her late thirties, single, and having regrets.
She still wouldn’t settle for him, though.
Another woman he’d seen recently (six months ago) was fifty, but not unattractive. They texted for weeks, hot and heavy. She outright told him that she wanted to have sex with him. Said all sorts of nasty and sexual things. Their first (and only date) was her coming to his apartment. Instead of tender kisses, loving caresses, and intense emotions, they shared an awkward two hours on his couch. When he tried to hold her hand and put his arm around her, she stiffened. Not much, just a little. She said she “wasn’t ready.” He sat there and watched the flowers he’d gotten her wilt as she talked about her ex for an hour and a half, his arms pointedly crossed. He even leaned as far away from her as humanly possible, trying to communicate with his body language what he didn’t have the guts to communicate with his words: I’m uncomfortable, please leave. He planned to take her to a nice restaurant after they made love. Instead, he ordered something after she finally got the hint and left, eating alone like always.
After her, he deleted his profile (again) and resolved to never bother with dating again. Obviously there was something wrong with him. He saw guys who were uglier and more awkward than him with girlfriends, some actually stunning, but there was something about him in particular, something that repelled women…and men too.
Everyone.
It repelled everyone.
Maybe it was his self-loathing. After all, no one likes a sad sack. But that’s the thing: He was like this because of those experiences. It was a what came first, the chicken or the egg situation. Looking back, he had almost normal confidence at one point. Then all of this happened. The hundreds of messages he sent on the dating apps staying on read, unanswered, like he never sent them at all, like he was garbage unworthy of even a hello. The awkward dates. The occasional “success” that eventually fell apart…sometimes because of him, and sometimes because of them. The one girl who ran away from him when he tried to walk her to her car after a date. They didn’t click, he knew that, but he didn’t say or do anything creepy. Why did she do that? The girls who lead him on, talking about sex and sometimes even love but always had a reason they couldn’t meet.
There were other examples - many others - but it was all the same. Who cared?
Dom wanted to crawl back into his hole and stay there, to stop poking his head out and getting hurt. He wanted it so bad…but he was only human. Deep down, buried beneath layer after layer of scar tissue, there was still hope. Hope for love, for companionship, for acceptance, for intimacy and human touch. It was only an ember now, but even an ember is enough to spark a fire.
Some nights, he wanted to be safe. Other nights, he wanted to take a risk.
And this night was one of the latter.
Be there soon, he texted. He swallowed hard and wetted his lips. His heart was pounding faster and his bowels were loose. He really hoped this worked out. He didn’t think he could handle another rejection. If she turned him down, he’d probably go home and kill himself. Why go on like this?
He’d had that thought before…but he never followed through.
Maybe one day he’d actually shut the fuck up and do it already.
Maybe.
Ok :)
Her name was Heather and she was fat. She was not unattractive in the face and she wore her weight well, not that that mattered - he would take what he could get. They started talking on OKCupid last week and very soon, the conversation became sexual. He didn’t start it, though, she did. She was ahem very excited, she said. He liked to think that she was lonely, desperate, and wanted intimacy - any intimacy - just like him.
That really turned him on.
They agreed to meet, and now here he was, on the bus to her apartment on the other side of the city, hoping against hope that she didn’t hurt him too.
He put the phone away and stared straight ahead. The bus was nearly deserted, save for an old bag lady up front and a few Mexican guys in the back. Lights lined the bus’s roof, providing a cold, impersonal light. Dom took a deep breath and forced his dark emotions away. It was all on him to make this work. He would accept her fat, ugly, poor, and crippled, but he had to work to earn her love. He could do it.
When the bus finally reached his stop, he yanked the cord and got off. There was a plexiglass shelter lit by a single, lonely bulb. Trash littered the ground. Beyond the shelter, a park lay in darkness. Behind him, on the other side of the road, a housing project not unlike his own towered into the sky, lit up like a ship at sail. Dom swallowed his nerves and crossed the street. He found the door that she had directed him to use, and climbed the stairs. He expected trash, graffiti, and winos passed out on every landing. Instead, the stairwell was clean and deserted. His nerves welled as he climbed but he forced them down again. On the ninth floor, he went down the hall, battered on all sides by the stale smells of cooking and the murmur of TVs and voices coming from every apartment.
Dom paused at Apartment 237.
Heather’s.
You got this, he told himself.
And really, he did. Their plan - well, Heather’s, really - was simple and straightforward. She told him that she would leave the door unlocked. He was to come in, go to the bedroom, and she would be waiting for him. She said it was a fantasy of hers.
On some level, he knew all along that the whole setup sounded fishy. Was he being set up to get robbed? Would he walk in and get jumped by a bunch of Crips? He hesitated, but his need for love - and, yes, release - pushed him on.
He opened the door.
Inside, the apartment was small and messy, a living room to the right and a tiny kitchen to the left. The only light on was the one above the stove.
Everything else was in shadows.
Dom’s heart skipped a beat.
This didn’t feel right.
That thought was overpowered by the smell, a sickly sweet odor that suddenly seemed to be everywhere. His stomach twisted and he turned his head slightly to one side, as if to spare his nose. It smelled like something spoiled.
A voice spoke from the darkness, startling him. “I’m in here.”
It was light, airy, and cute.
For the last time, Dom hesitated. Some primal sense told him to turn around and leave…
…but he wanted to be loved.
Dom entered and shut the door behind him.
The smell was stronger. The atmosphere darker.
Ahead, he could barely make out an open doorway in the shadows.
He crossed to it.
The smell was overpowering here and Dom felt like he was going to puke. Any desire he had felt was gone, replaced only by revulsion and claustrophobia. It was cold, he realized, so cold that his teeth chattered.
Okay, fuck this.
He started to turn around, intent on leaving, but a small, white hand reached from the darkness. Icy fingertips brushed his cheek and his heart blasted into his throat.
Then she was there, her body pressing against his and her lips fused with his. The smell, the freezer chill, both stronger than ever.
They were both coming from her.
Her tongue hungrily lashed his own, and she pushed him against the wall. Her hands slipped under his shirt and pressed flat against his chest. They were so cold that he almost cried out.
Dom wanted to push her away, to run, but he didn’t. Instead, he froze up and allowed her to push him onto the bed. Was he too gutless to tell her no, the way he’d been too gutless to tell the woman who went on and on about her ex to shut up and leave? Did he secretly want to go through with this? He didn’t know, and he didn’t have time to figure it out. She was on top of him now, straddling him, his legs caged between her ample thighs. She grabbed his hands and pressed them to her bare breasts.
They were as cold as the rest of her.
She leaned down and kissed him again. He hadn’t noticed it before, but her tongue was…dry. Her mouth itself tasted strange. Off.
Heather broke from his lips and peppered kisses on his cheek and forehead, assaulting him with an intimacy that Dom no longer wanted.
Through it all, she was as silent as a tomb. She wasn’t panting or rasping with excitement. In fact, he didn’t think she was even breathing.
She brushed her lips along the exposed curve of his throat, and tingles of revulsion shot down his spine. She found his pulse and kissed it. Trembles of excitement raced through her body and she started to lap his neck like a dog.
Without warning, a fiery pinprick of pain exploded over him and Heather began to shake and pant. Dom cried out and tried to fight her off, but she was too heavy, too much.
With a tiny, mouse-like squeak - a sound of pitiable fear and resignation - Dom blacked out.

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I pulled up to the Lake Mart gas station convenience store and parked near the entrance in front of the ice machine. It wasn’t a parking spot but I have a small car, a Miata, so I figured no one would mind, plus I would just be in and out real quick - all I needed was a pack of smokes and two white Monster energy drinks. I flung open the door and got out with ease since I had the top down(when the top is up it’s like crawling into a coffin which is kinda cozy in its own way but still hard to get in and out of). I was wearing cheap, black Amazon sweatpants and crocs and a very expensive beige long sleeve V cut sweater. It was a mismatch of the highest order but I didn’t give a shit. “That ain’t a parking spot buddy!” I hear coming from the Ford F-250 filling up with poor-grade 87 unleaded at the pump, the truck isn’t even a manly diesel. I glare at him and yell back: “How’s the ride in that thing? Probably bounces you around a lot on these roads and reminds you of riding your boyfriend.” A very overweight shit kicker type of fella walks around from the side of the F-250. His boots were covered in dried mud along with his Carrhart overalls. It wasn’t fresh mud but definitely from the previous week’s worth of laboring somewhere horrible. “What did you say to me!?” He bellowed. There was some sort of food stain on the front of his T-shirt, possibly mayonnaise or some other condiment. Strange tho since it was only 7:00AM so he clearly wore the shirt the day or days before. “Oh, sorry.” I said to him after seeing his size. “I didn’t realize you were so big, you must be more of a doggy style power bottom type.” “What the fuck does that mean?” he said to me. “It means you’re too fucking fat to be on top of your boyfriend. He rails you from behind.” “Oh that’s it you fuck!” he yelled and started to run at me. Oh shit I thought, I really let my mouth get me into a situation for no real reason. But actually, no fuck this guy, he started it by telling me I can’t park in front of the ice machine. That’s clearly a violation of the Bill of Rights and flagrant treading on me. He was fairly fast for a fat guy but I knew I was faster and had more endurance. I stood there at first near the front of my Miata and he was running full speed and as he closed the distance he stretched his arms out with the intention of grabbing me(to probably try and make out with me). At the last second I strafed to the right behind the safety of the front left panel of my car. Him being inertia laden, was unable to change direction in time to grab me. His arms flailed to his left at me but missed by a wide margin, He contorted his body in trying to grab me in such a way it forced his legs to cross with the next stride and he tripped over his own feet, took two awkward stumbles and ate shit on the asphalt parking lot, landing on his right shoulder before tumbling over himself and into the ice machine. “Dude you just ate shit!” I said to him pointing and laughing. “You’re probably used to it though when you eat your boyfriend’s ass every night.” “You fucking goddamn…” He said as he got to one knee. “Oh no, don’t propose to me, I’m already in a committed relationship…with your mom.” I replied. He finally got to his feet and despite it being only 50 feet that he ran, he was already wheezing. He reached to his right pocket and pulled out a small pocket knife, maybe 3 inches long only but long enough to do some serious damage, then charged at me again. I ran to the rear of my car and put the car between me and him, he tried to slash at me across the trunk but I easily dodged it as he came up feet short. He started chasing me again and I ran to the front of my car and as he ran up to me again, I ran to the rear of my car like a toddler playing “you can’t catch me”. I started laughing at this thought and each time he ran a pass at me I said that to him. “You can’t catch me big fella! You can’t catch me!” I didn’t have to put forth too much effort but I could tell it was taking its toll on him. He had the stubbornness of a retarded mule and refused to give up to save some sense of pride and honor. We played this game for maybe five complete laps around my car before he realized he had no chance of getting to me. He paused for a moment to decide what to do next to save face and not look like such a fat bitch then it donned on him. “You little fuck.” The sweat was pouring down his forehead. “You got a spare tire in the trunk of this shitbox rice burning beanermobile?” He said and eye’d up my right front tire and pulled his arm back. There wasn’t much I could do so as he began to lunge his arm forward to puncture my tire, I let out the loudest and highest pitch rape scream I could make. It was an ear piercing banshee scream and it must have startled him because he missed the tire and hit the fender causing his sweaty hand to slip from the grip and violently slide down the grip and onto the blade of his knife cutting a large gash in his fingers and palm. “FUCKKKKK!” he screamed, still clutching the knife. The Indian clerk that owned and operated the store must have been alerted by my banshee scream and came rushing out the door. “What going on here!?” he yelled, looking concerned and confused. He saw I was standing there and recognized me immediately. I had to be one of the biggest spenders at the store, buying at least a pack of smokes a day and two energy drinks like clockwork and very often getting food for lunch and always paid cash which they loved. They liked me and knew me as well as you’d know a frequent customer. He saw the fat fella was holding a knife but also bleeding. “He chased me and tried to slash my tire.” I said and the clerk nodded and believed me. “That’s not a parking spot!” the big fella said. “He park there every day, never cause any problem. You buddy, you not welcome here. Go now, leave or I call the police!” The big fella glared at me holding his bleeding palm with his other hand now to apply pressure. I didn’t say a word, I just grinned at the big fella and he turned around and went back to his truck, got in and drove off, peeling out with one wheel as he left. I went inside and the clerk apologized to me for the behavior of the big fella even though it wasn’t his fault obviously. I assured him it wasn’t an issue and got my normal supplies and left. I got in my car and hit the vape(I won’t smoke in the car), started the engine and put on some Tool. My adrenaline was still high so I took a deep breath, hit the vape again, and started the engine then pulled out of my personal parking spot. I pulled out onto the road, looking both ways first but not paying attention to the vehicle far down the road and started my short drive home. It was one complete Tool song for the round trip if I drove like a sane person and I causally accelerated. I hadn’t made it a mile before I noticed a F-250 in my rear view mirror growing in size rapidly. It was the big fella and he was going to run me down in a way that wouldn’t exhaust or embarrass him. “Oh fuck” I said and took another vape hit then downshifted into 3rd gear and put the pedal to the floor. The Miata’s engine woke from its slumber and quickly ran the RPM’s up to 6000, putting me back in my seat the entire time. I shifted into 4th and floored it again. The road was awful and full of potholes but the sporty nimbleness of the Miata made avoiding the major potholes and bumps a fun exercise in technical driving. The big fella had a huge run up on me however and was still closing the distance on me even though I was speeding along at close to 90 miles per hour. Either he was an idiot or didn’t know the roads or likely both but as I glanced in the rearview mirror I could see the truck take hit after hit from the potholes. It lurched and bounced each time but the venerable American truck took each hit in stride and held its ground with me. I was doing 105 MPH now on a shitty backcountry road in a 45MPH zone and the F-250’s speed limiter likely kicked in at that speed so I maintained 105 as we approached the curves. I was nervous because I had only one option and that was to navigate a downhill S-turn meant for 35MPH at 105MPH while avoiding potholes that would tear off one of my tires. If I slowed down any, this maniac behind me could plow into me or give me the Pitt Maneuver and spin me out which would inevitably lead to a rollover where I definitely would die. “Fuck it” I said, grabbed another gear and started pulling away from the F-250. There was another option that just came to me ¼ mile from the S-turn and immediately opted for it. Despite the pain of sacrificing it, I lobbed a full 16oz can of white Monster out of the top of my car like a hand grenade. It crashed into the truck’s grill and penetrated through the grill and into the radiator like an armor piercing anti-tank cannon shell. A plume of steam erupted from the truck and I let off the throttle only to see him start gaining ground. I put it to the floor again and clenched my asshole as I was seconds away from barreling down upon the S-turn. I could see far enough ahead that there was no oncoming traffic so I steered as far left as I could to get the best angle entering the turn. The car’s lane detection warning system beeped at me and I told it to fuck off, I was racing for my life here. I tracked into the turn, apexed in the corner and tracked back out into the next turn. I felt myself get lighter when I entered the turn because it was downhill but the Miata stayed true and glued to the road like a Formula 1 car. In the first part of the S-turn, I had to keep the center line in the center of my car because of the massive canyons in the asphalt on the right tire track that Penn Dot hadn’t addressed in several years. There were more potholes but they were minor and at this speed the car glided over them. I had made it halfway through the S-turn and now steered left again and apexed perfectly in the outward curve and accelerated out of it. The next stretch had mild curves that I wasn’t worried about and I got back in my proper lane, now about to check my mirror to see what the big fella’s fate was. I heard the tires squeal as he tried to slow down to make the first curve of the S-turn. He knew nothing of racing despite having decals on his back window of some local hayseed race car driver. When he braked in the middle of the turn, all the weight shifted forward and he lost all rear grip. Combining that with trying to steer right, caused the rear end of the truck to slide out from behind him and he spun 90 degrees. The left front tire caught the canyon pothole and sent the truck into a barrel roll down the hill. I watched it all in my mirror and I slammed on my breaks. The truck barrel rolled at least a half dozen times before hitting the left side guard rail and bounced into the middle of the road. Steam was billowing from the front of the truck and I could see all the airbags had deployed. I pulled the e-brake, did a half turn to slow down and stop, smoke seethed from my tires and when the car came to a halt in the middle of the road, I put on my 4-ways. I then heard a woman yell to me from the nearby house. “Oh my god!” She yelled. “Are you okay!” She saw the smoke and must have thought there was a fire or something coming from my car. “Yeah I’m fine, but that fella probably isn’t” I said motioning to the heap of metal that used to be a F-250. “I saw the whole thing! I was getting my mail when I heard an engine revving”, the woman said, “Why were you going so fast!? Racing?” She was accusatory and slightly distressed or even angry. I turned my head away from the wreck and looked at her. She was in her late 20s, blonde hair, large and possibly fake breasts, blue eyes and wearing the cutest and most sensual peach colored sundress. If she had makeup on it was minor at most and her face held the natural beauty of an entire Miss Universe contest. “I was racing for my life. The guy is a lunatic, he tried to stab me at the gas station then started chasing me. I knew he couldn’t handle that turn but I knew my car could. Looks like I was right.” I said to her. She looked at me seemingly satisfied with my response but asked, “Why did he try to stab you?” “Because I called him gay.” She laughed and smiled thinking I was joking and was about to say something else when we both heard the big fella yell for help. “We prob should check on him” I said and took a deep hit from my vape exhaling more white vapor than was coming from the wrecked truck. A car pulled up and the driver asked if anyone called 911, I said no and he started dialing. “I’m Michelle”, she said and extended her left hand to me to help me out of the car. She presented her left hand palm down so I could clearly see that she didn’t have a wedding ring. I took her hand and got out of the car then released her hand. It was just a short moment but it lasted for decades. I felt an electricity in her touch, the softness of her skin but the strength and firmness of an unyielding woman who was not unsure of herself. She was breeding stock and with each step she took, her breasts bounced slightly and jiggled revealing that they were indeed real and without a doubt perfect. “I’ve never seen anyone drive that fast through that turn before.” she continued. There’s at least a dozen wrecks here a year from people doing the speed limit and you were going how fast?” “105” I replied. “Maybe 110 when I finally hit the brakes.” “You’re insane.” She said and smiled, then adjusted her sundress, undoing one of her buttons revealing a little bit more cleavage. Her nipples were perky and nearly penetrated the fabric. “Its hot this morning…What kind of car is that? It looks German.” “It’s a Miata. Its basically a super car. It has 180hp but don’t let that fool you, the car only weighs a little more than 2200 pounds. Okay, so you've got to understand why the Mazda Miata is such a big deal—it's not just a car; it's a whole vibe! Picture this: It's super lightweight, right? That makes it incredibly fun to drive; it’s like it's practically gliding along the road. And it's got this perfectly balanced rear-wheel drive, so it handles like a dream, especially on curves. Seriously, it's like dancing... but with a car!” I paused for a few moments to catch my breath then added “Plus, it’s affordable, which is crazy considering how sporty it is. It’s like the everyman’s sports car. You can actually own a roadster without breaking the bank!” “Oh well, that’s nice I guess.” She said and continued, “I have to go now actually, I need to…like do some…chores…I mean get ready for work. Bye.” She buttoned up her sundress then ran off back to her driveway. “Are you a fucking idiot?” I heard the big fella yell. I watched as Michelle sprinted up her driveway, not looking back once even though sirens were blaring and the firetrucks and ambulances had arrived. “You had her melting in your hand and you sperged out like a retard about your car? What the hell is wrong with you? I don’t even want to kick your ass anymore, that was the worst thing I’ve ever seen.”

First Issue!

• Author's Note: Hello! Yes I am not dead, yet! And so we march on with the series! I still have more college work to do until I'm done, but we're getting near that. Also I'd like to officially say that Issue #61 can be considered as an official end OF a BOOK 1 for Beast World. PLEASE READ CAREFULLY!!! I SAID end of book 1 NOT the series! We shall continue on, soon enough. So, relax, enjoy the read and if you like what you see, you can support me on my ko-fi page! This is also where I post art drawn by me of various characters from Beast World or other series or one shots I write!

The night before Michael's departure was one of various mixed emotions, that melded into a concoction of both cheer and anxiousness. The human and his tribe of tuskir would share food as they aided their newest member in his preparations.
Woh and Oinna worked carefully together to prepare several vials of poison, diluted with water, as well as a few herbal medicines.
Zurra and Azhul would work the forge, daughter and mother stoking the fires of their smithy's hearth to finish up a steel knuckle duster that the older woman had been preparing to forge from before. After replacing the metal rods on his leather bracers with steel and studding the leather for extra reinforcement, the two put forward their creations for Michael to dawn, to which he was greatful.
Urla and Runhar would share more of what they know about the Rock Backs or what to expect of their leader, but the discussions from before already covered most of that information.
After all that could be done had been finished, a fresh leather backpack of supplies was provided to the human with a few extra tools, besides his own belongings, and then all that remained to do was for them to steel themselves.
Maybe not everyone realized the implications of this separating venture, but one knot that could build in their throats would be at the realization that their newest tribe member was about to leave and depending on how things would fare... he might come back unharmed and with stories plentiful in detail of what happened, he might not return to them at all or, at worst... he'd be befallen by a fate they'd not know of.
A final meal together was being held, most of the people of the tribe awake, decided to remain as such and hold out this white night with Michael, waiting with a discomfort that was palpable in the air. As the time of reckoning was slowly coming upon them, the relaxed attitudes of all involved began to stifle and die down.
Vodra and Nushii were situated closest by him, the latter curled up in a half asleep ball next to Michael, rather than sitting. Runhar, Ghura and Azhul, sat further to his sides, their sitting positions, curving around the fire they all encircled, with Oinna, Zurra and Urla being on the other side of the slowly dying flame. And of course, Woh, unlikely to leave herself out from this gathered vigil, was sat atop Michael's hair, camouflaged partially by his thickened curly locks. Nobody knew what to say, there was nothing easy to bring up, but doubt and uneasiness in one's heart might lead them to speak their mind, out of a compassionate worry.
Zurra was the one bearing a heavy seed of doubt and fear in her breast. As she held tightly onto a metal mug full of steaming broth, she took a brief sip of it as her gaze lifted to look at the grouping around the fire. "We certain this be the correct choice? We coulda 'bandon de Hay-yen group, the whol' allyin' with 'em plan... it is too risky to... well, to do this!" The elderly sow spoke, her voice not showing her usual furious anger derived from passion, but instead upset, born of frustration, fear and uncertainty.
"It might be, but I want to do it. I've been thinking why am I doing this to basically save a group of people with whom we were basically at war a month ago. Their upbringing by their leading shaman and elders is not an excuse for their actions, but wouldn't it be nice to get them a chance? A chance that they are also willing to take, even if they feel skeptical about our intentions and us about their?" Michael looked at Nushii who slept and then exchanged a glance with Vodra who gave a slow nod and blink back.
"Bah! These two's exceptions an' ya kno' that." Zurra said as she then sat her mug down on a crate forcefully, spilling a bit of the contents.
"There ain' no point in arguin'. The deal was struck an' backin' out now will jus' give us headaches with the Rock Backs." Gharna said with a snort which vocalized better than any words that she wasn't thrilled either about this.
"Aye, ma'. Ya kno' already when he makes up 'is mind ta do somethin' he sticks to it worse than blood stains on cloth. Heh... same type-a stubborness that got 'im stuck fer hours keepin' yer forge stoked." Azhul added with a chuckle as she looked at her mother than at Michael, who smiled and laughed with a tired tone.
"Even if we don' like it, we have already all agreed to help make this happen. Otherwise I don' think we'd have put the efforts we did towards preparin' Michael fer da trip." Runhar interjected as well as he sipped his own broth from a bowl.
As the consensus from before had been reaffirmed verbally, the group had fallen quiet once more, in a silence that showed the stewing emotions that bubbled below it. Michael felt it too, he knew what these situations were like from having to deal with them with his own family.
"Well, while I'm gone, hopefully not long, I thought it would be good to get some things done, even if not everything gets finished, I'm thinking that we should keep to a... hm... how to word this? A time line?" The human said uncertain on how to properly put his thoughts in words. Certainly would seem unlike him to struggle with this, but only when his guard was down. In this moment there was no immediate threat, so he was as true to the real him as he could be.
"Oh? Afraid things will stagnate while you are gone due to some of us being uncertain of the situation? Although I certainly appreciate yer concern, none shall remain still while I am here. What have you been thinking of?" Urla asked from her seated position, her inquisitive questioning being as cold as her usual tone.
"Well. I believe there's two things that are need to get done. Integrating the remaining Hay-yen and starting up with trading goods. We still have hos-... injured refugees that are being treated, due to their... shakey condition, right? We need to see that they can adapt to their situation like Nushii and Vodra did. Maintain aid and contact with the Hay-yen settlement, I think this would be best done by working together on things you and they need, maybe repairs and expanding a bit." Michael would say certain of his thoughts on the matter.
"I wasn't going to wait for you to ask, but we'll try to help with that as well. I believe it will be... emboldening to see us work along Tuskir for the others." Vodra said while looking at Nushii. Soon after she'd meet Michael's gaze, with a glint of important purpose in them. "And hence we know not what happened with the old shaman, we could also focus on geting a better grasp on that, as well, since we've been discussing about it."
Michael nodded in agreement, his expression showing that he was pleased with Vodra's additions to his points.
Urla would nod as she listened before clearing her throat. "I see the point. We'll be doing our best here, so make sure you return to us in one piece. That is an order from me to you, as your den mother, Michael." The old sow spoke with utmost seriousness in her tone.
"Understood, Elder Urla." He replied with a cheeky tone, a faint smirk creeping up on his lips.
Soon after the human's reply, the slow steps of Yenna approaching could be herd in the crisp silence of the night. The young Tuskir moved with stuttered and tired steps as he came about closer, holding Michael's phone in one hand and a carving of wood in the other.
"Got your fill of references?" Michael asked with a soft smile as Yenna handed him his phone, tucking it into his leather backpack.
"Aye, but tis ain't based on 'em... keepin' those in me workshop. Drew a few sketches in coal based on 'em, too." The young tuskir said with a tired huff. He then held up the tiny wooden statue that depicted an elderly scars covered tuskir, with a billowing cloak and two handaxes.
Michael looked at it as his heart knotted with a renewed sorrowful melancholy. He held up his hand as his expression asked wordlessly if he could hold it to which Yenna handed it. The human looked at it closely. The carved tuskir struck a pose of on guard and ready to attack, the expression although hard to read for Michael, the eyes were shown with a guardian's battle focus carved into them.
"It looks just like the old man... you have an amazing hand Yenna." Michael said while looking the statue of Spek from all angles possible. Unknown if by accident or if by unconcious choice, Michael ran his digits under the statue's base, feeling it to have been carved up.
Turning it upside down he glanced at carved letters in the Tuskir's written tongue, which to him looked akin to unreadable scratches. Before he could even ask about their meaning Yenna spoke, almost solemnly.
"Tough Hide Spek, The Forever Guardian." The young tuskir said as he sniffled while seating himself near Michael.
"Looks like a good piece, brother." Gharna said from the side with a soft proudness to her voice.
"Indeed. Where are you thinking of putting it?" Michael confirmed his own feelings of admiration towards the small sculpture.
"Thought ya could hold onto it, a reminder o' us fer while yer gone. I was useless in that fight, hidin' with the younger piglets an' guardin' 'em... actin' as if it got to it I could protect them... while you all were layin' yer lives down, fightin'. This is the only thing I'm good at... you were close to 'im so I thought it would be only natural that he look over ya for us." Yenna said with a pain of his own in his words as he verbally flagellated himself over his helplessness.
"Yenna. Don't be harsh on yourself, everyone's got their talents. Yours will be most important." Michael then stood up in a very official manner and he put a hand on the young tuskir's shoulder. "You'll actually make yourself invaluable. You'll be pretty much carving all the handles for the steel peelers we will be selling. And to make the sales go better I recommend making them with engraved designs in the wood or even carving random names into them, since some people love buying stuff like that."
At that point Yenna looked back at Michael, the previous glint of emotionally charged energy dissapearing from his gaze while the unhearable echo of a mute glass crack seemed to make the young tuskir wince. "I'll be what?!"
"Yes." Michael said with a small proud smile as he nodded and patted Yenna on the back.
Gharna couldn't help herself, so she let out snorts, chuckles and short squeals as she giggled. "W-well hah! Ahem... pft... blood brother, you always did say you liked to carve things daintier than plain handaxes..." she added in a teasing tone.
"By the Hunt Father, that sucks for ya Yen-yen." Azhul said trying and succeeding a bit better at masking her chuckles. Still, the large tuskir woman's giggles would be interrupted by a slap on her furred nape from her own mother who seemed to hear her. "AGH! What was that fer?!"
"Who do ya fink is gon' be makin' the blades?" The older buff sow asked while looking at her daughter with mild dissapointment.
Azhul took half a minute longer than she should have to spit out an answer. "Us?" She said while Zurra stared at her with mild dissapointment, giving a single solemn confirming nod. "Oh-... ohhh.... Uughhhhhh... us..." she said with a premptively exhausted tone, as she came to this realization, with a deflating snort and groan while facepalming.
Azhul's reaction managed to rip chuckles and hearty laughs from most of those around, Michael laughing hard enough to nearly keel over from it. As the human took a moment to calm down, the corner of his eye would be greeted by the first wisps of light presenting themselves on the horizon. The moment he saw them, his jovial laugh seemed to drop, his eyes looking at the slowly crawling rays of light as if they were telling him something.
"Well... it seems like my time has expired. I'll... uhm... check my shack once over and make sure I didn't forget anything." The human said as he took a glance into his leathet backpack and then slung it over his shoulders.
"Ah-... alright. We'll start cleaning up here and when we're all done, we'll see you at the gate." Runhar said as he finished his broth, his tone betraying his own insecurities despite supporting this final plan.
Michael nodded back to the captain before taking a few moments to grasp a half asleep Woh and untangle her from the curls at the top of his head. Although he tried not to wake her, the amphoran woke up blinking lazily one eye at a time before her gaze focused on Michael's face.
"Aaagh~... is the borin' talking done, yet?" She asked while stretching relaxed inbetween Michael's digits, then groaning and going limp much like a sibling would when carried by the older one.
"Yeah. And I'm also preparing to leave. Sun's about to come up so I need to get to the Rock Backs." The human replied with a chuckle at the display before leaning down to set Woh on the seat he previously occupied.
The little amphibian humanoid held onto his digits as if to protest the release. "You promise yer comin' back, ye? I've got years o' hugs and cuddle naps I gotta make up for and I'm needin' ya for that." She said while slowly letting go and curling up on the seat, her gullet inflating as she croaked with exhaustion.
"Mhm. Don't worry. I'll come back and that's a promise I intend to keep." Michael said giving Woh a few scritches onto her back, at which the amphoran let a few low and quick croaks akin to a cat's pur.
"Good... an-... don't take too long... otherwise I'm latchin' myself to your face and never letting go, kero..." Woh said while struggling to stay awake, her conciousness fading as she'd doze off.
Michael smile as he laughed silently responding with a nod before making his way to the shack he called a home for the past while. Inside the ex-storage hut, he'd give the place one final cursory glance, making sure to pack a few clothes he nearly forgot thrown about. Once that was done with, as he was about to turn and exit, the door would creak behind him.
Vodra, together with a half awake Nushii, waltzed in slowly. Michael, unsurprised, would turn and smile as he rubbed one of his eyes. "Eh? Going to sleep already? And here I thought you'd see me off at the gate."
"Nushii's about to keel over asleep again, so I thought it'd be good if she was at least in our beds. I for one am not a fan of things such as seeing someone off in a group." Vodra said while leaning against a creaky wooden wall.
Nushii would stumble a bit before flopping herself onto Michael, who, despite being startled, manages to hold himself and the half asleep Hay-yen up. "Why ya need to go? Who are we going to listen to music with as we sleep, eh? Screw the others... my cousin is a doo doo head anyways..." she mumbled and groaned while nuzzling her head into Michael's hair while closing her half open tired eyes.
"Ay... don't say that. Sigh... I know what it is like to have toxic family members... there's no excuse for the things they did, but that doesn't mean some of them can change, ya know? She was really fired up back at camp. She at least seems to want to have you around. Give it a go and see how you feel about it, then decide if YOU want her in your life, ok?" Michael would say while scratching one of Nushii's ears with a hand and petting her shoulder with the other. "Also... please get off... I feel like my bacl or my knees will give out... p-please." He groaned.
Nushii would let out an affirmative yawned yap like noise, although hard to tell what exactly she was agreeing to. She'd push herself off of Michael and then flop onto one of the beds, sniffing about and crawling her way into a curled up position, smack in the middle of Michael's bed.
The human giggled at the sight as he began making his way to the door, where Vodra stood leaned against the wall. "I uhm... wanted to thank you... for everything." He'd say looking at Vodra as he whispered his words.
"Thank me? I should be the one doing that." Vodra replied in the same low tone.
"Well... I wanted to thank you for all the help you've given around, for trusting me, for co-operating in the beginning... for not slitting my throat in my sleep once you two were out of holding, heh." Michael said with a clearly jesting tone towards the end.
Vodra listened silently as her ears would lower, her head turning to look at him. "I see. I feel like I am the one that owes you... thinking about it... it sounds foolish, but getting taken hostage was the best thing that happened to me. Before that I found myself not really caring about much... I just wanted to do what I had to do and sleep... because at least when I was asleep I didn't feel miserable. Now... I'm actually relatively eager to see what I'm doing when I'm awake."
The Hay-yen woman took a moment to glance at Nushii, who had settled in and appeared to be asleep, as she then gazed back at the human and with a rather stiff and awkward motion she's lean forward her massive and hunched frame, pressing her forehead against the side of his face and her snout into his neck. "When we talked about The Devourer... before that... I never even considered if it was not true or fake or at least... not my truth... not what I wanted to believe in. I just accepted it and resigned myself to the fate I was preached to end up with... if not for you... I'd still see each day as a bleak and empty moment of a pointless existence." Vodra said as small whines escaped at times between her words, a wetness taking to her eyes, that Michael felt against the side of his face.
The human would acknowledge Vodra's subtle burst of emotions by wrapping an around her neck, rubbing the top of her head between the ears. "I struggled with something like that to... the feeling of living for no reason only to know you'll die and that the end might be horrible. The faith of my specific tribe of people back home preached of their beliefs in a bleak and depressing manner, too. I hated it and 'cause of it... I still fear death now, but I've been getting better, you will too. No true Gods would want their mortal children to be miserable, instead they'd want them to learn to live satisfied and enlightened lives and... if there's no Gods that await us when it is all done... at least we know we lived in a good honest way, that we deemed fit and that made us happy."
Vodra didn't reply as she shook lightly against Michael, instead listening content. She'd pull her head back to look at the human, half his face covered in a mix of stray fur hairs mixed with a wetness produced by her tears. As if by instinct she'd give his mug a few licks to clean up the mess before pulling back. "Well... y-yeah. That's what I'm thankful for." She'd say as her usual collected self would start showing again. "Now, get going. Don't want those Rock Backs to go back on their deal 'cause you're arriving late. I need to catch a bit of rest anyways..." The Hay-yen would say as she went past Michael and then curled up on her own bed.
"Sleep well." The human replied as one last faint smile rested upon his lips as he exited the hut, the door creaking as he left.
His lonesome steps made the mix of grass and dirt bemeath his boots to crackle and slosh as he walked. Still, Michael didn't hear them as his mind thought of the situation that was awaiting him. Nobody he could trust would be by his side, he'd have to fake his true self for the purpose of apperances and maintaing their ruse.
'Heh... and here I thought I'd never be the type of person to pretend to be someone he isn't, for the sake of gaining something. Sigh... there's a first for everything, I guess. I said the same thing when I was younger about smoking, yet I fell into that myself. Eeeeh... I could go for a smoke... if I had any left.' Michael thought as he then bumped into something akin to a soft pillar.
Taking half a second to recover from his broken focus, Michael looked at the obstacle he bumped, quickly realizing it was actually Azhul. Confused, his mind quickly came to a possible conclusion to her sudden appearance near his old hut. "Oh- Sorry for taking a moment longer to linger! Was saying goodnight to Vodra and Nushii. Took a second longer than I thought."
"Heh. Aye, yer spot on an' no worries. I just wondered if yer reconsidering this whol' thing. Wouldn't blame ya if you just wanted us to fight it out wif the Rock Backs. It'd make things easier honestly." The large young sow said with a clearly jovial tone, albeit with a tinge of exhaustion to it.
"Heh. I couldn't ask that of you all. We barely made it through that ordeal and not without paying hefty prices... all of us." Michael said in a easy tone that tried and failed to hide a bitterness he still held in himself.
"... Michael. Spek wouldn't blame ya fer his death, truly... Ya kno' that, right?" Azhul said in a softened tone as her ears flopped slightly, a small huff leaving her flat snout.
"I know. I discussed this before. I just... it's not wether he blames me or not... it is wether I can stop blaming myself for it." Michael said with a strained face, his expression seeming to tense, his nostrils flared as he pressed his lips together tight, his eyes shining from the moon light with the glaze of tears that coated them, still and unshed. "So, I'll do my best to care for you all... like Spek would have."
Azhul looked Michael in the eye and after he took a moment to release the tension in his body, the large Tuskir woman, went on to wrap her arms around him and embrace him. He'd pull the human's head into her chest as a three fingered hand grasped his back, the other resting onto the crest of his head.
"Eh?! Azhul?! Didn't you say this is somethi-" Michael yelped muffled from the embrance, his previous sombre mood entirely changing, simply from how sudden the hug yhay enveloped him was.
"Aye. Somethin' ya don' just do with anyone, for tuskir that is. Ya hoomans do it for multiple reasons, ain't that about right? Consoling someone, sounds about right as one o' 'em." The built sow said while slightly tensing her arms around him, as if afraid he'll slip from her grasp. She rested her head on top of his, taking a second to sniff his hair lightly.
"Ah-... yeah... that'd be a reason. Heh... thank you... this... does help." Michael said as he wrapped his own arms around the tuskir woman, although unable to fully wrap them around her.
Azhul huffed repeatedly quick and short as her flat nose nuzzled into Michael's curls, before she looked up, staring at the starry sky while still holding him. "Oi. Ya make sure you come back in one piece, ya hear? And don' go dying, getting nabbed, fallin' fer some ditzy nobody's schemes or anythin' that'll keep ya from coming back to... to... to us, ye?"
"Heh. Don't worry. I'll make sure as soon as I'm done there, I'm coming back ASAP... ah... you'd not know what 'ASAP' means..." Michael said from the hug with an awkward laugh.
"Eh. Presume it's some word that's supposed to mean that you'll come quick or as soon as possible. So don' worry. I getcha." Azhul said as she seemed to take a few moments longer before letting go of Michael, the hand that wrapped to the human's back, now lagged behind a moment longer before letting go with a twitch in the tuskir woman's digits.
Michael realizing it wasn't the time to explain acronyms, nodded as she smiled with a relaxed exhale. "Yeah. Just about that. Well. Let's go then. Don' wanna make the others have second thoughts as well." He'd say while starting to walk in the direction of the gate. Still, Michael stopped immediately as he noticed Azhul was still turned back and unmoving. "Ah... you're not coming?"
The large sow seemed frozen for a few moments, her previous hand still semi outstretched forward, as if reaching for something in the air. After her digits twitched once more and a louder sligtly snotty sounding huff escaped her flat nose, Azhul stretched and let out a yawn. "Ah-... w-well... huff ...I already said my piece. Gonna go ahead an' get some sleep." She replied as she then began heading in the opposing direction at a slow pace.
"Oh, right. Rest well and take care! I'll miss ya and your mother! Hope we can forge more stuff together when I'm back!" Michael replied with his spirits properly uplifted.
Azhul staggered her steps at his words, as if from exhaustion. "... C-Can't wait. Come back already." She said as she waved with the back of her hand, still going her way to rest.
Michael nodded despite knowing she couldn't see him as he then headed to the gate. There more words, encouragements and goodbyes were exchanged by all members of the tribe to their departing pink member. After a last awkward moment of half muttered sentences, Runhar had the gates opened, Michael stepping out towards the darkened forest.
Before he got too far and the rest of his tribe closed up their little safe haven, the human turned to them and in the dim light of the few torches around, he said: "I'll miss you all! See you soon!"
From there his departure felt as quick as the wind, as his form faded into the black nothingness of the forest at night. All of a sudden, the time this stranger turned friend spent in this little settlement, in the middle of nowhere, felt a little shorter than before, but not any less important to all involved.
Next Issue!

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Part 1, To Hone Ones Skill:
With the thunderous clash of steel against wood and leather against stone. The shifting and moving clash between two young fighters was well and truly underway in the castles sparring right.
"Don't give em an inch Elisan!" A spectator on the sidelines yelled out loudly with a cheer. It quickly followed up by another person. "Get her Vincent! You got this!" Other whoops and hollars could be heard amongst the dozen or so heavily armed and armored spectators on the side of the ring as the two young fighters danced in their clashing thunderous dance.
"Yield Vincent! It's futile!" The young Elisan called forth with vigor. She was a young and stout woman. A half elf that was the result of a one night stand gone wrong. While she did wear a helmet. Around the back of her neck a long set of golden hair with a slight red tint poked out. It contrasting well against her soft tanned skin.
"Not a chance El! Not till I win!" Vincent, her opponent fiercely clashing and lashing out with a set of strikes that would make most women crumple. Elisan however wasn't most. While she might be young and Vincent easily was stronger than her. The young woman had been spending a majority of her time practicing with a longsword and shield to great effect.
"Your funeral!" Elisan said as she deflected the last strike of his set before lashing forth with the training blade. It lunging past Vincent's face and making his cocky grin instantly change to anger. The duo had been in a rivalry for months now about which was the better of the two. Elisan had been notorious amongst their order for her resilience and determination while Vincent was known even beyond the orders influence for his speed and powerful strikes. They were evenly matched in just about every aspect.
As both blocked, parried, and defended against each other's strikes. The thudding and loud foot steps of an all too familiar set of boots drew down the main steps of the keep towards the ring. Many of the heavily armed men and women of the order stepping aside to clear a path for a very old half elf. His name, Moderon. He was the leader of their order and the current Primark of their order. A valued and respected position by all.
"That's enough!" His thunderous tone boomed just as the dueling duo clashed blades. Both immediately stopping and turning to face him. Both bowing their heads. "This constant rivalry in our ranks has gone on long enough. You both have dedicated so much effort into fighting one another. You have forgotten your lessons."
He would place a hand on the wooden railing of the fence before vaulting over with ease. The ease someone 176 years old shouldn't possess. "If you two insist on fighting your own. Then you shall fight me." His stout tone growled as he raised a hand towards the keep. The Order Crown, a helmet passed down from warrior to warrior in the order flying from its perch and out the open front door of the keep to him. His hand catching it with ease before he slipped it on.
"Sir. This is merely a playful disagreement." Elisan said from her bowed state before Vincent added. "it's true sir. We are only joking." But before either could continue. The hard and tough love of their mentor and leader rang true as he drew his mace and lashed out with speed despite his heavy armor. The first strike lashing out towards Elisan. The woman just barely being able to raise her shield to block the impact. It sending her tumbling back ten feet into the wooden railing. It cracking against her breast plate and what sounded like a fractured rib.
Next it was Vincent's turn. And despite the well known speed and power of the man. He was no match as their mentor side stepped the attack before punching into Vincent's exposed face. Sending him flat on his back. "You are both growing slow and complacent in this world. You." He said before turning to Elisan. "Have forgotten your foot work in favor of aggression. And you." He shot his gaze back just as Vincent lashed out from his prone place at his mentors ankle. Only for him to raise his foot and stomp down on the blade. His armored boot pinning it to the stone floor of the castle.
"You have forgotten your helmet. Your defense and most important piece of armor. One bad strike to the face or neck. And you'll end up like your father." He growled down at the young man as Elisan lashed out with her practice sword against her mentor from behind. His heavily armored form absorbing the blades blows and even a thrust attempt due to the chainmail in between plates.
He would turn sharply towards her and with one last of his own shield. He sent her blade flying into the air out of her grasp. Leaving the panting woman weaponless. "I grow tired of this." Their mentor finally growled out after observation both of them for a moment.
"I am due to leave this place in a decades time. And you two are forgetting the years I've taken of my life. Of this orders time to train you. And for what?" He scowled before saying. "You both have lots to learn on your own...you both have potential. All of you do." He boomed the last bit after everyone had gone silent due to his easy win. "But I shall not accept from you nor anyone here infighting. Training is one thing but this has grown beyond that. I have seen rivalry turn to jealousy too much. I will not tolerate it."
Both Elisan and Vincent would bow their heads and would both mutually apologize. "If you two wish to truly fight so much. Take a tenth of the energy you have spent in this ring and slay the enemies of our order. You'll surprise not only everyone else. But yourselves as well." With that he would hang up his mace and would vault back over the railing.
"Missions have been posted!" He said with one last thunderous boom as he departed back up the 23 steps to the keeps doors.

This chapter took a long time to get out. Life has me super busy. Two jobs, married, two kids, still sober. I like how this turned out, however, someone new stole the show this time. As always, leave feedback, I appreciate it so very much.
[FIRST] [DELETED SCENES] [PREVIOUS]
~ ~ ~
As I reentered my true body without recieving a mending, the vicious wounds I endured manifested into being as I reactualized into my true Self. Through the pain, I couldn't help but think on Raver's words to me.
"The doors have to be closed."
~ ~ ~
Without recieving a mending in Raver's Dreamtime bubble, reactualization was a fucking bitch. I Perceived my Self as having quite the damaged form, my Soul was fucked over by bombardment from dreadlight and my physical body simply disagreed with it all, stating that I was mostly whole and intact, only being damaged by wounds I had already endured. The three parts had an argument of a sort amongst themselves and with the power of the Dreamtime, reached a tortuous compromise.
I'm certain I seizured and blacked out through the process.
I awoke with my body shaking and covered in a cold sweat, Tsula and Luna above me, chanting in the secret language of their esoteric Traditions. The two of them each held diffetent tools required for their cultural and subtle manipulation of reality. Soft hands, awash with mana and glowing tattoos, were placed on my chest, right where my heart was. Cold, icy fingers cradled my soul protectively, keeping it connected to my body in the here and now as harsh, physical laws rent my form.
I was paying the price for Raver's hubris, and I had almost overdrafted. Thoughts of mortal over reach faded from my mind as I slipped into cool and soothing darkness.
Cold and bloodied fingers were pressed against my chest and did little to assuage the burning ache that was my soul. I couldn't focus on anything else as I gazed at the hollowed out body of my beloved. She had been beautiful, gorgeous even, and due to give birth to our daughter in two weeks. Now, the... dead thing in front of me could barely be defined as a corpse. Her skin had been peeled away like a banana and her insides removed, leaving a bloodied, hollow space. The flesh and bones had been scooped away like ice cream, leaving little in the way of remains. Our unborn child had been pulled out and repurposed with the stolen parts of her mother by dreadlight and a mage's fell Will to form the body of a Thing.
With silent tears streaming down my face, I placed the ring I had proposed to her with and put it onto my finger, next to my plain tungsten one. The simple act of removing it almost caused what remained of her hand to simply fall apart in my fingers. I'm not sure how long I stayed like that. I couldn't even hold her body against mine for fear of it crumbling away into a vile mess. I ignored what was going on around me as I kneeled in the spent summoning circle.
The world around me split and rent itself into distorted imagery, as though I were looking at everything from under a pool with gentle waves. Some parts were compressed together and others were stretched out, not quite like a mirror maze as the world was still simply one cohesive image. Additionally, things seemed closer or further in ways that defied conventional Euclidean geometries. The only area not affected by this blatant disregard of spatial dimensions, had been myself and a scant few feet around me.
What...?
A heavy thud broke me out of my thoughts and I saw my Father landing next to me. Since both of us had been prepared, he was wearing, much like myself, full motorcycle safety gear. It had been enchanted and bolstered by hidden runes and severed Will, turning everything into protective objects that even defended against potent and offensive mysticism. The equipment in question had been chosen for its sheer mundanity and ease of access, letting the powerful enchancements skirt around the Lie and Consensus leaving the magic fully intact and potent.
"Alistair," I heard my Father say to me with grim calm as he twisted the space in front of us into a right angle, redirecting rapid gunfire, "I can't do this alone."
I remained silent.
"Damnit, Son," he growled out then literally kicked my ass with his heavy boot, almost knocking me over onto my side, "get a hold of yourself, Its here now. You handle the mages."
That got me going. I finally got up, my grief was as a lead weight and prevented me from doing what was needed. With a last look at C'Leena's hollowed out corpse, I grit my teeth, steeled my nerves and called forth my magic from the Aether.
Was I dreaming? No, worse, I was in a memory...
"Stay out of my way and watch yourself," Father said to me, "I can't pull my punches against that."
"Gotcha," I replied almost absently and turned to face the assembled shadow mages. They had inexplicably stopped theit gunfire to admire the Thing they brought into existence from Somewhere.
I couldn't help but stare, either.
Standing on top of the northernmost anchor stone, an ugly, multi-faceted block of copper with glyphs and sigils harshly hewn into it, was a naked woman. The glyphs themselves were hard to look at, as though their mere presence were an affront to reality itself, which they were. The woman's skin was a darkened olive tone and she was tall as well as athletic, lithe and fit. Her shoulder length black hair was bushy and curly, flowing about her head almost like an afro. As she ran her hands down her body, I could not help but notice that everything was oddly symmetrical and too perfect. It was unnerving me greatly and triggered an uncanny valley response that tore at my heart.
The body this Thing was wearing had belonged to my fiancée.
Father didn't let It have time to get acclimated. Sidestepping forwards, he drew upon the full capabilities of his Path, eyes backlit by stars, an impossible physical sword of abstract spatial geometries held in his left hand, and a reality defying, super-dense distortion held in his right.
The world contorted and screamed under his might.
I awoke with a start and a low groan, glad to be awake and free of that horrid nightmare again. Not for the first time, I wished I had that motorcycle gear still. I had been far too reckless then and immediately thereafter, and everything had been damaged beyond repair. I could never find anyone I trusted enough to make those enchantments anyways. Farnsworth could only enhance the mundane qualities as he didn't know enough about mana warding to permanently imbue the protections I wanted nor needed for my line of active field work.
Looking around, I saw Rue asleep on the other side of the bed and Spades was nestled between us, his massive form making a visible dip in the mattress. The big monster dog was on his back, legs splayed open and snoring loudly with his tongue hanging out of his muzzle. I was reminded a lot of my Lola when she had still been around in the flesh, making me smile with old and pleasant memories. I must have been out for some time for Spades to be here.
A quick, almost reflexive, mental orison told me everything I already suspected. My mana reserves were shot, my body had been through the ringer and my soul was frayed and burnt. While I knew I owed my continued existence to Raver and her godsend, I also knew it had taken a great and terrible toll on my Self. Miracles like that usually held some kind of hidden cost, even if they weren't readily apparent.
Getting off the bed slowly, I began to look for my pack. It took far longer than than usual as I had to steady myself quite a bit from the spinning room. I managed to be quiet, however, and didn't wake up Rue nor Spades. Finally in the shower, after some time and using the wall to support myself, I let the almost scalding water roll over my aching body. The pendant on my neck protecting me from recieving any burns or aggravating the injuries I had, both old and new.
With the hot water soothing aching muscles, I began to think and take stock of my situation. I had never been on the back foot like this, low on any kind of resource, having few allies, and being pressed for time. It was like something out of a bad novel or shitty indie Steam(R) game. Though, real life was often stranger than fiction and had no real need for a logical cause and effect dynamic. If this was going to become the norm, then I had to find another method of approaching my wendigo problem.
I was simply running out of time.
After some long moments of thinking, I began to wash my hair, using the guest products on the corner caddy. They were so much nicer than anything I would have willingly bought and made me seriously consider changing up my usual shampoo. The only idea I could come up with regarding those wendigos, besides an overwhelming frontal assault, was to appeal to their bottomless gluttony and barter for passage.
I resigned myself to actually try to negotiate with their clan leader, leveraging their horrid taboos against them to get what I needed.
Wendigos, unlike most strange cryptids, vampires and were-folk aside, had a lot of things known about them, especially how they powered their supernatural capabilities. It was a simple and rather straightforward process, the more heinous the act, the more mana they drew from it. Cannibalism, sacrilege, incest, murder, torture, hedonistic gluttony, or any number of other terrible and minor sins. As well as general lawbreaking and felonies, oftentimes combined to have as many as possible occur in the same sitting.
I audibly gasped with a sudden epiphany.
My fate had already been decided, by myself no less. In a bar I couldn't remember the name of, when I had been gazing into my bronze coin, I saw what I needed to do. I had to gift what measly scrap of knowledge I understood from Beyond the Infinite to those creatures. To let those wendigos defile and mutilate such sacred and pure knowledge to whatever whims their baleful minds could come up with.
"Fuck," was the only thing I could whisper at the thought of it all as I turned off the water, getting out of the shower. I cooled the bathroom down with but a thought and wiped away the condensation on the mirror with a towel that wasn't my own, finally getting a good look at myself without vertigo, as that had finally passed.
I looked like shit, and that was a compliment. Huge, fist shaped bruises of black, green and yellow littered my torso, though most were located on my left side and blurred together into an ugly shapeless mass. The ones on my right, however, were well defined and I could easily count the number of strikes. My face held a swollen black eye, I never noticed my diminished field of vision as I had gotten used to having them over the years. Turning gingerly and opening the mirror a bit so I could see my back, I grimaced. It was another spiderweb of a bruise, earned from when I had been smashed against the edge of Raver's Dreamtime bubble.
At least none of my fingers were broken, only very stiff and swollen, just like the rest of me. I probably couldn't drive for another day or so, either, not with my hands the way they were. As I looked, surprised I hadn't noticed earlier, the inside of my right hand was, branded. The skin, while fully healed, held the symbolic glyph that heralded the Path of Stars. A circle with nine curved lines inside it. Each line only intersected two others, but with the irregular placement of them, I could trace an intersection to any other one. In each of the open spaces, slightly off center, as a simple dot.
"Miracles leave their marks," I muttered to myself, almost disbelieving the literalness of the phrase.
I didn't bother drying off and struggled a bit getting into the clothes I brought with me, maroon athletic shorts and a black tank top. Exiting the guest bathroom, I thought about where I wanted to go. Settling on a destination, I went into the backyard, found a patch of grass in the shaded, morning sunlight and lay down. The grass was thick and rather soft, and the smell of the lemon tree and the garden was more pleasant and fragrant than they should have been.
Warding myself against dreaming, I pulled on the principles of the Aether, specifically, those of sun and storms. Since the Aether was a realm of energy and mana in all of its varying forms, I employed an advanced technique, a mysterion. It was something only able to be done by those that actually hailed from the Aether rather than having mastery over it. Pulling some of the sunlight and ambient warmth into my form, I converted measly scraps of energy directly into mana. The process was slow, and almost hardly worth the effort. It was like filling a bathtub with water, a single milliliter at a time.
Mana was now such a rare commodity, every miniscule drop of it mattered.
I settled in and entered a trance-like state, most of my attention devoted to my mysterion, though some of it was allowed to drift off elsewhere. While not exactly a dream, and while maintaining my mana draw, my mind conjured up nonsensical imagery and conversations between myself and others. I didn't pay them any attention as my thoughts wandered and drifted idly.
"I thought I'd find you out here," Rue said as I heard her sit down next to me. I didn't hear her walking, however, she continued to speak, "you've been asleep for a few days. What happened?"
"Got fucked," I replied easily, a little sarcastically as well. "Truthfully," I amended, "I got summoned by Raver. She pulled a shenanigan with Fate to let her have a waking dream."
"So she was hallucinating?" Rue stated, though it was more of a question.
"Damned straight," I confirmed, "she had Sasquatch and Farnsworth make something for her. It had to have been lethal, something like that. Anyways, we were talking and then one of Them showed up. Inside the Dreamtime bubble of hers. Found Raver's luminescence despite Mirzam hiding it."
"Shit. So It was physically there? That means It had a stolen body..." Rue said, trailing off.
"Yeah, it had a body alright," I almost growled out, "broke Raver's ritual with little effort. I spent everything I had to make a patch job just to keep it active, burned through all my mana, too. I did not want to be dispersed."
"I see," Rue said to me with understanding, "I wouldn't want to have to find my physical body without a tether either." There was a small pause before she spoke again, "So what happened next?"
"I made it mad with insults to buy time for the repaired shenanigan to stabilize Raver."
"What do you mean?" Rue asked as I heard her stretch out a bit, my eyes still closed.
"Her shenanigan was woven in such a way that whatever drug Sasquatch and Farnsworth made for her didn't just kill her," I answered with a pause then continued, "it let her do things beyond normality, anyways, my fucked up patch job let me tell Sasquatch that Raver had to stay dreaming."
"So he wouldn't just purge the elixir out of her," Rue stated, then added perhaps a tad bit defensively, "I know some things from other paths, not much, but some."
"That's good," I answered back, "knowledge is power."
"With us, it's quite literal."
I murmured in assent.
"So why did you make It mad?" Rue asked, "wouldn't It just draw strength from human emotions, especially in the Dreamtime?"
"It did," I answered back, "but It couldn't act properly on them, like human emotions were new and novel. The whole encounter was sloppy after a certain point, but I did almost die. Raver saved me, gave me a miracle."
"I saw," Rue said simply, "the mark on your hand was a giveaway."
I could only murmur in agreement again then asked, "Did you find a card in my hands, too?"
"I did," Rue replied after a few moments of silence, "it was debit card, with a note attached to it."
"From Procyon, right?"
It took a few moments for her to answer. "Yes, it was from Procyon," she took a breath and continued with wavering effort, "that damned bastard had it all planned out. Wrote a fucked up letter to me on a Google(TM) doc telling me not to worry and that this had always been his exit plan."
"Sounds like he knew what was going to happen," was all I could say.
"Yes, but, I miss him!" Rue all but snarled at me, then, in a small and quiet voice, whispered, "He was my best friend, and maybe we could've been more, y'know? Now... there's... There's just nothing, only memories of him left to mourn."
"I didn't know," I answered simply.
Rue spoke with a wavering breath before continuing, her thoughts more than a little disjointed, "a lot of what he wrote was personal, so I won't get into that, but he was certain that something catastrophic was going to happen to him and myself. So he made sure that I was at my secondary home, recovering from a job. I had just completed a mission from Raver and Mirzam, and was going to perform a ritual to patch up Spades after I got some sleep. Procyon also stated that someone has been altering things for a very long time."
"So that's why you were caught with yout pants down," I said, "you didn't even have time to recover." I paused, adjusting my mysterion as I had to refocus due to our conversation, "what did they have you do?"
"Some hedge wizards actually got a hold of an actual necromancy grimoire and charged mana tools in a graveyard," Rue said with a bit of a tired sigh, "they knew exactly what they were doing, and would have been rather powerful shadow mages if they had been capable of using starlight."
"Fuck," was all I could say, then formed an actual response after a few moments, "that shouldn't have been an issue for you. Hedges don't have our capability, though numbers may have evened out their odds."
"You're right, but they brought a spirit back before I could stop them," Rue answered with more than a little spite, "a real nasty piece of shit, too. Turned on the hedges, absorbed them, and put up a real mean fight against Spades and I. It was touch and go for a long time and I was actually fearful for my life, too."
"You won, though."
"Yeah, managed to send it kicking and screaming back to the Pit, exhausted most of my mana to do so. Fucking bastard."
There was a small silence between us as Rue became lost in her own thoughts. It was a while before I asked her, "Can you elaborate on what Procyon said about Fate being altered?"
"I can, actually, though it's a bit difficult since I'm not even a novice with the Path of Stars," Rue answered as I heard her shift a bit on the grass next to me. She paused as she seemingly collected her thoughts, "it's just that certain events were made to happen sooner or later. The big one, for our Node at least, was that you were always supposed to make your ancestral home translocate. It happened sooner than it should have."
"Fuck," I said, "So I wasn't supposed to send it away a few days ago?"
"No, that was supposed to happen after our wendigo thing, if the letter is to be believed."
"Fuck," was all I could say, "I do suppose that was a snap decision, I really didn't want Them to get a hold of anything inside. If I had been able to wait, or even had help, I'm sure I wouldn't have lost it to time and space."
"Exactly," Rue said with bitter excitement, "and we'd have access to everything in it. Losing your home was a big blow to our Node."
"Yeah, but at least They don't have it," I answered more spitefully than intended.
"Silver linings and all that, right?"
"Yeah, gotta look at the bright side, no matter how bleak," I answered back with a bit of sarcastic mirth, then said as I stretched a bit, readjusting my focus on my mysterion as well, "speaking of wendigos, I know what we need to do to solve that."
"Oh? Do tell, I couldn't come up with anything myself, kept running into dead ends," she said, then added, "lack of resources and help."
"Well, I don't think you're going to like it, I'm not sure I like it either."
"Don't keep me waiting," Rue said to me with a bit of sarcastic exasperation. I could sense her looking at me even though my eyes were still closed.
"I'm going to leverage their taboos against them, appeal to their insatiable greed and offer them what little I can understand of That Which Lies Beyond the Infinite." I sighed and added, "after all, how could they resist the allure of new magic?"
"You're right," she answered, "I definitely don't like it. I'm pretty sure it's not even wise to do so."
"Wise or not, it's the only way forward, I even saw it in a vision when I was manipulating fate magic."
"Have you talked to Mirzam or Raver about this vision of yours?"
"No, not yet, and I'm pretty sure I don't need to."
There was a bit of silence between us as she digested my words. I felt compelled to elaborate as I adjusted my mysterion again, losing a bit of my focus due to the depth of the conversation we were having.
"Acrux," I said, getting her attention fully by using the name of her star, "there's something you need to understand." I sat up, abandoning my mysterion in favor of giving her my full attention. Blinking a bit at the rise of light and warmth, I continued my thought process, "in the Dreamtime, the Thing I was fighting against, It was surprised and enraged that I was able to call upon knowledge that Lay Beyond the Infinite. Whatever those glyphs and powers are, They never wanted humans to know of them, let alone have them."
"Yet you want to give such power to wendigos of all things."
"At least the knowledge, corrupted or not, will still be on Earth," I said then added, "I'm not sure what you remember, but I know you've seen something from Beyond the Infinite. Your self revival and Spade's new form are proof of that. I was there, guided by Oracle. I Perceived something unknowable, something terrible, something no mortal has any right to gaze upon. Something I can hardly even begin to try to put into words. Raver Perceived it, too. It's how she managed to give me a godsend. So, what did you Perceive, really?"
Rue brought her knees up to her chest, thinking deeply. I could tell she was using her Perception to look inwards upon her Self. I waited patiently while she struggled to look at her soul's reflection against her mind and struggled even more to put the image there into words.
At long last, she spoke, her eyes still closed as she did so, "I'm not sure what I saw, there was too much, and I felt so small. Insignificant. Less than even a dismissed, intrusive thought. There is one thing I do remember. A doorway made of the might from two universes worth of truths and laws. A Thing was trying ro break through, but couldn't, not fully, yet the doors were opened, letting smaller ones through."
"The Doors have to be closed," I said, quoting Raver, before continuing, "that's what Raver said to me, before she sent me back to my body."
"Why didn't they mend you then?"
"They were being attacked in the waking world, too. It was a good plan on Their part, They just didn't expect us to put up so much of a fight."
"They never do, though I think that's changing."
"So that's our endgame, not sure how we're going to do it," I said, bringing the conversation back to topic, "at the moment, however, I'm going to eat a few of those mana-stuffed protein bars and fix your leg. I can't keep spending mana to be able to drive your truck. You'll have to use your own mysterion to get mana, too."
"I hate my Path's mysterions," the venom in her voice was palpable.
Before I could say anything, the backdoor opened, revealing Luna. She was wearing a bird-patterned sundress and her hair had been tied back into a loose ponytail. She put her hand over her eyes to shade them from the sun as she squinted against the brightness relative to that from inside.
"Hey, you two," she called out, "Grandmother says she needs to talk yo you."
"Alright," I called out, shakily getting up to my feet with a bit of a grunt. Everything still hurt. Rue had a bit of trouble as well, her leg was not recieving the rest and healing it deserved and needed.
"We're a mess, aren't we?" Rue asked aloud as we began to walk towards the bak door.
"Yeah, but you should see the other guys," I replied with a light chuckle, only to wince and hold my sides, "I forgot how much laughing hurts with fractured ribs."
"I really don't envy you right now," Rue said with a bit of a smirk as we entered Tsula's home, Rue entering first. "I wonder what Tsula wants to talk to us about?" Rue asked aloud, not really talking to anyone in particular.
I could only wonder as we followed Luna to the living room, the house pleasantly cool due to central air conditioning.
~ ~ ~
The moon was not in the sky, and I greatly enjoyed not having to endure the accursed, purifying light of day reflected by its surface, even if greatly diminished. The loathsome wound in my side had been a mortal blow, burning through my toughened flesh and form with unnerving ease and stunning, blinding pain. Once more, I looked at the oily, thin, and black ichor that dripped from my fingers, more human-like than I was comfortable with.
The mote of dreadlight I had recieved for my services had been the only thing that had kept me from vanishing entirely. Mortal alchemy -- science -- had advanced to such a degree so as to emulate the harsh light of day far too remarkably well. That hadn't been the worst part, that damned thaumaturgist had ensorcelled a curse upon the weapon as well. With effort, as the bulk of my power was directed at repairing the oozing wound, I altered my form and shape, struggling to maintain the illusion as I walked out onto the sidewalk from a side alley.
My contract was not yet completed.
The first two nights I had hidden myself away in the dark depths, raging against the oblivion that threatened to overtake me and ending my existence. The preparedness of the thaumaturgist had been unexpected, as well as the skill and the knowledge he had wielded so effortlessly. Without my guidance, nor presence, to instill fear into the gifted abetters, the wraiths I had gathered with me fell and fled into the night, abandoning their duties and contracts.
I would have never made this mistake against the herald of the bear.
Had I known the name of the mortal's star I had been tasked against, I would have demanded more than a simple mote of dreadlight and a paltry handful of coerced allies. Realistically, I should be grateful that I still had a kind of semi-existence. Quelling my anger and hatred, and swallowing my utter revulsion, my form rippled and took the guise of a tall, middle-aged human male in a common and unremarkable suit carrying an old and worn briefcase.
The artificial illumination around me flickered, emitting a grating hum in my presence and the thin television flickered oddly as it tried to display my image, failing to accurately do so. While tracking Arcturus's quintessence had been a bit of a task, as far too much time had passed, my familiarity with it granted me an advantage that overcame that difficulty. Traveling in my wounded state, however, had been much more arduous. Looking the woman at the reception desk over, I took on my role with hiden revulsion, aided by the illusion I was conjuring and the mimicry of my physical form.
"I'm detective Aiden Roth, and I'm looking for someone. I believe that he was here a few nights ago, definitely this past week," I said. My false, human voice had been made to sound smooth, suave and strong, interlaced with a suggestion, using what little forte I could spare. I put the worn and well-used briefcase I had conjured with me onto the counter with a heavy thud, using more of my forte to emulate such a simple thing. Opening it up, I fished out an image and showed the slightly grainy, black and white picture to the receptionist.
As the woman perused the conjured image, I could not help but hiss, my hand going to my side as I expended more of my forte than I had anticipated. The cursed wound fighting back fiercely against the dreadlight tethering my existence and life. I held my disguise with willpower of monumental proportions. A strength of will I rarely had been pressed to draw from.
Seeing the concerned look the woman gave me, I simply stated, shrugging off the pain with yet more expenditure of will, "An old injury, it flares up from time to time. No matter, have you seen this individual?"
"I'm going to need to see some kind of badge or warrant," the woman said with a genuine smile, "sorry."
The fear of losing her menial job overpowered my subtle suggestion. Unfortunate.
"Sure," I replied with a fake and well ptacticed, fetching smile, adjusting my forte to include another suggestion. I showed an actual badge with my assumed name and likeness. The mortal I was impersonating had been slain many years ago by my own hands, and the subtle illusion taking hardly any of my forte adjusted the dates and design of the badge to whatever was current.
Only a thaumaturgist, or a very particularly skilled sorcerer, could pierce the illusion. Against this mortal, there was no chance of resistance and she accepted the stolen badge without question.
She looked it over, as if trying to divine the legitimacy of it. "Okay," she finally admitted, "he was here a while ago, maybe a four or five days? I remember, 'cause I tried to flirt with him..."
I ignored her prattling and asked when she finished speaking, "Can you show me the room he used?"
"Sure, but it's been cleaned a few times since then."
With a nod, I let her lead the way to the room in question, staying silent. The lights around me flickered and hummed loudly in my presence. Had the woman been more observant, she could have seen my true shadow as I had not the forte to expend to hide it entirely from the ever changing lights. She opened the room in question, using what I could only assume was a master key card.
I immediately recognized the faded auras of quintessence.
"This will do," I stated, closing the door behind me and dropping my revolting disguise, using my forte to lock it.
I revealed my true form. My legs and arms lengthened and thinned, the black suit and red tie I was wearing became my skin, armor and form. My face and eyes became blank, gaunt and sunken, skin stretching out over it. The wound in my side made itself visible, it was an ugly red, peeling and oozing burn from my shoulder to my waist and took up most of my torso. The dreadlight I was using to prevent my oblivion illuminated the wound with a kind of sickly, crimson colored backlight. Black ichor oozed out from it and dripped onto the floor as I used the bulk of my forte to ablate the caustic, foreign quintessence from my form.
The woman looked at me as even her pitifully dull, mundane human senses told her that there was incredible danger in the room with her. She screeched and irrationally ran towards the bathroom as my presence became impossibly tall in the very finite space in the motel room. Using the smallest iota of my forte, I remotely smashed her fleeing form against a wall, pinning her there with unseen force as she begged, and sobbed for her pitiful life.
I ignored her for the moment.
Drawing upon more of my forte, freed up as I no longer needed a disguise, I sensed out where quintessence had been used, discovering two places, the bed and a wall. Imbuing the wall with my own forte, I witnessed a spectral, moving image of Arcturus throwing five darts at a map placed on the wall, one at a time, then draw intersecting lines to a single point on the map.
"Wendigos..." I hissed out in loathing, the skin on my face stretching and contorting with the movement as i spoke aloud with a nonexistent mouth. Even I knew their territory.
Turning to the second source of quintessence, I did the same thing. I saw Arcturus ward himself against dreaming and then hold a brilliant shield in the air, as well as a ball of fire. My knowledge of actual thaumaturgy told me that I would have great difficulties against those Knowings. I put the mystery of his Dreamtime excursion out of my mind for now, there was nothing I could do regarding that.
My expenditure of forte caused my horrid wound to pulse against my form painfully. With a hiss, I turned to the woman meekly begging me to spare her life as she was still pinned against the wall. I could use a thrall, especially as I could no longer gain allies, not without offering something in return to my current contract holders.
That was not a barter I wanted to engage in.
"Please... don't kill me... please... I'll do anything... please..."
The absolute terror in her eyes was delectable. Her fear invigorated me with energy and reminded me I needed to feed. However, the morsels offered by her would be more than sufficient for my needs. I dragged my left hand across my oozing wound, covering it in my own essence then flexed my forte. The clothes she was wearing split in half down the middle, revealing her naked form, making her shriek. I could see the ideas her panicked mind vomited forth as she renewed her struggles with vigor.
What I had in mind was so much worse than the mundane taking of her physical body she expected.
Using the full might of my forte, I lengthened and sharpened my index finger, the tip dripping with the gathered ichor of my essence. In an instant, less than the blink of an eye, I appeared in front of her from where I had been by the bed and plunged the very tip of my sharpened, needle-like nail into the center of her heart, cutting through the most sensitive parts of her breast to do so due to the angle I had chosen for just this purpose. As I let my ichor suffuse her body with each beat of her racing heart, her vascular system visibly turning black under her skin as she screamed and writhed in agony, an odd thing happened.
What could only be considered my blood had been tainted by thaumaturgy qnr bolstered by dreadlight as well as my own forte. As it mixed with the blank canvas of the mortal in front of me, I could sense the candle of her soul. Reaching out with dreadlight, letting the wound burn my side with a hiss of inhaled breath, I ignited it with three kinds of mysticism.
A horrified realization overcame her as she knew I had fundamentally altered her to suit my whims. Having a thaumaturgist thrall would be a great boon.
"You'll do quite nicely," I said with an actual grin, the skin stretched over my mouth revealing impossibly large, gleaming flat teeth, as I watched the physical and mystical changes taking place.
My new thrall would never be human again.
I feasted on her terror, anguish and torment.
It was delicious.
~ ~ ~
Arcturus and Acrux will be back. C'Leena Thomas, Prosthetist is going to be my next update.
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