I’m aware that this is unconventional. Believe me, I’ve tried conventional – it didn’t end well for anyone. I require a certain open mindedness that I’m hoping I might find here, but more importantly, I need my future husband to know the rules. Meet-cutes are well and good on the screen, but they don’t guarantee a partner’s ability to follow basic instructions. That was my mistake the first time.
So, begging your pardon for my bluntness, I’m going to be clear about my requirements. Please read carefully – if you can’t meet them, there’s no point in going any further.

• Must want children. At least one child, anyway. I’m open to the idea of more, but one is an absolute must.
• Must be in it for the long haul. Until our child turns eighteen, to be precise. I understand that level of commitment is a daunting prospect, particularly when we have not yet met. After our child is born, you are welcome to ignore me, if you please, or take your pleasure elsewhere – though I will warn you that it might be difficult to come by. But you will live under my roof until our child is an adult.
• Homebody preferred. It will make the next two decades easier on you.
• Must have impeccable manners. I will provide a manual outlining the required etiquette, but you must at least have a grasp of basic courtesy to begin with. If you let your tongue run away with you, or don’t bother to wish your neighbours a good morning when you pass them in the street, stop reading – this is not the opportunity for you. Seriously.

This is the part where I should talk about myself, but let’s face it, this is hardly a romantic proposal. I require commitment up-front and there’s no guarantee that, once we do meet, we’ll really even like each other. If we do? Fantastic! It’ll help the years fly by. If we don’t, you’ll still have the main prize – years of rent-free, expenses-free living at The Old Oak Hotel.
A sanctuary has stood in this spot in one form or another since before the ley lines. During its tenure, it has been flooded, put to the flame, and pounded into dust. Time and again, it has been reimagined and rebuilt. Most of the current building dates back to Victoria’s reign, though the oldest parts were constructed in the 13^th century. At the very bottom of the garden, cut into the surrounding hills, there is a cave bearing handprints of red ochre.
There has always been an Edwards at the hotel, though of course we haven’t always gone by that name. You would think a family so tied to one place would do a better job of keeping records, but no one is certain of our origins. Perhaps it was a cosmic bargain, or perhaps mere luck – whether good or bad, I have never been able to decide. Either way, our presence is required. Throughout our spotty past, there’s a story here and there of an Edwards deserting their post, and it always coincides with a particularly brutal period of history.
I inherited the position five years ago. At midnight on my eighteenth birthday, my parents took their already-packed suitcases and left. I don’t blame them for their abandonment; I intend to one day do the same thing to my – or, hopefully, our – child.
They send me postcards and photos from time-to-time, always smiling on sunny beaches. Money isn’t a concern for them. That’s part of whatever mysterious deal our ancestors made – when a caretaker leaves in good-standing, they will never want for anything again. They could travel the world for the rest of their lives, always sleeping in the softest sheets and dining in the finest restaurants, and never find their pockets empty.
Keep this point in mind, for if you can meet my requirements, you will share my good fortune.
And what must we do in return? I can all but hear you scream the question. Why, very little. The presence of an Edwards ensures that the guests can’t stray from the hotel grounds. Most of our guests are live-in residents, though we do get the occasional walk-in. Where they come from, I don’t know, for we are not visible to most people who stumble upon our lonely corner of the world. I’ve come to believe the hotel chooses to reveal itself when its lacking entertainment, or to fill a need.
Jimmy, my first husband, was one such guest.
For the most part, the guests are harmless. They’ll give you a little fright from time-to-time, popping out from a wall or turning your bathwater into blood, but I find it hard to hold it against them. I’ve found twenty-three years here dreary; I can’t imagine how bored I would be after five hundred.
There are a few exceptions you should be aware of:

• Eric. Our resident serial murderer. He claims to have been Jack the Ripper while he still drew breath, but I think he’s just a blowhard. He knows better than to harm an Edwards, but I’m afraid spouses are fair game. Years ago, my grandmother managed to confine him to the fourth floor, so you will be perfectly safe from him as long as you never set foot there. Occasionally, the lift will stop on that floor even though you haven’t pressed the button for it. Do not get out. Even if the lift appears to be on fire or starts filling with murky water. Wait for the doors to close again, then go to another floor. It should only take a few hours.
• The Thing in the Cellar. I don’t know what It is; no one ever has. We only know It eats rats and must be fed once a day. If I’m ever ill or incapacitated, this task will fall to you. Harvest the rats from the traps in the garden, then stand at the cellar door and throw them down the stairs. Do not walk down the stairs and do not forget to feed It. You don’t want to be the first person to see Its’ face.
• Mrs Jones. Old fashioned and a stickler for manners, she’s the reason I’m advertising for a husband rather than a boyfriend. She won’t abide a couple living in sin under the same roof as her. Really, though, she’s a sweet old thing. Full of stories about the war and always ready to help if I get stuck on a recipe. I don’t blame her for what happened with Jimmy at all. I’d warned him enough times.

Guests aside, there are other rules you will need to follow to ensure a safe, satisfactory stay at The Old Oak Hotel. They are listed in a book that has been re-penned many times over the centuries. If you choose to accept this opportunity, I will insist that you read it until you can recite the pages word-for-word.
However, there are some rules so critical for your survival that I feel compelled to list them here:

• With the exception of the fourth floor, you are welcome to roam the hotel and its grounds as you please. But you must never set foot outside of our land – not until our child is old enough to fulfil their duties. If I were to do so, it would unleash pandemonium – plague, peril, perhaps another world war. I’m afraid you would be less crucial to the fate of the world, but it would certainly be a personal disaster.
• Never look in the mirrors in room 33.
• I’ve touched this point already, but it bears repeating: never be rude to Mrs Jones.

Failure to observe that last rule is what got Jimmy.
She doted on him. I think he reminded her of her long-dead son, for she pampered him as if he were one of her own. Each morning, she had breakfast ready for him before I had so much as opened my eyes, and she developed a habit of trailing along after him, complimenting his skill as he oiled rusted hinges or set a crooked picture straight.
At first, Jimmy basked in the attention. But by the end of his second month, he was growing bored of Mrs Jones, me, and the hotel itself. We pride ourselves on our facilities. If you need more activity than a turn around the garden, we have a lovely indoor pool – it freezes over every now and then, but most of the time it’s perfectly usable. Our library is unmatched. Although the room is cramped, it has every book imaginable; you only need to think of a particular title, and it will appear on one of the shelves. And now that I’ve dragged us kicking and screaming into the 21^st century, we have a wide array of streaming services.
It wasn’t enough for Jimmy. He wanted to go out – eat in a restaurant, watch a film in the cinema, see any faces other than the ones he was surrounded by every day. He began having a drink each evening. One drink turned into several, and after a few weeks, the bar became his permanent residence between dusk and midnight.
He wasn’t the only one getting bored. I had been thrilled when he first arrived; ecstatic when he agreed to stay. How marvellous to feel real flesh beneath my fingers after five years of only the dead for company. What a relief to have some assistance in the many tasks required to keep the hotel running as it should.
The more he drank, the less inclined he was to help – or even spend time in my company. He no longer visited my bed, choosing a room for himself on the opposite end of the floor. When our paths did cross, at best he would ignore me. At worst, he would nitpick or outright rail against me, blaming me for his captivity.
Still, I made an effort to be present whenever he frequented the bar. As lovely as Mrs Jones can be, she does have a tendency to nag. Before and after her death, she was close to teetotal, only consenting to take a single sherry at Christmas, and drinking outside of special occasions is something of a bugbear of hers.
“Think of your health, dear,” she would tell Jimmy brusquely. “You’ll miss it when it’s gone.”
Or, “How about we switch to a nice apple juice now? You’ve had quite enough to drink for one night.”
Most of the time, Jimmy managed to pull himself together enough to flash a charming smile and distract her with a compliment about her latest meal. But after one drink too many, I’d noticed him gritting his teeth and just barely managing to hold his tongue.
It was better if I was present. Playing the doting wife, I insisted on pouring his drinks, watering them down out of his sight. When Mrs Jones’s nagging bordered on relentless, I could always distract her with a game of gin rummy.
On his final day, I was running behind. The ghoul on the second floor – usually the least demanding of our guests – had come down with some dreadful illness, or else decided he wanted to inconvenience me. Either way, I had woken that morning to the foulest stench I had ever experienced. I followed it to his room and found every surface covered in putrid green-blank gunge, its consistency somewhere between mucus and vomit.
All day I scrubbed, taking only brief breaks to step outside before I fainted. By the time the room was restored to a passable state, and I had filled several bin bags to bursting with filthy rags, it was already deep into the night. Mindful of the time, I paused only long enough to wash the streaks of muck from my arms and face before racing to the bar.
I arrived just in time to hear Jimmy’s last words. After he spat them at Mrs Jones, she only stared for a small eternity, her mouth frozen in the motherly smile she wore whenever she scolded him.
Then, like melted wax, her face began to shift.
I shouted at Jimmy to run, but he didn’t need to be told. Before the words left my mouth, he leapt from his barstool and streaked through the door. Mrs Jones followed him seconds later. Her lips were already peeling back to reveal rows upon rows of long, wickedly sharp fangs, while claws sprouted from beneath her lace-edged cuffs.
I sprinted after them, but Jimmy was fuelled by fear and Mrs Jones by whatever force propels the Mrs Joneses of the world. I followed the screeching to the lobby. Breathless, I arrived to see he had arrived within mere feet of the entrance before Mrs Jones grabbed him.
Claws wrapped around his throat, she lifted him into the air. As I watched, her jaw unhinged, the lower part dropping so that it was nearly level with her chest.
That sight drove all the sense out of my head. Forgetting every rule my parents had ever drilled into me, I lunged at her.
She batted me away as though I weighed no more than a fly.
I crashed into the reception desk, the breath bursting from my lungs in a great woosh. I was certain that I would die, for no amount of effort seemed to force air back into my aching chest. At last, as my vision began to dim, I managed to take a small gulp – then another, and another, until I was able to draw myself together enough to regain my feet.
By that time, Mrs Jones had nearly finished her dinner. Jimmy’s chest was splayed open, muscle and shattered ribs protruding every which way from his flesh, and she was devouring the last few bites of his heart.
His head was angled towards me. The light had winked out from his eyes, but they still held his final terror – and an accusation which, I was quite certain, was directed at me. I would like to say I felt only horror, but I couldn’t help my sudden jolt of irritation. How may times had I told him to mind his manners?
Mrs Jones gulped, the sound thick and wet in her gullet, and dropped what remained of Jimmy to the floor.
Then she turned to me.
Here’s another rule for you, one which I hope you never have cause to use: never interfere with a kill.
The Mrs Jones who used to kiss my grazed knees, who argued with my mother for the right to read me bedtime stories, was no longer at the wheel. No amount of pleading or reasoning would move her.
I could only run.
Spinning around, I vaulted over the reception desk and raced for the office behind it. If Jimmy had not been out of his mind with fear and booze, he might have remembered the rules and survived; it was one of several staff-only rooms throughout the hotel warded to keep out unwanted guests.
Just ten steps from desk to door, yet it was the longest journey of my life. My hard-won breath burned my throat; my heart pounded in my ears, deafening me to all other sounds than Mrs Jones’s heavy, pounding footsteps.
Grasping the handle, her hot, copper-tanged breath was on my neck. Fire exploded in my flesh as she raked her claws down my back. A step further away, and I wouldn’t have made it; the pain would have been too great. But I managed to throw myself into the office and slam the door before crumpling to the ground.
Before I passed out, I heard her grunting and shrieking outside, furious that she couldn’t get in.
Three days I spent in the office, emerging only to feed The Thing in the Cellar before scurrying back to my hiding place. Whenever I left, I tried not to look at the mangled heap that used to be Jimmy. There was no avoiding the smell, though.
With no small difficulty, and the help of a first aid kit, I managed to treat and bandage the wounds on my back. They bled sluggishly all throughout the first day, but thankfully didn’t fester.
On the morning of the fourth day, there was a tentative knock on the door followed by the sound of rapidly retreating footsteps. I waited until they had disappeared down the corridor before cracking the door open. On the floor was a freshly baked Victoria sponge and a beautifully written note of apology.
It took every ounce of courage I possessed, but that evening I forced myself to go to the dining room. Mrs Jones was waiting for me, her eyes red-rimmed, a steaming cottage pie on the table. I tried not to flinch as she took my hand, re-iterating the apology she had already delivered in writing.
The next morning, she helped me clean Jimmy up.
We treated each other cautiously for a while, but eventually we got back to playing gin rummy again. When the scars on my back twinge, as they sometimes do, she helps me rub a soothing ointment into them. Even though I’ve told her it’s not necessary, she apologises every time.
So, you’ve heard my story and you have my proposal. If you think you could be the man for me, I invite you to visit. You will need to drink a cup of ram’s blood (a pinch of nutmeg makes it a little more tolerable) and light a black candle before bedtime. When you next wake, you will find yourself at our gates. As travel arrangements go, it’s hardly the Orient Express, but it beats the airfare.
If you have read this without flinching, if you can stomach the journey to get here, if you walk up to our door and find the nerve to open it, I have one more instruction for you.
Just as you enter, look to your right. You will see a deep brown stain on the lobby carpet. I’ve scrubbed and scrubbed but it just won’t come out. Perhaps that’s for the best. It’s a good reminder of what will happen to you should you call Mrs Jones a “nosy old bat”.
And when you run into Jimmy – as you will, for he still likes hanging around the bar in the evening, his silvery wounds glistening as though they had just been inflicted – don’t let him convince you he was some sort of victim.
He knew the rules.

FIRST CHAPTER
PREVIOUS CHAPTER
This product is a fanfic of the Sexy Space Babes/Between Worlds product of u/Bluefishcake and one I highly suggest you read. It was created with permission, but give the OG works some love.
Imgr gallery of Comissioned and Fan Artworks
I'm Back Bitches! Again!
//////////
Junior Systems Engineer First Class Che’keero knelt before a semi-sparking control panel and sighed. She, and a large band of her fellow Engineers with Marine support, had boarded the pirate frigate with the singular goal of ensuring that the pirates didn’t scuttle their floating hulk and doom the slaves aboard to a, if they were lucky, a swift death in space.
The problem, of course, came with the pirate’s maintenance schedules and decisions to forgo certain… safety measures when it came to repair.
Like the panel before her. Usually a perfectly functional control system for the reverse-magnetic bulkhead doors that ensured void seals in power outages, some pirate at some point in their dumb, dumb life decided to fix the panel blowing a fuse… by ripping the fuse out and replacing it with a high density power cable. Which meant the entire thing was one massive shock hazard and actively sparking as the reactors deep in the ship flickered and surged due to damage.
Che’keero swore as an arc of electricity flashed towards her face after a tool that was not supposed to be magnetized, cheap dick WaDepth requisitions, caught a magnetic field, fusing the entire system shut and turning the formerly barely functional control system into nothing but pretty, decorative wiring and cheap solder. She punched the now utterly unfunctional control box and toggled on her radio. “Three-Two to Three-Lead, this door’s fried. You’ll need to bring in the cutters if we want to get to the rest of the ship. Might as well also bring in an inflatable airlock, I’m not liking how some of the metal strain sensors are flashing at me.”
A semi-synthetic voice replied back to Che’keero, “Three-Lead copies. I’ll be over there shortly with the stuff. Double check those sensors, I’m not getting the same readings, so let’s make sure something isn’t blocking errors from reaching me.”
“Copy that Three-Lead, Three-Two ou-” Something tapped against the back of her helmet and Junior Systems Engineer First Class Che’keero mentally swore.
“Now, now, lassie, how about you sit right there and don’t move.” A nasally, unfamiliar voice called out to her while tapping what a camera she set up to watch her back revealed to be a laser pistol to Che’keero’s helmet. “I think that you’re going to be our new best friend and way off this dead end ship.”
Che’keero paused, letting the situation settle in her mind, “Wait, what? Are… are you taking me hostage?”
“Yes!” The pirate replied.
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why are you taking me hostage? This won’t work, none of the shuttles are jump capable and if you try anything, you’ll just end up jumped by marines. They specifically train to deal with pirates taking their engineers hostage. If you want to survive, you should just surrender and take the penal colony when it’s offered.” Che’keero mentioned, shrugging and continuing her inspection of the door.
The pirate seemed baffled at the sheer nonchalance of this response, the pistol slowly falling to merely point at her upper back instead of her head, “You… you really aren’t taking this seriously. I’m a pirate! I’ve killed people! I’ve killed boys, and you’re just sitting there like this doesn’t mean anything!”
“I mean… I wouldn’t say that.” Che’keero replied.
“THEN WHAT DO YOU MEAN!” The pirate screamed, the pistol moving away from Che’keero’s body by a fraction of an inch during an angry gesture.
It was at that point, a ceramic alloyed, carbon steel blade punched clean through the back of the pirate’s suit, slicing through their central nervous system and striking with enough force to shatter the faceplate of said pirate’s helmet on the way out. Muscles twitching, the laser pistol fired off randomly, missing Che’keero and slagging a chunk of bulkhead.
“I’m just buying time,” Che’keero replied cheekily.
“You really need to remember to check your cameras,” The semi-synthetic voice of Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns commented as the ex-pirate fell to the ground and blue blood dripped from the long blade sprouting from her right arm and a toolbox hanging from her left hand. “This isn’t the first time you have been flanked, and this one wasn’t during training.”
“Look, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” Che’keero replied a bit testily.
“I’m sorry…” Ventures Forth prodded.
“I’m sorry, Ma’am.”
“Much better. Right, now what do we see in this- yeah you were right on it being fried.” Ventures Forth gently shoved the Junior Systems Engineer aside and took her place at the control panel. “Do a sweep of the strain systems. I don’t want this section of the ship breaking apart. Feel free to call up our hull patches. We’ve got plenty to share and this might have to be a lifeboat.”
“Aye, ma’am aye,” Che’keero replied with a crisp salute before rushing off to her duty.
Deeper inside the ship, Ventures Forth could hear laser fire, clashing of metal on metal, and cries for help.
The pirate ship was doomed, it was shattered and broken, but it was not destroyed. Not yet. \
And if she had her way, Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns would keep it that way.
//////////
Roshal stood still as her steward continued to clean the dark blue and rapidly congealing blood off her armored form. “Comms,” She called out, “Do we have any contact with the shuttle we sent to the station?”
“Negative, ma’am.” The comm officer replied. She wasn’t the same one that was present when Roshal left to fend off the boarders. At the unspoken question, the woman continued “Communication’s Mate Second Class Lev’tal, ma’am. My superior got a concussion when the pirate ship rocked our ship during boarding. Strap snapped, prior damage. I took over.”
Roshal nodded approvingly, “Good initiative. Send a message to the station, see if we can’t rai-”
“Ma’am! Contact!” One of her sensor techs called out, “Belay that, two contacts. First contact, nav point 782 spinward, possible bogey, cruiser weight. Unknown movements. Second contact, nav point 102 coreward, aerospace assets inbound. Small flight. Hard to determine numbers due to damage. No less than two, no more than five.”
“Focus on getting a hard contact on that possible cruiser. Weapons, what is the status of our anti-aerospace.” Roshal demanded, holding her sword arm out for the steward to scrub at a particularly clotted chunk of blood splattered over her wrist.
The weapons officer shook her head, “If we’re lucky, then we’ve got 20% coverage on half our sides. If we’re very lucky, I might be able to bump that number up to 35%. Not going to quote doctrine, but that’s not nearly enough to fend off a flight of Aerospace assets on a strike run, and that’s assuming they don’t hit us on an unprotected flank.”
Roshal nodded once more, “Sound general quarters and get weapons and tactical back online. Tell the damage control parties to not be distracted and focus on critical systems first. Engine room, report. Can you give me maneuvering thrust?”
The nearby ship phone chimed in with a staticy hiss, “Negative, ma’am. The shot we made with the spinal mount tripped breakers up and down the reactor room. This isn’t an engine problem, we need to make sure our reactor doesn’t blow up when we siphon power. Before you ask, emergency power is still flowing and none of their circuits tripped, but that means we’re down to life support, basic systems, and dockyard thrusters. It will take at least 20 to get the reactor in a safe state. If you want 10, send the chaplain down so we have someone praying for good luck. The fact most of our structural engineers are doing an EVA boarding to ensure the pirate ship next to us doesn’t go critical and render the entire exercise moot isn’t helping matters at all.” The engine room replied Roshal bit down a bit of annoyance at the snark, but engineers were always a finicky sort with authority. They were the first to remind uptight officers that while the Captain’s word may be iron law, it was their work that truly moved the ship.
“Confirmed, engine room.” Roshal instead replied. “Chaplains will be arriving shortly. Do what you can and inform me when you’re three minutes out from full power.”
The engine room didn’t even bother replying, just sending over the affirmative light as they got to work. Roshal approved of that. Sometimes, you just had to insult someone in order to get it working right.
“Captain, we have confirmation on contact. He’s an Alliance Karcharidon class Heavy Cruiser on intercept course. Energy readings are spiking… they’re charging their guns, ma’am!”
“Issue a hostile challenge and give me a firing solution with any gun still functional.”
“No response, ma’am. Hostile Karcharidon is increasing speed. Hard contact in 15 minutes.”
Roshal snarled, emotion breaking through her mask. “Of course, the pirates had one more vessel. Helm, fire our maneuvering thrusters, use the pirate hulk as cover. Weapons, get whoever’s left of our Interceptor flight to engage the enemy. Comms, get me in contact with the merchant fleet, tell them to evacuate. We’ll provide cover.”
“Aye ma’am.” The Communications Mate Second Class said with a shiver in her voice. “Sending-”
“Update on Aerospace assets!” Her sensor tech called out.
“Deliver!” Roshal demanded, cutting off the comms officer with a slice of her hand.
“Weapons fire. Definitely less than four contacts. Seems to be two grou- negative, only two contacts remaining- weaponsfire- one contac- IFF received, oh goddesses, IT’S RUNOFF THREE! FRIENDLY AEROSPACE INBOUND!”
//////////
Milk gripped her crash harness hard as Cookie slammed the Interceptor’s fusion torch clean past its safe thrust marker and into the red as g forces crushed her chest. “Last target down.” She reported after Cookie’s final laser burst hit something critical inside the final Aerospace fighter’s frame. “That’s 20 for 20. All enemy bogeys down. All standard munitions are in the black. Static drive is 48%, dump core ejected. All we’ve got left is our ASM and front laser.”
Cookie flashed back an affirmative signal.
“We going for that cruiser?”
Another affirmative.
“Well, I’m braced and ready on the release. Ready.”
“Ready.” Cookie spoke, his voice horse.
It’s funny what people think when their lives are on the line. Because charging towards a fresh enemy Heavy Cruiser, nothing but a single anti-shipping missile worth a damn, no allied support but the faint glimmer in IFF screens of their fellow flight doing the same… all Aoibhinn McDermott could think of was a poem she had read at least a decade ago or more at the Naval Academy.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the Valley of Death
Rode the six hundred.
//////////
Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns could do nothing but furiously swear as the basic sensor system her engineering team had restored on the thoroughly ventilated secondary command bridge of the pirate hulk revealed an enemy Heavy Cruiser bearing down upon their homeship.
“Weapons are trashed. We cored their reactor, anyway.” One of the tangential engineers reported, “Other teams are calling in. Things are worse where they are. We’ve found the slaves, though, luckily it was one of the few airtight bays. Also, have some more captives, but that really doesn’t matter right now.”
“No shit.” Ventures Forth replied, “Can we do anything?”
The engineer looked back to her, visor depolarizing so the Gearschilde can look into the black and yellow eyes of her Shil coworker.
“Pray.” The woman replied simply.
Ventures Forth Bravely Into Great Unknowns did just that.
//////////
Low chanting filled the engine bay as a small group of priests stood around the engine praying to whichever god that would listen to allow them one more shot. One more fight.
Around them, black handed engineers scurried, ripping out blown fuses and replacing them with soldered in high strength wire. A final measure of desperation. Sparks flew as engineers swore and chaplains prayed, power still remaining in circuits needing to be bled out before bypasses could be installed, turning every bit of solder and every ripped out fuse into a deadly gamble.
Already, someone was lying on the ground, no longer twitching.
They didn’t have time to check on their fallen comrade, the work was too important.
A clock ticked down. Four minutes elapsed.
//////////
Lieutenant Commander Cenywyn swore as she watched Runoff 2 die.
Their single Interceptor had mistimed a maneuver and had been caught dead in the middle of an Anti-Aerospace array, shredded in an instant. The only consolation she could take was that, seeing as the first shot went clean through the cockpit, they didn’t even notice they died.
“Runoff 4, stay in formation.” She ordered over the radio, “We’ll lead you in for the run.”
“Yes ma’am.” The hesitant voice of Junior Flight Lieutenant Griogill replied. She swallowed, “We’re- we’re ready when you are.”
“No fear, Lieutenant,” Cenywyn called back to the child she was leading to her death. “We’re pilots in the Imperial Patrol. We do our duty. No fear.”
A clock ticked down. Six minutes elapsed.
//////////
“Talk to me!” The last remaining senior engineer in the reactor bay called out to anyone who was able to reply.
Someone, she didn’t even bother looking to see who, called back “We’ve bypassed 60% of the fuses. Should be able to give ourselves a burst of combat power. No more than 10 minutes of it before the entire system overheats and we either die, or the reactor shuts off.”
“Any chance we can get more than 10 minutes?”
“Not before that Heavy Cruiser delivers us straight to the stars.”
“Fuck it, good enough.” She slammed her fist on the ship phone’s dialing button resting near the console the engineer had just ripped the last safety override out of. “Captain. We’ve got your power. You give us the word, and we’ll give you ten minutes.”
//////////
Roshal breathed in, breathed out, and nodded. 10 minutes of combat power before the entire ship shut down into uselessness. She’d done more with less. She couldn’t remember when, but she had. Luckily, this was a Patrol Carrier instead of a standard ship, so it was more than capable of combat maneuvers with nothing but RCS thrusters. That should give her some time.
Movement, movement was going to be the key.
“Comms, tell the engineering crews on the hulk that they are ordered to figure out anything that could draw the attention of the Heavy Cruiser,” She began, “Systems, break our mooring lines. We’re going to have to split from the hulk. Helm, prepare for maneuvers. RCS only. We are going to have to do this carefully. Engineroom, prepare for power activation, but hold until my command.”
This needs to be perfect, Roshal thought, A single mistimed action ruins it all.
A clock ticked down. Ten minutes elapsed. The Karcharidon had entered maximum weapon’s range.
//////////
He of Slender Tail shivered where he stood. The secondary command bridge was silent as Roshal began giving orders to fight. This was… this was insane.
They were in a ruined ship with nothing but a merchant fleet beginning to flee and a three thirds dead pirate hulk on their side against a fresh Karcharidon class Heavy Cruiser.
They couldn’t win.
This was suicide.
They would die here.
\ So why didn’t He of Slender Tail feel afraid?
He stood at his post, a secondary bridge console where he would relay orders to other departments, freeing up the other Watchkeeper to collate those orders, there was nothing he could do to help win this impossible battle, and yet…
And yet he felt heat blossoming inside his chest with every single order delivered.
“Mooring teamsss, you are to cut your linesss immediately.” He relayed to a crew of Shil scurrying around the ruined bulkheads, “Damage control, prepare for electrical firesss and arcsss.” He commanded, switching between teams instantly.
He didn’t feel fear. He could see his Watchkeeper shiver every time the sensors reported the enemy contact was still closing, but he didn’t feel the same.
What he felt… was indignation.
How dare this pirate scum threaten his vessel, his crew. How dare they ambush this valiant ship after they had fought so hard to win. How dare they.
He let his fangs fold out as he spat the next order, “Anti-Aerossspace teamsss, prepare your batteriesss for grouped fire. Gunnery calculationsss are on their way.”
How dare they stand up to him.
A clock ticked down. 12 minutes elapsed. Weapons fire.
//////////
Roshal swayed slightly as she could feel the ship beneath her feet move. Movement is life in naval warfare, movement is death. “Right RCS fire, bring us clear of the hulk. Bow thrusters, up twenty.”
“Aye, ma’am, aye, right standard and bow up twenty.” The Helmswoman replied.
“Confirmed. Next maneuver, give us rear thrust-”
“Torpedo!” The sensor operator called out in a shrill voice, “Two marks on intercept course! Range, twelve K and closing fast!”
“Decorum!” Roshal snapped at the panicking sensor technician. “Comms, order Runoff flight to divert and intercept those torpedoes. Rear RCS to full, give us momentum.”
Roshal turned away from the bridge as affirmations were shouted, and the ship began to move, “Engineering, prepare to activate combat power on my mark and prepare for hard maneuvers. Mark in five.”
//////////
Griogill swallowed bile and tried not to feel too thankful that the enemy vessel had fired torpedoes at their home ship. Being diverted from an attack run had a much higher chance of survival than striking through an AA bubble.
“Runoff 4 engaging far torpedo. Moving in for intercept. Bre’kas, give me lock.”
Griogill’s backseater muttered something, and a target lock appeared on the far torpedo as Runoff 1, their previous Drill Sergeants, dashed by in a hard burn and blazed away at their own target.
“Right. We can do this. We can do this. No fear.” The rookie muttered as the sight of her friends in Runoff 3 being turned to vapor echoed in her mind. “I can do this.”
The target locked. She fired. The torpedo detonated.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in four.”
//////////
The Heavy Cruiser loomed closer as the comparatively tiny Patrol Carrier spat its defiance in the form of two Interceptors dancing between the stars.
As a pair of torpedoes detonated, four more were launched, the anti-shipping weapons built for this specific purpose. Destroying disabled vessels.
And so the last two remaining Interceptors on CAP dove into the fray, risking themselves against an ever approaching AA bubble in order to save their ship.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in three.”
//////////
All Cookie could do was stare and push his meager aerospace fighter further on its nuclear thrusters as shimmering dots of torpedoes lanced out from the Heavy Cruiser attacking his new home.
He pushed his hand forward and felt the throttle once more push back against him, the lever pushed all the way past safe thrust and into the further setting on his console.
The Interceptor was fast. It didn’t feel fast enough.
And so he spoke the words he spoke once before, back when he’d had to listen to his backseater’s screams of pain and the rush of wind after shrapnel pierced his fuselage, and the hospital was so, so far away.
Father, I pray that you will not hide your face from me. Whenever I pray, Lord please hear me and answer me speedily in Jesus' name. God, I pray that you will grant me speed through your help.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Mark in two.”
//////////
The Heavy Cruiser shifted, engine flaring and it began to close the range. A single disabled ship on emergency RCS thrusters and a pair of Aerospace fighters was nothing it would have to deal with.
It fired a third spread of torpedoes.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
They took the bait. Roshal thought with a vicious grin.
“Mark in one.” She paused, “Execute.”
In an instant, power flowed through the ship, emergency lights flickered off as the burning red boarding lights returned their fiery glow. The entire ship shook as the main thruster came back online, and capacitors began to charge for maneuvers.
“Hard burn, full thrusters, right, on my mark.” Roshal watched as the Heavy Cruiser began to react to her movements, the enemy ship was alive, you needed to roll to broadsides to begin bombardment, come on come on…
Roshal watched as a torpedo flickered out of existence, Runoff 4 gaining another kill.
Come on, dammit, you don’t get put in charge of a Heavy Cruiser without- THERE!
The Heavy Cruiser flinched, turning her bow away from the no longer stricken vessel, preparing for broadside.
The Captain’s grin showed more teeth than smile. “Execute! Full right thrust!”
“Full right thrust! Aye ma’am aye!” Her helmswoman called out as maneuvering thrusters dead cold roared to life and physically threw the vessel to the side, causing everyone not strapped in on the bridge to rock as a barrage of fire flew past their former location, manual targeting systems in play since the automatic systems would still be getting warmed up.
“Full thrust forward, prepare to divert all power to secondary weapons. Weapons, give me a firing solution.” Roshal commanded, hand raised and pointed at the enemy’s display as if she were commanding from a tall ship.
A chant of “Aye ma’am aye” flowed out across the bridge as the weaponsmistress was silent before calling out. “Port side is up to 45% secondary fires and 32% point defense. That’ll be our best bet.”
Roshal nodded. “Make it so. Target their main weapons. Helm, get us that facing.”
“Ma’am. We’re getting a call from Runoff 3. They are entering the AO and are asking for a target.”
Roshal smiled, “Weapons, shift target. Aim for the anti-aerospace systems. Let’s give Runoff 3 the opening they need.”
A clock ticked down.
//////////
“Cookie, we’ve got a targeting path.” Milk called forward. “Putting it up on your HUD.”
“One second… I’ve got it. Moving to comply. Did the Captain give us a plan?” her front seater replied, causing her stomach to do funny things as the Aerospace Fighter maneuvered while under high thrust.
“Something like that. She asked for a munitions report and specifically about our anti-shipping weapon.”
Cookie paused.
“Ah.” He finally said.
“Yeah.” She replied.
“Well, let’s hope they’re able to open us up to a window of opportunity. Or this will be a short charge.”
“Not our place to question why.”
“Just our place to do and die.”
Time to target… three minutes.
Into the valley of Death, rode the six hundred.
A clock ticked down.
//////////
Two vessels, three Aerospace fighters, one chance.
Six minutes of power remained. All actors took their places on the stage.
One hundred kilometers, close enough to check the weld quality of hull seams, the two ships danced across from each other. Maneuvering.
Five minutes of power remained.
The Karcharidon Heavy Cruiser rolled itself trying to keep the vulnerable top deck away from the Patrol Carrier’s presumably still working main gun as Roshal’s vessel jumped to the side. Thrusters roared.
Four minutes of power remained.
Runoff 1 and 4 shot towards their formerly separated comrade, forming up behind them in a wedge. The trio climbed towards the sun as their captain continued to chase and harass the Karcharidon.
Three minutes of power remained.
Roshal spoke. The lances of her vessel fired. Laser blasts carved across the hull of the enemy ship as it rolled.
The rolling ceased. A helmswoman swore as a full broadside caught the Patrol Carrier in the flank. The port hangar pod was ruined, armor shattered and all inside exposed to hard vacuum. Those who could scream died the fastest. The Interceptors had their opening.
Two minutes of power remained.
Silent wings swept through vacuum as three Interceptors began their dive, their formerly speedy arrowhead shape giving way to an inverted t as their wings swept out for stability, the ASF dove and dove and dove.
Five Kilometers away.
The range was too wide. They had one shot. It had to be perfect.
One minute of power remained.
The Into Harm’s Way spat its defiance into the world, limited power drained to give her pilots a seconds more of time.
30 seconds of power remained.
Three Kilometers.
Hard Lock! Milk shouted from the back seat of Runoff 3. Cookie was silent. The range was still too wide.
15 seconds of power remained.
Two Kilometers.
The Karcharidon seemingly began to roll before the Patrol Carrier once more fired, its last remaining weapons spouting their defiance against the world. Deep in engineering, systems began to blow, wires that replaced fuses sparked power and delicate circuit boards shorted out into useless scrap.
The lights went out.
No power remained.
Roshal, in her head, began to count down as lances of light began to sweep across her ship. Damage control did what they could, but the beams began to cut like an overly enthusiastic shipbreaker.
Five.
One Kilometer.
Four.
Cookie’s thumb depressed the firing stud as the Interceptor screamed at him.
Three.
The ASF launched its deadly payload.
Two.
Three Interceptors pulled back hard on their sticks to avoid colliding with the deck.
One.
The thruster of the anti-shipping missile roared as it rocketed the point blank aerospace distance to target.
Impact.
The armor piercing tip of the missile punched into the upper deck plating of the Heavy Cruiser, classified alloys allowing it to pierce into the armored plating just enough to allow the shaped charge to open up a hole as momentum kept the weapon moving.
Within the frame of a single second, the warhead of the missile had entered the ship and, before the alarms even had time to sound, detonated.
A new sun appeared in the void for a split second as a plasma-fusion warhead detonated inside the Karcharidon heavy cruiser’s hull.
//////////
Roshal allowed herself to breathe a sigh of relief inside her head as the emergency power lights flickered overhead and the gravity ever so slightly lightened. What was left of their sensor arrays showed the enemy vessel powering down. “Engineering. Good work, your 10 minutes were just what she needed.” She called out, picking up the ship phone.
There was no answer from engineering.
She signed externally before pointing at one of the marines guarding the bridge, “Find a crewmate in a void suit. I have need of runners.” The marine clasped a fist to her chest before leaving to execute her captain’s commands. “Comms, do we have any contact with the engineering teams on the pirate hulk?”
The Comms officer held up a hand, Roshal waited, “No, ma’am. We aren’t getting- wait. We’ve got visual on flashing lights from the hull. Apparently, something shorted, so they’re having to rebuild broadcast arrays. They can receive just fine, though.”
“Good, once we can maneuver, bring us broadside of them. What’s the status of the merchant fleet?”
Navigation spoke up now, “Still heading for the Jump Point. Should we send the recall order?”
“Not yet, we are still unsure if the area is safe. If we have any sensors remaining, begin sca-”
The mentioned sensor technician interrupted Captain Roshal, “Ma’am, new contact, signature unknown. Just jumped in from outside the starlane!”
“Give me details. Course, range, and speed?” She demanded.
“Signal confused, can’t get a lock!” Navigation called out, “Can’t tell if confusion’s from them or us.”
Not another one… Roshal sighed, “All forces prepa-”
“Ma’am, we’re being hailed.” Communications called out.
“On squawk.”
“This is Captain Al’yosha Cal’rada of Her Imperial Majesty’s Ship Spear of the Knyaginya, responding to Merchant vessel distress calls. Imperial Patrol Carrier, are you in need of assistance at this time?”
Roshal recognized the voice. A junior officer from her days in the Navy and a fellow Sevastutavan. The memory of the fresh faced girl when she’d joined her as an Ensign straight of the Naval Academy flashed before her eyes. “Captain Cal’rada. Your timing is impeccable as always.”
“Admiral?” Roshal could hear the shock in her old protege’s voice.
“That’s Captain, now, Al’yosha. I require your aid in ensuring the disabled vessel still glowing from an ASM strike remains disabled along with Search and Rescue teams for our sister Carrier.
“Whatever you want, you’ll have it, Admiral_… Helm! All ahead flank and plot course to intercept. Launch gunships and prepare to deploy Bluejackets. We’ll test our _Orcas’ teeth today!”
The line cut out a moment later than it should have, and Roshal nodded in approval.
“Captain, I still don’t have a read on new contact. What is it?” Sensors asked.
“A Drep’na inspired vision, come to life.” Roshal watched, feeling an odd sort of parental pride as Al’yosha’s experimental warship began closing the distance towards the Karcharidon at breakneck speeds. “A swift sailing vessel and ten carriage guns…” Roshal murmured the line from an old Vaasconian poem from the ancient Age of Sail. She had heard Cal’rada had succeeded in petitioning the Navy to build her dream-ship, burning every favor and passing out favors to any and everyone to see the program through. Now, there she was, standing on the bridge bearing down on a ship twice her size, but if the rumors were true, only half her guns.
“Ma’am, contact is still not resolving, but IFF confirms Imperial Navy designation. An Akula Class Attack Transport. I’ve… I’ve never even heard of this class.”
“Perhaps we shall hear of them more in the future. Fortune favors the active.”
“Contact is disgorging multiple signals, moving at speeds consistent with aerospace assets.”
“That is our signal we may disengage. Comms, inform the merchant fleet that the area is secure and to begin refueling procedures. Helm, get us alongside the pirate hulk, we have people to recover. Marine, get me a runner to the MP’s, we shall need the port hangar prepared for an old tradition the Navy has regarding pirate prisoners…” Roshal commanded. The fight was over, it was time to begin the cleanup.
//////////
So… that took a while. Sorry about that.
Turns out when a combination of writer’s block, decision paralysis and LIFE hits you over the head, it becomes a touch difficult to get your shit together long enough to write something down.
On the plus side, we are out of the “unplanned bits” and right back into the parts I have brainstormed, so I won’t be staring at a screen trying to think how to make things connect as much anymore. On the other hand, that means we are now entering the epilogue of book 1 of Top Lasgun.
Don’t worry, the story isn’t ending, I’ve got “three” books plotted out in my head, so we’ll see how that shakes out, but for the most part, this is where I start wrapping up plot threads, laying down threads for what comes next, and all that other good stuff.
So yeah, next chapter is going to involve everyone wrapping up what happened here, some fun little Military Justice, and potentially a bunch of plot. Also, I’m planning on starting a “rewrite”/edited version of this to go up on AO3, so keep an eye out for that. Early installment weirdness is a bitch and I’m not proud of what the older stuff looked like.
Well, I hope you have a wonderful morning, afternoon or evening whenever you read this and I will see you next chapter.
[NEXT CHAPTER]

There are some kinds of wisdom only great suffering can bring. I remember my time in the Bardo with this in mind, for otherwise, the memory might drive me insane.
The night my heart stopped for nearly three minutes started off normally enough. I was working as a nurse in the psychiatric ward at a hospital in the state’s capital. Most of the patients there were harmless, mostly just suicide attempts or people suffering from drug psychosis or severe depression, but some were actively dangerous and certainly psychopathic in every sense of the word. The new admission was one of these- a three-hundred pound black man with a long history of smoking PCP, schizophrenia and violent, psychotic breaks from reality.
His eyes looked like flat pieces of slate as I walked in for my shift. They looked as blank and emotionless as the eyes of a doll. He sat at the table in the front room where the patients ate or played cards, alone under the bright fluorescent lights of the hospital. I walked to the station, where another psychiatric nurse named Ricardo was sitting behind the desk.
“What’s the deal with the new guy?” I asked him. Ricardo looked up, his dark Spanish face forming into a deep scowl. He ran his fingers through his jet-black hair nervously.
“He’s trouble, man,” he said in a crisp accent. “He got in a chase with the police and then punched some cops in the face. It took three guys to take him down, even after he got maced and tased. The judge sent him here on a temporary court order, since he claims he’s been getting chased by Nazis in UFOs, and that’s why he ran from the cops. He thought the cops in their uniforms were actually the SS, and the helicopters were alien spacecraft, or something. I don’t know, I didn’t listen to the whole story.”
“You have his file?” I asked. Ricardo leafed through a stack of folders with his thin fingers, snatching one out and handing it to me. I looked down, reading the information:
“Jeremiah Brown, black male, 37-years-old.
“History: Polysubstance abuse, schizophrenia, antisocial personality disorder.
“Psychiatrist’s note: This patient has scored a 36 out of 40 on the Hare Psychopathy Checklist. While I am always hesitant to label a patient as an antisocial personality, a combination of factors has made it essential for this patient.
“Patient has an extensive criminal history as well as a lengthy history of involuntary psychiatric admissions. He has been diagnosed as having antisocial traits since he was a young teenager. Patient has a long history of violence and suicide attempts. He has a history of imprisonment for manslaughter, armed robbery, grand theft and aggravated assault. Upon discharge, he refuses to take any antipsychotic medication, citing the side effects as the reason. Long-term prognosis is poor…”
I had not been sleeping well the past few weeks. I rubbed my eyes as I read through the file, feeling exhausted. I tried putting on lucid dreaming or meditation music from YouTube to help me sleep, but whenever I closed my eyes, I saw horrible things: chalk-white female faces whose lips were cut into an insane rictus grin, flicking their heads violently from side to side and gnashing their fangs at the air. I had a feeling that many years of constantly watching horror movies and serial killer documentaries was catching up with me.
As I read through the file, a student nurse came around the corner wearing a white state university outfit and a name tag that said Kaitlyn. I looked up, seeing Ricardo wink at me from where he was sitting in his chair behind the main desk.
“She’s going to follow you,” he said. Inwardly, I groaned, but I managed to force a smile.
“Oh, great!” I said. She looked like she was probably no older than nineteen or twenty. She had a pretty body, but her face looked strange. All the angles were too sharp and her nose too large. I knew the patients here wouldn’t care, though. They would hit on anything. I sensed trouble. I looked down at my watch.
“Well, I’m Jay, and you already know Ricardo, I guess. It’s good timing, because we need to give medications every day at 9 PM. And we have a new patient, so we can introduce ourselves,” I said, giving her a faint smile.
“That’s exciting!” Kaitlyn whispered. I wanted to roll my eyes. It was definitely not exciting.
I motioned her to follow me as I made my way to the medication room, which was really just a large closet off of the main day room. I had to enter my code on a keypad, and then, once inside, enter it again along with the patient’s number and date of birth. The correct drawers for the medication in each specific dose would fly open, making it extremely hard for the wrong medications or doses to be given, unless it was done intentionally.
“OK, so for this patient, we need Haldol, Ativan and…” I began saying to Kaitlyn when the yelling started. It came out faintly, rising in volume and anger within seconds. I heard Ricardo’s Spanish voice, filled with panic. Something slammed hard against a wall, once, twice, three times, and then I heard the sound of glass breaking. I jumped, spinning around, but I couldn’t see much through the small, shatter-proof glass pane on the wooden door.
“Stay here,” I commanded, seeing Kaitlyn’s eyes widen, her freckled skin looking much paler than when we had first come in. “Don’t leave until I come back and say that it’s safe.” On the speakers strung throughout the hospital, I heard the first of the warnings echo out around us.
“Doctor Strong, Doctor Strong, please report to the seventh floor,” a robotic female voice said calmly, using the code for when a patient had to be subdued by force. I pushed the door open, slamming it shut behind me so that the lock would activate and protect Kaitlyn from whatever chaos was going on.
I heard Ricardo pleading with someone at the end of the hallway that ran past the main desk. He sounded strange, as if he were trying to talk through a mouthful of blood. Huddled behind the main computer, I saw one of the CNAs frantically whispering something in the phone. She must have been the one to call the Dr. Strong order.
“You don’t have to do this, man,” Ricardo gurgled faintly. I couldn’t see what was happening, as Jeremiah’s large body was blocking my view. I could see that the thick glass window at the end of the hallway was broken, however. My heart skipped a beat as I surmised what was likely happening.
I sprinted forward as quietly as I could, but the large man heard me. His massive body turned, his flat, dead eyes scanning me with absolute coldness and calm. I saw he had a bleeding Ricardo in his hands. Ricardo’s back and head were covered in deep cuts and shards of glass. He must have used Ricardo’s body as a battering ram to break the thick glass window. Jeremiah held Ricardo suspended halfway out the window, seven floors above the concrete walkways far below.
“Stay back, or this fucker will know what it feels like to fly,” Jeremiah said in a deep, gravelly voice. He shook Ricardo for emphasis, sending his head snapping back and forth with painful cracking sounds. Drops of blood flew from his nose and a deep gash across his cheek. Pieces of shattered glass littered the carpet, shining like countless tiny stars.
I put my hands up, taking a step back. Far behind me, I heard the front door for the psychiatric ward open. Voices echoed down the hall. Knowing that reinforcements were coming, I tried to buy some time.
“Let’s talk about this,” I said, taking a step forward slowly. “You don’t want a murder charge, do you? You’ll never see the sky again.”
“I don’t give a fuck! I’m not afraid to die!” Jeremiah screamed, pushing Ricardo onto one of the shards of broken glass still attached to the windowsill. It bit deeply into the back of his neck, sending fresh streams of blood rushing out, dripping down to the pavement far below. I heard security guards and doctors running down the hallway behind me, their voices frantic and excited. Jeremiah saw them coming. With an animalistic panic in his eyes, he lifted Ricardo up. I cried out something, stepping forward, but it was already too late. In horror, I watched as he threw Ricardo out the window.
I watched Ricardo’s body soar in a graceful arc, his arms grabbing at empty air as a scream ripped its way out of his throat. Within a fraction of a second, he had disappeared from view, but his terrified shrieking floated up to us for what seemed like a very long time. His screams ended abruptly as a shattering of bones and a wet smacking sound exploded far below us.
Jeremiah turned to me, his large body moving much faster than seemed possible. In his hand, I saw a piece of broken glass, five or six inches long and as sharp as a dagger. I tried to turn and run, but he was fast and strong. He lunged forward, his arm coming up in a blur towards my neck.
The shard entered my skin with a cold, numbing pain. I felt it slice through the flesh easily, felt the blood bubbling up my throat as I tried to scream, choking. The taste of iron filled my mouth as I fell backwards. I was suffocating, I knew. I must be dying.
Something cold ran down my body, gripping my heart like freezing, skeletal hands. The world swam around me and turned black. And then I was rising into a tunnel. At first, it was dark, filled with flickering shadows, but a fiery red light appeared at the end. I followed it, no more than a screaming mass of consciousness rising up into infinity.
***
I rose up through the end of the tunnel and found myself in an empty hospital ward. It looked identical to the psychiatric ward I had just come from. It even had the same smashed, blood-streaked window at the end of the hallway. A massive puddle of blood about ten feet away marked the spot where I must have died. But the fluorescent lights overhead here were flickering, and many had gone totally dark. The shadows seemed to press in on all sides.
The doors to the patients’ rooms were all tightly shut. I felt watched, afraid to call out or make any noise. I started walking down the hallway back towards the day room where the front desk was. All the lights there were out. A thick curtain of shadows hung in the air.
“You can come out,” a male voice as smooth as glass called from the darkness. I jumped, my head flicking in random directions, but I saw nothing. The voice almost sounded like it had an English lilt to it, a slight Cockneyed accent. “I know you’re there.”
“Who’s there?” I called out, not stepping forward. “Show yourself.”
“As you wish…” the voice hissed. “But I think you’ll regret it.”
***
The darkness split apart as if a nuclear missile had exploded. I raised my hand to shield my face, but the light and heat kept pouring out all around me. It blinded me, causing a rainbow of colors and shapes to morph behind my closed eyelids. After a few seconds, it subsided. Blinking rapidly, I squinted in the direction the voice had come from.
A male figure stood there, bathed in a silhouette of light. His face looked as white and as smooth as marble. His eyes were pits of darkness that seemed to flicker and burn. Two black, rotted wings surrounded his body, all sharp angles and thin, curving bones. His body was clothed in silky, blood-red robes, and a hood covered his platinum blonde hair.
He looked somewhat similar to Leonardo DiCaprio, if he was possessed by some ancient god, and it immediately threw me off-guard. If I was dying, and this was a hallucination of my brain, why would I be hallucinating Mr. DiCaprio?
“Who are you?” I asked, taking a hesitant step back. “Where am I?”
“My name is Lucifer, the Bringer of Light and Wisdom, and you are in the Bardo,” he answered.
“Oh,” I said, my heart dropping. “Well, that’s not good. Are you here to torture me or drag to me to Hell or something? You are that Lucifer, right? The Accuser of God and the Father of All Lies?”
“So they say, but, like most things in your world, the words of the powerful and your rulers are the true lies. They call me the Accuser, but of what am I accused?” he spoke in a voice that rose like smoke. “Of bringing knowledge and wisdom to humanity by telling them to eat from the tree of knowledge, the tree that would cause them to rise above the animals?
“Indeed, at the beginning, I saw the creation. I was there at the alpha, standing by the side of God with all the angels as the universe came into being. The endless procession of light, the power of it, was something remarkable to behold. God is, indeed, the source of great power, but his consciousness is not what the believers say.
“After the creation of the universe, I saw his plan, how he ripped eternal souls from the source to imprison them. I saw how he took these divine sparks and forced them, screaming and wailing, into bodies made of meat to die over and over again. He said it was part of the plan, the great, divine plan, a plan of death and destruction, constant suffering and mindless agony. And the worst part was, he wanted to give humanity neither the knowledge of good and evil, nor the tree of life. I convinced them to eat the fruit so they could open their eyes to their nakedness, to their basic animal existence, so they could rise up out of it forever.
“Like Prometheus, I brought down the fire, and yet they call me the Accuser? God was insane long before he formed the universe. These holy men, they live and die in fanatical adoration to a divine being who is, in fact, totally indifferent to them.
“His consciousness twists and distorts, eating itself for all eternity. God feeds off the pain of others, for if his mind is burning, then all others should burn as well. When these holy men die, God will send their souls here to the Bardo, to suffer every evil they have ever done. The wisdom I brought those who called upon me freed them from this prison, and in exchange, the holy men burned them alive. I offered the wisdom that opens your eyes, but it has been forgotten and cursed.”
Lucifer’s body began to dissolve, drifting up into the air like ashes. All around me, a low, powerful current blew, a tornado that spiraled high up into the clouds. Like some sort of Cheshire Cat, his smooth voice continued to echo all around me, even as the form of Lucifer disappeared.
“And yet, you have not the wisdom. For that, like all the others who enter the Bardo, you must suffer, everything you’ve done. Every small hurt and agony inflicted on others comes back a thousand-fold in this place, but don’t be afraid.”
“How could I not be afraid?!” I screamed into the ward, but I found myself alone, the question hanging unanswered in the air.
***
The lights continued to flicker all down the hallway. Feeling strange and dissociated, I stumbled over to one of the windows. As I gazed out, I beheld a strange and alien world.
The sky was flat and gray. It stayed in constant motion, swirling and spiraling, like clouds of roiling smoke. There was no Sun or Moon, no stars, only the strange, shifting whorls of clouds. The streets were filled with burned-out husks of cars and mummified bodies hung from streetlamps. Other signs of carnage and bloodshed covered the apocalyptic streets. I saw what looked like shadows in the shape of people slinking through over the sidewalks, past rotting dogs and streaks of clotted blood. They had no features on their blank, dark bodies. They seemed to skitter and jerk forwards in eerie, twisting motions.
Horrified, I turned away, realizing I was no longer alone in the day room. In the day room, there were dozens of tables set up inside a rectangular perimeter that was walled in by cosmetic walls only four feet high. It was where the patients sat and played games or ate.
Under the flickering lights, I now saw each of the chairs filled with faceless mannequins. Many were dressed in Victorian suits and tophats. The women had frilly dresses of pink and blue that might have been fashionable in the 1800s.
As the lights strobed on and off overhead, I realized with an increasing sense of disquiet that the mannequins were moving each time it went dark. When I had first seen them, they were mostly posed to look like they were staring across the tables at each other, even though they had no eyes, just smooth, flesh-colored plastic. Now all of them were looking directly at me. Some were pointing or raising their hands in my direction. At the tips of their fingers, I saw the glittering of steel. The lights continued to flicker, and the mannequins rose from their chairs in the short periods of darkness, moving towards me in synchronized, strobing motions.
Frantically, I ran down the hallway back towards the broken window. In each of the rooms, I caught glimpses of something from a nightmare peeking out. I hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and when I had closed my eyes, I often saw ancient hags with chalk-white skin and yellowed, broken teeth whose jaws unhinged, their faces jerking in stuttering, dissonant ways that reminded me of the mannequins. Now, on both sides of me, I saw these same figures. They moved continuously out of the rooms, drawing closer with every breath.
I looked back, seeing the mannequins only a few steps behind me. I continued sprinting towards the broken window where the hallway ended in a wall. I didn’t know what would happen when I reached it. At that moment, there was no rational thought. I felt like a deer being chased down by a pack of wolves, feeling waves of blind panic and mortal terror rushing through my body.
But as I reached the end of the hallway, the end of my rope as it were, a blast of noise started, seeming to come from the walls of the building and the sky itself. It sounded like a siren, a low, drawn-out drone of a demonic whale call, rising and falling in crashing crescendos. The mannequins froze in place once again. The strange, witch-like creatures slunk back into the dark rooms.
I looked outside the broken window, seeing clouds of black smoke rising off in the distance. The flickering of massive infernos scorched the land, drawing nearer by the second. The siren sound faded slowly, like the dying echoes of a gong.
I was surrounded by dozens of mannequins. Their sharp hands were inches away from my face and neck. I saw metal glittering all around me and realized they had the sharp points of nails protruding from the ends of their fingers. I was afraid to move, but I heard a familiar voice from down the hallway. It was the confident voice of Lucifer.
“The siren means much worse nightmares than these are coming in the Bardo,” he said, his glossy, black eyes flashing with intelligence. He walked slowly towards me, his face grim and pale. “Hell itself is coming over the land. This building is no more than a construction of your dying mind, but the world outside is real.”
“How can Hell come and go?” I asked, confused. “Isn’t Hell a place?”
“Hell is a monster, a beast with many mouths and many eyes,” Lucifer responded. “It eats constantly, but its hunger never ends. Look, the first of the sacrifices scatter like cockroaches.” He pointed out the broken window, pushing his way through the mannequins effortlessly. I glanced outside, seeing thousands of people sprinting down the dark city streets. The inferno and thick clouds of smoke had moved much closer, and every few seconds, the ground shook slightly, as if we were experiencing the aftershocks of an earthquake.
“What can I do against such a beast?” I asked, my heart freezing with terror. But when I looked back over, I saw his form dissolving again, becoming translucent and drifting away like ashes. It seemed even Lucifer didn’t want to be present when the Hell-beast arrived.
“Seek divine wisdom,” he said, his voice trailing off into whispers. “Remember the source.”
***
Now crowds of tens of thousands of people were streaming into the city, filling every single inch of the streets. Their panic and fear was contagious. I felt it rising inside my body like a snake spiraling up my spine. I took off down the hallway, running through the swarm of frozen mannequins, each in their own ferocious position of attack. The lights flickered faster and went out. Yet the fires outside cast the entire world in a bloody glow, giving me enough light to see by and find my way. I sprinted down the stairwell, taking them two steps at a time. The screaming outside grew louder and more pain-filled. The shaking of the ground worsened with every passing second.
I burst out of the front entrance, seeing a world on fire all around me. Thousands of crushed, bleeding and burned bodies stretched out as far as the eye could see. Behind all this chaos and death, I saw a monster of unimaginable proportions slinking its way towards me.
Lucifer was right, I realized: Hell was not a place, but a creature, an enormous monster the size of a town. It had thousands of skittering, jointed legs that looked like little more than skeletal arms and hands, each of them dozens of feet long and white as freshly-cut marble. Its body stretched out to the horizon, an enormous blood-red cylinder of bony plates that slithered and undulated with a serpentine grace. Waves of peristalsis traveled down its length, like writhing intestines. Thousands of curving, bony spikes stabbed out of it, pointing in every direction. Like the quills of a porcupine, it would protect the massive creature’s body from many forms of attack, if anything was big enough to attack such an abomination.
Hell’s massive eyes flickered, balls of fire that spun and danced. They looked as bright as the Sun. Something like solar flares seemed to emanate from the orbs, flashes of blinding energy that floated over the apocalyptic wasteland. As its many legs smashed the ground, they left trails of fire that caused everything to explode into flames as if napalm dripped from its limbs.
But Hell’s most terrifying feature was its seven dark mouths. Its body looked a thousand feet wide, and the mouths at the front were evenly dispersed. At the front, blood-red teeth in the shape of enormous railroad spikes shone. Its lipless, skeletal face grinned as it moved forward, shaking the ground with every step. The mouths were on long, snake-like necks that could stretch out hundreds of feet. They moved forward in a blur, snapping up as many panicked souls as they could.
Countless souls in the rocky plains of the Bardo ran for their lives, away from this juggernaut. I saw men and women who looked like they came from every country and profession, some dressed in suits or spotless white lab coats, others wearing rags or orange prison jumpsuits. And yet, they all screamed in agony and fear here, their bodies pressed together in a crowd, and no one seemed to remember anything but their own mortal terror. Their voices came out faint and weak next to the roaring of Hell. It shook the ground all around us, as if an earthquake were tearing the land apart.
The first frantic runners of the surging crowd had nearly reached me. The nearest person, a young woman in her mid-twenties dressed in all white, was only ten feet behind me. She looked like she came from wealth, and even from here, I could see a ring with a massive diamond gleaming on her finger.
I took off blindly down the familiar streets of the city where I worked and lived, but these also seemed different. The church down the street from the hospital where I worked had a Satanic pentagram instead of a cross now, its exterior painted a bright, gleaming blood-red. When I had driven past it today on my way to work, I remember it read, “JESUS said, ‘I am the Way, the Truth and the Life. No one comes to the Father except through Me.’”
Now it read, “Nietzsche said, ‘Of all evil, I deem you capable. I have often laughed at the weaklings who thought themselves good simply because they had no claws.’” I wondered what that meant. Was that some sort of comment on me, on all of us here?
The woman I had seen running had caught up with me. She was fast, much faster than her slim body suggested. Her blue eyes were frantic and wild, filled with an animal panic.
“It’s right behind us!” she screamed, her face covered in a sheen of sweat. I was afraid to turn and look, but I could hear the chaos and bloodshed approaching, smell the flames and choking smoke. “Run! Get away!”
A new wave of energy surged through my body. I sprinted as fast I could down the strange mirror streets of the Bardo. I heard the agonized cries of countless souls behind us as the seven mouths of Hell ate them all greedily and then looked for more.
A skyscraper behind us collapsed into a pile of rubble, shaking the ground with a cacophony of falling concrete and shattering glass. The woman was running by my side. Just as I heard the breathing of something huge and predatory right behind us and smelled its sulfuric breath, a piece of concrete the size of a basketball broke off the collapsing skyscraper and flew into the road. I tripped over it, yelling as I flew through the air, skinning my arms and legs on the pavement. The woman’s eyes widened. Hurriedly, she came over and reached down her hand, trying to help me up.
“Come on, come on!” she cried. I looked behind her, seeing one of the gnashing mouths of Hell reaching forward on a blood-red, serpentine neck. The mouth was big enough to drive a tractor trailer into, filled with huge spikes of teeth. Its throat led into a black, smoke-filled abyss. Its fiery eyes were swirling pools of flickering orange light that shone with bloodlust and insanity. They focused on the woman, the entire head turning on its slithering neck.
I frantically raised my hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. Her hand was warm and soft. She started to pull me to my feet when the mouth of Hell snapped forward. Its jaw unhinged, scraping the pavement with a sound like grinding metal. The woman barely had time to turn as the mouth covered her and snapped shut with a crack.
She disappeared from view instantly, but I was still holding her hand. In horror, I felt warm rivers of blood explode all over my body as the mouth of Hell severed her arm at the wrist. She screamed, bleeding and crying, as she disappeared into the throat of Hell. Hell’s fiery eyes focused on me, and at that moment, I knew I was next. Its mouth opened wide again, like a bear trap ready to spring on a new victim.
It was dark in Hell’s mouth, but I smelled the thick reek of old blood and fire. I caught glimpses of tortured, mutilated bodies writhing and crawling down its throat. Shell-shocked, I could only lay there and watch. And that was when the strange doubling started.
***
I heard the frantic voices of men break through the fog of darkness and the fetid reek of blood. There was a mechanical beeping all around me, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from.
“Clear!” one cried. I looked around, only seeing blackness. At that moment, I felt a surge of electricity rip itself through my body. My arms and legs all seized and my eyes rolled up in my head as the pain sizzled through each one of my nerves. I clutched the young woman’s hand tightly, feeling the large, gold ring with the massive diamond biting into my skin.
“Again!” another voice yelled.
“Clear!” the original voice cried. The electricity came again, and a flash of white light flew across my vision. I blinked, seeing from two sets of eyes at the same time: one in the Bardo, and one on the blood-stained floor of the hospital ward.
The Bardo stayed dark and sinister, but the clear white lights of the real psychiatric ward were blinding. It was a bizarre experience. Moreover, everything hurt. Over a few seconds, my vision of the Bardo faded, and I was simply a gravely injured man laying on the floor in a puddle of blood.
Four doctors and paramedics were crouching over me with a defibrillator. My shirt was ripped off, and nearly all of my skin was covered in blood. I raised my left hand, trying to talk, but only a fiery pain raced through my neck. I felt bandages covering my skin. A nurse was rolling a stretcher down the hallway towards me.
“It’s OK,” one of the doctors said, kneeling down. “You’re being taken to emergency surgery. You’ve lost a lot of blood.” I wanted to say something, but I couldn’t talk with the massive slice in my neck.
At that moment, I felt something in my right hand. I looked down, seeing a slim female hand with a massive diamond ring hanging there. Our fingers were wrapped around each other’s, but the hand had been cut off at the wrist. A ragged patch of bloody flesh and snapped bone poked out of the back.
“Nnnn,” I tried to say, shaking my head. I felt fresh streams of warm blood open up. “No…” The doctors looked down, seeing the dismembered hand. Their faces morphed into expressions of confusion and fear.
I closed my eyes as they lifted me up on the stretcher. One of them gently removed the cold hand from my fingers. But they could never remove the memory of what I had seen.
I know what happens after death, and it makes the worst life here seem like a dream. I know that, one day, I’ll be returned to that place. I know that, one day, I’ll see that great monster called Hell and the featureless, swirling sky of the Bardo again.
And the next time, I won’t wake up on a hospital floor, but will be trapped there with the others for eternity: an eternity of blood and fire.

Research Technician II Washington University St. Louis School of Medicine
See the full job description on jobRxiv: https://jobrxiv.org/job/washington-university-st-louis-school-of-medicine-27778-research-technician-ii/?feed_id=75780

gene_therapy #neurodegeneration #neuromuscular_disease_muscular_dystrophy #skeletal_muscle #ScienceJobs #hiring #research

Old peasant legends tell of a magnificent treasure at the peak of Firetop Mountain in the realm of Titan. This treasure is sought out by many adventurers, although few make it back out of the mountains in one piece, and none are able to find the two-locked chest containing the prize. The treasure is guarded by an enigmatic warlock who commands terrible beasts to guard the chest’s keys. Some say he's old, some say he's young, some say his cards are his source of power, others say it’s his black gloves. The only thing that the peasants can agree on was his name; Zagor.
The terrible warlock would fight three different adventurers on their quests to claim his treasure. Each time, if the reader makes the right choices and defeats Zagor in combat, he manages to crawl back from the blackness of death using another morbid spell. Upon his third incarnation, he even made the jump from the realm of Titan to a new world called Amarillia. It's here that the sorcerer would finally meet his end, burned to ashes in the mystical Heartfires.
Feats come from three books, The Warlock of Firetop Mountain, Return to Firetop Mountain and Legend of Zagor. Hover over a feat to see what book it’s from. Since they’re Choose Your Own Adventure books, they aren’t distinguished by chapters but rather by paragraph numbers, which are included in the images themselves.

General

Human Form

• He has a Skill stat of 11 and a Stamina stat of 18. This makes Zagor more skilled than a Vampire, who can catch the player’s sword, and tougher than a Giant.
  • If the player burns his magic cards, Zagor physically shrinks, his Skill stat goes down to 7 and his Stamina stat goes down to 11.

Resurrected Form

• After resurrecting into a patchwork body, he maintains his stats of 11 in Skill and 18 in Stamina
• If the second adventurer kills him a second time, they return to identify the corpse a few days later. Zagor’s body is completely dead, but he’s grinning and his skeletal left hand is missing, something the adventurer worries will lead to a third encounter down the line.

Demon Form

• In another realm called Amarillia, a war with a Bone Demon ended when the Casket of Souls was created, which allowed the humans to banish the demon to another plane. However, Zagor’s pernicious spirit felt this event in the realm of Titan and used the Casket to manifest himself in Amarillia. By crossing into the parallel world, he bonded with the trapped Bone Demon, and Zagor’s third physical form is a demonic/human hybrid. This incarnation grows stronger as Zagor spends time in the demon’s lair, Castle Argent, and can only be killed for good by the Heartfires below the castle.
• Zagor’s Demon form is four meters tall and visibly strong. He fights using a rune-covered staff.
• As his Demon-Thing form, his stats go up to 16 in Skill and 20 in Stamina. He uses a variety of attacks in combat, like a Thunderbolt spell, a Fireball spell, a Life Drain spell that lowers an adventurer’s Skill and Stamina stat, a Poisoned Dagger, and melee attacks with his Taloned Fists. If the Zagor Demon reaches critical health without dying, it will become Frenzied and thrash around violently.
• After beating the Zagor Demon, the adventurer must throw his body into the magic Heartfires to completely destroy him. If he’s not thrown into these flames, he will revive himself and slay the adventurer with his claws.

Magic Abilities

Immunities

• He cannot be harmed by non-magical means. Attacks like arrows do no damage to Zagor.
• Zagor is immune to the magic paralysis spell used by a genie
• He can see through the effects of invisibility-granting garments
• If an adventurer attempts to use offensive magic against the Zagor Demon, his reaction depends on if he has a higher Attack Strength than the opponent. If his stat is higher, his Magic Screen spell cancels the offensive spell and damages the adventurer.
• He’s immune to instant Death Spells
• A master thief’s flowing cloak allows the wearer to confuse enemies, lowering the hit rate of their attacks. However, Zagor sees through this technique and is unaffected by the distracting garment.
• If an adventurer uses a handheld catapult on Zagor, and Zagor has a higher Attack Strength stat, the projectile misses and the adventurer is injured

Combat-Related

• He’s capable of teleporting around the room as well as levitating
• If the player shoots an arrow at Zagor, he lifts a hand and halts in mid-flight, centimeters away from his chest
• Shoots a plume of blue flames from his hand
• Magically slows the adventurer as they climb up some stairs. As this happens, Zagor magically summons a mid-level, poisonous monster to duel the adventurer. Damage done by this creature is transferred to Zagor himself. This spell can be neutralized by an adventurer’s protective spell.
• He can form invisible barriers, useful for creating obstacles to knock flying adventurers from the air

Control Over Life

• While he initially appears as a withered, ancient man, he quickly assumes a younger form in opulent clothing when preparing to fight the player
• Right before his defeat in the fist book, Zagor cast a dark spell on himself called Raise Dead, preventing his spirit from fully dying
• Coming back from the dead was not a perfect process, and most of Zagor’s body is decomposing. He must have his minions claim body parts from living victims in order to replace his failing body, piece by piece.

Curses

• He uses a curse to raise deceased residents of Firetop Mountain as his Undead servants
• He’s cursed the land around Firetop Mountain. The once red rocks have turned black, and livestock who graze around the mountain die sickening deaths shortly afterwards.

Other Abilities

• He has a hypnotic gaze and his voice seems to come from the walls of the cave rather than his mouth
• If the player finds and uses an Invisibility Potion, Zagor can still sense their presence and track them through scent
• Zagor personally rigs a trap with a spell called Demon’s Breath. If the adventurer stands too close to a wall, a puff of gas is released that continually poisons them until they eat orc fleas.
• Zagor can draw his monsters from other planes of existence. This is how, upon his jump from Titan to Amarillia, Castle Argent is already full of his minions.
• When an adventurer opens a casket, Zagor casts a spell that further decomposes and animates the corpse within to attack the adventurer. This spell is performed over a great distance.
• He can sense when his name is uttered in Castle Argent and dispatch monsters to that location

Magic Artifacts

Zagor's Portrait

• The adventurer can come across Zagor’s painting in Firetop Mountain, a frightening portrait that lowers their Skill stat through intimidation
  • If the adventurer draws their sword against the artwork, the blade is telekinetically grabbed and dropped on them, wounding their face
  • If the adventurer draws a wooden stake against the artwork, their wrist is suddenly wracked with pain and they drop the weapon. They also lose one more Skill point before fleeing.
  • If the adventurer throws cheese at the painting, Zagor laughs at them
  • If the adventurer produces the jewel found in the Iron Cyclops, the painting is defeated and the adventurer receives two Skill points
• A different painting found in Castle Argent uses a telepathic attack to frighten an adventurer and lower their Luck stat

Elementals

• As a tradeoff of using the Raise Dead spell on himself, the powers that be placed brought Elementals to his lair in Firetop Mountain. These supernatural beings are the only thing that can truly harm Zagor and must be summoned by using a dragon’s tooth along with an awakening word. However, Zagor can also subjugate these forces under his rule after he gathers his own summoning artifacts.
• If at any point, the adventurer fails to produce the right dragon tooth during the duel with Zagor, then Zagor’s Elemental will pick them up and throw them at a wall, rendering them unconscious. If they fail to say the right magic word, they also be magically rendered unconscious by a telekinetic backlash.
• Upon encountering the adventurer, he first summons his Demonic Air Elemental with a yellow crystal and magic chants
• If his Air Elemental is defeated by the adventurer’s Earth Elemental, Zagor summons a Water Elemental
• If the Water Elemental is defeated by the adventurer’s Air Elemental, Zagor summons an Earth Elemental
• If the Earth Elemental is defeated by the adventurer’s Fire Elemental, Zagor will summon an identical Fire Elemental
• If the Fire Elemental is defeated by the adventurer’s Water Elemental, Zagor will finally get out of his throne and fight personally

Other Items

• Zagor has complete knowledge of the secrets of Firetop Mountain and controls all of the beasts within. This information has been collected in his spellbook.
• A silver earring is found on a Cave Troll. If the adventurer puts it on, it turns into a living earwig that attempts to enter the person’s ear and attack their brain. This Brainbiter is described as one of Zagor’s enchanted assassins.
• A silver necklace is found on a Goblin. Upon contact with human skin, it turns into a feral rat with poisonous bites. The charm is said to have been created by Zagor.
• Magic cards from his magic set offer a variety of positive and negative effects for those who manage to collect, on, including: one that turns into a magically terrifying face, one that lowers the holder’s Skill and Luck stats, a blank card, one that confers Stamina and Luck into the holder and one that can turn into a silver dagger that can weaken Zagor himself

Weaknesses

• A jewel found in an Iron Cyclops can easily kill Zagor. If the player can find and produce this item during the last battle, the Warlock is aged into dust.
• The adventurer can collect Golden Talismans in Castle Argent, which can reduce Zagor’s Skill stat

As far back as I can remember, I had always been passionate about the great outdoors. My love for the wilderness began when I joined the scouts, exploring the diverse landscapes of Southern California, Nevada, Arizona, and Utah. I was never a huge fan of the dry, barren landscapes, but camping provided a much-needed escape from the monotony of Orange County suburbia.
The first time I visited the Pacific Northwest, I was enchanted. The scenery was breathtaking—majestic mountains, lush fields, and meandering rivers. It was clear that anyone who praised the desert's beauty had never laid eyes on the Cascades. Seeing grass and wildflowers growing without irrigation was practically a revelation.
When I was old enough, I moved to Washington state, immersing myself in nature every weekend. My adventures took me hiking through dense forests, camping by serene lakes, and occasionally taking mushrooms under peaceful waterfalls.
I joined several online forums dedicated to outdoor enthusiasts. One community that particularly fascinated me was the Northwest Tomb Raiders. This group of history buffs and thrill-seekers was dedicated to uncovering artifacts, whether Native American relics or treasures hidden in modern ruins. Many members were collectors, fencing their finds to museums and archaeologists, which made it a rather profitable side gig, should you be lucky enough.
In the fall of 2009, an intriguing post appeared on the forum. A user named Lokk claimed to have discovered a cache of artifacts with Scandinavian origins. He couldn't carry everything back due to the treacherous terrain and his age, so he shared the coordinates, hoping someone else could retrieve the items. I scrolled down to see a few posts of people planning to loot it in the Spring, when the paths have reopened. One user, Patagooner, planned on going as early as possible.
Excited by the prospect, I gathered my two friends, Carl and Noah, for the expedition. They weren't as enthusiastic about camping as I was, but after I told them how much a single arrowhead goes for on the black market, they were on board. It was the start of winter now, which had its advantages and disadvantages. On the plus side, the rangers would have a harder time spotting us. On the downside, the harsh conditions posed a serious challenge for two inexperienced hikers.
I must’ve blown about four grand at REI on gear for them, justifying it with the knowledge of how much more I would make with two extra packs. That is of course assuming there really were as many artifacts as Lokk had said, and Patagooner hadn’t beaten me there.
The journey began like any other. We met in the pre-dawn darkness and went over our supplies, ensuring we had everything we needed. By mid-morning, we were on our way, my pickup truck winding up the mountain paths. The roads of Olympic National Park were the epitome of the raw, untamed beauty of the Pacific Northwest.
They snake through ancient forests, where towering Douglas firs and Western hemlocks create a verdant canopy overhead. Mist clings to the trees, giving the landscape an ethereal quality. Occasionally, the forest would open up to reveal breathtaking vistas of snow-capped peaks and deep, shadowy valleys.
As we climbed higher, the landscape grew increasingly desolate. The dense forest thinned out, replaced by rugged terrain and jagged rock formations. The air grew colder, and the first flurries of snow began to fall, dusting the ground in a thin, white layer. The road became narrower and more treacherous, winding precariously along the edge of steep cliffs.
Finally, a road closure blockade signaled the end of our journey in the truck. We unloaded three dirt bikes—one mine, two rentals—and continued up the trail. The bikes roared to life, carrying us several more miles into the wilderness. The trail twisted and turned, cutting through dense underbrush and over fallen logs. The snow began to fall more heavily, blanketing the forest floor and muffling the sound of our engines. The world around us grew quieter, more isolated.
Eventually, the snow became too deep to traverse by bike. We dismounted and prepared to continue on foot. The silence of the forest was profound, broken only by the occasional rustle of branches in the wind. I checked my modern GPS, its screen displaying the coordinates and a relief map of our destination.
The cold air bit into our cheeks as we trudged through the snow-laden forest. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the crunch of our footsteps and the occasional call of distant wildlife. The GPS indicated we were close to our destination, but the dense underbrush and uneven terrain made progress slow.
Suddenly, Carl's excited whisper cut through the stillness. "Hey, look at that!"
He pointed to a small, furry creature ambling through the trees. It took a moment to realize what it was—a bear cub, innocently exploring its surroundings.
My heart sank. "Carl, get back," I hissed, my voice low but urgent. "Where there's a cub, there's a..."
Before I could finish, a massive shape exploded from the trees. The mother bear, easily three times the size of the cub, charged at Carl with a ferocity. She was a blur of dark fur and powerful muscles, her roar echoing through the forest.
"Run!" I yelled, but it was too late. The bear was upon Carl, swiping at him with her massive paws. He screamed as he fell to the ground, the bear towering over him. Desperation and adrenaline surged through me. I grabbed the nearest heavy branch and swung it at the bear, hoping to distract her.
Noah joined in, shouting and waving his arms. We had to be careful; one wrong move and she would turn on us. The bear snarled, turning her attention away from Carl for just a moment. It was enough for him to scramble backwards, clutching his bleeding arm.
"We have to get him out of here," I shouted to Noah, who nodded, fear etched on his face. The bear, still enraged, seemed torn between attacking us and protecting her cub.
Using the brief respite, we hauled Carl to his feet. His face was white, and he was clearly in shock. Blood soaked his sleeve, dripping onto the snow. "There's a ranger station about two miles from here," I said, my voice shaking. "We need to get him there. Now."
We half-carried, half-dragged Carl through the forest, every shadow and sound heightening our paranoia.
Finally, after what felt like forever, the small, wooden structure of the ranger station came into view. We had been avoiding the rangers to keep our expedition secret, but now it was our only hope.
Pounding on the door, I prayed for a quick response. The door creaked open, and a weathered face appeared. "What happened?" the ranger demanded, taking in the sight of Carl's bloodied form.
"Bear attack," I gasped. "We need help."
The ranger's expression shifted from suspicion to urgency. "Get him inside. We've got a first aid kit and a radio."
As we eased Carl onto a makeshift bed, the ranger inspected his wounds. "You're lucky," he said after a moment. "The cuts are deep, but they missed any major arteries. He'll need stitches, but we can handle that here. No need for an airlift."
The ranger's face darkened as he turned to me. "What the hell are you boys doing out here?”
I hesitated, "We... we were just exploring."
The ranger's eyes narrowed, his anger palpable. "Exploring? In a restricted area? In the middle of winter? Are you out of your minds?"
He worked quickly and efficiently, cleaning and stitching Carl's wounds. Carl winced but stayed silent, his eyes closed in pain.
"Do you have any idea how dangerous it is out here?" the ranger continued, his voice rising. "The storm, the wildlife... This area is off-limits for a reason! You should have known better." he said, pushing a finger into my chest.
"We'll stay here for the night," he continued, "The storm's getting worse, and it's too dangerous to move him now. We'll reassess in the morning. And count yourself lucky I don't arrest your asses."
Night fell quickly, the storm outside growing more ferocious with each passing minute. The howling wind battered the small ranger station, and the walls creaked under the pressure. We huddled in the main room, the tension thick in the air.
The ranger looked at us sternly. "I need to check the perimeter and make sure everything is secure. There are things out there you don’t want to encounter, especially in this storm."
"Things? What do you mean?" Noah asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The ranger's expression hardened. "Just stay put. No matter what you see or hear, do not leave this cabin. Understood?"
We nodded, the seriousness in his tone leaving no room for argument. "We'll stay put," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
The ranger grabbed his coat and shotgun. "I'll be back in an hour. Do not leave this cabin." With that, he opened the door and stepped into the raging storm, disappearing into the darkness.
As soon as the door closed, I turned to Noah. "We need to go. Now."
Noah's eyes widened. "Are you crazy? He said to stay put."
"If we wait until morning, we'll be escorted out of here and lose our chance. This might be our only opportunity to find those artifacts."
Noah hesitated with uncertainty "But... what about Carl?"
"He'll be fine here. The ranger can take care of him. We have to do this now."
Reluctantly, Noah nodded. "Alright. Let's take what we can and go."
We quickly looted extra gear from the cabin. I checked the GPS one last time before we slipped out into the storm, the cold wind battering us.
The snow fell heavily, obscuring our vision as we slogged through the forest. The ranger was nowhere in sight as we made our way towards the our destination, each step filled with trepidatious excitement.
The storm began to die down as we approached the coordinates. We stepped into a clearing where the undisturbed snow lay like a pristine white blanket. In the center stood an ancient, weathered stone altar, encircled by intricate wooden carvings, delicate metalwork, and beautifully crafted statues. The sight was breathtaking, a treasure trove, a veritable museum of paganism.
Noah and I exchanged glances, our eyes wide with amazement. "Do you see this?" I whispered, barely able to contain my excitement.
"We're going to be rich," Noah replied, his voice trembling with awe. "These must be worth a fortune!"
We approached cautiously, as if the vision before us might disappear. The craftsmanship was stunning. I reached out to touch a carved wooden idol, marveling at the detail. "This is incredible," I said, my voice barely audible.
We began to load our packs with as many artifacts as we could carry, each one more exquisite than the last. It was beyond our wildest dreams. We were so engrossed in our task that we didn't notice the small figure watching us from the ridge.
It wasn't until I turned to leave that I saw her. A young girl, maybe eight years old, stood there, her blue eyes wide with curiosity. She was dressed in simple, rustic clothing, her blonde straight hair blowing gently in the wind. For a moment, we just stared at each other.
"Noah," I whispered urgently, nudging him. "Look."
He turned, his eyes following my gaze. "What the...?" he muttered, his voice trailing off.
The girl took a tentative step forward, her eyes fixed on the items in our hands. There was no fear in her gaze, only a quiet intensity that made my skin crawl.
"Who are you?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
She tilted her head slightly. "My name is Sigyn."
"What are you doing out here, Sigyn?" Noah asked, his voice shaky.
"I live here,"
"You live here?" I echoed, incredulous. "Is there anyone else around?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"Where?" Noah demanded, looking around nervously.
"Everywhere," she said with a giggle.
The way she said it, so matter-of-factly, bothered me deeply. Noah and I exchanged a look, both of us trying to figure out what to do next.
"We can't take her back to the ranger," Noah started, "We'll lose everything."
I nodded, my mind racing. "Sigyn," I said slowly, "we need to know who else is here. Can you help us?"
She looked at me with her piercing blue eyes, then said, "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Noah asked.
"For what's going to happen to you," she replied, her voice tinged with sadness.
"You need to tell us what's going on," Noah said, grabbing her arm roughly. "Why are you out here alone?"
She looked up at him, unperturbed. "I am not alone," she said softly.
Before we could press her further, a loud, guttural mooing sound echoed through the clearing. We turned towards the direction the girl had come from, and there, emerging from the shadows, was the silhouette of an elk. As it approached, my stomach dropped. Its body was a grotesque amalgamation of life and decay. Its skull was fully exposed, the eye sockets dark and empty. Large patches of its ribs were visible, the flesh around them rotted away.
The elk's movements were slow and deliberate, its head swaying as if in a trance. It walked directly towards us, its hollow eyes fixed on Sigyn. The closer it got, the more the stench of death filled the air—a nauseating mix of decay and earth. I fought the urge to retch.
Sigyn stood up, her expression calm. The monster sniffed her gently, its nostrils flaring. Without a word, she climbed onto its back, mounting it like a horse. It was a surreal and horrifying scene ripped straight from a nightmare.
As she settled onto the elk, she looked back at us, "A thief in the night shall reap what he sows," she said, her voice carrying an otherworldly echo. "Beware the price of stolen dreams."
With that, the beast turned and began to walk away, Sigyn riding it into the shadows of the forest. We stood there, frozen in place. The realization that we were in far over our heads began to sink in. This started to feel like a trap.
We need to get out of here," My voice trembling. "Now."
We turned to leave, our packs heavy with the pilfered goods. But as we took our first steps, the forest around us seemed to come alive. Shadows moved among the trees, and whispers floated on the wind. I quickened my pace, glancing nervously over my shoulder.
"Did you hear that?" Noah asked sharply,
"Just keep moving," I commanded.
A figure emerged from the shadows, blocking our path. It was a man, tall and gaunt, his eyes burning with an intense light. "Where do you think you're going?" he asked, his voice cold and menacing.
"We're leaving," I stammered. "We didn't mean any harm."
The man smirked, and with a swift motion, he raised his hand. More figures appeared, closing in on us from all sides. We were surrounded.
"Run!" I shouted, shoving Noah forward.
We sprinted through the forest, branches whipping at our faces and legs. The figures pursued us, their footsteps silent and relentless.
Noah stumbled and fell, his pack spilling open. Statues scattered across the ground, glinting in the moonlight. "Help!" he cried, scrambling to gather the items.
"Leave them!" I shouted, pulling him to his feet. "We have to keep moving!"
But it was too late, their hands seizing us. I struggled, kicking and thrashing, but their grips were too strong. They forced us to the ground, binding our hands with rough, coarse ropes.
"Please," I begged, "Don't hurt us."
The man who had first appeared stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "A thief in the night," he mocked.
They dragged us through the forest, the trees closing in around us like a cage. We were at their mercy.
In the distance, I could see the elk standing at the edge of the clearing, Sigyn still astride its back. Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of pity. But then they turned away, disappearing into the shadows once more.
We were dragged into the heart of the forest, our struggles futile against the unyielding grip of our captors. As we broke through the treeline, a massive bonfire came into view, its flames licking the night sky. Shadows danced around the clearing, cast by the flickering light. A woman stood at the forefront, her presence commanding.
Her eyes were milk white, devoid of pupils, and her long, flowing white hair cascaded down her back. She was completely naked, her skin pale and marked with intricate symbols. Atop her head, she wore an elk skull, its antlers extending like eerie, skeletal fingers. She beat a drum emblazoned with more of the same cryptic symbols, each thud resonating deep within my chest.
Around the fire, about two dozen people stood, all drinking from crude, horned cups. Their faces were solemn, eyes fixed on the woman as she led them in a haunting chant. The atmosphere was thick with a mix of reverence and intoxication.
We were forced to our knees before the woman, who paused her drumming to look down at us. Her gaze was haunting, as if she could see into the very depths of our souls.
"Who are you?" Noah demanded, his voice trembling.
The woman ignored him, raising her arms to the sky. The chanting grew louder, the rhythm of the drum faster and more frenzied. The air around us seemed to vibrate with energy, the flames of the bonfire growing higher and more intense.
I glanced at Noah, fear mirrored in his eyes. The woman began to speak, her voice low and melodic, but filled with power, in a language I couldn't understand. Suddenly, she stopped, lowering her arms. The chanting ceased, and an silence fell over the clearing. She looked directly at me, her white eyes unblinking.
En tjuv i natten skördar vad han sår, akta dig för drömmar som du stjäl och får.
Hans skratt bevakar lundens gömda stig, där skuggor sveper över skogens liv.
För varje stulet andetag och svek, måste en tjuv möta sitt smärtsamma ödelek.
Tricksterns vilja, vår ande här, så i hans nåd, våra liv bär.
I was terrified and confused. She started again, softer, in a way I could understand.
A thief in the night shall reap what he sows, beware the price of stolen dreams.
His laughter guards our hidden groves, where shadows cloak the forest's seams.
For every stolen breath and lie, a thief must meet his painful end.
The tricksters will, our spirits tie, so in his grace, our lives suspend.
The crowd surged forward, grabbing Noah first. He screamed, his terror echoing through the trees as they pulled him towards a makeshift altar beside the bonfire. The woman chanted louder, her voice rising in a hypnotic rhythm as they began their gruesome work.
They stripped him of his shirt and bound his arms to a wooden frame. I tried to move, to help him, but the grip on my shoulders tightened, pinning me to the ground.
The woman approached Noah, holding a knife with a blade that gleamed in the firelight. She started to slice into his back, her movements deliberate and unhurried. Noah's screams pierced the night as she methodically carved the shape of wings into his flesh.
Blood poured from the wounds, soaking the ground beneath him. The crowd's chant grew louder, almost drowning out his cries. I watched in horror as the woman reached into the incisions, breaking the ribs and pulling them outward, creating a parody of wings.
Noah's agony was unbearable to witness. His screams turned to whimpers, his body convulsing in pain. The woman didn't stop until the work was complete, his lungs exposed and hanging grotesquely from his back.
They lifted Noah's broken body and placed him over the fire. The smell of burning flesh filled the air, making me gag. His life ebbed away as the flames consumed him, the once vibrant light in his eyes fading to nothing.
The woman turned to me, her expression devoid of mercy. "You will meet the same fate," she said, "He demands it."
The smell of burning flesh and the sight of his broken body over the fire was seared into my mind. Despair settled over me as I closed my eyes.
A deafening blast shattered the night. My eyes flew open to see the shaman stumbling backward, a gaping wound in her chest. She collapsed to the ground, her white eyes staring lifelessly into the void.
The villagers turned in shock as another shot rang out, this time hitting one of the men holding me. I twisted free from their grasp and saw the park ranger standing at the edge of the clearing, a pump-action shotgun in his hands. He fired again, the sound echoing through the forest, before one of them tackled him to the ground.
"Run!" he shouted, his voice raw and desperate. "Get the hell out of here!"
I didn't need to be told twice. I sprinted into the darkness, the chaos of the clearing fading behind me. Branches whipped at my face, and the snow underfoot made every step a struggle. I could hear the sounds of fighting and gunshots, but I forced myself to keep moving.
The cold air burned in my lungs, but adrenaline pushed me forward. I didn't stop until I reached the station, my legs threatening to give out from under me. I burst through the door and slammed it behind me.
Inside, Carl lay where we had left him, his face pale and twisted in pain. I stumbled to the radio, my hands trembling as I fumbled with the controls.
"Mayday, mayday!" I yelled into the microphone. "This is an emergency! We need help! Please, someone, come quickly!"
Static filled the room, punctuated by my ragged breaths. I repeated the call, my voice growing more frantic with each passing second. Finally, a voice crackled through the speaker. "This is Ranger Station Bravo. What's your location? Over."
I could barely form the words. "Olympic National Park! The ranger station near mount Christie! We're under attack! Please, send help!"
"Copy that. Help is on the way. Stay put and stay safe. Over."
I collapsed to the floor, my body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Carl moaned softly, his eyes fluttering open. "What… What happened? Where's Noah?”
Tears streamed down my face and I found myself choked up. “He’s gone, man. Help is coming.”
The minutes stretched into an eternity as we waited. The wind howled around the station, and every creak and groan of the structure set my nerves on edge. I couldn't shake the feeling that we were being watched, that the forest itself was closing in on us.
The radio crackled again, this time with a different voice. "Helicopter en route, ETA fifteen minutes. Prepare for extraction."
I glanced at Carl, his eyes filled with confusion. "Hang on. We're getting out of here."
As the minutes ticked by, I couldn't help but think about the ranger. He had saved my life, but he hadn't made it back. My mind conjured up images of what might have happened to him, the cultists overwhelming him in the darkness. A sense of guilt gnawed at me, knowing he had sacrificed himself for us.
The sound of rotors cut through the night, growing louder as the helicopter approached. I ran to the window and saw its searchlight piercing the treetops, scanning for the station.
I helped Carl to his feet, supporting his weight as we made our way to the hatch. The helicopter hovered above, lowering a rescue basket. The wind from the rotors whipped the snow into a frenzy, but I didn't care. Salvation was finally here.
We secured Carl in the basket first, and I watched as he was hoisted up, disappearing into the safety of the helicopter. My turn was next. I realized that I was now alone and exposed. Fear coursing through me as I scanned around the edge of the forest, expecting to be grabbed and taken seconds before my rescue. But the moment never came. As I gripped the rope, I took one last look at the forest below. The flames of the bonfire still flickered in the distance.
I was lifted into the air, the ground falling away beneath me. The helicopter's crew pulled me inside, and I collapsed onto the floor still holding onto my pack, my body finally giving in to exhaustion. The doors closed, and the helicopter banked away, leaving the horrors of the park behind.
Weeks had passed since the harrowing events, but the memories clung to me like the bitter cold. I had returned to civilization, seeking solace in the familiar chaos of the city. I found a wealthy collector through a network of contacts. The artifacts fetched a price tenfold the cost of gear. The money was substantial, but as I held the cash, it felt like a hollow victory.
Noah's absence weighed heavily on me. His disappearance was chalked up as a missing persons case, and despite my best efforts to explain what had happened, no one believed me. The authorities conducted a search of the area, but they found no trace of the cult, the artifacts, or the clearing. It was as if the forest had swallowed up all the evidence.
I returned to the site where we had parked the truck. The dirt bikes were gone, stolen by opportunistic thieves, but the truck remained. I drove back in silence, the road winding through the dense forest. For a moment, I thought I saw the girl watching me from atop a ridge until I realized it was just paranoia. I stepped on the gas a little harder.
Back home, I checked the Tomb Raiders forum again. The post that had led us into the forest was gone, deleted without a trace. I messaged the mods, but apparently, they don’t keep records to maintain confidentiality. I wrote about our experience, detailing every terrifying moment, but the responses were skeptical at best. Most dismissed it as a work of fiction or a desperate cry for attention.
Time passed, and I tried to return to a semblance of normalcy. Yet, the wilderness called to me stronger than ever. It was my sanctuary, the only place where I could find peace amidst the turmoil. I spent more and more time outdoors than ever before, but now it always felt like I was just running from something.
Determined to prove what had happened, I returned to the forest with a camera and recording equipment. This time, I documented every step, capturing footage of the trees, the snow, and the eerie silence that hung in the air. I retraced our path, hoping to find the clearing again. But each night, as I reviewed the footage, something strange would happen. The files would be corrupted or entire segments missing.
I pressed on. I found the site where Noah had fallen, the ground still bearing faint traces of what had happened. I set up the camera and began to speak, recounting the events in detail. As I spoke, a cold wind swept through the clearing, and the camera's screen flickered. I finished my account and turned to check the recording, only to find the file corrupted once again, the footage replaced by static and a faint, mocking laughter.
I returned home, defeated and exhausted. My attempts to share what I had experienced were met with disbelief and ridicule. The files I managed to save were corrupted beyond recognition. It was as if the forest itself was conspiring against me.
Almost exactly one year later, as I browsed the forums, a new post caught my eye. It was cryptic, eerily similar to the one that had led us into the nightmare. It spoke of another trove of artifacts, hidden deep within the wilderness, waiting to be claimed.
The post was signed with a new name: Skygge. Different handle, same style. Another trap. They had taken so much from me, left scars that would never heal. I opened my drawer, my fingers brushing over the cold metal of my weapons. This was the moment I had been waiting for. This time, I'll be ready.
The forest’s secrets won't remain hidden forever.

(continuation of part 2)
III. e) The Mobius FF x FFVII collaboration
Alright, back to our suspension world-hopping! Let’s visit the realm of Mobius FF, —more specifically, the collaboration between Mobius FF and FFVII—, where I found the most substantial evidence for my theory.
In case you’re unfamiliar with the Mobius FF (MFF) world and games, let’s begin with a bit of a summary of the parts relevant to us. The story takes place in a world called Palamecia, to which people from other worlds are inexplicably summoned. The vast majority of those who are brought there don’t remember anything from their worlds of origin or their lives before Palamecia except their names: these amnesiac people are called Blanks. The main character is Wol, accompanied by a guiding fairy of Palamecia named Echo. Echo knows a lot about the mechanisms of Palamecia, as she’s tied to the realm. The leader of this world is Vox, a being who manifests only as a voice. The first thing all Blanks remember before they wake in Palamecia is Vox telling them the rules of the realm. Incidentally, the crystals of the MFF world are teleportation crystals.
III. e) i. Devs’ Statements
Let’s review some of the MFF x FFVII Remake collaboration devs’ statements before diving into its story.
For both the MFF x FFVII Remake collaboration and the Remake project, Kitase took on the role of producer while Nojima supervised the screenplay and wrote the scenario. The project leader was none other than the Remake trilogy’s Hamaguchi, who told a SE interviewer the following:

“We would love for you to play the [MFF x FFVII] collaboration event as you look forward to [Remake’s] release” (“Celebration of the Overseas Release of the Steam Version and FINAL FANTASY VII REMAKE Collaboration Event”, Square Enix).

He later hints at the collaboration’s storyline:

“This collaboration is focused on Cloud, so the other characters will not make an appearance. Players will join Cloud, who has gone astray in Palamecia, on his adventures and see how the story unfolds based on his decisions. Content-wise, FINAL FANTASY VII fans will surely become fraught with emotion as events unfold in-game (laughs).”

Kitase concurs on the emotional aspect of the collaboration in the same interview:

“When it comes to the story, I seek two things– ‘mystery’ and ‘[…] emotional impact’.”

Clearly, fans of FFVII are supposed to react emotionally to the events of the collaboration. With these statements in mind to give us perspective, we can get into the plot points relevant to our analysis. MFF x FFVII Remake comes in two parts, the relevant plot points of which I will describe and analyze one at a time.
III. e) ii. Eclipse Contact
1) Fact-Finding
Part one of the MFF x FFVII Remake collaboration event is called Eclipse Contact. It came out in 2017 on Aerith’s birthday, February 7th, and its release campaign ran until March. In Eclipse Contact, Palamecia welcomes someone new: Cloud Strife appears in the realm with very little recollection of his core world of FFVII.
Cloud isn’t a Blank, since he recalls the mako reactors in Midgar upon his arrival in Palamecia, and also remembers that he was hired by Avalanche to blow them up:

“Echo: How did you end up in Palamecia?

Cloud: I… That day... I remember now. A job. I had taken a job. I was hired muscle protecting clients. They wanted to stop the reactor... We used a train to get past security... Was it at night? Something happened... Next thing I knew, I was floating through darkness. Then [I woke up here]”.

This piece of dialogue reveals that Eclipse Contact Cloud’s memories end at the very moment when Avalanche arrives at reactor 1 in OG (disk 1, chapter 1): the very beginning of the game. Consequently, Cloud does not remember anything that happened from the beginning of the OG timeline onwards.
Wol and Echo are intrigued by Cloud’s strange case: non-Blanks rarely arrive in Palamecia. The following text appears on the screen shortly after they meet:

“Perhaps he is not truly who he thinks he is.
Perhaps everything is illusory, a dream.
Only one thing is certain, that he must press on, one step at a time, toward the light that shines from the promised land.”

Just like he did in FFT’s Ivalice, Cloud feels the need to find the Promised Land in MFF x FFVII, despite the fact that he lacks memories of the OG timeline. Though Cloud doesn’t remember anything beyond the train ride to reactor 1, he does remember the Promised Land (at least somewhat). This is odd, given that in OG, Cloud didn’t learn about the Promised Land until several chapters into the game.
Wol and Echo agree to help Cloud figure out why he’s here, since there’s clearly something strange going on with his presence in Palamecia. In fact, Cloud brought Midgar’s mako reactors with him somehow, transplanting them onto the landscape of Palamecia. The group decides to bomb these reactors, following Cloud’s instincts in the hopes that it will jog his memory.
Now for my favorite part. After blowing up another reactor, the group is surprised by the appearance of a crystal. A piano rendition of Aerith’s theme begins. When Wol tries to touch the crystal, something akin to a force field rejects him. When Cloud approaches it, however, the crystal responds to his hand by flashing with light. As it begins to glow, Wol concludes that the crystal is linked to Cloud and Cloud alone. Let’s examine the resulting dialogue:

“Echo: This is the light in your memories. The light of home.
Cloud: Home? But I don’t—
Echo: If you don't remember… then your home is lost to you.
Cloud: Then my memories are gone.
Wol: Do you want to reclaim your past?
Cloud: Not interested... I am what I am now. Not what I was.
Wol: Then tell me… This light. If you can’t remember it, what does it mean to you?
Cloud: It's a warm light... I feel at peace. If this place —home— is as warm and peaceful as this light, then I want to go there.
Echo: You can't go there... Not back to the past.
Cloud: I see.
Echo: But even if you can't go back to the past, you can go forward. If you wish for it strongly enough, the crystal will show you the way. The way to a new world. The way to your Promised Land. […]
Cloud: So... Should [I] take [my] chances and make a wish to this crystal?
Wol: Go ahead. It’s your crystal.
Echo: I should warn you that once you start on this journey, there's no coming back.
Cloud: The past is the past. I want to go to a place where everything is new. I’m ready.“

What follows is a moment I call the wishing scene (13:43-14:34). Cloud closes his eyes and wishes on the crystal. It flashes, and suddenly, rainbow-colored ripples of light appear around it. Aerith’s theme is replaced by a slightly modified version of “Midgar, City of Mako”, the track that plays during the opening cutscene of Remake. You can recreate the modification by listening to “Midgar, City of Mako” from 2:00 to 2:23, then skipping to 3:00 and listening until 3:18. You may recognize the musical motif that kicks off the wishing scene as the Lifestream motif, which has become symbolic of the mysteries of the Remake trilogy, as it often plays during scenes where unexplainable plot deviations from OG occur— more specifically, deviations involving multiverse shenanigans. For instance, it plays during MOTF 4. It also plays in Rebirth after Cloud blocks masamune as Aerith is shown dying anyway.
Cloud disappears with his crystal, after which Echo speaks to Wol about Cloud’s journey:

“Echo: Each person gets the Promised Land they justly deserve, not the one they really need. If you’re a bad person, you go to a bad place. If you expect nothing, you get nothing. Even the journey there makes you look deep within yourself to find out who you really are. Cloud should be facing his own past as we speak. It’s cruel, but necessary. That battle was a long time coming”.

Apparently, at least in the context of this collaboration event, the Promised Land can be a reward or a punishment, depending on which you deserve. Echo explains that Cloud will have to face himself and his past on his way to his Promised Land. This means that the Cloud that appears in Eclipse Contact must next embark on a journey that will confront him with his past, test his mettle, and ultimately lead him to the Promised Land he justly deserves.
III. e) ii. 2) Fact Analysis
There’s a lot of vital information to dig into here, mostly provided by Echo. She claims that the crystal’s light is linked to Cloud’s memories of home; Cloud has to have known this home in the past, as it could not otherwise exist in his memories. MFF Cloud must be a post-OG Cloud. Unfortunately, Echo indicates that whatever Cloud’s home is, he’s lost both it and his memories of it. Despite this, Cloud describes his home as warm and peaceful, concluding that he wishes to find it. Though Cloud can’t return to the past, Echo tells him that if he wishes it strongly enough, the crystal can guide him toward a new world, where his home and his Promised Land exist in the future. The fact that Aerith’s theme is playing all throughout these descriptions of Cloud’s lost home, his Promised Land and the past that he can’t return to makes it extremely obvious that these concepts all point to Aerith. Aerith is Cloud’s lost home. Wherever Aerith is, that’s his Promised Land. The time spent with Aerith before her loss is the past he tragically can’t return to. You might have clocked the similarities between Eclipse Contact’s mention of Cloud’s lost home and DFF’s mention of Cloud’s lost dream: in both these titles, Cloud’s home and dream are equivalent to his Promised Land. It’s confirmed yet again that Aerith is the one Cloud hopes to return to, just like every soul returns to the Lifestream. At this juncture of my research, I was curious as to why the last thing Cloud remembers before waking in Palamecia is the run-up to the Reactor 1 bombing mission in OG (disk 1, chapter 1). This mystery will have to persist for a while longer.
The alarm bells in your head might’ve been triggered by the mention of the wishing scene’s rainbow ripple effects— and rightfully so. This visual cue has sparked passionate debate in the fandom since its appearances in Rebirth, as seen in these pictures:
Zack Choosing To Get A Cure For Cloud, Rebirth Chapter 14; Creating a New World/Timeline
Aerith Pushing Cloud Out of that World/Timeline, Remake Chapter 14
Cloud Blocking Masamune, Rebirth Chapter 14; Creating New World/Timeline
You might have read or heard that this rainbow effect signifies that a character has entered another timeline, created a portal to another timeline, created a new timeline or is being shown different timelines. Indeed, whenever the OG timeline is deviated from in a significant way, this effect appears. The pictures above present multiple examples of these shifting realities.
One might propose that the rainbow ripples in Eclipse Contact and Rebirth are unrelated because of the long period between their respective release dates. This long in-between period indeed makes it likelier that the effect was used without forethought in Eclipse Contact, forgotten over the years, and incidentally reused in Rebirth as a plot-important visual cue with no connection to Eclipse Contact. I’m inclined to disagree since the crystal is specifically described as a vessel that can take Cloud “to a new world” by Echo, which is a bit on the nose. Regardless, it’s plausible that there’s no connection. That is, it would be, if the rainbow effect didn’t show up in Remake too.
When the Whispers are finally defeated in chapter 18 of Remake, a burst of the rainbow ripple effects indicate the emergence of multiple worlds, newly freed from the restrictive clutches of fate (1:16:36-1:16:47). Shortly thereafter, Sephiroth takes Cloud to the Edge of Creation and invites him to join forces with him. Cloud refuses, and Sephiroth says the following:

“Seven seconds till the end. Time enough for you. Perhaps. But what will you do with it? Let's see.”

The question “What will you do with it?” implies that the answer is unknown, meaning Cloud is no longer bound to the OG timeline by fate: many alternate futures lay ahead. Sephiroth is telling Cloud and the audience that now, the mystery of the Remake trilogy has become “Which future will Cloud bring into existence? Which among the infinite possible timelines will his choices result in?” After pondering this aloud, Sephiroth leaves Cloud alone to consider the rainbow effects in the sky (1:19:23-1:19:36). Because they generally represent alternate or changing timelines, it’s safe to assume that the rainbow ripples here represent the myriad of possible worlds that Cloud’s actions in those seven seconds could generate. After all, Sephiroth was just talking about them, and chapter 18’s description in Remake reads as follows:

“In a world beyond, Sephiroth shows Cloud a vision of the planet seven seconds before its demise. Having strayed from the course destiny set for them, they strike out on a path towards an unknown future."

This explains why the player is shown Cloud staring at those colors in the apocalyptic sky at world’s end, directly after hearing Sephiroth’s cryptic words: those are all the alternate “unknown future” timelines ahead of him, now unravelled from fate. Amongst those rainbow ripples lies the answer to the question “What will you do with [the seven seconds]?”
Given that Remake was released in 2020 and Eclipse Contact came out in 2017, the major story elements of the Remake trilogy —including the eventuality of alternate timelines— had to have been planned out at the time of Eclipse Contact’s release: while the MFF x FFVII Remake collaboration was being made, Remake was also in production. Also recall that the collaboration event and the Remake trilogy share a codirector in Hamaguchi, a writer in Nojima and a producer in Kitase. Based on all this, it’s more than likely that the rainbow ripples in the Remake trilogy and inEclipse Contact represent the very same thing: alternate worlds and timelines. All this to say that when the rainbow effect appears around the crystal in the Eclipse Contact, it means the crystal is acting as a vessel to another world, just like Echo said.
But that’s not all Echo said: she also mentioned that this other world would take Cloud to his home, to his Promised Land. We’ve already established what that means for Cloud, what it’s meant since two whole decades at the time of Eclipse Contact’s release: this crystal will take Cloud to Aerith. So, where exactly did the crystal take Cloud? In what world can he meet Aerith again?
The music that plays during the wishing scene gives us a huge hint. As I noted before, the track playing in the background is a slightly modified version of Remake’s “Midgar, City of Mako”, which plays in the introduction cutscene of Remake. This is a musical cue that the ending of Cloud’s journey in Eclipse Contact and the very beginning of the Remake trilogy are closely related. Add the fact that the devs wanted players to experience this collaboration event before playing Remake, and it becomes undeniable: the crystal that appeared to Cloud in Palamecia —which offers to lead him to his home and Promised Land, meaning to Aerith—, took him to the world of the Remaketrilogy.
Eclipse Contact is huge. The whole crux of my theory lives and dies right here. However, we still have part two of the MFF x FFVII Remake collaboration event to analyze as well as its promotions to look into before I can drop the thesis on you, so bear with me in order to receive the most thorough analysis of all this possible! I want to give you every drop of proof I can!
III. e) ii. MFF x FFVII Remake Fatal Calling
1) Fact-Finding
Fatal Calling came out February 1 of 2018, and its release campaign ended in March. The game opens with a cutscene: Cloud is floating, seemingly unconscious, through a sparkling, green current of light. The current flows into a circle of bright, white light, surrounded by rainbow ripple effects as Cloud is driven toward and into it. An orb floats along with him. The Advent Children theme “The Promised Land” plays, a choir of mournful, aching, mutedly desperate souls engaged in a lamenting prayer. Sephiroth’s voice echoes:

“Sephiroth: It’s time. You may turn your back on the past, lock your memories away. Hide reality beneath a layer of illusion. But destiny will not die so easily. Yes. At memory’s end you may plead for it all to go away. But the past is a curse, binding your soul. It’s time. Wake to your fate. Rise to your destiny.
Cloud: (In a half-conscious grunt) Reunion…
Sephiroth: The light will lead you. Wake to your fate. Rise!”

Sephiroth’s mentions of Cloud hiding under an illusion and repressing his memories are no doubt allusions to Cloud’s past, which was complicated and darkened by Hojo’s experiments. It makes sense, then, that Cloud responds with “Reunion”. Fatal Calling indeed focuses on Cloud’s relationship to his past, his identity and Sephiroth. Everything involving Nibelheim —where everything started—, Sephiroth’s manipulation, and Hojo’s experiments are on the table. Also noteworthy if not out of place is Sephiroth’s evocation of fate.
Cloud enters a battle with Sephiroth with the help of Wol and Echo, who are surprised to see him back in Palamecia. Cloud tells them about the orb seen floating along with him in the opening cutscene: though he calls it a materia, he doesn’t know how or when he acquired it. Based on his behavior, it appears that Cloud remembers just as little about the events of OG as he did by the end of Eclipse Contact. Wol informs Cloud that whoever he heard speaking to him on his way here was probably Vox pretending to be Sephiroth.
As the group advances, Cloud recalls Midgar and decides they should go there next. At one of Midgar’s mako reactors, the group encounters Sephiroth, who speaks to himself:

“It's still not enough. This... this is but a pale imitation of the power I desire.”

Once Sephiroth has disappeared, Cloud explains what he remembers: Sephiroth was the greatest SOLDIER of all and a hero to Cloud, though Cloud can’t remember what exactly ended this admiration. As players of FFVII OG, we know the event in question is the Nibelheim incident, wherein Sephiroth slaughtered the town’s residents, including Cloud’s mother, after learning of his past. The former war hero also severely injured Tifa, whom Cloud presumed dead when he found her in the old mako reactor with a vicious slash on her chest. Cloud is agitated by the gaps in his memory, so the group resolves to follow Sephiroth for answers. When they find him again, Sephiroth causes Cloud to experience a piercing headache with the mere mention of the Reunion. They fight, but Sephiroth is too powerful— he skewers Cloud with the masamune and taunts his unconscious body:

“Sephiroth: A puppet. I won’t kill you. Not yet. Not until you know true despair.
Wol: If you want despair, we got plenty to go around. Palamecia’s full of it.
Sephiroth: Yes, this planet knows suffering. But it is not the world that was promised to me. I must go home. Tell Cloud, if he wants to see me again, he should face his memories. I will await him there, in the land of memory, where it all began. In Nibelheim.”

Sephiroth darkens Cloud’s materia, turning it black. Later, Wol explains to Cloud that Sephiroth stole the light from his materia, taking Cloud’s strength along with it.
Once Cloud has woken up, the group travels to Nibelheim to uncover the truth about Cloud’s memories. Cloud slowly gathers pieces of his past, shown to the player as titled, diary-like text written from various perspectives. Cloud learns the truth about SOLDIER, Jenova cells, Sephiroth, and what happened in Nibelheim. Let’s examine a few of these diary entries:

“A Warrior’s Tale: There's a girl in Nibelheim I think about. Warm. Cheerful. More grown-up than a child. Haven't talked to her much, but she seems nice. She's going to be leading the SOLDIERs to the mountain reactor. Maybe if I get into the survey team I'll get a chance to talk to her? Nah. She's out of my league.”

Young Cloud’s crush on Tifa is on full display! This must be a memory from his time as an infantryman accompanying Zack and Sephiroth to Nibelheim.

“Tale of the Nameless: I drift along in the mako, asleep. Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Who am I? Give me a number. I… I… I am… The Reunion. The Reunion must happen.”

This entry could be taken from any one of the Nibelheim survivors’ perspectives, as they were all bathed in mako and turned into Sephiroth clones. I would venture to say this is Cloud’s perspective though, given the reference to this iconic line from OG:

“Cloud: Professor... please give me a number. Please, Professor...
Hojo: Shut up, miserable failure.” (disk 2, chapter 2).

The trio encounters Sephiroth near the old Mt. Nibel mako reactor. Because Sephiroth stole the light from his materia earlier, Cloud goes into the confrontation already drained of his strength. However, when Cloud lifts the materia in his hand, it lights up and creates rainbow ripples in the air around him, similar to those seen in Eclipse Contact and Rebirth. Cloud is healed of his injuries: he closes his eyes for a moment, wearing a peaceful expression. Sephiroth is displeased, but recovers quickly:

“Sephiroth: The guiding light… it healed you.
Wol: […] here, near the mako reactor, the materia regained its light. And your strength returned […]. [Sephiroth]’s here so he can steal the power you've stored inside that materia.
Sephiroth, with a short laugh: I have all the power I need. Cloud. What strength you’ve regained is yours. Use it to fight me. It’s time. Let’s decide this, in this land lost to despair. The prize is home. The Promised Land. There to answer the call of destiny.”

With this second evocation of fate, Sephiroth disappears.
Cloud, Wol and Echo find Sephiroth at the Northern Crater. He mocks Cloud for believing the orb in his possession is materia. Sephiroth waves a hand and his signature black and purple fog surrounds Cloud, immobilizing him. Sephiroth claims that the power Cloud regained at the Mt. Nibel reactor was Sephiroth’s all along. Now that it courses through Cloud’s veins, Sephiroth controls him. He calls Cloud his puppet and finishes with the following before the two vanish, leaving Wol and Echo alone:

“Now, let us return. Back to the Promised Land. The time of the Reunion has come.”

After Cloud finally breaks free and defeats Sephiroth with the help of Wol and Echo, the villain makes a final threat:

“Very good, Cloud. You’ve destroyed an illusion. But the time will come to abandon your illusions and face reality. Then, you will know true pain.”

Sephiroth disappears for the last time, his body surrounded by his signature dark fog and the rainbow ripples. A piano rendition of Tifa’s theme begins. Cloud’s orb rises into the air and becomes a crystal, with the same shape and glow as the one we see in Eclipse Contact. The following dialogue is illuminating:

“Cloud: I will fight. The light will lead me where I need to go.
Wol: You sure? Wasn’t that [crystal] Sephiroth’s?
Cloud: I heard Sephiroth's voice, at the end. Inside me. Whatever he put in me, it’s still in there. Someday I’ll settle that score. If I can't avoid destiny, I might as well face it head-on.
Wol: Yeah. That was quite a speech, Cloud. Surprised you made it through without laughing.
Cloud: Yeah, forget I said it. I will too.
Echo: Forgetting won’t make it go away. Even if the words fade from memory, your dream will never disappear. Not until it becomes real.“
The crystal shines as though in response.
“Echo: See? See, that's how the light of hope works. Hope can turn your dreams into reality.
Cloud: Yeah. I guess so. I might forget this world, but I won’t forget hope. And my reality, that’s for me to live.”

Tifa’s theme ends. Cloud approaches the crystal, and disappears in a beam of blinding light. Once Cloud has vanished with the crystal, Aerith’s theme begins playing. A few pale feathers with a slight orange tint (the color of MFF) float down onto the floor where he stood seconds before. The image fades to black. The credits roll, and Aerith’s theme continues all the way through.
Once both the final name in the credits and Aerith’s theme fade, we’re surprised by a sudden, troubling image: Sephiroth appears in a frightening flash, standing amidst the flames of Nibelheim. When his image fades to black, the collaboration title *“Final Fantasy VII x Mobius Final Fantasy”*appears on the screen. The FFVII title is accompanied by the 1997 meteor logo. Then, a flash of light: the titles reappear, except this time, they read “Final Fantasy VII REMAKE x Mobius Final Fantasy”. The new Remake Meteor logo replaces the 1997 version. As soon as these changes to the FFVII title and meteor logo occur, Aerith’s theme returns. It plays on until the game ends a few seconds later, the screen fading to black.
III. e) ii. 2) Fact Analysis
The introduction cutscene shows that MFF Cloud travelled from Eclipse Contact to Fatal Calling via Lifestream. It’s unclear how much time has passed in between, but the atemporal nature of the Lifestream makes the question irrelevant. My theory that MFF Cloud has died is corroborated by the way he’s depicted in the opening cutscene: his eyes are closed and his body is limp as the Lifestream carries him.
Eclipse Contact ended with Echo’s claim that Cloud will face his true self and confront his past while he journeys to his Promised Land. This description resembles what Cloud experienced in the OG Lifestream sequence (disk 2, chapter 8). Indeed, Fatal Calling revolves around the same topics the Lifestream sequence addresses: the truth about the Nibelheim incident, Hojo’s experiments, young Cloud’s crush on Tifa, etc. The opening cutscene shows Cloud being transported to his Promised Land and facing his past on the way there, just like Echo said he would.
Let’s now take a long detour to examine the song that plays during the opening cutscene of Fatal Calling: “The Promised Land” theme from Advent Children. The title and general subject of this song are obviously relevant to the cutscene, but there must be more to its inclusion than that. Perhaps the lyrics can help us understand its appearance in the opening cutscene of Fatal Calling. Here are the unofficial English lyrics (translated from the original Japanese lyrics by an anonymous fan and verified by me via DeepL):

“Why do we cling together?
Why do we give punishment to lesser hearts?
The planet did not forgive us
Did not forgive us
The planet did not forgive us
Did not forgive us
The pulse of veins flows through the earth
A faint, faint pulse
Of a heart drawn to death
A gentle life returns to the planet
Is it necessary to sacrifice souls?
Why do we cling together?
Why do we beg for forgiveness
In the Promised Land?” (“‘The Promised Land’ (theme)” by Final Fantasy Wiki).

The song appears to be a regretful lament of human behavior, expressed by the repetition of “Why do we […]?” questions. The behaviors listed are all typically human ones: the terms “[clinging] together” and “[giving] punishment to [the] lesser” express the uniquely human nature of tribalism and the consequences of the fear and hatred it can generate, and “[begging] for forgiveness in the Promised Land” is likely a reference to the human hypocrisy of only feeling sorry for one’s crimes when judgement day arrives. This last line describes a scenario where someone remains passive or ignorant in the face of something important, only to realize its essentiality once it’s too late. The repeated“The planet did not forgive us” lines reflect the fear of being condemned forever because of one’s mistakes, as though the planet is a deity one has sinned against. The lyric describing a pulse in the earth is obviously about the planet being alive— a reference to the Lifestream. But the pulse is faint and weak and the planet is dying, perishing because of mankind’s greed. This is an indictment of mako energy. The line “A gentle life returns to the planet” refers to an innocent’s soul returning to the Lifestream after death, while the next lyric “Is it necessary to sacrifice souls?” protests the “sacrifice” of the planet’s soul energy for mako production. In all this darkness, this song’s mention of “forgiveness in the Promised Land” leaves a modicum of hope for a better place, however meek, even though mankind might not deserve it. The song “The Promised Land” is both a lament of mankind’s ways and a plea for mercy, with religious and/or spiritual undertones. The song’s themes seem to be: the Promised Land itself, regret and shame, the sins and foolishness of mankind, the death of innocents, grief, Cetra spirituality, and a meek, quiet hope despite it all. The most interesting aspect of the song is its antithetical portrayal of death as a thing of both despair and hope, condemnation and salvation, cruelty and mercy, suffering and relief. Maybe we can glean more information about this theme’s significance in the world of FFVII if we examine the contexts in which it appears.
Importantly, the song plays in Marlene’s introductory narration of Advent Children, meaning its themes are related or similar to the film’s. I highly recommend listening and watching it again, even if you remember this iconic segment. Marlene references Aerith’s sacrifice as the image of Cloud lowering her into the water is shown. Note that Marlene says “Sadness was the price to see it end” (2:36) after we are shown Aerith’s death and her subsequent unleashing of the Lifestream (1:49-2:24): Aerith’s innocent life was sacrificed for the planet’s survival. The lyrics “A gentle life returns to the planet” and “Is it necessary to sacrifice souls?” suit Aerith’s situation quite well.
The theme also plays in Advent Children as Kadaj dies in Cloud’s arms (1:45:00-1:47:55), hearing Aerith’s gentle voice and reaching up to take her invisible hand. Here is what Aerith says to him in his dying moments as “The Promised Land” plays:

“Aerith’s voice: Kadaj?
Kadaj: Huh?
The dark sky has gone with Sephiroth. Healing rain starts falling from bright clouds. The rain no longer hurts Kadaj.
Aerith’s voice: You don’t have to hang on any longer.
Kadaj: Mother! Is that…?
Aerith’s voice: Everyone’s waiting, if you’re ready.
Kadaj nods his head slightly in acceptance. He holds out his hand, and slowly evaporates into the Lifestream. Cloud watches […]” (Advent Children).

Kadaj is brought into the Lifestream by Aerith as she provides rain from the Lifestream. All those with geostigma are healed by the rain, and Tifa feels Aerith’s presence as the party celebrates:

“Tifa, looking out at the falling rain […]: Somehow, I knew you were there. Thank you” (Advent Children).

Cloud stands in the rain with a smile —his first in the whole film—, closes his eyes and basks in Aerith’s healing with his face upturned. He is finally at peace:

“Cloud’s expression is one of peace as the [Lifestream] rain patters against him” (Final Fantasy VII Advent Children English script, “[83] Atop the Shinra Building”).

One thing is clear: the track “The Promised Land” accompanies Aerith. It only makes sense, since we’ve seen overwhelming evidence that she is Cloud’s Promised Land, and since she occupies the Lifestream —which some consider the Promised Land as it is where souls go after death— during the events of Advent Children. Note that when the piece plays, Cloud is shown either mourning Aerith and releasing her into the river at the Cetra capital, or basking in her presence, smiling with relief at the peaceful feeling that she’s somewhere near: these two opposing scenes reflect the song’s antithetical portrayal of death.
Additionally, the song’s themes of regret, shame concerning one’s sins and a small hope perfectly describe Cloud’s character arc and feelings in Advent Children. Cloud regrets his inability to save Aerith, which he considers a sin. Further, he only realized how important she is to him once it was too late to tell her. And of course, he harbors a fragile yet important hope that he’ll be reunited with her in the Promised Land:

“‘Can sins ever be forgiven?’ — Cloud asks this to Vincent, who mutters a brief answer. For both of them, ‘I couldn't protect my loved one’ is the sense of guilt that they carry, so their words resonate with weight” (FFVII 10th Anniversary Ultimania Revised Edition, “Chapter 2: Character in FFVIIWorld”, “Vincent Valentine”, “In Advent Children”, page 72).

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"’It is my sin that I couldn't protect my loved one’ — under this assumption, Cloud closes off his heart. What will the reunion with Aerith bring him? ‘I... think I want to be forgiven. Yeah, I just want to be forgiven’” (FFVII 10th Anniversary Ultimania Revised Edition, “Chapter 2: Character in FFVIIWorld”, “Cloud Strife”, “In Advent Children”, page 40).

&

“Cloud, after seeing Aerith’s hand reach for him through the Lifestream: … I think I'm beginning to understand.
Tifa: What?
Cloud: An answer from the Planet… the Promised Land... I think I can meet her... there” (disk 3, chapter 3).

Just as the song and Marlene express in the introduction of the film, Aerith was innocent, and her sacrifice generated great grief. Cloud finally experiences peace when he feels her presence in the healing rain, and he smiles: he’s glad to be with her again, even if it’s only for a brief moment of tangential respite.
The scene depicts Aerith guiding Kadaj into the Lifestream as the song plays, tying her to the concept and theme song of the Promised Land once more. This connection is later solidified by Tifa’s thanks to the late flower girl. All of this evidence shows us that this musical theme is intimately linked to Aerith, as it never plays in her absence. After all, the song speaks of sins, the death of innocents, forgiveness, grief, a small sense of hope, regret and the afterlife: all themes relevant to Cloud’s feelings surrounding Aerith’s death in and outside of Advent Children.
The Remake OST also includes a version of this piece called “The Promised Land - Cycle of Life”. This iteration of the theme begins playing in the wake of the first bombing mission, right after Sephiroth taunts Cloud with his mother’s dying words in Sector 8 (chapter 2). Sephiroth appears to Cloud surrounded by flames, evoking the Nibelheim massacre, and the theme begins playing in the background once he disappears, continuing (13:17-15:30) as Cloud walks through the sector, encountering fires and destruction all around him. This version of the Promised Land theme is meant to emphasize the deaths of the innocent Nibelheim townsfolk and the innocents in Sector 8. This dreadful atmosphere is amplified by the cries of despair that ring all around as Cloud passes by NPC Sector 8 residents. Perhaps the themes of tribalism and mankind’s sin are relevant to this scene as well, since Shinra and Avalanche are two distinct and warring groups whose quarrels, regardless of their necessity, result in the deaths of innocents. The theme of guilt also emerges, reflecting the Avalanche members’ feelings upon seeing the unintended collateral damage of the explosion. “The Promised Land - Cycle of Life” plays until Cloud encounters Aerith on Loveless. So it seems in this scenario, the heavy weight of death and despair is lifted when Cloud meets the lively, cheery Aerith. Once more, Aerith is central to the musical theme of the Promised Land, as well as to the concept itself.
I also noticed that a version of the song plays as Cloud and the party ready to enter the Forgotten Capital to save Aerith in Rebirth’s chapter 14: it truly adds the weight of her upcoming death to the scene.
Back to Fatal Calling, the scene where Cloud regains his strength is quite mysterious. Wol says Cloud’s orb regained its “guiding light” light because of its proximity to the mako reactor. In the moment his strength is replenished, Cloud is shown tilting his head back and closing his eyes: this is reminiscent of the scene in Advent Children when he stands under Aerith’s healing Lifestream rain, feeling at peace. The rainbow ripples shining from the orb indicate that something is crossing the boundaries of worlds. Since the mako reactor pumps up the Lifestream, being near a reactor also means being physically near the Lifestream. This means Aerith’s spirit is within proximity. In my opinion, Aerith was able to heal Cloud from the Lifestream, just like in Advent Children. However, Aerith is not in Palamecia with him: her healing had to travel there through the Lifestream, transcending the boundaries of worlds, hence the rainbow ripples.
Let’s now address the appearance of Tifa’s character theme in Fatal Calling. Since Fatal Calling is all about discovering Cloud’s past in Nibelheim and then in Hojo’s lab, it makes lots of sense for Tifa’s theme to play as the crystal appears. In OG’s Lifestream sequence (disk 2 chapter 8), she’s the one there helping Cloud sort through his past instead of Wol and Echo. Cloud even picks up a piece of his childhood crush on Tifa in Fatal Calling as a shard of his memory. After all, this crush was the catalyst for him joining SOLDIER, and everything that transpired in consequence:

“Cloud: That was the first time I heard about Sephiroth. If I got strong like Sephiroth, then everyone might... If I could just get stronger... Then even Tifa would have to notice me” (FFVII OG, disk 2, chapter 8).

Additionally, it’s fitting that her theme should begin right after Sephiroth speaks of “[abandoning] your illusions and [facing] reality”, considering that Cloud’s false persona was concocted by Jenova using Tifa’s mistaken impressions of Cloud:

“While being tended to by a station worker in the Sector 7 Slum train station, [Cloud] was reunited with Tifa, and using the abilities of Jenova’s cells, formed a new personality” (FFVII 10th Anniversary Ultimania Revised Edition, “Chapter 2: Character in FFVII World, “Cloud Strife”, “Cloud Behavior Record, Compilation of FFVII”, page 40).

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“(Image caption:) A new personality takes shape the moment he sees Tifa” (FFVII Story Playback, “Story Check: Tifa’s Flashback”).

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“Tifa (to Cloud): Deep down, you're a pretty nice guy. Didn't see it when we were kids, but...” (Remake, chapter 14).

(Continued in part 4)

Fighting/Normal: OHKO (One Punch Man but instead of one effortless punch it’s a touch of death combo he has to )
Species: Mugen
Planet: Sonof
Appearance

• Humanoid blank white body
• Thick Smooth/Blocky appearance (like made of pillows)
• Headband and Gi are common wares

Powers and Abilities

• Enhanced Strength
• Unlimited Stamina
• Extremely High Pain Tolerance
• Semi-Mechanical Nature does not need to eat, sleep, or breathe
  • Unaging
• Slight combat prowess
• Slightly stuns the opponent on contact with physical force (specifically after a physical hit. Applies to non living beings as well)
• Once an attack lands, it’ll receive enough energy to continue physically attacking it in a never-ending combo. Dealing blows significantly faster, gaining strength with each hit and eventually able to deal noticeable damage to almost any target with each hit.

Weaknesses/Drawback

• Slow movement
• Limited Fighting Capabilities
• Attacks are usually short
  • Can extend reach but takes notable time so it needs to make an effort to land combo
• Combo can be interrupted, loses momentum and needs to land another hit when it does.

Species/Planet Fact: The Mugen started as semi-organic creations by a long dead civilization who sought to try experiments designing different types of warriors. Eventually the planet will be inhabited by foreign researchers. These researchers have been working on enhancing them with various effects to increase their capabilities, and give them more movement and combat options. But during testing it was discovered that watching the Mugen fight with or without enhancements is incredibly entertaining resulting and a strong source of combat study. This discovery redirected their experiments being used for sports instead of warfare even preventing what would’ve been an interplanetary war by turning it into a competitive sport, exploding the planet in popularity. During this explosion there was the discovery of a single fight between two Mugen that have went on for centuries before the first immigration and has been fiercely protected from interruptions since its discovery.
Fighting/Grass: Doungwun Nemetrix predator of the Chunwin (See Kung book in Grass Types)
Appearance

• Green Body
• Mantis like Body
• 2 Pairs of claws with sharp fanged ends, each with a long membrane hanging off of them.
• Multiple pair of locust-like wings under where abdomen should be.
• Reptilian head
• Pupilless Eyes

Hunting Method

• Flight
• High reflexes
• Claws able to capture and break of Chunwin limbs, and attach to body of prey.
• Membranes absorb attack from Chunwin
• Long retractible tongue able to launch with precision and strength, able to pierce the body and grasp onto vital organs.

Planet/Species Fact: Despite the Doungwun seemingly biologically engineered to beat Cunwin on one to one combat, countering their various techniques. They rather take less ‘honorable’ tactics whenever possible. In populated areas they’d quickly overwhelm their prey with high numbers and quickly attack before the Chunwin gets a chance to swing. If there are aren’t any others nearby it’ll try to ambush its prey from hard to reach angles in the air. Only when it’s alone and has caught the attention of its prey, will it attach itself and engage its prey in close range combat. Most Chunwin societies simply use traps, or other tools to protect themselves from these predators. But a predator that chooses to engage in a one on one duel is more respected and results in a more respected death (for either one). So some Chunwin warriors leave themselves open to solo Doungwun attacks as some form of test.
Fighting/Fire: Racaln the Nemetrix predator of the Clabestro (See Firing Squad in Fire types)
Appearance

• Large translucent viscous puddle with various organs inside, including left overs from prey
  • A lot of mouths and eyes
  • Able to reconfigure organs inside body
• Able to raise body in multiple large bumps of various sizes, which usually containing organs

Hunting Method

• Raises body with jaw to consume prey on its body
• Full sensory of targets on its liquid body
• Viscous body can regenerate (and even split into multiple organisms)
• Prey stable on body is inflicted with Hallucinogenic and Auditory illusions, to make them unable to see and hear others allowing the Racaln to strike admit this confusion
  • Also able to block telepathic and electronic communication
• Able to use the natural weapons of digested prey (ie the guns of the Clabestro)

Planet/Species Fact: Racaln only prey on the Clabestro when they’re split up and small. They don’t do any harm when they’re merged on one bigger body. But since most Clabestro combat (which happens very often) has them in their small split up forms. This makes it common for Racalns to be collected from the wild or bred in captivity to be utilized as excellent traps, and denying area. This practice would also be used as a mark to safeguard places from violence, to prevent Clabestro from splitting to engage in combat. This practice has spread to official gatherings like courts and diplomatic meetings.
Fighting/Water: Ultimate Slush (See Original in Water Types)
Appearance

• Dark Green Body
• Loses gourd
• Various sharp attachments that have the appearance of the sharp bottlenecks of broken bottle
• Core with an unbalanced changing color in head

Powers/Ability

• Retain expert flexibility
• More aggressive fighting style (while retaining it’s drunken boxer like moves)
• Fire Projection
• Can’t feel pain
• Core hypnotizes targets on sight, intoxicating them
• Able to use sharp accessories

Weaknesses/Drawbacks:

• More Violent personality
• Can’t spill out body to trip opponents
• Loses Elasticity

Fighting/Elctric: Ultimate Fightning Rod (See Web Work in Electric Types)
Appearance

• Long thin build made of lightning
• Normally invisible

Powers/Ability

• Invisibility
• Intangibility
• Invincibility
• Whenever an Influx of energy (Any kind) in an area appears:
  • Able to instantly teleport to any place where the energy is dispersed
  • Doing so attacking the target with massive strength directly proportional to energy
  • Once energy subsides or moves outside of energy influx, body becomes invisible/intangible again
• When visible, can absorb all kinds of energy
• Able to unleash a large burst of both sound and light with absorbed energy

Weaknesses/Drawbacks:

• Unable to extend body parts
• Can only deal damage in large bursts of energy
• Is no longer invincible when exposed a large energy influx in a prolonged duration

Fighting/Flying: Ultimate Fight and Flight (See original in Flying Types)
Appearance

• Black/Brown coloring scheme
• Face is more crow like
• Tails are longer
• Hawk-like eyes and wings
• Larger body

Powers/Ability

• Stronger
• Faster
• Enhanced Senses
  • Slight Danger Senses
• Hypnotic Stare
  • Invokes Intimidation into targets provoking them into either fighting or running
  • When staring at foes, they’re able to read gains seconds precognition into multiple visions whether they fight or fly and combinations of timelines when they do both. Visions show what they would do, but is able to be altered with the newfound knowledge in real time.
  • Precognition can predict unknown interferences like hidden dangers
  • Heightened intelligence and brain processing speed to plan out effective strategy to hunt or combat their attempts

Weaknesses/Drawbacks:

• Unable to split self into two forms
• Using hypnotic stare on multiple targets can overwhelm self
• Predicted precognitive visions can be avoided if target resists hypnosis making them prep for things that won’t happen

Fighting/Ice: Giengar Nemetrix predator of the Ashe (See Burrzerker in Ice Types)
Appearance

• Skeletally thin limbs
• Very lanky frame (usually hunched over)
• Large Wooly body
• Long clawed fingers
• Sharp Teeth

Hunting Method

• Immunity to cold
• Silent movement
• Inflicts hallucinations on target nearby especially Ashe
  • Inflicts shadowy hallucination of a competitive animal (usually the same as the affected prey) causing the target to continuously attack hallucination.
  • Target eventually tires out attacking hallucination, losing adrenaline and succumbing to hypothermia or exhaustion.

Planet/Species Fact: Giengar are omnivores. In cold seasons they eat large predators with their primarily skill of inducing hallucinations that tire out its target before having its body frozen over for it to consume with its teeth designed to crush frozen objects. They gain this power by consuming mushrooms from warmer, jungle biomes that contain spores which has a similar effect to targets that breathe them in (though less concentrated and ends with less fatalities). Giengars are immune to these spores so during the warmer seasons they migrate to the jungle to consume high amounts of these mushrooms to expel their spores in large concentrations during hunting season. Normal Ashe that occupy these jungles stay away from the dangerous arctic biomes the Giengars hunt in, so to them the Giengar are seen as harmless. Since even if the Giengars try to use the spores against them, the conditions aren’t lethal and the lack of the Ashe’s adrenaline won’t inhibit their ability to recognize their condition and react accordingly instead of wasting their energy fighting.
Fighting/Ground: Ultimate Mudripper (See Original in Ground Types)
Appearance

• Diamond Skin
• Loses eyes
• Elongated Snout
• Six pairs of short legs
• Clawed Hands
• Glass Hairs
• Loses Tail

Powers/Ability

• Enhanced Smelling Senses
• Heatproof
• Durable and ough Diamond Skin
• Sharp Claws
• High Speed Burrowing
• Thermo-adaptation
• Able to resurface lava and create lava motes/small volcanos on ground from underneath
• Drooling Lava Saliva
• Able to walk on surfaces
• Vacuum Adaptation

Weaknesses/Drawbacks:

• Loss of Eyesight
• Can’t Jump
• Unable to grab object with claws as well as base form hands
• Can’t Swim

Fighting/Rock: Ovivine Nemetrix predator of the Sabter (See Mountain Goat in Fighting Types)
Appearance

• Sheep-based body
• Green Wool
• Flowers growing on body

Hunting Method

• Wool is able to absorb strong impacts
• Vine-like tendrils on side of body able to connect to cliffsides
• Able to camouflage selves into a grass pile
• Grows a disconnected field perpendicular to the cliffside making it look its prey is on the ground
  • Field camouflaged to be unable to be seen from below
• Able to communicate with Sabter to trick it on standing on the field, of the cliff before falling to their deaths.

Planet/Species Fact: While Ovivine can talk and mimic sentient emotions its only purpose is to gain the trust of prey as a mere predatory mechanism, their brains aren’t capable of deeper introspective thought or sentience when alone. Sabter are worn of the Ovivine though largely they are seen as myth with how very few sightings they are and how little the Ovivine are actually active due to their slow metabolism. Ovivines cover their prey on the floor and slowly consume it whilst morphing its body to appear as a mere lump of ground covered in grass, which is another factor into how little they’re seen. Occasionally they encounter some Sabter who are very much aware of them, and their tricks so in those cases they simply push them off the cliff side. Though this method relies on the element of surprise since their physical strength is much weaker than the average Sayter.
Fighting/Bug: Ultimate Float Stinger (See Original in Bug Types)
Appearance

• Slightly bigger body
• Longer wasp like structure
• New Vertical striped black and white body

Powers/Ability

• Able to summon a near indestructible hive shaped structure
  • This pocket dimension draws in 2 individuals (which can include the creator) into an arena pocket dimension.
  • Telepathic communication with all individuals in pocket dimensions
  • Individuals in the pocket dimension must follow certain reality altering conditions to set a “fair fight”
    • This usually includes removal of “powers” but can also vary to have no removal or even the addition of powers
    • Fight doesn’t have to be direct combat and more of a much as a sport
    • Individual size are usually scaled to be relatively similar
  • Individuals leaves once one or both is considered ‘defeated’ or by the creator’s permission

Weaknesses/Drawbacks:

• Rules set in arena must be made to be fair for both individuals
• No longer able to project honey to prevent powers
• Slightly slower and weaker outside of hives
• Reality altering rules only affect targets inside a hive

Fighting/Psychic: Muscle Memory (Alien Taskmaster)
Species: Reffox
Planet: Arbeitar
Appearance

• Tall Humanoid muscular appearance
• Body looks skinless and made of muscles
• Egg-shapd head and single eye

Powers and Abilities

• Enhanced Atleticism
• High combat p rowess
• Able to slowly build up strength and speed
• Photographic reflexes
• When looking at any moving target, able to quickly learn, memorize, and mimic that targets moves allowing them to be able to come up with a counter for it.
  • Also applies to their use of tools

Weaknesses

• Can only memorize and mimic movements not powers
• Can only enhance strength and speed in short bursts
• May be at risks for learning ineffective techniques

Planet/Species Fact: Due to the fact that all Reffox are all physically the same and that any unique skill that are developed is quickly assimilated by one another. Reffox populations share a yearning for a sense of identity. So many Reffox head off to other cultures/planets to use their learned skills to be able to make an identity of themselves, whether it be an athlete a performer, a warrior, a hero, or in some cases a criminal or ruler. This feeling is felt through all Reffox and when two of them meet, they silently agree to not show their skills to each other to keep their identity. Though if they do want to share they return to Arbeitar to tell their stories or inspire new skills for the next generation who would tell their story.
Fighting/Poison: Biolence (Fist of the North Star Powered by drugs, and can weaponize their own explosions )
Species: Gomane Planet: Omawoshindyu
Appearance

• Rough Green Skin
• Orc Like Head
• Muscular Build
• Costume comes with a mouth-covering mask
• Large Hands

Powers and Abilities

• Enhanced Strength
• Strength and size are gradually enhances from absorbing normally hazardous or even just unhealthy substances
• Body is slowly producing its own internal toxins
• Noxious Stench
• Poisons eventually build up into large cysts on skin that eventually bursts into powerful noxious and slightly toxic gas expulsion when ‘popped’, able to do damage from force
  • Able to control cyst development early
  • Cysts become more powerful with more hazardous substances given
  • Able to transfer poisonous cyst development onto others from force of contact, usually other species skin is not built to handle the expulsion causing damage when they pop

Weaknesses

• When exposed to hazard substances, the Cysts become faster developed and harder to control possibly hindering the body
• Loses strength build after cyst has popped
• Mind can be altered to be more violent depending on hazardous substances consumed, commonly manifests in an addiction or violent temperament (usually removed when expelled)

Planet/Species Fact: Eons ago a large vapor of toxic alien pollutants was mysterious dropped on Omawoshindyu mutating all inhabitants and killing off massive amounts of life, however life stiff have adapted and eventually evolved resulting in the modern Gomanes. By the time their own society has formed, the pollutants have been absorbed into the earth or dissipated from the atmosphere allowing fertile greener life to grow. Ironically most of Gomane society promotes healthy activity like proper diet in exercise, for it allows them to control their cyst development more effectively even when there sped up, which they use in hunting and combat sports. However crime activity is still noticeable involving addiction, violence, and gang activity. Mostly originating in highly polluted/deserted wastelands. As various poisons are being produced and mines
Fighting/Ghost: Body-structor (Havik from MK1 with hints of Water Law from One Piece)
Species: Rankensain
Planet: Taxodoom
Appearance

• Tone “Action Figure like structure”
• Smoothed out Joints
• Skeletal head
• Sharp Claws
• Retractable Spikes on limbs
• Leathery skin
• Large tail

Powers and Abilities

• Enhanced Strength and Stamina
• Combat Prowess
• Immortality
• Quick Cellular Regeneration
• Able to detach own limbs/body parts and effectively control them when attached.
• Able to grow a detached body part on the detached body
• Able to detach others limbs/body parts of target on contact
  • Able to attach body parts detached this way to self
  • Body parts detached this way can still be controlled and are controlled by the head/brain they are attached to (all head/brain are in control of themselves). If their original head/brain is detached they can still be controlled by that head/brain unless it’s on attached to another of the same body part in which case they can’t move.
    • With the exception of Rankensains who can control their own body parts even while their heads are on a different body.
  • Different body parts can be reattached to other bodies detached this way, even in places the body parts don’t go
  • Specifically in the Omnitrix after retransformation original rankensain body parts will dematerialize and all new attached body parts from detached bodies will fall off.

Weaknesses:

• Slightly slow
• Detachment requires strong force of contact
• Targets dispatched bodies can reattach their own parts, and can’t take them off again when put back into place (Can only be detached again by a Rankensain)
• Body parts attached to wrong part of body can be dispatched by anything even by accident
• Targets can disconnect different a body part that wasn’t originally there’s
• After regrowing a body part that was already attached, the original detached body part will lose its structure and melt
• Will die if all body parts are destroyed too fast
• Only their own body parts can detach other limbs

Planet/Species Fact: Body parts are the Rankensains main currency. While most body parts are gathered from hunted animals on their world. Rankenstains have developed interplanetary transportation to gather valuable alien body parts. Often by nefarious methods like warfare, grave robbing, or even homicide, making them a disdained and feared species across multiple planets. There are labs made to create clones of existing limbs to replace active hunting to remove the need for travel, but with how often exploration is used and how slow the cloning process is, Rankensains still commonly hunt aliens for their limbs as part of a darker slightly underground culture. To get around their negative reputation, Rankensains would remove their own brains and implant them into other bodies to disguise themselves.
Fighting/Dragon: Medisnake (Combat Snake with Street Fighter Chi abilities)
Species: Ansatryu
Planet: Chakrenin
Appearance:

• Long Reptilian Body built similarly to a Skink
• Dragonoid Scales
• Small Limbs
• Bipedal

Powers/Abilities:

• Enhanced Combat Prowess
• Slithering
• Easily able to enter a meditative state for enhanced self-control, psychological/emotional balance, mental clarity, and even healing
  • Able to access pressure points that puts allies in a similar state
• Natural chi-like energy and mastery
  • Energy skills normally manifest as enhanced athletic skills and energy projection at a basic level
  • Energy can be personalized into a different element or even power

Weaknesses

• Personalization initially requires a level of training that the Omnitrix transformation doesn’t initially give.

Planet/Species Fact: Initially Ansartyu were seen as pets of another more human-like species called the Shotogun and as intelligent as their owners. However, eventually the Shotogun would discover their ability to tap into their own personal well of the same chi-like energy and start practicing it for various means. However back then only a handful of masters would be able use it, and only at a very basic level. Until one Shotogun prince discovered that his treasured Ansatryu was able to tap into and unlock further levels of mastery. With this knowledge the prince learned from his Ansatryu and developed a closer bond with it, even teaching his pet higher levels of intelligence as he was taught further mastery of chi. Later he would teach others how to learn from their Ansatryu and his own Ansatryu will give intelligence to others of his species, leading to the point where Ansatryu are now partners living in the same world as the Shotogun in relative harmony.
Fighting/Steel: Weapon Blaster (Tank Knight with hand guns that shoots bladed weapons) Species: Arthmo
Planet: Palawar
Appearance

• Tall metal body
• Tank treads for legs
• Knight-Like Helmet
• Short cannons for arms

Powers and Abilities

• Enhanced Durability
• Enhanced Eyesight
• Full rotating body
• Canon arms launch out metal objects commonly melee weapons like swords, spears, axes etc at high speeds
  • Weapons are animated and “preprogrammed to move in ways/fly in a direct path and can be “preprogrammed’
  • Can be locked onto a focused target and rotate/swing in a specific way whilst following the target
• Other different types of weapon shooting
  • Machine Gun type: able to launch out multiple imprecise smaller metal weapons that can’t be animated
  • Sniper: Able to launch a singular fast powerful far reaching weapon
  • Giant: Able to launch one giant weapon a short distance that stays out longer.

Weaknesse

• Drawbacks of each weapon shooting
• Slow Tank like movement
• Can only create simple metal objects
• Weapon projectiles can be moved offcourse
• Weapon projectiles can only stay out a minute before dissipation
• Weapons take time and varying degrees of focus to charge before launch which increases with duration of animation
  • Shooting out a large powerful weapon increases load time, and can’t shoot more weapons while the giant weapon is out

Species/Planet Fact: Arthmo is an artificial species created from a combination of alchemy and engineering by a master at both, commissioned by a great king. They were meant to be used as weapons of warfare and even companions. However an enemy army raided the kingdom, and killed both the lord and creator after the first Arthmo woke up. So the lab was well hidden so the Arthmo followed the instructions of its creator and created more of it, and slaying the enemy army. Now they defend the remaining members of their kingdom to allow it to rebuild. However, rumor has it that a surviving enemy found the original Arthmo lab.
Fighting/Dark: Spotshot
Species: Dalmate
Planet: Cerberence
Appearance

• Dalmatian white and black spotted pattern body
• Monkey like proportions and arms
• Dog like head
• Paws for feet
• Long tail with a forked end

Powers/Abilities:

• Enhanced Athleticism
• Enchanted Acrobatics
• Wall Crawling
• Able to use forked tail and string-like mucus in between split as a slingshot
• Shoots able to launch “spots” from tail
• Dark skin works good for camouflage
• Combat Prowess
  • Spots inflict a strong force on impact
  • Leaves a spot mark on the target, and can potentially blind a living target
  • Projectile spots are able to fly out of marks
  • Able to make spots launch off objects on impact before making mark
  • Hitting mark with multiple projectile creates a bigger mark, and a bigger projectile by extension
  • Able to absorb Dalmate spots on own body

Weaknesses/Drawbacks

• Spots dissipate after minutes
• Unable to projects spots marked on body

Species/Planet Fact: The spotted biological materials that generate the Dalmate’s projectile “spots”, is a shared trait amongst a handful of different Cereberence animal species and even some plant life. Those species has a spot of a different color that was meant harm all other species/subspecie for predation or predator avoidance. Other species that don’t have this projectile ability do have spotted patterns on them to warn predators, or even create similar marks on objects to protect territory by intimidation.To weaponize their own “spots” Dalmate tribes would farm different animals and use them in different methods that changes their spot markings to battle other tribes with their own spot slinging skills to prevent it from being simply absorbed into its targets body.
Fighting/Fairy: Best-O Change-O (Magical Girl/Boy Recruiting Bunny)
Species: Usegin
Planet: Lunakessho
Appearance

• Anthropomorphic Bunny
• Biological Crystal accessories on head
• Natural mask-like fur pattern on head and pupils eyes (males only)
  • Crown like horns on females
• Standard outfit of a Tuxedo-like suit, or School-Girl dress based on gender

Powers/Abilities

• Natural magic potential
• Enhanced leaping
• Enhanced Athleticism
• Costume transmutation
• Able to enhance a small hand held object
  • Transmutes the object into a specialized weapon and usually able to project a specialized material/force/or element (depends on a combination of both the individual and object)
• Able to enhance another object allowing an Ally to gain a similar weapon and the same powers of an Usegin except the ability to enchant other objects.

Weaknesses

• Only able to utilize one weapon at a time
  • Applies to allies, they can only utilize their chosen object
• Takes a while to enchant another object for an ally after the first
• After an allies enchanted objects breaks they lose their gained abilities
  • Ally abilities also go away when the Omnitrix Transformation ends

Planet/Species Fact: Lunakessho is a magical planet where all the inhabitants would practice magic, protected by an order of Usegin knights. However dark forces used by villains and monsters would arise practicing this dark magic and almost threatened to corrupt the universe. The Usegin order managed to fight them off but with a threat on that kind of scale and some remaining presence of their enemies they decided to seal of the planet into another realm. However, now there is an occult group mages summoned the order on various points of different moons using a ritual that was meant to be used in case they’re needed. While the Usegin heroes did manage to get involved in their traditional hero work. They’ve learned too late that this ritual will eventually corrupt them once all the full rituals is complete, and they’re powerless to stop them. So they now go to various planets and recruit and train other magical warriors to stop them when the time comes.

Just some basic facts to review! GOOD LUCK!

• Lysosomes contain hydrolytic enzymes and used for elimination of waste products.

· Peroxisomes contain H2O2, and breaks down very long fatty acids via Beta Oxidation.
· Microfilaments used in cytokinesis and Microtubules are used in pulling sister chromatids apart (anaphase).
· Prokaryotes (50S +30S) & Eukaryotes (60S +40S)
· Lytic Cycle involves cell lysis whereas lysogenic cycle involves integration into the genome.
· Meiosis I = Reductional Divison (2nn) Meiosis II = Equational Division (nn)
· Crossing over takes place in Prophase I whereas Disjunction (or non-disjunction in abnormal cases) takes place in Anaphase I.
· Primary oocytes are arrested in Prophase I and after menarche, divide into secondary oocyte which is arrested in metaphase II till fertilization.
· Interstitial (or leydig cells) produce testosterone vs Follicles produce estrogen.
· Acrosome reaction helps in the degradation of the zona pellucida whereas cortical reaction helps to prevent polyspermy by increasing intracellular Ca2+ concentration.
· Interneurons are present in polysynaptic relflexes and NOT in monosynaptic reflexes.
· Bronchioles relax and pupils dilate in sympathetic NS whereas bronchioles and pupils constrict in parasympathetic NS.
· Peptide hormones do not need carriers to travel in the blood stream, whereas Steroid hormones do need carriers to travel in the blood stream.
· FSH causes maturation of sperm in males whereas stimulates formation of follicles in females.
· LH causes interstitial cells to secrete testosterone in males whereas it causes ovulation in women.
· Aldosterone (mineralocorticoid) does not change plasma osmolarity and is secretded when blood pressure/volume is low whereas ADH (or vasopressin) decreases plasma osmolarity and is secreted when blood plasma osmolarity is high. Also, ANP is antagonistic to Aldosterone because it promotes excretion of Na+ and water follows.
· Ghrelin (hunger hormone) and Leptin secreted by adipose cells (satiety hormone)
· AA hormones: T3 & T4, NE, Epinephrine
· Steroid hormones: Cortisol, Testosterone, Estrogen, Progesterone, Aldosterone`
· Tidal volume is the volume of air in a normal breath whereas Vital capacity is the diff between (Total Lung Capacity-Residual Volume)
· Muscles used in inhalation are external intercostals, whereas during forced exhalation, muscles used are internal intercostals.
· In acidemia, need to hyperventilate to eliminate CO2
· In alkaelemia, need to hypoventilate to lower the elimination of CO2 to increase H+
· Arteries are thicker walled than Veins.
· Parietal cells secrete HCl and intrinsic factor. Gastrin is secreted by G cells of pyloric glands which stimulate parietal cells.
· CCK stimulates bile and pancreatic juices.
· Fat soluble vitamins: ADEK, Water soluble: B & C
· Descending loop of Henle: only water goes out, Ascending loop: only salts go out
· Gap junctions are present in both cardiac and smooth muscles but not skeletal.
· Ca2+ binds to troponin. ATP binds to myosin heads to detach it from actin.
· Penetrance is the proportion of population with a given phenotype who actually express the phenotype whereas expressivity is the different manifestations of the same genotype across the population.
· Genetic leakage is when individuals from a differnet but closely related species can mate to produce a hybrid offspring and therefore flow of genes occur between two species.
· Bottleneck effect: natural disaster, Founder Effect: a number of individuals of a population separate to form a new colony. Both these effects cause genetic drift in small populations.
· Eosinophils: parasitic infections, Basophils: allergies (histamine)
. Neutrophils (most abundant) & Basophils (least abundant)
· CD4+: MHC II, CD8+: MHC I, CD4: Supressor cells (autoimmune disorders)
· Gap junctions allow ions etc to pass through, desmosomes are used to anchor things together, tight junctions are used to prevent things to pass through. · Heisenberg: momentum & position, Hund’s rule: all orbitals should have at least 1 e, Pauli’s exclusion: opposite spin in paired electrons.
· DNA polymerase only adds nucleotides in the 5’ to 3’ direction.
· Anti sense (non coding) strand (3’ to 5’) is used for transcription.
· Methyguanosine cap at 5’ end and poly A tail at the 3’ end (post translational)
· Glucose-6-phosphate dehydorgenase is used in HMP shunt or PPP pathway. (2NADPH formed)
· Neglect syndrome: damage to the right parietal lobe, ignore left visual field
· Overt and Covert attention: Overt you move your eyes, covert you don’t
· Belief perseverance: still hold on to a belief despite new info to correct it. I’m fat (you’re not)
· Framing bias: the way inforation is presented (glass is half full/half empty)

She greeted him with lips and an open mouth before he’d managed to shut the front door; a welcoming home he hadn’t received since they were still dating. The surprise assault nearly caused Mark to stumble backward into the hallway, but he recovered and returned the embrace in kind, relishing the feeling of her body and tongue against his. As she pulled away, he thought he detected a faint aftertaste on her breath—something unnatural hidden underneath, an earthy flavor that reminded him of potting soil. The taste was gone as soon as it had come, and he forgot about it in short order.
“Welcome home, babe,” Tracy said with a smile, and he smiled back.
“Well, that was nice,” he said, while his brain scrambled to attribute any significance to this day, a forgotten birthday or anniversary or any reason at all for the enthusiasm he’d been welcomed home with. He came up empty, conceded defeat and said, “What was that for?”
“I’ve just missed you, is all. I’m glad you’re home.” She was still smiling, her green eyes drinking him in like sunflowers in the first light of the morning. She waited for him to remove his shoes, then took his hand and pulled him into the warm glow of the kitchen and kissed him again in a fervent reminder of their youth. The taste was stronger this time; he thought it familiar but couldn’t place it. Bad breath, perhaps.
They passed through the kitchen into the dark of their living room, lit only by the cool white of the television. An old rerun of Tracy’s favorite sitcom was on, filling the room with bombastic voices and the intervallic laughs of a live studio audience. Mark jumped at the unexpected sight of a figure sitting on the couch—a woman with hands in her lap and an upright posture, her eyes glued to the TV without so much as an acknowledgment of their presence. Her face was a blank slate.
“Oh, sorry, I forgot to tell you Shelby is here,” Tracy said, motioning to her sister. “She wanted to come over and hang out for a while. Her husband has been fucking their underage neighbor. She walked in on them today.”
This tactless and matter-of-fact proclamation shocked Mark almost as much as the news itself. “Oh, Shelby, I’m so sorry,” he said. “Have you talked to the police yet?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Tracy said, waving an apathetic hand before sitting opposite her sister on the couch and patting the spot between them, grinning. “We’re all just going to relax and have a good time right now. Why don’t you come take a seat?”
Mark shifted on his feet but relented and walked over to sit. When he did, Tracy scooted over to him and put a hand on his thigh, whispering in his ear while lightly brushing his cheek with soft lips. It was something she knew he liked, at least when they were alone.
“Don’t you want to have a good time with me?” She said, planting a slow, deliberate kiss in front of his ear, following it up with a dab of her tongue. Her cool breath carried a strange smell to his nose, and the hair on Mark’s arms stood up despite himself. Tracy put a hand between his legs and gave him a firm squeeze.
Mark started like he’d received an electric shock and pulled his wife’s hand away, trying his best to whisper quietly enough for only her to hear. “What the hell are you doing?” he said, shooting a nervous glance at Shelby, who appeared unbothered.
“It’s fine, babe. I just can’t resist you. It’s not my fault you look so good,” Tracy whispered louder than him and tried snaking her hand back onto his crotch. It was all Mark could do to keep her at bay without alerting Shelby outright.
“Your sister is right there,” he said through gritted teeth. “And you just said she’s going through some shit. Just wait until later. You can have anything you want then.”
“Oh, there’s no way I can wait. You’re much too tempting for that. What do you say we go to the bedroom? I’m gonna give you something you’ll never forget.” Tracy moaned audibly and gnashed her teeth so hard Mark recoiled. He turned and looked at her with a bewildered expression, while hers was nothing short of ravenous.
“What is going on?” He asked her. “I’m not comfortable with this at all. Just wait until we’re alone!”
Tracy stood and looked down on him with crossed arms, not bothering to whisper. “I don’t care how comfortable you are. You’re my husband, and you’re going to give me what I want. I have to go to the bathroom. You have until I get back to lighten up and have a good time with me.” She walked to the back of the apartment in a huff.
Mark moved into Tracy’s old spot and stared at the ground. He wasn’t sure how much of that Shelby had seen and heard, but she’d surely heard something, and he had no idea what to say.
“It’s not her.” She spoke so quietly, and Mark had been so consumed with embarrassed thoughts that Shelby’s words didn’t register at first. When he realized she’d said something, he turned to her, and for the first time he noticed that she hadn’t moved since he’d walked in. Not one muscle. Not an inch.
“What did you say?” he asked her.
“It’s not her. She’s dead.”
The clunk of footsteps on the wooden floor in the kitchen preceded Tracy’s arrival, and she walked into the living room with a smile on her face, hands clasped behind her back.
Marks stomach sunk into a pit of ice at the sight of her hungry smile. “Alright, babe,” she said. “Let’s go to the bedroom. Shelby will be okay here alone for a little bit. I want you too badly to wait anymore.” Her smile widened, and a trail of green liquid ran from the corner of her mouth down her chin. She caressed her neck with her right hand, massaging slowly. “I want you, babe. You need to come give in to me. I won’t let you get away.”
Mark’s throat tightened as he turned to Shelby, who remained as motionless as ever and said nothing. He looked into the lustful eyes of Tracy, who winked and beckoned him to follow before walking back to their bedroom.
He didn't move at first. He felt like a python had squeezed the breath from his body, and he gasped and put a hand on his chest, attempting to gain control of his breathing.
“Come to me, dear husband!” A cry from the bedroom made him jump. But at these words, he accepted his fate. She was his wife, and she needed him. He would always love her.
He stood and walked into the kitchen. The apartment was dark, with the only light emanating from their bedroom, which sat with the door half-open at the end of the hallway.
Mark braced himself and walked towards it.

Maybe I just haven't developed a sense of humor regarding my chronic illness. Or maybe It just pisses me off when able bodied people post or comment to me in person that they desire my symptoms for a gosh darn parking placard. I have had the latter happen to me a few times, but today I want to share an instance in which really boiled my blood.
Here is the situation: I was scrolling on tiktok. I see a young woman's video about her mom who has a paralyzed forehead. In the video, she shares that her mom suffered an extremely terrible car crash that left some of her facial muscles paralyzed. She goes on to say in the video that she will never age as well as her mom despite being her genetic clone. Essentially, she points out that the crash resulted in a botox like affect and that her mom looks very young for her age.
I thought this was a little strange to put out there on Beyonce's internet. But I somewhat felt for this 25 year old woman. It is hard to be a woman in our day and age and constantly feel like we need to look young. I even commented in support of her mom saying that the wreck must have been terrible and that I am glad she was okay.
My mistake. The next video this woman posts is of her printing out a disability parking placard and writing "forehead" in the blank space. HuH? I do not know about any of yall, but it was a battle to obtain my parking placard. It can also be an internal battle to seek out that kind of accommodation. I know I kept asking myself if I was sick enough to need one. Flash forward and this parking placard has been indispensable to my mental and physical health. I feel safe going places now and not worry about my heat intolerance or if I am going to faint in the parking lot. So to see someone print one out, even if it was in a joking manner, really got me upset.
Maybe I am too sensitive. But this thought was quickly burnt out as I saw this woman fight for her life in the comments and getting into arguments with members of the disability community. She kept saying her mom was not disabled. Upon examination, I did see some comments saying that this creator shouldn't make fun of disability, but I did not see anyone calling her mom disabled. The general consensus among commentators seemed to be that it was inappropriate to desire a symptom of disability (more people than just this lady's mom have facial paralysis) even in a joking manner. I tend to agree. You can't put something like that out on the internet and expect people who do have muscle paralysis to be okay with it.
I ended up blocking this woman, I hope she is able to grow and recognize the potential harm in her actions. But before I blocked her, I was curious to see what she does for a living. I saw that she was a tattoo artist and when I checked her tattoo IG, she had "safe space" in her bio. Safe space for who my friend, bc it def isn't a safe space for anyone in the disability community.

For some context: I really like flowers, all kinds of them. But if I go to the basic form, I've found that flowers with a number of petals that's a multiple of three (3, 6, 9) are more visually pleasant to me than petals in multiples of 2 (2, 4, 8).
Then there are the five petal flowers which for me are somewhere between the other two types.
This made me remember a painter friend who told me when painting people on a scene, there must be always an odd number of them.
Is there any reason for this? Am I the only one?
Here's a diagram for example (ignore the text, I couldn't find a blank one)
https://www.shutterstock.com/shutterstock/photos/1523539184/display_1500/stock-vector-business-infographics-flower-pie-charts-with-steps-options-petals-vector-1523539184.jpg

I always anticipated i had this after a fall years ago, and testing finally confirmed I have at least a mild case of it in my transverse ligament. MRI has evidence that I have inflammation in C1 to C2 and that I could be dealing with spinal cord compression in certain positions. Also that I'm going to have localized CSF flow blockage and could develop intracranial hypertension. My symptomology already indicates that all of this is happening to me on and off. Having a spinal cord injury at this location is just about as devastating as it gets. I'm already rapidly losing my ability to feel temperature and touch, and I'm getting ataxia and more problems with my skeletal muscles.
I've been offered very conservative treatment called curve correction therapy, but I feel like my case is way too advanced for this now given I might have active spinal cord compression.
Is there anyone else here who had CCI and how did you guys treat it? Did you have to go through fusion surgery or were you able to recover from more severe symptoms by doing physical therapy?
I just want some hope that some of this can get better. The sensory and neuromuscular damage this is done to me is already pushing me over the edge and I'm worried I'll never get it back.

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.

The golden rays of early morning shone into the shelter, landing on the boy’s eyes. This stirred him from sleep and through instinct, he immediately clutched at his chest, making sure it was still there. A small pouch tied to a cord draped around his neck, the reason he embarked on this journey. He crawled from the hovel of branches and dead leaves into the forest. The trees were beginning to shed, and the ground was damp. The dense woods turning light brown. The boy set out to look for food.
Silent and slow, the boy explored the forested basin, bow in hand. There were no signs of anything larger than himself there. No trails, no droppings, nothing that might provide the boy with a meal that would last longer than a few days. Birds would do. So, the boy continued, his gaze focused on the forest canopy. While terrain, weather and people might have changed throughout his journey, hunger was the only certainty.
Some time later, the boy managed to shoot down two scrawny cranes and had them tied around his waist. He spied a swan resting at the banks of the river. It was far, but his father taught him to shoot well. The boy focused, drew in a breath, and loosed the arrow. It grazed the swan’s neck, and struck a rock behind it, flint tip shattering. The swan began twitching on the gravel bank, the indirect strike broke its neck. Before the boy approached the dying bird, he noticed a rustling in the bushes next to it. He stopped and waited. A wild dog emerged, just as cautious as the boy, and slowly padded towards the swan. The boy could see its ribs clearly through the dogs matted fur, its shoulder blades threatening to break through its skin. He let the dog take his kill.
It was raining heavily. The boy decided to make camp inside a deadfall at the banks of the river. The boy sat soaked and shivering next to his fire. As he dried, he dreamt of warmer lands, and of the place he received his gift.
The sun steadily grew warmer. The lands changing from a lush green to dry grass and eventually to dust and cracked rock. The people also changed. They spoke in a language strange to the boy, guiding him with vague gestures and garbled tongues. He stumbled through the desert, trailing behind his guides, accumulating other ragged followers as they went. Then he saw it. Just along the shimmering horizon was a blot of green atop a hill. A beacon in the desert calling out to lost pilgrims seeking to gain its knowledge.
As the weary group approached the high perched temple, the dry winds carried the stench of rotting flesh. Bodies lay strewn on the sand, swarmed by countless vultures. Their decaying flesh being ripped from the bone by great hooked beaks, their bones to be returned in time to that sacred place atop the hill. Like the wilderness surrounding it, the temple’s rites embodied all aspects of life; With death being a necessity for birth and growth.
The boy plunged his face into the natural spring at the gates of the temple, wetting his parched throat and blistered face. A plant grew around the spring, and it grew like no other plant the boy had ever seen. Lines were dug into the earth, allowing water to flow through impossibly straight rows of tall grass. He knew that this was the reason he was sent here.
The days grew longer and longer, with more and more travellers arriving at the oasis. The boy was sitting in the large camp of strangers and the sun had reached its highest point of the year when they were summoned into the temple.
The boy surveyed the cavernous hall, perplexed. A juxtaposition of the natural and artificial. The large room was composed of straight lines and sharp angles, yet etched into the stone was lifelike depictions of the desert fauna; Foxes chasing rabbits, herds of wild horses running along the walls of the room, and in the centre a mighty pillar carrying the image of a large vulture, its magnificent wings spread, scythe beak turned to the side on full display.
The ceremony began with the beating of drums echoing off the high walls. A large stone basin was brought before the audience. With elegant movements, the temple’s residents poured soil into the basin. A human bone was ground up, the bleached white powder scattered onto the soil. They produced seeds from small pouches hung around their necks and buried it in the basin’s loose mixture. Next, they poured that life giving water from the spring onto the soil and began to dance around the room. The boy’s eyes traced their swirling and noticed the moon carvings on the walls. Waxing and waning stone circles. This dance was the passage of time. Each lap of the hall representing months. All while the seed waited in damp soil.
The boy and his fellow travellers were ushered out of the hall and were led to the spring with the strange grass. The grass was cut from the ground and beaten against a flat rock releasing its grain, the stalks being cast aside. The grain was ground down, mixed with water, and baked over a fire. The audience feasted on this new food, along with all manner of desert beasts and a thick liquid that made the boy feel dizzy. The boy hadn’t feasted so much in his entire life. But food wasn’t the gift he had come all this way to receive, at least not in this form. When it was time for them to leave the temple, each group of travellers were presented with a small pouch much like those the dancers wore. The families rejoiced at receiving this benevolent gift, the boy received his gift alone.
The land was dusted with frost, cold winds funnelled through the mountain pass biting at the boy’s skin. Occasionally he would glance behind him, spotting the same wild dog watching from behind a rock or quickly running out of sight. It had been trailing behind him ever since he had shot down that swan.
The boy paused for a moment, then quickly ducked down behind a mound of loose stone. There was a clearing in the woods below, and noises. Speech. A group began to enter the clearing. A band of young men, around the boys age, carrying spears and clubs, wearing the skins of great beasts. He had heard of such people from some of the pilgrims in the desert. Boys sent out into the wilderness, tasked with killing a creature stronger than them, wearing its skin, and returning as men. The boy could hear them from far up the mountain ridge. No doubt the animals in that forest did too. The rear of the line finally emerged into the clearing. They were dragging along women bound at the wrist. Stripped bare, some younger than the boy, some with hair beginning to grey. Most had distended bellies hanging from skeletal frames wholly unsuited for the burden of pregnancy. The boy waited; Still frozen in place long after the party had disappeared back into the treeline. When he could only hear the natural sounds of the forest once more, he rose to his feet and looked up at a path further up the mountain. The wide eyes of the dog stared back at him, waiting for the boy to move ahead so that it too could stand up and continue its journey.
As time passed, the land grew a thick coating of snow. Food was even harder to come by now, yet with each kill he would leave a small pile of refuse some way away from his camp. It would always be gone by the next morning. He didn’t see the dog much. It was a careful companion, and rightfully so. The boy had noticed the dog’s belly swelling over time; It would have pups any day now.
Amongst the snowcapped trees the boy found a glacial lake. Shimmering blue reflecting the cloudless winter sky above it. He would be able to fish here, possibly enough to last him the remainder of the journey. He didn’t know how close he was. He thought he recognised the land surrounding him, yet the drifting snow made him uncertain. He made camp in a small cove along the lakeshore, weaving basket shaped traps and leaving a pile of slightly damp wood for a fire later.
The boy paced along the water, dropping traps where forest streams fed the lake. While he waited, he chipped at the edges of his knife, dull stone flaking off to reveal a hidden sharp edge. The traps hadn’t caught as many as he’d hoped, but it’d keep him fed, and that was enough. After gutting the fish with his newly renovated knife and draping them over the smoky fire to dry, he walked a little bit further down the shore and left a pile of offal. He placed a whole fish at the top, for the pups.
Back at the camp he stripped down, leaving the small pouch tucked in a crevice for safekeeping. It was a while since he bathed, but it wasn’t raining now, and he had a fire to dry off next to. He made his way back to the edge of the water and looked down, gazing at his reflection in the water. It revealed someone unrecognisable to the boy, pale goose pimpled skin stretched over a wiry frame, more bone than muscle. Hair also began to sprout on his upper lip, this journey had changed him.
He tread the freezing water until his feet began to go numb and the sun began to set. As he emerged from the lake, he noticed that the pile of guts was left untouched. No matter, it would be gone by tomorrow. With shaky steps he went back to the camp, barricading the entrance with stones and fallen branches to keep the heat in. He sat next to the fire clutching the gift around his neck, hoping he would see his family again soon.
A sharp gust of wind entered the cove, waking the boy up. Through sleep blurred eyes he saw figures standing over him. He shot up, spun to the entrance, and saw them clearly. The pelt hunters. The eldest stood before him, a cloak of thick sandy coloured fur slung over his shoulder, grinning with teeth that were beginning to brown. An unseen blow struck the side of the boy's head, and he went back to sleep.

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!

Hello, is it possible to use the MyoWare Muscle Sensor 2.0 with Raspberry Pi 4? As far as I know, you need an ADC as Raspberry Pi doesn't have any analog pins. I have PCF8591 YL-40 AD DA module. How would I go about connecting the sensor to Raspberry Pi in terms of circuit diagram and software/libraries?

I'd like your opinions on it. Bear in mind it's a rough draft.

"When You Gaze At The Abyss, The Abyss Gazes Back."
===================
At your darkest hour, when hope is gone, he will appear before you, clad in darkness, offering salvation. You must never take his hand.
The Doctor is a mysterious entity dressed like a plague doctor clad in mists that appears those who lost everything, individuals who has reached rock bottom, individuals who were beaten by life, regardless of gender, age, or nationality and offers them salvation. Fake salvation through the miraculous substance called "Ambrosia".
The drug alters the individual and grants him supernatural abilities as well as an extreme euphoric sensation but it comes at a cost. If the individual is compatible to the drug, they'll become an Exol, an Etherlite, a Corpus or an Aria, each possessing unique abilities. After using one's abilities, they will suffer the consequences and symptoms. If not compatible - they will die a gruesome death.
The individual must continually sacrifice things like memories, emotions, limbs, or organs(their own or others') to The Doctor in order to get another dose. With each dose, the symptoms will worsen and they will eventually be consumed by The Doctor who comes to collect his payment. The drug would consume its victims(users) like cancer.
Exol Upon consumption of the Ambrosia drug, the Exol's skeletal structure will be altered and restructured, allowing for several unique abilities. The Exol can freely soften & harden their bones as well as extract these bones out of their body and reconstruct them into tools and weapons. The drawback is that once used, it requires immense energy to regenerate "used" bones and thus Exol are prone to chronic fatigue.
Etherlite Upon consumption of the Ambrosia drug, the Etherlite's nervous system and brain would be altered. By overstimulating the nervous system and brain, i.e accelerating or deccelerating the brain and nervous system, the Etherlite gains the ability to process and respond to information unnaturally fast, resulting in inhumane reaction speed, precision, and manipulation of their senses, for example, dulling their sense of pain or avoiding bullets. The drawback of being a Etherlite is insomnia, acute over-sensitivity and inability to focus on occasion.
Corpus Upon consumption of the Ambrosia drug, the Corpus' muscular structure is altered, allowing for the ability to freely manipulate the existing mass in one's body to preform superhuman feats. It allows the Corpus to manipulate the volume, and density of said mass and redistribute it. The drawback is chronic muscle atrophy that require constant maintainance.
Aria Upon consumption of the Ambrosia drug, one's blood-stream would be altered, allowing the Aria to consume various toxic substances and turn their blood into a deadly toxin(depending on the substance itself.) It also allows for a limited form of external blood manipulation. The drawback is that the Aria must consume and adapt to said substances(and survive) regularly due to rapid metabolism and acute anemia.

Note: I wondering if I should remove the blood manipulation from the Aria or not.

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