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Chapter 21:【Tales of Fire and Ice】
“Well, well well!” Crowley triumphantly announced. “Wu Zeitan has stolen Tsukuyomi’s precious scabbard and thus made him very angry! Will he get it back? Will he win? Will the fight turn out to be rigged in order to sell Tsukuyomi-themed peanut butter? All those questions will be answered!”
Upon seeing the enraged countenance of the young god on the battlefield, the King of Demons grasped his chin in thought silently, before pondering to himself with a smirk, “…Who would have thought that gods could be so attached to toys that aren’t made of flesh?”
“Oh my Nun!” Thoth gasped. “It’s beautiful! I wish I could get a closer look!”
“Ahh.” Crowley sighed. “Nothing like some good old-fashioned Grand Larceny.”
“That damn brat!” Izanagi snarled. “How dare she lay her hands on a divine treasure!” Amaterasu just watched, her smile looking almost amused.
Standing on guard nearby them was a goddess with short brownish hair and an oni mask covering her mouth, lightly armored over her kimono, an equally ornate scabbard at her hip. She put a hand to her waist and looked towards the arena in slight annoyance.
“Jeez, at least treat it with some proper respect…” she muttered, her tone sharp and irritated.
Catching the reflection of light, the sheath was subliminally visible to the entire world. It shone brighter than any platinum, encapsulated by the shadows created by the engraved design on the sheath. Holding it high above her, Wu smiled gently, like a flower amidst blossoming.
On the other side, the emperors of China fumed in various degrees of shock to apprehension.
“That girl! She’s always so materialistic!” Emperor Gaozong scolded, his knuckles white as he clutched the arms of his throne. Meanwhile, his son was almost folded entirely against the short wall between the arena and the stands, looking almost hysterical. Qin Shi Huang himself housed a frown upon his face, his brows slightly scrunched in scrutiny. Dionysus smiled almost knowingly, swirling his wine in his glass as he waited…
Distances away from the distracted empress, the young god let out a final shaking breath. He knew there would be whispers in the audience all around the castle, coming down to berate him, to affront him, to criticize him.
He refused to listen. Instead, he looked forward and sternly demanded, “Give it back! You have no right to—”
The words of the young god woke Wu from her trance and her hands snapped at the young god with such speed that it was shocking she didn’t break her own neck. Zetian rushed towards Tsukuyomi, forcing the disarmed god to instinctively take a defensive stance.
“Hahaha! I’ll beat you to death with this beauty!” The Empress proclaimed, before she swung the scabbard at Tsukuyomi’s head, forcing him to dodge to the side, at which point she delivered another, even faster strike at his waist. The sheer force of the attack knocked the god to the ground, unable to recover..
Or so she thought, before jutting her head backwards to dodge out of the way of Tsukuyomi’s roundhouse kick. “I was given more methods to defend myself than just a sword!” The moon god shouted, as his father’s words echoed in his mind:
‘What if you were to be disarmed? Do not solely rely on your weapons. Make your body itself a deadly blade.’
It was hard for him to adjust to the new style of combat…he could not rely on his innate gifts to help him. Tsukuyomi gritted his teeth, and pressed forward to master his parents’ teachings. His mother had taught him how to harness the flow of power in all things, and his father had taught him the relentless, graceful martial techniques of the angels. And now, he pressed onward, striking with both in tandem. Flowing, ferocious strikes rained down, each strike leading into another, each shift of Tsukuyomi’s feet, another barrage. The rapid offense forced Zetian to put up her guard, an amused grin on her face.
“So you want to try and beat me at my own game, eh?~ Hahaha! Bring it on then, you arrogant little shit!”
“Out of all of our glorious father’s offsprings, Tsukuyomi may well be the best when it comes to hand to hand combat.” Metatron proclaimed from the stands, earning a glorious nod from Michael. A slight, nervous-sounding giggle was heard from next to Lucifer, coming from a goddess in a white and gold kimono- she’d dressed as well as possible for this match.
“Haha…he really is. Both me and your father can attest to that. He’s always worked especially hard on it and his swordsmanship…I’m proud of him.” Izanami said. A soft smile was on her face, clearly more confident than usual as she watched her son fighting in the arena.
Lucifer breathed a deep sigh next to them, gaze glued to his son. “If only Tsukuyomi understood that himself. He focuses so much on what he can’t do that he overlooks what he can…”
Back in the arena, Tsukuyomi dropped low and dragged his foot, attempting to sweep out Wu’s legs from his position. However, the Empress jumped away laughing, having the time of her life. “Hahaha! So fun!” She spun the scabbard in her hand, taunting the moon god further with its presence.
Tsukuyomi looked more determined than ever, raising his eyes from the ground. “I can do this…”
“I can reclaim it,” his conviction echoed. However, mired with the light that shone from the gluttonous eyes of the Empress who had claimed his scabbard, he had forgotten the true purpose of their showdown. A corner of Wu's lips twitched.
Tsukuyomi jumped to his feet and charged to grapple her, opening his arms wide.
“Kyaa!” She yelped, causing several members of the audience to gape in shock. “The pervert is trying to grope me!”
The moon god’s face tinged red. “N-no, I-” He started, abashed. Sensing the release of tension in the god’s arms, Wu struck.
“Just kidding~ You’re mine!” Wu grinned as she bashed the god’s face in with his scabbard, several teeth flying out of his mouth joined with spots of blood. As his senses were clouded, the empress wound her legs back, and sent her powerful knee toward the god’s defenseless stomach. At the last second, Tsukuyomi raised his forearm to block the strike, while his opponent drew distance between them with the tap of her boots as her feet met with the ground.
“E-eh…?!” Izanami stammered, clearly caught off guard and very much concerned. She blinked a couple of times as if trying to process what she had just seen.
Dionysus gorged himself on another glass of crimson wine before letting out a childlike giggle. “Ahh~ Such an intimate fight~ My favorite~ They only lack oil on their bodies~”
Qin Shi Huang raised an eyebrow at him. “This isn’t that sort of fight. But you would wish it was, wouldn’t you?”
“Let's play some more!” Wu exclaimed to the heavens, before rushing at Tsukuyomi with her heart aflame.
The moon god was still flustered. “Is.. is this just a game for you?” Then, his face hardened. “I suppose that's better for me then…”
His life flashed before him as his precious sheath ripped through the air towards his face. The wild empress swang it with an unparalleled, furious desire. Tsukuyomi brought his palm up and directed the blow above him, before he swung his left arm upwards, with the momentum gained- towards the side of Zetian’s disabled arm. His strike landed square on the empress’ jaw; causing her to rip her arm back up and hit Tsukuyomi with utterly explosive force, a force that was much to her surprise, only able to knock him a couple of feet away. Tsukuyomi shoved her back into a clumsy stumble as she looked down at her arm with utter shock. The arm that had performed the whip-like strike had been cleanly dislocated, and despite Zetian’s martial prowess and strength, it wouldn’t be moving anytime soon. This was Tsukuyomi’s chance.
‘No matter how much you dull the pain you receive, you’re still no more durable than usual. You can trick your brain, but not your body…’ A sense of confidence captured Tsukuyomi’s mind for a fraction of a second, before he became focused once more. While Wu stared at her arm with a blank yet curious look, Tsukuyomi jumped forward and brought his hands to the sheath. She snapped out of her dazed state and attempted to grip it further, but the young god did something unexpected.
His hand went to the opening of the sheath, and from it, he drew a pearlescent blade of light into his hands.
“I swear, everyone gets an infinite sword generator nowadays!” Crowley mused.
Izanami smiled, watching her son go back on the offensive. “Umm…You’ve got this! Don’t back down!”
Pushing his leg back and raising the blade, Tsukuyomi then launched himself towards the retreating Wu and sliced down at the remains of her garment with chilling precision. Occasional blows would tear at her flesh and freeze the blood into crystals of dreadful gore. Her movements remained unsteady due to his earlier dazing strike- and Tsukuyomi took full advantage, slashing rapidly with his blade of light. His attacks were precise, intended to land as many blows as possible while Wu’s defenses were staggered, targeting the areas where she was faltering the most.
‘This is going somewhat well, but to think I would fight this sloppily…’ Tsukuyomi chastised himself internally, his sorrowful demeanor resurging. He wanted to end the fight as soon as possible. And he seized the chance to do it at this very moment, he circled behind Wu and brought his foot round to Wu’s hip with melancholy vigor, knocking the empress to her knees, before using his momentum and full strength to swing his blade towards her exposed neck. But just in time, Wu fully recovered from her daze and hastily moved the sheath to stop her foe’s blade. Sparks flashed as Tsukuyomi’s arms trembled. Through the cool air, there was a small noise that resounded, a very distinct crack. As Tsukuyomi gazed up at the place where their blows met, his eyes blew wide with realization.
Where the wings of an Angel were engraved on the sheath, a light fracture began to emerge upon their midline. Sparks fell to the ground in mourning as a burst of emotion encompassed Tsukuyomi’s mind. His vision tunneled, staring solely at that fracture in horror. A shaky breath escaped him. ‘No, no! Father!’ He wished to turn to look through the castle windows at his father at this moment, but he could not let himself move. ‘I’m sorry…! I didn’t mean to—’
A sudden movement caught his eyes, and before he could resolve himself from his uncontrolled horror, Zetian struck at him ferociously. Spinning around as she rose to her feet, her arm arced towards him in a motion new to all in the arena, herself included- a newly created weapon of carnage. Her demonic eyes saw all of the world around her and how it could break, and her body itched to utterly crush it, her bones and muscles moving on their own. Zetian’s enhanced mind and ruthless battle instinct had combined in a stroke of sudden martial genius. The only thing left to do was to swing the weapon that they had given her. The Empress let out a battle cry to the heavens as Tsukuyomi attempted to retreat away, still looking at the cracks of the sheath as he raised his guard. And in that moment…the arm Tsukuyomi had thought unusable swung upwards at him, almost like a life-reaping sickle of flesh and blood, slicing through the air audibly and slipping right past his guard. The god of the moon gasped as his opponent grinned savagely.
WHITE TIGER’S ASSAULT
He tried to dodge backward- to block would be too risky. But even that wasn’t enough. Four claw marks tore Tsukuyomi’s clothes into pieces as they slashed into his chest and stomach, causing the moon god to cry out in shocked agony. Droplets of blood flew towards the face of the deranged mortal, which she licked from her cheek with a gleeful smile.
“Oh my!” Thoth gasped. “Zetian has unleashed a truly horrifying technique!”
The Wine God of Greece spoke out above the confused outrage, “How fancy~! It must have been the wind~ She attacked with such a concentrated force that the air itself sliced into Tsu-chan~ You can even see the cuts on the castle walls”
“Tsukuyomi!” cried out Izanami. Her eyes were wide and panicked. She took a deep breath and clutched the sides of her chair tightly, trembling for a moment.
Tsukuyomi cringed in pain as he looked back towards the horrible, blood-soaked beast before him. Its crimson eyes bore into his soul. “My my~ Perhaps I misjudged you.” It said mockingly as it turned off Demon Mind. “You are quite the skilled fighter yourself. Did your daddy teach you that as well?~”
The capricious mockery echoed throughout Tsukuyomi's very being. His bones recoiled in distress and his blood boiled. Yet his mind remained still. Was it enlightenment? Had he realized something? What had the young god come to understand?
Deep in the wilderness of Helheim…
Since his first venture into the underworld, it was clear to all that Tsukuyomi’s skills had truly blossomed. His blade’s movements were graceful, precise, and true, and the hazy light reflected off it had become just as elegant. Dim yet brilliant, shining gentle within each skillful strike. That was the beauty Tsukuyomi’s blade had achieved.
Yet today, the god of the moon saw no beauty in the light he had honed.
Below him lay a lifeless oni of Helheim, a great and feared devil, but to Tsukuyomi, little more than a milestone in his training. And now, yet another reason for him to be ashamed. Severe, deep, and decidedly inelegant gashes surrounded by ice covered the oni’s corpse, his face frozen forever in a twisted howl of agony. He had died with his eyes open. However, there was a twisted artistry to the slashes that had ended him- the crescent smoothness of those brutal slashes, the way they flowed into and around each other, visible even after the slaughter, had bloomed into a beautiful pattern of icy carnage.
This was what Tsukuyomi had trained for. This was the mastery he wanted to attain.
After all, he had finally managed to properly channel his light.
It was a moment he would remember forever. The moonlight had seared itself into his mind. The writhing, dying screams of the oni, the crackling of flesh, and the hollow sound of his blade striking true. When that massive, once-mighty corpse fell to the ground, his battle-tested club clattering to the ground beside him, Tsukuyomi only felt a rush of relief. Where had the adrenaline of victory gone? Had this been a battle, or an execution?
Tsukuyomi took a few deep breaths and sheathed his sword with a trembling arm, nearly cutting himself by accident, as if he couldn’t stand to look at it or away from the corpse. The reality that it was a weapon of war and not art was sobering. But this was his fault. Neither the blade or the light were stained with blood, rather, it was he who wielded them. He had destroyed instead of protecting, and caused another to die in agony. He had broken his promise, and over something as pitiful as his lack of mastery. For the first time in years, Tsukuyomi’s gentle heart began to ache and waver.
He buried the oni with his club before returning home.
The next day…
The winds of the mountaintop felt harsher than usual, howling like the wails of the damned. But Tsukuyomi simply ignored them. Again and again, without a moment of pause, he swung his radiant sword. The same combinations, the same movements, the same strikes, over and over, with moonlight coursing through each maddening repetition. His usual resolve had given way to almost manic determination. Izanami watched him silently. She had noticed the strange look in his eyes as soon as he’d returned from his battle, but trusting her son, had decided to give him some space to think. Perhaps he’d find some clarity during the day’s training.
Clarity, however, seemed farther away with each swing. Tsukuyomi’s eyes were almost bloodshot. He’d been training for hours before the break of dawn. Everything had melted away long ago, save for the blade and the reason he was swinging it. His own pure and immutable inadequacy. Even keeping a single promise was too much for him, something as simple as fighting to protect. His heart felt like it was about to burst. He couldn’t look away from his task. The oni’s body wouldn’t fade even if he did. He had to do this.
Especially since his father would be visiting later.
He continued to swing the sword. More light began to flow into it.
“I have to master myself.”
The howling wind, Izanami’s words, his own thoughts, they all became unclear white noise, the world drowning in the shine of his blade.
“Master myself.”
His eyes narrowed. He was fully focused. He started to swing faster, brighter. Ice was beginning to spread across his arm, but it didn’t slow him down for a moment.
“Come on. Master yourself.”
He swung the sword again and again. More ice crept through his arm. His sword was beginning to crack and shake. He wouldn’t stop.
“Master yourself, damnit!”
Even his own movements became nothingness to him. He didn’t notice the blinding white light forming around him, or the crystals that already coated his body, or the sword shattering into pieces, flying by and slicing him. It didn’t feel cold at all. It didn’t hurt. He didn’t hear Izanami crying out for him to stop.
“MASTER YOURSELF!”
And then, the world became white and radiant.
Since the beginning of creation, there had never been a moon in Helheim’s sky. The strange, eerie lights in the blood-red sky simply turned to darkness as the hours passed, with no true light ever coming in. That was the law of the realm itself.
But on this day, for ten shining, frightening minutes, moonlight shone down on the underworld.
It was nothing less than a light of calamity. A star of pure, radiant white hung in the sky, erratically, harshly forcing itself into a new form every moment, thrashing violently in the darkness. It was a crescent one moment, a shining fragment the next, and a full orb of deathly light immediately after. An unstable and beautiful calamity. With each sudden shift, wrathful moonlight rained upon the land. The howling tears of the moon fell to and razed the earth in a rain of disaster. Mountains, plains, forests, all were swallowed by that white and chaotic light. It was as if the heavens themselves were punishing the underworld.
This was the chaos that lay within an angel’s light. The light Tsukuyomi had so desperately wished for back then, and yet, hadn’t even begun to fathom. The light he had gained from his father. That sacred light, his greatest desire, was just the same as his blade: all his mastery and divinity given form, a beautiful, graceful, and glorious weapon of ruin.
It was a light that could never truly protect.
Those ten minutes of devastation eventually passed. The moon vanished, and Helheim’s sky returned to its natural gloom. Yet a single shining light remained within it. It slowly floated to the ground, almost gently so, and landed in front of Izanami’s surprisingly unharmed abode. She was waiting in the garden. Lucifer looked up towards her, as she immediately fell to her knees in front of him, tears in her eyes. His eyes twisted ever so slightly in guilt. She had been burned by light, his light, clearly after a struggle. She had done all she could to help.
“I’m sorry…I…I really tried, I shouldn’t have…and even you got hurt…”
Lucifer shook his head, unbothered by the frostbitten wounds on his scarred body. He hadn’t used his radiant armor for even a second, much less his weapon. He put a hand on Izanami’s head to calm her, as he had many times before.
“...Don’t worry about it. It can hardly be called an injury. And I couldn’t risk harming our son.”
The gentle coolness of his voice and the warmth of his hand slowly brought Izanami back to reality. She took a few deep breaths, before taking Tsukuyomi from Lucifer’s other arm. His body had no wounds, but he was clearly close to death, pale and haggard, as if drained of all light. The young god had utterly broken himself under his own light. Izanami almost sobbed looking at him. While Lucifer’s face remained mostly still, as he closed his eyes, the ruler of heaven felt the familiar, ever-present weight of utmost guilt…along with a slight tinge of fear.
Even now, millenia after the fall, with his supreme divine power and command over all of heaven, the greatest of angels still couldn’t protect a single boy. Those he loved and couldn’t save were still falling through the cracks, just as they had back then. It still wasn’t enough.
His, too, was a light that could never truly protect.
“...Take him inside, please. I’ll join you two in a moment.” Lucifer said. He gazed forlornly from the mountain’s edge, quietly observing the destruction his son had wrought upon Helheim. Izanami simply nodded and did as he asked. Right now was one of those moments when Lucifer needed to think alone. Lucifer turned his head briefly, and gave an almost regretful glance towards Tsukuyomi as he vanished behind the front door. It was in that moment that the mightiest among divinities offered a silent prayer for forgiveness.
“You haven’t failed, Tsukuyomi… You never did... As a father, a mentor, and a god…I’m the one who has failed you. The shame of weakness is mine alone to bear.”
He took a slight breath, and turned to join his family inside.
“I’m sorry for always being such a coward. I hope…that this serves as even the smallest compensation.”
Fastened at his hip was a beautiful sheath, adorned with two angelic wings and a jewel that glimmered like the moon.

Well, I've now had a 2nd neurologist tell me I don't have ***. When I mentioned the fear of MND has essentially consumed my life for the past 9 months he literally laughed. I seriously hope this is the path to accepting these symptoms are truly benign, and I can focus on improving my mental health. For context, I had my first neurological assessment at 11.5 months of twitching and today's appointment would be approximately 16.5 months.
I previously stated I was referred for a second EMG on my upper limbs due to hand fasciculations, but after the clinical evaluation I didn't even opt for it. I only had another NCS that showed very mild carpal tunnel in my left hand, but otherwise nothing of significance. The doctor then performed all the strength, reflex, and sensory tests on my upper body that he felt necessary and there were no signs of concern. He wasn't even worried about the fact that I can illicit some fasciculations by lightly pinching my index finger and thumb. When he said "I could perform the EMG if you truly insist, but some find it very uncomfortable in their hands, and I honestly don't find it necessary," I felt like this needed to be the turning point where I begin to fully trust the medical advice I've been given.
This is now the 2nd neurologist who has said when it comes to *** clinical evaluations are equally, if not more important than EMG's. They know how to detect clinical weakness, and they know what real atrophy looks like. I'm not even someone with huge, muscular hands, and when he examined my FDI muscles (what I was freaking out about) he said I had "excellent muscle bulk for the size of my hands." Seeing as I had an EMG back in December, I asked point blank if an EMG can be done too early. He said "I don't like to speak in absolutes, but it is extremely unlikely and I have never come across a case where an EMG was performed too early." However, he did say that he's seen several cases where someone had obvious weakness in one limb and *** type characteristics were picked up on an EMG in a different limb that had yet to experience weakness. Thus, reiterating that EMG's are highly sensitive and do not miss *** when it is present. Another point the neurologist made is that he has never seen a case where fasciculations were the first noticeable symptom. He didn't say it's impossible for this type of presentation, but for someone to be twitching for several months or longer without detectable signs of objective weakness basically rules out ***. Any neurologist who is trained to perform and interpret EMG's will know when fasciculations are the result of something sinister.
I asked about the correlation between COVID and neuro-muscular symptoms, but I didn't receive a concrete answer. He admitted viral infections can impact everyone differently and that COVID could very well have long-term implications for some, but he didn't know of any clinical evidence or studies to suggest a direct link between COVID and BFS. That being said, I truly believe COVID is what triggered all of this and that I'll just have to live with these symptoms until my nervous system hopefully heals. At least now I can accept I'm not facing a terminal disease.
My only advice to anyone struggling with a similar situation is do your best to trust the medical advice you've been given. If your doctor doesn't believe a neurology referral is necessary, believe them. If a neurologist clears you, believe them. I'm probably going to stick around this forum to help ease people's anxiety, but I'm hopefully done with the fearful and reassurance seeking questions.
All the best everyone!

Link for all the chapters available for free here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
Deep in the groaning halls of sinew and bone he awaited his audience with the god. At a wave of his hand the ribs which held up the ceiling contracted, tendons shifting within the pink walls of the chamber as the jagged, calcareous spurs that composed the doorway sank back into the spongy masses of tissue, revealing a passage curving down and out of sight.
Menash stood before the yawning portal and considered eternity. This was no an idle thought: here in the Dawning Chamber, the concept was very real. His father, Yulan, had stood in this exact spot times beyond count. When he was struck down in his prime by the Night Weaver and her Leaper offspring, torn limb from limb as he fought to defend Chthonis from a raiding party, Menash’s uncle, Aqavarr, had carried his broken remains over that grinning threshold to join the hosts of the dead, never to return.
A hot and heavy exhalation rattled up out of the depths, wafting in the acrid scent of the bonding pools and the wet slithering sound of the rebirthing canals. Menash felt a crackle of static in the corners of his mind before the signal sharpened and he heard It whisper distinctly:
“Enter…”
The familiar dread crept its way up the small of his back, and he gave a little shiver. No matter how many times he had communed with the Vitalus, he’d never been able to shake the feeling of his utter insignificance. But he persevered, walking bravely down the slurping passage, past the rows of broad antechambers lining either side of the hallway. Each one held a slumbering shape immersed in a cryogenic bath, towering hulks of muscle encased in ribbed and riveted plates of chitin. No two were alike in size or physiology, but all seemed to emanate the same primeval aura of dread that tickled Menash’s fight-or-flight-instinct, skewing it very much towards the latter response. These were the Hollowores, soulless avatars of the Vitalus, each one a tool capable of eradicating an entire species. As Menash approached, one of the living weapons stirred to life. A pronged, anvil-shaped head emerged from the bath, umbilical feeder tubes detaching from its armored flanks as the rest of its bulk followed, its mauve exoskeleton as sleek and shiny as amethyst. The Hollowore extended legs as thick as grown pine trees and lifted itself above him, its pairs of crushing pincers dripping amniotic fluids as it herded him towards the central room.
Bundles of white gossamer filaments spread all across the floor, encircling steaming pools of pus and acid. He saw arms and legs, sensory organs and entire exoskeletons being knitted before his very eyes, the amino acid chains being stitched on a layer at a time, the weeping pus evidence of microphages fighting off possible infections as the Vitalus did Its work.
These were the next generation of exomorphs, yet to be assigned to their hosts. It was here that Vitalus constantly improved the only thing that could ensure the continued survival of Menash’s subspecies. Exomorphs were bonded to Gallivants at birth, the organisms supplying their hosts with the means to breathe an atmosphere they was never meant to endure, and the strength to fight in a world that was red in tooth and claw. They were as swift as the summer wind and could multiply their host’s muscular power by up to twelve times their natural output.
But for all their God-given might, Gallivants were still mortal. They could and often did perish in the endless struggle for existence that the Vitalus called the Great Game. But even in death they could still commit their essence to posterity, passing down their defining traits through the malleable genetic code of the gilt helix. It was the Vitalus’ greatest boon; through the gilt helix a single individual could become a progenitor of an entire generation, becoming at one stroke the father of whole nations and peoples.
One day he too would prove worthy of the honor that Yulan had earned with his life. But he was not alone in that ambition. Menash was annoyed to find the crimson-clad Vezda and the cowardly Racek waiting for him inside, standing next to a large ball of filaments that hung from a tonsil-like growth hanging from the walls.
This node pulsed, emitting a small storm of bioelectric activity, networks of fungi conveying commands in the form of oscillating voltages to their communities of symbiotic bacteria, the latter containing greigite mineral crystals aligned in the shape of electromagnetic coils. Other networks hidden in the walls modulated and amplified the signals, and the three Gallivants steeled themselves for the onrushing flood of information as the Vitalus tapped into their minds.
He was a candle before the raging heart of the thunderstorm. For an instant Menash touched a fraction of Its intelligence, the divisions of time and space rolling back as they joined the ocean of shared consciousness, becoming one with the living systems of Arachnea. From the tiniest aeroplankton floating above the waves of the golden coastlines, to the herds of ultrapods munching their way through swathes of trees in the savannahs. Menash felt himself pushing up out of the soil, longing and lusting and reaching for the sunlight with a trillion green fingers uncurling, alive with the furious movement of life.
But what was that flicker of orange to the east? That searing heat, that prickling pain spreading like a cancer down his side?
The Vitalus scooped them up and hurled them headlong into hell itself. A roaring wildfire was sweeping into the heart of the eastern rainforests. Menash tasted ash and ruin, felt pieces of himself wither and burn, his branches tongues of fire, wood cracking from the intense blaze, sap boiling instantaneously upon contact and rupturing, splitting him right down the grain. He fled in terror, running, slithering, digging, swimming, flying away in crazed panic from the walls of red death closing in on him. As his skin flaked off in clumps of charcoal he looked back and saw it towering over the treetops, the epicenter of this howling vortex of destruction: the grey behemoth. Its burnished metal hide gleamed like copper, reflecting the fury of the conflagration burning well into the night.
Menash pulled his mind away before it was lost forever in the storm of electric potentials. He saw Racek and Vezda swaying on their feet, breathing hard and fast.
“Heart of the World,” he managed to gasp, “What is your bidding?”
The Hollowore maneuvered itself until it was facing him directly. Tiny beady eyes fixed him in their blank gaze. The node emitted a blue pulse and the creature shuddered as it received the signal. It opened a maw powerful enough to chew boulders into gravel and rumbled:
“This one is the alpha which survived first contact with anomalous variable. It will tell Us what occurred, and from whence this threat emerged.”
“It came from the karst mountain range, where the yellowjacket Amit live,” Menash replied, “It was destroying the largest mound in that area, massacring its inhabitants. It brought the mountain down on them—we’ve never seen anything like it. Zildiz was the first on the scene. She warned us not to approach, and that it was dangerous, but some of us,” here he cast an angry look at Vezda, “Some of us went ahead and tried to scavenge from the bodies of the dying. Then the behemoth ignited the air and burned scores of us to cinders.”
“Irrational. Why did you do this?”
“W-we thought that you had spawned the grey behemoth,” Menash stammered, embarrassed to say the least, “That it was the newest addition to the Great Game, another species of ultrafauna that would help perfect Arachnea.”
“Not so. It was made by an evil far older than the All-In-One,” replied the Vitalus, “It is called a Divine Engine. In cycles past, this evil sought to undo this world and all that inhabit it. In that, it almost succeeded.”
Menash felt his blood run cold at those words.
“Is it the only one of its kind?” Racek piped up. Menash and Vezda both bristled at his interruption; subordinates were only supposed to speak when spoken to.
“There were several deployed here in Our infancy. We had thought them all destroyed in the War of Creation.”
“Your Munificence,” Racek went on, heedless of the venomous looks he was getting from the other two, “Most of us survived because Zildiz persuaded us to dive into the river. She saved all our lives! But as I washed up on the riverbank, I saw the behemoth casting a seedpod into the skies. I did not see where it landed, but it was travelling in a high arc due east. Is this the behemoth’s method of reproducing? If so, then how many offspring can it generate from this one seed?”
The Vitalus met his questions with a minute of silence. Menash had never known It to take so long to respond to a query, and felt another stab of unease in his gut. Unless he was imagining things, the Vitalus seemed genuinely disturbed by the scenario that Racek has raised, enough to convince Menash that the danger was far from hypothetical.
“That is a distant possibility,” It said somewhat cryptically, “Regardless, We cannot allow the Engine’s continued existence.”
“Then it must be destroyed,” Vezda said, her barbed tail eagerly perking up.
“We are not certain that it can be,” the Vitalus said, and Menash heard Racek audibly gulp at the admission.
“But Your Omniscience, you alone are the arbiter of growth and decay,” Vezda said in disbelief, “Surely you can unmake this monster as well?”
“Perhaps. The Divine Engines were built to withstand the extremes of temperature, gravity, atmospheric pressure, acidity and irradiation found on semi-inhabitable exoplanets. Worlds of bareness and desolation, glassed by thermonuclear bombardment or infested with alien microorganisms. In the wars of Our youth, the Betrayers used tungsten-alloy warheads fired from space platforms to crack their bulkheads. Not even Our vessels, the Hollowores, could damage them in any significant way. We will need time to gather the raw materials and fabricate the weapons needed to end this threat.”
“What must we do?” Menash asked.
“If this variable is not dealt with, it could upset the delicate balance We have sacrificed so much to achieve. Already the wildfire it has caused will release close to 400 million metric tons of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere and destroy 2.3 million acres of forest before Our countermeasures can stop it. Time is our limiting factor. If the Engine cannot be destroyed now, it must be restrained.”
“It hasn’t moved an inch since we last saw it,” Vezda said brightly, “Maybe it has already died?”
“Yes, and maybe your mother was a horka toad,” Racek said snidely. Vezda scowled and took a step towards him, then stopped as she remembered that she trod on hallowed ground.
“Not so. It has merely gone dormant. Having expended its fuel, it is now running on the bare minimum of its reserves. My children, you must ensure that it does not wake again. Establish a quarantine zone around the Engine and let none approach, on pain of death. The Leaper kindreds will secure the ground while the Gallivants patrol the skies.”
Vezda and Menash exchanged troubled looks. Nobody wanted Leapers establishing a foothold in what was essentially a buffer zone between their subspecies. Once allowed to settle in a habitat, it would not take long for them to adapt and become masters of their new territory. Ousting them would become a battle of attrition, and given the lower birthrates of Gallivants, it was not one they could long afford.
“Respectfully, we do not require assistance from our brother kindred,” Menash ventured, “We are more than capable of safeguarding the area ourselves.”
The node throbbed again, the bioelectric flashes taking on an angry purple hue. With a sound like the grinding of a millstone the Hollowore clashed its claws together impatiently. All three of the mortals took a hasty step back.
“The alpha will obey, or another will be found that can,” the Vitalus growled at them, “All subspecies will observe a general truce during this period. This is a temporary addition to the Great Game. Those that serve Us well shall be rewarded. We shall also enlist the aid of your terrestrial cousins, as well as the Cataphract clans to replenish the soil, and lone Saints who shall rove beyond the quarantine zone.”
Menash’s unease deepened. The Vitalus was bringing together four different kindreds, some of which killed each other on sight, in a move that reeked of desperation. The kindreds had worked together before, of course, on complex projects such as altering rainfall patterns and husbanding struggling species, but never so many at once. This was bound to end in bloodshed.
“Those that break the truce shall be chemically neutered, and their gilt helix purged from the existing gene pool,” the Vitalus continued, “You will maintain this quarantine until We have dealt with the Engine.”
“It is understood!” Menash and Vezda said at once.
“But what about Zildiz?” Racek blurted out, again risking his entire lineage by speaking out of turn, “She might still be alive out there!”
“He’s right,” Menash found himself agreeing despite his dislike for Racek, “She’s our alpha, after all. It would be a shame to lose her helix. Do we have your leave to send out a party to recover her?”
The Vitalus pondered the request for a moment, then crushed his hopes when it said:
“Regrettable, the loss of the female. Valuable stock for the breeding program. But it has not responded to Our signals—it is unlikely to have survived. The female Vezda shall take up its duties as alpha.”
“But Your Benevolence—” both men cried out in unison.
“It is decided. She has risked the Great Game, and must abide by its outcome. To speak more on this would risk Our displeasure,” the god warned.
“We can’t spare the manpower anyway,” Vezda pointed out, trying not to look too pleased at Its decision. She darted a quick look at Menash, long enough for him to see the selfish desire festering in her heart. He turned away from her in disgust, baring his blades by the slightest of margins to let her know what he thought of her, then asked the Vitalus:
“But what of the Engine’s seedpod? Should we search for it?”
“Negative!” the Vitalus boomed, its node reinforcing the word with a spike of activity that sent needles of pain spearing into their heads, “We shall complete this task. It is dangerous and can be entrusted to no other.”
The Hollowore angled its massive head towards the cavernous ceiling, armored flaps on its back sliding aside as it unfurled sets of rigid sixty-meter wings. A wide sphincter on the roof gaped open and Menash saw the evening sky awash with the stars in their milky multitudes. The Hollowore took a deep breath through the spiracles lining its thorax and abdomen, pumping air through a pair of hollow tube-like protuberances under either of its wings. Menash and the others quickly scampered to a safe distance. Seconds later there was a scream of chemical combustion and the Hollowore rose into the evening skies, leaving behind a long trail of superheated gases, the backwash almost knocking Menash off his feet. They watched as the Hollowore gained altitude, making straight for the columns of billowing smoke on the horizon, a sweeping shadow blotting out the light of the heavens.
The Vitalus’ mental presence receded with it. When it did not return, they took it to mean that they were dismissed and likewise took flight and headed for Chthonis. They were hardly out of the Dawning Chamber when Vezda seized the scrawny Racek by his wings and anchored her feet right up against his back.
“Funny little man, are you? Crack jokes at my expense again, and I’ll see to it that you’ll never fly again!” she snarled, yanking hard. Racek yelled as his wings threatened to pop out of their sockets.
“Stop!” Menash said, ramming his shoulder into her and knocking the smaller male out of her grip. Vezda rounded on him, blades out and her tail aquiver with rage.
“As for you! No one should speak to the Vitalus like that!” she shrieked, “Much less gainsay It! Are you trying to get us all killed? It is the source and continuance of life itself—”
“But the Vitalus doesn’t always consider the individual scale of things,” Menash reasoned, controlling his rising anger as he tried to defuse the situation, “Its scope of thought is beyond ours. Therefore it is up to us to look after each other. None of us can win the Great Game alone. We need people like Zildiz for the species to prosper.”
“Your logic is flawed,” Vezda spat, “Empathy is a sham devised by the selfish action of the gene, which seeks only to preserve itself. At least I am honest enough to look after my own interests. Your obsession with that whore is misplaced. Heed my words, Menash. What happened today marks a change in the Great Game. Only the ruthless will reap the rewards of this era. Think on that, and act accordingly.”
The female darted off in another direction, leaving the two behind.
“Thanks,” Racek said, rubbing at his sore shoulders, “My, my. She’s really taking her promotion very seriously, isn’t she?”
“This doesn’t make us friends,” Menash said shortly, “We share a common interest, that’s all.”
The two flew together in silence for a time, the dark canopy unrolling below their feet. Racek had always been a bitter rival for Zildiz’s affections. In the mating seasons he and Menash had flown the damsel-dance against each other countless times, racing and dogfighting at top speed through the dense bamboo thickets in an effort to impress her.
But each time she had always chosen Menash. Naturally. He was the stronger, the braver, the son of the Scourge who had slain hundreds on his lightning raids into Leaper territory. Their pairings had been brief and passionate, yet she had always laughed at the end and gone on her merry way, a rose petal borne on a scented breeze, the dalliance as meaningless to her as other concerns like eating or breathing.
But not to him. Right now, all that mattered was her. And Racek was the only one in the whole wide world who knew exactly how he felt. Did that mean he could be trusted? Menash considered the enormity of what he was about to do, and wavered. Then he saw her face in the darkness of his home, the face she wore when they were all alone together, and he took a deep breath before breaking the silence, saying:
“I’ll be in charge of the quarantine. I can arrange for you to disappear for a few days. I can have one of the younglings mimic your magnetosynaptic signal, make it seem like you’re with the rest of us.”
“You’d do that? For me?” Racek said in astonishment.
“Hah. Not for you,” Menash laughed softly. He looked Racek straight in the eyes and continued: “What’ll it be, then?”
If he so much as hesitates, I’ll have to kill him here and now, Menash told himself.
“Why, yes. Yes, of course!” the little brown male said vigorously.
“Good,” Menash sighed with relief, “She’ll be very grateful to whoever brings her home. I’d do it myself, but as an alpha I can’t risk being seen as disobedient.”
“Then why give me this chance? After all that’s passed between us?”
“I should have thought that was obvious,” Menash replied. Racek digested that for a bit, then out of nowhere said:
“If I find her—when I find her—I’ll tell her exactly who it was that sent me.”
“That won’t be necessary.”
“Bah! Just so we’re even, that’s all,” Racek grinned, his mouthparts slanting askew.
“Thanks, I guess. I’d…I’d appreciate that. You do understand what we’re risking here, right?”
“Sure. We’ll be total genetic write-offs if we’re caught. But it’s not like I wanted to see tiny ugly Raceks running around the house anyway. What about you, though? Why are you putting your neck on the chopping block?”
“You know why,” Menash said quietly, his thoughts still lingering on her face.
“Yes,” Racek agreed with a wistful air, “Yes, I suppose I do.”
And the pair spoke no more until they reached Chthonis.
Link for all the chapters available for free here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

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—
Memory transcription subject: Herq, Tilfish Junior Exterminator
Date [standardized human time]: December 3rd, 2136
“Understood, on our way.” Frankie stuffed his radio away.
“W-What? More Arxur?” I shivered.
“Don’t think so. Hope not. We gotta go to the van.”
The human didn't give me time to reply as he stepped over the body like it wasn’t even there. Swallowing some bile, I took aimed steps around it. The smell of blood wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. It wasn’t any worse than burning flesh.
The stomps of Frankie’s boots down the stairs reminded me to keep moving. I scuttled down the stairs, turning the corner to see another body I was forced to step around. Two of them had come after us, two who were even more eager than the first group we encountered.
“Do you t-think it’s the same ones from before?” I asked.
The human grunted. “Hell if I know. But I wouldn’t doubt it one bit if it was. Guy got his ego hurt, and wanted some revenge. God knows if he was waiting there for an ambush.”
“They… couldn’t have known about the weapons, right?”
He shrugged. “Maybe. He at least knew we were stranded without a vehicle. Maybe put his bets on us getting some transport.”
I didn’t have much time to ponder it. Frankie was already peeking outside the building, shotgun raised. I came up behind him, checking behind as we scooted out of the building. Once he was confident, Frankie dashed towards the van.
We came upon it quickly. I was glad the Arxur he shot was on the other side to spare me from the gore. He turned around to the backside of the van, where his face contorted. “Holy shit.”
“What?” I asked, coming around next to him.
The scaly legs are the first thing I saw. They led up to its back, which looked like it had exploded. Blood was nearly everywhere around the gray, and I even thought I saw a piece of bone. My whole body begged me to run away from the gore, to find a corner to throw up in, but I couldn't look away. And that didn't even cover the Yotul.
The green-stained wraps around his legs were the first thing I noticed after the hulking mass of reptile. His right paw was a bleeding mess haphazardly wrapped in a loose bandage, and his other was curled around an Arxur gun—its gun, I realized. His face had speckles of red on it, much like the rest of the van. There was what could only be described as a huge gun beside him.
Relief washed over his features once he saw us, and he let the weapon clatter onto a bloody crate. “Where’s Luke?”
I watched Frankie for any signs of turning feral, despite the improbability of it ever happening. The copious amount of blood was more than enough to drive any predator into a crazed frenzy, but still Frankie showed enormous restraint. If anything, he almost looked… disgusted by it. I shouldn’t have been surprised.
He took a quick breath to steady himself. “Uh, Dusty took a few rounds, he’s patching her up. I see you can… handle yourself.”
“No,” the Yotul spat back. “It almost…” His voice broke, and he shook his head.
Frankie nodded. “Let’s get moving. I’ll… clear the way, if you could help him, Herq.” The human crouched down and gripped the monster's legs and gave a tug. He started sliding the body out of the way, a trail of blood marking every crate it was slumped over.
I took a step forward, suppressing a gag at the sights and smells. It was like walking into a predator’s den. Dark and damp and terrible, with evidence of what happened drowning my entire field of view. “W-What happened? It looks-”
“I shot the bastard.”
I twitched my antennae. “R-Right.” I took several breaths before finding the strength to proceed. I tried to ignore the blood marked across the walls and creeped in, though I couldn’t ignore the green smears that were on the crates. I did my best to avoid stepping on… anything, really.
The Yotul grabbed a red box full of first aid supplies and set it by his right side. He began to peel off the green-stained gauze on his paw. “I need an extra paw for this.”
“Of course. You’re Reno, right?” He ignored me. I felt a shiver spread through my carapace as he revealed the wound. “T-Those look like-”
“Yeah, I know.”
I gave him a flick of my antennae. He raised a bottle of what I assumed to be antibiotic solution, which I took. I gingerly uncapped the bottle and murmured, “This is going to sting.”
“Do you constantly state the obvious? Just get it over with.”
I took his paw in my feeler and generously poured it over the wound. He let out a small groan, but nothing more. I wiped it, then took some gauze and began wrapping it far better than he could with just a paw and a mouth. I tightened it, and sealed it with some adhesive.
“There. I-I think that’s good, but I don’t commonly work with other species.”
“I can tell.” The Yotul began to get up on their injured legs.
“A-Are you sure you should be walking?” He ignored me again. I stuck out an arm to help him. “Here, at least-”
“I don’t need your help,” he spat, slapping me away with annoyance. He shakily stood up, leaning precariously against the side of the van atop the crates.
I waved my antennae with concern. “I… Let me know if-”
“I won’t,” he coldly said, not giving me so much as a glance back as he hobbled out of the van.
I don’t blame him. The Arxur looked like he was inches away from tearing him apart. Not to mention the claw marks on his wrist… I can’t imagine what happened to him just moments ago.
I crawled out of the van after him, glad to be out, but probably not nearly as glad as him. Frankie came from around the van and dusted his hands.
“That was gross.” He turned to Reno. “You’re up already? Your legs are-”
“Worry about them when we’re in the truck. We need to get the fuck away from here.” He leaned against the van, catching his breath. He was clearly in pain, but didn’t want to show it.
“Gotcha. Luke should be—ah, right there.”
I followed his gaze, spotting the truck rolling towards us with its cracked windows and decorated doors. It stopped right beside the van. A human stepped out, the same one from the predator disease facility. He took one look at Reno, worry spreading across his face. “Holy shit.”
Reno grunted. “That’s what Frankie said.”
“I… We can talk in the truck,” Luke decided.
“Is my gun still in the building?”
“In the backseat.”
The Yotul lowered his head, letting out a breath of relief. I didn’t understand how much a simple firearm could possibly mean to him, but I wasn’t about to question him about it.
Lieutenant Holtas came to the other side of the van, whistling once he saw the crate. “Damn, this is… a lot.”
“Enough to turn the tide, I hope?” Frankie asked.
“There’s a chance it might be… If there’s anything left once we get back. Two of their bunkers are already swarming with Arxur.”
“T-Two?” I stammered. “Which ones?”
The predator shook his head dismissively. “Talk later.”
I shook my antennae in irritation, until another human then emerged from around the truck. It was the dark-skinned, dark-haired human from before as well, Dusty. Her vest had several lesions across it, far more than the few Frankie had received during his gutsiness. She wasn’t unscathed, however, as her left sleeve had been pulled up, revealing a stripe of bandaging. Her eyes regarded me with an expression I couldn't decipher, turning into a more shocked expression when they saw Reno. “...Damn.”
The Lieutenant turned to her. “Keep an eye out from where they came. Reno, do the same for the other side of the street. I’m not looking to get ambushed again.”
The two signaled their understanding. Luke’s gaze lingered a little longer on the wounded Yotul as he hobbled to retrieve his weapon from the truck.
Frankie grunted from behind me, picking up two big and bloodied crates. “Open the doors, would ya?”
I obliged, yanking open the hatches to the truck so the burly human could deposit the weapons. Luke walked past me, saw the mess in the back of the van, and shook his head while muttering something. Still, he crouched and grabbed two crates in each hand.
I couldn’t very well just stand around, so I begrudgingly walked over and picked the cleanest crates I could manage while repelling the numerous dry heaves my body wanted to conjure. I hefted them up, and followed the same path as Luke and Frankie.
I passed Dusty, who groaned, rubbing her left arm. “Why do these idiots use such a small caliber? You’d think they’d want to kill the people they’re shooting at.”
I nervously tilted my antennae. “You would… hope so.”
“They enjoy the thrill of the hunt,” Reno growled. “Use it to just incapacitate their prey. Dead ones don’t squirm while they’re eaten.”
An uncomfortable silence fell over the street. As we continued to load the human armaments into the truck, the two kept a cautious set of eyes out on either side of the street. Frankie managed to fit the big gun back into its respective crate while Luke stared at it, incredulously. Dusty glanced back with a similar look, which gave me the feeling the predators were all thinking the same thing. The only one who didn’t break his focus was Reno.
The van got emptier, the truck got fuller, and soon enough we were ready to leave this place for good. Luke gave us the clear and got into the driver seat. Frankie took the front passenger seat, leaving the three of us to squeeze into the back. The windshield left a lot to be desired, and I wondered if Luke would even be able to see through it.
It was cramped, to say the least. I was forced into the side, with the Yotul in the middle, while Dusty filled in the remaining seat. From someone looking in from outside, it would be a very strange sight to behold.
She slammed the door shut. “Tight fuckin’ fit. Hope we have enough fuel.”
“Won’t be an issue,” Luke said, sending the engine revving as we began to accelerate.
Thank Formi we’re finally leaving. How long have I been awake for? How long have the Arxur been in Tepisil? And how are the exterminators from the human camp doing? There’s far too much to worry about.
I hoped Tealk was fine in the hatchery’s bunker. That is, if it wasn’t already compromised. Tepisil was given the tiny mercy of just a small warning prior to any bombs dropping. The shelters were likely packed to the brim. Just waiting for the Arxur to come.
“Frankie, give me some light, would ya?” Dusty ordered. She had pulled Reno’s hindlegs on her lap, and was now inspecting them with the help of Frankie’s flashlight. I could see the green blood that had leaked down his legs from the wounds, along with pieces of black debris.
Reno had no choice but to let Dusty tend to him. I tried my best to ignore the blood she was forcing out by ripping through the bandages, though I gagged upon seeing her dig into his flesh with a pair of tweezers, pulling out a small bullet while he hissed in pain. Those were the only noises for a time while the human used a strange syringe to push some sort of foam into the wound, then tightly wrapping his legs.
She did a better job than I ever could’ve. At this point, it shouldn’t have impressed me that the predators had a concept of medicine or even treatment for the wounded, rather than just leaving the weak for dead. The amount of care she put into someone from another species spoke volumes to the humans’ empathetic capacity.
The streetlights of the city finally receded from us. I could almost feel the weighty air in the truck lighten, like a part of the despair had been left behind in Dirlsil. It wouldn’t last for long.
At some point in the middle of all the crop fields, Frankie cleared his throat. “Can I be the one to break the silence? ‘Cause Reno shot that gray with a whole bloody anti-materiel rifle.”
“God, I’m glad somebody finally fucking said it. Point blank, too,” Dusty said.
The Yotul didn’t offer a response, only stared off into the distance. I felt nothing but sympathy for him. They meant well, but I suspected they did more harm than good. The humans clearly had no idea what he’d just gone through; the fear, the uncertainty, the possibility of being eaten alive. I had a feeling the only reason he was alive was because of his quick thinking, the Arxur’s cockiness, and luck.
Luke cleared his throat. “Uh, how did you fare, Frankie? I saw the marks on your vest.”
My human grunted. “Barely even felt them hit me. Once the shooting started we dove back into the toy shop. Arxur are damn cocky bastards, but I don’t reckon they’re used to whatever they’re chasing fighting back so hard. Shot one, ran up the stairs, shot the other. Easy as that.”
It was not, in fact, as easy as that. I was terrified the entire time. It was Frankie who did everything, and even then, he screamed and shouted during the entire encounter. He was fearless in the face of fear while I had been useless. Again. My only saving grace was that I didn’t freeze like I did at the PD facility, even if that meant I merely ran instead. I felt a stab of anger mixed with regret, an entirely unwelcome feeling that I decidedly earned.
I can’t rely on the Terrans forever. At some point, my uncontrollable fear is going to cost lives. I… I can’t let fear be the driver.
“We had four of the fuckers on us,” Dusty said. “Retreated into the store opposite yours. We were doing just fine ‘till one of them tossed a grenade.”
I felt Reno tense up to me. He had a thousand-lightyear stare.
“Then they came in after us, separated us from Reno. They were fucking relentless, didn’t give us a chance to fight. Forced us all the way back into the stockroom, then kept pushing their luck. Finally had a corner, then the bastards leapt forward rather than being smart, getting me tagged. Hurts like hell just thinking about flexing the muscle.”
“God, can we change the subject? I regret asking,” Lieutenant Holtas said, shifting uncomfortably. “Frankie, you want to try again with the UN? And Herq, now that you’re with us, can you contact Von and inform him of what happened?”
I almost flinched when he said my name. “Y-Yeah, of course.” I started to pull out my holopad. I hovered over Tealk’s contact before moving to Von’s. I tapped the icon, and it rang for only a second before he picked up.
“Herq?”
I pulled the pad closer, overhearing Frankie start his own call to the UN. “Yes, it’s me. We made it out of Dirlsil with the weapons, and we’re in one piece.”
“Formi is that good to hear. I won't sugarcoat it, things have gotten much worse. You may have heard it from the humans, but cattle shuttles just landed around Bunker Four… which has no one to defend it. Bunker Six had contact and they are at a stalemate, but won't stay that way. I… sincerely hope you brought lots of ammo.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat. “I can’t say for certain what the predators brought with us… We’re driving as fast as we can, we expect to be there in forty minutes.”
“Too long… The grays are already going into buildings, trying to flush them out. We don’t have the firepower.”
“I… We need a rally point in order to distribute them as fast as possible.”
“One advantage is that they aren’t using their numbers prowling the empty buildings on the outskirts… Shit, Polle is calling me… It’s about Bunker Six. Listen, I’ll send you more information when I can. Call me ten minutes before you reach the city.”
“Yes, of course. Please, stay safe.”
“We both know that isn’t going to happen. Hurry.”
A tone signified he hung up the call. I tentatively swirled my antennae, seeing my company look away. “I-I’m guessing everyone heard that?”
Reno flicked his ears, and the humans nodded from the front seats. A steady silence came over us. It was probably well into the early hours of the morning at this point. My body was tired, and my mind more so. I knew well that I should have been more scared or worried, but I simply didn’t have the energy. It was like Frankie said earlier.
“Who wants a granola bar?” Frankie abruptly barked.
Luke shrugged. “I mean…”
The two humans accepted his offer, not like they had much choice since they were already being distributed. A bar was put into Reno’s paws, and suddenly, I was holding one too.
“It… doesn’t have meat, does it?” I asked.
“No, you idiot. I don’t eat meat,” Reno hissed, unwrapping his food.
“Sorry… I just wanted-”
“It’s just a bar of sugary grain. You’d think you would know by now that humans aren’t going to hurt you, or do anything else ‘predatory.’” He said the last word with distaste, like it personally offended him. He was clearly more used to the primates than I was, or ever could be. I knew they wouldn’t mean me any harm, but it was hard to shake off the thoughts that always lingered in my mind when around predators.
I thought his behavior was simply fried nerves from his close call with the Arxur, but there was something more to it, something bitter in his tone that hinted at more than just the last encounter. It reminded me of hearing about his outburst at my sister, Tealk, back at the hatchery. It didn’t sit right with me, but I wasn’t in any position to ask him about it, especially not at that moment.
Dusty was already stuffing the bar into her mouth, not much caring for how revolting I found it. I’d gotten used to their toothy smiles, but seeing her take a bite, just like she would chow down on a piece of bloody meat… If I wasn’t so hungry after so many hours, I would’ve lost my appetite.
Reno bit into the bar, and I carefully unwrapped mine, ignoring the female’s sickening mouth movements. I gave a cautionary sniff before taking a small nibble. It was acceptable, even good considering I hadn’t eaten for so long. I took another bite, then another, and then I noticed Dusty looking at me.
I couldn’t help the way my muscles tensed in agitation. She was instinctively sizing me up, now that food was on her mind. “W-What is it?” I stuttered.
She raised her eyebrows, glancing away. “Nothing. Just the way you move your hands, er… tarsals? Tarsals, across your mandibles when you eat. It’s… nevermind.”
My… tarsals? I flexed a feeler, inspecting it like something was wrong with it. I looked back at the predator, who was now looking out the window. At least she wasn’t… staring at me anymore. Humans got stranger every moment I spent with them. I thought there was a glimmer of hope that they wouldn’t all be as strange as Frankie, but that clearly had yet to be proven.
I took another small bite. Before I knew it, I had eaten the whole thing and had nothing left to occupy the time. There were only dark crop fields outside our truck, and predators or the predator-diseased inside. Nothing to distract me from the knowledge that Sillis was going to fall. Nothing to distract me from the thoughts telling me to give up, to run away, like a coward.
A muted atmosphere of haunting tranquility came over our vehicle, one that everyone silently and willfully acknowledged. We all knew what we were driving towards.
—
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Thanks to u/WCR_706 for proofreading. And, of course, thanks to SpacePaladin15 for the wonderful universe.

I am what the title says, I don't live in a cave nor been in jail , I been trying my entire life thousands of women 3x that online, rejected by every single one I am not fat, I worked out 99% of my life, younger I had a six pack, now I am still muscular but more bulk muscular then ripped, weight is a constant struggle ballance between the crazy amounts of calories I need to gain and maintain muscle mass and to keep from getting fat , my workouts has changed making it harder because I am 52 my joints and back are going, my issue now is the depression from a lifetime of lonlyness never knowing what sex is like not even a kiss , I can't watch movies tv shows anything that may have romantic moments in it ,
I also have developed a psychological block , after 52 years , I can't even fantasize about romantic contact, or dream of it, sure after a lot of practice now I can talk about the lack of it how I feel about it but not the actual physical thing mostly because I have no point of reference, but I actually pause can't even speak, my mind blanks , I didn't know I did this beyond the not able to think of it part the pause part a friend told me I just frozen in mid conversation and was catatonic for a few seconds, then I saw myself do it during a video I made try to taking about my situation ,
I tried giving up several times in the 52 years but it never took away the lonlyness tried religion nothing work its all just like trying to fix a broken mirror with a hammer
I have to add this I find it interesting how instead of believing my honest expression of pain and seeking advice people are questioning my mental state, really why because of things I said taking out of context, maybe I am what I am a man in pain scared buy the abuse and rejection of women throughout his life , maybe there wasn't anything wrong with me for the first 30 years of my life and the lonlyness rejection and abuses of other led to more problems then social phobias, and totally wiped out my self estimate, sure say this isn't possible to protect your world view, but it's the truth

Could those with neurovegetative depression speak about their experience and symptoms? I feel so alone. Can't feel anything, can't feel stress or tension, complete anhedonia all the time, no energy to move and when I do exercise or do anything I feel nothing. Not hungry or thirsty. Muscles and body feel empty and loose. Mind completely blank in the sense that it feels like there's no activity. Cognition gone and it's physically empty in there too and the thoughts I do have even feel airy and choppy

Obviously fashion is fashion and we can dress however the fuck we want to, but ya know what I mean. My high school was the kind where there were homophobic comments all the time (and some of them towards me in particular), especially about clothing choices that made you 'look a certain way'. So my usual dress has been a bit of a mix, but always veering on the side of safety so that they can't tell.
Well, you know what? I went out for the whole day 'looking that way', in a muscle tank top and some cargo shorts. And I do have.... um, quite obvious arm muscles :P It was always expected to keep them hidden though, especially because "men won't like it". Well FUCK what they like. I like it, and that's enough for me. And maybe some day someone else will like them too. 12 year old me would have been SHOOK that I was able to do this.
I caught a train, and a woman clocked me on the platform, and for the first time it was like another person knew. They knew who I was, point blank. It was so exhilarating.
I never considered how freeing this would feel. I want to dress like this all the time, as it's a style of fashion I've been dying to wear but I was always scared. I've never felt so hot in my life, even when wearing the traditional summer dress vibe thing (which still looks good).
I just feel so brave wearing it, like I could take on 3 bears in a fight LOL, and it's literally only a fuckin tank top and shorts wtf. I don't think I can go back.

https://reddit.com/link/1cs2aw3/video/5ghwzruubg0d1/player
Chapter 3: Breaking and Training
Nancy's eyes fluttered open to harsh fluorescent lights. She was in a new room, one starkly different from the sterile lab where she had awakened. This room was lined with mirrors and filled with an assortment of equipment—poles, ropes, and mats. The air was cold, and the scent of disinfectant was overpowering.
The door swung open, and in walked a man dressed in black. His face was stern, eyes cold. Behind him, two guards followed, their expressions blank and intimidating.
"Welcome to your new reality, Nancy," the man said, his voice devoid of warmth. "It's time to train you to become the idol you were designed to be."
Nancy felt a surge of anger and fear. She tried to stand, but her legs were shaky, her body still adjusting to its new form. The man in black approached, grabbing her by the arm and yanking her to her feet.
"Let go of me!" she shouted, trying to pull away.
Her resistance was met with a swift punch to the belly. The pain was sharp and immediate, doubling her over. She gasped for air, the wind knocked out of her, but the man was relentless. He pulled her up again, this time more forcefully, and pushed her towards the center of the room.
"You're going to learn, whether you like it or not," he growled.
The training was brutal. Nancy was forced to dance seductively, her new body put on display in front of the mirrors. Every misstep was met with punishment. When she faltered, the man would yank her back into position, his grip bruising her skin.
She was made to sing until her voice was hoarse, the lyrics foreign and humiliating. Her hands were tied above her head, her body exposed and vulnerable. They poured ice water over her, the cold seeping into her bones, making her shiver uncontrollably.
"Keep singing," the man ordered, but her teeth chattered too much to form coherent words. A sharp slap to her face made her eyes water, but she forced herself to continue, the taste of blood from her bitten tongue mixing with the cold water running down her body.
The ropes cut into her wrists, the bondage restricting her movements. Nancy's muscles ached from the strain, but there was no respite. The man took pleasure in her suffering, pushing her to her limits and beyond.
At one point, she tried to fight back, her instincts urging her to resist. But her efforts were futile. The guards were too strong, and the man too cruel. Another punch to the belly made her double over, the pain radiating through her entire body.
"Submit," he hissed in her ear, pulling her back up by her hair. "You have no choice."
The physical pain was matched by psychological torment. She was made to pose provocatively, her body manipulated like a puppet. They mocked her, taunting her with crude comments about her appearance and her new identity.
"Look at you," the man sneered, forcing her to look at herself in the mirror. "So beautiful, so perfect. And yet, so weak."
Nancy's eyes filled with tears, the humiliation burning deep inside her. She hated what she had become, hated the body that betrayed her with its beauty and allure. But there was no escape from the relentless training, no way to avoid the pain.
The most twisted aspect of her training was the forced arousal. They used devices to stimulate her, driving her body to the brink of pleasure, then stopping abruptly. It was a cruel game, designed to break her will and make her associate pleasure with submission.
Her breasts were a constant target. The man used cold metal clamps to tease her nipples, sending sharp shocks of pain and pleasure through her. He watched with satisfaction as her body responded against her will, her nipples hardening, her breath quickening.
"Enjoying this, Nancy?" he taunted, twisting the clamps cruelly. "Your body certainly is."
Her face burned with humiliation, but her body betrayed her. The forced arousal was maddening, her new form hypersensitive and eager. She hated herself for the way she responded, the way her body craved the stimulation despite the pain they continued to torment her, using vibrators and other devices to drive her to the edge, then stopping just before she could find release. It was an endless cycle of frustration and humiliation, designed to break her spirit and make her submit.
In addition to the physical and psychological torture, Nancy was subjected to a strict diet plan designed to enhance her new form. She was given female hormones to shape her body further, making her curves more pronounced and her features softer.
They monitored her food intake obsessively, forcing her to eat less to maintain a slim figure. When they wanted her to gain weight in specific areas, they would force-feed her high-calorie foods until she was nauseous. If she resisted or failed to eat enough, they would force her to vomit, the guards holding her head over a basin as they shoved fingers down her throat.
Nancy's stomach churned constantly from the forced feedings and vomitings. The cycles of extreme hunger and forced gluttony left her weak and disoriented. The man would stand by, watching her suffer with a twisted smile.
"You're going to be perfect," he said, his voice dripping with malice. "Every inch of you."
The hormone injections were a daily ritual. They injected her with estrogen and other hormones to accelerate the development of her feminine features. The injections were painful, leaving her muscles sore and her mood unstable. Her breasts swelled further, the skin stretched tight over the growing mammary glands. The pain was constant, a reminder of her body's betrayal.
Her hips widened, her thighs grew thicker, and her buttocks became rounder and firmer. Each change was accompanied by discomfort and humiliation, the man and his guards constantly commenting on her developing form.
"Look at those curves," one guard would say, his voice lecherous. "You're going to drive them wild."
The breaking point came when they combined physical pain with forced arousal. She was tied to a chair, her body soaked in freezing water, her skin numb and blue. The man walked around her, his presence a constant reminder of her helplessness.
"You're going to learn to dance, to sing, to seduce," he said, his voice cold and calculating. "You're going to make us a lot of money, Nancy."
She tried to shake her head, tried to refuse, but her body was too weak, her spirit nearly broken. The final blow came in the form of a harsh punch to her belly, making her scream in agony.
"Do you understand?" he demanded, leaning close to her face. "You belong to us now."
Nancy's spirit finally broke. The resistance drained out of her, replaced by a numb acceptance. She nodded weakly, tears streaming down her face. The man smiled, satisfied with her submission.
"Good girl," he said, patting her cheek condescendingly. "Now, let's start again."
The training resumed, but this time Nancy didn't fight back. She danced, sang, and posed as instructed, her mind retreating into a place of numb compliance. The pain became a constant companion, but she learned to endure it, to accept it as part of her new reality.

I have some serious health problems with my gut and the past maybe 2-3 months I’ve developed what seems to be myclonic seizures that happen more often when I’m sleep deprived, get bad sleep, or eat the wrong thing. It mostly happens in my hands and arms. My a arms, hands, or fingers will twitch hard or the muscles will relax accompanied by an uncomfortable sensation like an electric shock or like my nerve is being pitched for a split second or something. It happens very often. Countless times per hour usually but it does stop every once in a while. My thumb has twitched and tapped the keyboard several times while writing this.
But this also seems to be happening to my eyes but like with my vision, my eyes aren’t twitching. Basically my vision is just blanking for a fraction of a second. It’s not going black cause it happens so fast but I can tell my vision is being interrupted. Usually it only happens to my eyes when I have these days where I wake up extremely groggy and have a high heart rate.
I’ve never seen this listed as a symptom of myclonic seizures though, has anyone else experienced this?
EDIT: also I guess it’s kinda happening to my brain too I should’ve mentioned that. Like when it happens to my eyes my mind also blanks and it’s like I forget where I am for a split second.

Im a highschooler bassoon student learning at a conservatory. For exams we've always had to play a piece with a piano accompaniment. I find myself unable to think properly and i fail to remember my notes when dueting like that, like my mind goes blank and im heavily relying on muscle memory. Any advice, is there something im missing (?)

The EXTREMELY detailed, mega-anxiety edition!!! Major events like consult and surgery day are labeled like this:
——— EVENT TITLE ———
Surgeon was Dr. David Whitehead and I saw him on Long Island (New Hyde)
Summarized list of major dates:
Consult: July 19 2023 Mental health letter acquired: August 9 Dates discussed: September 12 Pre-op appointment: December 18 Surgery day: January 8 2024 Post-op: January 17
November 11th 2022: Emailed northwell health for the first time, they emailed back saying to call. I was too anxious so I avoided it for a few months.
Called northwell a few months later but got too anxious talking to the person who picked up. They were being normal and talking normally, it was just personal anxiety on my part.
October 2022 - Early March 2023: Spent time talking to trans friends and family members about their timelines and processes for top surgery.
Looked into Penn medicine for a bit but wasn’t happy with the surgeons there, specifically as a nonbinary person. The patient navigational team however is lovely.
March 2: emailed Penn health patient navigation
March 3-10: correspondence and phone calls w patient navigation (absolutely wonderful people, some of the easiest phone calls I’ve ever had) Got lots of into on surgeons, things I’d need, processes etc.
Date unknown: phone call to Penn medicine asking about surgeons and possibly setting up as a patient (v long wait time on phone) Surgeon I had heard good things about only works w CHOP program and I’m was too old for that program. Other surgeons I was v iffy on.
March 23rd: Back to square 1. Called northwell again to set up an appointment. Everyone I spoke to was really nice. Could have set up an appointment within the week but decided to wait till the end of the semester. Scheduled a trans care and primary care appointment for May
Couple of calls In between for confirmations. Trans care appointment got moved around a bit and ended up being moved to a phone call.
May 8th: Trans care call: Basic preliminary questions like: Emergency contact, what you’re looking for, are you thinking of looking into hormones, experience w dysphoria or dysmorphia, mental health, and eating/nutritional concerns, things you might want doc to know, piercings or tattoos, do you do any drugs or drink often, etc. total call time was about 20 minutes. Doctor was incredibly kind, I still experienced a good deal of anxiety but the call was super easy, welcoming, and friendly. Got sent contact referrals for the surgeons, as well as trans-friendly therapists under my insurance.
May 9th: started looking at list of therapists and making respective emails and calls. Checking per session costs and double checking insurance. Most charge 100-150 per session. Got in contact w one.
May 10th: Called w first therapist talking about what I’m looking for, where I am in this process, if parents are supportive, and talking about costs. She was very friendly and affirming, wants to have a few sessions to get to know me and my situation before writing a letter. Understandable and expected, but frustrating.
May 15th: Primary care appointment: Went to northwell health primary care, parkinglot was a little scary (just a large lot with a lot of cars) but everyone working there’s is super kind. Office is incredibly affirming, pride flags and lgbtq+ art everywhere. Gave my insurance card, filled out some paper work, got called in pretty quickly. I have a needle phobia and medical trauma so I was panicking a bit in the office, nurse was good w me about it and doctor was very kind, I just requested to not have any blood work done that day and that was totally fine, so I could schedule that at a later date and go w a friend. Recommended to get blood work done before scheduling a consult w a surgeon. Also prescribed me a single dose anxiety med for the bloodwork which I was very happy about. I found over time that the anxiety meds unfortunately do little to nothing for my panic attacks personally when it comes to needles but regardless having a doctor acknowledge and respect that fear and listen to me was incredibly helpful and reassuring.
May 30th: Got blood work done in a different lab, went w a friend. Scheduling for that is super easy, I think I did it online actually I don’t entirely recall. they do take walk ins but I made an appointment to minimize complications and make sure I could prepare properly. Front desk/lobby area was a little spooky, but I think that is mainly just bc of my social anxiety. They take a urine sample, you give them your prescription, eventually they call you over for blood work. Quick and easy, tech was v nice and having a friend with me was incredibly helpful. Probably the best I’ve ever done with a needle despite the fact that I did still panic and get very lightheaded lol.
Got blood work results back within the next couple days, all looks a-okay! Neat :)
June 15th This day was incredibly difficult. I had my first session with a therapist to establish some ground knowledge around my dysphoria and the way that I view myself. Top surgery is something that I know from research and related experience Can be difficult and expensive to get and can take time, so much of my prep work has been on the understanding of taking things a step at a time and just knowing that the current way things are doesn’t have to be forever. It allowed me to be able to live with myself while prioritizing my health better. This read to the therapist as “not having the level of dysphoria [she’s] come to expect and look for in someone who is trans” and was largely based off the fact that I don’t want to go on hrt. Past that point I started to break down because now my method of learning to live with myself felt like it was actively going to work against me and prevent me from getting top surgery. I’m not good at talking about my dysphoria, I can’t imagine it’s easy for anyone, especially to a stranger I just met. It was rough, and I felt incredibly mentally drained after ending the session.
June 19th Called it quits with the first therapist, I felt incredibly disrespected and the one session we had put me in a mental spiral for days. It can feel some times in this process like the people you have to get permission from need you to be severely depressed and unable to wait another second for this procedure just in order to take you seriously.
After I left that therapist, I immediately got back to the list to find someone new. Spoke to a new therapist via email, but my insurance is kinda weird (Blue Cross Blue Shield out of state) so its off putting to some people. This therapist recommended I go through the office she started out at (Heart and Soul Counseling)
————- Time Skip ——————
IM BACK its time for some record keeping. Got super overwhelmed and lost the energy to document my process for some time so here goes.
HEART AND SOUL COUNSELING: My experience w/ this therapy office was mostly good. The person in charge, Jesse, was absolutely lovely and responsive. Never spoke in person, but any text/email interaction was prompt, respectful, and kind. The office is stellar with email/text communication, so I only ever had to call them once when I was initially inquiring about the office. This is something I wish all therapy/counseling centers did better, eliminated a ton of my anxiety and hesitation to speak to therapists.
I got set up w someone as quickly as possible and established what my goal was (to acquire letter document for my surgery team). I attended multiple session w the therapist, she was a kind lady but the sessions were unfortunately p miserable for me. We didn’t fit well, but I was willing to stick it out rather than backtrack on my process. She also did not invalidate me or accuse me of not being trans which was a major step up from my first therapy experience. Once I acquired my letter I did stop therapy there, I kindly explained to the therapist that it wasn’t a good match, but I may honestly explore my options at the office in the future. Receptionist there was also lovely and they had a cool fish tank.
———- CONSULT STARTS HERE —————
July 19th: CONSULT!!! My mama and I went to Dr. David Whiteheads office for a consult. Parking was a nightmare so I’m super glad I didn’t have to drive for this one (ty mama). Consult went really well, and the staff were all super friendly. Dr. Whitehead is cool, very chill energy and a bit intimidating, but I’m scared of everyone so that’s nothing new. First question he asked me is what I wanted/what he could do for me which caught me more off guard than it should have? I didn’t realize going into this process how many times people ask you what you’re having done even if it’s already written down, because there’s so much variety in what you can look for in the results.
We talked about the procedure, went through a slideshow n stuff, and discussed how I wanted a flat chest w/ no nipple preservation. They made sure to specify that my mental health professional letter had to include that I did not want nipple preservation because thats technically a “non-standard” appearance. Also had the first breast exam I’ve ever had in my life. Can’t say i’m a fan (not that I need to worry about that anymore!) Took pictures n measurements n such, and also discussed recovery supplies and care w me and my mom.
August 9th: After a plethora of painfully awkward therapy sessions, a decent amount of crying, and a couple breakdowns in friends cars/backyards, I got my therapist letter and sent it to the surgeons office. It ended up needing minor revisions to which I contacted Jesse from Heart and Soul and he got me the revised letter immediately. Unfortunately the surgical coordinator was out of office for the rest of the month the next day ;w;. Is how it be.
September 12th: Got a call from Surgical coordinator mid-painting class that I stepped out to take. Started discussing surgical dates!! She was kind enough to email the dates to me which was lovely because I was absolutely shaking/mind blank haha. There was an option for January 8th which felt like an absolute miracle the way it would work with my school schedule. It would give me a solid two weeks recovery time before spring semester began. Because it would be a couple months out, I was asked to contact her in the second week of October to submit documents to insurance.
(Timeline note: earliest date offered was in early December)
October 10th: Documents sent to insurance, predetermination started
October 30th: Received mail from my insurance approving my procedure as medically necessary (YAY) But! This is also where things get,,, fun! Dr Whitehead’s surgical coordinator, Alyssa, is a blessing and was very helpful and prompt with me despite the fact that I had to email her pretty constantly during this general time which I still feel bad about.
Around this time, my mom got diagnosed with breast cancer, which I reported to the surgical coordinator because it influences my family history (grandmother also had breast cancer). It was asked that I get genetic testing done because this could impact my surgical procedure. Now I’m handling the setup on this between helping my mom in her process setting up consults and considering her options because there of course is a lot of crossover to the steps I’ve already completed and am familiar with.
November 1st: Very kind person at cancer genetics calls me, sends me a family history questionnaire to fill out before I can be scheduled to see a genetic counselor. Filled out the questionnaire the same day.
November 8th: Called cancer genetics to check about scheduling, office was not open so left a message. Got a call back later in the day. I have a virtual appointment with a Genetic counselor Tuesday the 14th. Current plan is a mailed saliva genetic test but I’m going to ask if theres anything I can do to get results/materials quicker. If I can’t get results/feedback by December 8th my surgery date may get deferred.
Trying not to stress too much because there is little to nothing I can do about this, and I just don’t want to be sad. I’ve kept telling myself throughout this process to not get excited and not let myself believe anything is solid because something could happen at any time that might mess up my schedule or plan, and If I convince myself I’m in the clear, those changes will hurt a lot more. So far I think thats been a good move, because this really sucks.
My surgery date is still officially scheduled as of now as well as my first post-op. I will also ideally have pre-surgical testing done December 18th should I be cleared by genetics in time (Fingers crossed!)
ALSO! Def lean on friends if/when you can during this process. It can absolutely be challenging, and having a support system is incredibly important and helpful. I’m super lucky to have really lovely and supportive friends that are around to listen to me and send me pictures of stupid little animals.
November 9th: My mama is scheduled for her double mastectomy on December 4th
November 10th: Did some shopping with my mama for recovery supplies for double mastectomy/top surgery. Having watched a million and a half transition/top surgery videos and tiktoks and having read all the blogs and posts and tweets makes you a great support for someone suddenly faced with an upcoming double mastectomy! We might go shopping this weekend for some button ups and zip ups for her, clothes shopping is better done when you can try stuff on
November 14th: Meeting w genetic counselor: Victoria Webb, one of the loveliest medical care workers I’ve ever met. Had a virtual appointment with her to discuss and set up genetic testing. I explained to her about my situation w the proximity of my surgery and tight deadline as well as my willingness to do a blood test instead of a saliva kit to get results quicker. She was so incredibly kind and good with me, ended up being able to do a saliva kit and get results in time she deserves every good thing in life.
December 18th: pre-surgical testing: This was at the main hospital, everyone was really nice but I had a really bad panic attack despite being on Xanax.
The process is sort of like getting a physical. Measurements like weight and blood pressure get taken, lots of preliminary health questions. The people working with me were really kind and I was very open with them about my anxiety, it was visually apparent though anyway because I started crying the second we even started talking about the blood draw.
Once the equipment was actually brought into the room I started to panic. Both of the women working with me were really kind and helpful and tried to distract me and keep me talking the entire time, but I did still have a really horrible panic attack. Every muscle in my body locked up and I lost all my color, took a bit to get back to a spot where I could move and talk properly because my speech was affected too. It was a bit scary but funny to think about in post. Thanked the medical staff for being patient w me as always, a good portion of the anxiety is also guilt about making things harder for them. Got through it tho. Def eat before presurgical if allowed, I didn’t and that probably didn’t help!!
———- SURGERY DAY ————-
January 8th:
Ok so surgery day:
This day was very scary. Got my phone call the Friday prior for my surgery time which ended up being 1pm and I was asked to arrive around 11. Got there at 10 and went in at 10:30.
Called up to check in then in waiting room till someone brought me back to change. I told her right away about my anxiety with the iv bc that’s legit all I could think about. Got changed right after. I was generally shaky and a little disoriented the entire time because I was panicking but everyone was very patient with me. Clothes and belongings go in a bag in a locker and you get two gowns one that faces back and one that faces front. I was given underwear and a pad as well because lucky me I got my period a couple days before my surgery.
The pre-op area is a lot of little cubicles with curtain divider things, blue soft chairs, and medical equipment. Everyone I met and spoke to was very kind, but any time someone even suggested starting my iv I would panic. I was informed it would have to be placed in my hand and that terrified me, I’m especially anxious and sensitive about my hands and fingers. I think doctors and nurses tend to misunderstand exactly where my fear is with needles and ivs. It isn’t the pain that scares me, but the concept of veins and and anything being in them. Even writing this right now is horrible so I’m going to stop w any further detail. I spent the entire two-ish hours of pre-op absolutely terrified about this iv.
I wasn’t really keeping track of time but dr whitehead came in to do markings for surgery. They had cool rainbow socks on,big fan. Having your chest drawn on and just like, moved around n shit is such an experience. Felt bad because I kept losing my balance but doctor Whitehead is cool and I am 98% less scared about them now.
Probably my most favorite person I met during my entire hospital experience was the anesthesiologist. I know he told me what his name was but I couldn’t focus on or retain information at the time. He told me we could essentially put me to sleep with gas before putting the iv in and for the first time in probably a solid week I felt like I could calm down a little. He took a look at my hand and arm to check my veins which always does freak me out a bit but I’m more used to that kind of thing at this point and I know nothing bad is going to happen. One of the nurses came in with the iv equipment and he let her know that were going to wait till in the or which was also incredibly helpful because I absolutely panicked when I saw that little supply kit again.
V nice lady brought me into the or, I’d never been in one before it was cool. They had a little music speaker which was really cool. Took off blue jacket gown and they helped me onto the table. They put a warm blanket over my legs and my chest to help me calm down. Before long they gave me a mask w fun happy sleepy time gas, they let me keep my arms on my chest for a while which was really nice because I was still scared. I started getting loopy pretty fast but I still heard when someone mentioned where the iv equipment was and panicked a little because of that. I remember feeling them take my hand for that but never actually felt anything happen. Just some fear but the gas was v helpful obvi. Someone said they would see me in a little bit, and then I was groggily waking up in recovery.
Recovery was a little rough bc the iv was still there (fully wrapped up so I couldn’t see it though which was rad) but I was still really anxious about it until it was taken out and when it was taken out. For anyone that struggles w this i did not feel them remove it, just the tape. Everything was mentally much easier after that. After a while, going over instructions w parents, a cracker , some ginger ale and some juice, my dad helped me Get dressed and I was helped out to the car in a wheel chair. Ride was smooth bc of remaining numbness and meds except a few Bumps in the road
TOP SURGERY GOTTEN
My post op date was scheduled for Jan 17th and that’s the day I got my drains out followed by several post op check-ins. First week of recovery was miserable but things exponentially approved each day past that, and I went back to school in person two weeks post-op with driving and item-carrying assistance from friends!
Will upload recovery notes at a later date! Feel free to message me with any questions, more than happy to answer and give info! I’m a bit over four months out from surgery now and thriving 🥳

part 5
"What do you think?" asked Grace looking at the rule set in disbelief.
"I don't know.. I guess the people here are a little odd but being honest, I prefer to play along and follow some weird rules than having to sleep in a box back in the city."
"You're right. It's just that some of these rules give me the chills... But we'll get used to it." She smiled trying to stay positive.
"We will. It's probably just small town superstitions anyway. Let's go inside now, we wasted a good bit of time outside and we will barely make it home before 18:00"
The store was almost empty when we entered. We greeted the employee we had met earlier and got a cart. We gathered the essentials for our first day, plus a few items for dinner and breakfast.
"We should get Jody some of that soda she likes, she hasn't threw a tantrum since we got here" said Grace with a laugh when we were heading to check out.
It was true. Our daughter was being on her best behavior, helping us unpack and keeping the little ones entertained so we can get some work done. She deserved a little treat.
We couldn't find the brand of soda Jody likes so we approached a girl in an employee uniform to ask.
"Excuse me, could you help us find [ brand ] soda?" I asked her. She looked young, probably around 20 years old. She turned and looked at us with a blank expression.
"Hi, we were looking for [ brand ] soda, could you help us please?" Grace repeated just a bit slower.
The girl smiled very wide, almost wider than a human could smile but didn't say anything.
"Maybe we should go, we can get her some ice cream tomorrow" I gently pulled Grace away. This girl was making me feel uneasy. There was something unnatural about her smile.
"Jody will be upset if you don't get her the soda" the girl said as we started to leave.
I turned around to look at her and that awful smile looked even wider. How could she know my daughter's name?
"You shouldn't disappoint your daughter again Paul" the girl said looking straight into my eyes but there was no emotion in her voice. "Changing schools, leaving Tina behind, those girls have been friends since they were 3 years old. She lost it all because of your bad decisions and now you won't even go through the trouble of finding her a can of soda?"
How could a stranger know all that? I was getting really scared. She started coming closer and even though I desperately wanted to grab Grace and run I couldn't move a muscle.
As l stood there paralyzed in fear I heard a voice through the store's intercom.
" Manager Lovac, isle four, urgent! "
The voice sounded distant but thankfully it was enough to make me break eye contact. I kept my focus on her (it? I wasn't sure this girl was human any more) but tried to avoid her eyes until I could find the courage to turn my back on her and run.
She had almost reached me when a guy rushed to us and threw a fistful of something at the creature. She let out a bone chilling scream and bolted out of the store.
Only then I noticed that the guy who saved me was wearing an employee uniform and a name tag. His name was Rey Lovac.
"What was that ?" Grace asked him. She was shaking.
"Don't worry about it, it's gone now. My deepest apologies for this incident sir and ma'am. It's the store's fault really. You see, while we did include a warning in the rules about employees that look different than usual, it's your first time shopping here so you had no way of knowing what is unusual."
I didn't know what to think. What was that thing ? Rey spoke like coming face to face with something that was clearly not human was a normal encounter. I, on the other hand was always a sceptic and never believed in ghosts, ghouls and all that nonsense.
But this was real .
" Please, accept our apologies, along with today's groceries, they are on the house." Said Rey as he started bagging our stuff himself. He even threw in some candy bars and a couple of cans of sodas.
"Now, go. It's almost 18:00. Thank you for shopping with us!" He said cheerfully and walked us to the door.
We found ourselves outside, trying to process what just happened.
"What was that?" my wife asked. She sounded terrified.
"I don't know... But it taught me one thing for sure. Those rules are not just the townsfolk quirks. Our lives might depend on following them."
I looked at my watch. 17:53.

First: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/14vo5lb/troublemakers_deaths_pity/
*previous:* https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1cqxbp3/troublemakers_triple_cross/
......
Caz didn't remember blacking out as she smashed through the wall, Valkyrie armor absorbing most of the blow. All she knew is that when she opened her eyes, she was moving faster than ever, throwing herself over obstacles and around corners as that massive emitter slung blinding pulses of light at her, but she wasn't stupid, it could hit her anytime it chose; They were herding her like livestock. Caz kicked off one wall of an alleyway, then the other and landed on the roof, never breaking stride as she leapt from crumbling rooftop to crumbling rooftop like she had wings, one arm protectively clutched to her chest to protect the remote. Jumping down a level she sprinted across the lower roofs, circling back around to try and retrieve her Huntress, When a Block-90 sailed through the air towards her. She caught it, Barely registering the name Dahlia engraved on the slide. She didn't need to see the troublemaker's guardian specter as a weighted chain sailed through the air from nothing to knock aside the emitter of a Geknosian spec ops' laser rifle. Caz instinctually aimed, and fired Dahlia, The soldier reeling back as a .30 caliber Durasteel slug slammed through their faceplate.
A soldier appeared in front of her, swinging a war gauntlet at her face. Sliding between their legs she put a round through their taint at point blank range to bring them to their knees before putting another round in the back of their helmet as she stood, never breaking stride.
Her muscles stung like hornets and her breath burned like fire, but she couldn't help but let loose a feral laugh as she slid, jumped, and vaulted through the rubble of the ruined village. The Dahlia barked, a spec ops soldier crumpling or flinching to swing their rifle from the shimmer in the air right in front of them so Cassius could drive a Kama into their throat. She didn't see charlotte anywhere, and despite the betrayal and stabbing of Remin, she couldn't help but be concerned for the girl. Another spec ops appeared in front of her, she slid around them, putting five rounds in their back armor, only for them to turn around and deliver a haymaker straight into her mask.
She felt her nose break as she slammed into the roof, momentum halted by the brutal hit as the remote flew from her hand. He reyes watched it sail through the air and fall.
Fall.
Fall into the waiting, ring bedecked hand of Drake. A shiver ran through the air as Drake pocketed the remote, a black, tattered spartan's cape flowing about his shoulders. But unlike every other time he'd lost consciousness and returned, it was like he had lost power this time, in a matter of fact, it was like he'd been drained of it. But the way he held himself was so much different, there was a sparkle in his eyes as he drew his sword, helmet flying into his palm as he snugged it on. The rings glimmered even as they absorbed so much of the light that hit them that they appeared as silhouettes.
There was a sudden change in the spec ops as they focused on Drake, she watched them gather into small groups, forming fire teams as the metal buzzards above turned to focus on the lone man. The words that fell from Drake's lips were like the first rumbles of thunder before a deadly monsoon.
"I haven't felt this scared since I was in the arena... And you have no idea how excited that makes me!"
...
Charlotte would not let the darkness of her mind claim her again. She tugged and pulled at the threads of her consciousness, fighting her older sister for control of her own body. But her older sister pulled back harder, tugging the knife taut against someone's throat. A shock of pain, a shock of cold and she was forced to let go. For a moment, she and her older sister were one. She could feel her older sister's fear, fear of punishment and reprisal. A tough mask hid the fragile being beneath that so desperately cried for freedom but feared what it could mean. All Charlotte could do, was push in her determination to be free again to her older sister before they separated again.
But this time she was not alone in the darkness, The soft sound of penny whistles and old war drums followed a man in furs and carrying an odd metal tube attached to a stock. His presence felt like an open field under a night full of stars that stretched on forever, or an endless calm ocean where you stood on a steady boat, the world as your oyster. But there was also something scary about it, like the ability to do anything was both curse and blessing. But when the man softly set himself down beside her, he also sat with her sister, letting them face each other, speaking with a soft twang she could only describe as old country, the man chuckled.
"I reckon you girls both want the same thing, and with the lord as my witness, I'm here to grant you that wish."
He held out his hands to either of us.
"Let us pray to the lord our god that he may deliver you from the lands of egypt and into the promised land."
They both took his hand, and bowed their heads as he recited a few ancient prayers. Charlotte felt a burning in her soul, a lightness that replaced the oppressive dark with a field of beautiful flowers, just like home. Looking to big sister sylva, she could see the fearful, broken look in her eyes, but also a spark of determination as the man picked up his percussion cap rifle and walked away, the sound of pennywhistles and drums following him as she tearfully, but strongly took her older sisters hand.
"Do the right thing."
As she pulled her hands away, the remote was left in her hand. Charlotte could feel the smile behind Sylva's mask as she tossed the remote, watching it turn into a swallow that flitted off as fast as it could.
...
Death slammed a palm against the wooden doors, bursting them open like they were old and rotten as he stormed into Conquest's throne room, scythe slamming against the stony floor as Drake stood off to the side. He felt an odd sensation, like he was only as strong as a human could be, like he had no power left.
And it was like a burden had been lifted from his shoulders. He moved slower, hit softer, and got hit harder now, he knew that, but it excited him to actually be able to fight!
Death stopped a few paces from conquest, who was lacksadaisically sipping from a clear goblet as servants played soft music from a corner and served her wine, either chained to their instruments, or dragging a heavy weight by their ankle or equivalent. Drake looked on in grinning anger, teeth grinding together as he observed the degrading spectacle. Death collected himself slightly, no expression visible on his skull face as he spoke in a voice like nails on a chalkboard.
"I heard that you used a soultrap, Conquest. Those were banned during the eight thousandth pantheonal convention, but I heard you used one on my chosen here."
Conquest snorted into her goblet before spotting drake and tensing so hard the goblet shattered.
"So what?! your little monster breaks more rules than I could dream of breaking!"
Death glanced back at Drake as the swordsman leaned casually against a pillar, gripping two rings menacingly with a manic grin of rage directed at conquest. The god couldn't look the mere mortal in the eyes as Death raised a calming skeletal hand.
"He breaks universal rules, supposedly unbreakable ones... and admittedly, I'm not sure how the fuck he does it. But we all agreed that soul traps are both inhumane, unfair, and straight up bullshit. It says that in the fuckin rulebook, Verbatim. If you want to fight my chosen, you'll do it in Yovun's arena, per the five thousandth convention. I don't want a war amongst the gods Gul'vak, but it seems you do..."
Conquest straightened upon the utterance of her true name, a low growl coming from her throat.
"You know nothing about what you speak of Human! Do not lecture me about rules!"
Heat mirage appeared around Death before he took a deep breath and simply said.
"Drake, if Conquest wants to break agreed upon rules... I guess I can turn a blind eye just this once. Go wild."
The room rumbled as two rings hit the ground, disappearing into black smoke so they could be summoned back without issue. Conquest stood, grabbing her hammer from thin air. But then two more rings clinked against the ground as Drake exploded with power, surging forth on black wings wreathed in pale flame. Conquest flinched and screamed.
"ALRIGHT!"
Drake stopped the lethal thrust inches away from Conquests fearful face, the hammer tumbling to the ground as Drake summoned the rings back onto his hands. He'd wanted to drive alexandros through her heart. But he could wait, as he turned around, rage broiling in his heart as he forcefully cooled it, this was not his world, it was the world of gods and primordials. It would be wise to follow their rules. Conquests voice was faux-strong as she shakily snarled.
"I'll follow the godsdamned rules... just keep that Thing away from me."
Drake felt a smile come to his face, pride swelling in his chest, this was a different kind of power he felt as he joined Death's side fearlessly. At the drop of a hat, he could make the greatest enemy of his people grovel at his feet. But, taking a deep breath, he pushed the feeling away, knowing now how the high priest felt every time he cracked that whip against a young Drake's raw back. How dangerous getting addicted to that feeling could be. He'd enjoy it for now, but he also made a solemn promise to hold back any chance he could. To show the mercy he never received.
Death swept around, beckoning Drake.
"Come, young warrior, I sense that your friends need you."
Drake was shaken from his thoughts as he rapidly joined Death's side.
"How do you know?"
"Old john brown has finally selected a chosen. For a god of liberty he has a lot of deference to the big G."
"Who's the big G?"
"God, used to be kind of a pompous bastard really, but he's grown on me."
"Nothing you just said makes sense to me."
"To You."
Death clarified confusingly.
...
Drake looked over the gathered Geknosian spec ops, noticing Charlotte's pummeled form leaning against a pile of rubble, chest weakly rising and falling. Cataclysmic rage burned in his heart as a blaster bolt burnt across his chest with his first step forward. He wouldn't need to remove a ring for this, he wanted to kick ass old school style. He took each bolt as they came his way, burning his flesh and charring his armor. But the pain was like a drug, his blood running hot with battle-lust as he called out.
"Take a breather guys! they're all mine!"
Drake picked up speed, charging through the flashes of laser bolts even as they burned his skin and charred his flesh. As his foot hit the ground, he felt them running with him, the warriors that made up the liquid iron in his blood. From the first Hoplite to his father the Warmonger. A million souls crying out for revenge as he planted a flying double footed kick to a spec ops soldier's breastplate, bringing them to the ground and sliding the blade of his sword into the gap between their neck and chest armor, purple blood spilling out as he brought the sweeping cut up, striking the chin of another's helmet before driving the point of his sword directly into their throat. He dove out of the way as a laser bolt obliterated the ground where he'd been standing, herding him into a ring of the spec ops.
Good, just where he wanted to be, up close and personal. He danced through the circle of death, blaster bolts intended to harm or kill splashing against other Geknosians in blinding flashes as Drake carried himself through the barrage on dancer's feet, the steps he'd practice with Cassius allowing him to strike freely. Each strike flowing into another, seamlessly switching between single handed and two handed grips as he leapt up, monkeying onto a spec ops soldier and stabbing his sword's blade into the gap between neck and shoulder all the way to the hilt. Leaping towards another with a manic grin as he saw fear in the eyes behind the visor before the helmet went flying with the head still inside it. Suddenly a Geknosian in ornate armor appeared in front of him, thrusting a saber for his throat.
Drake let the blade skitter off his helmet's faceplate, returning a slash that was parried with a strong low block. Steel rang, clashing and clamoring as the two danced back and forth. One thinking they were meeting their prey in honorable battle, the other fighting like a rabid, enraged beast that had been backed into a corner. The saber snapped under a particularly vicious blow, the Geknosian general just able to register surprise before Drake separated his head from his shoulders. Blood pumping, skin burning as the headless corpse slumped down by his feet. He looked around at the spec ops who still had their guns raised and trained on Drake.
"Grack this! I don't wanna die here!"
One shouted, Drawing Drake's attention as they threw their blaster to the ground and slammed down on their knees, putting their hands on the back of their heads. Drake looked around at the clearly hesitating spec ops and through his manic, uncontrollable grin he called out.
"Anyone else not want to die?!"
Slowly, ever so slowly the remaining blasters were lowered, then tossed to the ground as the two metal buzzards hummed frantically away. Seeing Caz limp to his side with her railgun, he put his hand on her forearm as she tried to raise it to point at the fleeing aircraft.
"Let em go."
"But they just tried to-"
"Some must live to spread the word."
Caz looked up at him for a moment, confused, before a spark of realization lit up her pain filled crystalline eyes as she looked at the surrendering spec ops.
"Prisoners..."
Drake nodded and flicked the blood from his swordblade before wiping it clean on the dead general's crotch flap.
"Prisoners."
He confirmed, looking to charlotte as she slowly clambered to her feet, swaying weekly as she clutched her head. Drake let his smile fall and fade before saying.
"who else needs medical attention."
"everybody but Cassius and Destrier as far as I know, including yourself dumbass."
Drake chuckled and nodded, getting an odd look from Caz as he stated.
"I'll be fine, I'll just pop off a pinkie ring for an hour when we get home."
Caz sighed and helped Drake support the badly wounded Charlotte to the forge building.
"somethings changed about you, and it's not the lack of power."
Drake chuckled and simply responded.
"I don't know, I just feel... better, all of a sudden. Fightings fun again."
"I'm not sure that's a good thing, Drake."
Drake chuckled softly and helped get Charlotte into the forge building without responding.
......
Part 107: https://www.reddit.com/HFY/comments/1crq34h/troublemakers_buried_secrets_bolster_the_weak/

Me and Lila always carved dozens of jack o’ lanterns every October, so they’d absolutely saturate our lawn on Halloween night. It was our thing. But looking back on it, now that I’ve lost her, I just feel bad for the pumpkins. I almost relate to them, somehow. The way they were carved up, had everything of substance inside of them torn out, and left as hollow, rotting shells with forced smiles.
Needless to say, I didn’t cope with her death well. I didn’t want to cope with it. I wanted the world to drown in the black sludge of my grief. I loathed the people I saw going about their lives, unaware that the world had already ended the moment Lila died. The Earth shouldn’t keep spinning. Life shouldn’t go on. Not without her.
Even my relatives bringing me along on a trip to Kauai only made it worse. The most gorgeous place on Earth, and it made me sick with hatred. Nothing that beautiful deserved to exist if Lila wasn’t ever going to get to see it. It wasn’t fair.
I thought I’d never enjoy or care about anything again. Then I discovered media preservation.
It started with taking some of Lila’s old VHS tapes to a video repair place to fix some issues with the footage before it’s digitized. The job fascinated me. In a universe based on entropy, where everything inevitably fades away and is forgotten… restoring something lost is like snatching it from the jaws of death, right? Like flipping the bird to the universe and its so-called ‘natural order’. People die, but information doesn’t have to.
Now, it doesn’t matter how small — be it some god-awful plug-and-play licensed game, or a cereal commercial from 80’s — it’s my mission to recover it in as high a quality as I’m able, and make sure it’s freely available online for as long as possible.
A couple weeks ago, I came across a big haul. Four boxes of old VHS tapes offered up on E-Bay for dirt cheap. Most of the tapes were just recordings of Cheers episodes already preserved in higher qualities, but one Maxell E-240 caught my interest.
First of all, I’d never seen one so melted. Sure, sometimes they were left in an attic too long, and the colors and audio start to degrade. But this one looked like it had survived a house fire. It was covered in soot and the smell of smoke, and had the overall shape of a chocolate bar left out in the sun a little too long.
Second was the label, which read in neat sharpie: ᴇᴘɪꜱᴏᴅᴇ 4,679,329 ᴍᴀʀ 8 2035.
The casing was so disfigured, I had to bust it apart just pull out the tapes and respool them in a fresh cassette. I tried to iron out the creases in the tape as best I could, but I had no illusions about it accomplishing much — the mylar surface had been irreparably warped in places by whatever fire had half-melted the thing.
Imagine my despair at the sight of that dreaded ‘ɴᴏ ꜱɪɢɴᴀʟ’. I could clearly see the tape wasn’t blank, yet no amount of adjusting the tracking or trying different TVs or VCRs accomplished anything. Just as I was about to give up, though, the thing just suddenly started playing properly at the exact instant the clock struck 3 AM, as if it had only now decided to work. My all-nighter had paid off.
I didn’t dwell on the fact that this ‘miracle fix’ had been impossible. If I’d had any sense, I’d have torn the horrid thing out of my VCR and buried it beneath holy ground. Instead, fool I was, I sat down and watched.
At first, the thing seemed unwatchable. The audio was so distorted that the show’s theme song emerged as a low, crackling, staticky wail that made my head throb, and the logo was completely indistinguishable through the flickering and interference. I thought it was a lost cause for a moment. But then a figure appeared and cleared away the static, like Moses parting the Red Sea.
It was the sight of the show’s host that hooked me. He was just… perfect. Perfect in every way. I knew it just looking at him. Infinitely handsome and likable and charismatic, and he always said the exact perfect thing. The only issue is, I don’t remember a single thing about him now, in the same way you can’t remember a dream that seemed so clear to you while you were experiencing it. He just appears in my memory as this abstract blur in a sharp suit. Yet at the time, I was awestruck, even before he said a single word.
I can’t even remember a word he said. It was like he was speaking another language, one I felt as opposed to heard. I’ll try and transcribe it as best I can into words, but know that it’s only a pathetic imitation.
“... for another night of laughs, prizes, and fun for the whole family, with your host, #####!” I noticed that the audio and visual distortion seemed to suddenly intensify the instant he said his name, rendering it completely illegible. Idiot I was, I figured that was a coincidence. “Tonight is a night of celebration, folks, because thanks to the support of loyal viewers like you, we have just been approved for, get this: two hundred thousand more seasons!”
The “live studio audience” went wild with applause. I put that in scare quotes because, as far as I could tell, besides the host, the studio seemed completely empty. As if he was standing on a plain white stage that extended outwards into infinite darkness on all sides.
“For those just joining us, the game here is simple…” He explained that this was some sort of a trivia show. Every time a guest got an answer wrong, it brought them a little closer to some sort of unspecified ‘punishment’. And if they got it right? He smirked. “Well, they get to delay the inevitable.”
I wondered what he meant by ‘inevitable’. I didn’t have to wonder long.
The host gestured to a curtain that hadn’t been there moments ago, which raised to reveal a middle-aged man. You know the type — bushy mustache, gray hair, round-rimmed glasses. Kind of guy you’d have doing your plumbing. He couldn’t look any more out of place stood up and restrained in that — what the hell is that?
I recognized that metal coffin-looking thing from a medieval torture museum I went to once. The iron maiden. The lid hung open, countless long, needle-like blades poking inwards, threaten to poke a million new holes in him if it was shut.
His situation was not lost on him. “Where… where am I? What the hell is this!?”
“Oh, lucky guess!” The host ‘joked’. More canned laughter. “I know you always loved watching those trivia shows, Malcolm? Weren’t you always sitting there, grinding your teeth, seething that it wasn’t fair? That you should be the one up on stage, winning big?”
The man paused. Even he seemed mesmerized by the unreal perfection of the host before him. “I… this is a… game show?”
“All you have to do is answer a few questions! Think you can handle that, Malcolm?” He pulled out a cue card without waiting for an answer. “And our first question! What were you doing the night of February 18th, 1998?”
The man seemed baffled. “Just… sat on my couch watching the NFL, I think? I’m not sure how I’m supposed to remember —“
He let out a startled squeal as a horrid buzzer sounded. On cue, the lid slid a third of the way closed, making him flinch. “Oooh, I’m afraid that’s the wrong answer, Frank! But you know what? I’ll give you one more chance. What were you —“
“Following a girl home!” The man cried out. “F-from the bar. There, are you happy?”
“Cor-rect!” The canned audience began cheering! “Such honesty! Now, our second question: just what were you carrying while you followed her?”
He hesitated for a little too long. And then the buzzer sounded again, and the lid slid so near to closing that its blades began poking uncomfortably against his skin. He tried to press himself against the back of the maiden as well as his restraints would allow. “Jesus! Okay! A knife, a knife!”
“Awww, if only you’d said that just a second earlier!” Another big question. “Our third question: why, Malcolm? Why did you do it?”
That set Malcolm off. He started thrashing, clawing, screaming. “Let me out of this thing, you maniac! You can’t do this to me! Do you know who I am? Is this some sort of sick joke? My lawyers will have your head for this, you—“
And then the buzzer. All of a sudden, the lid slammed shut full-force, and the man was utterly silenced save for an unnatural, drawn-out wheeze. “Another wrong answer, Malcolm! I’m afraid I was looking for: ‘because if I can’t have her, no one can’!”
I admit it. I laughed. Out of shock more than anything. How was this allowed on TV? I took it as some sort of dark comedy show, and it was kind of satisfying to see that freaky character get his comeuppance. Still, there was something unnerving to me, seeing the man’s eyes through the openings in the maiden. Wide and red and terrified. They just looked a little… too real.
But the maiden disappeared as quickly as it came, before I could dwell on it too much. “Oh, envy! Definitely one of my favorite sins.” More laughter. “Stay tuned, folks! We’ve still got a night of fun and games in store for you! But first… how’s about a word from our sponsors?”
Cut to a corporate logo which I again couldn't recognize.
“This segment was made possible by Buer Health, which has recently announced a brilliant new initiative to protect our citizens from skin cancer by removing their skin completely.”
The camera cut to a massive industrial building, resembling a solid concrete cube around 50 meters in width and height. Its surface bore arcane symbols etched using carvings of wailing, tormented faces. The host would occasionally be rendered inaudible by a deafening metallic scraping from within, though he didn’t seem to notice. The only protrusion from the building’s cubic shape was a single smokestack, belching a scarlet red smoke into the atmosphere. A queue of gaunt figures waited at the entrance, herded and coerced by their grim overseers, and there were no words to describe the procession of scarlet ghouls limping out the building’s other end.
“Owing to the nonlinearity of time, the brand new Grand Skinpeeling Machine has spontaneously appeared several years before construction deadlines, and indeed, before it was even conceived of by anyone in our timeline. People have rushed all the way from Malebolge just to try this miracle of technology out on opening day, and so far, the reviews have been stellar!”
He shoved his microphone in the face of a shambling thing that could only scarcely be called a human. Tatters of flesh clung to its exposed musculature, blowing in the wind. Its eyes were the only hint of color in that sea of bloody red, and they were wide, white and terrified. The thing screamed and wailed for as long as it could before the last tendons connecting its jaw to its face snapped, and it was left to choke and gurgle.
“An amazing wail! The results speak for themselves, folks. The Grand Skinpeeling Machine is a hit!”
So far, I was still laughing along and having a good time. The sight of the next ‘guest’, however, started making me nervous.
It was an old lady.
She couldn’t be a day younger than sixty, the sort of sweet elderly woman who in a just world would be cooking chocolate chip cookies for her grandchildren in a comfy cottage somewhere. But here she was, tied to a metal chair, eyes wide, shaking like a leaf. Unlike the last contestant, she seemed to know exactly what was happening.
“In exchange for our loving endorsement, they’ve agreed to loan us one of their star employees. Ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for: the Liqisma!”
Something slunk from the darkness far behind her — or perhaps it’d be more apt to say that the darkness birthed it whole-cloth. It was like a living shadow, and it took my eyes a moment to register what I was even seeing.
How do I even begin describing this creature? I could say it looked almost human, or at least like something that may have been human long ago. Or I could start with its skin, which was all black and shiny as latex and seemingly smooth on first glance, but if you looked closer you’d realize it was covered in a million tiny reptilian scales, almost like a shark. Its head was a bald man’s, utterly devoid of any distinguishing features, like the basic stock template for a human being. It was notable only for a complete lack of pupils and irises, its eyes a pure white.
Its body defied basic biology in so many key ways, I had to stare it at for what felt like an eternity just to wrap my mind around its physiology. It was at least five or six meters long, by my estimate, composed of multiple human torsos stacked one on top of the other like segments of a centipede, each melding with the ones around it at the waist and shoulders. Each torso sported a pair of short, stubby arms that propelled it with terrifying grace. It ended with a pair of human legs, perpetually bent on their knees, beneath a ‘tail’ that looked more like its coccyx was poking free from its body.
The old last could clearly hear it, and kept futilely trying to turn her head around enough to get a peek at what stood behind her. I mouthed uselessly, don’t. You don’t want to know.
“Glad you could join us again, Miss Wethersby! Judging by our ratings last week, you seemed to have been a fan favorite!”
Her voice was so soft, I could barely hear it below the static. “Oh, God. Please, why won’t you people let me go? I’ve told you, I’ve never done anything, never hurt anybody. There must be some sort of—”
He waved a hand over her, and it seemed to forcefully snap her mouth shut. “Please, Miss Wethersby, save your breath for our questions!” Another cue card. “Your first question, my friend: where did you and your husband buy your first home?”
She had to think about it for a long time. Eventually, she cried out, “Alabama! Tuscaloosa, Alabama!”
“Ding ding ding! Why, you’re already doing better than our first contestant! Next question: what breed of dog was your childhood pet?”
She had a pained look on her face as she thought. Eventually, a timer started ticking down. It wasn’t visible, so it wasn’t clear how much time she had left exactly, but the sound it made got more shrill and high-pitched with every second. “Miss Wethersby, need I remind you that we have a time limit on this show?”
A tear ran down her cheek. “I… I keep telling you people, I don’t know. I have dementia, I can’t remember, please—”
That buzzer again. “I’m afraid that was the wrong answer! Liqisma?” The old lady shuddered at the sounds of hundreds of feet drawing a little closer to her. “Now, your first grandchild. What did he look like? What color were his eyes? His hair?”
She was crying harder now, like it hurt her that she couldn’t remember something so dear to her. “I told you I can’t remember! Why are you doing this to me!?”
“If you don’t remember them, why would they remember you?” The host mocked as the buzzer sounded, and the beast drew a little closer. “Really, do you believe they still even think about you? Or do you think they’re glad that the old bag of bones isn’t there sucking up their inheritance?”
This went on for… God, it could have been an hour. I was glued to the screen all the while, frozen with terror, praying for this nightmare to just end, for her to make it out okay somehow. He poured over every little detail of the life she lived and the people she loved, delighting in how little of it she could still recall.
And the thing grew closer, and closer… until she finally felt multiple pairs of hands resting upon her shoulders. The thing was looming over her now, and a long, black tongue a few feet in length emerged from its mouth and ran trails of dark saliva over the back of her head. She looked broken down, eyes raw from crying, and I could tell by the dampness of her dress that she’d wet herself.
“Now, Miss Wethersby, our time here has been fun, but I do believe it is time for our final question. Tell me, what is the name… of your only son?”
She couldn’t even answer anymore. She just stared ahead, like her mind was a million miles away. He cackled as the buzzer sounded one final time, and threw his cue cards aside. “Thank you for playing, Miss Wethersby. Better luck next time.”
I would say the thing unhinged its jaw like a snake, but that’d be an understatement. The way the thing’s face malformed and wrinkled and stretched as it opened its maw, it no longer looked even remotely human. Its jaws must have parted at least thirty centimeters apart, revealing a second, pharyngeal pair of jaws that lashed out and gripped the woman’s skull, pulling her headlong into that darkness.
I could hear bones crunching and snapping as its throat constricted down around her body, peristaltic muscles compacting her into a meat slurry, bit by bit. Yet she just wouldn’t die. Even as her skull and upper body were already crushed and compacted, organs and muscles pressed into mulch, she still kicked her legs, twitched her fingers, let out a gurgling that must have been some attempt at screaming. She was squirming even as the beast snapped its jaw shut around the last of her, condemning her to whatever torments awaited her inside the creature.
And all the while, that horrible laughter. “Don’t worry, folks! She’ll be back next week! And the next. And the next…”
Needless to say, I wasn’t having fun anymore. In fact, I had to turn away and fight the urge to throw up. I stood, about to turn the TV off and —
“Ah, ah, ah! Don’t touch that dial, now!” I froze. There was something chilling about the way he said that, staring right into the screen as if reacting to what I was doing. I hated that grin on his face. “The real show is just beginning.”
And with the barely restrained excitement of a child on Christmas morning, he yanked back another curtain, and I recognized everything.
I recognized that crappy bootleg knockoff Always Sunny in Philadelphia jacket that was so gaudy and terrible it instantly became her favorite thing in her wardrobe. I recognized those subtle hints of slight acne she disguised as fake freckles. I recognized the way her gray eyes would remind me of those overcast mornings at the beach at Hilton Head and pointing out all the cannonball jellyfish washed up on the sands. I recognized that tattoo of the name ʀᴏᴄᴋʏ, how I’d held her all night long as she cried into my shirt after her childhood cat had died.
It was Lila.
I shuddered, gasped, fell from my seat as if I’d been punched in the stomach and the air had been knocked out of me. I couldn’t breathe. This couldn’t be real. I was dreaming right now. I must be. I just had to wake up.
But I couldn’t wake up. Nothing I could do dispelled the sight of her curled up in that… that thing. That bronze statue of a bull, horns jutting on either side of a head that roaring silently up at the heavens, all while the love of my life was locked in its hollowed out belly, visible only through a pane of glass. I could hear her cry out in shock at where she’d found herself, and every whimper felt like it drove a knife through my chest.
The host soaked in the moment. It was ecstasy for him, the suffering of it all. He stared dead into the camera like he was looking right at me as she called, “What is this? Where am I?”
“Why, I have good news, my dear Lila! You’re exactly where every American dreams of being: you’re on TV.” He pointed to the camera. “And we have a very special guest in the audience tonight. Your very own beloved Jackson!”
I shuddered, hearing my own name ooze from his fetid lips. His façade of perfection was slipping, and there was something so profoundly ugly beneath it. Her eyes snapped to the camera, confused, despairing. “Jackson? Baby? What — what’s happening? What is this?”
I don’t know, I thought, gripping the sides of the TV so hard my knuckles turned white, but I’m going to get you out of there, baby. I’m going to find whoever did this and I’m going to bury them all so far beneath that studio that they’ll never-
“I’m afraid Jackson hasn’t joined us quite yet, my dear. But if you truly love him, surely you’ll give him a show to remember, won’t you?” He taunted her. “All I want, after all, is to ask you a few questions! In fact, I’ll offer you a special deal: get even a single answer right, and I’ll let you go free! But get one wrong and, well…”
On cue, a fire was lit beneath her. Small, smoldering for now, but she whimpered as she noticed the heat. We both realized in that instant what this was. By now, I was screaming things I can’t repeat here, and slamming my hands against the TV screen as if I could reach through and save her.
She bit her lip and acquiesced. Not like she had any room to argue. The host grinned and readied a cue card. “Your first question: where are you, Lila?”
“I… I don’t know. How am I supposed to know?”
“You do know, Lila. You know exactly where you are.” He smirked at her. “Here’s a free hint: what’s the last thing you remember, before you woke up here?
She thought about it… and choked back a sob, visibly shaking as the realization slowly settled in. “But… but why? I… I…”
The horrible wail of the buzzer cut her off. “Oooh, too bad! I’m afraid you’ve run out of time!”
Seemingly as if on its own, the fire doubled in size. Sparks licked the belly of the bronze bull, and began to ever-so-slowly heat the surface. She pawed around in the tight confines, searching for any reprieve from the scalding heat all around her as the metal grew hot like it’d been left out in the sun on a summer’s day. “Please! Oh, God, let me out of this thing! It hurts! It hurts!”
The host seemed to breathe in her pain as if stealing a moment’s indulgence. “Now that there is no doubt about where you are, my dear, let us proceed to the second question.” He switched to his next card. “Did you believe in God, in the end?”
“O-of course!” She pled her case as if she was being tried in court. “My entire life… every day I gave to the poor, helped the sick, did whatever I could to honor Hi-“
“I’m afraid you misunderstood my question. I asked, did you believe in him at the end? The very moment your pitiful little life was snuffed out?”
“I always believed! I’d never forsake Him!”
“Yes, yes, I know. You lived a good and holy life, didn’t you?” He cackled. “But what of the very end? You and your little husband were so excited to deliver your first little baby boy. But o, tragedy! It all went wrong, didn’t it? Your precious little boy didn’t make it through childbirth… and you followed closely behind.”
“That whole business with the botched pregnancy, it was… what do you call it? Ah, yes. A ‘test of faith’. And I’m afraid you failed. In your final moments, you watched the light fade from your child’s eyes, and you assumed — wisely, in my humble opinion — that no ‘kind’ and ‘loving’ God would allow something like that to happen.” He laughed. “Funny how after a lifetime of dutiful service, all it takes is one little mistake at the end… to bring you here. To us.”
I’d never seen such depths of despair in a person’s eyes. Such emptiness. Like with every word, he’d been scooping out another piece of her until she was hollow. And then that buzzer roared again, more shrill than ever, and I could barely see her little window through the smoke and flames. The belly of the bull was turning orange in places, and I could hear her flesh start to sizzle like meat on a grill. There are no words for the noises she made. No words at all.
“And our last, final question,” he continued. “What were your last words to your poor, beloved Jackson?”
“I love you!” I called out the answer. Bloody fingerprints stained the TV screen from my slamming my hands against it, as I screamed the answer over and over. “I love you, I love you, I love you!” At some point, I forgot that there was ever a question. I was just screaming it at her as if hoping that she could hear it, that it could bring her a modicum of comfort in that place.
The buzzer sounded again. I couldn't bring myself to look. All I could hear was the roaring of the bull, and the steam rising from its bronze nostrils.
The curtain fell. Silence drowned the sound. The host dropped all pretense that he hadn’t been speaking directly to me. “Now, Jackson. You just might be one of my new favorite audience members this show had ever had. I know this must have been hard for you. But if you’ll just stay tuned, I have one more show I know you’re certain to love!”
I didn’t bother to touch the remote. After all, nothing could be worse than what I’d just seen, right?
Wrong. Horror wracked me as the curtain rose, and I saw the man chained to a chair. I pulled away like a caveman witnessing fire, cringing and stuttering, face wet with sweat. It was the sort of fear that worked its way into your bones like a bad chill, that left you shaking, teeth chattering.
It was me.
An older me, sure. But not by much. Ten years, maybe. A gaunt and hollow version of me, one twisted by ten years of depression and hard drugs. But it was unmistakable.
His eyes widened as he recognized the host. “Oh — oh God, God please no! It can’t be — oh Christ, let me out of this chair, you —“
“Come, now! We wouldn’t want to use the lord’s name in vain, would we? I mean, that would be a sin!” The host laid a hand on the other me’s shoulder. “It may have been a few years since you watched our program, but I’m sure you remember the rules, don’t you, old friend?”
The other me was wordless, on the verge of hyperventilating, just as I was. The host was giddy with delight. “Now! Our first and only question is one I’m sure our viewer will be very interested in: what sins, exactly, do you think landed you here?”
The other me tried to speak, but the words caught in his throat. I could see it in his eyes. The years of self-destruction, the bitter hopelessness, the whirlpool of nihilism and vice and decay. The suffocating depths of a man. The darkness. How could he put it into words?
The sound of the buzzer was like a pig’s squeal. “Mmm, I’m afraid that our viewer is going to have to figure that out for himself! In the meantime, your punishment? Well, we wouldn’t want to spoil anything…”
The curtains slowly began to fall just as a couple other of those black, grotesque monstrosities emerged from the darkness. The curtain covered them all before I could get a good look at their obscene, twisted, asymmetrical figures. All I could hear was the crunching, the sound of skin tearing like paper, the screaming that went on for longer and louder than a human throat or vocal chords could endure.
The image and audio were beginning to distort, glitch, burn away. The tapes were physically melting as they played. My VCR was starting to overheat, sparks pouring from its front panel. The host voice jumped around in tone, his voice fading into the static blur as the tapes bubbled and boiled and distorted. “But, my friends, I’m afraid that concludes tonight’s episode of our show! So, with a final farewell to our dear, beloved viewer, Jackson…”
Just before the image melted away, the camera seemed to jump forward until his face filled the screen, his eyes piercing into mine as he cackled in that singsong voice.
“See you sooooon~”

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About half of the student body was blinded by the sudden and intense flash of light that blanketed the room.
The other half seemed to have reacted in time to shield themselves from that unexpected assault on the senses.
I was part of that latter half.
And what I saw during those precious few seconds of visual overstimulation was nothing short of remarkable.
The walls that had resembled Mal’tory’s dark and dreary office quaked and quivered in place, as if the whole room was a living organism, and we were somehow nestled within its guts.
Each of the ornate wooden panels began dislodging from one another, their formerly flush surfaces cracking, revealing seams where there had been none before. These seams too began expanding, as each of the panels started wobbling, wiggling, then eventually disconnecting from one another entirely; moving independently of one another as if freeing themselves from a long-dormant state.
For a moment, they looked almost like a reptile’s scales when put under magnification.
Then, and without any warning, they began disappearing, each panel violently pulled back and into some dark anomalous void that existed behind the walls themselves; sending the EVI into another fit of spatial error reports.
We were, for a split second, completely wall-less. But not a second after the old walls had been… for lack of a better term — banished to the literal shadow realm, did a set of new walls suddenly take their place.
And quite dramatically too.
As an entirely new wallface suddenly emerged darkness of the void, one that was earthy in tones, and reminded me more of those old teakwood heritage buildings back on Earth. There were fewer embellishments to them compared to the previous Victorian-styled walls, less patterns and ostentatious designs, instead simply going with this less is more approach that left vast empty gaps where decorations and patterns were previously present. It was almost as if they were left empty and bare for a reason.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 475% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
Out of nowhere, dozens of pots, planters, and trellises suddenly embedded themselves through the wall, decorating what was no longer a blank canvas.
Plantlife soon followed this open invitation for a free home, as hundreds of flowers bloomed all across the wall, carefully trimmed and perfectly appointed to the lattice structures they coiled on, with not a single one of them looking too wild or out of place.
The sudden and abrupt remodeling completely threw me off.
At least, until the source of it all suddenly made themselves known.
“Welcome, first years, to Mana-field perception and Light Magic theory.” The voice continued, as through the literal haze of change came a female figure that the EVI had little problem assigning a name and identifier to.
ENTITY IFF CONFIRMED: A109 Apprentice Larial Essen - NEXUS [CORDIAL]
Yet strangely, the metallic footsteps that I’d heard just before she crossed the staff door’s threshold didn’t seem to follow her. Instead, only the apprentice emerged from the door behind the lectern.
She continued towards the lectern with a forced and somewhat stiff poise and gait, her general demeanor identical to how she carried herself prior to the whole crate saga. Which was of course, stern, tired, and completely unyielding; a fact supported by the impeccable posture she used to walk into class.
Though the class’ focus certainly wasn’t on her demeanor, or her posture, nor even on the room that had completely morphed into a completely different space.
No.
It was instead almost squarely focused on the apprentice’s cloak, which was most certainly not black.
This prompted the entire room to erupt into a frenzy of whispers, tempered only by those daring enough to deploy privacy screens.
But before those antics could evolve any further, and before my mind could even catch up with this turn of events, a loud, high-pitched, and unbroken — SHUSH — erupted from the front of the class. Emerging from a certain gorn-like lizard, who’d stood up to face us rather than the apprentice currently manning her podium. “ALL STUDENTS RISE!” He commanded.
To which the entire class followed, with the only two tentative parties being myself and a certain bull.
“ALL STUDENTS FORWARD AND BOW!” He continued, prompting the whole class to follow suit, and from there, receiving a head-tilt’s worth of praise from the apprentice.
“Thank you, Lord Qiv.” The apprentice spoke appreciatively, before setting her sights on the rest of the desks and chairs—
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 200% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—which were subsequently transformed into brighter-toned variants of their formerly dark and depressive selves. “I understand that there may be quite a few lingering questions amongst the crowd that quite a few of you wish to be addressed. In the spirit of ensuring that these needless thoughts and senseless rumors do not come to cloud your mind throughout the rest of class, thereby rendering these lessons moot, I wish for them to be addressed here and now.” Larial announced tacitly, but with a severity that was clearly modeled off of her mentor.
The mood of the room quickly changed following that.
But instead of shifting to the deference and submission in Articord’s class, or the tentative acceptance of Vanavan’s class, there was instead an overarching tone of outright confusion.
It was as if the whole class didn’t know how best to handle the situation.
But whilst the rest of the room remained undecided, with a few shaky hands rising up one by one, a sense of relief quickly washed over me as my emotions finally managed to catch up to the rapidly developing turn of events.
I couldn’t help but to immediately activate the in-armor positional readjustment mode in the suit, allowing myself to just… slouch; as I took in the class with a renewed wave of reprieve.
It was that same feeling you get when you arrive on the day of the test, only to find it delayed by a week. Or that feeling you get when a notification arrives in the dead of night, on the eve of a presentation, to inexplicably announce that the whole project was now put on hold due to some unforeseen event.
But unlike those situations where the why of the situation didn’t really matter… here, it most certainly did.
Which prompted me to listen in, as the questions began flying towards the apprentice.
“If I may be the one so brazen as to offer myself as the voice of the year group, Apprentice Essen?” A certain Auris Ping took the lead, having been chosen by the apprentice amidst a sea of equally inquisitive hands.
“The floor is yours, Lord Ping.” The apprentice proclaimed.
“Thank you, Apprentice.” The bull responded curtly, eliciting a particularly intense glare from the likes of Thalmin. “Where is Professor Mal’tory?”
The apprentice’s features shifted somewhat at that question, as if she wasn’t expecting something that blunt and straightforward right out of the gate. “The professor’s whereabouts are the business of the Academy’s faculty and staff.” She spoke firmly, yet with an authority that she was clearly under equipped to wield. “If you wish to inquire as to the nature of this class going forward, I will be more than happy to-”
A series of hands were raised even before the apprentice had even finished her sentence. Which prompted the overworked and exhausted elf to switch over to another student before she even had time to finish her own thoughts. “The floor is yours, Lady Ladona.”
“Thank you, Apprentice. Now, to clarify, are we to expect you to be teaching us for the rest of this class?” The being, which I could only describe as a butterfly with most of their insectoid-traits toned down, asked politely.
“That is correct, Lady Ladona.”
“And is this expected to continue for… the rest of the month?” Ladona continued, her features shifting if only to show her growing sense of confidence.“The semester perhaps? Or maybe even the rest of the school year?” She continued at a rapid-fire pace, making a point to catch the apprentice off-guard before she could even respond to that first point.
“The responsibility of tutelage has been deferred to me on the basis of Professor Mal’tory’s current inability to fulfill this particular aspect of his responsibilities owing to his current engagements. This will remain so, until the Professor returns from said engagements.” The apprentice responded in that same jaded, no-nonsense tone of voice she’d used during our pre-life debt interactions.
It was, however, woefully inadequate in dealing with the likes of a vicious social predator like Ladona, who immediately waded through the tepid waters towards the first sign of weakness. “So when can we expect his return, Apprentice?” She pushed further, her polite tone of voice acting like a velvet cloth, barely concealing the sharp mandibles beneath it.
“That is something I cannot answer.” The apprentice replied sternly, taking a stand against the shark that had now tasted blood in the water.
“Is this because of a lack of correspondence to the faculty?” The butterfly-person shot back quickly with an innocent cock of her head, her antennae swaying as she did so.
“I am not at a privilege to divulge such details, and that is most certainly not the case, Lady Ladona.”
“My apologies, Apprentice.” Ladona spoke in a calculated show of apologetics. “In any case, am I to assume then that in addition to the responsibility of tutelage, that the responsibilities of proctorship, examination, and evaluation, have likewise been deferred to you?” She shifted gears once more, this time, her question garnered quite a few murmurs to emerge from the rest of the class.
Murmurs which, as the EVI’s little picture-in-picture subtitles hinted at, were all in support of Auris Ping’s right-hand.
“That’s right… are we to assume that an apprentice of all people will be responsible for the evaluation of our performance?”
“I mean, she is an elf, that should count for something right-”
“Have some dignity! Just because she’s an elf, doesn’t mean she has any right to be dictating the fate of our academic progress!”
“That’s right! This is an insult to our titles! How dare they relegate the tutelage of a class to a mere pitiable apprentice! What do they take us for, the dregs of society?”
These hot-takes continued escalating further and further, until finally, and seemingly out of nowhere, several of those voices began dying down seemingly mid-sentence; something had distracted them from their little outbursts.
In fact, as the seconds ticked by, Thacea, Thalmin, and Ilunor turned towards each other knowingly, as if sensing that something was amiss.
That something was soon made clear to me by a sudden uptick of mana that rose from two, to three, to four hundred percent above background radiation.
At which point, several warnings suddenly slammed my HUD.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
CAUTION: Concentrated Heat-Energy Surge Detected!
CAUTION: Localized Temperature Surge Detected!
Those caution reticles quickly formed just behind the apprentice, hovering ominously over that void-filled doorway, right before a stream of concentrated flames surged forwards towards her.
However, instead of dodging, ducking, or leaping out of the way, she stood firm; her features not even shifting even a little.
As right before the flames made contact, so too did they suddenly stop, as that surge of mana radiation fluctuated wildly—
ALERT: VARIABLE FREQUENCY FLUCTUATION OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED 200 - 400% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—before suddenly disappearing.
The room was left stunned.
Any remaining conversations were halted mid way, with many of the more chatty students barely even registering what’d just happened.
So for those who lacked situational awareness, and were still very much looking around for the reason why the rest of the class had gone silent, there was a round two to these attacks that erupted as suddenly as the first.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 650% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
This was signaled at first by the cracking of rock and the quaking of the entire room, followed closely by four distinct sinkholes forming along the floor at the very front of the lecture hall. A gurgling, churning noise echoed ominously from deep within the newly-formed holes, like an ancient concrete mixer dialed up to eleven.
Eventually, it stopped.
And soon after, four humanoid earthen behemoths erupted from those sinkholes. Each of them easily towered over the apprentice, whilst each of their fists were at least a full Ilunor in size.
A tense confrontation followed, and a silence that could be shattered by a pin drop soon descended upon the formerly whisper-filled room.
Yet despite it all, the apprentice didn’t move a single muscle, and to top it all off her eyes were closed shut as if in deep thought.
Seconds passed.
Then finally, the four cobblestone golems made their move.
All four moved in sync, their first steps caused the whole hall to shudder, prompting me to instinctively flinch towards my sidearm as the events of the second day hit me harder than a sack of bricks.
The first golem was poised to strike her side—
ALERT: VARIABLE FREQUENCY FLUCTUATION OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED 300 - 650% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—but found itself crumbling before our eyes, as local mana radiation spiked and shifted erratically.
The second golem reached down with its fist, poised to grab the apprentice through the lectern—
ALERT: VARIABLE FREQUENCY FLUCTUATION OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED 250 - 700% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—but like the first, it found itself reduced to rubble, falling where it stood; as rock by rock, it collapsed under its own weight.
The third and fourth golems charged forward together, lunging down fast towards the lectern—
ALERT: VARIABLE FREQUENCY FLUCTUATION OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED 350 - 725% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
—but like the first and second, they too found themselves victims to the great equalizer that was gravity, as whatever magical glue was holding them together just up and failed, reducing those humanoid forms into harmless piles of rock.
A few stray rocks did reach the lectern, but were effortlessly swatted away by an invisible barrier, leaving the apprentice and her immediate surroundings completely unharmed.
Silence once more descended on the entire class.
But just like the silence from before, that lull period wasn’t destined to last, as a loud, boisterous, and jolly series of bellowing laughs emerged from behind the void of that door.
I could tell, with immediate certainty, who that voice belonged to.
I didn’t even need the EVI’s tag system for this one.
ENTITY IFF CONFIRMED: A110 Professor Sorecar Latil Almont Pliska - NEXUS [CORDIAL]
“Spectacular work, young apprentice! Spectacular work indeed!” The man came marching through the door, walking up and towards the apprentice.
“Thank you, Professor-Armorer Pliska.” The apprentice responded softly, prompting the armorer to reply with a sharp and brisk bow of his own.
“You can reserve your thanks for after class, I have plenty more exercises where that came from, and each and every one is going to be tougher than the last!” The man proclaimed not-so-discreetly, eliciting a worried expression to form on the apprentice’s face, highlighting the seriousness of the otherwise lackadaisical tone of his voice. “Needless to say, I don’t think you’ll be thanking me much after I’m done with you! The Academy’s gotten a bit softer over the years, and I’m about to make up for lost time before they toss old-Sorecar Latil Almont Pliska back into the workshop!” He paused, before shifting his tone towards a more menacing one. “And that applies to your understudies as well, Apprentice.”
“Now!” The armorer quickly shifted his attention from the apprentice, and towards class, his gesticulations wild, as if making for the apprentice’s slower, more sluggish demeanor. More specifically, he maintained this sort of “Y” posture, with both arms high above his head as he spoke. “For those of you wondering exactly what just happened… well, perhaps it would be best for you to leave the class considering this is exactly the sort of thing we’ll both be expecting of you following the conclusion of this school year! And for those of you who openly doubt the qualifications of our dear apprentice here… just know that she was hand-picked by Professor Mal’tory himself for a reason.” The man paused, before bringing his arms back down to his sides, if only to emphasize his point, before resuming the posture from before. “And until I see a single one of you being personally selected by a black, red, blue, or white-robed professor… I don’t want to hear a single peep of doubt from you lot. At least as it pertains to the apprentice’s ability to teach these classes! And if you need an extra guarantee of such? Well… know that the Academy does not allow an apprentice to teach without supervision from an appointed Professor of the Magical Arts.” He paused, as if for dramatic effect, before pointing both hands down towards himself. “Which just so happens to be the only Professor otherwise free from the burdens of stringent schedules — yours truly!”
To Sorecar’s credit, the murmurs born of inflated egos, and the whispers of dissidence did not once dare to interrupt, or follow-up on the man’s proclamations.
If anything, that entire… display was enough to keep the critics at bay, and the ones on the fence to fully hop back on the side of respect.
At least, until one group decided to tempt fate, deploying a privacy screen.
ALERT: LOCALIZED SURGE OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED, 350% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
If only for that privacy screen to suffer the same effects as the rest of the spells casted throughout class thus far.
ALERT: VARIABLE FREQUENCY FLUCTUATION OF MANA-RADIATION DETECTED 100 - 350% ABOVE BACKGROUND RADIATION LEVELS
“Bold! Brash! And indeed, cheeky, if that word still holds true in this era’s vernacular!” Sorecar announced with a laugh that radiated deep from within his armor. “Unlike other classes that prohibit the casting of magic save for practice or demonstrative purposes, I fully allow it, nay, I say, I encourage it! You youths should be free to cast magic whenever and however you like!” The man paused soon after, and once again shifted gears towards a more severe timbre, yet never once losing that lackadaisical personality I knew him for. “But just remember, while you may freely practice these magical gifts you have and hold so highly, doing such in this class is to be considered a direct challenge by yours truly! This is the study of Light Magic and Mana-field Perception, after all! And thus, in the spirit of scholarly competition, I shall take every spell cast as a chance to prove what’s what!”
The man paused, before gesturing towards the apprentice. “Now, for those of you still quite confused with the definition of Light Magic as it pertains to the Nexian vernacular, I shall defer the right of tutelage back to that of our dear Apprentice. The floor is yours, my lady.”
A brief exchange of bows between the teaching duo was had, before the apprentice finally started, now with all doubts and concerns fully addressed not just by words alone, but through action as well.
“As all of you may have already discerned, the demonstration Professor Pliska had so graciously provided, was an attempt to illustrate the most visible effects of Light Magic — that being the detection and subsequent dispelling of active and pre-active spells. The subject of Light magic, thus refers to the study of the detection, dispelling, counterspelling, and disarming of all forms of other magics.”
“And by that definition, it is the single most combative field of magic there is.” Sorecar promptly chimed in with a nod towards the apprentice, almost like he was tag-teaming this opening statement with her; establishing a precedent for the dynamics of the class. “For in order to practice Light Magic, one must be in the presence of an active spell. And in order to truly practice Light Magic, one must be in the presence of active danger, as unlike most forms of magic, unevenness and intensity in casting is key to the successful destabilization of an offending spell.”
“So THAT’S what the fluctuations were.” I thought to myself outloud inside my helmet.
“Moreover—” Sorecar continued, raising his arms into the air once again as if to emphasize his points. “—to the seasoned and the wise, Light Magic as a field is known to be the single most versatile field in existence. For if implemented correctly, it has the capacity to bring all other forms of magic to its knees.”
“Versatility and adaptability are core elements of Light Magic, so while not capable of much harm by itself, it is capable of incredible feats of defense if used correctly.”
To say that I was pleasantly surprised would’ve been an understatement by this point. Because not only was Mal’tory completely out for the count, and not only was he replaced by two of my only cordial relations within the Academy thus far, but the class itself was refreshingly straightforward. There was no mincing around words like Vanavan’s class of lectures, there was also no overt signs of blatant propaganda and indoctrination like in Articord’s class. Instead, this whole class started out with a practical demo of all things, followed up essentially with a breakdown of exactly what we were studying.
“What you observed during the start of class, were just two out of a near-infinite set of examples demonstrating counterspell and dispelling measures, a rather dramatic one I might add but one that you may very well one day use.” The apprentice continued following yet another exchange of nods with Sorecar.
“And indeed, while they may have seemed trivial to the keen-eyed observer, the execution of their dispelling is anything but. Because despite what most misinformed minds may believe regarding counterspelling — dispelling isn’t simply a matter of overpowering an offending spell with a burst of mana, but instead, more akin to the unwinding of a knot, or the picking of a lock. You must act to untangle a spell, until the spell itself falls apart at the seams.” Sorecar continued, before once again swapping the baton with Larial through an exchange of nods.
“Which is exactly why Light Magic continues to be a field forever expanding in its domain.” The apprentice continued. “Because as every other field develops more and more convoluted forms of spells and artificing, so too does Light Magic have to adapt, improvise, and overcome these advanced and oftentimes eclectic means of casting.”
So an arms race… I thought to myself.
“It is, in essence, a pure magic field. Yet it is applied as if it were an applied magical field of study.” Sorecar surmised, prompting me to actually listen in with genuine intent, this marking the first moment I was truly engaged with a class with none of its politics.
“And as for the Mana-Field Perception class?” The apprentice continued with an inquisitive tone of voice. “It’s effectively an extension, or rather, a foundational element of Light Magic depending on how one wishes to view it. Because in order to become proficient in Light Magic, you have to first understand and hone your abilities in order to detect the nuances within mana-streams and mana-fields. It is only through the detection of disruptions and the accurate understanding of a spell being cast, that you are able to apply more advanced abjurations in an attempt to counter these spells. Sometimes even before they’re cast if you’re so inclined to.”
“Now, how many of you can genuinely say you noticed the shift in the room’s aura prior to the casting of that Firestream?” Sorecar asked the crowd, prompting almost every hand to be raised.
“Well that’s just a blatant lie now, isn’t it?” The man retorted bluntly. “I can tell by your reactions just before the Flamespear hit, you know. So please, honestly now, I’m giving you one more chance to answer.”
About three quarters of the class lowered their hands, leaving only the gang, Auris Ping and Qiv’s group, as well as a few other scattered students to maintain their raised hands.
“Alright, that’s about exactly the number I counted from behind the veil! Rightio then!” Sorecar proclaimed through what I could only imagine would’ve been a grin if it wasn’t for his armor. “This is exactly why mana-field perception is necessary. Because to most mages, it is a learned skill rather than an inherent trait. Which, of course, is by no means a demerit! But moreso, a wonderful little oddity in the grander tapestry that is the magical arts and pedagogue!”
The apprentice quickly followed that up with a series of talks once more summarizing the expectations of the class. Mana-field perception was, unsurprisingly, divided into practical and theoretical assessments. Which, at first, seemed to be a potential roadblock, until I realized one fundamental way this class could actually benefit my aims.
“EVI?” I spoke inwardly, as Larial started her lectures on mana-field perception.
“Yes, Cadet Booker?”
“Is there any chance you can maybe interpolate and extrapolate on the Apprentice’s points? As in, is it possible to… visualize magic, as opposed to just alerting me to bursts of it?”
“The mana-radiation visualization project, or MRVP, has been in development for some time, Cadet Booker. The research and development teams however, were unable to create a reliable model for field-use that wouldn’t have been a liability to operations.”
“So it wasn’t field-deployable because of the variance and accuracy issue.”
“Correct, Cadet Booker.”
“Alright, and you said all they needed was more data to create a better model for it, right?”
“Correct, Cadet Booker.”
“Could you… do that with this? Is that within your mission parameters to do so?”
“It is indeed one of the many ongoing projects taking up the bulk of my processing capacity, Cadet Booker. However, proper implementation of this will require additional hardware to be developed, tested, and then field-deployed for testing. The success rate of which is yet to be determined. I cannot guarantee this operation will yield the desired results inferred, Cadet Booker.”
“Alright, that’s good enough for me.” I acknowledged, before turning back to class with a renewed sense of invigoration.
The lecture continued, only stopping about midway as the apprentice realized she’d yet to elaborate on the whole Light Magic class side of things.
Which, it turns out, was more or less similar to Mana-field perception in its assessment criteria — that being a mix of practical and theory assessments. A combination of written exams and practical counterspelling would be expected in tests, midterms, and finals. This would mark my first true hurdle… but then again, perhaps I could balance out the rest of my grades against the practicals which was more or less an impossibility given my obvious human limitations…
“As with most of the classes in the first year, I will treat both periods as one. As both subjects are intertwined, we may see glimpses of both within the same period.” The apprentice continued, before shifting gears towards something else. “And on the topic of periods, since we’re nearing the conclusion of the first, with lunch quickly coming upon us, I believe it to be necessary to inform everyone now of what awaits at the end of this second period.” The apprentice spoke ominously, as she made the effort of meeting every one of the students’ gazes. “By day’s end, I intend for a pair of you to perform a practical demonstration of the fundamentals of light magic. So I expect everyone to pay close attention after lunch.”
A small pause punctuated the room yet again, before Sorecar, after several hours of silence, came to complete the apprentice’s thoughts; his faceplate squeaked to form a shape that just barely gave off the feeling of a smirk.
“Be prepared, and be ready, for your first real brush with magical dueling.”
“First being the operative word here, I must add.” The apprentice quickly clarified. “Within the bounds of demonstrative purposes.”
I could just about hear the band rounding out the corner outside the hall, and I could just about see a few students ready to pack up their things for lunch.
However, before the band could arrive, Thalmin unexpectedly stood up, raising his hand in the process.
“Yes, Prince Thalmin Havenbrock?” The apprentice acknowledged.
“I wish to volunteer as the issuer of this duel, and to designate the other party for this duel as well.”
The apprentice paused, considering this carefully, before nodding. “Granted, though I warn you Prince Havenbrock, this is an introductory demonstration, and will be treated as such. In any case, who would you wish to designate as the other party?”
“Lord Auris Ping.”
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(Author’s Note: And there we have it! Light Magic Theory and Manafield Perception classes are both now in session! This is probably the most fun and engaging class I've written yet, and this is a sentiment that Emma shares as well! I do hope you guys share the sentiment haha as I still think that action is something I still am quite lacking in, in terms of my abilities to properly write and convey it. I hope you guys enjoy! :D The next Two Chapters are already up on Patreon if you guys are interested in getting early access to future chapters!)
[If you guys want to help support me and these stories, here's my ko-fi ! And my Patreon for early chapter releases (Chapter 80 and Chapter 81 of this story is already out on there!)]

It was exactly two weeks ago when my slight concerns evolved into genuine fear. I remember restlessly lying in bed, whimpering and crying, contemplating whom to blame for my senseless suffering. Despite the fact that it was my fourth consecutive night spent completely awake, I refused to fall asleep. Despite the fact that my body was literally breaking apart, I refused to fall asleep. Despite my itching eyes, despite my pulsing headache, despite my burning muscles, I refused to fall asleep.
The world seemed so incredibly cruel. I begged and pleaded, but nobody answered my calls. I felt like one of those spoiled kids in the supermarket, rolling around on the dirty floor. Only for me, there was no exhausted mother who would sooner or later cave in. My mother was destiny or God or whoever else chose to ignore my prayers.
I crashed back into my mattress, slowly descending into this trancelike state of consciousness, not quite awake but light-years away from actually drifting off. Until the sun let out its heinous laugh and reminded me that there was more pain to bear.
The next day was even worse. My vision was hazy. Points of light constantly lit up and disappeared again. The continuous sound of rustling leaves accompanied the noise of blabbering coworkers and concerned friends. Time flew by but remained still. Memories escaped my grasp like salmon in a roaming river. I was starving, dying, unable to reach for the food that sat right in front of my gaping maw.
Just let me sleep.
Day turned into night. And just like before, my soul refused to rest. I was at my wit's end. I felt death looming in the shadows and would have given everything to make the world come to an infinite halt. In a last desperate attempt, I decided to take drastic measures. If my body was unwilling to listen to me, I would force it to.
I took about eighty milligrams of doxepin and passed out shortly after.
The first things I noticed upon waking up were a raging headache and the cold air brushing against my skin. Still feeling drowsy and disoriented, I aimlessly walked through the unknown street I somehow woke up on. The millions of unanswered questions in my head slowly freed me from the pill's remaining chains. I distinctly remembered falling asleep on my couch. Yet, I ended up stumbling around a part of town that was more than ten miles away from my apartment.
During these moments of pure shame and confusion, the picturesque scenery in front of my eyes felt like utter hell. The fact that I apparently had no control over my body's actions struck me to my core. In a time where I believed to have peacefully slumbered off, I instead chose... chose to... chose to do... what exactly?
While waiting for the subway, a thought, as sharp as the blade of a guillotine, hovered over my head.
I could have killed someone today. I wouldn't even know.
When I came back, the sight that revealed itself upon opening the door seemed to confirm all of my darkest premonitions. Multiple vases and bowls lay shattered on the ground. My shelves and drawers were left opened and unorganized, cutlery and plates carelessly thrown onto the floor. Nothing stood where it once was placed. It looked like a tornado stormed through my home while I was gone. But a tiny part of me, carefully hidden away from logic and rationality, knew the real cause of the havoc.
It was me. I did that.
I frantically paced around my apartment, frightened of phenomena I couldn't comprehend. And again, this tiny but persistent whisper sounded:
I could have killed someone today. I wouldn't even know.
The second time I knocked myself out, I only really did it to soothe my paranoia-infested mind. I needed safety and control. I needed to know the extent of my damage. I needed to understand the being that mysteriously managed to hide from my memories.
I set up various video recordings and took my pills. In my last waking moments, I remember the sweat dripping down my hands and this deep sense of unease creeping up my spine. It was already too late.
As the view of my dirty gray carpet greeted me in the morning, a huge wave of relief washed over me. It was as if the sun learned to shine again, instantly covering my past incident in a different light. I didn't hurt people. I didn't kill people. I simply walked out of the house and somehow forgot about it.
I took a deep breath, believing at least one of my worries to have disappeared. When a stinging pain in my knuckles fired through my body and decimated my newfound hope. I let out a small wince of pain. Still feeling the high of my easement, I at first just stared at my bruised-up fingers as if they were mere hallucinations. Rows of sausages, maybe. Sausages, covered in blood.
This has to be a dream.
It was only after five or so motionless seconds had passed that the horror dared to truly sneak up on me. The weight of my realization hit me like a sledgehammer. I rushed towards my phone, my shaking fingers desperately searching for the recorded video, unable to look away from the mess that unfolded in front of me.
The recording started as soon as the tablets rolled down my throat. A worrisome expression remained on my face as I lay on the couch and drifted into sleep. Soon after that, a satisfied snore escaped my speakers. My initial angst transformed into a feeling of slight discomfort while I watched my own peaceful slumber. Almost bored, I half-heartedly followed the next uneventful twenty minutes.
Then, everything started changing all at once. Suddenly, the man... no, the thing in the video shot to its feet, stretching and wandering across the room. Trying to adjust to a life of thirty-three vertebrae and four extremities, the muscles in its suit of meat seemed tense and stuck in place. As it turned my home upside down, every single grunt, shake, and blink appeared unnatural and tiresome. Its gait eerily similar to a marionette's. My clone rummaged through the cupboard without any sort of fluency. If it moved, it moved rapidly. And if it didn't, it stopped for long periods of time, completely frozen and paralyzed. Its arms, tight like the branches of a tree, smashed up my fine china. A horrifying scream that sounded like a mix between the buzzing of bees and the bang of a nuclear explosion filled the narrow halls of my home.
"It looks like a spider trapped in a human body," I thought.
I was scared. Maybe more so than I ever had been before.
At 2:30 am, the individual that was supposedly me decided to slowly stride towards the door. To the quiet observer, it would appear as if I was trying to find my way across an active minefield. I chose to lift my legs high up into the air and put the entirety of my weight on my descending foot, flailing my arms around to keep my balance. The simple act of walking required meticulous concentration. Multiple times I fell flat on my face while attempting to take a step forward. It would have almost been funny if it weren't so tragically horrifying.
After a concerning amount of time, the humanoid printer on my screen reached its destination. When its hands grasped the key rack, it appeared unable to find what it was looking for.
Thank God, I remembered to hide my valuables.
The entity appeared confused, violently shaking the handle and pressing its body against the wooden barrier that separated it from the rest of the world. It needed to get out. No matter the cost. After thirty minutes of unsuccessful grunting and pushing, it decided to ball its hands up into fists and continuously punched at the door. There was no grace or technique in its strikes. Only raw unfiltered anger.
Fear turned into panic, while I quickly skipped through the rest of the video. It was just hour-long footage of myself banging at the gate. Never stopping. No matter the cost. At around 4 am, blood started splattering onto the walls. But I didn't stop. At around 6 am, splinters stuck to my fingers like porcupine quills, every strike further sinking them into my flesh. But I didn't stop. The constant rhythmic thump of my fists became an inevitable part of my life. But I didn't stop.
I could have killed someone. I wouldn't even know.
I couldn't bear to watch anymore. My hands still shaking, I closed the recording and looked up at the ceiling. The sound of joints crashing into timber echoed through my mind like vicious thunderbolts.
I don't know how long I remained in this trance, staring blankly into the air while anxiously trying to find fragments of the night inside my memories, when I finally stood up and went to the bathroom.
I have to see my face.
Upon inspecting my reflection, I felt the unexplainable need to vomit. The man in the mirror looked... strange, uncanny, almost AI-generated. I felt repulsed and sick. But what exactly was the problem? What about my eyes, nose, or ears was hideous enough to cause my legs to give out? I couldn't put it into words. Everything about me was wrong, and yet nothing was.
I immediately threw any and all of my pills away and vowed to never touch them again. I tried to distract myself from the inevitable fact that a deep and raw kind of terror persistently lingered in the air. Instead of facing the monster housed deep inside my pupils, I chose to bear the familiar agony of sleeplessness.
I thought that I could handle it. I thought the pains of insomnia would disappear over time. But they never truly did. These scattered days of slumber were enough to make me forget the horrors of fatigue. The raw reality of its effects hit me like a wrecking ball. I realized how puny pain becomes in mere memory and how humongous it appears when towering over you.
After three or four days, I thought I was gradually withering away. I longed for nothing more than the momentary liberation of sleep. Parts of my feeble soul constantly screamed and hammered at the walls of my abdomen.
All of this pain. All of this suffering. It could end. You just need to take your pills.
You just need to take your pills.
Every continuous day without rest made my problems appear smaller and smaller. Last night, while unbelievably sleep-deprived, they shrunk to the size of brittle snowflakes.
It was nothing but a bruised hand after all.
The third time felt decidedly different. I was slipping through different levels of consciousness, small shards and sequences of my dream appearing in front of my eyes like an infinite slideshow. In one of them, I was a vase, falling from the surface of the moon, gradually accelerating until becoming a glowing meteor of light. Inches before crashing into the surface, I was suddenly pulled back into reality.
Just for a second, the world seemed so painfully close to me. I sensed the blood dripping down my arm, the police sirens blaring in the distance, the sharp sting of urine shooting into my nostrils. And then there was this incoherent blend of colors around me. That's when I realized that I woke up while my head was in the middle of crashing towards the glass window, unable to stop the already created momentum. I would only be alert for the duration of a heartbeat, before my mind had to turn blank again. Knowing that the being inside of me would soon regain control, I tried to absorb everything in my immediate vicinity. The sign of the shop, only a blur in the corner of my eyes, forever burned itself into my memories.
"Ela's bakery."
The next time I regained authority over my body, just for the briefest of seconds, I thought I had landed in heaven. The street was bathed in a beautiful orange hue. The trees surrounding me shook their shiny green leaves around, and the subtle sound of chirping songbirds could be heard in the distance.
Then I dared to look up, and my blissful peace transformed into the soul-shattering realization that death was near. A boulder, about the size of a basketball, was inches away from crashing into my skull. My body moved on its own, leaping to the side and landing on the grassy field next to me. Moments after I jumped, the sharp hissing sound of the wind grazed my ears as the enormous rock crashed onto the ground. Unable to move, a scream escaped the deepest parts of my soul. I had enough. I couldn't continue any longer. Tears of frustration and relief simultaneously streamed down my face. After some time, they fused with the raw sensation of anger.
This thing tried to kill me.
When my eyes felt too tired to cry any longer and my vocal cords were hot and rigid, I stood up and examined my environment. My mind had only a few moments to adjust to the overwhelming nature of reality. As if the world had been anxiously waiting for my return, the waves of stimuli around me were immediately fighting for my attention.
I am outside again. I am alone. I almost died. My head feels like someone stuck a stake through it. There is an unbearable sour smell in the air. I almost died. My hands are streaked in dried-up blood. I almost died. My clothes are covered in dirt and grime. There is a corpse next to me.
There is a corpse next to me.
Anxiously trying to get my breath under control, I inspected the one thing my mind could focus on.
John Smith
01.01.1920 - 01.01.2020
I woke up in a local cemetery. Piles of dirt gathered besides an inconspicuous headstone. A casket, probably never thought to be opened again, lay before me like one half of a cracked eggshell. It presumably belonged to John Smith.
Even for a dead man, he looked incredibly thin and sick. A stature so small that he almost appeared childlike. Arms crossed. Face stuck in a constant frown. Hair and nails unnaturally long and discolored.
Inspecting his wrinkled face sent shivers down my spine. It felt like I was looking at something that merely pretended to be human.
I knew that this was my wrongdoing. This wasn't the anxiety speaking out of me anymore. It was obvious that whatever controlled my body chose to come here and used his bare hands to find this man. And before I could take over the reins, it heaved a boulder above its head and let go.
Not daring to stay there for even a single additional second, I dashed out of the cemetery and rushed back home. I had to find it, my one moment of clarity.
"Ela's bakery."
Faces, colors, worlds were passing by me like shadowy figures and shapes. The masses of people around me probably thought I was insane. Dirty and confused, the kind of man I would have scoffed at not too long ago.
When I recognized the shop's pink doors and gleaming welcome sign, I almost crashed into the teenage cashier standing in front of the fractured window.
"Hey," I shouted. "Please let me look at your security footage." I pointed at the tiny camera watching over the shop's entrance.
Not saying a word, he nervously looked me up and down.
"Uhh...are you...okay? You don't look too well." He answered with a touch of genuine concern.
My attention shifted towards the dark reflection on the window. Yes, I truly didn't look too well. A huge purple bruise stuck out of my forehead. My skin was covered in a million tiny cuts and scrapes. The delicate lines running like spiderwebs across the glass surface fractured my face into a million tiny pieces. The word "damage" was practically written all over me. The marker was permanent.
"Please... I'm begging you. I need to see this video."
As he led me to the computer, I once again waited for the world to show me sides of myself that never reached my consciousness. I couldn't sit still, my heart's thumping too fast for me to count. As my body finally appeared on the grainy footage, I was suddenly reminded of a thought that once sprung into my head when my mother died.
Everything changed, and life will never feel the same again.
The man in the recording had the same robotic walk and way of moving around. His long strides carried him in front of the bakery, where he waved his head in contemplation before violently smashing his face against the glass. A high-pitched explosion reverbated through the night. The faint sound of drunken screams soon followed.
I paused the video and rewound, frantically looking for the one frame that truly mattered.
Gotcha.
Just before a million transparent shards flew by my face, I saw the light fleeing back into my eyes. I recognized my panicked self for the fraction of a second until the explosive sound of the shattering window pulled me back into the ether. For a moment, it was me in that video. For a moment, the monster had to give up its power.
As if reminded of my pain, the wound on my forehead started throbbing again. It became impossible to think. I watched in horror as the man in the footage immediately got up to his feet and left the sight of the camera. The being returned to its old ways, slithering along the pavement, unfazed by the humongous swelling on its scalp.
The endless number of puzzle pieces in my head gradually assembled into a coherent image. I had found my truth.Whenever I passed out, this presence inside of me took over my body. But sooner or later, I would wake up. I would disrupt whatever it wanted to do in that grave. So hoping to remain in control forever, it tried to knock me out as soon as I awakened. It succeeded the first time. But the second time it sensed my return, it was too late, perhaps too preoccupied or simply too slow.
The desk in front of me was covered in a deep and oppressive fog. Nothing felt real because nothing was real. I was a humongous storm of questions, forced to accept the supernatural in its purest form.
"So that was you, huh?" a voice near my ear sounded.
I instantly bolted to my feet. The cashier looked at my trembling body and took a few steps back.
"Hey bro, I get it. Fuck the world. I'm not going to snitch, don't worry."
Knowing my airways have long abandoned me, I didn't say a word. I rushed out of the door and ran back home. His words spun around my head like a swarm of fireflies.
Fuck the world.
Upon reviewing the video on my phone, it confirmed what I basically already knew. As soon as I dozed off, something else awoke.When it failed to open the door, it instead decided to smash the window in my kitchen into pieces and crawled out.
I feel like all hope is lost. It is my fifth consecutive day spent awake. But sooner or later, I will be unable to resist the sweet lullabies of slumber. And what then? What will happen the next time I pass out? Will it try to make me stay unconscious forever? Will I ever wake up when I inevitably fall asleep again?

Hello, I’m Uriel and I’m looking for a partner to lead through this world I’ve created. This setting has a magic system that I’ve created and we can play it as rigidly or loosely as you’d like, such as dice rolls or anything like that. Here’s some things about me and some rules; My timezone is CST, I’m literate and I prefer my partners to be the same, I enjoy romance as a subplot but it is not a requirement, I Rp on discord, and I require my partners to be at least 18. If the plot interests you just dm on here or comment and we can discuss details.
'Magic- the power of apparently influencing the course of events by using mysterious or supernatural forces'. Every culture has myths and legends about sorcerers and gods that could change reality through magic, but in the modern world it was apparent that magic in that form wasn’t real. Y/C didn’t feel any particular way about magic. It was an interesting subject in fantasy stories and it was fun to think about what if it were real, but there wasn’t any point in believing in what could never be.
Magic becomes real to Y/C on a random day. On a simple hike through a forest with their friends they’re separated and subsequently grow lost, the feeling of being stalked by a predator growing harder and harder to ignore. It strikes when the moon rises, Y/C only able to get a scant look at its pitch black fur, red eyes, and mouthful of sharp teeth as they run for their life.
As their muscles begin to cramp and their lungs burn Y/C stumbles into a savior silhouetted in the moonlight. Things began to move in slow motion as the figure takes notice of Y/C and the monster pursuing them, their staff quickly being raised. It looked stupid only for a moment before the area was lit up by the formation of a magic circle in front of their staff. It was all over in a bright flash of light and a hearing loss inducing explosion that evaporated everything behind Y/C and caused them to trip.
Their savior stands over them with a blank expression, now fully lit by the moonlight. For a moment they think the two knife like ears protruding from their head was just a delusion but the longer they stare the more real they become. "You’re hurt." The elf says placidly. They reach down and touch Y/C’s shoulder, a pleasant warmth spreading through their body as the pain and fatigue is stripped away from them. They both sit in silence for a time before the elf speaks. "I should just erase your memory and be on my way, though I’m getting bored of being alone. If you want I can teach you magic."

One would’ve thought I’d be used to this by now – typing with one arm. It takes time to get used to; especially when you’ve spent most of your life in front of a keyboard. Muscle memory digs deep.
A few years ago, I was in a car accident. I was going 60 down an empty road, coming home from a long day of overtime, when some kind of animal came charging out of the woods. Trying to avoid a collision, I swerved off the road. My front left wheel got caught in a ditch, sending the entire vehicle careening off the road; only to smash into the trunk of an ill-placed black walnut tree, driver’s side first.
I have this vague memory of blinking lights and vague shapes in the distance. I was so cold. But at the same time, it was so unreal. I couldn’t even understand what had happened.

I was brought into emergency surgery. My left arm was, literally, hanging by the thread of my jacket. It had come off clean by the socket.
According to the surgeons, I was lucky. Most of my shoulder was intact, so it became a matter of salvaging what they could. The cut had been clean. I did suffer some whiplash damage to my neck and lower back, but considering I could’ve easily died or gotten paralyzed, losing an arm was considered “mild”.
Looking back at it, I am inclined to agree. Considering what could’ve gone down, I was damn lucky. Still, in that luck, I wished I could’ve gotten just a tiny bit luckier. See, I had this gold ring that I’d been given by my later mother. A simple thing with the engraving of a musical note on the inside – a memento of our shared love of music. We played Louis Armstrong at her funeral.
That ring disappeared in the accident. Somehow, that’s what bothered me the most. My arm could be reattached. It could heal. But that little memento was just gone.

What followed was a long period of intense physical therapy, medication, and painful readjustments. It took weeks before I could even move my fingers again, and when I did, it felt like pushing your nerves through an unwashed garlic press. It was this stunning chemical-level kind of pain. The kind where your body just shuts down, begging you to stop.
But over time, I started to get over it. Small movements started to get better. I could tie my shoes. Press the space bar. Hold a knife. I wasn’t about to juggle anytime soon, or play the piano, but I could get by.
Soon enough, I got back to work.

People were glad to see me. I wasn’t gonna be able to work at full capacity in my usual role, but I could still sit in on meetings. I won’t bore you with the details, but most of my work relies on answering e-mails, proofreading, and translation. It’s pretty technical stuff that requires a lot of pitter-patter on keyboards.
At one point, I was stuck in a particularly drawn-out meeting between two clients that we were facilitating. I was there mostly as an observer (to fill the seats), but I was supposed to weigh in if something related to my department came up. Of course, it didn’t, but I still had to act interested. My colleague was trying to draw up a compromise between the two parties, laying out terms and conditions. Meanwhile, I was nursing a cup of coffee and waiting for the day to be over.
Looking over to my side, I noticed something odd. I wasn’t just holding the coffee cup with my left hand; I was stroking it with my index finger. Sort of like how you’d scratch a wary cat under its chin.

It was a strange sensation. I was looking at my own arm, my own hand, and I couldn’t feel what was happening. I couldn’t feel the ceramics tapping against my finger, or the twitch of the nerve as it contracted and extended. It was just happening. An involuntary twitch, perhaps.
But it didn’t feel like it. It felt intended, somehow.
A few similar events took place that day. Grabbing the bathroom door for a little too long. Knocking over desktop decorations. Suddenly letting go of my jacket as I was about to head home. It was just little things. I was still having trouble even using my arm in the first place, so these quirks didn’t bother me too much.
A friend of mine was giving me a ride home. I wasn’t at 100% yet and sitting behind the steering wheel felt like inviting disaster. Instead, I sat in the passenger seat, nodding off as the trees passed me by with a steady rhythm; causing me to blink.

A noise pulled me back. The driver said something, but I wasn’t paying attention. Turning to him, I excused myself.
“Sorry, what was that?” I asked.
“What are you doing?” the driver repeated.
I looked over. My left hand was wrapped around the parking brake, as if ready to pull. I forced myself to let go.
“Nothing,” I said. “Sorry, I don’t… it’s nothing.”
“Right,” he nodded. “Just… don’t do that.”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “Yeah, no. Sorry.”

That night, I was exhausted. It felt like my lungs had been robbed of breath. I felt weak and trembling. I was cold, yet feverish. Famished, but without an appetite. I went to bed early, faceplanting into the pillow.
I had horrible nightmares, none of which I can remember. I kept waking up over and over, not being able to discern dream from reality. My bed was soaked with cold sweat, sending shiver after shiver up my spine.
By the early hours of the morning, a stray ray of sunshine burned my eyes open. I was lying on my side, looking towards the window, leaning on my left shoulder.
The fingers of my left hand were moving on their own. And not just moving, but bent in every which way; as if lacking bones. They were vibrating, shuddering, like wounded worms fearing a predator.

I grabbed my hand, and my fingers were back to normal. I could move them as usual. For a moment, I was doubting what I’d seen. It was one thing to experience oddities, but that was unreal. I must’ve laid there for half an hour, just expanding and contracting my hand, begging my body to work with me.
“Enough of this,” I begged. “Please. Enough. Please.”
I clapped my hands, cracked my fingers, and ran them through my hair. It was fine. Nothing out of the ordinary. Right?

A couple of weeks passed without any serious peculiarities. I could even work a little. There were a few of oddities, like unknowingly grasping a warm cup, or my fingers pointing in all directions when in contact with cold water. Just strange little things that I could easily get control of.
That was, until one morning at work. We were out of coffee, so I was making myself a cup of tea instead. As the water came to a boiling point, I accidentally spilled some on my arm.
The reaction was immediate.

My arm whipped out to the side, throwing the pot across the room. For a moment, my arm looked like it didn’t have any bones; rippling like a skin-covered liquid. It made me think of it not as a part of me, but as an alien thing attached to my shoulder.
And for a brief moment, in the blink of a heartbeat, I could see my fingers grow and shrink. Fingernails throbbing, like a cat throwing up a hair ball.
Suddenly, it stopped. Looking back, I could see one of my co-workers watching me from the other side of the room. She must’ve heard the crash.
“You alright?” she asked.
“Yeah, just got a burn,” I sighed. “I’ll, uh… I’ll be fine.”
She side-eyed the broken pot on the other side of the room and nodded. Not entirely convinced.

As soon as she left, I looked down on my hand as if shying away from a wild animal. It was alien to me. It was something… other. A twitch was one thing, but this was downright unnatural.
Coming home that night, I had a weekend ahead of me. I ran my symptoms through a couple of online services. While there are a few ways the human body can trick itself, like the alien hand syndrome, or phantom pains, this was different. Physical properties do not rapidly change. Then again, maybe I was imagining it?
I decided to do something crazy. An experiment. I wanted to recreate what’d happened in the break room.

I boiled up some water and poured it into a cup. I held my left hand over my sink, grabbing the cup with my right. I stood there, trying to calm myself. I wasn’t insane. This was a rational thought that I had to play out in order to eliminate an outlandish possibility.
I prepped a cold pack and ran the tap. Then, taking a deep breath, I poured some of the boiling water on my left hand.

Twelve fingers.
My hand split into twelve fingers, lined with raw, open wounds. My wrist rolled, like a cobra fixing its eyes on a prey animal. This was no longer an arm – it was a nest of flesh-colored snakes.
My mind blanked. I fell backwards, smacking at my arm as if trying to kill it. I couldn’t feel a thing. It’s as if all sense of touch ended at my shoulder. I crawled backwards on the floor, trying to wave my arm away, but it clung to me like a parasite fixed on my shoulder.
Seconds later, a searing pain ran up my arm. Looking down on my hand, it looked as it always had. It was just a hand with a burn. I could barely feel it through the pounding in my chest. Every noise in the room was overshadowed by my pulse.
I ran my hand under a tap and wrapped a cold pack around the wrist. It wasn’t a bad burn, but it wasn’t nothing.

I did some research, looking up news from around the time my accident took place. There were a couple of reports, but nothing out of the ordinary. A domestic call, a brawl at a local restaurant, a couple of missing pets. There were a couple of other reports, but they were short and didn’t lead anywhere. A mention of a couple disturbances. Some idiot blasting music in a parking lot.
But there was one more thing I noticed. In one of the reports covering my accident, there was a picture of the car. There was spatter of the blood on the hood, with something meaty stuck in the grille – as if I’d hit an animal.
That caught my interest. I couldn’t remember hitting anything, so what the hell was that about?

The next day, my arm was acting up even worse. It kept going cold, as if circulation was cutting in and out. Before heading out, I wrapped it up in bandages. Partly because of the cold sensation and partly because I just didn’t trust it. There was no way to tell what could happen, or why.
I managed to get a hold of the owner of the junkyard where my trashed car had been towed. I went over there early in the day, just before the fog cleared.
Now, this was long after the car had been crushed and stored, but it was the only lead I had. An older woman greeted me at the gates, letting me in. We had a short chat about the accident as she showed me around, ending up at a stack of metal that could hardly be recognized as anything. The only thing to even hint at my car being in that pile was a thin slice of colored metal from one of the doors.

I dug around there for about 20 minutes; all while being observed by this old woman.
“Yeah, won’t find much,” she said. “If the police didn’t get it, the insurance folks did.”
“Been a lot of people digging around?”
“Not a lot, nah,” she said, shaking her head. “But you ain’t the first.”
And she was right. There wasn’t a drop of blood, or bone, or anything. It was just scrap metal in a pile of even more scrap metal. I was wasting my time.

But as I was about to leave, I noticed something. I hadn’t thought about it, but I could see the old woman was wearing a ring. It looked like a wedding ring at first, but she was wearing it on the wrong finger. I pointed to it.
"You found that?"
"What about it?" she asked.
"It’s got a tune engraved on the inside, right? Like, a, uh… music note?”
There was no response. She just looked at me and sighed. Turns out, I was right. She gave it back.

She’d found it near the hood of the car the night they brought it in. Grabbing it was just a spur of the moment thing, and since no one had come asking for it, she’d kept it. I was a bit annoyed, but mostly relieved that I got it back. But the question remained, how had that ended up at the hood of the car?
“There was all kinds of gunk just kinda hanging there,” she said. “Figured it was an animal.”
“And you’re sure that’s where you found it?”
“Sure as sure can be, yeah.”
I stood there for a moment, feeling an uncomfortable thought forming in the back of my head. There was no way for that ring to go from my broken arm on the driver’s side to a pile of meat stuck in the grille of the car.

But the proof of it had been in front of me all along. I had worn that ring for 12 years. There was a permanent indent on my finger.
Looking down at my left hand, there was no such indent.
This wasn’t my arm.

As soon as that thought settled in my mind, I could feel the arm twist and turn. Hadn’t it been for the bandages, there’s no way to tell what it would’ve done. It squirmed and pulled against me, thrashing like a dying fish on land. The old woman just looked at me.
“You alright? Want me to call someone?” she asked.
“I-I… I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”
I had to get to the bottom of this. I hurried out of there as fast as I could.

It was getting late in the afternoon when I got back home. Grabbing an old backpack and a couple of painkillers, I was about to head right back out. But a thought hit me. Maybe it wasn’t as abstract as I thought. Maybe it wasn’t just a feeling – maybe something was really there.
Looking down at my arm, I could feel it stirring, just within my control. Something sleeping, waiting to spring into action. With my right hand on the front door, I stopped, and spoke out loud.
“Whatever you want, just… don’t,” I asked. “Don’t.”
There was no response. No stirring. On a spur-of-the-moment whim, I packed one more thing into my backpack. Just in case. A hail Mary.

Making my way to the scene of the accident, it was impossible to tell anything had ever happened there. I could barely even make out the place where I swerved, or where my wheel got caught in the ditch. I found the general area in the field where my car had spun out of control, and from there it was easy to find the tree I’d smashed into. It was still there.
I spent hours going over it all. Following the path the car had taken, starting from that tree, and working my way back. There was nothing there. Nothing new. It was all just gravel, weeds, and pavement. What had I expected? A signed confession?
As the sun dipped behind the clouds, I could feel a cold wind coming on. I’d lost track of time.

As I turned back, there was a sudden cramp in my arm. A shock of pain crept up my spine, spreading throughout my body like a spider’s web. I could feel my left arm throbbing against the bandage wrap. Something was wrong.
I was in the middle of the field. I could see for miles in every direction. Cars passing by in the distance. Wet grass staining my pants all the way up to my knees. And this one cold wind, cutting straight through my clothes. I shivered, but my left arm didn’t.
Taking a step back towards where I came from, another shot of pain struck me. This one tripped me, sending me face first into the grass. It knocked the air out of my lungs.
I rolled over on my back, gasping for breath. My left hand was creeping up my stomach like a spider with a meaty tail. It stopped over my face, tapping the bridge of my nose with the index finger. I couldn’t feel a thing. Moving to push it off, it instead struck back; grasping my right hand in return.
“Stop,” I wheezed as I sat back up. “Just stop. Stop this.”
But it didn’t. I just sat there. A wounded man holding his arms.

I struggled back and forth for well over half an hour. Getting back on my feet, only to get knocked back down. By the time I’d made my way back to the road, I looked like I’d been hiking for miles. My hair was a mess, and my clothes were covered in grass and mud. I had a handprint across my face, like I’d smacked myself.
I’d trusted myself with a short drive to get there, but I wasn’t sure about going back. It felt reckless to get behind a wheel in my state. Still, I couldn’t just walk all the way back home, and having it towed would be a pain in the ass.
I got back in my car while I thought about it, wiping myself off with a towel from my backpack.

It’d gotten dark outside. The overcast didn’t help, I could almost taste the rain. I contemplated my options and figured that if I kept it slow and only used my right arm, I could carefully make my way home. I put the keys in and turned on the headlights.
There was an elk standing in front of my car.
It sniffed the hood of my car curiously, then proceeded to stare me down. I was just surprised. I got a good look at it. There was something wrong with one of its hind legs – it lacked fur, and there was a sort of spreading baldness reaching halfway up the side of the body.
My arm was slowly rising on its own, as if looking over the dashboard. The elk recoiled, as if in pain, and set off in a troubled three-legged gallop. It disappeared into the woods.

Looking down at my arm, a stray thought hit me.
Was this spreading too?

I painstakingly made my way back home. I dropped my backpack in the hallway, locked my front door, and collapsed into the shower. I was exhausted.
I stood in the shower for about half an hour, looking down at my mother’s ring. I was wearing it on my right hand now, but it just didn’t feel the same. That wasn’t where it was meant to be. Still, it was nice to have it back. Whenever I turned the ring a little, I could feel the engraving against my skin. It was a little gesture I did when I was anxious, as a reminder that it was still there.
I got dressed and ready for a slow evening at home without any further drama. My arm wasn’t acting up. But as I passed through the hallway, something didn’t feel right.

At first, I couldn’t say what it was. Maybe the hum of an old lamp, or some air duct acting up. I wasn’t sure, but it was something. It had to be. I stepped up to the front door.
There used to be a light coming from the hallway outside. That light was always on, and there should be a little light coming in through the peephole. But there wasn’t. Had a fuse blown? I had a closer look.
There was someone just outside my door.

A click.
My left hand had unlocked the door.

The door flung open, knocking me back. A tall silhouette, close to seven feet tall, pushed its way into my apartment. It was dressed in a sort of black poncho, covering its face with layers of bandages. A single frog-like eye stared me down as it pushed forward.
I scrambled backwards on the floor. It was fast. Damn fast. It stepped forward and reached for one of my legs, but I managed to pull away in time. I got back on my feet, barely managing to pull my left arm along. It was trying to grab a hold of something, as if to slow me down.
In a spur-of-the-moment decision I grabbed a lamp from the windowsill, throwing it across the room. The intruder ducked, then came at me again. I ducked under, just in time, and headed for the door.

As I reached the front door, my left arm tried to force it shut. I fought against myself to get out, but it was useless. The door was shut and locked, and my left hand refused to budge. The seven-foot-tall shape came around the corner, slowly approaching. I had to think of something. Anything.
My backpack. It was right there.

I had packed a couple of things earlier. A towel, some bandages, painkillers, and a water bottle. But I’d also packed some lighter fluid. Seeing as how my left arm had reacted so violently to boiling water, I had this stupid idea that the prospect of a straight-up fire would do something even worse to it.
It didn’t seem so stupid anymore.
I grabbed the lighter fluid and sprinkled it on my left arm. The tall shape stopped, seemingly reacting to the smell of it.
I wanted to say something, but all that came out were empty breaths. We were like animals, circling each other, waiting for one to make the first move. I emptied the lighter fluid, grabbing a box of matches. I held the box with my mouth, and a triplicate of matches in my hand. I spilled the rest on the floor.

For a moment, we just looked at one another. A single inhuman eye peeking through the bandage wraps. The vague shape of four, maybe five extremities at its side. How many arms did this thing hide under the poncho?
A flash of realization came to me. This is what I had almost hit with my car.

And with that, I lit the matches. It leapt at me, but it was too late.
The moment the open flame touched the skin on my left arm, it detached. The open nerves just let go of me, and the thing fell off my body. It squirmed on the floor like a dying animal, grasping at whatever its fingers could reach.
Adrenaline forced me out the door. A heartbeat behind me, the seven-foot-tall figure scooped up my burning arm and pushed past me. Within seconds, it was gone – leaving me with an open wound in the stairwell, smelling of lighter fluid.

One of the neighbors called for help. I didn’t even notice how much blood I was losing, but it was bad. They sent me back into emergency surgery; this time without an arm to reattach.
It was deemed that the wound was self-inflicted. A result of some stress-induced psychosis. I wanted to agree, but I saw what I saw. I’ve been trying to convince myself otherwise, but I lived this. This wasn’t any other life but mine.
I’ve since learned to live with a full prosthetic. It’s not much, but I can trust it, and I can wear my mother’s ring the way it was supposed to be. It’s starting to make an indent on the synthetic skin.

I don’t like to think about what would’ve happened if I’d let that thing stay on. But just a couple of weeks ago, I got an answer. I was stuck in traffic, looking out over the fields, when I saw a group of elks in the distance.
One of them had no fur.
None at all.