People say it's childish to be afraid of the dark. They say it's a symptom of an overactive imagination. And yet the same people- all people- know that you don’t go out at night, not without light or charm. And everyone knows, instinctively, in the marrow of their bones, that you don’t go out on a moonless night.
I had been out on a moonless night for days. Most people can’t tell, but once you're trained, you can- Darkness loves darkness. She likes to stretch her time out as long as she's possibly able. Everyone wants to spend time with kindred spirits. It’s nature, human or otherwise.
There’s nothing I can do about it, so I do my best to enjoy it. After all, you have to pick your battles, and my gun makes it pretty easy to figure out which ones I can win. She's a lovely gun. Big, which is fine with me, because I need all the power she can muster. Nine custom rounds rotate through, each enchanted by my own self. Not as effective as a professional enchantment, but I get by, and it’s a hell of a lot cheaper.
The only light came from the muzzle flare of my pistol. They smothered my campfire long ago, leaving me with only the vaguest sense of where they were, occasionally silhouetted against the trees when I fired. They were big, looming over me, high into the crooked trees and the moonless sky behind them. Who could say how long tonight would last?
I try not to cast on Nights, because it just acts like more of a beacon than I already am, but sometimes it just can’t be helped. My chest burned as I threw up a Buffer against a sudden wave of creatures, but they tore it down before it hardly had time to help. I bit down and cast a Warding, felt my arm burn harshly in the wild energy of the new moon and felt the following cold cut its way through my flesh and deep into my bones. Popping the spent rounds out with my right hand, my left knitted itself into the Ward shape automatically, trained by years of habit. Now I’ve really done it, I thought, because I could practically sense them perk up from miles off, even without casting a Seeing. It worked, though, and I was given brief respite for my efforts. I’d sure as hell pay for it in about 10 minutes, but for now I needed to stop bleeding and deal with the sensation of a drill pressed to the back of my skull.
“Skippers,” I growled. I hated Skippers.
The problem with Skippers is they’re small, harder to notice than anything else, and instead of trying to take off your head they try to get into your head. From there they can do whatever they want while you watch- make you walk off a cliff, bite off your own tongue, flay yourself alive. Like I said, whatever they want, and they're usually pretty mean. I’d seen them really go to work on all sorts of people, mostly people I knew and trained with. Hazards of the job- sorcerous training let you see a whole new world, but it opened you up to the threats that lived there, more so than regular folk. I was in worse shape than most sorcerers, which was part of what put me out at Night in the first place. Luckily, I’m better than most sorcerers, but it still meant I had to be careful.
To get rid of a Skipper, all you have to do is burn them off with a little Light. I'd needed the break- 3 of them dripped out of me right away, and a fourth started to run down my back as it tried to escape.
“Bastard.” I struck it with the handle of the gun as it slithered away. No sense wasting ammo on idiots like that.
The Ward wavered, the Night grew around me, and I hadn't even had time to heal anything. Damn.



Sam watched from behind the counter as the man walked through the door. Under the door, rather, as he had to duck to keep from hitting his head. He was pale, very pale, unlike the merchantfolk that usually came through the inn. His face was covered by a bushy beard, his hair was long, and his eyes were rimmed with red, but he could certainly be no older than 40. It was strange- for someone to come in so early in the morning, and look so tired- he must have been traveling all night, but he had no horse to be stabled.
The stranger was an armory- small blades and strange, bulbous jars jutted out from pockets and packs all over the man, daggers strapped to his legs, and even metal nubs in the knuckles of his gloves. What caught Sam's attention, though, was the man's huge gun, strapped tightly to his waist. He had never seen a gun that big, and the ammunition the man was carrying in the sacks around his waist must have weighed heavily on him, though he showed no signs of it.
“What does it cost for a room?” His voice did not match the tired, worn image in front of him. It was firm, and had the sound of recent laughter in it.
“Let me get my mom.” Sam began, starting for the back room. He never handled rooms.
“That's alright. You'll do fine. How much?” The man pulled out a purse, smaller than the other bags on his belt, and it was clearly much lighter than anything else he carried. “I’d like to find a bed and use it.” His voice did not betray him, nor did his hands, but the redness of his eyes did. They were a startling blue, and they seemed to contain nothing except exhaustion.
“I need your name,” Sam remembered as he directed the giant stranger to his room. The man's eyes, just for an instant, darted to one side before returning to Sam.
“Joan,” he said.
“O-kay.” Sam jotted the name down. “Two nights, food at 7 and 7, anything else you pay for.” He began to walk the man down the hall. “Strange accent. Are you from Melano, or Baden?” He didn’t really know what those accents sounded like, but he knew they were far from Newmark.
“No.” Joan walked into the room indicated with no further comments.
Sam stopped at the door while the man called Joan dropped his bags to the floor. “What kinda gun is that?”
“Mine,” he said simply, as he unbundled it’s holster from his belt. “I make the ammunition myself most of the time.”
“It's impressive. My paw was a soldier, and he showed me his old gun once, only it was a lot smaller than yours, and all rusted out besides, but-" Sam stopped as the man removed his cloak. There was a bright gash, still oozing dark blood, working its way up the man's side behind the thick leather plates. “Holy cripes! You oughta see a doctor, sor!”
Joan gave no indication that he could even feel the wound, nor did he instantly react when the boy cried out. “This? It looks a lot worse than it is. Rest, and solitude,” and here he looked at Sam, “will do me more good than any doctor from this town.” He moved to close the door, and against Sam's protest seemed to shut him out with no effort at all.
He ran down the hall to inform his mother of their newest guest.
I didn’t want the kid to see what I had to do next. It really wasn’t that bad- on the outside. Because we put so much ourselves in the spiritual world, the physical world didn’t matter so much. But it’s all tradeoffs. It had cut a pretty chunk out of me spirit-wise, and that hurt worse than any gash could. Really, I was better off than most sorcerers would’ve been with a cut like this- I had less to lose. Doesn’t make it hurt any less, though.
I Worked a minor Healing, but anything more would’ve taken more out of me than I could hope to regain, so the rest had to be resigned to sleep. Stupid. I should never have let anything get that close anyway, but it seemed like the Skippers were going crazy last Night.
I was too tired even to dream. A small blessing.

Waking up was not pleasant- I was stiff and sore, and still hurting something fierce. And cold, of course. Always cold. The physical wound had scabbed over, and I figured I would get away with just a minor scar. My innards were still shredded, but marginally less so than before, so I could breathe without grimacing. I expected I’d be laid out for a few days yet. Lucky, since Night had just passed, so things would be calm for almost the entire month now.
Exhausted as I had been, I had no Wards up, nothing even blocking the door. Nice going. Practically begging for a stray to wander in and eat you. As I flipped the coin I’d lifted off the kid, I examined the room for anything that might have snuck in, but it was clear. This time.
It was around this point that I realized how hungry I was. It had been (what felt like) days without a hot meal, and apparently this podunk little inn could provide, so I wandered out to the main room to see if I could scare up some food.
When the kid saw me, his eyes widened. That’s never a good sign. Recognition meant questions, and the answers to those questions usually meant getting pushed to the next town before I had time to heal. I had been hoping to score a decent meal and a bath, at least.



Sam could hardly believe his eyes. “Criminy, sor, but I didn’t expect you to be up at all! It's barely been a day!” The cut had been bleeding heavily, and very deep, he was sure of it, but now the man was clean and walking as if he had never been injured.
The stranger called Joan sat heavily at a table, ignoring the implied question. “Any chance of a man getting some food around here?” He inquired. “Or, perhaps,” and he glanced at the barrels of ale behind the counter, “some drink?”
San quickly filled him a tankard and plate from supper earlier, then sat himself at the table, as the crowd in the room dwindled down to a late few. The man interested him. He did not seem to interest the man, however, as Joan simply ate and drank in silence, apparently unbothered by his wound. He was still pale, almost deathly so, but Sam had heard tell of people from far north being much lighter than the tanned workers of nearby towns.
“Are you a soldier?” Sam didn’t know much about the war to the south, but occasionally troops passed through, and he had heard his ma talk in the back room about an extra levy because the Northern Kingdoms were allied. “I never saw someone carry so many weapons that weren't a soldier. What are those jars you carry? Is that them new bombs they been talking about? With gunpowder, only you throw the jar so it’s like a cannonshot?” Sam did not know much about weapons, either, but he saw so few soldiers come through that he had to learn what he could, if he was going to join the war when he was of age.
“Sure, kid.” Joan tapped his empty tankard on the table and placed down the coin he had been flipping. Sam ran to fill it up again before sitting back down.
“So did you come from the southern border, where all the fights are? What's happening? Are we winning? We have all kinds of the Northern Kingdoms working together, right? We must be winning!”
“The southern border? No, no, I didn’t come from the southern border,” he snorted. “That whole war is just nonsense anyway. The Northern Kingdoms, in some alliance or another, have had it out for Onis since time began. Maybe even before. The war is just an excuse to keep the money rolling in. Seems like there’s less and less of it than ever.” He mumbled this last part into his cup.
“That’s- that’s not true!” Sam's pa had fought, same as Sam would. “The war is important! Onis could really invade anytime! Besides, you said you were a soldier. If you aren’t fighting in the war, how can you be a soldier?” Joan did not answer, but he reached for his sleeve for a moment as if to roll it up, then seemed to catch himself at the last second. Was he a deserter? “Are you a deserter?” Sam blurted out, realizing a second late that he was pushing his luck. Joan just tapped his mug again.
Sam's ma hurried over. “So sorry for this one, sor, he has a bad habit of being curious.” She cuffed him on the ear and it smarted.
“It's no problem, mam.” The stranger smiled warmly, but in his eyes there was nothing. It was a chilling sensation. “He fills my cup just fine.” His ma dragged him off before Sam could object, and Joan got up before Sam could return.


Broder laughed as he took Flander for another hand. Three hands up, he was, and showed no signs of slowing. He stopped, though, as a big man in a heavy cloak came to the table.
“Deal me in?” His voice, deep and rich, did not match the weathered exterior. The man was no farm hand, that much was clear. More a mercenary sort. Broder glanced around the table, but no one seemed to object outright, so he shrugged. One more fool for the best poker man in the west side of Newmark. “Promise I know the rules.”
“Can you make ante, pal?” Jaten sized him up from across the table, suspicious from the long, ratty hair sitting on his shoulders and the general sense of dirtiness emanating from the man. He didn't notice what Broder had seen- nice leather, warm coat, and firm shoes. The man had some money, at least.
“He's good for it, Jaten. What's your name, stranger?” Broder gestured at the empty space next to him as he began to deal the hands. The stranger threw his ante, and Broder couldn’t hear much left in the purse. The poor ones were easy to sucker in.
“Joan.”
“You from Onis or something, name like that?” Cogen sneered.
“Na, man, listen to his voice, he's from up in Lansing or summat.” Garrett spat. “You're pickin a fight so you don’t have to deal with your shite hand.”
“That's not true, mate! Maybe you ought to keep an eye on your own mess in front of ya!” Cogen threw in extra to compensate. They all knew each other, knew the tics and tells and habits, but this stranger would be interesting.
That was what Broder thought, but as they went round for a few hands, the stranger losing more than he won, it became clear he was just another sucker thinking he could smash the small town guys. He had seemed confident at first- smug, even- but Broder had moved in with a predatory efficiency and would not let up. He offered to buy a round for everyone, apparently hoping for mercy, or to dull them, but the man seemed to be getting a bit red in the nose much faster than the well-seasoned drinkers of the little town of Aren, where there was little else to do but work or drink, or play cards. Broder began to really work on Joan for everything he had left, preparing to take the man for anything he could offer. The game was boring, and Broder needed beer money, so he went to end the man entirely.
What Broder did not expect was for the man to turn his whole plan backwards by dropping a flush when he should’ve had nothing. That cleared the table pretty fast, and Broder noticed the man's nose was really not that red at all.
The hand was nonsense. He couldn't have won, couldn’t have had those cards. “Alright, pal, roll up your sleeves, eh? Just a friendly game, here, after all. No reason to stay all formal-like.” Broder saw the other men nod their approval.
“Are you sure? Isn’t it possible, just a little, that I might be better at the game than you?” Joan smirked, taunting the men.
“Roll those up in here or we'll roll em up for ya out back,” Cogen growled. He was the biggest, aside from the stranger himself, and had a knack for bar brawling.
“Alright. No need to get snippy that I beat you so bad.” Cogen almost stood, but Joan began to roll up his sleeves. Right, then left.
His left arm was covered up to the elbow in fresh burn scars- a bright, angry red. If Broder squinted, he could almost see fine lines tracing letters across the harshly burned skin, but he didn’t have to. He knew what he was looking at.
“You're a bloody wizard, ye stupid bastard!” Garrett exploded. “Ye- ye bastard! You used magic on our all heads, ye did!”
Joan's eyes darkened briefly, but he did not react.
“Garrett's got the right idea- who's to say you weren’t using magic trickery to win the game, eh? Seems like something your lot would do,” Jaten added smartly. “It seems only fair you give us back the money you stole.”
“In the interest of accuracy, I am a sorcerer. Wizards do not leave their little towers and their little books. Besides, if I had used any magic, why would I stop now?” The stranger pointed out. “Wouldn’t it be easier to just leave, or to make you forget you ever saw me?”
“Well- there are 4 of us! Maybe you couldn’t do us in all at once, eh?” Jaten shot back. There was a chorus of affirmation from the group. “Be honorable, man, just give us the money back.”
Joan rolled his sleeves down. “If I had wanted to,” he began quietly, gravel in his voice, “I could make you all give me your land, your wives, and your unborn sons and you wouldn’t even remember your names when I was done. I did not cheat,” he suddenly smiled. “You boys just suck at poker.”
“Now listen here, son,” Broder began. “You may be some wizard from up north-"
“East,” Joan interjected.
“You may be some fancy wizard from up north,” Broder continued, “but don’t think that means you can insult us small-town folk. We might not have your ‘education’ or what have you, but we know from poker.”
Joan sighed. “I am leaving town in two days. Leave me alone for those two days, and I will forget your names, faces, and the name of this backwater town you live in. I did not cheat you.” He looked each of them coldly in the eyes, and Broder saw that all the mirth and cheer that had been there earlier had been drained, replaced with nothingness. Not even hatred, or anger, but simply blank space. The stranger stood up with a groan, signaled for another round of drinks, and trudged to the back of the inn. None of the men followed.


I was lucky none of these farm hicks knew anything about casting, or else they’d have known I was bluffing. It didn’t seem like any of them could actually read my burns, because if they could’ve, they would’ve known I could only cast a couple Bindings, and that’s if I wasn’t hurting like hell.
What was most insulting, more than calling me a wizard, was that they thought I cheated to beat them at cards. I don’t need to cheat at cards. I had slipped a bit of coin out of their pockets as I brushed by, but that was hardly cheating. Just good, honest thievery. And to call me a wizard? I ought to burn down their houses anyway, just for that. I was cold just thinking about it.
Still, I had to accelerate my schedule and leave tonight. I hated to do it, but I needed to be three towns over by the time they decided to kick the shit out of me. Bastards.
Amidst my wrathful musings I became aware of a presence at the door.
It was that kid. What had he seen? I ran the scene over again and realized he had been watching the end from the table he had been cleaning. Sloppy. He'd tell everybody. I couldn’t kill a kid the way I would've those guys in front, and I didn’t want to besides. Kids have always had a hold on me, and it pissed me off. It wasn't like I could remember why. Besides, I didn’t exactly mind the town knowing; it just meant I’d have a tougher time sneaking out, and I was tired enough that it bugged me.
“Sor?” He nudged the door open, but not all the way, I noticed. “I saw your tattoo. What do they mean? My ma said not to ask, but those men seemed pretty upset out there. I asked them and they said you was a wizard, but I didn’t think they were real. Are you a wizard? Are those tattoos your clan or something?” He spoke fast, like he thought I would cut him off, or cut off his head. “What are you doing?”
I spoke carefully to mask my distaste for his questions. “I am not a wizard. Wizards hide in their towers and ask questions nobody is curious about.” I hoped the dismissal would be clear.
It was not.
“If you aren’t a wizard, what are you?”
“What I am right now, kid, is packing, and what I’m going to be in a minute is gone. Scram.” I looked around and realized that aside from the bags I could clip to my belt, I had nothing else with me. Damn.
“Well, whatever you are, sor, I know those marks mean you're bound to help people-" that wasn’t true “-and those men out there maybe won’t tell you, but I will! See, sor, we're in mighty need of a wizard these days, on account of a monster been stealing the livestock and trashing the lumber yards and-" he slowed his speech a bit, but before I could get a word in he continued- “and I think it took the Granlenses daughter, only cause they won’t tell anyone where she went but I haven’t seen her in town at all and she used to come help me with my chores some days and it’s been a long while, maybe a month or so. Anyway, nobody’ll believe me when I tell em, and I haven’t seen it exactly, but I’m sure there’s a monster!”
“Kid, you know not every stroke of bad luck is a monster, right?” People don’t believe in monsters or magic until it’s convenient for them, which means they know nothing about it, which means most of the time they’re just making up stories to get me killed or run off, or else they’re just plain dumb and attribute every case of rainy weather to a made up beast.
“I know that! I just know there’s a monster around here! Look, sor, I’ll help you find it even, and-"
“I charge for my services and I don’t take kids on field trips when I work. Are you going to pay me?” Most of the time, threat of payment was enough to deter all but the most determined, or most superstitious, folk.
“I bet if you kill it the whole town will pitch in! Please, sor, I just wanna help out, and it seems like you could fix us all up only nobody wants to ask.” He wasn’t lying, I could tell, but kids are always seeing things that aren’t there. On the other hand, sometimes kids are better at seeing what’s right in front of them.
And when it turned out to be nothing, it meant I had an excuse to stay an extra night without getting an attempted beating, probably.
“Alright, kid. Where was this monster last?” Hired by a kid who probably couldn’t even get on a horse on his own. If anyone caught wind of this, I’d never hear the end of it.

Summary: A young college student is excited to enjoy his first power hour with this roommates to horrifying results.
My Last Power Hour
I haven't thought about this in awhile but it's coming back to me now like it was yesterday. I think they call it “set and setting” or “state dependent memory”. I don't remember exactly I guess I don't have to anymore.
It was two years ago and I was a sophomore in undergrad at a state university in the Midwest. It was the proverbial ivory tower, a land of oz, an urban oasis amid a sea of corn. It was a Friday night some early in Fall Semester either late August or early September. I remember my flooded sinuses and raw eyes vividly as a sign we were downwind of harvesting.
I knew why I wasn't taking my allergy medicine tonight. I sat maniacally mashing my xbox controller beside my HALO brother in arms and roommate Kevin while our second roommate Pete illegally bought tonight's booze from whoever he said he knew could get us some. I wasn't much of a drinker, in fact I only had a couple of beers in my entire life up to that point and all since starting undergrad. I was kind of straight edge kid in high school and I justified drinking now as a breaking point, a landmark of sorts between my cringe high school years and my new maturing college years.
I supported in this endeavor by my high school friend Kevin. Pete on the other hand was a rando from the dorm Kevin and I lived in during freshman year and through the close quarters and mutual interest in HALO and poker, we decided it would be cheaper to split a four bedroom apartment 3 ways rather than two. Kevin and I were childhood friends since peewee soccer. Pete on the other hand, was a bit more, uh, let's say rustic, oh hell, a bit more redneck but seemed to take well to the college life or a form of it. He had kind of become our immoral compass.
Kevin and I were in the midst of losing a round of team death-match online when Pete came bursting through our door hauling a case of beer and a large brown paper bag of clinking bottles and the telltale squeak of foil snack bags. He was a woodland camouflage blur as he stormed purposefully between Kevin and my line of sight to the video game. “Power Hour, bitchesssssssssssss!”
Kevin, with his red side burns jutting around his Chicago Bears baseball hat, reacted to Pete's overt rudeness by rolling his eyes. I shot back the opposite: a bright smile, a burst of boy on Christmas morning enthusiasm and wonder at the prospect of getting really messed up doing a power hour. With that I flew to the kitchen table where Pete stood unpacking goodies.
“Hey, Kevin,” Pete shouted, “Go get your CD player and speakers.” I watched Kevin dutifully obey, duck into his room before hauling out a portable CD player, two brick sized speakers tangling in a mess of their own wiring.
Pete patiently unpacked a thirty case of Coors marked with camouflage and blaze orange. “Jay, count them out, seven a piece. I'll get the shot glasses from my room.”. I blew my nose and counted the chilled cans and placed them within reach across the table. Pete swung out of his bedroom with shot glasses but snapped his fingers and retreated back.
“Hey man, you know, you don't have to do the whole thing.” Kevin said untangling the sound system and a DC adapter.
“What do you mean? Of course I'm going to do it.”
“I'm just saying you're kinda going from zero to sixty pretty damn fast.”
“Oh, right, you're the expert all of the sudden on drinking.”
“Well, I drank in high school and you didn't.”
“They called you chuck 'ems because of your barfing at Jessica Z's birthday party.”
“Right, that's actually sort of my point. I don't do that anymore, I did that because I drank too much without wading into it.”
“I'm sure this is going to be fine.”
“Well, whatever man, I'm just saying don't let Pete bully you into continuing if you're not up for it. I'll support you in that.”
Pete thundered into the room singing something in choir pig latin that I vaguely remember from Monty Python and Holy Grail when they carried out the holy hand grenade. Pressed between his finger tips was a CD jewel case containing a gold re writable disk scribbled with black sharpie “ultimate power hour”.
“So, what exactly are the rules?”
“Silence!” Pete declared as he popped the disk into the CD player. “I'll let the mix do the talking.”
So there we were packed around a circular table in a dingy dimly lit poorly furnished campus apartment with barely painted blotchy drywall ready to kickoff our weekend. The first track crackled to life with fake static and the muffled and occasionally squeaky voice echoing a 1950's educational film reel but with shades of Rod Sterling. “Gentlemen in opposite alphabetical order indicate this quarter's beer master – he is responsible for refilling your beer once per track for the first fifteen tracks. If there are fewer than four of you, simply rotate back to the first or alternate per quarter. Each track is timed for one minute and each player must consume their shot of beer within that one minute period. Each quarter consists of fifteen drinks with a 1 minute pause at the end of the first and third quarters. There will be a five minute half time and shot of liquor.” Pete rummaged displayed an unopened bottle of black labeled whiskey, “A shot at the end is also mandatory. Each person will be permitted 1 five minute time out per game. By the end of the this roughly sixty nine minute game, assuming no timeouts, you gentlemen will be well on your way to a blissful gentlemanly state perfect charming that sweetheart on your wonderful night off. This track will end in five, four, three, two, one.”
“Immigrant Song” by Led Zeppelin blasted through the speakers like a nuclear bomb as I enthusiastically dropped the first once and half of gold down my throat. I gagged a little as I was not accustom to doing shots much less shots of carbonation. I was left with this inoffensive sweet bready taste that slowly turned slightly more irritating and metallic. The only way to get rid of that taste was probably to drink more and I wouldn't have to wait long.
“What's with this old stuff?” Kevin objected to the first track as he cleared his mouth.
“It's got something for everyone.” Pete declared as he splashed around,
Something for everyone indeed but I do not for the life of me remember all sixty tracks and I'll probably get a few wrong as I relay the course of this experience to you.
A minute elapsed and then the intro to Pulp Fiction had me slamming another pour of beer. Recounting all of this now seems kind of dumb I guess I can skip the next twenty eight minutes and let you know I think “Sweet Escape” by Gwen Steffani wrapped half time. None of us had used their time outs. I was feeling it and was kind of besides myself in a swamp of gilded pleasure. I was jarred back to the table by the lack of music to get lost in.
“How you doing there Jay? You gonna puke?” Pete flicked my shoulder hard. I blinked and focused in. I realized Kevin was down the hall in the bathroom. “We're half way through, man. You're doing it!”
“I'm doing it” I mouthed back as I noticed I was losing my ability to control my vocal features with precision. I tried to take my mind off of it by wishfully thinking about what we would be doing after this, where would we go and with whom.
“We should go down to that event down at the Student Union. Show the straight edge kids what they're missing and then maybe hit up Rocko's Cellar.”
In the moment where my thoughts were heavy I was instinctively reactive against the Student Union. “Maybe just go to the Rocko's.”
“Oh, because you know Sydney is going to be there and you don't want her to see you drunk off your ass.” Kevin chimed in with a surly tone from the hallway.
Yup, Kevin was right, that was the underlying reason. I had an undergrad crush on Sydney Cole, a beautiful sleak blonde woman apparently from Nebraska.
“Well, you know its goddamn sensible to not, you know, go to an undergrad thing like that piss ass drunk off a power hour. I'm good to go to Rocko's though.” I explained.
The silent track started to pick up and the coy sickly sweet vibe of “Tubthumping” filled the air. Peter pushed fresh shot glasses brimming with caramel colored whiskey at us. There wasn't a lot of room in my gut but I was okay with this and as the song started to fade we took the shot and as the liquor burn started to linger I was looking forward to another shot of smooth tasty beer as “Down with the sickness” started to play.
I don't remember the last song on the playlist. I remember Pete flicked my ear and then pointed down at my shot while smiling at me. Everything felt like I was wearing a soaking wet wool jacket and a plastic bag over my head. I took the shot without thinking and about half of the burning yet numbing liquid dribbled out of my mouth. Pete clapped his hands and announced he was leading us out to Rocko's. Kevin shrugged and then shook his head violently before nodding. I garbled something to effect I needed to go to the bathroom then with all the grace of walking through a foot of water with inverted buckets strapped to my feet I waded down the dark hallway occasionally bracing myself against the walls.
I wasn't going to throw up. I knew that about myself. I wasn't going to throw up. At least I thought I knew myself. The alcohol was not playing nice with my allergies. I needed some cool water on my face. I shut my eyes hard and blew out my nose in effort to clear some snot and restore equilibrium. I turned on the faucet and I knocked Kevin's contact holder into the sink. I finally felt something pop back into place in my head and sinuses as a stream of snot left my nostrils into the sink.
“Ah crap!” I let out a garbled yell as dunked both hands into the sink to fish out the contact case from the torrent of my snot. My hands dove in and it didn't feel like water nor like snot. It felt sort of rubbery almost like gelatin. I opened my eyes and found my vision had been impaired and distorted, almost like after you rub your eyes really hard and see the dark blotches but this was narrow tunnel with the blotches around the edges and skewed colors. I couldn't really make out much around the sink. I blinked a few times to try to clear my vision but to no avail and that's when I turned my head down and saw what was in the sink.
I nearly leapt back in fright as I saw my eyes, and the flesh of my nose, and my lips floating on of the water in front of the faucet. They were staring back me from the sink for a panicked count of three before they cartoonishly swirled together like a runny egg flushed down the drain with a slurping noise. I gripped the sink with both hands as I mustered the courage to look at myself in the mirror. It was impossible I told myself. What I saw was impossible. In my limited vision I could make out skin covered indentations over my eye sockets, a flat patch of flesh where my nose had been, and my lips were replaced with a small dark hole barely wide enough to fit a pencil.
I shook and held my breath as my hands confirmed what the blotchy after image of missing eyes saw in the mirror. What was worse is my skin felt gelatinous, sweaty, and infirm, like ice cream warming on the counter. I shuttered and fell back against the wall with a painful thud. I heard Kevin and Pete laugh in the kitchen.
Okay, I told myself I must just be going a little nuts. How could I still see, afterall, if I had no eyes? I tested a hypothesis by smelling some soap and I was discouraged by the fact I couldn't smell the Tropical Waterfall scented liquid. I gulped and knew I at least still had a tongue and I could still hear myself make sounds which could loosely be interpreted as words. Mixed results I thought, maybe I could clear my head by casually leaving this nightmare bathroom and checking with my roommates.
I opened the door and made it half down the hall when Kevin casually headed my way cradling a bag of chips. The mushy look on his face lit up and his mouth erupted with a spray of chip crumbles before he literally fell on his back and did his best backward crawling Sarah Conner spots a Terminator impression. He chokes then starts screaming. Then the horror of it all hit me and the next thing I know I'm back in the bathroom with my back laying against the door. My head quaked as I came to grips with the fact this was real. This was really happening and somehow it was getting worse by second.
“It has no face!” I could hear Kevin screaming at Pete.
“Wasn't Jay in there? Where is he?”
“I don't maybe that thing got him!”
I could hear them right outside the bathroom. Pete started yelling for me but I didn't dare yell back. They turned the door handle but I had it locked and they both started pounding their fists on the door.
“Dude...what are we going to do? Who are we going call? The police, hello, police, there's a faceless monster in our bathroom?” Kevin murmured during a lull in their attempts to break in. “How did it even get in here?”
“I don't know man! Let me think!”
“Maybe it climbed up the side of the building and into the window.”
I could hear them pacing back and forth around the door.
“Get a spoon or fork or something okay, there's a little slot and tab in the door handle that will unlock it.”
“And then what? We don't want that thing in here with us.”
“I'm getting my baseball bat.”
I knew I had to get out and going through the apartment was no longer an option. It was only a second floor apartment and the window overlooked the trash and utility area for the complex. My vision was becoming more and more impaired as I braced myself leaning out the window to see if jumping or climbing down was out of the question. I could just barely make out the outline of an abandoned brown couch near a gutter and cable shaft running down to the ground within my reach out of the window.
I heard them jiggling the flatware into the little hole for the lock release and my drunk ass reasoned this was my only out. I punched out the screen and lifted the window as high as it could go and in a single move thrusted my ass out over the ledge turned and grabbed the metal bits that held the gutter and utility cable to the brick siding. I seemed to be a stable but painful place to grip but I had no choice to swing my footing on it as the bathroom door swung open.
My footing slipped and I dangled down one rung when Pete charged his head out of the window with the bat. In the overhead shine of the nearby street lamp his eyes met my featureless face and he gasped in terror. I slipped again and lost both footings and my hands gave way against the pain of the sharp narrow grip. I must have dropped a good eight or nine feet onto that old ratty, smelly, and wet couch.
I was shocked and I groaned but the soggy cushions and my own intoxication seemed to break my fall rather than me. The moment after I realized I was intact I bolted from my block because the last yelling I heard from Pete and Kevin indicated they intended to chase me down. I wasn't thing but graceful and agile as I swerved with wobbly footfalls across the sidewalk. Glare from the street lamps and passing headlights was almost blinding as eyesight continued to fail. To my dismay my ears started to fell wet inside like they were melting and occasionally my hearing was completely overwhelmed by a loud draining sound.
I veered off of the sidewalk and away from the road and ran through gravel planters to keep bushes between myself and possible onlookers who might also violently confront me. I was winded as sucking air through a tiny hole in my face was more like breathing through a gas mask or wet socks.
Ahead was the first thing I recognized in a bit. It was the five story student union building. Despite the event Sydney was attending, the Union was a quiet, unpopulated and dark place to be on a Friday night. The Union also housed the student clinic.
In my head I pictured the doors as grand white rectangles but all I could see now were dark green blotchy oblong outlines on a black and purple surface. I believed I was coming in the back corner of the building where I may give a security camera operator a fright if he looked closely enough but otherwise I believed no one would be near. I remember myself contemplating heading straight for the clinic or hiding out in one of the empty study rooms and waiting this condition out.
Despite the occasional draining sound in my ears I was able to make out Pete and Kevin's winded voices somewhere behind me. My plans went out the window as I ran scared through the wide halls of the Union with my roommates still in pursuit. My luck was running out as I tried multiple study room doors and found them locked, in fact an entire wing, the wing with the student clinic was closed off by an overhead chain link divider. I was a rat in a maze running out of places to run.
I pushed through the first door I found open and froze. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of people in this room. I realized immediately I had stumbled into the event Sydney was involved in. My hearing had steadily degraded to where everything sounded like I had my head dunked in an aquarium but I could still make out someone talking about the sponsor of the event – Students for a Sober Society.
“Oh my god!” I recognized the voice as Sydney. She blindsided me, “That is such a great costume! I love the spandex work over the head! That is hardcore.”
I garbled something back to her. I tried begging her for help but she kept fawning over my costume.
“I've never would have expected someone to be so committed to the cause of sobriety – you're literally an anti-drinking icon. You drank your face off!”
There was a whirlwind of activity as she turned more and more heads and attention my way. Someone came in with something in their hand. Sydney wrapped her arm around my shoulder while I heard someone's flip phone make a fake shutter snap sound.
I backpedaled out of Sydney's embrace and out of the room. I wasn't going to find the help I needed. I was shattered that I had won, for a moment, my crush's attention but had no way of knowing if she recognized me as anything more than a false mascot for the dangers of drinking. I plunged around to the other side of the Union when Pete and Kevin spotted me from the hall. I fell though the doors leading to the Square – the large grassy area at the heart of the campus.
At this point everything was totally fading out. My ears felt like they had been filled with concrete and whatever after image of having eyes I had was almost gone. I ran my hands across the bushes lining the square and weaved between the paths and the open grass hoping to continue to evade my roommates and anyone else. I had a map of campus in my head and there was only one other place I felt I could hide and be safe for now.
The street lamps on the Square seemed to brighten significantly all of the sudden. I wondered if campus security was now after me or maybe after Pete because the last time I saw his outline he was still wielding a baseball bat. I was running, as loosely defined, on rest of my adrenaline and the booze to Underground Library.
I knew it locked automatically late at night, would be poorly attended if not deserted,, and had plenty of places to hide. I pushed into the door and headed down the stairs, about thirty feet down and then ducked into the bathroom. I locked myself in a stall and sprawled out on the tile floor. I think I started to cry as the last bit of tactile sensation fled my body. If I had lips I suppose I would have kissed my ass goodbye as last outlines of things blurred into the rest of the deep black.
The next thing I knew I was that I was being poked painfully in the back. I instinctively rolled over and felt an immediate wash of stiffness and pain wash over me. I gasped and groaned but despite the pain I felt a rush of euphoria that I could feel and I feel my mouth unzip and make noise again.
“Another damn drunk kid.” Someone said over me. I could hear again! I willed my newly found eyelids open with the same force I'd open rip open a bag of chips. I blinked a few times and an older grizzled face of the janitor came into full color and full focus.
“My face!” I shouted as I curled myself up to bring my felt under me. My head felt heavy and pulsed and quaked with an unspeakable pain. As I lurched to stand, I felt like I had a manhole cover stuck in my stomach. “What happened to my face?”
“Why don't you check the mirror, kid.” The janitor withdrew his mop stick and let me walk out to the sinks. In the mirror I could someone or something had drawn in black marker on my face the phrase “Gone Drinkin'”.
I shambled home rubbing my head and my stomach. I bewildered by the hangover as I tried to retrace my steps. I walked through the door of my apartment and found Pete and Kevin passed out on the floor and couch respectively with beers spilled on the floor and the bat beside Pete. When finally woke up they wondered where I had been but I told them I left to go to Rocko's. They didn't seem to question it. When I asked them about the bat, they looked at each other and replied by saying they were just goofing around. We never spoke of that evening again.
A few days past and I wondered if I had dreamed this all up or maybe I was just incredibly drunk and had imagined some of it. The only proof I had was a blurred phone camera image of my faceless “costume” printed in the weekly student newspaper in an article about the Students for a Sober Society event. The whole response to my appearance only deepened my terror that something so strange and devastating could occur and no one bats an eye. We are instinctively driven to some banal explanation and go our own way in the face, pun intended, of true strangeness, of things truly unexplained, of things that make no sense.
Needless to say I did not drink again and I tried my hardest to put that night out of my head. The only reason I'm typing all this up and putting this out there is that tonight is my graduation night and it was the closest I've come to drinking since that night. Pete, Kevin, and Sydney are at this frat house celebrating our final night on campus and I've taken shelter in their small makeshift computer lab. Before I ended up here I wondered in a daze with a full solo cup in hand through the entire yard, the pool area, and the house as “Frank Sinatra” by Cake blared over me. There are dozens of people without faces here.
By Theo Plesha

Summary: A young college student is excited to enjoy his first power hour with this roommates to horrifying results.
My Last Power Hour
I haven't thought about this in awhile but it's coming back to me now like it was yesterday. I think they call it “set and setting” or “state dependent memory”. I don't remember exactly I guess I don't have to anymore.
It was two years ago and I was a sophomore in undergrad at a state university in the Midwest. It was the proverbial ivory tower, a land of oz, an urban oasis amid a sea of corn. It was a Friday night some early in Fall Semester either late August or early September. I remember my flooded sinuses and raw eyes vividly as a sign we were downwind of harvesting.
I knew why I wasn't taking my allergy medicine tonight. I sat maniacally mashing my xbox controller beside my HALO brother in arms and roommate Kevin while our second roommate Pete illegally bought tonight's booze from whoever he said he knew could get us some. I wasn't much of a drinker, in fact I only had a couple of beers in my entire life up to that point and all since starting undergrad. I was kind of straight edge kid in high school and I justified drinking now as a breaking point, a landmark of sorts between my cringe high school years and my new maturing college years.
I supported in this endeavor by my high school friend Kevin. Pete on the other hand was a rando from the dorm Kevin and I lived in during freshman year and through the close quarters and mutual interest in HALO and poker, we decided it would be cheaper to split a four bedroom apartment 3 ways rather than two. Kevin and I were childhood friends since peewee soccer. Pete on the other hand, was a bit more, uh, let's say rustic, oh hell, a bit more redneck but seemed to take well to the college life or a form of it. He had kind of become our immoral compass.
Kevin and I were in the midst of losing a round of team death-match online when Pete came bursting through our door hauling a case of beer and a large brown paper bag of clinking bottles and the telltale squeak of foil snack bags. He was a woodland camouflage blur as he stormed purposefully between Kevin and my line of sight to the video game. “Power Hour, bitchesssssssssssss!”
Kevin, with his red side burns jutting around his Chicago Bears baseball hat, reacted to Pete's overt rudeness by rolling his eyes. I shot back the opposite: a bright smile, a burst of boy on Christmas morning enthusiasm and wonder at the prospect of getting really messed up doing a power hour. With that I flew to the kitchen table where Pete stood unpacking goodies.
“Hey, Kevin,” Pete shouted, “Go get your CD player and speakers.” I watched Kevin dutifully obey, duck into his room before hauling out a portable CD player, two brick sized speakers tangling in a mess of their own wiring.
Pete patiently unpacked a thirty case of Coors marked with camouflage and blaze orange. “Jay, count them out, seven a piece. I'll get the shot glasses from my room.”. I blew my nose and counted the chilled cans and placed them within reach across the table. Pete swung out of his bedroom with shot glasses but snapped his fingers and retreated back.
“Hey man, you know, you don't have to do the whole thing.” Kevin said untangling the sound system and a DC adapter.
“What do you mean? Of course I'm going to do it.”
“I'm just saying you're kinda going from zero to sixty pretty damn fast.”
“Oh, right, you're the expert all of the sudden on drinking.”
“Well, I drank in high school and you didn't.”
“They called you chuck 'ems because of your barfing at Jessica Z's birthday party.”
“Right, that's actually sort of my point. I don't do that anymore, I did that because I drank too much without wading into it.”
“I'm sure this is going to be fine.”
“Well, whatever man, I'm just saying don't let Pete bully you into continuing if you're not up for it. I'll support you in that.”
Pete thundered into the room singing something in choir pig latin that I vaguely remember from Monty Python and Holy Grail when they carried out the holy hand grenade. Pressed between his finger tips was a CD jewel case containing a gold re writable disk scribbled with black sharpie “ultimate power hour”.
“So, what exactly are the rules?”
“Silence!” Pete declared as he popped the disk into the CD player. “I'll let the mix do the talking.”
So there we were packed around a circular table in a dingy dimly lit poorly furnished campus apartment with barely painted blotchy drywall ready to kickoff our weekend. The first track crackled to life with fake static and the muffled and occasionally squeaky voice echoing a 1950's educational film reel but with shades of Rod Sterling. “Gentlemen in opposite alphabetical order indicate this quarter's beer master – he is responsible for refilling your beer once per track for the first fifteen tracks. If there are fewer than four of you, simply rotate back to the first or alternate per quarter. Each track is timed for one minute and each player must consume their shot of beer within that one minute period. Each quarter consists of fifteen drinks with a 1 minute pause at the end of the first and third quarters. There will be a five minute half time and shot of liquor.” Pete rummaged displayed an unopened bottle of black labeled whiskey, “A shot at the end is also mandatory. Each person will be permitted 1 five minute time out per game. By the end of the this roughly sixty nine minute game, assuming no timeouts, you gentlemen will be well on your way to a blissful gentlemanly state perfect charming that sweetheart on your wonderful night off. This track will end in five, four, three, two, one.”
“Immigrant Song” by Led Zeppelin blasted through the speakers like a nuclear bomb as I enthusiastically dropped the first once and half of gold down my throat. I gagged a little as I was not accustom to doing shots much less shots of carbonation. I was left with this inoffensive sweet bready taste that slowly turned slightly more irritating and metallic. The only way to get rid of that taste was probably to drink more and I wouldn't have to wait long.
“What's with this old stuff?” Kevin objected to the first track as he cleared his mouth.
“It's got something for everyone.” Pete declared as he splashed around,
Something for everyone indeed but I do not for the life of me remember all sixty tracks and I'll probably get a few wrong as I relay the course of this experience to you.
A minute elapsed and then the intro to Pulp Fiction had me slamming another pour of beer. Recounting all of this now seems kind of dumb I guess I can skip the next twenty eight minutes and let you know I think “Sweet Escape” by Gwen Steffani wrapped half time. None of us had used their time outs. I was feeling it and was kind of besides myself in a swamp of gilded pleasure. I was jarred back to the table by the lack of music to get lost in.
“How you doing there Jay? You gonna puke?” Pete flicked my shoulder hard. I blinked and focused in. I realized Kevin was down the hall in the bathroom. “We're half way through, man. You're doing it!”
“I'm doing it” I mouthed back as I noticed I was losing my ability to control my vocal features with precision. I tried to take my mind off of it by wishfully thinking about what we would be doing after this, where would we go and with whom.
“We should go down to that event down at the Student Union. Show the straight edge kids what they're missing and then maybe hit up Rocko's Cellar.”
In the moment where my thoughts were heavy I was instinctively reactive against the Student Union. “Maybe just go to the Rocko's.”
“Oh, because you know Sydney is going to be there and you don't want her to see you drunk off your ass.” Kevin chimed in with a surly tone from the hallway.
Yup, Kevin was right, that was the underlying reason. I had an undergrad crush on Sydney Cole, a beautiful sleak blonde woman apparently from Nebraska.
“Well, you know its goddamn sensible to not, you know, go to an undergrad thing like that piss ass drunk off a power hour. I'm good to go to Rocko's though.” I explained.
The silent track started to pick up and the coy sickly sweet vibe of “Tubthumping” filled the air. Peter pushed fresh shot glasses brimming with caramel colored whiskey at us. There wasn't a lot of room in my gut but I was okay with this and as the song started to fade we took the shot and as the liquor burn started to linger I was looking forward to another shot of smooth tasty beer as “Down with the sickness” started to play.
I don't remember the last song on the playlist. I remember Pete flicked my ear and then pointed down at my shot while smiling at me. Everything felt like I was wearing a soaking wet wool jacket and a plastic bag over my head. I took the shot without thinking and about half of the burning yet numbing liquid dribbled out of my mouth. Pete clapped his hands and announced he was leading us out to Rocko's. Kevin shrugged and then shook his head violently before nodding. I garbled something to effect I needed to go to the bathroom then with all the grace of walking through a foot of water with inverted buckets strapped to my feet I waded down the dark hallway occasionally bracing myself against the walls.
I wasn't going to throw up. I knew that about myself. I wasn't going to throw up. At least I thought I knew myself. The alcohol was not playing nice with my allergies. I needed some cool water on my face. I shut my eyes hard and blew out my nose in effort to clear some snot and restore equilibrium. I turned on the faucet and I knocked Kevin's contact holder into the sink. I finally felt something pop back into place in my head and sinuses as a stream of snot left my nostrils into the sink.
“Ah crap!” I let out a garbled yell as dunked both hands into the sink to fish out the contact case from the torrent of my snot. My hands dove in and it didn't feel like water nor like snot. It felt sort of rubbery almost like gelatin. I opened my eyes and found my vision had been impaired and distorted, almost like after you rub your eyes really hard and see the dark blotches but this was narrow tunnel with the blotches around the edges and skewed colors. I couldn't really make out much around the sink. I blinked a few times to try to clear my vision but to no avail and that's when I turned my head down and saw what was in the sink.
I nearly leapt back in fright as I saw my eyes, and the flesh of my nose, and my lips floating on of the water in front of the faucet. They were staring back me from the sink for a panicked count of three before they cartoonishly swirled together like a runny egg flushed down the drain with a slurping noise. I gripped the sink with both hands as I mustered the courage to look at myself in the mirror. It was impossible I told myself. What I saw was impossible. In my limited vision I could make out skin covered indentations over my eye sockets, a flat patch of flesh where my nose had been, and my lips were replaced with a small dark hole barely wide enough to fit a pencil.
I shook and held my breath as my hands confirmed what the blotchy after image of missing eyes saw in the mirror. What was worse is my skin felt gelatinous, sweaty, and infirm, like ice cream warming on the counter. I shuttered and fell back against the wall with a painful thud. I heard Kevin and Pete laugh in the kitchen.
Okay, I told myself I must just be going a little nuts. How could I still see, afterall, if I had no eyes? I tested a hypothesis by smelling some soap and I was discouraged by the fact I couldn't smell the Tropical Waterfall scented liquid. I gulped and knew I at least still had a tongue and I could still hear myself make sounds which could loosely be interpreted as words. Mixed results I thought, maybe I could clear my head by casually leaving this nightmare bathroom and checking with my roommates.
I opened the door and made it half down the hall when Kevin casually headed my way cradling a bag of chips. The mushy look on his face lit up and his mouth erupted with a spray of chip crumbles before he literally fell on his back and did his best backward crawling Sarah Conner spots a Terminator impression. He chokes then starts screaming. Then the horror of it all hit me and the next thing I know I'm back in the bathroom with my back laying against the door. My head quaked as I came to grips with the fact this was real. This was really happening and somehow it was getting worse by second.
“It has no face!” I could hear Kevin screaming at Pete.
“Wasn't Jay in there? Where is he?”
“I don't maybe that thing got him!”
I could hear them right outside the bathroom. Pete started yelling for me but I didn't dare yell back. They turned the door handle but I had it locked and they both started pounding their fists on the door.
“Dude...what are we going to do? Who are we going call? The police, hello, police, there's a faceless monster in our bathroom?” Kevin murmured during a lull in their attempts to break in. “How did it even get in here?”
“I don't know man! Let me think!”
“Maybe it climbed up the side of the building and into the window.”
I could hear them pacing back and forth around the door.
“Get a spoon or fork or something okay, there's a little slot and tab in the door handle that will unlock it.”
“And then what? We don't want that thing in here with us.”
“I'm getting my baseball bat.”
I knew I had to get out and going through the apartment was no longer an option. It was only a second floor apartment and the window overlooked the trash and utility area for the complex. My vision was becoming more and more impaired as I braced myself leaning out the window to see if jumping or climbing down was out of the question. I could just barely make out the outline of an abandoned brown couch near a gutter and cable shaft running down to the ground within my reach out of the window.
I heard them jiggling the flatware into the little hole for the lock release and my drunk ass reasoned this was my only out. I punched out the screen and lifted the window as high as it could go and in a single move thrusted my ass out over the ledge turned and grabbed the metal bits that held the gutter and utility cable to the brick siding. I seemed to be a stable but painful place to grip but I had no choice to swing my footing on it as the bathroom door swung open.
My footing slipped and I dangled down one rung when Pete charged his head out of the window with the bat. In the overhead shine of the nearby street lamp his eyes met my featureless face and he gasped in terror. I slipped again and lost both footings and my hands gave way against the pain of the sharp narrow grip. I must have dropped a good eight or nine feet onto that old ratty, smelly, and wet couch.
I was shocked and I groaned but the soggy cushions and my own intoxication seemed to break my fall rather than me. The moment after I realized I was intact I bolted from my block because the last yelling I heard from Pete and Kevin indicated they intended to chase me down. I wasn't thing but graceful and agile as I swerved with wobbly footfalls across the sidewalk. Glare from the street lamps and passing headlights was almost blinding as eyesight continued to fail. To my dismay my ears started to fell wet inside like they were melting and occasionally my hearing was completely overwhelmed by a loud draining sound.
I veered off of the sidewalk and away from the road and ran through gravel planters to keep bushes between myself and possible onlookers who might also violently confront me. I was winded as sucking air through a tiny hole in my face was more like breathing through a gas mask or wet socks.
Ahead was the first thing I recognized in a bit. It was the five story student union building. Despite the event Sydney was attending, the Union was a quiet, unpopulated and dark place to be on a Friday night. The Union also housed the student clinic.
In my head I pictured the doors as grand white rectangles but all I could see now were dark green blotchy oblong outlines on a black and purple surface. I believed I was coming in the back corner of the building where I may give a security camera operator a fright if he looked closely enough but otherwise I believed no one would be near. I remember myself contemplating heading straight for the clinic or hiding out in one of the empty study rooms and waiting this condition out.
Despite the occasional draining sound in my ears I was able to make out Pete and Kevin's winded voices somewhere behind me. My plans went out the window as I ran scared through the wide halls of the Union with my roommates still in pursuit. My luck was running out as I tried multiple study room doors and found them locked, in fact an entire wing, the wing with the student clinic was closed off by an overhead chain link divider. I was a rat in a maze running out of places to run.
I pushed through the first door I found open and froze. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of people in this room. I realized immediately I had stumbled into the event Sydney was involved in. My hearing had steadily degraded to where everything sounded like I had my head dunked in an aquarium but I could still make out someone talking about the sponsor of the event – Students for a Sober Society.
“Oh my god!” I recognized the voice as Sydney. She blindsided me, “That is such a great costume! I love the spandex work over the head! That is hardcore.”
I garbled something back to her. I tried begging her for help but she kept fawning over my costume.
“I've never would have expected someone to be so committed to the cause of sobriety – you're literally an anti-drinking icon. You drank your face off!”
There was a whirlwind of activity as she turned more and more heads and attention my way. Someone came in with something in their hand. Sydney wrapped her arm around my shoulder while I heard someone's flip phone make a fake shutter snap sound.
I backpedaled out of Sydney's embrace and out of the room. I wasn't going to find the help I needed. I was shattered that I had won, for a moment, my crush's attention but had no way of knowing if she recognized me as anything more than a false mascot for the dangers of drinking. I plunged around to the other side of the Union when Pete and Kevin spotted me from the hall. I fell though the doors leading to the Square – the large grassy area at the heart of the campus.
At this point everything was totally fading out. My ears felt like they had been filled with concrete and whatever after image of having eyes I had was almost gone. I ran my hands across the bushes lining the square and weaved between the paths and the open grass hoping to continue to evade my roommates and anyone else. I had a map of campus in my head and there was only one other place I felt I could hide and be safe for now.
The street lamps on the Square seemed to brighten significantly all of the sudden. I wondered if campus security was now after me or maybe after Pete because the last time I saw his outline he was still wielding a baseball bat. I was running, as loosely defined, on rest of my adrenaline and the booze to Underground Library.
I knew it locked automatically late at night, would be poorly attended if not deserted,, and had plenty of places to hide. I pushed into the door and headed down the stairs, about thirty feet down and then ducked into the bathroom. I locked myself in a stall and sprawled out on the tile floor. I think I started to cry as the last bit of tactile sensation fled my body. If I had lips I suppose I would have kissed my ass goodbye as last outlines of things blurred into the rest of the deep black.
The next thing I knew I was that I was being poked painfully in the back. I instinctively rolled over and felt an immediate wash of stiffness and pain wash over me. I gasped and groaned but despite the pain I felt a rush of euphoria that I could feel and I feel my mouth unzip and make noise again.
“Another damn drunk kid.” Someone said over me. I could hear again! I willed my newly found eyelids open with the same force I'd open rip open a bag of chips. I blinked a few times and an older grizzled face of the janitor came into full color and full focus.
“My face!” I shouted as I curled myself up to bring my felt under me. My head felt heavy and pulsed and quaked with an unspeakable pain. As I lurched to stand, I felt like I had a manhole cover stuck in my stomach. “What happened to my face?”
“Why don't you check the mirror, kid.” The janitor withdrew his mop stick and let me walk out to the sinks. In the mirror I could someone or something had drawn in black marker on my face the phrase “Gone Drinkin'”.
I shambled home rubbing my head and my stomach. I bewildered by the hangover as I tried to retrace my steps. I walked through the door of my apartment and found Pete and Kevin passed out on the floor and couch respectively with beers spilled on the floor and the bat beside Pete. When finally woke up they wondered where I had been but I told them I left to go to Rocko's. They didn't seem to question it. When I asked them about the bat, they looked at each other and replied by saying they were just goofing around. We never spoke of that evening again.
A few days past and I wondered if I had dreamed this all up or maybe I was just incredibly drunk and had imagined some of it. The only proof I had was a blurred phone camera image of my faceless “costume” printed in the weekly student newspaper in an article about the Students for a Sober Society event. The whole response to my appearance only deepened my terror that something so strange and devastating could occur and no one bats an eye. We are instinctively driven to some banal explanation and go our own way in the face, pun intended, of true strangeness, of things truly unexplained, of things that make no sense.
Needless to say I did not drink again and I tried my hardest to put that night out of my head. The only reason I'm typing all this up and putting this out there is that tonight is my graduation night and it was the closest I've come to drinking since that night. Pete, Kevin, and Sydney are at this frat house celebrating our final night on campus and I've taken shelter in their small makeshift computer lab. Before I ended up here I wondered in a daze with a full solo cup in hand through the entire yard, the pool area, and the house as “Frank Sinatra” by Cake blared over me. There are dozens of people without faces here.
By Theo Plesha

PART ONE THOUSAND AND SEVEN
[Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter] [The Beginning] [Patreon+2]
Sunday
I was expecting a church when we arrived … like last time. You know … four walls … lots of seats … staging area …
Yet somehow, my second step down from the celestial realm had my shoes crunching on a sandy beach with a warm ocean breeze wafting in from the east. I turned to face the open water, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath to drink it all in …
… only to have them fly open again.
“Where are we?” I demanded, for whatever this was, it wasn’t any ocean on our world. I’d sailed every one of them and knew them all by scent. This was not like any open water mass we had. I spun away from that … whatever it was behind me, brushing the angel’s hand from my shoulder in the process. “UNCLE YHWH!” I bellowed.
“There’s no need to shout, lad,” an older voice mused.
I zoomed in on a sixty-or-seventy-year-old man with Dad’s build, sitting on a beach chair facing both me and the ocean. To his right was a round white beach table with an empty white beach chair on the other side. He wore dark brown sunglasses that contrasted against his pale skin, white hair and matching long beard. The white linen button-up shirt he wore had a blue edging that matched the dark blue board shorts that fell to the knee, and his ‘beachy’ look was completed with a pair of rubber flip-flops that were half covered in sand.
Robbie had called him a buff-looking Santa, and although that wasn’t the guy I’d met in the church that time, I was almost certain this was the version Robbie had met. Especially when he pulled down his glasses and winked at me, then cocked his head for me to take the empty seat. “Come and take a load off, nephew.”
“Where are we?” I asked instead, pointing my finger upwards and spinning it like a propeller. “This isn’t on Earth.”
His smile fell away, turning into a frown. “I thought your father was the one who had water as his innate.”
“You don’t need an innate to know this isn’t right. I’ve spent over half my life sailing every ocean we have.” I threw an arm back at the water, almost smacking the angel in the process. "And none of them smell like that.” I knew that for a fact because this one smelt so clear and so pollution-free that I would’ve killed to have our waters smelling that good again (and I wasn’t necessarily joking on that score).
“Ahh, I see.” He stood up and, of course, towered over me, even though there were twenty feet between us. “You may go now, Michael. Thank you.”
“Your will, Father,” Michael bowed and realm-stepped away, leaving us alone.
“I’m not alone,” I warned him, hunching my shoulders warily.
If anything, that seemed to amuse him. “I know. It’s alright, Sam. I know about your guard, and you still wear my Ophanim on your ankle. Please believe me when I say I would never hurt you. However, I am somewhat limited when it comes to knowledge of your world, and as such, I didn’t create this as convincingly as I’d hoped.”
That had me straightening up. “I thought you could do and be anything you wanted to be.”
“Don’t be flippant, young man. You know how establishment fields work. I am limited to any ground that is consecrated to my realm.”
“That’s why I was expecting a church. Why would you put on this dog and pony show when you had to know I wasn’t expecting it? Are you trying to impress me?”
“Hardly. This was me attempting to make you comfortable, and unfortunately, there wasn’t enough time to find a sailor in church this morning for me to replicate the oceans of your world to your satisfaction.” His smile was rueful.
I squinted at him. “So you know … what everyone who crosses the threshold of a church knows?”
“If I am in residence at the time, yes. But there are many, many churches in the world, and trying to find the right person in the right one when the only way I can get there is to have an angel precede my arrival makes that accomplishment a difficult one at best.”
That took a hot minute to process. “Wait…” I stammered, staring at the sand beneath his feet for something neutral to help gather my thoughts. “So you aren’t in all the churches all the time?”
“I told you before, I need the ophanim to move from one church to the next. The land in between them is not under my control.”
I knew my face screamed my scepticism because I had a horrible poker face. “So, if there are two churches across the road from each other, you’re telling me you’re stuck in one unless you create another set of ophanim to teleport you over there?” At his nod, my cynicism grew. “Thirty feet. As in twenty steps tops. You can’t walk twenty steps in a straight line and get yourself across that road? You do know, everyone else manages to put one foot in front of the other to get where they’re going—and aren’t you the one that came up with the saying ‘walk a mile in another person’s shoes’?”
“It’s not the same, Sam. It’s not!” He repeated the last sentence more sternly when I opened my mouth to call him on his crap. “I’m unable to set foot outside the realm of Heaven. It’s a hard limit on my establishment field.”
That didn’t make sense. “Why?”
If anything, his face fell, and he looked sad. “It’s a really long story that happened an even longer time ago. Knowing that tale won’t change anything and will only give you nightmares for the rest of eternity. All you need to know is that although I am all-powerful within Heaven, I am also limited to the realm of Heaven.”
That was really sad. Not to mention … very ‘genie’ like, out of Aladdin. “So, where are we really?”
“A small church in the southern parts of Chile. The priest has taken all the villagers out to the graveyard to bury a young parishioner who died in a landslide recently. We have time.”
“Would you mind putting us back to the real world? This feels really fake to me, and I don’t want it to overshadow our time together.”
“Of course.” He made no movement, and I was sure being who he was, he could’ve made the transition jarringly fast; but like the breeze drifting across the sand, one reality softly blew away to reveal the other.
Now, we were in a semi-dilapidated building made of stone and weather-worn boards. The staging area was barely a platform, and the seating fit maybe twenty people. He also changed his clothing, now wearing a khaki long-sleeved shirt, a two-toned grey poncho, long leggings, and sandals. “Is this better?”
I was determined not to sound ungrateful, despite thinking it was really freaking cold! “How did you not know what I’d want if I was right in front of you and we were on Heavenly soil?” I asked instead.
From out of nowhere, an old-school leather bomber jacket from the Second World War appeared done up around me, complete with the sheepskin collar raised to act as a windbreak. The fit was perfect, and I stuffed my bare hands in the sheepskin pockets, loving the immediate warmth that was generated. It really was stupid to think he wouldn’t notice I was shivering.
“You’re also ringed, Sam, and when the family is ringed, they fall under a different set of rules again.”
“So…”
“You are very drawn to that word, aren’t you?”
The question threw me. “What?”
“‘So’. You’ve used it almost every time you’ve spoken to me.”
I had? I internalised and ran through the last few minutes. “Wow, I’m sorry,” I said when I returned because, of course, he was right: I had. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“It was merely an observation. Please ask your question. I won’t interrupt again.”
I couldn’t even remember, so I decided to get things back to why I was there in the first place. “You wanted to talk to me.”
“Yes. I did.” He gestured for me to sit in the front row and took a seat beside me when I did. “And you know what it’s about.”
“I was just asking…”
“Sssshhh…” Uncle YHWH gently shushed, probably because I was starting to amp up, like a child determined to stay out of trouble. “It’s okay, Sam. No one’s blaming you for being curious about the realms.”
I immediately deflated. “Then … why am I here?”
“Because you figured part of it out at the table. My worshippers do believe in me, and in doing so, I have become what they believe. It is a self-perpetuating cycle of power, and it’s exactly how an establishment field works.”
“Oh, okay,” I said cautiously, still not seeing the point of this get-together then.
“All I ask is if you have any questions pertaining to my worshippers’ beliefs in the future, could you direct them to me instead? I know who you are and where you fit in in my life. My worshippers are clueless to that connection, and asking harmless questions like that can cause them to start doubting me. Once that tower begins to crumble, it’s a lot of work to restabilise it.” He paused, probably to let that sink in.
“So just—dang it, sorry,” I said, realising I’d said the word ‘so’ again. “By asking questions … innocent questions … you’re telling me in time I could rewrite your establishment field?”
“While I’m here, yes. It would all revert as soon as I went back to Heaven, but every time I visited here, I would change.”
I rubbed the back of my head. “Yeah, let’s not do that.” Something else then occurred to me. “Is that why Earlafaol is so special? I mean, not just because Lady Col’s here, but because she keeps the balance of so many religions on a single world.”
Uncle YHWH’s smile was both indulgent and informative, even before he nodded his answer. “Nowhere else in the Known or Unknown Realms has multiple pockets of established power in a whole realm, let alone a single world. The dominant has always crushed the subservient to rule supreme, and even here, it has been … challenging to limit ourselves to what we’ve been allocated.”
My grin grew with every second that passed. “The Crusades,” I said, for even I had heard of that war. I stared at him, willing him to confirm what I knew was true. “How much trouble did you get into for that?”
Uncle YHWH licked his lips and faux-grimaced, tensing his throat. “Let’s just say if I hadn’t known Columbine growing up, Earlafaol wouldn’t be believing in me anymore.”
That surprised me. “She’d have booted you out?”
“Oh, yes. Most assuredly. I was on what you would call thin ice for several centuries after that.”
I chuckled evilly. I couldn’t help it. My uncle, a god worshipped all over the world, was nearly kicked out of the universe by my cousin, who outranked him.
He hmphed with a grin, and before I could dodge it, he flattened his hand against the side of my head and gave me a harmless shove away from him, much the way Dad would.
I came back up, laughing all the more. “That has got to be one of the weirdest things I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“Perhaps, but it doesn’t make it any less true.”
I laughed for maybe a minute or so longer, then cleared my throat. “Dad says I should be frightened of you,” I said, just to see his reaction.
“Your father is frightened of everyone more powerful than him at the moment. They all are.”
“You didn’t attack them though, did you?”
“All of them … all together … all at once … in Mystal? I’m good, Sam, but I’m not that good.”
The way he said that—the confidence—I suddenly stiffened and swung sharply to face him fully, no longer joking in the least. “You know who attacked them, don’t you?”
Uncle YHWH stared back at me. “It’s more a case of knowing who didn’t … and once you take them out of the equation, there’s not a lot of people that leaves.”
I frowned, knowing there was a clue in that explanation somewhere, but damned if I could see it. “So, are we good?”
“We’ve always been good, Sam. If you ever need me, all you need to do is walk into any church, and I’ll be there waiting for you. I love you with all my heart.”
I smiled at the cheesy line even as I turned away, still awkward around such open displays of emotion outside the apartment. “Love you too, Uncle Y—” When I turned back, he was gone.
I stood up and looked around. “Uncle YHWH?”
Nothing.
Well, not nothing.
I heard the foreign voices of people approaching from outside.
“Shoot!” I hissed and realm-stepped away, appearing out of habit in my dressing room. I hid in the farthest corner behind countless wardrobes in the hopes of avoiding Robbie and immediately stripped out of the bomber jacket that was now trying to cook me. Once I was free, I held it up by the shoulders to take a good look at it. The leather was soft and supple, and I lost my fingers in the depth of the fleece collar. It was plain but utterly gorgeous.
I decided right then that I’d found my new favourite jacket. After I fed it onto a coat hanger and hung it up to one end of a rack where I would easily find it, I turned on my heel and almost killed myself on five island chairs that looked identical to the ones in the kitchen outside.
By pure fluke and too many years of living on unstable ground had me swooping in and catching them before they fell over, but just.
Where the hell did these things come from? And why are they in my dressing room?
Questions for another time. I had more important questions to ask now. Pulling out my phone, I brought up Geraldine’s name in my contacts and texted: I’m back. I’m in my dressing room. Where are you?
“Walk,” Rubin ordered, and I jumped about two feet in the air, having forgotten he was with me.
Then I remembered he was in constant telepathic communication with his brother and would know exactly where Kulon and my girl were.
Without waiting for confirmation, I cleared my thoughts and started walking…
…and disappeared into the celestial realm a step later.
[Next Chapter]
* * *
((All comments welcome. Good or bad, I’d love to hear your thoughts 🥰🤗))
I made a family tree/diagram of the Mystallian family that can be found here
For more of my work, including WPs: Angel466 or an index of previous WPS here.
FULL INDEX OF BOB THE HOBO TO DATE CAN BE FOUND HERE!!

The offer: $38 , 0.9 mile donut pickup.
I jump on that accept button faster than Trump filing an appeal.
I have no idea what to expect. fat tip? stolen? get an easy $3?
Turns out the order was given out to a wrong driver. So the two clueless girls didnt know what to do. I suggest they should just redo it... you know for customer service. They agree with giggles.
BUT IT IS I WHO IS GIGGLING LOUDER INSIDE!
With my poker face, i tell them no rush no worries.
I contact customer telling them there was a mix up and im sorting it all out. THE HERO HAS ARRIVED!
The crew gets it done rather quickly. I swagger over to the tip jar and give them a fat $2 tip. "you guys deserve it. i soooo appreciate you"
Then i get back to the car....fix up my car a bit cause - prop 22 - and head out the 1 mile payday drop zone.
Get there, the guy in the leasin office says 'Finally! what happened? Its been an hour man"
I explain the situation. And hand him his FRESH AND HOT coffee and donuts. He understands. All is well.
I slide that confirm button..and badda bling, $35 is mine baby!
I then cashout that wallet faster than Trump pulling out of a hooker.
And even better - the customer added $2 more to the tip. So i got $40 on one delivery.
Uber you lose!
join /dashpad - For drivers, by drivers

(Throwaway account as my relatives know my original acc) Thx u to those who commented on my old post. Im reposting this as I think I made some mistakes in my old post. Im new to reddit so im not so sure about how to write and paragraph this.
So it’s basically in the title, I’m currently 14 and not really sure what to do. My dad and me have a weird relationship. I’m Malaysian and my parents are the stereotypical Asian parents, although my mum is a decent amount more lenient. Whenever me or my dad talks I guess he thinks he is entitled to ‘touch’ me. He usually tries to play with my hair, which I genuinely really hate. I remember when I was 10 and did homework with him a lot more, he would pull up my pants constantly even though they were at my stomach already.
He would constantly hug me and pat or slap my butt. This really lowered my self esteem as he was also pretty violent when I was around 10. I’ve distanced myself (as much as I could as he’s my dad) and basically just did everything with my mum besides homework. I was around 10 when my mum convinced my dad to get a dog for me and I remember he took a lot of photos of the dog. I asked him to see the photos one day and he just opened it and passed his phone to me (I didn’t have a phone at that time). To say I was shocked was an understatement, the majority of photos were disgusting. It was filled with women and girls that looked like there were around 20. I guess he thought he would be fine and I wouldn’t scroll too much as we recently went to the beach and he took a lot of photos. But then I saw multiple photos between my legs (I was wearing pants). It was when I was climbing this huge jarred rock and I was trying to swing my legs over. He ‘helped’ me by just touching me between my legs. I just froze completely and what was worse was that I was with one of my friends at that time.
I’ve talked to my mum before when we were alone together (on a family trip) and told her about how my dad touches my butt and takes a lot more photos of me then my 2 sisters. She was in a bad mood and told me ‘whatever I’m busy right now’. Both my sisters are older than me and they were more revealing clothes. Not revealing revealing but like cropped shirts and short skirts while I wear sweatpants and a jumper. He doesn’t act inappropriate to them at all and is really polite to them while I’m being singled out.
I can’t talk to the police whether I want to or not, or anyone as I strongly believe I have extreme anxiety. However I never show it and just put a ‘poker face’ when I see anyone and act all cheery and nice. I really can’t talk to a school counselor either. I’m just at a lost right now on what to do. I’ve just been holding this in for years and it just felt good to let it out :D thx u

We're already seeing a lot of talk about the C H A O S of the Jar Jar additional effects on his attacks. And while 0.01% (or 1/10,000) is a long shot - just how long of a shot is it? Below is a list of various rare and not-so-rare occurrences, both in SWGOH and elsewhere:

• Calling a coin flip: 1/2 (50%)
• Being dealt blackjack in a six-deck shoe: 192/4043 (4.75%)
• Winning a bet of 2 or 12 on craps: 1/35 (2.86%)
• Winning a single-number bet on 00 roulette: 1/38 (2.63%)
• Pulling a 5-star Wish Character in Genshin Impact: 3/500 (0.6%)
• Getting a Straight Flush in 3-card Poker: 1/460 (0.22%)
• Getting a 330 pull on a Marquee pack: 1/1000 (0.1%)
• Shiny Pokémon encounter (Gen6 and up): 1/4096 (0.024%)
• Getting a 230 pull on a Marquee pack: 1/5000 (0.02%) - yes, 230s are rarer than 330s...
• Having 4 Aces in a hand of 5-card Video Draw Poker: 1/5761 (0.017%)
• Chance of a no-hitter in Major League Baseball, assuming league-average conditions: 1/8000 (0.013%)
• Shiny Pokémon encounter rate (Gen2-Gen5): 1/8192 (0.012%)
• Jar Jar's additional effect: 1/10000 (0.01%)
• Hitting 4 of the 5 Powerball numbers: 1/35625 (0.0027%)

Are people going to catch these additional effects on videos/livestreams? Sure. The law of large numbers assures it. But (outside of the raid and/or involving Separatists) the chances that these bonus effects will happen in any given GAC/TW matchup are very, very, very small.

Managed to make it through two more last night. Determined to power through. Ate through most of a bag of potato chips as a coping mechanism.
Also, I’ve formatted all of these on mobile, so kindly forgive whatever that might have caused. Planning on editing on an actual computer if I can remember my password to this account.
Episode 8 – Happy Thanksgiving Marble
0:01 - I didn’t even recognize this opening scene as part of the same series because the color palette is so off. Lemon-tea Carbs-low is sitting at a table in a diner, looking dejectedly down to the right. She is no longer at a colorful, oversaturated diner; she is at a washed-out gloomy beige-and-earth-toned diner. Out the window, the world looks extremely pale blue, with a traffic light’s green light looking almost turquoise; whoever did the color grading on this shot was in a hurry. Marble’s Plaid Shirt of Suffering is basically camouflaged in with the print on the booth seat. Her jeans are ripped. She is currently, I guess, homeless, but with perfect makeup. This shot’s composition technically obeys the Rule of Thirds, but the leftmost third is dominated by a decidedly un-pretty chunk of an out-of-focus booth seat. On the wall behind Marble, there is either an un-patched hole or else a big bug.
0:13 – Her server drops off a plate of food that is all different shades of tan. “All right, here we go, hon,” says the server. Clearly giving not even the most infinitesimal hint of a fuck about getting a good tip, the server then asks, “No family?” Crohn’s-disease Haribo stares daggers into the booth across the table, then she stares down at her plate for approx. 10 entire seconds.
0:27 – We are given a close-up of the saddest plate of turkey, mashed potatoes, and gravy I have ever seen; suddenly, Marble’sreaction makes a lot of sense. She stares out the window and the camera follows her gaze upwards, the universally understood nauseating prelude to a flashback.
0:42 – Cut to: Stephanie’s youngest daughter, playing Past-Marble, asleep. She is clutching a build-a-bear bear while wearing a shiny metal bracelet, which we expect will have some significance; if it doesn’t, then that’s just a seriously bizarre choice of pajama accessory. There is Webkinz frog on the table behind her; we are pretty sure these did not exist in whatever past year this past is supposed to be in. Also on the table behind her: a lit candle. While a child is asleep. What the fuck.
0:50 – There is the sound of thunder as we see an unknown woman open up a creaky, squeaky door. The combined sounds are so over-the-top and corny that they would have been right at home as a stock audio effect for a Power Point slide transition. The scariest thing about this shot is its inclusion of two additional candles, i.e. Past Marble is sleeping in a room with at least three lit candles. The woman who opened the door is wearing sweatpants and an orange sweater. She is holding something behind her back with her right hand. She looks maybe dangerous, but not as dangerous as three unsupervised open flames mere inches away from fuzzy polyester dolls.
Past Marble wakes up, calls the woman “Mommy,” and asks her if she is OK. Marble Mommy sits down next to Past Marble, whispers incoherently, and then covers Past Marble’s mouth with her hand. I am choosing to believe that this was solely an attempt to make Past Marble be quiet, because not even the Coleman auteurs would seriously believe that covering someone’s mouth with your hand is how you smother somebody. Past Marble screams loudly through the hand, and Marble Mommy reveals that the surprise item behind her back is a big huge knife. She raises it above her head to stab Past Marble.
1:42 – Papa Marble races through the bedroom door. There is smoke visible in the hallway behind him, illustrating my earlier point about the candles. He pauses in the doorway, bugs his eyes out for like two entire seconds, and then yells, “Maryohmygodwhatthehellareyoudoing?!” Marble Mommy, having seemingly held the knife aloft for this entire five or six seconds, finally turns around and explains to Papa Marble that she “has to save her” and that “this is the only way.” Papa Marble says that it’s not real and that she is just sick, which all psychologists agree is exactly the type of thing that is guaranteed to break a person free of their homicidal delusions. Marble Mommy then sees Papa Marble turn into a shadowy black figure with horns while a jarring sound effect plays, which is very funny.
2:05 – Marble Mommy jumps up and stabs Papa Marble straight in the chest, like probably right in the heart. He stands there, clutching his chest, and making a face like he just found out there is a greater-than-50% chance of rain. There is no blood visible on the knife.
Prediction: Papa Marble is going to die, and Past Marble is going to snuggle up next to him and squeeze his booby.
Thought: Oh man, is this why there’s never anyone on the other line when Marble calls Daddy? Because he’s dead, and she’s actually craAaAaAaAaAazy?
2:20 – Mommy Marble stabs Papa Marble, like, a ton of times. She does so very quickly, which shows that they did not skimp on cutlery, because any normal knife would at least get stuck occasionally—I mean, remember how much trouble Eagle Man had with that festive gourd? After about 12 seconds of this, she falls away, but not before giving us a nice clear look at a (still)completely spotless knife.
2:33 – Stephanie’s daughter looks visibly distressed on the bed, looking down at a very graphic and bloody stabbed corpse. We hope that this child is getting therapy to process any emotions and stress that would come up as a result of this, but we’re also not exactly optimistic about those odds.
2:45 – As predicted, Past Marble hops off her bed, pushes on Papa Marble’s belly, and then cuddles up beside him. Dramatic strings music plays. Marble Mommy is still off to the side—like, right there beside them on the floor. Is Past Marble not, like, terrified of this knife-wielding woman? Here, we also noticed that her bed is a trundle bed, so she can’t even hide under it like a normal scared child—that’s so sad!
Past Marble clutches her dead dad just below his booby, gritting her teeth and exhaling rapidly, which sort of sounds like crying. Marble Mommy sits against the wall, fingering her rosary like it’s a bowling ball. Her knife has mysteriously become bloody.
3:16 – We cut back to present day. Stolen-bling Large-hoe stares straight into the camera and somehow manages to extrude an entire tear.
Roll credits.
“Are you serious? Is that it? Were we supposed to assume that it was Thanksgiving in the memory, or was this just because she got asked about her family?”
The woman who played Marble Mommy wasn’t bad. She can actually emote pretty strongly, which is really apparent when compared to Kissin’ Kate Barlow’s deeply unsettling clenched-jaw poker-face a few seconds later.
Episode 9 – Eagle Man’s House of Horrors
We open on a snowy landscape and river. A low, ominous rumble plays, and the camera slowly turns to reveal Eagle Man sitting on a bench and smoking. (“Smoking—his second-worst habit.”) He is wearing a navy blue jacket parka thingy, and a navy blue hat to match. This is actually a pretty nice opening sequence.
0:18 – We see a woman carrying a holiday Starbucks cup across her front porch. There is snow on the porch. The snow already has footprints in it, which suggests that they had to do multiple takes of this shot of a woman walking while carrying coffee. The woman is wearing a very colorful rainbow headband, and we suspect that this is Becky or Betsy or whoever—the nosy neighbor mentioned a few episodes ago.
We are given a collage of shots showing The Eagle Residence now decorated for Christmas. The festive gourd is still on the front porch, looking rotten-ish but not nearly as rotten as we think it really would’ve been. That aside, this shot collage is also really pretty competent.
The phone rings, and Eagle Man answers it. It’s a staffing agency, and they have a job offer for him. Headband Neighbor knocks on the doowindow; Eagle Man turns to look at her, and she waves and makes an obnoxious face. He returns to his phone call and discovers that the job is to be Santa Claus. Headband Neighbor knocks again, even though he’s obviously on the phone, literally right in front of her. Eagle Man accepts the job; Headband Neighbor knocks again again.
Eagle Man opens the door to Betsy, who refers to herself as Eagle Mom’s “bestest friend” and asks to come in and see how she’s doing. She invites herself into the house. (“Trespassing. If she gets murdered, that’s fair game, in my opinion.”) Eagle Man says that Eagle Mom is sleeping, but Betsy grabs him by the beard and calls him a twerp and says she knows he’s up to something. She continues upstairs, calling out for Eagle Mom. (“Did she not think to call the police, to get, like, a wellness check?”)
3:45 – Eagle Man grabs Betsy from behind, covering her mouth and muffling her voice in a way that’s actually effective—Marble Mommy should take notes. He drags her down the hall, but she bites his hand, so he pushes her down the spiral staircase. She lands on the floor with eyes wide open, mirroring the Santa Claus on a rug beside her. Her face is absolutely ridiculous, but the rug is a nice touch.
4:06 – We get a neat shot looking up the stairs at Eagle Man; it would be a seriously awesome shot if there wasn’t a ceiling light in the bottom left corner of it. Eagle Man is taking panicked breaths—apparently he didn’t mean to kill Becky.
4:17 – Becksy moves her eyes comically, so we know she’s still alive. Eagle Man pats himself on the hat several times in distress. He drags Betty across the floor, taking the rugs with her. It’s like when you don’t pick up all your cords before running a Roomba.
4:42 – We are shown a close-up of a deeply unsettling painting of a baby, or maybe a woman?, with detached arms.
5:09 – Down in the basement, Becky moves her eyes all around. I think we’re to assume she’s been paralyzed, except for her eyes. Eagle Man descends the basement stairs with an already-running chainsaw, which is idiotically dangerous. He is wearing a black garbage bag and has his light-up rabbit mask on the top of his head so that the chin part of the mask is covering his eyes. Wouldn’t a chainsaw fill up the whole basement with smoke? And that aside, I can’t quite put my finger on why, but using a chainsaw on someone in the basement breaks some unspoken rule of the horror genre. Chainsaws are for chasing; basements are bonesaws. It’s just not right, man.
5:38 – Eagle Man chainsaws Bessie. It takes 12 seconds, reinforcing our suspicion that Eagle Man does not pay much care to using quality blades. Blood sprays everywhere, but you can see the stream from where they were spraying it from a spray bottle.
5:52 – Oh my god, do we finally get to see him disposing of a body?! We are back at the bench by the river, where Eagle Man is dropping several black garbage bags into the water. He looks around cautiously, but it is also broad daylight, so how cautious is he really being? Reaching the last garbage bag—something small and round, presumably the head—he holds it up high above him, like Rafiki presenting Simba to all the animals in The Lion King, which is even less cautious than before. (It looks like when Dog Lady held up her ball before rolling a strike-- “He’s bowling!!”) It strikes us that Bobby’s last meal was Starbucks.
Eagle Man turns around and stumbles into the bench and trips a little; we’re not sure if this was an accident. The music comes to a jarring stop as we
Roll credits.
We see Eagle Man answer the phone to discuss the in-home nurse position for his mother. Presumably, Marble is on the other line. Eagle Man arranges to meet her at the library, speaking his most coherent sequence of lines in the entire series. He then turns to stare into the camera and twitch his mouth. Is the mouth twitch thing supposed to be like Bill Skarsgård doing the thing with his eyes as Pennywise in It? Because the mouth thing just looks silly and is, at best, insensitive to people with facial tics.

Weapons. 1 Dagger 2 Parrying dagger 3 Misericorde 4 Great knife 5 Bloodstained dagger 6 Erdsteel dagger 7 Wakizashi 8 Celebrants sickle 9 Ivory sickle 10 Crystal knife 11 Scorpions stinger 12 Cinquedea 13 Glinstone kris 14 Reduvia 15 Blade of calling 16 Black knife 17 Short sword 18 Longsword 19 Broadsword 20 Weathered straight sword 21 Lordsworns straight sword 22 Nobles slender sword 23 Cane sword 24 Warhawks talon 25 Lazuli glintstone sword 26 Carian knights sword 27 Crystal sword 28 Rotten crystal sword 29 Miquellan knights sword 30 Ornamental straight sword 31 Golden epitaph 32 Sword of st trina 33 Regailia of eochaid 34 Coded sword 35 Sword of knight and flame 36 Bastard Sword 37 Claymore 38 Iron greatsword 39 Lordsworns greatsword 40 Knights greatsword 41 Banished knights greatsword 42 Forked greatsword 43 Flamberge 44 Gargoyles greatsword 45 Gargoyles blackblade 46 Inseparable sword 47 Sword of milos 48 Mrais executioners sword 49 Ordovis greatsword 50 Alabaster lords sword 51 Deaths poker 52 Helphens steeple 53 Blasphemous blade 54 Golden order greatsword 55 Dark moon greatsword 56 Sacred relic sword 57 Zweihander 58 Greatsword 59 Watchdogs greatsword 60 Trolls golden sword 61 Troll knights sword 62 Royal greatsword 63 Grafted blade greatsword 64 Ruins greatsword 65 Starscourage greatsword 66 Godslayers greatsword 67 Malikeths black blade 68 Rapier 69 Estoc 70 Nobles estoc 71 Cleanrot knights sword 72 Rogiers rapier 73 Antspur rapier 74 Frozen needle 75 Great epee 76 Godskin stitcher 77 Bloody helice 78 Dragon kings cragblade 79 Scimitar 80 Falchion 81 Shamshir 82 Grossmesser 83 Bandits curved sword 84 Shotel 85 Scavengers curved sword 86 Mantis blade 87 Beastmans curved sword 88 Flowing curved sword 89 Serpent gods curved sword 90 Magma blade 91 Nox flowing sword 92 Wing of astel 93 Eclipse shotel 94 Dismounter 95 Omen cleaver 96 Monks flameblade 97 Beastmans cleaver 98 Bloodhounds fang 99 Onyx lords greatsword 100 Zamor curved sword 101 Magma wyrms scalesword 102 Morgotts cursed sword 103 Uchigatana 104 Nagakiba 105 Serpentbone blade 106 Meteoric ore blade 107 Moonveil 108 Rivers of blood 109 Dragonscale blade 110 Hand of malenia 111 Twinblade 112 Twinned knight swords 113 Godskin peeler 114 Gargoyles twinblade 115 Gargoyles black blades 116 eleonoras poleblade 117 Hand axe 118 Forked hatchet 119 Battle axe 120 Warped axe 121 Jawbone axe 122 Iron cleaver 123 Highland axe 124 Celebrants cleaver 125 Sacrificial axe 126 Icerind hatchet 127 Ripple blade 128 Stormhawk axe 129 Rosus axe 130 Cresent moon axe 131 Longhaft axe 132 Executioners greataxe 133 Great omenkiller cleaver 134 Rusted anchor 135 Butchering knife 136 Gargoyles black axe 137 Winged greathorn 138 Axe of godrick 139 Club 140 Curved club 141 Spiked club 142 Stone club 143 Mace 144 Morning star 145 Warpick 146 Hammer 147 Monks flamemace 148 Varres bouquet 149 Envoys horn 150 Nox flowing hammer 151 Ringed finger 152 Scepter of the all knowing 153 Marikas hammer 154 Flail 155 Nightrider flail 156 Chainlink flail 157 Family heads 158 Bastards stars 159 Large club 160 Curved great club 161 Great mace 162 Pickaxe 163 Brick hammer 164 Rotten battle hammer 165 Celebrants skull 166 Great stars 167 Greathorn hammer 168 Envoys long horn 169 Cranial vessel candlestand 170 Beastclaw greathammer 171 Devourers scepter 172 Duelist greataxe 173 Rotten greataxe 174 Golems halberd 175 Giant crusher 176 Prelates inferno crozier 177 Great club 178 Trolls hammer 179 Dragon greatclaw 180 Watchdogs staff 181 Staff of the avatar 182 Rotten staff 183 Envoys greathorn 184 Ghizas wheel 185 Fallingstar beast jaw 186 Axe of godfrey 187 short spear 188 iron spear 189 spear 190 partisan 191 pike 192 spiked spear 193 cross naginata 194 claymans harpoon 195 celebrants rib rake 196 torchpole 197 inquisitors girandole 198 crystal spear 199 rotten crystal spear 200 cleanrot spear 201 death ritual spear 202 bolt of gransax 203 lance 204 treespear 205 serpent hunter 206 silurias tree 207 vykes war spear 208 mohgwyns sacred spear 209 halberd 210 banished knights halberd 211 lucerne 212 glaive 213 vulgar militia shotel 214 vulgar militia saw 215 guardians swordspear 216 gargoyles halberd 217 gargoyles black halberd 218 nightrider glaive 219 pests glaive 220 ripple crescent halberd 221 golden halberd 222 dragon halberd 223 lorettas war sickle 224 commanders standard 225 scythe 226 grave scythe 227 halo scythe 228 winged scythe 229 whip 230 thorned whip 231 urumi 232 hoslows petal whip 233 magma whip candlestick 234 giants red braid 235 caestus 236 spiked caestus 237 katar 238 iron ball 239 star fist 240 clinging bone 241 veterans prosthesis 242 cipher pata 243 grafted dragon 244 hookclaws 245 bloodhound claws 246 venomous fang 247 raptor talons 248 short bow 249 composite bow 250 red branch shortbow 251 misbegotten shortbow 252 harp bow 253 long bow 254 albinauric bow 255 black bow 256 pulley bow 257 horn bow 258 serpent bow 259 erdtree bow 260 greatbow 261 golem greatbow 262 erdtree greatbow 263 lion greatbow 264 soldiers crossbow 265 light crossbow 266 heavy crossbow 267 arbalest 268 crepuss black key crossbow 269 pulley crossbow 270 full moon crossbow 271 hand ballista 272 jar cannon 273 astrologers staff 274 academy glintstone staff 275 diggers staff 276 demi human queens staff 277 azurs glintstone staff 278 lusats glintstone staff 279 carian glintstone staff 280 carian glintblade staff 281 carian regal scepter 282 albinauric staff 283 staff of loss 284 gelmir glintstone staff 285 crystal staff 286 rotten crystal staff 287 meteorite staff 288 staff of the guilty 289 prince of deaths staff 290 finger seal 291 erdtree seal 292 golden order seal 293 gravel stone seal 294 giants seal 295 godslayers seal 296 clawmark seal 297 frenzied flame seal 298 dragon communion seal 299 torch 300 beast repellent torch 301 steel wire torch 302 sentrys torch 303 ghostflame torch 304 st trinas torch 305 306 307 308

Two Days Later
Rob breathed deep, taking in the familiar, comforting air of Fiend territory.
He was sitting on the rooftop ledge of a tall building in Acrastor City, his legs leisurely dangling over its side. The noonday sun was at its peak, illuminating the splendor of civilization below with gentle rays of warmth. Nothing about Acrastor City had changed since his last visit, but if anything, that just gave him a newfound appreciation for the feeling of normalcy it provided.
Normalcy was a hard thing to come by these days.
The Fiends probably appreciated it even more than he did. After spending millennia at odds with the rest of Elatra, suffering a Corruption epidemic that could have wiped them out, and mass-evacuating cities to avoid getting nuked by Titan's Fist...they were entitled to *not* live in interesting times for a while. A smile crept up Rob's face as he watched the Fiend civilians go about their days, walking around without a care in the world.
Not any cares on a massive, Elatra-shattering scale, anyway. Rob was sure that they all had their doubts and anxieties – he could hardly fix every single issue in their lives. But he liked to think that he'd helped Fiendland level the playing field, so to speak. Now it and its people had the luxury of worrying over standard problems.
Or at least they would soon. Rob had finished expunging Elatra's Dungeons, pushed his Leviathan training as far as he could, and even double-checked that the Second Will really was dead and not secretly reviving like an asshole. Thanks to some covert spying, he also knew that Malika and the dimension mages were developing a portal to the divine realms, which they should have finished by now.
There was nothing left to justify another stay of execution. Today was the day.
Before dusk fell, the gods of Elatra would be dead by his hand.
Rob held up that very same hand in front of his face. One-by-one, he lowered his fingers into a fist, observing the motions of his bones, muscles, and ligaments. He felt skin stretch, tendons bend – and failed to recognize the sensations as his own. They belonged to someone else. Not Leveling High, just...a vague someone else.
It wouldn't affect his combat efficacy. That was all that mattered in the end. With that said, this feeling wasn't one he could ignore any longer. His sense of dysmorphia had grown increasingly worse the higher he raised his Level past 99, crossing an invisible threshold somewhere around Level 140ish.
Can't say I'm surprised, he mused, remembering the system notifications from back then. That was when things got \weird*.* Garbled messages had started telling him that he'd 'Re&ch@d Lev%* ###', and the amount of stat points he received fluctuated with no discernible pattern. Soon enough after that, the Level-up notifications became completely unintelligible – until they stopped appearing entirely.
Rob didn't know exactly why that happened, but he had a strong guess. Simply put: his existence was glitching the system. Limit Break was never intended to exist, and as a result, it was causing all sorts of internal errors. The system couldn't handle someone being this high-Level.
Whatever his Level was, at any rate. Rob didn't know. There was no way to check. Forget his Character Sheet – he couldn't even access the Party Screen anymore. And if he tried to allocate his unspent stat points, he just got a notification saying 'INTEGER OVERFLOW PLEASE DON'T TRY AGAIN LATER.'
Limit Break had reached its limit.
Well. He still knew his Level was 140 at minimum, and that his stats could be quantified as 'a lot'. It would have to be enough. He'd also been able to raise Almighty Resistance all the way up to Level 17 before the void stopped affecting him, so that should help throw the gods for a loop.
{I have located our quarry,} Leveling High suddenly declared, its static rising within Rob's mind. {Five streets west. Inside small structure. They are together. One group. One hunt.}
How can you tell?
{Can FEEL their weakness.}
That didn't make any sense, but Rob wasn't going to question it. Leveling High was something of a bloodhound for violence. When they'd been on their Dungeon world tour, it could often detect monsters hiding from well out of Heightened Senses range, as if it was drawn to the very possibility of slaughter.
This is our last diversion, he warned. Then we find Riardin's Rangers. Rob grit his teeth. If you try to attack them–
{Have I not let you sit here, wistfully observing this city for so long that I could have transformed it into an ocean of blood if given control?} Leveling High sounded a tad annoyed. {Isn't that proof of the restraint you value so dearly? I am capable of delaying my gratification to win a larger prize. Riardin's Rangers are necessary to challenge those who reign above – thus, they will be left untouched.}
Rob froze, immediately feeling caught off-guard. He'd been so preoccupied with keeping Leveling High appeased that he had overlooked how it might be trying to appease him.
The concept unnerved him in ways that were difficult to articulate. Rob felt tempted to deny it this last hunt, just on the principle of being stubborn – but after a quick silence, slowly nodded. It was getting harder to resist Leveling High's influence with every passing day. He needed to pick his battles...and he couldn't bring himself to care about this one.
Not when Leveling High had chosen acceptable targets.
Rob stood up from his perch on the rooftop. Far down below, a Fiend passerby happened to spot his movement. She peered up, squinting at what probably looked like an indistinct dot to her lesser Perception.
Gradually, her eyes widened, and she covered her mouth with a shocked palm. "No. No! It can't be! Is that Roy, returned from his mission?!"
The static rose to a crescendo as Leveling High burst out laughing. Rob almost laughed as well, but that would've meant agreeing with Leveling High on something. Instead, he turned west – completely stone-faced – and started pursuing the trail it had marked for him, jumping off the roof.
In a fraction of an instant, he landed on the adjacent building, crossing over in less time than it took to blink.
Such a simple action, yet Rob performed it with the utmost concentration and finesse. Otherwise, he would have gone crashing through the second rooftop, pulverizing Fiendish architecture as if it was wet tissue paper, reducing its inhabitants to red smears buried under piles of rubble. His Strength and Dexterity were so astronomical that the slightest misstep would cause more destruction than a team of Archmages wreaking havoc on purpose.
The whole world felt like this, now. He was a bull in a china shop. A bull strapped with explosives. It was...
Kind of lonely. Every tiny movement reminded him that civilization wasn't built to accommodate a creature of his overwhelming power. He briefly wondered if Ragnavi had experienced something similar after her Class Awakening, but no, it wasn't the same. She hadn't been anywhere near as strong as he was.
The Second Will, though...it may have understood.
Rob grimaced as the thought unearthed a memory he'd locked away. At the tail end of his excursion into the void, when massacring Leviathans became so easy that it felt like kicking helpless puppies, he had received yet another system notification. Unlike the others, this one was notable in that it appeared fully readable.
He wished it hadn't been.
'Your Race has morphed from Human (?) to: Ascending HUMAN'
--
Five streets went by in no time at all – which wasn't an exaggeration. Rob moved so fast that he was virtually invisible to anyone with low Perception. Those few Fiends who caught sight of him glimpsed the barest sliver of motion, then ended up convincing themselves that it was a trick of the light, or that they needed to get more sleep.
If Leveling High gained full control, it could have exterminated half the city before the other half noticed that something was amiss.
Fortunately for the rest of the Fiends, just three souls were slated for the chopping block today.
Rob touched down in front of a shabby hovel. Even while concentrating and holding back his Strength, his feet left deep imprints in the road. Mercifully, this street was relatively clear of witnesses, so he only had to move past a small number of startled onlookers. Some called out to him, but Rob ignored them, walking straight up to the hovel's front entrance.
Knock-knock.
His soft rapping blasted the door from its hinges, as if it had been kicked in by a roided-up SWAT team. The defenseless chunk of wood was sent flying and collided harshly with a wall, exploding into a shower of splinters. First casualty of the day, Rob noted, as he stepped through the now-open entrance and turned to face his quarry.
Inside, three Fiends were sitting in a corner of the room. Expressions of pure surprise adorned their faces. That surprise rapidly shifted into horror when they realized who had come to visit them. "L-Lord Rob," one of them stuttered, torn between standing up to greet him and shrinking further into the corner like a trapped rat. "You...I...how can..."
The Fiend trailed off. Rather than being unable to find the right words, it was more that he'd accepted that no words would save them. They knew full well why Rob had arrived unannounced with hatred blazing in his eyes.
It was the same look he'd given when passing judgment during the Harpy expedition.
Back then, every available Combat Class user had been needed to stop King Elnaril. Throwing away manpower just wasn't an option. So when these murderers killed Harpy civilians under a banner of peace, for no GOD DAMN reason, Rob had been forced to put them on probation instead of granting them the punishment they so profoundly deserved. As per his terms: if they stayed on their absolute best behavior from then on, he would leave them alone.
It was a deal Rob had never intended to uphold. Being high-Level wasn't a license for people to act out their twisted urges. And it certainly wouldn't earn them leeway during sentencing – no free rides for Combat Class users. That was one bit of Elatra-brand favoritism he refused to emulate.
Azach. Brolgun. Thellmaz. Rob glared at each of the three Fiends in turn, their names resounding in his thoughts. He had employed Recall to guarantee that he didn't forget them. Time's up. Or were you hoping I'd let you slip through the cracks?
The war criminals cowered beneath his overwhelming presence. Even if there hadn't been a history involved between them, Rob had to imagine that merely existing close to him was uncomfortable now. Like Ragnavi's suffocating aura of power – yet far worse. He stood there and did nothing for a few seconds, watching as sweat ran down their trembling brows, letting them marinate in their fear and dread.
Then, after sufficient time had passed, he stepped out of the driver's seat in his mind. Have at it, he told Leveling High. Make it reasonably quick. I'm not watching another extended gorefest when–
All at once, the static quieted.
Rob almost fell to the ground. A bucket of ice water being dumped on his head would have felt less jarring. One moment, Leveling High was an unassailable passenger in his head, ready to take control if he showed a sliver of weakness. The next, it was...still there, but suppressed. His curse no longer held sway over him.
It took him a moment to comprehend that Leveling High had done this to itself.
{They are yours.}
While retaining an outward poker face, Rob internally lost his shit. What – what is this? The hell are you playing at? Where's the trick?
{No tricks,} it explained, in a placid tone. Coming from Leveling High, that sounded more unnatural than the shriek of a mutated Blightspawn. {These Fiends are your prey. I wouldn't dare pilfer them from their rightful owner.}
YOU were the one who wanted to seek them out!
{And you were the one who made a vow to yourself.} Leveling High did the mental equivalent of idly tapping its fingers on a desk. {Innocent blood was shed – yet three murderers still walk free. Not because they exhibited remorse or apologized for their actions, but because their power elevated them above trifling notions of justice.}
It chuckled. {I have told you much the same on multiple occasions. Power shapes the way of the world. The concerns of low-Level civilians are immaterial in comparison. You have defied this truth whenever I raise it...and now that a chance has come to defend your ideology, to prove that all are equal regardless of Levels, you falter.}
Rob grit his teeth. That subtle motion was like a trigger setting off Azach, making the Fiend jump to the ground and placate himself before a Leader's judgement. "Please! Lord Rob, please!" Azach's eyes were bulging, and his voice resembled the desperate cry of a drowning man. "We have done what you asked! Held our ire in restraint! Turned our claws on your enemies! Endured..."
The Fiend's lips quivered. "Endured ostracism. The others know that we provoked your ire. We have no friends, no allies. This decrepit, ramshackle hut is the only lodging that was allowed to us. Our prospects are as bleak as a night sky shrouded by dark stormclouds."
Azach bowed deeper, his forehead touching the dust-caked floor. "Is that not punishment enough?"
Rob suppressed a sigh. Seriously? I give you months to self-reflect, and that's the best you come up with? Just 'woe is me, life's so hard'. Where's the 'sorry, I legitimately regret being a war criminal'? This would feel like a farce even if Kenzotul \hadn't* raised the bar for this sort of thing.*
Leveling High had a point – although admitting as much tasted like sucking on battery acid. Rob doubted that Azach, Brolgun, or Thellmaz would ever learn from their mistakes. Letting them live after they'd spilled innocent blood under his watch would go against all that he stood for.
He still didn't make a move.
At first, Rob wasn't sure why. There shouldn't be anything holding him back. He didn't have a shred of lingering sympathy for these three; that would've required having sympathy for them to begin with. Nevertheless, something about the whole situation just felt...
Off.
Rob took a mental back step, observing the room as if he was an outsider looking in. What he found...unnerved him. He saw a small group of Elatrans terrified for their lives. He saw a Leader who was impossible to oppose. He saw one will about to be enforced, irrespective of what anyone else believed.
None of that changed what he thought of the three. He was well past shedding tears over executing unrepentant murderers. But coming here alone? Keeping trusted allies out of the loop? Passing judgement simply because he wanted to, because he could, and because no one else was capable of stopping him?
That was the kind of thing Ragnavi would've pulled.
{The Fiends will make allowances for their own kind,} Leveling High commented, with a hint of frustration. {They will not condemn these worms beyond what has already been done. You mean to let sins go unpunished?}
No. Can't do that either. Rob forced his body to relax. He hadn't even noticed how tense his muscles were. But I think deciding this by myself is a mistake. I'm not perfect. Having high Levels doesn't mean I can't be wrong.
Becoming the strongest Combat Class user in the world hadn't given him carte blanche to do whatever he wanted – the opposite, actually. If no one could defy him, if there were no real checks and balances against a Limit Broken Rob, then he needed to be the one holding himself accountable.
Within reason. If the entire Grand Overseer council told him to start kicking puppies, he would tell them to go kick rocks. After witnessing the final moments of Humanity, Rob had made a promise to channel his rage on behalf of the weak and the downtrodden, and that was one vow he intended to keep. At the same time, he couldn't just close himself off from other people's perspectives. There had to be a middle ground to prevent him from swan diving onto the slippery slope of tyranny.
Other perspectives... An epiphany widened his eyes. The Harpies. It was never my call to make – it was theirs. We should find the family members of the civilians that these three killed. If there aren't any family members, we defer to the community at large. They'll decide what punishment should be handed down, and even if I disagree, their decision will be respected.
It seemed obvious now that he thought of it. In fact, why hadn't he thought of it already? Maybe he was too busy being filled to bursting with righteous fury. That was a personal blind spot to keep in mind.
Let's see...this prioritizes justice for the victims, removes intra-Fiend bias, removes \my* bias...I think everything checks out.* He would have to leave a note for Riardin's Rangers. They could verify his logic to make sure it was sound, then contact the Harpies after this was all over. Sucked to delegate an uncomfortable task to them, but he didn't really have a choice.
Rob nodded to himself. While this wasn't the immediate satisfaction of putting murderers to the sword, it felt right. Like he was building precedent for a stable future.
{That's it?} Leveling High glared at him in disbelief. {You are choosing to set aside your true desires for some nebulous concept of integrity?}
Hah, yeah, that's what we call being a mature adult. Rob conjured a mental image of playing the world's smallest violin. Just how it is. You usually know you've done a proper compromise if you feel mildly annoyed afterwards.
He raised his eyebrows, confusing the three Fiends even further. Nice try, though. You almost got me to be more comfortable with killing people. That's why you brought me here, right? Would've made me susceptible to your influence. Unfortunately, you–
Leveling High shouted with an ear-splitting pitch of static. Its anger was all-consuming and apoplectic, like an earthquake shaking the foundation of Rob's soul.
–You forgot something important, he continued, without missing a beat. You can't beat me. Not in any way that matters. I might stumble, but I'll always get back up.
It didn't particularly like that statement. As Leveling High thrashed about within, Rob took note of how little its influence was affecting him. Relinquishing control to let him kill the Fiends had been a failed gambit. It would likely take some time for Leveling High to regain a foothold in his mind.
There would be no better opportunity to meet with Riardin's Rangers.
The prospect terrified him. He'd...hurt them. Rob wouldn't blame them if they never forgave him for that.
Before he could talk himself into putting things off, he cast Waymark.
Error: Due to your Soul Instability, Waymark has failed to activate!
If nothing else, the invasion of the divine realms needed to happen before that got much worse. He wouldn't be able to challenge the gods if his Skills started misfiring at a higher frequency.
After waiting several seconds, Rob attempted Waymark again. It successfully activated this time, leaving many stunned onlookers behind as he was whisked away to where he thought a certain someone might be.
--
Painful nostalgia pierced Rob's heart as he gazed upon his room. Keira's room too, at this point. She had slept over on enough occasions that she was essentially co-owner.
It was empty. In hindsight, that didn't surprise him. Keira wasn't the type of person to hole up and read books all day. She was also probably leading Riardin's Rangers in his stead – and hating every second of it. Rob's mouth curled into a hesitant, amused smile as he pictured a disgruntled look on Keira's face, her soul chafing from the chains of responsibility as she wallowed through meeting after meeting.
We never did finish decorating, he noted, peering around at the sparse dwelling. Or start, honestly. It hadn't felt like a priority when they'd been planning to buy a house in the near future. As soon as everything quieted down, the two of them had naively claimed. When there weren't any impending calamities looming over the horizon.
Should've known better.
Yet despite that bittersweet thought, his smile still deepened the longer he looked. They'd had some very nice times in this room...some that couldn't be mentioned in polite company. He would miss just talking with her even more. She had let him open up his heart in a way that no one else could.
It was a healthy reminder of what he sought to protect – in both himself and others. People deserved the chance to obtain this sort of happiness. To obtain that light, airy feeling which brightened each day, making large troubles seem small and minor victories feel like grand triumphs.
All too soon, a minute had gone by. Waymark's cooldown was refreshed. Rob felt tempted to stay, soak in more pleasant memories, but he didn't know how long it would take for Leveling High to recover. Had to keep the train rolling. No detours; just pit stops.
Waymark.
Blue light transported him to the conference room where he'd attended dozens of meetings with the Overseers. It was empty as well. Rob strained his ears, but his Heightened Senses couldn't hear anyone else in the building, almost as if it had been evacuated.
He stopped to laugh at himself when his nostalgia suddenly returned in full force. This place? For real? While his meetings with the Overseers were productive and necessary, they were still meetings, and some of them could have totally been a two-minute Message Crystal call.
Guess you never know what you'll miss until it's gone. Rob carefully hopped onto the Overseers' big official desk, grinning as he envisioned them acting scandalized over his impropriety. A Leader must act with decorum! They must set a standard of something something we're obsessed with PR. Even worse was Diplomacy agreeing with them more often than not, the traitor.
Although...we did do good work here, he admitted. Isn't every day that alliances are forged between nations that were at each other's throats a mere decade ago.
Thanks to Riardin's Rangers' globetrotting, Fiends were now a known quantity across the world, rather than just the soul-stealing boogeymen of the north. Was hard to keep feeling scared of people after they'd fought by your side against real horrors. It would take time to undo generations of ingrained prejudice, but this was definitely a step in the right direction.
He and the Grand Overseers had also started an initiative to safely spread Auto-Translate to more Fiends. Within a year or less, nearly everyone in Fiendland should be able to communicate with the rest of Elatra. Trade and travel with other nations would soon become distinct possibilities...when for the entirety of Fiend history, those had only been fanciful pipe dreams reserved for wish fulfillment stories.
And to think this all started with them trying to kill us. Rob paused, then shrugged. Eh, par for the course. Most of my allies were dragged into a partnership kicking and screaming.
Fifteen seconds until Waymark was ready. He had pretty much run out of things to reminisce about. Rob elected to walk on top of the Overseers' desk, tracking bits of dirt where he went, because pettiness is a virtue.
Crack.
Blinking, Rob stared down at his body, now halfway broken into the desk. He'd misjudged his Strength and stepped straight through.
...Time to search elsewhere for Riardin's Rangers. He wanted to be long gone when the Overseers returned. The mystery of the nefarious desk-smasher would forever go unsolved. Next up is...
Rob hesitated. Leveling High was still struggling to regain its influence. He had a bit of extra time on his hands – and after the Dungeon tour and the void, some R&R felt well-earned. This was a golden opportunity to take a short breather before everything went crazy again, maybe see some sights. There were plenty of Waymark locations to choose from.
You know what? Rob adopted a shit-eating grin. How about one last trip down memory lane? What do you say, buddy of mine?
Leveling High thrashed and screeched like a rabid gorebeast caught in an electrified cage.
Glad we're on the same page. Rob tapped his chin, contemplating a multitude of options. It didn't take long to decide his first destination.
Where else could he go – if not the place where it all began?
--
As visions of blue mana faded, he opened his eyes in The Village.
This was his third time seeing it after having fled so many months ago. It appeared much the same as before; a hollowed-out husk that was once a thriving community. Empty streets were filled with deteriorated, Corruption-worn buildings of Elven make, as if they'd been left unattended for centuries rather than just part of one year.
To outsiders – and to most of its former inhabitants – The Village likely stood as a testament to the ruinous future that the Blight nearly wrought. Even though the native Elves managed to repel an invasion of mutated beasts from Ixatan Forest, losing their Locus of Power meant that no life could live here henceforth. It had turned the surrounding area into a Corruption-ridden ghost town where none dare tread. While the Blight may have been defeated in the end, this was what happened when entropy indulged.
Rob thought differently. Although the Village's streets were empty, and its buildings decrepit, its people had lived on. Despite being ousted from their sanctuary, forced onto a grueling march across the Elatra, and weathering attacks from monsters and Blights...they persevered. Now, Fiend territory was filled with Elven expats who were gradually becoming comfortable calling it their home.
A place could be broken. Strength of will was not so fragile as that.
I wonder...when the ambient Corruption here fades, and the land finally heals, will others come to rebuild? He hoped so. His negative experiences with The Village didn't stop him from having some rose-tinted nostalgia for it. Living here might've not been so bad if everything didn't go to shit.
How would that have gone, anyway? If the gods and the Blight magically winked out of existence, would Rob have enjoyed building a new life among The Village's Elves? Slowly winning them over? Partying up with the Ranger trainees? Getting closer to Keira without the specter of constant strife haunting their relationship? A lot less people would have died that way, too. Riardin, Alia, and Tarric included.
After a brief period of hypothesizing, Rob shook his head. Wouldn't work. Riardin's Rangers needed to form. Leaving the Village was our catalyst.
The rest of Elatra was too screwed up to ignore. Remove the gods and the Blight, and you still have Fiendland being isolated, Stonewarden Grant inventing weapons of war in Dwarven territory, and the Dragon Queen running amok. On a more personal level, there was also Meyneth roaming alone and miserable through Human wastelands, and Sylpeiros having a stick lodged all the way up his ass – instead of just halfway like it was now.
No, Rob didn't see the point in mulling over what-ifs. While it came at a high cost, Riardin's Rangers had brought positive change to the world. They could be proud of what they'd accomplished.
Think it's been a minute. Cooldown is done. Giving one last salute to The Village, Rob activated Waymark again.
Next stop: Esternard City. The first Human settlement he had encountered.
This was where he'd gotten an inkling of how deep the Elatran rabbit hole went. First he learned that Human architecture appeared strikingly similar to Earth architecture, and then he discovered the remains of a family consumed by the Cataclysm. Overall, not a fun time. Rob could remember making an emphatic, unequivocal oath, vowing to 100% make it back to Jason and his parents one day.
Well, the Fiends are developing portals to Earth, he allowed himself. Close enough.
Turning his head from side to side, Rob took in what he viewed as a monument to the senselessness of war. Not one person here had needed to die. He didn't think he would ever be able to understand how things could get this bad. Like the whole world had gone insane, trapped in a hell of its own making. Barely anyone could remember how it started, yet it ended with...
Rob's posture stiffened as images of nine Human mages burst into his mind. Gazing upon Esternard City had summoned a new set of memories – this time, of Ismaire the Archmage and her part in the Cataclysm.
Memories of an event lost to time, he mused. It was a sobering thought to realize that he was now the only person in Elatra who'd witnessed Humanity's final moments. As if process of elimination had deemed him the sole arbiter of their despair.
He didn't think he was worthy of that role, but he supposed someone had to bear witness.
As for Ismaire...Rob wasn't quite sure what to make of her. She had been a victim of the highest order, having lost her homeland to the fires of war and the depravity of genocide. She had also been willing to sacrifice half of Humanity to save the rest. And while the Cataclysm was an unintended consequence of her evacuation plan, it still was a consequence that happened. Countless innocents had perished as a result of her actions.
Yet countless more would have perished without her. She had burnt her soul to prevent the Cataclysm from ravaging everything and everyone. Without her desperate efforts, it would have wiped Elatra clean. That was in spite of knowing that the Humans were already all dead, and that there would be no reward for her self-sacrifice.
Not even legacy. If any present-day Elatrans miraculously learned of her story, they would vilify her as the progenitor of what was almost an apocalypse. She had been smart enough to recognize that...and she still chose to save them At the end, her very last actions were entirely altruistic, performed for the sake of nameless, faraway foreigners – yet who themselves had done nothing wrong, merely being civilians dragged along by their Leader's bloodlust.
It was an example of Humanity that Rob aspired to.
Minute's up. Had to keep the ball rolling. Waymark.
He was underwater once again. Nowhere near the edge of the world, thankfully. Just the middle of deep sea ocean in Merfolk territory.
Considering that his initial interactions with the Merfolk had been him invading their turf and wounding King Cyraeneus with the Flames of Vengeance...things actually turned out alright with them. They'd warmed up quickly after Riardin's Rangers killed the Corrupted Leviathan. Shockingly, rescuing them from an unstoppable abomination had made a better impression than barbecuing their Leader.
Rob hoped the Merfolk would be okay without Cyraeneus. As far as Leaders went, he'd been Rob's favorite – and only partially by default. Dude had a decent head on his shoulders. He was evidence that power didn't need to corrupt someone.
And like many others, he deserved a better end than he got.
I think Cyraeneus would have accepted this outcome, Rob determined. His death in exchange for all the major threats to Merfolk territory being removed? Fair trade. Can't exactly ask him now, but I think that would've been his answer.
Belatedly, Rob realized that this was the sole nation he'd journeyed to without also visiting one of its cities. What did their architecture look like? Was it unique and tailored to an aquatic lifestyle, or had the gods gotten lazy, slapped some random buildings underwater, and called it a day?
He enjoyed letting his imagination run wild until Waymark's minute was up.
After the next teleport completed, Rob found himself standing on top of a building in Dhalerune City. Much like Acrastor City, Dwarven territory's capital was bustling, filled with civilians going about their daily lives, like life flowing through the beating heart of society.
Rob couldn't help but grin. While he didn't have much love for Dwarfland – Stonewarden Grant burned most of his goodwill – it was always nice to see the fruits of his labors. If Riardin's Rangers hadn't stopped the Blight from encroaching within Dhalerune Mines, this city would have gone the way of The Village. These people were happy and thriving because he'd been there to pull them back from the brink of ruination.
Now if only you didn't invent freaking NUKES... Rob sighed, wondering how long it would take for Dwarven technology to proliferate across the rest of Elatra. Riardin's Rangers had made certain that knowledge of Titan's Fist wouldn't spread, and it was exceedingly unlikely that the Dwarves could re-invent that without divine interference, but there were more devices with the potential to shake things up. For example, rifles would change the landscape of battle once other territories adopted them.
Rob felt increasingly glad that he had convinced his friends to invest extra points in Vitality. It might be what saved them from an assassin sniper's headshot one day. Won't be surprised if a Dwarf tries that eventually. There's got to be some of them who want to take revenge for Stonewarden Grant.
And damn did that betrayal still sting. Grant hadn't been a raving lunatic – not like Ragnavi or the Blights. With just a few steps further, he could have left his pain behind and worked to forge a brighter future for Elatra.
Shame that he tripped at the finish line. Rob could only hope that he was wrong about some Dwarves holding a grudge, and that Grant's warmongering obsessions had died with him.
Waymark's ready. He cast it immediately. Two stops remaining, I think. His second-to-last bucket list item was...
Harpy territory.
Hmm.
Rob frowned as he glared at the broken wall of the Harpy capital city. Honestly speaking, he had even less affection for this nation than Dwarven territory. Between the protracted war and Blighted King Elnaril, there weren't many fond memories located here. It was telling that the one area that inspired less antipathy in him was literally called the Deadlands, home to reality-warping abominations of Corruption.
Harpy territory had been home to something far worse – a crossroads of life. More than anywhere else, this was where Rob thought he'd come closest to losing himself. Not losing to Leveling High, or to some machinations of the gods: himself. The choices he'd almost made, the person he'd almost become...
He didn't think he would have liked himself much afterwards.
Timely intervention from the Skills and Vevrandi prevented that future from coming to pass. Still, it had been a near thing, and staying in Harpy territory was just dredging up all those recollections of strife and anguish.
I do feel bad for the Harpies themselves, though. They were going to have a bitch of a recovery period. Ragnavi's army had devastated the southwestern region, and Elnaril munched on most of the administrative workers in the capital city. Their citizens were going to struggle for a long while until the holes in civilization got patched up.
Fiend territory should be able to lend a hand with that. Would make for good PR and help build up their reputation as not being crazed soul-devouring monsters. The Harpies would be wary to accept Fiendish aid at first, but Rob's name should actually smooth things over. Although he had technically invaded as a conquering force, he'd also taken pains to avoid casualties whenever possible, then freed them from a tyrannical, Blight-possessed Leader. They held a surprisingly positive opinion of him here.
The thought brought a smile to his face. Without the Harpies assisting with Elnaril's assassination, 'mere' Utility Class users allying with foreigners to depose their own ruler, Riardin's Rangers probably wouldn't have pulled it off. While he wasn't a fan of the territory in general...its people had come in clutch when it mattered.
People usually did, if they were given the chance.
One minute had passed. Last stop. Rob clenched his fists, then unclenched them, exhaling.
Waymark.
The Deadlands stretched out before him.
Rob spent a solid twenty seconds trying to think of something positive to say, but nope! Nothing. The Deadlands sucked. Just barren wasteland, ravenous Blightspawn, and fetid Corruption as far as the eye could see.
At least the Blightspawn were resolved, and the Corruption would disperse...eventually. Jury was out on the Deadlands ever being anything except an agricultural disaster that made Human territory look like an oasis by comparison. The ubiquitous aura of decay that had permeated its soil for years would persist for a long time to follow, like salting the earth with nuclear waste.
It didn't help that the Deadlands was where he'd suffered several catastrophic failures. After close to a year of resisting Leveling High and keeping his friends alive, this fucking garbage heap of a territory had saddled him with Complete Madness and torn away multiple people that were dear to him. He wanted little more than to consign the place to oblivion and wipe it from Elatra's collective consciousness.
Even so...these decrepit wastelands were also where he had achieved his greatest victories. First over the Second Will, and then over Dragon Queen Ragnavi. Two Elatra's worst threats were gone – and in the process, he'd gained enough power to slaughter the ones that remained.
The beginning of the end had started here.
For that – if nothing else – he would give the Deadlands one thumbs-up. Only one. Two was pushing it.
And speaking of threats... Rob glanced at Leveling High, who was sulking in a corner of his mind. You remember the plan, right? I'll be piloting our body when we fight the gods. Jockeying for control of the driver's seat will just end with us both crashing.
{Fine}, Leveling High grumbled. {I can tolerate this indignity if it means getting to rip apart their hated, loathsome essence.}
Which also means no attacking our allies. We need Riardin's Rangers to maximize our chances of winning. You told me that yourse–
{I SAID FINE.}
Just checking. He raised his hand. Alright then. Let's get going. No more delays.
Time to bring it all home.
Rob cast Waymark before he lost his nerve. The Skill teleported him straight back to Fiend territory. Riardin's Rangers didn't end up being at the next location he checked, or the one after that.
Third time was the charm.
​
--
​
Thanks for reading!
--
Next Chapter

Humans are Space Rednecks chapter 7: Errands.
Jeb had some errands to run before the night cycle, so he boarded the docked small skiff that serves as one of the many self serve automated shuttles that pepper the fleet.
Jeb's visit to the Greenhouse is a routine yet vital part of his day.
The sun filters through the bio-dome of the Greenhouse, casting a warm glow over rows of lush vegetation. Jeb strolls through the hydroponic garden, nodding to the long-haired Friends of Jesus who are lost in the rhythm of their drum circle. He plucks a few ears of corn and digs up some potatoes from his personal plot, the earthy smell reminding him of a home far away in the cosmos. As he passes by one of the aquaponics tanks, Bubba's wrestling with a hydroponic pump, his oversized wrench comically large for the delicate work.
Jeb gives a nod of acknowledgment to Bubba, who doesn't look up from his task but pauses just long enough to nod back.
With his harvest in tow, Jeb makes his way to the docking bay, where Leadfoot's ship idles with a low purr. "Ready for a spin, Jeb?" Leadfoot calls out, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.
"Let's burn sky," Jeb replies, securing his goods. The engines roar to life, and they're off, streaking across the Convoy with a speed that turns stomachs and bends time.
Jeb strides into the Hoarder, the Convoy's bustling marketplace, with a purposeful gait. The clerk, a savvy trader with eyes that miss nothing, greets him with a knowing nod. Jeb sets down the crates of mason jars, the contents sloshing gently within.
"Got your list right here," Jeb says, sliding the paper across the counter. "And the payment, as agreed."
The clerk's eyes light up at the sight of the jars, a smile spreading across his face. "Ah, Jeb, you do know the way to a merchant's heart. Let's see what we've got here," he murmurs, scanning the list.
Bubba is in the background, hefting a piece of machinery that looks like it belongs to a starship twice the size of any in the Convoy.
"Looks like Bubba's gearing up for something big," the clerk remarks with a chuckle. "What's he got planned?"
Jeb shrugs, a smile tugging at his lips. "With Bubba, you never know. Could be fixing a leaky faucet or building a new engine."
The clerk laughs, the sound echoing off the metal walls, still grinning as he watches Bubba maneuver the equipment with surprising grace. "Well, I have your order, Jeb. And the mason jars will be put to good use. You have my word. I'll have your goods sent over to the Hodgepodge. And Jeb, take it easy on Leadfoot, will ya? We can't have you two turning the Convoy into a race track every time you need a bolt tightened."
Jeb taps his forehead, "Speakin of which, I got some hardware to pick up... See you later Rob." With a friendly wave, Jeb heads back to the docking bay.
Jeb's day is a symphony of routine and chaos, a dance he's mastered over countless cycles aboard the Convoy. After his visit to the Hoarder, Jeb's next stop is the Iron Maiden, where the clang of metal and hiss of steam create a backdrop for the Tarkellian engineers' meticulous work. Bubba's helping the team with the part he collected from the Hoarder, supporting it in place while they bolt it in. Jeb exchanges a few words with the chief engineer, A gruff dwarf, with a long white beard, who hands him a box of custom-made bolts—pieces of art in their own right, destined for the Hodgepodge's latest expansion.
The Barnyard is Jeb's oasis of calm, where the bleating of goats and the clucking of chickens remind him of terrestrial farms. and stops by to check on a new litter of piglets, a smile breaking through his rugged exterior as he scratches behind their ears. The acting caretaker, Epona, a young woman with a passion for xenobiology, updates Jeb on the latest additions to their sanctuary, including a pair of luminescent flutterwings from the Andromeda sector.
Onward to the Boomstick, Jeb's errands take a turn for the explosive. The ship's captain, Suicide Jockey, a daredevil known for his wild stories, hands Jeb a crate of fireworks, a tradition for the upcoming Convoy festival. Jeb's laughter booms through the ship's corridors as the captain recounts his latest narrow escape from a supernova's shockwave.
The Slammer is Jeb's next destination, where he's greeted by the sight of former pirates now engrossed in a horticulture class, a testament to the Convoy's rehabilitation efforts. He passes Bubba welding something with chains in a side roomJeb nods approvingly at the sight, a reminder that second chances are a commodity as valuable as any precious metal in the Convoy.
As the sun sets on the Convoy, Jeb finds himself at the Crucible, where the hum of machinery gives way to the beat of hard trance music as the refinery transforms into the most vibrant gay bar in the galaxy, The HotBoyz dancing in glittering cages hung from the ceiling. Bubba is dancing and showing off with handstands, in the center stage dance floor. Jeb's not one for dancing, but he can't help tapping his foot to the rhythm, the energy infectious.
Jeb returns home, his mind already on the poker game ahead. As Jeb departs, the Convoy buzzes with life and activity, each member playing their part in the grand tapestry of their journey through the stars. The Convoy may be a place of business, but it's the laughter and camaraderie that truly keep the engines running.

After seeing this sub rant and rave about I Was a Teenage Exocolonist, I decided to buy the game for my Switch and just finished my first playthrough last evening.
A little saddened to share that while there's a lot to love about this game, I personally found myself a bit disappointed by it (perhaps I got my hopes up due to reading almost nothing but positivity about this game here). I wanted to share my genuine feelings here -- not to trash the game whatsoever, but simply to provide some contrasting opinions so potential buyers can know what they're in for (spoiler-free of course!)
To reiterate, the intention here is not to trash talk this beautiful game, but to provide more context for players who are already well-versed with some other 'cozy' deck-building games. Please note this is solely my opinion and I did minimal research into the game before buying it outside of this sub's reviews, so please don't come for me in the comments!

1. I found it challenging to enjoy Teenage Exocolonist (TE) as thoroughly as others seem to have as a diehard fan of both Inscryption and The Cosmic Wheel Sisterhood (CW). I haven't seen too much dialogue about TE in comparison to those games here, and I think it's important to note that if you've started with both Inscryption + CW, that TE may also feel similarly underwhelming. While I don't categorize Inscryption as a cozy game, that was my first deck-building game I every played and I never thought I'd find another that could live up to it until I found CW.
   
2. While I liked some aspects of the deck-building mechanic in TE, I found Inscryption's and Cosmic's mechanics more innovative and satisfying. One of my biggest complaints about TE is that once I got oriented to the card-game, I was able to play through the card challenges relatively quickly, which made the text blobs feel like a big pace-killer for me. I felt like I was gaining momentum with the card challenges and the transition to reading what felt to me like a lot of text made the gameplay feel jarring and imbalanced.
   
3. I have never been a fan of Visual Novels, and I think this game is much more of a VN than a deck-building game. While the deck-building is a major mechanic, it felt much more like a choose-your-own-adventure book with a poker-adjacent card game scattered inbetween events. If you are not into reading a lot of text in games, you may struggle to stay focused with this one like I did.
   
4. While I enjoyed the futuristic, progressive, sci-fi storyline of TE, it was challenging for me to not constantly make comparisons to CW's script and storyline. There is some overlap, but I was hoping to be moved to tears in the same way that CW moved me. I read multiple comments and posts about TE on this sub from folks who were deeply moved by the story. In my experience, I found some of the "heavier" or shocking events to not land in the same way CW's storyline landed for me. I think some of this has to do with my struggle to stay engaged with the storyline and not being prepared to read as much as I had to in this game. (Additionally, I felt the static art style made the action-packed parts of the story a little more challenging for me to stay engaged with, versus Inscryption's and CW's movement-based animations).
   

I think TE has a gorgeous art style, a pretty strong narrative storyline, and some unique and enjoyable gameplay elements. However, I definitely recommend playing the demo first to see if this game lands with you before buying. I take accountability for not doing as much thorough research as maybe I should have, but I wanted to go in as blind as possible due to the rave reviews here.
Excited to see this progressive and inclusive story sitting alongside CW and becoming more mainstream in the cozy gaming world! I think VN people will really enjoy this and eager to engage in conversation with folks who had similar and different experiences playing as me. I would love for diehards to convince me to get into a second playthrough and to share the main reasons why I should (please hide spoiler text!). I started a new playthrough and at first glance it felt like I was just starting over again with no perks from my previous one.
Thanks for reading :)

Miranda Darrow’s [10Queries] 2024 RevPit Annual Contest
Greetings, Revelers! Tis I, Miranda, joining you from my editing cave where I’ve been on a seclusion retreat reviewing my annual contest submissions for days. And like Aaron Rodgers emerging with clarity over his future with the Packers (spoiler alert, there was no future in Green Bay for A-Rodg after his “dark retreat”), I too have insights I want to share with the RevPit community.
First, I’m in love . . . with so many submissions. I don’t think my two 10Queries sessions will be enough to express my great love for all the amazing stories sent my way but time is limited. I’m picking submissions where I have some advice for the writing community at large and especially for that author (who will get an email after the winner announcements indicating which 10Queries post was theirs). Without the Twitter character limit, some of my writing advice for these 10Queries got a bit longish. As such, I won’t be writing advice directed at both the query letter (QL) and first five pages (FP) for each submission. I’m sticking with whichever leads to the most helpful “teachable moment” about writing, be that QL, FP, or if applicable if there’s a disconnect between the two.
Key – here’s a list of the abbreviations I’ll use in my 10Queries posts.
age categories:

MG – middle grades
YA – young adult
A – Adult

genres (I kept these all high level):

C – contemporary/literary
H - historical
MST – mystery/suspense/thriller
R - romance
SFF – science fiction/fantasy/speculative fiction
WF – women’s fiction

​
writing concepts:

FP – first five pages
GMC – goal, motivation, and conflict
Infodump – packing the first pages with too much backstory, worldbuilding, setting, other details that would better be spread out and/or trimmed
LI – love interest (of the main character)
MC – main character
POV – point of view, related to perspective, that’s a long story
QL – query letter, which should have the story blurb (blurb), book demographics (demos), and author bio (bio) STD – show, don’t tell
WB – worldbuilding

​
Without further ado, we’re off:
1 A WF – If this story gets published, I am planning to use it as a positive example in the presentation I give to writing groups about unputdownable openings. There’s a section in that presentation that specifically asks: “Are you starting at the right moment?” I coach writers on this often, reviewing their full manuscript or synopsis to identify a key scene that would be the best introduction to your MC, their GMC, the stakes, etc all in the context of a compelling opening scene. This sub nailed it.
Yes, this story is starting at the right moment. It reminded me of the opening sequence of the Chris Pine Star Trek movie from 2009 (which was a prologue, but I digress). This story’s opening was like that but from a unique perspective. IYKYK. My only recommendation for this stunning opening scene is just a bit more context hints about the major life event the MC just went through (alone and in pain) before the second major life event in one day came and darkened her doorway. I’m kicking off my 10Queries session for the annual contest because of the lasting impression this opening made. It bounced around in my brain last night when pondering subs and which I should tackle today in my 10Queries session.
​

Finding the right moment to open your story is a process and can take some trial and error. If your first pages aren’t getting the attention your story deserves, look through your synopsis for a more logical and compelling first scene to launch your story. My writing group pals and critique partners all know how many openings I had to try on for size for some of my manuscripts. This is a great topic to workshop with your writing friends: which is a better opening, this or that?

​
2 YA SFF - I loved the WB and universe in this topical dystopia, Great atmosphere and premise with an “it could happen” societal collapse reminiscent of Atwood’s Handmaid’s Tale featuring a different current societal schism crossed with the “it’s not safe out there” vibe of Holly Goddard Jones’ The Salt Line and the Walking Dead.
The query package could use a bit more clarification as to the layout of this dystopian society. I felt a bit of disconnect between the QL’s description of our MC’s society, whether this community is the only surviving location (or so teens are taught in their schools) as compared to the discussion in the FP about leaving their community and their knowledge of the greater world. Leave to go where? So this isn’t the only known community? Or just out into the nothing, like Katniss and Gale thinking about ditching District 12 in The Hunger Games. These characters weren’t featured displaying their nature survival skills like Katniss and Gale, so that seems a long shot.
​

In the opening pages, an author’s goal should be to hook the readers, get them invested in your MC and their GMC. Also FP should get the readers asking questions. But you want readers to ask the right questions, be curious about hints at backstory and the conflict to come, wondering if/how MC will meet their goal. Avoid distracting readers away from your main focus with questions about how the universe works and what the MC believes, as that should be solid and consistent in the opening (even if secrets about both are to be revealed later). Ground readers in that universe and make it as real, logical, and consistent as possible through the lens of the MC’s worldview and current knowledge.

​
3 A MST - Love the very trendy setting and the class strife coming to life in the FP. Gave me Veronica Mars vibes, always a plus for me. Introducing side characters is a tricky balance in FP because you need enough characters for meaningful, interactive scenes, but not too many that readers lose track of the MC and their GMC, which needs to be clear and compelling. We have a good sense of MC, what she needs and why she needs it right now.
But the MC’s connection with the various side characters mentioned in chapters 1 and 2 from the first pages are less clear. There’s a guy, and we’re not sure if he and MC are friends, dating, friends with benefits, exes, we have no clue. This impacts how the MC should be viewing a potential snub and readers too. Some hints at whether MC should reasonably expect this dude to interrupt what is objectively a pressing or important conversation to say “hi” to her. Give some hints as to who he is to MC as that could help ground readers. Give readers some context clues when introducing this guy and the other characters in both scenes.
​

When introducing characters, especially in the first pages, ground readers in who this person is to the MC so readers can view these characters through the MC’s perspective and map out the relationships between the characters without having to dig for it (unless those relationships are something the MC doesn’t know yet or are otherwise being kept as a mystery to readers).

​
4 MG C - I have some truly awesome middle grades stories in my subs, and I’m showcasing this one to talk about POV choices and whether to immerse readers in deep POV with the MC, in that moment, or whether to allow the perspective to pull back to some future omniscient narrator who drops hints about things that are going to happen that the MC doesn’t know about yet. There isn’t a “right” answer about which of these options works best, as it depends on the story.
​

There are some stories with a more obvious and intrusive omniscient narrator telling readers all sorts of information, like Death’s narration of The Book Thief and Lemony Snickett’s running commentary in the Series of Unfortunate Events series. Those narrators serve several roles, including creating psychic distance between the MC and the reader, a barrier of protection from the awful things the MC is going through. It reminds me of the parts in The Adventures of Elmo in Grouchland when Ernie and Bert would interrupt to assure the viewers that Elmo would be fine and he would find his blanket, as the tension could be unbearable for some viewers without that reassurance.
Sometimes in stories written in past tense, the future-knowing narrator is the MC themself, but at a later time. Those passages often read like, “If Bob had known then what he learned later that week, he never would have ordered that pastrami on rye.”
Having a glimpse of the future can serve story purposes. This example adds suspense, as what is wrong with that pastrami on rye? It can alert readers to watch for certain aspects, a heavy-handed method of foreshadowing. But if the future-glimpse is used infrequently, it can be jarring and take readers out of the story, sometimes unnecessarily. Consider whether the story purpose behind adding this bit of information that the MC doesn’t know in this scene justifies the interruption of the narrative flow for this intrusion.

​
5 A MST I love a compressed timeline, a ticking clock, knowing that “things” will happen if the MC doesn’t accomplish their goal by some near-future deadline. Imagine my joy in seeing a story where a murder needs to be solved during a single day. Yes, sign me up.
​

I was hooked with the first season of 24, Johnny Depp’s Nick of Time movie from the 1990s, Keanu and Sandra in Speed, pretty much any story where the stakes are clear and high and the timer is ticking away. I recently streamed Death and Other Details with a murder on a luxury yacht that needs to be solved before they reach their destination (and then more things happened that I think actually detracted from that ticking bomb, but I won’t spoil it). I am always glad when there’s a time limit and a clear countdown running through the chapters. This adds a sense of urgency and can address pacing problems, especially in the story's "soggy middle."

​
The part that this sub could improve a bit is making the stakes clearer to the MC and the readers early on. I liked that the MC isn’t perfect, makes mistakes. But the stakes of focusing on this mystery in this location on this date and not getting distracted should be clear to readers early on and then to the MC after their first screw up, lesson learned, now get to work. If the MC continues to focus on events happening outside of this closed setting with its cast of suspects, it detracts from the sense of urgency for readers when the MC doesn’t share it.
​
6 YA C – I picked this sub so I could talk a bit about prologues and the importance of grounding readers in the MC and their GMC early on in the FP. I liked the premise and the voice for this story, but we never get to see the MC in the timeframe discussed in the QL (or in the age category pitched) because both the prologue and chapter 1 seem to feature a younger version of the MC right after a major event that changed their life.
Because of the key role this event played in the MC’s life, a short prologue setting it up may be warranted, but then I recommend jumping ahead to the current day and showing the MC as a teen in the current day timeline. In chapter 1, the action is all still in the past, talking about the life-changing event. Readers are still not getting any picture of who the MC is now, what’s going on in the MC’s life, what is the MC’s current GMC, which is (based on the query blurb) not the same concerns and needs as when the MC was just surviving the life-altering event. I like the story idea, but couldn’t get hooked on the FP because we don’t get to see the MC in the situation promised in the QL.
​

In general, there's more opportunity for suspense, higher stakes, more hooks to grab readers if we spent time with the MC in the current timeline exploring that world, grounding readers in MC’s current challenges, what MC needs now and why.

​
7 A C – I’m tackling this sub next because for this one I do think the prologue is warranted. This prologue is set in the future (later in the story timeline than Chapter 1) and demonstrates a future-state that raises the stakes and gives a glimpse of what is to come in this story.
​

When it works, this start with the future glimpse can be a fun approach. One example is Beartown by Fredrick Backman, which starts in the future, at a key moment (but it’s not clear who all the characters are – Backman is intentionally vague here and it works). Then we backtrack and try to figure out why that happened and who all was in the woods. This is a common feature in “WhyDoneIt/HowDoneIt” type mysteries like Poker Face when the show starts with a murder and then jumps back in time showing why the person did that and how someone else (the excellent Natasha Lyonne in Poker Face) figures it out. Readers know what will happen, but they don’t know why or how, so that’s the hook.

​
This prologue is half of the FP, with the other half jumping back in time a number of weeks to start what appears to be a chronological account of what happened from various POVs for the events referenced in the prologue to occur. It sets readers expectation, gives foreshadowing, and cues readers into what to look for, but doesn’t spoil the whole story. Like many of these “glimpse into the future” prologues, we’re not sure how we should feel about the MC, whether the MC is a hero or villain, and that is fine. The glimpse we get of the MC in chapter 1 paints a sympathetic and compelling character with a clear GMC, trapped in a situation out of MC’s control, so it’s plausible that in the timespan covered in the book that MC’s life could change that much, and readers want to stick around to find out.
The challenge in this story will be to make all of the various POV characters distinct, memorable, have their own voices, and all carry an important story purpose to justify adding another POV.
​
8 A H – Sticking with the topics of prologues for another sub, this one makes what I think is a common error of starting at a funeral but being so vague that readers don’t know who is dead or their relationship with the MC (or even who is the MC). As a result, readers have no basis to feel this loss as readers have not yet been grounded in the MC, their GMC, the MC’s place in the universe.
Fortunately, this prologue is short and we get a good look at the MC much earlier in the story timeline with several full pages still in the FP, so readers aren’t kept away from getting to know the MC for too long.
​

When writing a prologue, I recommend that readers ask themselves: what story purpose does this serve, and can the same purpose be served by including this scene as a flashback, memory, or tale told to MC by another character later in the story AFTER readers have already formed a connection with the MC and are invested in finding out whether MC reaches their goal, are aware of the stakes, and generally care about the MC.

​
9 YA MST - Love the voice and all of the fun literary allusions in this story. I like the idea of the split timeline, with some of the chapters occurring “after” the big event and some of the chapters occurring “before” the big event.
​

Use of multiple timelines for a single MC has been done before, quite well, but it needs to have clear separation between the two timelines. The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue has a split timeline, with Addie in the current timeline being completely unmemorable and then back to when that situation was first started, how she got to that point. There are other books, but this is a recent example.

​
The split timeline in the FP for this sub are not separated and distinct enough, as the first use of the “before” timeline starts out with information that the Before MC would not know until the big event. Rather than having future knowledge bleed into this “before” timeline, revise to trim out the future-knowledge clutter and keep the “before” timeline limited to just what the Before MC would have known. It’s in first person POV, so that’s even more reason to stick with just the facts as MC knew it at the time. Save the commentary about whys and hows and speculation about “the event” for the “after” timeline.
​
10 A R - I picked this sub for my 10Queries session so I could talk about conflict.
​

All stories need conflict or else it’s just happy people in happy town and I’m already asleep just writing that. This is true even for “happy” genres like romance. For romance, there is an external plot and an internal plot and those need to work together, with obstacles to overcome both in the external plot and the character’s internal plot/character growth arc. Even in a low-action, more reflective scene, authors can add conflict with a micro-tension, some old beef between characters which leads to some discomfort or stilted dialogue which would add interest and keep tension.

​
I like the premise and the voice in this sub. There’s a good image of the MC and who she is in the story’s contemporary universe. But what’s less clear is her GMC, specifically, what is standing in the way of her goals. It’s relatable for someone in MC’s profession to not really love their job. That seems clear enough, but then the stated goal is to progress in this career MC doesn’t love, or even particularly like. So what is MC’s goal? And why doesn’t MC pursue it? And then, because this is a romance, how does having a loving relationship with the LI block or prevent that real goal that MC wants for “reasons”? Clarify these issues to make your FP more grabby to the readers.
​
Okay, that’s my 10Queries for today. I’ll have at least one more session during the editor’s window. I’ll check this thread for any questions when I can while also digging through subs and narrowing down my finalist list.
​
Note - I edited this post after another editor showed me how to make block quote indents. Hint, it's the tab that looks like the number 99 - who knew? Anyway, I wanted to indent some sections as those are intended as general advice to writers, not specifically related to the submission in question, but which are on the topic that I discussed with respect to a submission. I don't want my 10Queries authors to think I'm directing all of this at their subs, but rather using this platform as hopefully an educational opportunity for the whole RevPit writing community. Stay tuned for more 10Queries sessions from all the RevPit editors soon.

Remember you cannot pick up an upgraded weapon if your character has not yet upgraded another weapon to the same level or higher.
Crafting materials and products are available, just ask.
RUNE INVENTORY:
Hero's Rune [3] x99
Hero's Rune [5] x99
Golden Rune [11] x2
Golden Rune [12] x53
MELEE WEAPONS:
Misericorde x2
Cold Wakizashi+25 x1
Scropion's Stinger x1
Glintstone Kris x1
Reduvia x1
Blade of Calling x1
Black Knife+3
Noble's Keen Slender Sword+24 x1
Warhawk's Talon x1
Carian Knight's Sword x1
Crystal Sword x2
Rotten Crystal Sword x2
Miquellan Knight's Sword x1
Golden Epitaph x1
Sword of St. Trina+9 x2
Coded Sword+9 x1
Sword of Night and Flame+4 x1
Sword of Night and Flame+10 x2
Knight's Greatsword x1
Knight's Greatsword+25 x1
Banished Knight's Greatsword x4
Gargoyle's Greatsword x2
Gargoyle's Blackblade x2
Marais Executioner's Sword x1
Alabaster Lord's Sword x1
Death Poker x2
Helphen's Steeple x2
Blasphemous Blade+9 x1
Golden Order Greatsword x1
Dark Moon Greatsword x1
Dark Moon Greatsword+9 x1
Sacred Relic Sword x1
Sacred Relic Sword+9 x1
Greatsword x1
Blood Greatsword+25 x1
Troll's Golden Sword x1
Troll Knight's Sword x2
Royal Greatsword x2
Grafted Blade Greatsword x3
Ruins greatsword x4
Starscourge Greatsword x4
Godslayer's Greatsword x2
Maliketh's Black Blade x3
Noble's Estoc x1
Cleanrot Knight's Sword x3
Antspur Rapier x2
Godskin Sticherx2
Godskin Sticher+18 x1
Godskin Sticher+25 x2
Bloody Helice x2
Dragon King's Cragblade x1
Shamshir x2
Magma Blades x1
Scavenger's Occult Curved Sword+18 x2
Flowing Curved Sword x1
Nox Flowing Sword+10 x2
Eclipse Shotel x4
Omen Cleaver x2
Bloodhound's Fang x3
Onyx Lord's Greatsword x1
Zamor Curved Sword x1
Magma Wyrm's Scalesword x1
Morgott's Cursed Sword+10 x2
Occult Uchigatana+25 x2
Nagakiba x2
Serpent Bone Blade x1
Meteoric Ore Balde x3
Moonveil x1
Moonveil+8 x1
Rivers of Blood x2
Rivers of Blood+10 x5
Dragonscale Blade+9 x1
Hand of Melenia x1
Hand of Melenia+9 x1
Hand of Melenia+10 x2
Keen Godskin Peeler+24 x1
Gargoyle's Twinblade x3
Gargoyle's Black Blades x7
Eleonora's Pole Blade+4 x1
Eleonora's Pole Blade+9 x1
Stormhawk Axe x8
Rosus' Axe x1
Great Omenkiller Cleaver x3
Sacred Butchering Knife x1
Gargoyle's Greataxe x3
Gargoyle's Black Axe x4
Axe of Godrick x1
Varre's Bouquet x1
Envoy's Horn x4
Sceptor of the All-Knowing x6
Marika's Hammer x3
Nightrider Flail x3
Rotten Battle Hammer x2
Great Stars x1
Cranial Vessel Candlestand x1
Devourer's Sceptor x2
Prelate's Inferno Crozier x2
Troll's Hammer x1
Dragon Greatclaw x6
Staff of the Avatar x1
Rotten Staff x2
Ghiza's Wheel x2
Fallingstar Beast Jaw x2
Axe of Godfrey x2
Inquisitor's Girandole x1
Rotten Crystal Spear x2
Death Ritual Spear x1
Mohgwyn's Sacred Spear x1
Bolt of Gransax x1
Bolt of Gransax+9 x1
Treespear x1
Siluria's Tree x1
Vyke's War Spear x1
Vyke's War Spear+9 x1
Banished Knight's Halbred x1
Banished Knight's Halbred+8 x1
Guardian's Swordspear x2
Gargoyle's Halbred x2
Gargoyle's Black Halbred x4
Nightrider Glaive x2
Blood Nightrider Glaive+25 x2
Golden Halbred x7
Loretta's War Sickle x2
Commander's Standard x3
Grave Scythe+25 x3
Winged Scythe x1
Thorned Whip+25 x1
Blood Urumi+25 x1
Magma Whip Candlestick x1
Gaint's Red Braid x1
Iron Ball x3
Cipher Pata x1
Grafted Dragon x1
Raptor Talons x1
RANGED WEAPONS:
Black Bow x1
Pulley Bow x1
Horn Bow x1
Greatbow x4
Golem Greatbow x1
Crepus's Black-Key Crossbow x2
Pulley Crossbow x1
Hand Ballista x1
Hand Ballista+24 x1
Jar Cannon x1
Academy Glintstone Staff x5
Demi-Human Queen's Staff x1
Lusat's Glintstone Staff x1
Carian Glintstone Staff x2
Carian Regal Staff x1
Carian Regal Staff+9 x1
Albinauric Staff x1
Crystal Staff x1
Rotten Crystal Staff x1
Golden Order Seal x1
Gravel Stone Seal+25 x1
Godslayer's Seal x1
Dragon Communion Seal+9 x1
Dragon Communion Seal+10 x1
TORCHES AND SHIELDS:
Beast-Repellent Torch x1
Steel-Wire Torch x1
Sentry's Torch x1
Ghostflame Torch x1
St. Trina's Torch x1
Coil Shield x1
Candletree Wooden Shield x1
Twinbird Kite Shield x1
Banished Knight's Shield x3
Carian Knight's Shield x4
Silver Mirrorshield x1
Great Turtle Shell x1
Briar Greatshield x1
Spiked Palisade Shield x1
Icon Shield x1
Golden Beast Crest Shield x3
Crossed-Tree Towershield x1
Distinguished Greatshield x1
Gilded Greatshield x1
Cuckoo Greatshield x1
Golden Greatshield x2
Crucible Hornshield x2
Dragonclaw Shield x3
Fingerprint Stone Shield x1
Erdtree Greatshield x6
Jellyfish Shield x2
One-Eyed Shield x1
Ant's Skull Plate x1
TALISMANS:
Crimson Seed Talisman x1
Blessed Dew Talisman x3
Cerulean Seed Talisman x1
Viridian Amber Medallion+2 x1
Great-Jar's Arsenal x1
Radagon's Scarseal x1
Radagon's Soreseal x1
Marika's Soreseal x1
Stargazer Heirloom x1
Two Fingers Heirloom x1
Dragoncrest Shield Talisman+2 x2
Dragoncrest Greatshield Talisman x1
Flamedrake Talisman+2 x1
Haligdrake's Talisman+2 x1
Peardrake Talisman+2 x1
Immunizing Horn Charm x1
Clarifying Horn Charm x1
Curved Sword Talisman x1
Twinblade Talisman x2
Axe Talisman x1
Hammer Talisman x1
Greatshield Talisman x1
Arrow's Sting Talisman x1
Faithful's Canvas Talisman x2
Moon of Nokstella x1
Old Lord's Talisman x1
Radagon Icon x1
Roar Medallion x2
Carian Filigreed Crest x1
Shard of Alexander x1
Godfrey Icon x2
Bull-Goat's Talisman x1
Blue Dancer Charm x2
Fire Scorpion Charm x1
Lightning Scorpion Charm x1
Sacred Scorpion Charm x5
Crucible Knot Talisman x1
Red-Feathered Branchsword x1
Blue-Feathered Branchsword x1
Assassin's Crimson Dagger x2
Rotten Winged Sword Insignia x1
Godskin Swaddling Cloth x1
Kindred of Rot's Exultation x1
Lord of Blood's Exultation x1
Taker's Cameo x1
Gold Scarab x1
Silver Scarab x1
Crepus's Vial x1
Concealing Veil x1
Longtail Cat Talisman x1
Furled Finger's Trick-Mirror x2
Host's Trick-Mirror x2

My third week working at Hal’s found me shoveling harpy shit. The filthy birds used their horrifically scarred, twisted, and just generally unattractive human heads to hurl insults at me as the sweat dripped down my face. Cleaning this particular cage was always rough, as the dirty hybrids took a great deal of joy in trying to add to the mess faster than I could clean it.
My poop-cart was half full of a variety of dung, having already cleaned out the unicorn, chupacabra, thunderbird, and yeti cages. I’m not sure exactly what bizarre combination of chemistry and magic was happening, but somehow the scent emanating from the cart reminded me of quality chicken parmesan.
“Hey cocksucker, liking that smell? Want a taste from the source?” screeched Blanche from high above me. The four disgusting creatures laughed raucously and started lobbing down additional work for me to enjoy.
Rose fluttered down to stare at me. “If you’re going to be doing butt stuff with us, you’re gonna need some lube.” And she spat directly at my face. I swung up my pitchfork to block, the spittle immediately sizzling through one of the tines and dripping to the straw-covered floor.
“Rose,” I said sternly, “If you ruin my equipment, I’m just going to head back to the thrift shop and you can spend the next week swimming in compost.”
Rose snorted at me and flapped her way back up the perches where her sisters sat chortling.
I slipped back on my headphones to drown out the screeching vitriol and continued with my chores. Internally I reminded myself that I was still in my “training” period, which, much like many of my previous jobs, mostly consisted of doing all the work that Butch didn’t want to do. Still though, I thought as I used the remaining part of the pitchfork to lift another load of rancid harpy shit, this was better than working at Denny's.
Despite the intrinsically unpleasant nature of the cleanup, I genuinely enjoyed spending time in the Menagerie. Ten-year-old me had been utterly obsessed with cryptids, so getting the opportunity to crawl into a large pen and cuddle with a couple dozen jackalopes was kind of a dream come true. Not to mention the weekly poker games with the centaurs. I had doubled my first paycheck when I realized they were incapable of understanding the concept of bluffing.
Half an hour later and I could finally walk across the harpy cage and actually feel the firmness of the floor beneath my feet. Exhaling explosively, I pulled the wheelbarrow out of the cage, locked the door behind me, and leaned tiredly against the bars. I allowed my eyes to wander around the store as I tried to will my muscles into relaxation.
Much like the thrift shop, the menagerie seemed to have been organized by an utter madman. Large beasts were housed next to tiny. Predators next to prey. Those capable of speech across from those who mostly just roared or screeched. The only exception was the largest animals (dragons, mammoths, the bipolar cyclops, etc) who were all held by the far west wall where the ceiling was highest.
A soft bell rang as a customer entered. I stabbed the pitchfork into the pile of waste, pulled off my headphones, and began walking towards the front to make myself available. Behind me, Dorothy made a comment on my backside that would have been flattering from anyone else and sent another bomb through the bars to splatter at my feet.
I was fully prepared to launch into a formal retail greeting, but my words caught in my throat as I saw who had entered. Dark hair, full lips, green-grey eyes that pierced through every defense I possessed, a low cut blouse that presented a couple very convincing reasons to break eye contact, this woman’s beauty was other-worldly. Actually, considering the nature of most of my clientele, other-worldly was probably more literal than literary.
She smiled at me and I forgot my standard greeting, my name, and how to breathe.
“Hey there, new guy,” she purred softly.
“King illegal forest to pig wild kill in it a is,” I responded wittily.
She blinked. “Well that one's new.”
“Excuse me for a moment.” I turned and walked over to the barrel full of coconut rum I had prepared to feed the rougarou and dunked my head in, taking in a few large mouthfuls. I reemerged, dripping, cold, and a little queasy from the taste.
“Let me try that again,” I said. Nothing like a full immersion in alcohol to help talk to a woman way out of your league. “Hi, welcome to Hal’s Low Cost Menagerie. My name’s Clear, how can I help you?”
The woman smiled broadly. “I must say, you handled that better than a lot of men.”
“A lot of things get easier once a guy embraces his own idiocy. What brings you in today, ingredients, food, or companionship?”
“I actually just needed to have a word with Butch. Is he around?”
“Butch should be covering the counter in the thrift shop. If you wanted to look around for a bit, I can run and grab him for you.”
“Maybe in a minute. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in this part of the shop.” She stepped forward and looped her arm with mine. “And since this is the section I walked into, I think the shop wants us to get acquainted.”
Goosebumps raised instantly on the part of her arm that touched mine, which immediately brought up a twinge of nervous suspicion. Butch had insisted that I reverse my monkey paw wish, quite understandably of the opinion that fear was absolutely necessary to keep oneself from doing something idiotically reckless in an environment like Hal's. We worked on the wording of the wish for a ridiculously long time to restore my fear, allow me to function while afraid without crapping my pants, and to avoid any comically ironic twists. It seemed to work out pretty well, although I had noticed that the more scared I became, the more I would impulsively make sardonic comments. Butch didn't seem to notice that part, since it fit my personality like a glove.
I led the distractingly beautiful woman through the dank maze of cages, allowing her to direct the duration spent admiring each of the animals. She had obviously been around the mythical block a few times, since she barely seemed impressed by some of the more commonplace residents like the chimeras and the jersey devils. She hurried past the harpy cages as the four of them immediately began to harmonize in a repetitive chant of “Whore.” But she did fall instantly in love with the three-headed quokkas. Brushing off my warnings (I had seen a few of the more mature ones let out small belches of fire), she released my arm and climbed directly into the pen with them, laying down and allowing them to curiously climb over her while she laughed delightedly.
“Oh I love these!” she exclaimed. “What are they?”
“They were just discovered a couple weeks ago. We decided to call them Chalamets.”
“Chalamets?”
“Yeah, because they’re cute, but also kind of off-putting.”
She laughed again as one of them began to shimmy its body down the front of her blouse. I sternly told myself that it was ridiculous to be jealous of a rodent. The woman rose gracefully back to her feet, the Chalamet still nestled comfortably between her breasts. Two of its heads were sticking out of the top of her shirt looking around gleefully. The third seemed to have fallen asleep against the swell of her cleavage. Lucky jerk.
“I guess I’ve been chosen,” she declared, climbing carefully out of the pen. “This little guy’s coming home with me.”
“The pets pick the owners,” I agreed. “We can get you checked out in the thrift shop if you still needed to talk to Butch, Ms….”
“Babs.”
I was incredibly confused for a moment because the voice that spoke her name was not the dulcet music she had used before, but rather masculine and gruff and gravelly. Also it seemed to be coming from behind me.
Butch was standing next to the kelpie stalls, his customary scowl had descended into a disgusted grimace. Babs gave him a smile that would have lit up a cemetery, but Butch didn’t soften so much as a werewolf’s hair.
“I thought we agreed that it would be best if you stayed away from the shop,” Butch said, his voice dangerous.
“I thought that was more of a suggestion,” Babs entreated. “I didn’t think you had actually trespassed me.”
“That suggestion was based off the assumption that you didn’t want to see me any more than I wanted to see you.”
“Butch, come on, don't be like that. It’s been, what, fifty years since the last time we saw each other? Think for a minute, would I stay away that long only to show up now if it wasn’t important?”
“Why do you have a Chalamet between your tits?”
Babs crossed her hands across her chest protectively. “Even someone like me needs an emotional support animal, Butch.”
“Get a harpy, then. You'd have more in common.”
“I knew it was you who got them to call me that!”
I started laughing uncontrollably. Butch and Babs paused their fighting to stare at me.
“Butch, you absolute rascal!” I chortled. “You never told me you used to be married!”
It’s not often that you get to witness an actual miracle, so I made sure to relish every second that I was able to see Butch blush. Babs suddenly became very occupied scratching a basilisk behind it’s ear. My shit-eating grin stayed on my face as I forced a big hug on Butch. “Man, she is way too hot for you! What, are you actually rich or something? Is this the part where I ask for a raise? Or hang on, was it a physical thing? Wait here, I'm gonna go get a ruler!”
Butch pulled away angrily. “Clear, is there any way I can convince you to just not be yourself right now?”
“Not a chance, DeMarco! You know I have a terminal case of not knowing when to shut up. So…” I sat down on the wheelbarrow full of dung and leaned back comfortably, my stomach growling at the smell, “How did you two meet? Also Babs, does that mean your single now?”
The look Butch gave me was disgusted. I returned it with an impish grin.
“You really have no concept of appropriate, do you, Clear?”
“We work in a second hand shop. This is kinda what we do.”
Butch sighed and Babs tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile.
“I think I like this one, Butch,” she told him.
“Yeah, you would. Maybe you should just tell me why you’re here,” Butch said to her. “I’m not sure if I have the energy to play around today.”
“Well that sounds familiar.”
“Babs, come on!”
Babs’ grin flickered and fell. “Butch, Hal’s been hiding out at my place for the last few months. He went missing yesterday.”
Butch’s face didn’t change, but he did fall silent. Babs seemed to be silently pleading with him to hear her out, and he was obviously considering it. Finally he glanced over at me.
“Clear, I think we need a couple minutes. The BEKs just got in with a new shipment, will you go sign them in and restock please?”
There were times to joke and there were times to just leave people to their conversation. I had a hard time telling the difference sometimes, or most of the time, but I had learned that when Butch asked politely, it was probably for the best to just follow his lead. I nodded silently and made my way to the elevator at the back of the menagerie.
In the elevator, I took a moment to consider the whole conversation I had just witnessed. Hal had been staying with Butch’s ex-wife? That actually made a lot of sense. I knew Hal and Butch had been pretty famously tight, so the last place anyone would have expected Hal to go would be Butch’s ex-wife.
And what did that mean for Babs? Butch was one of the most formidable people I knew, but even he had spoken of Hal with a bit of awe. If Hal went to Babs for protection, god only knows what she must be capable of. Honestly, it probably meant she was exactly my type, i.e. a really bad idea. No, I wasn't really going to try to hook up with her, tempting though it may be. But she did strike me as someone who would play along with my attempts to get a rise out of Butch.
I shook myself out of my thoughts and pressed the TC button on the panel. I felt the slowly-becoming familiar lurch in my stomach. My hand instinctively reached out to brace myself against the wall as the tiny room began racing off to the left. That surprised the hell out of me the first time I'd ridden this thing. I had tried to figure out how any of it was possible at first, but pretty quickly decided I liked not having a migraine more.
The elevator entered it's cruising speed, so I placed my hand on the other wall to prepare for the equally jarring deceleration. While I waited, my eyes scanned down the button panel again. There were six of them. Well, nine if you count the door-open/door-close/we're-all-gonna-die buttons. Besides the TC where I was going and the M from where I’d just been, there were also buttons for FD - our fine dining restaurant, LH - our love hotel, and one actually managed to fit in BOSEC - the blood orgy suite and event center. The final button was at the bottom, and it just said D. Butch hadn’t told me what that one went to, just to never go down there unless Satan himself was on my tail. I had decided that it was prudent to take him at his word on that one.
I felt my weight shift shift towards my bracing hand. I tried not to think about how far I had traveled in the last three minutes. I hadn’t stepped outside from the Menagerie exit yet, but I knew the restaurant opened just outside Brussels, and that trip only took about a minute thirty. The elevator ground to a halt, and the doors opened to the thrift store. No customers, fortunately. Butch had assured me that stealing from the place was impossible, but even in the supernatural realms, customers became pissy when they had to wait.
The BEKs were not customers, though, so they just had to put up with waiting. Four of them stood next to the front counter, three boys and one girl. A pallet with several layers of boxes was floating about six inches off the ground next to them. As usual, their faces were identical and expressionless. Their blond hair was cut in the same early Beatles bowl cut. Their eyes were the same deep black voids.
“About time, asshole,” the tallest of them grumbled. It always amused me that despite their appearance, they always sounded like middle-aged teamsters.
“Deepest apologies, my Tallest,” I intoned mournfully while dipping into a florid bow. Standing back up I slipped back into my normal speech. “Seriously, though, I'm really not. I was watching Butch meet up with the ex he hasn't seen in fifty years. Believe me, totally worth it.”
The tallest snorted. “Babs is back, huh? That poor guy. She's had centuries of experience manipulating men like him.”
“Hey, I'm still new here. This was the first I'd heard of her. You guys want to fill me in on some backstory?”
The girl shook her head. “Not our business, kid. We deal in inventory, not gossip. Union rules.”
“Nothing wrong with a little idle conversation, munchkin!”
“Call me that again and you’ll lose a finger.”
“I believe you, short stuff. Come on, I just want to know how large the pile of shit I’m standing in is.”
Another of the boys blew out a breath. “Look, we really don’t pay much attention. She was here a lot, and then she wasn’t. I know she worked for METH, so she spent most of her time down in the restaurant.”
I blinked in surprise. “Didn’t see that coming. Whatever, I’m pretty sure most of us have a past we’re not so proud of. And working in the restaurant would make sense if she was on meth.”
The tallest spoke again, “Quit thinking like an idiot, Clear. M-E-T-H, Monsters for the Ethical Treatment of Humans. Babs used to make sure the people they served down in the restaurant were treated humanely and that they didn’t suffer unnecessarily during the slaughtering process.”
“Oh! Nice, she struck me as the humanitarian sort. Any idea why they split?”
“Butch’s old assistant kept on jokingly flirting with her, so Butch killed him.”
“Oh fuck, really?”
“No, not really. Now will you please sign the damn paperwork so we can get back to work?”
I grabbed the outstretched clipboard, signed my name at the bottom, and handed it back. The tallest tore off the receipt copy and handed it back to me. The four of them walked in lockstep out of the door as I turned to begin the unloading process. Curious as I was about what Butch and Babs were talking about, I had to admit that this was my favorite part of the job. The paperwork identified this as estate sale procurements, which meant a fifty-fifty chance of it being junk or awesome. The BEKs were good at picking out items of significance, but a well-loved children's toy or a serial killer’s trophy collection had a tendency to set off that same bell in their heads.
I was met with disappointment for the first eight boxes. Well, mostly. I did find myself spending an inordinate amount of time studying a fascinating painting of what appeared to be a Soviet-era army marching across an ocean with the silhouette of the Golden Gate Bridge barely visible in the background. A pod of fish painted with the Soviet flag swam about the advancing army's feet. I decided to hang it behind the cash register so I could study it more in depth later. There was definitely something to it since it took every ounce of concentration to pull my eyes off of it.
I struck gold on the ninth box where I found a translated copy of the Voynich Manuscript, an unabridged version of the Egyptian Book of the Dead, twelve missing books of Homer - one of which was titled “That time Achilles and Odysseus totally boned,” a strange red hat that smelled like sulfur-flavored ambergris and looked like it was perpetually coated with sand, and a small bow complete with arrow-filled quiver that all appeared to be plated in gold. Pulling out one of the arrows, I noticed that they seemed to be quite intentionally phallic. I quickly double checked everything in the box off the inventory list the BEKs gave me and set it aside for Butch set prices.
I found a few other decent items scattered through the rest of the boxes, but I handled them myself due to us having very similar items already in stock. Mass produced grimoires, a few tarot decks, a couple haunted toys, a number of enchanted pieces of clothing, things like that.
At the bottom of the final box, since that’s how these things always go for some reason, I found trouble. The moment I picked up the forest green book with “Hi, Clear!” written in Comic Sans on the front cover, I knew there was no way anything good could come of it. But, of course, I immediately said “Hi, book! Nice to meet you!” and opened it.
The first line of the first page simply read “Ha, you fucking idiot!” and it began to glow red hot in my hands. I dropped it, since I had completely ignored the MOSHA requirements of protective equipment when handling untested magical artifacts. On the floor, the book flipped it’s pages towards the center and began to emit a bubble of green light.
“Oh goddamn it!” I yelled, and quickly ran behind the register to grab the canister of pure salt we kept under the counter for situations like this. I managed to get a circle drawn around the book just before the bubble burst and a giant, hideous, praying mantis-looking thing flew directly at me. It hit the barrier with a dull thud, looked down at the circle of salt, and hissed audibly. I let out an audible breath as my heart pounded away in my chest. It twisted it’s arms and waved them in front of its face, immediately transforming into a woman with short red hair and piercing eyes. The wings stayed in place, though, flapping softly to keep her aloft and looking down in contempt at me.
“Release me,” she whispered fiercely at me.
I stared back at her, wanting to think she was cute but unable to get her insect form far enough out of my head to consider it. “I know there is much we can learn from each other if we can negotiate a truce. We can find a way to coexist. Can there be a peace between us?”
“Peace? No peace. Release me, now!”
“Man, Butch said you guys didn’t have a sense of humor, but you just rolled with that one straight away!”
“Rolled with what, human? I said release me this instant!”
“Wait, you mean those scriptwriters actually came up with realistic dialogue for that scene? Huh, who woulda thunk it.”
She threw up her hands. “Why must I always be caught by humans who make no sense?”
“I think that might say more about you than me, sweetie.”
The yellow door at the far end of the shop burst open and a tall, lanky fellow covered in red-brown fur casually strolled in.
“Jack!” I yelled enthusiastically. So far as I knew, nobody had laid eyes on him since he disappeared through that door on my first day.
Jack sauntered over to me and gave me a fist bump before clapping me on the shoulder with camaraderie. He glanced up at the fairie briefly, who bared a mouthful of razor-sharp teeth at him. He flipped her off in return.
“Where you been? Butch told me you’d be okay, but I was started to get a little worried.”
Jack reached into a pocket of fur and withdrew a small business card to hand over. In a small typeset, it simply said The Backrooms. I flipped it over to see a small description of “The itsy-bitsy-teeny-weeny-multiversal-inbetweeny.”
“Yep. That definitely clears it all up.”
He grinned at me.
“Well let me buy you a drink down in the restaurant before you head out tonight. I definitely owe you one.”
He nodded at me. Then he shot a questioning glance up at the fairie trapped in her circle of salt.
“I have no idea. Butch told me how to trap her, but not what to do with her after. Any thoughts?”
Jack shrugged and fired a finger gun at her.
“That's a thought. It's iron rounds for fairies, right?”
Since I had absolutely no idea where Butch kept the iron bullets, it was probably for the best that he chose that moment to come through the elevator door.
“What’s all this then?” He asked, taking in the scene with a bewildered look.
“JACK!” yelled Babs from behind Butch with delight. She ran towards him and launched herself into his surprised embrace, burying her face into his fur. The Chalamet squeezed out from between them and scrambled up to the top of Jack's head, chittering in annoyance. Ever so slowly, I watched as Jack and Babs began to lose balance and tip backwards. It probably would have resulted in everyone sharing a good-natured laugh at their expense if they didn’t fall directly onto the salt line.
The faerie wasted no time flipping straight back into her praying mantis form and flying straight at me. I managed to duck underneath of her just before impact, but her back talons managed to swipe against my raised forearm, drawing a thin line of blood. She quickly made for the front door, but a quick shout of “Hey Siri! Set Fae protection wards!” from Butch blocked her exit with a cross cross of bright purple lines. She spun on us furiously, her face darting around the shop for another way out. Babs and Jack were pulling themselves back to their feet, but Butch was already in action, running through an aisle with his hands deftly swiping items off the shelves.
“Clear, get the salt ready!” Butch shouted at me.
Sensing that he was probably the largest threat in the room, the faerie went for Butch next. He slid to a stop at the end of the aisle and stood his ground. When she got close enough to him for Babs to let out a yell of concern, Butch reached into his pocket and threw a cloud of powder into her face. They must have been iron fillings or something, because she immediately shrieked and started trying to claw it out of her eyes. Butch moved in closer, an iron bar in his hand ready to finish her off, but one of her flailing wings caught him in the head and sent him sprawling.
She shook her insectile face and her reddened eyes fell on me standing in front of the cash register holding the bag of salt. Jack and Babs came at her from either side, but a powerful flap of her wings sent them flying. I stared dumbly at her as she began to race straight at me, her face filled with rage. I looked around helplessly for anything within reach that might help me in this fight. The Chekhov Gun was too far away, nothing nearby was made with iron, really the only thing within reach that might work was…
I grabbed the painting of the Soviet army walking on water and held it up between me and the charging fae.
The impact never came. I lowered the painting just enough for me to look over the top and saw her examining the painting while tapping her chin thoughtfully with her long, thin tarsi.
“Interesting,” she said. “Is this intended as a cold war propaganda piece? If so, which side is it for? A warning for the West or an aspiration for the East?”
“I’m not sure,” I replied, calmly walking around the counter and pretending to contemplate the painting while surreptitiously beginning to reform the salt circle around her. “I thought at first that it was just a depiction of some kind of Orwellian future, but now I’m starting to wonder if it’s something way more insidious.”
“This might actually be an original Alexander Samokhvalov,” she said, fascinated.
“I don’t actually know, we just got it in. I haven’t had a chance to get it officially appraised yet. If you’re interested, though, we might be able to make a deal.” I stepped back and sprinkled the last bit of salt in the bag onto the completed circle. With a quick motion, I reached over and pulled the painting away, breaking her line of sight.
Dismay filled her eyes as she looked down to realize she was trapped again. “Fuck me,” she groaned.
“Sorry,” I said. “Really not interested when you’re still in that skin. If you want to switch back to the redhead, though, we could talk about it.”
The faerie shot me a dirty look, but shifted back to her human form anyway. “If that is the cost of my freedom, I’ll do what I must do.”
“Ew. No. I was kidding. Sorry, I have a lot of perversions, but formicophilia is not on the list.”
“How do you know what it is called then?
“I really don't have a good answer to that. I Google random things when I'm bored.”
“Then name your desire, human, and allow me to return to my realm.”
Butch, Babs, and Jack had joined me around the circle at this point, and the two former lovers were exchanging a pointed look. “Weirdly enough, kid, your fuckup might have some unexpected benefits here. Babs and I were just coming to talk to you about it, actually. We need to track down Hal. This shop is in some serious trouble if the hellspawn manage to get ahold of him. He was safe over with Babs, but now that he’s vanished again, we really need to do something about this.”
He looked over at the trapped faerie. “How about that, can you bring Hal to us?”
“You did not trap me, shopkeeper. My deal is not with you.”
Butch looked at me. “All you kid. Think you're ready to go solo?”
I smiled at him. “I was born ready.” It was pretty satisfying that I even got Jack to let out an exasperated groan with that one. “Alright babe, what do you think, can you bring Hal back to us?”
The faerie’s eyes went distant. “No. He has been shielded against interference by faerie magic. I don’t know how, but I cannot touch him.”
“Well shit. How about information, can you tell us anything about him?”
She nodded. “Three questions, three true answers, and you will give me my freedom?”
“Fine, but no bullshit answers, okay? No ‘technically true, but only because homonyms exist,’ answers, and nothing so cryptic that it only makes sense after we're done, you got me? Also, once you give us the answers and I break the circle, you can’t hurt any of us for trapping you.”
“Agreed. I will speak only the full truth, and we shall all depart unharmed.”
“Alright. Where is Hal, what is the quickest way for us to get to him, and what will we need to do in order to successfully find him and bring him back?”
She closed her eyes briefly, as if scanning her hard drive. “He is currently hiding in Purgatory. The blue door at the back of the shop will bring you to the realm, but then you take the subway to Terrace 5 and catch the bus to the historical district. Once there, you must have with you a servant of Heaven, a denizen of Hell, and a man perpetually trapped in the mortal realm. Between the four of you, you will be able to track down a social media influencer who goes by the name of Razzamatazz, who will guide you to Hal. I cannot tell whether you will succeed in convincing him to return, the uncertainty that surrounds him is too deep to see clearly, but all other paths lead to certain failure. Bear in mind, these instructions are intended for you alone, if these others decide to leave you behind, these answers may no longer be truthful.”
“Alright, that’ll have to do. Thank you, gorgeous,” and I broke the salt circle with my foot.
The fairy immediately vanished with a crack of lightning. The four of us looked at each other for a moment.
“That was uncharacteristically straightforward for you, Clear,” Butch said, sounding slightly impressed.
“Eh, that whole ‘screwing up the three questions’ trope has been done to death. I didn’t think there was anything more I could add to it, so what’s the point?”
“Well, strangely enough, we have most of our group already here,” Babs commented. “All we need is a servant of heaven.”
“Wait, really?” I said, surprised. “Is Jack from Hell?”
“No, I am,” Babs replied. “My place is located in one of Hell’s suburbs.”
“And the man trapped in the mortal realm?”
Butch held to his hand. “Right here. I will be answering no follow up questions.” He looked over at Jack, “Hey buddy, glad you made it back okay. Any chance you’d be willing to keep an eye on the shop for a few days while we go drag the owner back?”
Jack raised his hand and rubbed his thumb and forefinger together.
“Of course. I’ll give you double what I’m paying Clear.”
“Wait, what the fuck?” I yelped.
“Shut up, Clear, you’re still in training. Is that cool, Jack?”
Jack gave him a thumbs up.
“Great. So all we need to do now is track down a servant of heaven and we can get started.”
Right on cue, the front door opened and a fat, middle aged guy walked in, naked except for a drooping sash. He had a toothpick sticking out from his teeth and a tiny pair of soft white wings sticking out from his shoulderblades.. “Hey dudes,” he said with a lecherous smile on his face. “I just talked to a bunch of creepy kids who said you all might have my bow?”
A wide grin spread across my face. “I think we might have what you're looking for, but technically speaking it's our bow now.”
His face began to turn angry, but I held up a calming hand. “Let's not get off on the wrong foot, here, I'm sure we can make a deal. I'm Clear, by the way, it's good to meet you.”
He accepted my outstretched hand. “You too, I suppose. I'm Exmac.”
My grin grew three sizes that day. “Of course you are. Hey, anyone else hungry? I'm fucking starving. Let's hit the restaurant before we get started.”

This is all from an article I wrote here https://benthams.substack.com/p/the-anthropic-argument-for-theism
For by Him all things were created, both in the heavens and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities—all things have been created through Him and for Him.
—Colossians 1:16
Descartes, in his quest to disprove scepticism, endeavored to first prove that he himself existed, then that God existed, then that others existed (he made sure to do his proof in order of importance). This argument is similar—it starts with the assumption that I exist, then goes on to show that infinite other people exist, then goes on to show that God exists. I’ve already discussed this argument with Joe Schmid and have briefly described it in a previous article, but seeing that it’s the argument that moves me most in favor of theism, I thought it would be worth discussing in more detail. I’m also writing a paper on this argument with my friend Amos Wollen, which makes it especially worth discussing.
The argument is fairly simple. I exist. If there were a God, my existence would be very likely, but if there were no God, I almost certainly wouldn’t exist. So the fact that I exist is very strong evidence for God.
Why think that my existence is very likely if there’s a God? Simple: God would create all possible people. It’s good to create a person and give them a good life. There’s nothing stopping God from creating any person, so he’d make them all. God would make anything that’s worth making, and every person is worth making, so God would make every person.
I don’t claim to be totally certain of this. Maybe God can’t make all people for some reason. Maybe I’m wrong about population ethics and the anti-natalists are right (that’s very unlikely though). Or maybe, as some have supposed, God is permitted to just create some of the people, because he can satisfice. But none of these things are obvious. So at the very least, my existence conditional on theism is pretty probable—say 50%. I think it’s much higher, but this is a reasonable estimate.
In contrast, what are the odds of my existence conditional on atheism? Roughly zero. There are at least Beth 2 possible people. Beth 2 is a very large infinite—it’s much more than the number of natural numbers or real numbers (it’s the size of the powerset of the reals). Wikipedia helpfully explains that it’s the size of “The Stone–Čech compactifications of R, Q, and N,” which really helps you get a sense of the size :).
So on atheism, it’s really hard to see how Beth 2 people could possibly exist. But if fewer than Beth 2 people exist, then 0% of possible people exist, which would make the odds of my existence in particular zero. I’m not special—if 0% of possible people exist, it’s ridiculously unlikely I’d be one of the lucky few that exist.
The problem is, I think, even worse. There aren’t just Beth 2 people—there is no set of all people—there are too many to be a set. I think there are two ways to see this:
There is no set of all truths. But it seems like the truths and the minds can be put into 1 to 1 correspondence. For every truth, there is a different possible mind that thinks of that truth. So therefore, there must not be a set of all possible people.
Suppose there were a set of all minds of cardinality N. It’s a principle of mathematics that for any infinity of any cardinality, the number of subsets of that set will be a higher cardinality of infinity. Subsets are the number of smaller sets that can be made from a set, so for example the set 1, 2 has 4 subsets, because you can have a set with nothing, a set with just 1, a set with just 2, or a set with 1 and 2. If there were a set of all minds, it seems that there could be another disembodied mind to think about each of the minds that exists in the set. So then the number of those other minds thinking about the minds containing the set would be the powerset (that’s the term for the number of subsets) of the set of all minds, which would mean there are more minds than there are. Thus, a contradiction ensues when one assumes that there’s a set of all minds!
If this is true then it’s a nightmare for the atheist. How could, in a Godless universe, there be a number of people created too large for any set? What fundamental laws could produce that? If it can’t be reached by anything finite or any amount of powersetting, then the laws would have to build in, at the fundamental level, the existence of a number of things too large to be a set. How could laws like that work?
I only know of one way and that’s to accept David Lewis’s modal realism, according to which all possible worlds are concretely real. On this view, Sherlock Holmes exists just as concretely as you or I—he’s just not spatiotemporally connected to us. This view is, however, very improbable for a bunch of reasons including that it undermines induction and gives no reason to think reality is simple. Also, the standard reasons for supposing it’s true are bunk, for there’s no way we could come to know about the possible worlds in our modal talk.
There are a few technical objection to the theory that Amos and I address in the paper which I won’t address here because this is a popular article and none of you are reviewers of papers, and as such you won’t raise complaints like “you didn’t address this niche objection given by a random person in 1994 to a different argument that’s sort of like yours and as such you didn’t successfully engage the literature and consequently your familial line will be cursed for ten generations.” But there’s one big objection to the argument which proceeds by noting that it assumes a controversial theory of anthropics.
Anthropics is the study of how to reason about one’s own existence. The doomsday argument and the sleeping beauty problem are part of the broad subject matter of anthropics. Some people have this view of anthropics called SSA (the self-sampling assumption), where you’re supposed to reason as if you’re randomly selected from the set of observers like you. Thus, you should think that there aren’t lots of people like you not on Earth, because it’s unlikely that you’d be on Earth. On SSA, you should think the world has few people like you, rather than many.
I am not at all moved by this objection for three reasons (strap in, this will get a bit technical). The first one is that SSA is very clearly false. Notice how the argument so far has proceeded by observing that I exist and then asking for the best explanation of that. This is how probabilistic reasoning is supposed to work. You look at some data and use Bayes theorem. But SSA doesn’t do that—it asks you to randomly pretend, for no reason other than that it makes sense of anthropic intuitions, that you’re like a jar being randomly drawn from your reference class. Thus, SSA is a bizarre deviation from how probabilistic reasoning is supposed to work. Furthermore it—and all other alternatives to SIA—imply utterly bizarre results, including that one can guarantee a perfect poker hand by making a bunch of copies of them unless they get a perfect poker hand, that are enough to totally sink the view.
Second, suppose you’re not sure if SIA is right (SIA is the view that this argument relies on that says that from your existence you have a reason to think there are many people). If SIA is right and theism is true, it’s likely that I’d exist, for the reasons described. If SIA is right and atheism is true then it’s unlikely that I’d exist. If SSA and theism are true, the odds of my existence aren’t that low but are sort of low (I’ll describe that more later). But if SSA and atheism are true, my existence is ridiculously unlikely, because the universe has to be finely tuned to make my reference class small. If the universe is infinite in size, then my reference class is infinite, and the odds of my existence here are zero. The same is true of every universe that isn’t in a small goldilocks zone—just big enough to have life, just small enough to have a small reference class. Thus, given that you exist, probably theism is true, given that on every view of anthropics, your existence is very unlikely on atheism.
Third, while I think it’s pretty obvious that on theism God would make every possible person, it’s not totally obvious. Lots of theists disagree. So let’s say that SSA is true and there’s a 1% chance God would make only humans. Well, given how low the odds of my existence are conditional on atheism and SSA, this is still very strong evidence for theism.
I think this argument is probably the best argument for God, just narrowly beating out the argument from psychophysical harmony. Now, maybe if you’re unsure about anthropics this should move you less than it moves me. But I’m very very confident that SIA is right. And I think, for the reasons described, even if you’re not sure about SIA being right, or even if you think SIA is wrong, the argument is still ridiculously strong evidence for theism. I literally cannot think of a single way that atheism could accommodate the existence of a number of people too large to be part of any set.

Happy to help the Elden Ring community.
If you want the last quantity of an item, then you have to replace it with something else of equal rarity or especially if it is not on the list already.
Remember you cannot pick up an upgraded weapon if your character has not yet upgraded another weapon to the same level or higher.
Crafting materials and products are available, just ask.
Please be generous and pay it forward so the community thrives. Thank you.
Currently need runes and all armor sets. o7
RUNE INVENTORY:
Hero's Rune [3] x99
Hero's Rune [5] x99
Golden Rune [11] x2
Golden Rune [12] x53
MELEE WEAPONS:
Dagger x 6
Dagger+13 x1
Misericorde x2
Great Knife x1
Erdsteel Dagger x1
Cold Wakizashi+25 x1
Scropion's Stinger x1
Glintstone Kris x1
Reduvia x1
Blade of Calling x1
Black Knife+3
Short Sword x2
Longsword x1
Weather Straight Sword x1
Lordsworn's Straight Sword x4
Noble's Keen Slender Sword+24 x1
Warhawk's Talon x1
Carian Knight's Sword x1
Crystal Sword x2
Rotten Crystal Sword x2
Miquellan Knight's Sword x1
Golden Epitaph x1
Sword of St. Trina+9 x2
Coded Sword+9 x1
Sword of Night and Flame+4 x1
Sword of Night and Flame+10 x2
Claymore x1
Lordsworn's Greatsword x2
Knight's Greatsword x1
Knight's Greatsword+25 x1
Banished Knight's Greatsword x4
Forked Greatsword x2
Gargoyle's Greatsword x2
Gargoyle's Blackblade x2
Marais Executioner's Sword x1
Alabaster Lord's Sword x1
Death Poker x2
Helphen's Steeple x2
Blasphemous Blade+9 x1
Golden Order Greatsword x1
Dark Moon Greatsword x1
Dark Moon Greatsword+9 x1
Sacred Relic Sword x1
Sacred Relic Sword+9 x1
Greatsword x1
Blood Greatsword+25 x1
Troll's Golden Sword x1
Troll Knight's Sword x2
Royal Greatsword x2
Grafted Blade Greatsword x3
Ruins greatsword x4
Starscourge Greatsword x4
Godslayer's Greatsword x2
Maliketh's Black Blade x3
Rapier x1
Estoc x3
Noble's Estoc x1
Cleanrot Knight's Sword x3
Rogier's Rapier x1
Rogier's Blood Rapier+8 x1
Antspur Rapier x2
Godskin Sticherx2
Godskin Sticher+18 x1
Godskin Sticher+25 x2
Bloody Helice x2
Dragon King's Cragblade x1
Scimitar x2
Falchion x2
Shamshir x2
Shotel x1
Shotel+25 x4
Scavenger's Occult Curved Sword+18 x2
Flowing Curved Sword x1
Nox Flowing Sword+10 x2
Eclipse Shotel x4
Omen Cleaver x2
Bloodhound's Fang x3
Onyx Lord's Greatsword x1
Zamor Curved Sword x1
Magma Wyrm's Scalesword x1
Morgott's Cursed Sword+10 x2
Occult Uchigatana+25 x2
Nagakiba x2
Serpent Bone Blade x1
Meteoric Ore Balde x3
Moonveil x1
Moonveil+8 x1
Rivers of Blood x2
Rivers of Blood+10 x5
Dragonscale Blade+9 x1
Hand of Melenia x1
Hand of Melenia+9 x1
Hand of Melenia+10 x2
Twinned Knight Swords x1
Cold Twinned Knight Swords+25 x1
Keen Godskin Peeler+24 x1
Gargoyle's Twinblade x3
Gargoyle's Black Blades x7
Eleonora's Pole Blade+4 x1
Eleonora's Pole Blade+9 x1
Forked Hatchet x1
Iron Cleaver x1
Ripple Blade x2
Stormhawk Axe x8
Rosus' Axe x1
Greataxe x1
Crescent Moon Axe x2
Great Omenkiller Cleaver x3
Rusted Anchor x2
Sacred Butchering Knife x1
Gargoyle's Greataxe x3
Gargoyle's Black Axe x4
Axe of Godrick x1
Club x1
Warpick x2
Hammer x1
Varre's Bouquet x1
Envoy's Horn x4
Sceptor of the All-Knowing x6
Marika's Hammer x3
Flail x3
Flail+24 x1
Nightrider Flail x3
Family Heads x1
Pickaxe x1
Rotten Battle Hammer x2
Great Stars x1
Cranial Vessel Candlestand x1
Devourer's Sceptor x2
Prelate's Inferno Crozier x2
Great Club x1
Troll's Hammer x1
Dragon Greatclaw x6
Staff of the Avatar x1
Rotten Staff x2
Ghiza's Wheel x2
Fallingstar Beast Jaw x2
Axe of Godfrey x2
Partisan x1
Clayman's Harpoon x1
Inquisitor's Girandole x1
Rotten Crystal Spear x2
Death Ritual Spear x1
Mohgwyn's Sacred Spear x1
Bolt of Gransax x1
Bolt of Gransax+9 x1
Treespear x1
Siluria's Tree x1
Vyke's War Spear x1
Vyke's War Spear+9 x1
Halbred x3
Banished Knight's Halbred+8 x1
Vulgar Militia Shotel x3
Vulgar Militia Saw x3
Guardian's Swordspear x2
Gargoyle's Halbred x2
Gargoyle's Black Halbred x4
Nightrider Glaive x2
Blood Nightrider Glaive+25 x2
Pest's Glaive x4
Golden Halbred x7
Loretta's War Sickle x2
Commander's Standard x3
Grave Scythe+25 x3
Winged Scythe x1
Whip x1
Thorned Whip+25 x1
Blood Urumi+25 x1
Magma Whip Candlestick x1
Gaint's Red Braid x1
Casetus x1
Iron Ball x3
Clinging Bone x1
Veteran's Prosthesis x4
Cipher Pata x1
Grafted Dragon x1
Hookclaws x2
Bloodhound Claws+20 x1
Raptor Talons x1
RANGED WEAPONS:
Red Branch Shortbow x5
Misbegotten Shortbow x2
Black Bow x1
Pulley Bow x1
Horn Bow x1
Greatbow x4
Golem Greatbow x1
Light Crossbow x1
Heavy Crossbow x3
Crepus's Black-Key Crossbow x2
Pulley Crossbow x1
Hand Ballista x1
Hand Ballista+24 x1
Jar Cannon x1
Astrologer's Staff x2
Glintstone Staff x1
Academy Glintstone Staff x5
Digger's Staff x2
Demi-Human Queen's Staff x1
Lusat's Glintstone Staff x1
Carian Glintstone Staff x2
Carian Regal Staff x1
Carian Regal Staff+9 x1
Albinauric Staff x1
Crystal Staff x1
Rotten Crystal Staff x1
Finger Seal x1
Golden Order Seal x1
Gravel Stone Seal+25 x1
Godslayer's Seal x1
Clawmark Seal x2
Dragon Communion Seal+9 x1
Dragon Communion Seal+10 x1
TORCHES AND SHIELDS:
Beast-Repellent Torch x1
Steel-Wire Torch x1
Sentry's Torch x1
Ghostflame Torch x1
St. Trina's Torch x1
Coil Shield x1
Candletree Wooden Shield x1
Heater Shield x1
Red Crest Heater Shield x1
Scorpion Kite Shield x1
Twinbird Kite Shield x1
Banished Knight's Shield x3
Carian Knight's Shield x4
Silver Mirrorshield x1
Great Turtle Shell x1
Wooden Greatshield x1
Briar Greatshield x1
Spiked Palisade Shield x1
Icon Shield x1
Golden Beast Crest Shield x3
Crossed-Tree Towershield x1
Distinguished Greatshield x1
Gilded Greatshield x1
Cuckoo Greatshield x1
Golden Greatshield x2
Crucible Hornshield x2
Dragonclaw Shield x3
Fingerprint Stone Shield x1
Erdtree Greatshield x6
Jellyfish Shield x2
One-Eyed Shield x1
Ant's Skull Plate x1
TALISMANS:
Crimson Amber Medallion+1 x1
Crimson Seed Talisman x1
Blessed Dew Talisman x3
Cerulean Seed Talisman x1
Viridian Amber Medallion+1 x1
Viridian Amber Medallion+2 x1
Great-Jar's Arsenal x1
Radagon's Scarseal x1
Radagon's Soreseal x1
Marika's Soreseal x1
Stargazer Heirloom x1
Two Fingers Heirloom x1
Dragoncrest Shield Talisman+2 x2
Dragoncrest Greatshield Talisman x1
Flamedrake Talisman+2 x1
Boltdrake Talisman+1 x1
Haligdrake's Talisman x1
Haligdrake's Talisman+2 x1
Peardrake Talisman+2 x1
Immunizing Horn Charm x1
Clarifying Horn Charm x1
Curved Sword Talisman x1
Twinblade Talisman x2
Axe Talisman x1
Hammer Talisman x1
Greatshield Talisman x1
Arrow's Sting Talisman x1
Faithful's Canvas Talisman x2
Moon of Nokstella x1
Old Lord's Talisman x1
Radagon Icon x1
Roar Medallion x2
Carian Filigreed Crest x1
Shard of Alexander x1
Godfrey Icon x2
Bull-Goat's Talisman x1
Blue Dancer Charm x2
Fire Scorpion Charm x1
Lightning Scorpion Charm x1
Sacred Scorpion Charm x5
Crucible Knot Talisman x1
Red-Feathered Branchsword x1
Blue-Feathered Branchsword x1
Assassin's Crimson Dagger x2
Rotten Winged Sword Insignia x1
Godskin Swaddling Cloth x1
Kindred of Rot's Exultation x1
Lord of Blood's Exultation x1
Taker's Cameo x1
Gold Scarab x1
Silver Scarab x1
Crepus's Vial x1
Concealing Veil x1
Longtail Cat Talisman x1
Furled Finger's Trick-Mirror x2
Host's Trick-Mirror x2

Happy to help the Elden Ring community.
If you want the last quantity of an item, then you have to replace it with something else of equal rarity or especially if it is not on the list already.
Remember you cannot pick up an upgraded weapon if your character has not yet upgraded another weapon to the same level or higher.
Crafting materials and products are available, just ask.
Please be generous and pay it forward so the community thrives. Thank you.
Currently need runes and all armor sets. o7
RUNE INVENTORY:
Hero's Rune [3] x99
Hero's Rune [5] x99
Golden Rune [11] x2
Golden Rune [12] x53
MELEE WEAPONS:
Dagger x 6
Dagger+13 x1
Misericorde x2
Great Knife x1
Erdsteel Dagger x1
Cold Wakizashi+25 x1
Scropion's Stinger x1
Glintstone Kris x1
Reduvia x1
Blade of Calling x1
Black Knife+3
Short Sword x2
Longsword x1
Weather Straight Sword x1
Lordsworn's Straight Sword x4
Noble's Keen Slender Sword+24 x1
Warhawk's Talon x1
Carian Knight's Sword x1
Crystal Sword x2
Rotten Crystal Sword x2
Miquellan Knight's Sword x1
Golden Epitaph x1
Sword of St. Trina+9 x2
Coded Sword+9 x1
Sword of Night and Flame+4 x1
Sword of Night and Flame+10 x2
Claymore x1
Lordsworn's Greatsword x2
Knight's Greatsword x1
Knight's Greatsword+25 x1
Banished Knight's Greatsword x4
Forked Greatsword x2
Gargoyle's Greatsword x2
Gargoyle's Blackblade x2
Marais Executioner's Sword x1
Alabaster Lord's Sword x1
Death Poker x2
Helphen's Steeple x2
Blasphemous Blade+9 x1
Golden Order Greatsword x1
Dark Moon Greatsword x1
Dark Moon Greatsword+9 x1
Sacred Relic Sword x1
Sacred Relic Sword+9 x1
Greatsword x1
Blood Greatsword+25 x1
Troll's Golden Sword x1
Troll Knight's Sword x2
Royal Greatsword x2
Grafted Blade Greatsword x3
Ruins greatsword x4
Starscourge Greatsword x4
Godslayer's Greatsword x2
Maliketh's Black Blade x3
Rapier x1
Estoc x3
Noble's Estoc x1
Cleanrot Knight's Sword x3
Rogier's Rapier x1
Rogier's Blood Rapier+8 x1
Antspur Rapier x2
Godskin Sticherx2
Godskin Sticher+18 x1
Godskin Sticher+25 x2
Bloody Helice x2
Dragon King's Cragblade x1
Scimitar x2
Falchion x2
Shamshir x2
Shotel x1
Shotel+25 x4
Scavenger's Occult Curved Sword+18 x2
Flowing Curved Sword x1
Nox Flowing Sword+10 x2
Eclipse Shotel x4
Omen Cleaver x2
Bloodhound's Fang x3
Onyx Lord's Greatsword x1
Zamor Curved Sword x1
Magma Wyrm's Scalesword x1
Morgott's Cursed Sword+10 x2
Occult Uchigatana+25 x2
Nagakiba x2
Serpent Bone Blade x1
Meteoric Ore Balde x3
Moonveil x1
Moonveil+8 x1
Rivers of Blood x2
Rivers of Blood+10 x5
Dragonscale Blade+9 x1
Hand of Melenia x1
Hand of Melenia+9 x1
Hand of Melenia+10 x2
Twinned Knight Swords x1
Cold Twinned Knight Swords+25 x1
Keen Godskin Peeler+24 x1
Gargoyle's Twinblade x3
Gargoyle's Black Blades x7
Eleonora's Pole Blade+4 x1
Eleonora's Pole Blade+9 x1
Forked Hatchet x1
Iron Cleaver x1
Ripple Blade x2
Stormhawk Axe x8
Rosus' Axe x1
Greataxe x1
Crescent Moon Axe x2
Great Omenkiller Cleaver x3
Rusted Anchor x2
Sacred Butchering Knife x1
Gargoyle's Greataxe x3
Gargoyle's Black Axe x4
Axe of Godrick x1
Club x1
Warpick x2
Hammer x1
Varre's Bouquet x1
Envoy's Horn x4
Sceptor of the All-Knowing x6
Marika's Hammer x3
Flail x3
Flail+24 x1
Nightrider Flail x3
Family Heads x1
Pickaxe x1
Rotten Battle Hammer x2
Great Stars x1
Cranial Vessel Candlestand x1
Devourer's Sceptor x2
Prelate's Inferno Crozier x2
Great Club x1
Troll's Hammer x1
Dragon Greatclaw x6
Staff of the Avatar x1
Rotten Staff x2
Ghiza's Wheel x2
Fallingstar Beast Jaw x2
Axe of Godfrey x2
Partisan x1
Clayman's Harpoon x1
Inquisitor's Girandole x1
Rotten Crystal Spear x2
Death Ritual Spear x1
Mohgwyn's Sacred Spear x1
Bolt of Gransax x1
Bolt of Gransax+9 x1
Treespear x1
Siluria's Tree x1
Vyke's War Spear x1
Vyke's War Spear+9 x1
Halbred x3
Banished Knight's Halbred+8 x1
Vulgar Militia Shotel x3
Vulgar Militia Saw x3
Guardian's Swordspear x2
Gargoyle's Halbred x2
Gargoyle's Black Halbred x4
Nightrider Glaive x2
Blood Nightrider Glaive+25 x2
Pest's Glaive x4
Golden Halbred x7
Loretta's War Sickle x2
Commander's Standard x3
Grave Scythe+25 x3
Winged Scythe x1
Whip x1
Thorned Whip+25 x1
Blood Urumi+25 x1
Magma Whip Candlestick x1
Gaint's Red Braid x1
Casetus x1
Iron Ball x3
Clinging Bone x1
Veteran's Prosthesis x4
Cipher Pata x1
Grafted Dragon x1
Hookclaws x2
Bloodhound Claws+20 x1
Raptor Talons x1
RANGED WEAPONS:
Red Branch Shortbow x5
Misbegotten Shortbow x2
Black Bow x1
Pulley Bow x1
Horn Bow x1
Greatbow x4
Golem Greatbow x1
Light Crossbow x1
Heavy Crossbow x3
Crepus's Black-Key Crossbow x2
Pulley Crossbow x1
Hand Ballista x1
Hand Ballista+24 x1
Jar Cannon x1
Astrologer's Staff x2
Glintstone Staff x1
Academy Glintstone Staff x5
Digger's Staff x2
Demi-Human Queen's Staff x1
Lusat's Glintstone Staff x1
Carian Glintstone Staff x2
Carian Regal Staff x1
Carian Regal Staff+9 x1
Albinauric Staff x1
Crystal Staff x1
Rotten Crystal Staff x1
Finger Seal x1
Golden Order Seal x1
Gravel Stone Seal+25 x1
Godslayer's Seal x1
Clawmark Seal x2
Dragon Communion Seal+9 x1
Dragon Communion Seal+10 x1
TORCHES AND SHIELDS:
Beast-Repellent Torch x1
Steel-Wire Torch x1
Sentry's Torch x1
Ghostflame Torch x1
St. Trina's Torch x1
Coil Shield x1
Candletree Wooden Shield x1
Heater Shield x1
Red Crest Heater Shield x1
Scorpion Kite Shield x1
Twinbird Kite Shield x1
Banished Knight's Shield x3
Carian Knight's Shield x4
Silver Mirrorshield x1
Great Turtle Shell x1
Wooden Greatshield x1
Briar Greatshield x1
Spiked Palisade Shield x1
Icon Shield x1
Golden Beast Crest Shield x3
Crossed-Tree Towershield x1
Distinguished Greatshield x1
Gilded Greatshield x1
Cuckoo Greatshield x1
Golden Greatshield x2
Crucible Hornshield x2
Dragonclaw Shield x3
Fingerprint Stone Shield x1
Erdtree Greatshield x6
Jellyfish Shield x2
One-Eyed Shield x1
Ant's Skull Plate x1
TALISMANS:
Crimson Amber Medallion+1 x1
Crimson Seed Talisman x1
Blessed Dew Talisman x3
Cerulean Seed Talisman x1
Viridian Amber Medallion+1 x1
Viridian Amber Medallion+2 x1
Great-Jar's Arsenal x1
Radagon's Scarseal x1
Radagon's Soreseal x1
Marika's Soreseal x1
Stargazer Heirloom x1
Two Fingers Heirloom x1
Dragoncrest Shield Talisman+2 x2
Dragoncrest Greatshield Talisman x1
Flamedrake Talisman+2 x1
Boltdrake Talisman+1 x1
Haligdrake's Talisman x1
Haligdrake's Talisman+2 x1
Peardrake Talisman+2 x1
Immunizing Horn Charm x1
Clarifying Horn Charm x1
Curved Sword Talisman x1
Twinblade Talisman x2
Axe Talisman x1
Hammer Talisman x1
Greatshield Talisman x1
Arrow's Sting Talisman x1
Faithful's Canvas Talisman x2
Moon of Nokstella x1
Old Lord's Talisman x1
Radagon Icon x1
Roar Medallion x2
Carian Filigreed Crest x1
Shard of Alexander x1
Godfrey Icon x2
Bull-Goat's Talisman x1
Blue Dancer Charm x2
Fire Scorpion Charm x1
Lightning Scorpion Charm x1
Sacred Scorpion Charm x5
Crucible Knot Talisman x1
Red-Feathered Branchsword x1
Blue-Feathered Branchsword x1
Assassin's Crimson Dagger x2
Rotten Winged Sword Insignia x1
Godskin Swaddling Cloth x1
Kindred of Rot's Exultation x1
Lord of Blood's Exultation x1
Taker's Cameo x1
Gold Scarab x1
Silver Scarab x1
Crepus's Vial x1
Concealing Veil x1
Longtail Cat Talisman x1
Furled Finger's Trick-Mirror x2
Host's Trick-Mirror x2

Happy to help the Elden Ring community.
If you want the last quantity of an item, then you have to replace it with something else of equal rarity or especially if it is not on the list already.
Remember you cannot pick up an upgraded weapon if your character has not yet upgraded another weapon to the same level or higher.
Crafting materials and products are available, just ask.
Please be generous and pay it forward so the community thrives. Thank you.
​
Currently need runes and all armor sets. o7
RUNE INVENTORY:
​
Hero's Rune [3] x99
​
Hero's Rune [5] x99
​
Golden Rune [11] x2
​
Golden Rune [12] x53
​
MELEE WEAPONS:
​
Dagger x 6
​
Dagger+13 x1
​
Misericorde x2
​
Great Knife x1
​
Erdsteel Dagger x1
​
Cold Wakizashi+25 x1
​
Scropion's Stinger x1
​
Glintstone Kris x1
​
Reduvia x1
​
Blade of Calling x1
​
Black Knife+3
​
Short Sword x2
​
Longsword x1
​
Weather Straight Sword x1
​
Lordsworn's Straight Sword x4
​
Noble's Keen Slender Sword+24 x1
​
Warhawk's Talon x1
​
Carian Knight's Sword x1
​
Crystal Sword x2
​
Rotten Crystal Sword x2
​
Miquellan Knight's Sword x1
​
Sword of St. Trina+9 x2
​
Coded Sword+9 x1
​
Sword of Night and Flame+10 x2
​
Claymore x1
​
Lordsworn's Greatsword x2
​
Knight's Greatsword x1
​
Knight's Greatsword+25 x1
​
Banished Knight's Greatsword x4
​
Forked Greatsword x2
​
Gargoyle's Greatsword x2
​
Gargoyle's Blackblade x2
​
Marais Executioner's Sword x1
​
Alabaster Lord's Sword x1
​
Death Poker x2
​
Helphen's Steeple x2
​
Blasphemous Blade+9 x1
​
Golden Order Greatsword x1
​
Dark Moon Greatsword+9 x1
​
Sacred Relic Sword x1
​
Sacred Relic Sword+9 x1
​
Greatsword x1
​
Blood Greatsword+25 x1
​
Troll's Golden Sword x1
​
Troll Knight's Sword x1
​
Royal Greatsword x2
​
Grafted Blade Greatsword x2
​
Ruins greatsword x3
​
Starscourge Greatsword x3
​
Godslayer's Greatsword x2
​
Maliketh's Black Blade x1
​
Rapier x1
​
Estoc x3
​
Noble's Estoc x1
​
Cleanrot Knight's Sword x3
​
Rogier's Rapier x1
​
Rogier's Blood Rapier+8 x1
​
Antspur Rapier x2
​
Godskin Sticherx2
​
Godskin Sticher+18 x1
​
Godskin Sticher+25 x2
​
Bloody Helice x2
​
Scimitar x2
​
Falchion x2
​
Shamshir x2
​
Shotel x1
​
Shotel+25 x4
​
Scavenger's Occult Curved Sword+18 x2
​
Flowing Curved Sword x1
​
Nox Flowing Sword+10 x2
​
Eclipse Shotel x4
​
Omen Cleaver x2
​
Bloodhound's Fang x3
​
Onyx Lord's Greatsword x1
​
Zamor Curved Sword x1
​
Magma Wyrm's Scalesword x1
​
Morgott's Cursed Sword+10 x2
​
Occult Uchigatana+25 x2
​
Nagakiba x2
​
Serpent Bone Blade x1
​
Meteoric Ore Balde x2
​
Moonveil x1
​
Moonveil+8 x1
​
Rivers of Blood x1
​
Rivers of Blood+10 x5
​
Dragonscale Blade+9 x1
​
Hand of Melenia x1
​
Hand of Melenia+10 x2
​
Twinned Knight Swords x1
​
Cold Twinned Knight Swords+25 x1
​
Keen Godskin Peeler+24 x1
​
Gargoyle's Twinblade x3
​
Gargoyle's Black Blades x6
​
Eleonora's Pole Blade+4 x1
​
Eleonora's Pole Blade+9 x1
​
Forked Hatchet x1
​
Iron Cleaver x1
​
Ripple Blade x2
​
Stormhawk Axe x8
​
Rosus' Axe x1
​
Greataxe x1
​
Crescent Moon Axe x2
​
Great Omenkiller Cleaver x3
​
Rusted Anchor x2
​
Sacred Butchering Knife x1
​
Gargoyle's Greataxe x3
​
Gargoyle's Black Axe x4
​
Axe of Godrick x1
​
Club x1
​
Warpick x2
​
Hammer x1
​
Varre's Bouquet x1
​
Envoy's Horn x4
​
Sceptor of the All-Knowing x6
​
Marika's Hammer x2
​
Flail x3
​
Flail+24 x1
​
Nightrider Flail x3
​
Family Heads x1
​
Pickaxe x1
​
Rotten Battle Hammer x2
​
Great Stars x1
​
Cranial Vessel Candlestand x1
​
Devourer's Sceptor x2
​
Prelate's Inferno Crozier x2
​
Great Club x1
​
Troll's Hammer x1
​
Dragon Greatclaw x6
​
Staff of the Avatar x1
​
Rotten Staff x2
​
Ghiza's Wheel x2
​
Falling Star Beast Jaw x1
​
Axe of Godfrey x2
​
Partisan x1
​
Clayman's Harpoon x1
​
Inquisitor's Girandole x1
​
Rotten Crystal Spear x2
​
Death Ritual Spear x1
​
Bolt of Gransax+9 x1
​
Treespear x1
​
Siluria's Tree x1
​
Vyke's War Spear x1
​
Vyke's War Spear+9 x1
​
Halbred x3
​
Banished Knight's Halbred+8 x1
​
Vulgar Militia Shotel x3
​
Vulgar Militia Saw x3
​
Guardian's Swordspear x2
​
Gargoyle's Halbred x2
​
Gargoyle's Black Halbred x4
​
Nightrider Glaive x2
​
Blood Nightrider Glaive+25 x2
​
Pest's Glaive x4
​
Golden Halbred x7
​
Loretta's War Sickle x2
​
Commander's Standard x1
​
Grave Scythe+25 x3
​
Winged Scythe x1
​
Whip x1
​
Thorned Whip+25 x1
​
Blood Urumi+25 x1
​
Magma Whip Candlestick x1
​
Gaint's Red Braid x1
​
Casetus x1
​
Iron Ball x3
​
Clinging Bone x1
​
Veteran's Prosthesis x4
​
Cipher Pata x1
​
Grafted Dragon x1
​
Hookclaws x2
​
Bloodhound Claws+20 x1
​
Raptor Talons x1
​
RANGED WEAPONS:
​
Red Branch Shortbow x5
​
Misbegotten Shortbow x2
​
Pulley Bow x1
​
Horn Bow x1
​
Greatbow x3
​
Golem Greatbow x1
​
Light Crossbow x1
​
Heavy Crossbow x3
​
Crepus's Black-Key Crossbow x2
​
Pulley Crossbow x1
​
Hand Ballista x1
​
Hand Ballista+24 x1
​
Jar Cannon x1
​
Astrologer's Staff x2
​
Glintstone Staff x1
​
Academy Glintstone Staff x5
​
Digger's Staff x2
​
Demi-Human Queen's Staff x1
​
Lusat's Glintstone Staff x1
​
Carian Glintstone Staff x2
​
Carian Regal Staff x1
​
Carian Regal Staff+9 x1
​
Albinauric Staff x1
​
Crystal Staff x1
​
Rotten Crystal Staff x1
​
Finger Seal x1
​
Golden Order Seal x1
​
Gravel Stone Seal+25 x1
​
Godslayer's Seal x1
​
Clawmark Seal x2
​
Dragon Communion Seal+9 x1
​
Dragon Communion Seal+10 x1
​
TORCHES AND SHIELDS:
​
Beast-Repellent Torch x1
​
Steel-Wire Torch x1
​
Sentry's Torch x1
​
St. Trina's Torch x1
​
Coil Shield x1
​
Candletree Wooden Shield x1
​
Heater Shield x1
​
Red Crest Heater Shield x1
​
Scorpion Kite Shield x1
​
Twinbird Kite Shield x1
​
Banished Knight's Shield x3
​
Carian Knight's Shield x4
​
Silver Mirrorshield x1
​
Great Turtle Shell x1
​
Wooden Greatshield x1
​
Briar Greatshield x1
​
Spiked Palisade Shield x1
​
Icon Shield x1
​
Golden Beast Crest Shield x3
​
Crossed-Tree Towershield x1
​
Distinguished Greatshield x1
​
Gilded Greatshield x1
​
Cuckoo Greatshield x1
​
Golden Greatshield x2
​
Crucible Hornshield x2
​
Dragonclaw Shield x2
​
Fingerprint Stone Shield x1
​
Erdtree Greatshield x5
​
Jellyfish Shield x1
​
TALISMANS:
​
Crimson Amber Medallion+1 x1
​
Crimson Seed Talisman x1
​
Blessed Dew Talisman x3
​
Cerulean Seed Talisman x1
​
Viridian Amber Medallion+1 x1
​
Viridian Amber Medallion+2 x1
​
Great-Jar's Arsenal x1
​
Radagon's Scarseal x1
​
Radagon's Soreseal x1
​
Marika's Soreseal x1
​
Stargazer Heirloom x1
​
Two Fingers Heirloom x1
​
Dragoncrest Shield Talisman+2 x2
​
Dragoncrest Greatshield Talisman x1
​
Flamedrake Talisman+2 x1
​
Boltdrake Talisman+1 x1
​
Haligdrake's Talisman x1
​
Haligdrake's Talisman+2 x1
​
Peardrake Talisman+2 x1
​
Immunizing Horn Charm x1
​
Clarifying Horn Charm x1
​
Curved Sword Talisman x1
​
Twinblade Talisman x2
​
Axe Talisman x1
​
Hammer Talisman x1
​
Greatshield Talisman x1
​
Arrow's Sting Talisman x1
​
Faithful's Canvas Talisman x2
​
Moon of Nokstella x1
​
Old Lord's Talisman x1
​
Radagon Icon x1
​
Roar Medallion x2
​
Carian Filigreed Crest x1
​
Shard of Alexander x1
​
Godfrey Icon x2
​
Bull-Goat's Talisman x1
​
Blue Dancer Charm x2
​
Fire Scorpion Charm x1
​
Lightning Scorpion Charm x1
​
Sacred Scorpion Charm x5
​
Crucible Knot Talisman x1
​
Red-Feathered Branchsword x1
​
Blue-Feathered Branchsword x1
​
Assassin's Crimson Dagger x2
​
Rotten Winged Sword Insignia x1
​
Godskin Swaddling Cloth x1
​
Kindred of Rot's Exultation x1
​
Lord of Blood's Exultation x1
​
Taker's Cameo x1
​
Gold Scarab x1
​
Silver Scarab x1
​
Crepus's Vial x1
​
Concealing Veil x1
​
Longtail Cat Talisman x1
​
Furled Finger's Trick-Mirror x2
​
Host's Trick-Mirror x2
​
​