Jackie West glanced between the bars and boards on his windows, seeing the sky redden. He set about taking inventory of everything in the one-room cabin. Fresh light bulbs: check. Radio: check. Animal traps under the windows: check. Medical supplies: check. Guns: check. He emphasized the last with a satisfying pull on the slide of his shotgun, checking the chambers of his revolver, then sat in the chair facing the door and per his new routine, he waited.
He began to ponder what had happened for it to come to this. He thought back to the first Eclipse, three months before. It had been a regular day in the small town of Red Leaf, AL. “Town” might have been too generous; it was little more than a small collection of houses, shops, and a tiny police station connected by a crumbling road running through it. One would need to go well out of their way to get here.
Jackie had gone into town to purchase more hunting supplies for the oncoming winter and exchanged small talk with the kindly store clerk, Roger Orson. The clerk had asked Jackie if he’d heard the news about the eclipse that was set to occur. Jackie hadn’t, so Roger advised that he stay inside when it began to get dark; according to the papers, it was set to be a rather long eclipse, lasting at least five hours.
The Shades had appeared soon after the Eclipse came. It had cast an odd dark-red glow over the town. Jackie had gotten back to his cabin a mile and a half away from the town proper, only to find Red Leaf beset by a host of living shadows. Before long, screams erupted from the homes, followed by ghastly, inhuman screeches, the sound of vehicles being destroyed, and ghoulish laughter. His poor townsfolk had been claimed by the Eclipse.
Jackie’s focus snapped back to the present when the radio began to buzz with static. Soon enough, a chorus of distorted, fiendish words began. Whether he was a paragon of willpower or a shameless coward, he couldn’t say, but all he knew was that he never opened up for the creatures.
Five hours, he instructed himself as always. You just need to wait five hours and you’re home free until next time. He kept his eyes trained on the door. There were only a couple of other boarded windows in the cabin, so they didn’t concern him as much as the Shades deciding to barge in head-on, which he knew they could if they wanted. All of a sudden, he heard it. The crackling of leaves underfoot, the sound of objects dragging across the ground, heavy breathing from distorted throats. His grip on the shotgun tightened. Once again, the Shades had come for him.
Looking around, Jackie noted, not for the first time, that the sturdiness of his cabin was matched only by its restrictiveness. He could—and had—held out for a long time in this cabin. However, for all of its safety, he felt as if at any moment, it could squeeze him to death like a boa constrictor. The one-room nature of the structure could only offer so much peace of mind, as it gave him fewer places to check but also fewer places to escape if need be.
As if summoned by this thought, he heard the first of them at his door. The creature began its usual performance of wheezing, snarling, and chittering in a distorted voice. The radio quickly did its duty and broadcast the beast’s message.
“Jackie?” called the twisted, two-toned voice of Roger. “Jackie, open up, bud. I think it’s starting to clear up out here.” Even with the windows boarded, Jackie knew it was lying. He could see rays of the reddened sun slashing through the cracks, rays he dared not enter. He just stuck to watching the door as the radio continued to speak for the beasts. They all spoke with the voices of his neighbors, his friends, just as they always did, except they used a horrific parody of their voices. They always coaxed, begged, screamed, and threatened with the same goal: making him leave the house.
Then another voice chimed in, and as soon as he heard it, he knew that tonight was going to be different.
“Mr. West?” asked the timid, tearful voice of Ken Edwards, once an outgoing, happy-go-lucky young boy who never failed to say hello to Jackie when he came into town. “Can you please let me come in, Mr. West? I don’t like it out here. It’s scary, and something’s wrong with Mama and Daddy.”
The radio’s sadistic interpretation made his heart sink. Each time, there had been some kind of tell, a distortion to the voices that gave off the impression of it belonging to a Shade. But Ken’s voice, though filled with static, sounded as normal as ever.
“Mr. West?” the voice called again, sounding more desperate. “Mr. West, please.” He trailed off in a series of sobs, then continued through them, “Everyone out here’s gotten real mean. Mama and Daddy started fighting, and she hurt Daddy with a knife, then he hurt her with an axe. He kept hitting her over and over again. He grabbed me and…” Fresh terror took the boy’s voice as he began screaming, “Please, let me in! I see him! It’s Daddy, but it’s not! Why won’t you open the door?! Please, Mr. West! He’s gonna hurt me! He—”
The voice was cut off by the sound of a blade striking flesh, followed by choking and failed attempts at screaming in agony as the axe hit the boy again and again. Jackie listened to all of this, feeling bitter tears running down his cheeks. By now, he was feeling sorely tempted to go out there and shoot as many of those bastards as he could, but he remained steadfast. It was an illusion. Then the boy’s voice came back over the radio, only now it was a malicious, croaking cackle.
“You knew about it, Jackie! You knew about the Sun, and you didn’t even warn anybody! Just so you know, it took a lot longer for the boy to die than this. You should have seen the look on his face, Jackie. It was exquisite.”
Growling, Jackie began reaching for the radio, keeping his eyes on the barricaded door.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” the voice sang tauntingly. Curious, Jackie looked at the radio, only to find that he was not reaching for the device but now his hand was reaching into the steel jaws of one of the bear traps he had set up. He tumbled out of his chair to pull his hand away from the steel teeth as they just barely missed his hand. The shock of what had just happened seemed to paralyze him as he realized his chair was in a different position than he had initially set it. Then he heard the wild, raucous cackles over the radio and outside as the beasts mocked his mistake. Jackie tried to ignore them, but he was still quite shaken up as he stood the chair back up to face the door.
All of a sudden, the radio fell silent. Then he heard something strike the door hard enough to shake it. He jumped back in shock, then took aim with the shotgun. It shook again and again. Jackie slowly backed up before it burst open. There they were: three deformed, mutilated figures with long, crimson strings attached to their bodies that pulsed like veins and seemed to stretch to the sky. The one on the right carried a pickaxe, the one on the left held a claw hammer, and the middle one held a hatchet. They all grinned madly at him, though even now he wasn’t sure if they were grinning because of the curse or because of how disfigured their faces were at this point. Outside, the moon gazed down on Red Leaf, having taken on the shape of a lidless scarlet eye with a colossal, black pupil. It glowered at Jackie, causing horrific images to flash through his mind. He was nearly taken off his guard as the intruders began their assault.
The middle Shade charged at Jackie in an attempt to swing the hatchet, only for Jackie to blow its leg off with a blast from his shotgun. Blood sprayed everywhere, coating the foyer in a grisly shower of vermillion. It showed no pain, just continued to try and stand on the remaining leg, whereupon Jackie pulled back the slide, ejecting the shell, and shot it in the head. The veins it was covered in seemed to absorb its corpse with a horrid slurping sound.
The other two attempted to do the same as their fallen compatriot, Jackie just barely dodging the pickaxe swinging for him as it lodged itself in the wall. He capitalized on this by pumping the shotgun again and firing at the Shade’s head. Then the monster with the hammer rushed at him, receiving the same treatment. Their ocular puppeteer in the sky slurped them back up.
That was when Jackie heard the chainsaw.
He whirled about in horror as the sound of the tool at one of the rear windows, then he saw the tool cut through the boards. Swiveling his head from his door to the window, he tried to keep himself calm despite knowing that at any moment, he could receive another ambush at the door. He was just hoping that the Shade’s entry through the window would have the results he was hoping for.
Once the boards were cut open, the Shade, a hulking brute of a man, stepped through. Before it could charge at him with the saw, it was halted by one of the bear traps which had bitten into its ankle. Without hesitation, it began to saw away at the leg, but Jackie stopped it with a shot in the chest, then the head.
More Shades began appearing, all bearing makeshift weapons and pierced with the same veins as their predecessors and all receiving the same treatment from his weapon. Now they were getting more aggressive. After killing at least ten more, he aimed for another swinging a large plank of wood, only to hear it click. The Shade swung the plank into Jackie’s left shin. He cried out in pain, but frantically dodged as it tried to bring it down for a finishing strike. Jackie grabbed the hatchet one of the first three had been carrying, then slashed at the veins. An enraged roar sounded from the sky, though whether it was because of control over its puppet being severed or from pain, Jackie couldn’t tell. Either way, it seemed to shake the confidence of the being somewhat, as the Shades suddenly ceased their siege of the cabin.
Jackie stared out at them, confused. He still kept his distance from the red beams of moonlight. Then something new happened. A figure descended from the sky. The Shades all parted, then knelt before it. From a distance, it looked like a man. As it approached, however, Jackie could see the sheer inhumanity of the thing. It too had veins sticking out of it, but unlike the Shades, it only had one vein attached to the moon. Furthermore, all of the veins seemed to run from it into the Shades. The multitude of eyes that coated its sexless, nude figure all resembled the moon, and they all turned their gaze on Jackie before the images raced through his mind again. Then it began addressing him.
Return to us what is ours, thief, it spoke into his mind with soft yet vicious authority. Give to us, the Sanguine Eye, what you have taken, and we shall yet allow you to retain your will. We will let you take the place of this Shade as our Seer. There is no greater honor or pleasure to be found. All you need to do is give us our rightful property.
For an appalling moment, Jackie thought the offer over. Then that moment passed as he saw the moon beginning to move out of the eclipse. It was getting desperate. It was running out of time, so it had resorted to bargaining with him. He responded by removing his revolver, aiming at the Seer and firing at one of the eyes on its torso. It burst open with a cascade of blood and other fluids.
The Seer clutched at the remains of the optical organ in pain, letting out a howl of agony, followed by fury. It pointed a finger at Jackie, then all of the Shades leaped to their feet and charged at the cabin. Jackie began counting the seconds. Just as the Shades entered the cabin and one was about to bring a lead pipe down on his head, the red light from the moon vanished, along with the Shades and their Seer. Sunlight bathed the town of Red Leaf, and Jackie sighed as he lay down, then groaned as he remembered the blow to his leg.
Once he had bandaged his leg, which was thankfully not broken, Jackie headed into the cellar, seated himself at his desk, and took the book out. The design of the hateful, scarlet eye on the cover watched him, judged him. He flipped to the pages with diagrams of an eclipse and hoped the bizarre trance would come over him again, illuminating some means of reversing things. He knew he was responsible for all of this. If he had just left that damn book alone, he wouldn’t have been possessed by the knowledge of what to say to call down the Sanguine Eclipse, as the book referred to it. This was his penance: staying in Red Leaf, surviving the attacks by his former neighbors. The force behind this book, the Sanguine Eye, made no attempt to leave town. Whatever it wanted, it would be incomplete without him. Without the one who summoned the Shades, the “collection” was incomplete. What’s more, it was getting desperate, and he thought he knew why. The book spoke of an event that had always occurred within a year of the Eclipse: the Azure Sun. Evidently, it was the equal and opposite reaction to the Sanguine Eclipse, a force that would cleanse the world of its doings. As long as he drew breath, he was going to make sure the Shades and their master stayed confined to Red Leaf. If he could no longer defend the cabin before the Azure Sun, he would burn it down with him and the book inside. He owed his neighbors that much.

The Imperial forces emptied La'kell springs quickly, having no time to waste in their conquest of the great ocean of sand. The Praetorian 95th, along with Rhoynian 2004th, began their trek south towards Hal'Khanek. The Cadian 728th, 1752nd, Rhoynian 4132rd and the rest of the 2004th began their perilous journey west through open desert, something the 728th found increasingly challenging.
"I didn't get airlifted from Tigrin for this frack!" Kasrkin Dutch swore as he trudged through the sand, pouring the final drop of his canteen down his raw and dry throat. The sun baked down on them, men finding themselves in heat unimaginable.
"That's what you get for surviving" Buck replied, using his final piece of sarcasm before almost all coherency was lost, being almost evaporated from his brain. He fell to his knees momentarily, gazing up. He put his hand in front of the sun, blocking it and glancing over the dunes. He saw the Cadian 1752nd. Experts in desert navigation and warfare. A trip like this seemed a stroll in the park for them, and Buck envied them an almost impossible amount.
"Frack this man!" A young but grizzled Cadian swore. Buck turned his head, looking to who had exclaimed. He stamped his foot on his Leman Russ, which seemed to sputter and rumbled. It hated the sand as much as the men did.
Buck felt a hot, sweaty hand grabbed the scruff of his neck, pulling him up and pushing him up. He got up without argument, if being a little limp. Sergeant Vorenus brushed passed him. He was not enjoying his time anymore, but had seen such terrains before in his many escapades with the Inquisition, and felt it better to keep moving than to wallow in sorrow like his Lieutenant.
"I hope Hawk is having fun" Dutch sputtered, Buck laughed, desperately trying to distract himself from all physical feeling. "Where do you think he is eh?" Dutch asked, trying to distract himself just as much.
"Dunno, I reckon he's found himself a nice little Sororitas clinic by now. Bed and breakfast, with water and Amesec galore" Buck remarked, almost salivating at the mere thought.
"Come on lads!" A voice behind him cried. The Kasrkin glanced back, and saw Lord Commander Strauss von Grimhoff trotting through the sand with his men. Forgoing his greatcoat but keeping his formal shirt, waistcoat and breaches. The sweat on his face and torso apparent.
"Can't let the old man outpace us" Dutch remarked. Buck groaned in a reluctant agreement.
The 2004th began to move passed them. Some on foot and some on foot. It appears the Rhoynian's didn't much enjoy the heat either, but did a better job handling it.
"Only 150 kilometres to go boys!" Strauss cried. Buck's eye twitched as he had trouble figuring out if Strauss was being genuine.

Im a superhero! I exercised my first call option! It was ... magical. I could hear the groans from chicago/new york all the way over here in Cali. Like when your new girlfriend whispers nice n nastys in your ear it tugs at the cockles of the heart and sometimes forces one to break into an excited sweat. Akin to listening to your favorite soundtrack on max volume at midnight in the country. I am drunk on their false bravado. I i will remain steadfast as they blatantly manipulate themselves into the next available jail cell.

 Too much? Yeah...too much.... 

I get that way sometimes. Im an excitable boy Good luck putting a lid on this fuckup - dumbass storm troopers. I lack a sense of shame.. it helps to drive people away and maintain my sanity...whats left of it... Shhhhh, dont tell....l DRS'ed ya mama!

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{Sorry for the late post. I had some trouble with my scheduled summer semester pop up so I wasn't able to write this out as much as I wanted last weekend. Anyways, enjoy the domestic fluff of Damian and his newly expanded flock :) }
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-----Damian-----
"The next one's simple. Say their name then (sit). Like this: Braxton, (sit)." As Damian said the command he raised his hand to around shoulder height and snapped. The Great Dane in question slowly sat with his usual amount of sass. Ree cooed in awe and Scales' eyes sparkled. Damian smiled as he pats the large dog's head with praise.
"(Good boy). Ok, you two. Your turns. Make sure to say the commands in English. I haven't taught them Common yet." He motioned to the dogs Damian picked for the two to learn the commands with. It took Damian a bit of trial and error figuring out what commands each dog knew and what ones had different commands for the same motion. Then it took even longer to retrain them to all follow the same commands. He kept in mind the 'specialized' commands for a few of the dogs and didn't try teaching them to the whole group. Ree tried the command he was teaching them first, his dog being Diesel.
"Trii-cheiu, (sit)." Ree raised his wing-arm, though he couldn’t snap he still did the gesture. The boxer he was talking to blankly tilted his head. Damian chuckled and helped out the bird, knowing they all tend to have problems pronouncing new words without a chirp to them.
"You pronounced his name wrong, he doesn't know you're talking to him. It's more like 'Dee-sell'. The 's' is sharp enough it is almost pronounced as a 'z'." Ree practiced a few times as Scales took her try. She pronounced her dog's name a bit slow, but it was recognizable.
"D-ing-oh, (sit)." The stocky dog hesitated, glancing at Damian for a few seconds, but eventually plopped down then panted in a smile imitation. Scales' tail wagged violently, and she wordlessly cooed and trilled happily. Dingo didn't yet understand that was praise so Damian jumped in really quick to let her know she did good.
"Good girl, Dingo! Good girl!" He made sure to over exaggerate his excitement and made wide happy gestures before smothering the dog in pets and scratches. Dingo goes wild. She jumps up, bounces around a few times, then bolts into excited zoomies. A few of the other dogs joined in on the zoomies. Ree tried again on his command.
"Dee-zell, (sit)." The boxer's cropped ears perked and he promptly sat. Before Damian could, Ree copied his bigwing's previous praising and flared his wings. "Good! Good boy!" He praised, overly happy. Diesel's whole body perked up and he jumped up, landed in a playbow, then spun a few times before joining in on the zoomies with a butt-tuck run when Damian smooched at him. Damian laughed at the zooming dogs and shuffled over to be closer to his chicks, just in case the dogs tried to do fly-bys.
"Good job, you two. We're almost completely through the basic commands. I didn't think we'd get through them this quickly." His chicks cooed, trilled, and wiggled happily at the praise. Damian chuckled and rubbed their feathered heads, making a few bits of baby-fluff fall off as he drew back. He played with the few bits stuck to his fingers and watched his chicks play with the dogs as they started to wrestle. All of the dogs were bigger than them, if only slightly, but they were gentle when letting the chicks join in.
As they played he looked over them. They had changed a lot in the last month or so since the disaster of their first flying lesson. In that time, they had a few more lessons and were almost completely capable of flight, they still had a bit of supervision when they did though. They had lost almost all of their baby-fluff and their adult plumage was sported on the vast majority of their bodies. They still had to shed the last bits of fluff and a few of their baby-scales but that wouldn't take much longer. Damian was still taken with their coloring and patterns. And often found himself studying them over and over like he used to with their parents when he first got here.
Ree was a slightly grey-tinted shade of green with his scales slowly getting darker the higher they went. His stomach was a dirt brown color with a more red-ish clay spot on his chest. All his plumage was a light orage-ish brown color and he had speckles of more pastel green under his right eye and in a clump on his left jaw. His beak took the coloring of Blueberry's, a near-black color, but had the shape of Ruby's. His ears took after Violet's, long and pointed like a stretched fox's. His feathers and fur were more pressed down and made him look slimmer overall. His eyes changed from their baby brown-gold color to a beautiful sky blue.
Scales, on the other hand, had the coloring more towards a bumble bee (from what he remembered anyways). Her main coloring was a bright sunshine yellow that slowly grew more towards orange towards her underbelly and beak. On her chest was a splash-like clump of pink feathers. Her scales were less than her brother's and were a deep brown-ish color. The feathers and fur edging them were a deep enough brown to basically be black. Her plumage reminded him somewhat of Ruby and Sky's. It had a gradual fade towards the end like Sky but the pink-ish color of Ruby. She had near-neon yellow speckles too, like her brother, but the clumps were a bit larger. She had them ending on her wing-forearms like Violet's and a big clump scattered around the left side of her face. Her feathers weren't quite as fluffy as Sky's but was pretty close. Her beak had the shape of Violet's and the near-white tan color of Ruby's. Her eyes had a beautiful dual color in each eye. The top majority was a hot pink/magenta color while the bottom and inside edge was more of a petal/pastel pink.
Both were gorgeous and made Damian wonder how the genetics of their species worked to allow that vast difference in coloration and patterns when compared to all four of their parents, who tended to be different shades of the same color throughout. Ree had finally slowed his quite concerning growth rate and was starting to level out around Damian's upper thigh/lower hip, exceeding the taller of his fathers by quite the margin. All four of his parents telling him that Ree was probably one of the largest of their species in multiple generations. Scales was now barely a third of her brother's size, if that, having evened out just barely shorter than Damian's knee. Apparently that was a bit shorter than average for the species with Ruby being more towards the upper part of the average size and Sky being borderline short.
A demanding snort drew his attention away from his chicks and to the window he claimed as 'his spot' so long ago (was it really only just over one of his years since he was brought here?). There he found Casper lazily curled and dozing on the floor with Ares propped up against her where Damian had set him to nap while he taught his chicks. Said child was no longer asleep though. He was very much awake and staring Damian down with an expression demanding to know why he thought it was a good idea to even dare to set him down and walk away. Nevermind Damian wasn't even ten steps away. Ares snorted demandingly at him again and glared harder at the human's amused snort back. Damian did walk over though and picked up the child when he raised his arms at him. Ares had changed a bit too over the month Damian had him. He'd filled out to a more healthy-looking weight, though he was still a bit thin, and Damian had finally managed to memorize how to properly trim the toddler's hooves and brush out his fur.
Ares still had the bird-like plush and brought it nearly everywhere with him. Said plush was now being whacked into the side of Damian's head. Apparently, Ares decided being held wasn't good enough and wanted something else. Damian tried blocking the hits or holding the toy, but the little brat only started using his hooves in his growing tantrum. Getting tired of being hit with no explanation, Damian took the advice of one of the texts he'd read about taking care of a Grongri child and yanked Ares away from him by his scruff to hang in mid-air. The toddler wiggled and squirmed to try and hit him more but eventually the tantrum dimmed, and he went limp, a small pout on his face.
"You ready to tell me what's wrong now?" He asked the child before he cradled him again. He'd only made that mistake once. He still had the bruises to prove it. Ares glumly flicked his right ear down (which he's learned is a non-verbal yes), pout still present. Damian finally cradled the toddler to his chest again and let him sniffle and bury against him in self-comfort until he was ready to talk. Damian glanced back at his chicks to see them flopped on the ground with the other dogs, all panting and exhausted by the play. Damian chuckled at them, earning an irritated crow from Scales. Damian snorted in amusement but let them be. Ares was finally willing to tell him what was wrong.
"Want learn too." Ares' understanding of both Common and English has come a long way in the past month. He still can't string a proper sentence together, but Damian can't tell if that is because of a lack of knowledge or just because he's a toddler. He has adjusted to the flock a bit too. With it being so different from the usual Grongri Sounder structure it is understandable. He does have a few hiccups here and there but now he mostly just watches the chicks' reaction to things when he is unsure.
"'Learn too'? You wanna learn how to command the dogs too?" Damian questions, making sure he had the same idea. Ares' ear flicked again while he nodded. Damian hugged him a bit closer.
"You're a bit too small for the dogs to obey you immediately but I can introduce one to you and have you start trying. How about that? Will that work?" Ares was quiet for a bit longer but eventually agreed. Damian smiled and praised him with a few pets, receiving a few happy rumbles in response. Damian glanced around at the dogs, trying to pick one for Ares to start working on. He doesn't think any would follow the commands without his own help but if he worked on one long enough it would eventually cave. His eye landed on Casper, who was still in the same curled position as before. She was the most maternal of the group and was the one who took to the children the easiest and quickest.
"Ok, little piglet. Let's start easy." He said as he set the runt down on his hooves. As he did he got Casper's attention and called to her. "Casper. (Stand)." The large white wolfdog looked at him then crawled to her paws. He praised her softly then turned back to Ares.
"Ok. We'll start with (come). Say her name, Casper, and tell her to (come)." He said as he sat down next to where the toddler stood. Ares' little hooves stomped a bit in his excitement, but he tried. He tested out the new word before he did. What he settled on wasn't the right pronunciation, but it was close. He could mostly pronounce the command correctly too, though with a pretty heavy accent.
"Gas-prrrr. (Come)." Casper tilted her head at the child and sniffed at him. She looked at Damian and he looked to Ares then back. Casper followed and glanced, then back. Ares deflated eventually when she still didn't approach so Damian thought up something quickly.
"Maybe she doesn't understand your accent. Try this," He patted the ground, "when you say it. She knows that gesture." Ares perked back up again.
"Okie!" He turned back to Casper and tried again. "Gas-prrrr." He crouched down and clumsily patted the ground like only a toddler could. "(Come)." Casper's ears perked but she still hesitated for a second before slowly padding over and stopping right in front of the child. Ares squealed in excitement, tail going wild and hooves stomping. Damian made his chuff-imitation as praise for the child as he pets Casper to do the same. Child happier now, he figures he could take the kid away for lunch without protest. Scooping up the toddler he received no complaint.
Looking to his chicks he clicked his tongue. He learned that was a good way to gain their attention with zero hesitation, no matter what they were doing. He found out by complete accident, to be honest. He was clicking at the dogs from a habit that hasn't broken despite the years away from the farm he grew up on. Sure enough, just like every time before, both chick's heads immediately whip up to look at him. Both still looked groggy like they had just woken up. They probably had.
"C'mon, you two. Lunch time." The two groaned but climbed to their feet. Damian smiled and them and patted them as they passed. Once they were well on their way, he called the dogs and gathered them as he left behind his chicks. The dogs happily trailed after, excited after they heard the word 'hungry' when he asked. He entered the flock's kitchen, pack in tow, only a handful of minutes later. He had to take a slightly more roundabout way over since some of the dogs hadn’t quite figured out the ladder-like walkways and ramps yet and he didn't want them to fall through and get hurt. His birds greeted him with their usual trills and Untruthful with their latest attempt at teasing.
"So, the Pack Master finally decided to grace us with his presence!" Damian let them know it was a good one by sending a tease back.
"I see you haven't gotten any less spikey yet, walking pincushion." Untruthful's eyes slowly shut in a smile and Damian sent one of his own back, momentarily closing his eyes in an imitation of them. Untruthful looked surprised then they eye-close-smiled harder, spike-crest wiggling their excitement. Damian chuckled at them and set down Ares in his make-shift baby seat.
He chatted with Violet as he grabbed and rationed out the dogs' small lunch. He ignored the protesting whines, grunts, and half-barks urging him to 'go faster already'. Violet advised him to use one type of meat instead of another because of both better nutrients for the dogs and there being more of it. He thanked her and did as told. The dogs' lunch wasn't that big, more of a snack than anything, but it kept them from pouting and begging when everyone else ate. It also had helped him give them meds when they were still healing. They were mostly fine now, apparently Galactic Standard medicine works faster than the stuff he remembers. Finishing with the dogs' food he picks up the bowls, stacking a few to do so, and turns around. He walked past the dogs, chuckling at the excited spins, bounces, and tippy-taps they did as they followed him. He glanced back at them once he made it to the wall the flock had designated as their eating area.
He gave them a stern look and waited. They all eventually sat down, some more slow and reluctant than others. Once they did he placed down the bowls in the designated spots. Braxton and Casper had two stepstool-stand things he placed their bowls on because of how big they were. Once all the bowls were down he turned to look at the dogs. He waited in silence for a bit, snapping or humming warningly whenever one tried to shuffle forward. Once he deemed it long enough he gave the sort-of-command he was on the tail end of teaching them.
"(Ok)." When he said that all five dogs ran over to their bowls and started to eat. Damian strode back over to the counter and helped his birds move some plates to the table then settled cross-legged in his usual spot, Ares immediately crawling into his lap and Scales fluttering to perch on the shoulder opposite the side her brother sat on. The flock started to grab food and eat as they chatted with each other. Damian grabbed a little more than a double portion of fruits, beans (or maybe they were berries?), and a few crunchy finger foods he thinks may be cooked or specially prepared insects. He grabbed roughly more than a single portion (for someone his size anyways) of meats, the few root vegetables presented, and what he thinks may be foods made of bone pieces.
Once his plate was full he placed it down in front of him he reached over to grab a smaller plate and started making that one with tiny portions, letting his three kids have free pickings of his plate as he did. When he finished that plate he sat it in front of mini, receiving a grateful squeak before she dug in. He then propped his arms on the table, completely ignoring both his plate and the children stealing from it as he chattered on with his flock. By the time everyone finished his kids had their fill and were starting to fall asleep like usual after eating.
As his flock started gathering their dishes and the extra food on the table, Damian glanced at what was left of his plate. He made a mental note of how there weren’t as much leftovers as before and to grab bigger portions for dinner. As his flock started to disperse he looked to the dogs and said one of the first new commands he taught them.
"(Pups)." He got their attention. "(Take)." He ordered as he lifted up the half-asleep toddler on his lap. The dogs made whisper-boofs to show they heard and the largest three walked over to pick up the kids by their scruffs. Casper (the biggest, though not my much) grabbed Ree, Braxton grabbed Ares, and Dingo walked over to carefully lift Scales from his shoulder. Once they had a firm grip, they looked to Damian for further instruction.
"(To bed)" He directed as he pointed out the door they came from. The pack turned and left him alone in the room. He sighed to himself once he couldn't hear them anymore and looked back at the leftovers on the plate before him. It was maybe under half a portion for his size, probably less. He glanced at the counters and saw all the leftover food was already put up. He could go grab more but even half a portion for him would be nearly three or four large portions for his flock. No. It wasn’t worth it. He'll just grab more tonight.
He ate the leftovers in silence. Since he's got the dogs his head has been a bit quieter, though not silent. Apparently he was still enough for the building to register the room as empty, and the lights cut out. He blinked and paused at the sudden darkness but there was barely a second of blindness before some of his voices put their hands on his mental controls, giving his eyes a boost of minor night vision. It wasn’t much better than his natural amount of it but it helped. He decided not to go turn on the lights again and continued to eat his food as he peacefully listened to the soft chattering of his voices.

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

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

Credit to u/SpacePaladin15 for the Nature of Predators universe. Rain World is a video game developed by and property of Videocult. I claim no ownership over either.
Sorry for the wait. Life happened but I just finished my semester, so I’m hoping the next chapter will be finished sooner rather than later. Please let me know if I missed any typos or made any editing mistakes. It’s greatly appreciated.
–
Memory Transcript: Sefril, Farsul First Contact Officer
Date [Standardized Human Time]: July 15, 2136
When I came to, I just laid still. I wasn’t sure what had happened though what was certain was that I was both still alive and still in this dingy box of a room. The predators were you of sight in one of my few blindspots. Jinsul and Dornucl were still alive, with Dornucl understandably agitated and Jinsul seemingly lost in thought.
Stranger yet, no one seemed to be hurt. Maybe Jinsul had gotten them?
Careful, I sat up, only to be greeted by the predators grooming each other. They stared back at me as I froze once again.
“Finally,” Jinsul said, causing me to jump, “I need to ask you something.”
“Oh not this again,” Dornucl said, annoyed. “Ignore him, he’s gone mad.”
“What?” was my only response. The predators seemed to perk up, shifting their reclining posture slightly, ears standing on end.
“You’re supposed to be a scientist, and as such you understand the meaning of overwhelming evidence, yes?” Jinsul said.
“What you’re suggesting is not only the most unscientific conclusion I’ve heard but is also something I’d expect to come out of someone with terminal predator disease,” Dornucl interjected.
I glanced back terrified at the predators, who had not yet chosen to strike and instead decided to lay there. Menacingly.
I pressed myself against the back wall, hoping to fall straight through and away from them.
“Why haven’t you done anything about…them?” I said waving my tail toward the predators. “You’re an exterminator, so…exterminate.”
“With what?” Jinsul shot back and began waving his pistol with one paw while shaking the flamer laying beside with the other, “The handgun that won’t fire with damp ammunition or the flamer that will kill us all in this tight space? Besides, they won’t attack us.”
Dornucl groaned and rubbed his tentacles into his face, while my mouth was agape in shock.
“What do you mean ‘they won’t attack’?! Their bleating predators!”
“Gods, that’s what I’m trying to tell you!” Jinsul practically screamed in frustration. He took a breath, “OK, sorry, just listen alright? Have you been having weird dreams?”
I stiffened, “I had a dream last night where I almost drowned, but I don’t see what that has to–”
“So, you're telling me you didn’t almost drown?” he said with a knowing look.
I considered it with dawning horror, “But that’s–”
“Impossible,” Dornucl spat out, “And ludicrous.” He turned to me, “As I said, he’s snapped.”
“Then how else do you explain it? My brothers and sisters in arms have confided in me the same: dreams, visions, and inescapable feelings of familiarity in the unfamiliar. Those who heed them escape danger, while those who don’t, don’t.”
As Jinsul spoke, a true zealotry was imbued in his voice.
“I’ll give you this, by all means, these visions should be impossible and unexplainable by science.” Fervor glinted in his eyes. “But when science fails, we must turn to faith to guide us.”
A knot formed in my stomach as I got a sneaking suspicion of where he was going.
“It is my belief and that of my lieutenants and clergy that the gods have sent us these visions.” He announced this without a shadow of a doubt in his voice. “They’ve been guiding us from the moment we’ve entered the orbit. The delusions the crew had in orbit? Also the visions.”
It doesn’t make any sense, but he’s right on one thing. These premonitions are impossible, yet they happen and help us avoid danger. However, there has to be a more rational explanation. There just has to be.
“But why?” I ask. “To what end? If your gods are doing this, to what end? If they are behind everything, the visions and maybe the crash, then why what would justify so much suffering? It just doesn't make any sense.”
“That’s the nature of the divine,” he said somberly, “We can speculate why they would send the visions and make us…feel them and their pain all we want, but we are imperfect creatures, and they are things of perfection. We simply need to trust they are leading us to where we need to go.”
As I considered his words, Dornucl once again spoke up condescendingly.
“I can’t believe you even have to CONTEMPLATE what he’s saying!” He slumped down and motioned towards the predators. “Fine then, what do they have to do with your ‘gods’ plan’? Your duty as an exterminator is baked into your religion? What do you have to say to that?”
Jinsul involuntarily flicked his ears, betraying a rising irritation. “I don’t know, I don’t like it, and I don’t have to. They haven’t given us visions of them attacking us and they’ve decided to disable our best weapons. I don’t need to understand why, all I need to know is that there is a reason they would do so. Besides, they haven’t even tried to attack us. You're a biologist, do you consider that normal?”
“Do you even hear yourself? You sound like a lunatic! I could have you put away for this!”
Unlike his normally cool, level-headed, and almost jolly demeanor, Dornucl’s features were twisted in barely veiled rage. It was terrifying to see him on the verge of doing something awful. He opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by the predators.
The one with the grey fur was still lying down, but the other with the dark green fur had stood up and began stomping around in exaggerated and dramatic steps. All while growling and barking.
It was terrifying. However, it was dulled by the sheer surrealness of the situation. Its entire demeanor was less intentionally threatening and more childish mocking, right down to flailing its limbs in much the same way Dornucl did unconsciously to emphasize his point. It may even be funny if we could understand what they were saying.
Wait a minute…
I paused to think about that absent-minded thought, the gears and pistons finally shaking off the shock and beginning to fire and spin. I listened closely to its vocalizations and began to pick out a form of structure in how they were articulated and gestated. I recalled the predators' behavior and came to a grim conclusion.
“We have a problem,” I said so quietly it could barely be considered a whisper.
“Oh, what tipped you off genius?” Dornucl responded sarcastically.
I stumbled a little at the insult but continued.
“No, I mean a bigger problem,” I took a deep breath, “I think they’re sapient.”
The silence was deafening. Even the predator had stopped its mockery and began exchanging words with the other grey-furred one.
Dornucl glanced at the and sighed. “In hindsight, that does explain their behavior.”
Somehow, despite this revelation, Dornucl regained his composure and his cool demeanor.
“Well, in a certain sense, this simplifies things somewhat. We just have to wait for the translators to complete processing their language, then we can hopefully negotiate with them.”
I gawked at what he just said, while Jinsul broke down into laughter.
“And I’m the crazy one!” Jinsul managed to get out between the cackles, “Do you even hear yourself? Mindless animals are one thing, but this? We have the next the Arxur right before us!”
It was at this point that Plako decided to wake up. One can only imagine what was going through his head when he was greeted by 2 predators, a hysterical exterminator, a biologist trying not to show his frustration, and an anthropologist doing her best to fall through the wall.
He began to stammer. “Wh-what h-happened? Why haven’t they eaten us?”
Dornucl leaned over to him and deadpanned. “The predators are sapient.”
Plako froze after he processed this information.
Jinsul calmed down enough to speak more coherently, “Gods, it all makes sense. They must’ve bombed themselves back in the stone age, and have only recently been reclaiming their former technology.”
I spoke up. “I don’t think that’s the case. Remember, the worm showed us an image of that other creature. These predators likely evolved sometime after the civilization's collapse.”
“Well,” Jinsul said while deep in thought, “Now I can say for certain the gods must be involved.”
“Wh-what?” Plako asked trambling.
“Think about it. This whole situation is so astronomically unlikely, from being in an uncharted system in the middle of nowhere at the same time as a single Arxur ship to surviving the crash, and then meeting these predators, and them not attacking us. The gods’ intend for us to purge these creatures before they can spread and save the remnants of this civilization from–”
“No, I’m pretty sure it was laughing at you, not with you.” A masculine said from the back of the chamber.
“Fine, but I think I’m finally getting somewhere.” A feminine voice responded.
Jinsul went quiet as our gazes fell upon the predators. The translators finished translating. No one knew what to do, so we ended up just staring.
They both stared back with their unnerving abyssal eyes.
“I do wish they’d stop staring though. It’s starting to get weird.” The female said with a tone of unease.
“Let’s bring them to the village and have Oracle translate. It’s probably just a misunderstanding,” the male responded.
“Right, there's nothing we can do about it now.” She plopped beside the male and both began to get ready to sleep the best one could on the hard floor.
I felt something poke into my side, causing me to jump. Dornucl had crawled over to me and began to speak in a whisper. “What do you want me to do?” I asked.
His frustrated look returned. “You're the first contact specialist, go first contact.”
“And their predators!” I said, raising my voice a little louder, “They’ll eat me!”
He groaned and put on a forced calm. “While I disagree with Jinsul’s reasoning, they haven’t eaten us yet and we all want it to stay that way. Now if they decide they do want to eat us, we don’t have any weapons that wouldn’t be suicidal to use. If we want to get out of this alive and well, we’ll have to at least communicate with them.”
Jinsul, who had been effortlessly eavesdropping on us, muttered something under his breath. Dornucl ignored him as he continued, “So please at least try. Even if you fail, we’re likely doomed anyway.”
As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I just wish it wasn’t me who had to do it or that I was the only one remotely qualified to do so. Haf was still unconscious, Plako looked on the brink of tears, Dornucl was just a scientist, and Jinsul wasn’t in the mood.
I gathered my strength and began running through what I could say. After a minute of idle thought, I came up with the only thing I could say. I stood up on quivering legs, took a brave step forward, and called upon the translator’s imparted knowledge.
“J-just so yo-you know, we’re not very tasty…and we’ll give you in-indigestion, so you shouldn’t eat us.” I felt like I was about to throw up.
The predators just stared at me, jaws agape and revealing menacing fangs. Jinsul nearly collapsed in renewed laughter. Dornucl buried his eyes into his tentacles and muttered something to himself.
“What was I supposed to say?” I said to Dornucl.
“ANYTHING BUT THAT!” he shot back.
Before I could snap back in frustration, the grey predator spoke.
“You speak our tongue the entire time? Why didn’t you say anything sooner?”
We paused, and even Jinsul stopped laughing like a madman. Wordlessly, Dornucl shoved me forward.
“N-no…” I stammered, “We have an implant in our heads that translates languages in real-time while allowing us to speak stored languages. It only just figured out your language just now.”
“So it’s a Mark of Communication?” It asked.
“I don’t–”
“No no,” the green one interrupted, “If they had one, then we wouldn’t be able to understand them.”
The grey one nodded sagely.
I had been expecting an equally long-winded and terrifying conversation about the plausibility of a universal translator and whether or not it was magic, not such a matter-of-fact statement. Before I could shake off the confusion, Dornucl suddenly spoke up, “What’s a mark of communication?"
“Definitely from beyond the wall,” the green one said to the grey.
The grey one nodded and turned back to us.
“A mark is a special gift, given only to one who reaches the top of Pebbles and meets with him, wherein he provides the mark and the knowledge necessary to complete the Pilgrimage. Did you receive your ‘translator’ from another like him?” They both seemed oddly interested in the answer.
“We made them,” I said, then quickly added, “The Federation did. We didn’t build them personally. Just to reiterate, you're not going to eat us, right?”
“Of course not.” The green one said, its voice rife with disgust. “Why do you–”
Jinsul swiftly cut it off.
“Do you think you win us over with such obvious deceptions?” Jinsul stood and sized up the predators, “I know this game. You’re just keeping us around till you get hungry. When I get off this rock, I’ll ensure the god’s wishes are seen through and this entire planet is burned from orbit!”
The predators seemed confused about what was said. The green one stepped too close to me, with nowhere to go, I froze and closed my eyes.
This is it Sefril. You knew this was coming. Don’t resist and maybe it will be–
“Is he okay?” it asked, feigning concern and pointing to a still-ranting Jinsul, “In, y’know…” it said as it tapped its claw against its head.
Jinsul paused momentarily as he took in what was just said, then began fuming again. “I DON’T HAVE BRAIN DAMAGE!” he shrieked.
It took a step back at the outburst. It put its arms out, but instead of lunging toward him, it seemed as though it was trying to shield itself from him, or at the very least keep him at a comfortable distance.
“I didn’t mean to offend,” It said, the translator framing it apologetically to my confusion, “I have a cousin who fell off a pole as a pup and landed on his head. You sorta act like him.”
Jinsul reached a new, as of yet unknown level of hate. He stood there for a second, simmering not unlike a faulty water boiler. Dornucl stepped behind him, raised some robust science thingy above his head, and brought it down on Jinsul’s.
Jinsul flopped to bring like a rag doll beside Haf. Everyone, including the predators, was speechless. Everyone except Dornucl.
“Everyone shut up!”, he said in a practical growl, “This is confusing for all of us, and antagonizing each other isn’t going to make this situation any better. Here’s how this will go: We’ll have a polite conversation, get to know each other, and then figure out what to do.”
He turns to the predators. “My name is Dornucl, and this is Sefril, Plako, Jinsul, and Haf. What’s your’s?”
“My name is Stone,” The grey-furred one responded, “And this is Light.” He said pointing to the green one.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Light said, not skipping a beat, “Where are you from?”
Oh boy, getting right into it.
“So…” I began, but Plako jabbed me.
“You can’t,” he whispered in a panic, “There are predators, if they find out about the federation it’ll be the Arxur all over again.”
I look nervously at Dornucl, who nods reassuringly. I take a deep breath. “I know, but they’ll find out sooner or later. Besides, they may be predators, but they are also primitives. We have a natural advantage, if not physically than technologically and intellectually.”
I returned my attention to ‘Light’ and ‘Stone’, who did their best not to look like they were eavesdropping. “As I was saying…this is a little complicated. You know the stars, right?”
They nodd.
“We are from the stars.”
They blinked at us. They glanced around at us, trying to read our expressions.
“What do you mean?” Stone asked hesitantly.
I took a deep breath and launched into an explanation. “You know how we are currently in this world? There are others like, very, very far away. So far away that if you spent your entire life running as fast as you could you’d never even glimpse it.”
“Then how did you come here?” Light asked, “Did you use magic like the Ancients did?”
I took a mental note to inquire more about these Ancients, then resumed. “No, we, and the Federation as a whole, use large machines called ‘spaceships’. Each is equipped with a device called a subspace drive, which allows for faster-than-light travel. With this, we can travel between stars in days, weeks, or months depending on the distance between the stars.”
“Hey, I’m pretty fast, but I don’t think that going faster than me would make much of a difference if it’s that far away.”
Stone let out a good-natured snicker. “I think she meant light from a lantern or the sun.”
“Ah,” she remarked, ears pressed back in mild embarrassment. She tilted her head in confusion, “But that sounds like magic to me.”
“It’s not, ok? It’s just science.” I say with a sigh. Surprisingly, the word science seemed to translate without much of a fuss and they even nodded along. Something else to look into.
Stone asked the dreaded question: “Then how does it work?”
“I don’t know but I’m sure Plako could give you a basic…” I began to say when Plako started to make wild motions, trying to communicate he had no idea how it worked without drawing attention. He succeeded in trying to tell me that while failing to stay incognito. The predators turn their piercing eyes on him.
“Don’t worry about him,” I say hastily before they can speak, “It’s not his specialty.”
“What’s his specialty?” Stone asked. Plako visibly cringed, but this time Dornucl saved him.
“Let’s save the more technical discussions for tomorrow. It’s late, and we’re all tired.”
Light gave Stone a look before turning back to us. “Agreed. We both had a rough cycle. We even died a few times.”
They settled down while we were left to ponder the absolute bombshell they had dropped on us. Plako seemed checked, while Dornucl and I just shared a look. I recalled what Jinsul had come up with and felt a pit form in my stomach.
“I’m sorry, what?” I asked dumbfounded.
Stone looked up from where she was cuddling up next to Light. “What do you mean? Was it something I said?”
“Yes, it was something you said,” I said while trying not to hyperventilate, “You said you died. What do you mean by that?”
Both predators looked confused. “You know, the Cycle. Wake up, Die, wake up. Don’t you have the Cycle where you’re from?”
“...no…” I say in an empty voice. “By any chance, you wouldn’t happen to remember these deaths as dreams?”
The predators gave me a look of confusion, before Light nodded. I stared for an eternity, and this time the predators were the ones to give us uncomfortable looks. They whispered between themselves, occasionally shooting glances back towards us though taking no other action.
Unfortunately, our solace from their gazes didn’t last, as Stone turned back to us. “I can see that there are certainly…things that need to be sorted out between us, but I think Door-Knuckle had the right idea.”
I nodded, barely registering what he was saying. The others muttered in half-hearted agreement. Satisfied, the predators continued to snuggle up beside each other. Within moments, they were fast asleep.
We stayed quiet for a long while. Plako crawled closer to Dornucl and me. “They’re lying, right? I mean, they have to be. It’s what predators do.”
I couldn’t muster myself to answer him. Dornucl seemed flustered.
“Say something…please…” Plako pleaded, raising his voice above the whisper he had it at before. Thankfully the predators didn’t wake. We just sat there, letting it all sink in.
“It’s…let’s…” Dornucl started to say, before settling on “Damn it.”
[First] [Previous] [Next]

i don’t know if people think she has no chance because she’s not gonna make it to the end, but even if she does, I genuinely think Maria loses to Charlie OR Kenzie, despite having a strong strategic game
Maria has clearly put off a majority of the jury and made some ridiculous social blunders that have seemingly set off a bunch of them. mostly running off of the exit press word associations, Hunter, Tiffany and Venus don’t seem to want much to do with her- Venus obviously has beef with her, Tiffany’s response to Maria was a groan and calling her a ‘boy mom’ and Hunter called her ‘flip-floppy’. Tevin and Soda are less clear imo, but I think Ben and Liz would also preferably vote Kenzie over her. she’s already gonna have a hard time getting there but even if she does she’s probably gonna need to be sat with Ben and Liz to do it
edgic-wise, I could honestly see her as the figurehead for what Jeff described at the marooning; ‘something about one of you will prevent you from making the bonds to win’ or something like that. FTC having Kenzie beat out Maria in a social game > strategic game fashion seems narratively satisfying

Chapter 4: Fires of Damnation
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[Previous] <<First>> [Next]
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June 1, 2030, Tokyo, Japan - 1:00 am JST- 2 and a half hours post-invasion
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Aquila Generalis scoured the ruined metropolis. She held a torch in her upper left hand and a gargantuan gladius in her upper right. She had large nets filled with writhing Japanese civilians in her lower left and right appendages. The civilians screamed and squirmed like fish in netting. Some humans were cradling streaming infants and crying children. Others cradled their spouses, elderly parents, or anyone nearby. Most just panicked. A few rational humans used small knives or their teeth to sever the netting, much to the amusement of an onlooking dragon. Movement from an apartment complex caught the attention of a tremendous soldier. The soldier stuck his hand into the ruined apartment complex while the rest stopped and stared at him.
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"What are you doing?" Asked another soldier. She raised an eyebrow and gave her fellow soldier a puzzled look.
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The giant stretched his right arm, straining himself. He pressed his left arm against the building to maintain balance.
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"Need some help?" The amused dragon sneered.
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The giant hissed in excretion and annoyance. He stretched his fingers, a determined fervor taking over him. He pushed a desk over, revealing a cowering human. The giant grabbed the human by its legs and dragged the Man toward his eye.
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"Got him." The soldier hissed.
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Some of the giants began crowding around the building. Most gathered to steal their compatriot's meal, while a few scoured the facility for more humans. The soldier's single eye widened with glee. He licked his lips with anticipation; the sight of fresh meat entranced him in a state of euphoria. A small gust of wind blew towards him as he dragged the screaming human towards his eye. The giants opened their maws in anticipation, a toothy grin plastered on their faces. The human revealed a small device, and the gigantic glutton paid no mind. The monster feasted on many humans when he entered the metropolis. He had never seen such a colossal city nor so many humans packed into one place. This human would be one of his many victims. When the human was before the titan, he sprayed a mysterious substance into the titan's eye. The giant released the human and covered his single elephantine eye. He wailed in pain and stumbled backward, knocking his comrades over. The Mammoth of a Monster cried like a newborn infant while his comrades groaned in pain.
Aquila Generalis glowered at her pathetic legion while the dragon erupted in laughter. Others stopped searching the building to see what the commotion was about. Upon seeing their fellow giant reduced to a weeping wimp, they laughed.
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"I'm blind. I'm Blind! I'M BLII-I-I-IND!" The giant wailed.
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"I CAN'T SEE. I. CAN'T. SEE-EE!!!" he whipped his eye furiously, Wailing all the while.
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Aquila Generalis put the nets down. She marched toward the foolish giant, pulled him to his feet, and glared at her soldiers. They quickly stopped laughing. The dragon, on the other hand, was hooting and hollering.
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"I'M bLiNd. I cAn'T sEe. Oh, HeLp MeE!" the dragon jeered.
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The general ignored him for the sake of her health. She shook the crying Cyclops, then slapped him.
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"What is wrong with you, soldier?"
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The cyclops sobbed quietly. "The h-human sp-sprayed me with s-something." He said between sniffles.
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The general clutched the bridge of her nose. I do not have time for this. As the general berated the legionnaire, Strange beasts dotted the night sky.
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—-----
Japan Air and Space Self-Defense Force (JASSDF)
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"I have a visual on the targets. Be advised targets have hostages. Do not fire unless you have a clear shot."
—-----
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The dragon looked up while the commander chastised her soldier. Upon laying eyes on the strange flying contraptions, the dragon narrowed his eyes.
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"Aquila"
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"Aquila!"
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"Not now, dragon!" The general continued berating the Cyclops.
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"Look up, stupid giant."
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"Not now, you serpentine-"
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The dragon was blown to pieces. His scales, limbs, teeth, and other body parts were scattered on the roof he once stood on. Chaos ensued as the squadron of Mitsubishi F-2 fighters lit up the sky. Before General Aquila could react, A missile hit her head, detonating. Brain matter and skull fragments decorated the buildings, creating a collage of carnage. Most of the legion tried to bring out their slings, only for their bones and organs to paint the metropolis. The few remaining legionnaires fled, leaving their human hostages. Dragons from nearby, alerted by the explosions, came to investigate. A barrage of missiles shot down the dragons that flew toward the squadron. Blood, bone, and flesh rained down on the streets of northern Tokyo.
​
—-----
“Clear. Send evac for civvies.”
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***
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June 1, 2030, Tokyo, Japan - 2:00 am JST- 3 and a half hours post-invasion
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North Gate- a park in northern Tokyo
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The invasion was successful. Thousands of humans fell before the trollish legion of Luath and the elven legion of Grásta; hundreds more huddled in cages, ready to be processed into food or slaves. The trolls fought in ritualistic combat for their human trophies. At the same time, the elves watched, knowing they would be given most of the quarry due to their inherent superiority. The lesser fae were presented their trophies early: the elderly, infirm, and those too young to be used. With nothing better to do, most of the lesser fae reentered the gate while a select few remained. Ginearálta de Grásta, General of the Grásta legion, speaks with one of his soldiers.
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"This is quite the nest."
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"Agreed, Sir. It is almost…." The soldier marveled at the large city, its towering structures piercing the heavens. "Impressive," the soldier sighed.
​
"Uncanny? Yes. Impressive? No. These are intelligent animals capable of fabricating wonders, but animals nonetheless. They mimic our customs, art, and concepts but lack the capacity to create true marvels. True marvels are the domain of those who wield the arcane, for it is the arcane that elevates us to the realm of sapience. Only those capable of wielding the arcane can be called sapient and only sapients can build something impressive. Everything Man creates is a caricature of our achievements; remember that."
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"Of course, sir." the soldier said hesitantly.
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"You are a fine soldier; what is your title?"
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"Saighdiúir giolcach, sir." the soldier hastily replied.
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"I've seen you around, and you show great potential. Your loyalty to Tír na Nog and the elven race cannot be ignored. Follow me."
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Saighdiúir Giolcach, The soldier of reeds, obeyed his general's command. The soldier caught glimpses of the dueling trolls from the corner of his eyes as he passed by. Ginearálta de Grásta and Saighdiúir Giolcach passed by some trees and bushes until they reached a clearing full of human cages. Ginearálta de Grásta stepped directly in front of a cage and knelt to get a closer look at the captives. Saighdiúir Giolcach slowed down and stopped a few feet from his commander.
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"Come closer, soldier."
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The soldier hesitantly stepped closer and looked inside the cages. Humans were tightly packed inside, shoulder to shoulder, shaking and quietly sobbing. Their clothing was torn and filthy, and their faces were stained with dust and tears. They inched away from the general, squishing each other in the process. The site disgusted him, but he maintained his composure.
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"Have you ever seen a human before?" the general asked inquisitively.
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"No, sir. My father showed me pictures and told stories, but that's it. My family doesn't have enough money to own half-bloods, let alone pure humans." the soldier replied.
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"Well, boy, today is your lucky day. Pick one." The general commanded.
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Saighdiúir Giolcach gazed upon the mass of frightened humans. "Humans are master mimics; they cannot wield the arcane. They're just beasts," he repeated to himself as he stared into the cage in front of him.
​
He stared at a frightened Japanese woman, an adolescent just like him. They're supposed to be animals, but their eyes ... their eyes. Anguish, anxiety, grief, sadness, and so many emotions swirled within those expressive eyes. The outside commotion faded as the soldier drowned in her eyes. As his breathing and heart rate accelerated, he began questioning everything he learned about humanity and the definition of sapience. This isn't right; nothing is right. The soldier of reeds remembered his father's stories of glorious manhunts and successful raids. He remembered his mother's proverbs on magic and how it separated them from their pets and livestock. The elves are the superior race, far superior to humans. Humans are pets, livestock, slaves, and —NO! He took three steps back. He was wrong, his family was wrong, everyone was wrong. This is ₩ⱤØ₦₲. I won't condone this.
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"C̸̵̨̨̳͕̙̤̥̞͕͇̦͙̟̲ͭ̋͑ͥͮ̌ͬͬ́̃ͦ̾͆͢͡ē̸̸͇͇̣͓̣̖̲̘̋ͮ̓ͭ̀͑̏̓͗_̙̰͓̲̠̪̮͔̔̎͌ͪ͐̈́̆͘a̢͖̱̱̙̲̩̠̯͔̙̖͚ͤ̈́̇̋ͯͬ͆ͥ̆ͮń̴̡͍̘̠͍̩̺͖̟̲̉ͫ̀ͤͧ̆̈̅͆̂̐̒̋͊̒̋͟͢͟͞͞ͅn̸̛̘̫̯̘̝̱̬͉̝̲͈̿ͪ́́̽ͦ̈ͯ̄͒̈̅̍̚ d͖̣̬͈͚ḭ̛̘͚͕̱́́ͧͭ̓̐̍̽͞ͅl̚į̸̧̹̖͎̻͓ͮ̐̒ͮ̋̂̀ͯ̎̉͐ͦ̑ͦͩͤ͘͟͡s͇̿̃ d͉̬̂ͦ͗è̷̷̻͓̭͎̣̠̱̞̮̦ͤ̈́̓͑̍̒̈̏ͭͯ̕͘͘͜ Ģ̢̙̼̩̮̪̤̮͚̭͖͖̥͍͈̳̲̠͒̉̂ͥ̔ͨ́ͧ́ͬͤ́ͩ̍ͫ̃͌ͯͤ̕͟͢͝ī̷̡̢̨̧̦̩̩̙͕̦͖̞̠̘̬̰͕ͣͧ̑̾̚͢͠ͅ_̛̀̀̉́ͬ͝o̴̘̭͈̜͍͕͉̤̜̘͖͍̠̎͑́ͫ̍̎̔̏ͮ͂ͩ́͘͟l̸̴̵̵̛̫͎͍͔̜̘͉̭̭̳̻̮̖̉͐̆ͫ̇͑ͧ̿̄͑̍ͦ́̅̅ͯ̀̈ͫ̓̊̍̆̃ć̸̴̵̻̪̻̘̮͎̟̫͚͉̗̳̞̦̒ͪ̇̏̄̈́ͤ͗͘͢͝ͅaͮ̒c̡̡͉̮̟̤̭̻̥̩̗̭͔̺̎̀̀̊̃ͬ̀͆͋̆ͣ̐̄́͛͒̏ͩ̾͆̾ͯ̚͟͡ͅͅh͎̞͓̳̞͙̼̱͇͓͂ͨͧ̂ͩͣ̈́̈͗̿̓̆͂́̈́͗ͯ̆ͩ̕͝͞ͅͅ, you faithless fool." The general growled. Arcane power filled his lungs.
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The general stood up, turned around, and scowled at the boy. At the invocation of his true name, the soldier froze. The general's magic seeped into his body, causing a sharp, burning pain to envelop him.
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Despite the agony, C̸̵̨̨̳͕̙̤̥̞͕͇̦͙̟̲ͭ̋͑ͥͮ̌ͬͬ́̃ͦ̾͆͢͡ē̸̸͇͇̣͓̣̖̲̘̋ͮ̓ͭ̀͑̏̓͗_̙̰͓̲̠̪̮͔̔̎͌ͪ͐̈́̆͘a̢͖̱̱̙̲̩̠̯͔̙̖͚ͤ̈́̇̋ͯͬ͆ͥ̆ͮń̴̡͍̘̠͍̩̺͖̟̲̉ͫ̀ͤͧ̆̈̅͆̂̐̒̋͊̒̋͟͢͟͞͞ͅn̸̛̘̫̯̘̝̱̬͉̝̲͈̿ͪ́́̽ͦ̈ͯ̄͒̈̅̍̚ d͖̣̬͈͚ḭ̛̘͚͕̱́́ͧͭ̓̐̍̽͞ͅl̚į̸̧̹̖͎̻͓ͮ̐̒ͮ̋̂̀ͯ̎̉͐ͦ̑ͦͩͤ͘͟͡s͇̿̃ d͉̬̂ͦ͗è̷̷̻͓̭͎̣̠̱̞̮̦ͤ̈́̓͑̍̒̈̏ͭͯ̕͘͘͜ Ģ̢̙̼̩̮̪̤̮͚̭͖͖̥͍͈̳̲̠͒̉̂ͥ̔ͨ́ͧ́ͬͤ́ͩ̍ͫ̃͌ͯͤ̕͟͢͝ī̷̡̢̨̧̦̩̩̙͕̦͖̞̠̘̬̰͕ͣͧ̑̾̚͢͠ͅ_̛̀̀̉́ͬ͝o̴̘̭͈̜͍͕͉̤̜̘͖͍̠̎͑́ͫ̍̎̔̏ͮ͂ͩ́͘͟l̸̴̵̵̛̫͎͍͔̜̘͉̭̭̳̻̮̖̉͐̆ͫ̇͑ͧ̿̄͑̍ͦ́̅̅ͯ̀̈ͫ̓̊̍̆̃ć̸̴̵̻̪̻̘̮͎̟̫͚͉̗̳̞̦̒ͪ̇̏̄̈́ͤ͗͘͢͝ͅaͮ̒c̡̡͉̮̟̤̭̻̥̩̗̭͔̺̎̀̀̊̃ͬ̀͆͋̆ͣ̐̄́͛͒̏ͩ̾͆̾ͯ̚͟͡ͅͅh͎̞͓̳̞͙̼̱͇͓͂ͨͧ̂ͩͣ̈́̈͗̿̓̆͂́̈́͗ͯ̆ͩ̕͝͞ͅͅ spoke.
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"This-Ack ₩ⱤØ₦₲, you-ack, every-ack..." He sputtered as blue blood leaked from his mouth, nose, ears, and eyes. Tears tried to crawl from his pale yellow eyes, but he held them back. He could feel his skin turn to bark, lungs to heartwood, hair to leaves, and eyes to flowers.
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"F̴̭̤̘̣̖̏̈͒̄ͫ̿͘͢a̢̰̳̦̺͓̥̗͉̦̻̖͇̯̹̺̓͆͗̀ͪ͌̈́ͧͯͧ͆̃̌̒̕͘͢͢͠͞͡i̛̩̙͕͌̉͂̇̃_̪̳̺͕̮͕̽͑t̸̶̿_̲͉͆h̶̷͚̣̠̥̪̳̲̝̳̱̟̫̯͍̝̩̱̱̦͎͇̳̯͇̱̜ͧ̃ͩ̐ͤ͆̏̈́̈ͪͪ͛ͧ͌̓̌͢͞f̷̘ͬ_̳̅ȕ̸̷̴̢̱͉̩̯̲̹̝̙͙̈ͣͨ̆͋͗̓͋̿͊̔͛̋̍̕͢ͅl̉̎͝͡ ǫ̧̺̲͍̯͖͙̥̦̦̮̇̑̈͆ͨ̈́̅̉̈ͯͥ́͌̃ͭ͘͜n̨̧̰̜̭̪͎ͥ̽ͪ̅̑ͦ͒͌̆ͮ̋͐͟͠e_̧̞͖͓̺͓̦̝̞̾͆̆͆̎̈ͬ̈́̑͗ͨ͟͠ͅ ǫ̷̴͎̙̥̝̝́̊ͫ̒͑͑ͨͥͨ̌̑͆̉͟͟f̲̗̜̤̪͉̪̮̘͙ͪͪͫͤ̄̂̌̐͑̽̉ͅ t̛̖̝̻͓̏͋̀̊̒͘͡͞h͔̜͕͖̼͋ͤ̇_̠̾e̡̳͉̟ͪ̍ͬ̊͡ r̷̨̛̛̘̦͓̭̙ͣ͑̍ͬ̈́̋̄ͮ̓ͦ͑͗͑̎̓͗͘͜͜ế̴̴̝̲̗͖̦̫̭͔͈̺̘̖̲̜̱͍͈̓͆͒̉̒ͫ̇̋̑ͧͮ̕͘͢͜͞͞͞ed̶̛̛̟̘̖̻̎̓ͯͨ̓͌̇͐̍̍͗̄̚̚͟ͅs̛͔̞̮̩̫̭̠̞̼̗̼ͮ̅̈̅ͯͧ̂̋̉̊̏͢͜,̨̡̠̰̰̇ͪ͊͂̏̈́ͮ̌̈ͪ̌̆̎͒͝ ẙ̵̷̡̡̛̛̬̺͈͎̭̟̲̻̲̥̩̗͉̔͋̑̏͐́ͥ͆̈̋ͪ͜͢͡ͅo̷̡̻̝̜̹̳͓͖̞ͯ̾͒̀́̇̍͂ͦ͘͘̚͟͢u̸̸̸̟͚̮͙͉̳̗̥̮̜̞͈͚͈̜̩̠̘̇̊ͥ͗ͣ̋̄͗̈́ͭ͆̾̈̃ͣ̔͆͑̑͐̽͟͢͝ ą̡̝̰͙̰̖͉͕̂ͨͬ̑͛́̂ͨ̋̏̾ͦ̑͠ŗ̴̠̭̦̺̖͍̘̖̦̗̞͕̦͉ͯ̂͐ͥͦ̀̒̀͊̄͌ͧ͊̄̾̍́̎̏ͩ̏ͮ͘̕͟ͅę̶̡̢͍̬͎̗̹̖̟̦͇̼̼͎͉̗̜̔̎́́̀ͪ͛ͪ͒̌͋͗̉̄̾͊̒̿̈ͪ̔͑̕̕͠͞ ń̵̢̨̧̹̲̮̮̝̣̩͙͚̠̥̻́̾ͤ́̀́̌̅̋͛̅̎ͩ̅̆͑ͧ͜͢͠͝͡_̡ͯ̎̎͑ͫ͛ơ̷̵̧̡͙͖͙̤͓͓̗̼͕͈̬̱̰̺̖ͣͩ͐͆͋̏̇́ͩ̈͐͗ͤ̾̎͗ͫ̑ͯͮ͂̉̃͘͜͠ f̟̞̥͇ͯ͛̄͆ͬ͒̊́á̯̬̄ͫ͝_̵̼̦̥͖͎͈̝̠̬̹̤̦̰̰͕͔̞̊̃͌ͦ̔̎̓̋ͯ̀ͫ͂͞͡ͅě̡̛̬̜̥̩͓͚̫̳̭̖͔̒̍͛ͨ̾̏̃̚͢͟͠.̵̡̟̲̗̤͙̺̌̍͐ͨ̌͂ͣ͂ͥ͋̑̾ͪ̈́̇ͣ͂͆̃͞"

​

BANG.

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​
Ceann dílis fell to the ground, gasping for air and too weak to stand. Japanese soldiers, carrying strange sticks, came seemingly from nowhere. Most Japanese soldiers rushed to break open the cages. Some stood over the dead general and the child soldier, who openly wept, paralyzed, and petrified.
​
"Sir, we have a child in desperate need of medical aid." A Japanese soldier spoke through a strange object.
​
The boy sobbed loudly.
​
—-----
​
"It wasn't supposed to be like this." Ginearálta de Luath, general of the Luath legion, whispered.
The humans had unleashed something, which wiped out the Grásta legion in seconds by filling the soldiers with metal stones. The stones were so fast, he couldn't stop them. They tore through the elves with ease and left marks on his skin. He used his magic to find the killers, but before he could retaliate, what could only be described as metal beasts launched fire blasts at him, exterminating most of his legion. Now, all he could do was run and hide. He climbed over the crumbling remains of his troll brothers and past the lesser fae, who chose to surrender. He was the only one alive to make it through the northern gate. The humans of this world can do magic. Somehow, in 200 years, they acquired arcane power. He didn't know how it happened, but what he did know was that Man was no longer prey. The humans of this world would bring perdition to Tír na Nog.
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{A/N: Hey guys, I did not die and this series was not canceled. These last two college semesters kicked my ass and burnt the heck out of me. It took me a while, but here it is chapter 4. I want to post as many chapters as possible before the next college semester starts. If you have any feedback or questions, I will happily respond.}
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Aquila Generalis pronounced (Ah-KWEE-lah jen-eh-RAH-lis)
Luath pronounced (LOO-ah)
Ginearálta de Luath pronounced (Jin-ah-RAWL-tah deh LOO-ah)
Grásta pronounced (GRAH-stah)
Ginearálta de Grásta pronounced (Jin-ah-RAWL-tah deh GRAH-stah)
Saighdiúir Giolcach pronounced (SAH-ee-joo-ir gee-ul-kahkh)
Ceann dílis pronounced (Kyann DEE-lish)
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C̸̵̨̨̳͕̙̤̥̞͕͇̦͙̟̲ͭ̋͑ͥͮ̌ͬͬ́̃ͦ̾͆͢͡ē̸̸͇͇̣͓̣̖̲̘̋ͮ̓ͭ̀͑̏̓͗_̙̰͓̲̠̪̮͔̔̎͌ͪ͐̈́̆͘a̢͖̱̱̙̲̩̠̯͔̙̖͚ͤ̈́̇̋ͯͬ͆ͥ̆ͮń̴̡͍̘̠͍̩̺͖̟̲̉ͫ̀ͤͧ̆̈̅͆̂̐̒̋͊̒̋͟͢͟͞͞ͅn̸̛̘̫̯̘̝̱̬͉̝̲͈̿ͪ́́̽ͦ̈ͯ̄͒̈̅̍̚ d͖̣̬͈͚ḭ̛̘͚͕̱́́ͧͭ̓̐̍̽͞ͅl̚į̸̧̹̖͎̻͓ͮ̐̒ͮ̋̂̀ͯ̎̉͐ͦ̑ͦͩͤ͘͟͡s͇̿̃ d͉̬̂ͦ͗è̷̷̻͓̭͎̣̠̱̞̮̦ͤ̈́̓͑̍̒̈̏ͭͯ̕͘͘͜ Ģ̢̙̼̩̮̪̤̮͚̭͖͖̥͍͈̳̲̠͒̉̂ͥ̔ͨ́ͧ́ͬͤ́ͩ̍ͫ̃͌ͯͤ̕͟͢͝ī̷̡̢̨̧̦̩̩̙͕̦͖̞̠̘̬̰͕ͣͧ̑̾̚͢͠ͅ_̛̀̀̉́ͬ͝o̴̘̭͈̜͍͕͉̤̜̘͖͍̠̎͑́ͫ̍̎̔̏ͮ͂ͩ́͘͟l̸̴̵̵̛̫͎͍͔̜̘͉̭̭̳̻̮̖̉͐̆ͫ̇͑ͧ̿̄͑̍ͦ́̅̅ͯ̀̈ͫ̓̊̍̆̃ć̸̴̵̻̪̻̘̮͎̟̫͚͉̗̳̞̦̒ͪ̇̏̄̈́ͤ͗͘͢͝ͅaͮ̒c̡̡͉̮̟̤̭̻̥̩̗̭͔̺̎̀̀̊̃ͬ̀͆͋̆ͣ̐̄́͛͒̏ͩ̾͆̾ͯ̚͟͡ͅͅh͎̞͓̳̞͙̼̱͇͓͂ͨͧ̂ͩͣ̈́̈͗̿̓̆͂́̈́͗ͯ̆ͩ̕͝͞ͅͅ pronounced (Kyann DEE-lish deh gee-ul-kahkh)
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The immature man. We all know the type. Arrested development, zero emotional intelligence..usually displaying behaviour that is the equivalent of a 12 year old pre pubescent boy that is yet to learn or understand social cues.
Everything is a joke, everything is mocked, nothing is to be taken seriously.
Every discussion, social occasion, interaction, event, conversation is an opportunity for a performance, to be the centre of attention, to seek validation of their worth through the laughs and admiration of others. Filling up their empty ego, the fragile, hollow space where their self esteem should be.
Every joke is taken to the extreme. Pushed up to the line of inappropriateness..sometimes over..waiting for a reaction, a laugh, amusement. Nothing is off limits. Jokes about sleeping with your boss to her face? Sure! Jokes about serious illness? Yes! Jokes that should not ever be Jokes? But of course!
Most of the time, the immature man is blissfully unaware that their audience finds their behaviour insufferable, intolerable and repulsive.

A story of a boy immersed in deep despair. Zein has been living alone for quite a long time. He was abused when he was young and his body, filled with scars. He is emotionally sensitive and has a bad temper. As he continues his depressing life, he meets a young man two years younger than him, Rain. His life began to change. He started feeling emotions that he had never felt before, happiness, belongingness, and love. Is Rain the light he needed to finally realize his worth?
Zein, a 21 year old, living in a dark apartment all by himself. He's now in college and is currently working as a part-time in a small mini mart.
Mini mart bell rings
"Welcome, please pick whatever you like and pay up" Zein's deep rusty voice greeted the customer. His gloomy emotion seems to be affecting the customer. "Do you have a box of cigars?" The customer asked. "Sorry but we ran out this morning. We're still restocking" Zein replied. "Seriously? Why build a mini mart when you can't sell what customers want?". The tone of the customer suddenly changed. "How about you get the fuck out of here before I cut your throat open" Zein glared at the customer which exited the building angrily. "I hate this shitty life".
Zein's shift finally ended and he went back to his apartment. His neighbors could feel the dark aura emitting from the room. "What are you weirdos looking at?!" Zein glared at the neighbors like how he glared at the customer. He entered his apartment and went to the kitchen to grab a knife. He pop open a box of cigarettes and started smoking while slowly cutting shallow cuts on his wrist. He has been doing this for a while. "Ugh!" Zein groans looking at the bathroom mirror.
Crash!
He threw the knife at the mirror breaking it to a million pieces. He hated his appearance. He was filled with scars. He had red eyes and slightly edged teeth. His hair was soft but rustled. He was tall with white pale skin. Many people would mistakenly think of him as a goth. At school, girl would flock around him asking him for something or sometimes even confessions. He always got confused how he got these confessions even with his appearance.
The morning came and he started to change to his uniform. He started his bike and went to school. He could answer any question at school but he is really a bad tempered person. On a specific event, he shouted at a teacher which gave him detention. His grades were always high but one specific subject, Moral, was always low. Well, it's obvious why.
Ring
The school bell rang which means class was about to begin. Their teacher, Mr. Ordoniez entered the classroom with a new student with him. "Class, before we start off, we have a new exchange student from Tokyo." The class was filled with murmurs as most of them haven't went to Tokyo yet. It's a seven hour ride from Ishikawa to Tokyo. "Quiet class. Sir Hakari, please introduce yourself." The teacher signalled the student to go in the middle of the classroom. He was slightly short with light and soft skin. His eyes were orange and brown, it looked like ambers in the sun. He had medium brown hair that we're a but curly but also tidy. He looked around the classroom and started to introduce himself smiling. "Good morning everyone. I'm Hakari Rain. I'm here as an exchange student. My parents work at the Kori.corp nearby so I requested to be an exchange student here instead. Nice to meet all of you and I hope you would take care of me" Rain's soft voice brightened the room and his smile lit up everyone's faces. "Ok Sir Hakari, please sit beside..." The teacher paused searching for an empty seat. "Beside Sir Iwatani." The teacher pointed the seat beside Zein. Everybody was shocked as they know Zein's behavior. His bad temper might spill out again. "Sir, why does he have to sit beside me. He can move his chair somewhere else you know" Zein was surprisingly calm about this but still, his glare darkened the room. "Ok, if you wish. Sir Hakari, you can move you chair anywhere you like." Rain dragged his chair away from Zein and he stole a glimpse of him. "Your eyes are so pretty" Rain accidentally said those words out loud. He blushed out of embarrassment as Zein glared at him. The room went silent as everyone looked at Rain blushing. "SORRY! I DIDN'T MEAN IT". Rain apologized and hurriedly sat on his seat. The class continued and he could see Zein sleeping during class. "Psst, psst." Zein looked up to see who was calling him. "PSSST!!" Zein looked at Rain calling him. "What do you want?" The teacher suddenly went silent and called Rain. "Mr Hakari, you seem to already know this since you're talking something that isn't connected to my topic so I'll ask you a question. What is the capital of the Philippines which I mentioned while discussing?" Rain went silent thinking about the answer "Manil-" Rain was about to say his answer when Zein interrupted. "Manila sir" Rain looked at Zein saying the correct answer before him. "Hey! That was my question" Rain pouted as he looked at Zein angrily. "Maybe because I'm better than you" Zein smirked. "EXCUSE ME? Sir, please another question". Rain demanded. "Ok? What is the most famous mountain here in Japan"? The teacher asked "MOUNT FUJI!" Rain shouted his answer. "Guess I am the better one heh" Rain smiled proudly and Zein's smirk slowly faded. "Another one sir" Zein demanded next. "Ok? What continent does Japan belong to?". "Asia of course." Zein immediately replied. Rain's face could be seen and he looked very annoyed. Both of them kept demanding more questions until the class finished and in the end, Zein answered the most questions while Rain was one point behind.
Ring
The bell rang signalling everyone to go to lunch. "Who's better little mouse?" Zein smirked and went out to lunch. "This isn't over." Rain whispered to himself and sat down at his table. Zein exited the classroom and everyone started to crowd around Rain. "Wow you're so smart! I can't believe you stood up to Zein like that!" A student excitedly complimented Rain. "What's with Zein anyway? He's not that bad." Everyone went silent. "He's feared by everyone because of his bad temper. Rumor has it that he killed a student once" Another student replied. "Pfft that's just rumors. Turns out that student transferred to another school." A blue haired boy abruptly gave info about the rumors. "Hey there! I'm Nikko. Can we be friends?" Nikko went all out to greet Rain and it seemed a bit overwhelming. "Oh? Not much if a talker? Don't worry it's ok!" Nikko smiled and patted Rain's head.
-Zein's POV-
Heh. He thought he could answer more questions than me. Pathetic. I've been going over and over to that class for two years. I know the questions and the answers. Even if I don't study, I can answer any question. He was very competitive. I like it.
--Disclaimer-- This is my original story please don't repost unless if you ask permission.
Comment if you liked it and chapter 2 comming soon

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

heyo :) Didn't think I could, but I scripted an entire episode :D I like it - hope you too ^{^} Enjoy :)
(this episode is set in season 2 and based on theories and assumptions - and also starring some OCs XD for this episode, the entourage of Vincent Thorpe aka his bodyguards Cedric and Barnes and butler Davis)
Scene: Weathervane. Lucas is working behind the counter when he notices a lot of traffic noise. He looks out the side window front and sees a queue of cars heading for Nevermore. He sighs tristly, and turns back to his work with a somber expression.
Cut to the courtyard of the school. The group is already seated at their table – around them, the long ones for parent day are already being arranged.
Wednesday: I didn’t think they’d do another parent day so soon.
Enid: Well, they probably think the students can use seeing their families right now.
Bianca: (gloomy, not looking up from her phone) Most of them for sure.
Xavier: (looks at her, compationaletly) Is your mother coming?
Bianca: (coldly) I guess I really misjudged her. (her face twitches a little, as if she was holding back tears to some degree)
Xavier: (looks at her for another moment) Well… I can keep you company for sure today, since dad won’t show up. He didn’t even bother with a text this time.
Bianca: (looking up from her phone) That’s weird.
Xavier: (shrugs) I guess he decided I’m old enough now to know how things go. (he chuckles snidely) But I guess he really does have an appointment … maybe business partners, maybe some... pretty company. Who knows. (snorts) Do you know the difference between the two?
Ajax: (cringes) Please no.
Wednesday: (not looking up from her book) The pretty company have limits what they do for money.
The table takes a moment, then breaks down in giggles. Wednesday smiles a little.
Xavier: (smirks, points at her, approving this punchline) Hm. It’s actually their outfits when they try to get on his lab.
They chuckle a little again.
Xavier: (sighs) He’d rather have someone else sitting on his that place his own behind on a bench at this stupid school for sure.
Bianca: (warningly) Xavier.
Xavier: (angrily) What? It’s true! Anything’s more important that his useless son’s dumb parent day.
A voice behind him: Oh, I would never put it this way, dear boy.
Xavier freezes. He slowly turns around to where the others are looking. His father is standing at a gateway nearby, flanked by two bodyguards, smiling at him.
Xavier: What…?
Vincent: My son.
He gets up and walks over to the trio, bewildered. Around him, some other parents are eyeing his father, strangely concerned.
Xavier: Why are you here?
Vincent: (chuckles) Why, it’s parent day. I came to see you.
Xavier: (stuttering) Y-yeah, I … I guess … b-but…
Vincent wants to say something more, but his phone rings – it’s the overture of Swan Lake. He sighs and takes the call.
Vincent: (stepping away) Excuse me.
He leaves with one of his bodyguards. The other and Xavier stay behind as he walks away, looking after him until he’s far enough away and busy talking. Then they turn to each other, hugging briefly, but tightly.
Xavier: Ced!
Cedric: (chuckles) How are you slugger.
Xavier: (smiles, pats his back as he lets go) Pretty good, I suppose.
Cedric: (turning to their table) Is this the new crowd?
Xavier: Yeah, erm – that’s Enid (she waves), Eugene (waves too) and Wednesday (doesn’t move, just stares at him).
Cedric: Yes, let’s see – (pointing at them) the nice new roommate, and Ajax’ girlfriend, and (chuckles) Addams, of course.
Xavier: (rolls his eyes) Come on now.
Cedric: What? I know who she is.
Wednesday: Does he talk about other things currently?
Cedric: (shrugs) You know how boys his age are.
Xavier: (groans) Why?
Cedric: Still not saying anything. You won’t be this lucky with your dad.
Xavier: (looks at him, concerned) … I’m in trouble, right?
Cedric: (sighs) You think?
Bianca: This isn’t our fault, if he asks. We try to keep him out of it.
Wednesday: It’s true.
The others nod. Xavier rolls his eyes.
Cedric: I figured that, don’t worry. (smiles at them)
Him and Xavier exchange a look, Cedric shaking his head at him a little, but his expression remains gentle.
Xavier: (shurgs) Boys my age do dumb things, right? Who would hold that against me?
Vincent: (calls from the hallway) Xavier!
Cedric: (looks over at him, then back at Xavier) You know who.
Xavier sighs, then walks over to his father with Cedric. Before he can say anything however, Vincent interrupts.
Vincent: I’d like to see your new art.
Xavier: (sighs) Sure.
They walk away.
The group looks on. Enid leans over to Bianca and Ajax.
Enid: It’s bad, right?
They nod slowly.
Esther Sinclair: (calling from nearby) Enid!
Enid: (sighs)
Thing: (pats her hand)
Esther: (walks into the courtyard, smiling) There’s my little she-wolf!
Enid: (gets up, smiling – Ajax follows her)
Gomez: (coming in next to her) We must have the same daughter. (to Wednesday) Mia lupita!
Wednesday: (smiles a little as her parents and Pugsley enter the courtyard, and gets up to greet them as well)
Esther hugs Enid tightly. She eyes Ajax as he greets Enid’s father Murray, shaking his hand. Ajax turns to her as well as Enid hugs her dad – she smiles, but before he can say anything, his phone buzzes.
Ajax: Oh, my moms will be at the parking lot in a minute. (he kisses Enid on the cheek and walks off) Excuse me. Was a pleasure to meet you. (nods to them) Ma'am. Sir.
Enid’s parents smile at him, but Esther’s drops very quickly after he’s left.
Eugene: (sighs, turns to Bianca, who’s looking at her phone tristly) You wanna get another coffee from the cafeteria before the big storms?
Bianca: (sighs) Why not. Maybe it’ll be bitter enough today to give us a proper gastritis. Or just make us sick. We could use that, right?
They chuckle a little, then get up to leave.

DC Next Proudly Presents:

THE NEW TITANS

In Shadow of Kestrel
Issue Nine: War Dove
Written by AdamantAce, GemlinTheGremlin & PatrollinTheMojave
Edited by Deadislandman1 and Voidkiller826
 
Next Issue > Coming Next Month
 
 
“Raven!”
Slade’s gruff voice pierced through the deafening, wave-like roars in Raven’s head, but the rage was too much to bear. Her hands sizzled as hellfire danced in her palms, her body readying for another attack. She locked eyes with a reptilian soldier, dismounting his simian steed and charging on foot, but as she lunged forwards to strike him, she watched a man fly into her path. Slade Wilson caught the young Titan’s hand and pushed, throwing Raven backwards.
“Come on, kid, snap out of it!” But as Slade’s words fell on deaf ears, he felt the familiar sting of a fist to his jaw, a crack echoing in his ears. He recoiled from the attack but powered through his injury and stood his ground. Sinking his heels into the ground, he locked eyes with the girl before him. Her face seemed contorted and uncanny, as if all of the rage she was feeling was pouring out of her. She groaned angrily as she thrusted her head downwards, her forehead making contact with Slade’s teeth, before pulling her head back up again in preparation for another attack.
Before she could make one, however, one of the lizardmen had almost reached the warring duo’s sides, and as he lunged forward with his long spear, he made contact with Raven’s side. A small rip formed in the side of Raven’s outfit, which seemed to only anger her further. However, it did seem to distract her enough; Mar’i fired off a single Starbolt which struck only the ground - a warning shot.
“Raven! Please!” the half-Tamaranean cried out. But the Raven she knew was buried under unfathomable amounts of fury; she ignored her teammate’s call and instead flew forwards and swung out at the reptiloid. The strike glowed with red flame, sending the creature skidding across the floor, barely conscious. Slade spotted a flash of something else on her face, as if she was finally able to fight back against the endless rage - pain, perhaps, or anguish. But in an instant, it was gone.
That flicker of something other than white-hot anger was enough for Slade.
He clutched his side as his still open wound began to ache, the bandages feeling wet with fresh blood. His jaw felt crooked, and as he gritted his teeth, it felt as though they sat differently atop each other. And yet, he clutched his staff tightly in one hand, and with the other he beckoned to Raven.
“Kid, you’re fighting it, I know you are!” Slade felt his mouth filling with blood rather than saliva.
Within a moment, Raven’s attention was locked on the white-haired man once again. She fired bolt after bolt of black and red flame, but Slade was still dextrous despite his pain. He dodged and dived, weaving through the fire, until he finally managed to make contact with his opponent. He drove his staff into her chest and pushed his weight against the weapon, forcing her backwards. She rose into the air, a black mist pouring from her arms and over her face, a large ghostly corvid taking her place. He felt the deathly cold shadow of the bird’s wing fall over him, his feet leaving the ground as she scooped him into the air.
He looked down at the ground far beneath him. A fall from this height would kill anyone, he thought, let alone someone beaten half to death.
Then, as a verdant bolt of energy struck it in the side, Raven’s Soul Self shrieked and the shadows retreated inwards. Slade felt himself falling through the air for a second, then two, before he felt his back collide with something soft and cushioned. As he looked up, he met the gaze of Conner, who soared to the ground in an instant, placing the snow-haired man on the ground and giving a swift nod.
Raven let out a pained, frustrated yell as she returned to the ground, aided by a grappling line expertly positioned by Tim, and in response, Conner jetted off towards the sound of her cries. Slade’s feet faltered beneath him, and he stumbled to keep his balance. His breathing was laboured and his vision was becoming fuzzy. It felt as though, he realised, all the blood loss and violence he had suffered over the past few hours were finally catching up to him. Was this what dying felt like?
“Slade!” shouted a voice, followed by the dulled drumming of hurried footsteps. Slade pulled his hand across his face to wipe away the mental haze and drops of blood. It was Don, sprinting towards him. When Slade felt Don clasp him by shoulders, he realized just how slowed he was by his injuries. “Plan?” Slade coughed out.
“You’ve seen what she can do. I only see one way out of these without one of the kids getting hurt. I’d do it myself, but I’m out of practice and this is too important to leave to chance.” Don looked around anxiously, his face betraying that he had a lot on his mind. “I’m giving you the powers of a god.” Slade opened his mouth to ask a question, a million came to mind. He glanced across the battlefield. Through a blurry film, he saw Raven’s Soul Self bat Conner away with its wing. He careened into the trunk of a thick tree, uprooting it with a deep crunch. “Are you sure?,” Slade asked, breathless.
“I’m not losing another Titan.” Don squeezed his eyes shut. His grip on Slade tightened as pale, almost blinding light enveloped them. It felt warm. No, better than that: it felt peaceful. With his enhanced senses, Slade could hear his erratic heartbeat slow. Fleeting visions bubbled up in his mind, opening up his awareness beyond the wildest dreams of Project Veritas. He felt rivers of magical energy flowing through the air and earth. Each of them spiralled towards a depression. Towards Raven, he knew instinctively. Iridescent blue light spread outward from his shoulders. It washed over his body armor, bleaching the jet black panels until his entire body shone with radiance. The pain from wounds old and new faded, replaced by serenity - and power. Don opened his eyes again and sighed gently; a concoction and joy, relief, and quiet mourning.
“There,” Don remarked. Slade felt lighter, less angry, less burdened. He looked down at the iridescent light enveloping his body. Magical energy buzzed against the surface of his skin. “The powers of the Dove - officially yours.”
Slade sucked in a nervous breath. “Don…” Even rejuvenated, he was still lost for words.
“They’re yours now,” Don smiled weakly. “Now go earn them. There’s a Titan in dire need of our help.”
Conner floated out of the dense jungle, rubbing his forehead. “Is Slade glowing or do I have a concussion?”
Slade looked over at Raven. She seemed less erratic, her movements driven by her brain rather than her gut. Tim’s staff batted fiercely against her, each strike buffeting her back more and more, but it was clear to Slade that Raven was not any weaker physically - her mind, however, was another story.
Slade began marching towards her, the ache in his side dulled. “Raven. You’re strong. Fight this rage inside of you.” Raven glared at him, a spark of something in her eyes, as she swooped in towards him at top speed. As she neared him, however, Slade readied his staff, stretching it out in front of him. As the tip of the weapon struck Raven, a beam of white energy coursed through her, as if she had been struck by lightning, and her body was flung backwards across the dirt.
Slade danced a hand over his rifle, but something felt different. He pulled it into his hands and inspected it swiftly; nothing seemed out of order. Raven rose slowly from her supine position, snarling softly to herself. Her movements had slowed, the expression on her face becoming closer to horror than rage. She was doing it.
“You’re nearly there, kid,” Slade soothed, his words suddenly like butter. He watched Raven’s shoulders start to relax. “That’s it. Just fight this, Raven. You’re almost there.”
Despite her tremendous progress, Raven’s blistering fury won out once more, and she charged a large bolt of hellfire in her hands. Slade fiddled with his rifle and crossed his fingers. There was a standstill between the two. Slade analysed his rifle again; there was something different about the barrel, as if it had been swapped out for another similar model. The stock felt lighter, too, as if the weight had been–
Raven roared at him, swiping wildly with glowing fists, and in an instant Slade instinctively pulled the trigger.
What fired from the gun was not a silvery bullet, but a familiar glowing bolt of white light, cloud-like in appearance. As it struck Raven, she sucked in a deep breath, the energy engulfing her. Her face softened and her posture relaxed. Then she swung out for the man’s weakened side, his bandages poking through the aura of light. And yet, as he stayed steadfast, not even attempting to dodge the attack. Sparks flew from the point of contact. Slade just readied another shot and fired.
Her body swayed with the blow. Slade closed the gap between them and focused on the new warmth he felt, concentrating it into his staff as best he could. Then, as he held it out in front of him at arm’s length, he swiped at Raven and struck her in the side of the shoulder. Each blow seemed to be more effective than the last, but as Raven’s movements continued to slow, Slade held fire.
“You’re doing it, Raven,” Slade encouraged. He watched as the other Titans surrounded Raven, each of them ready for any further attacks. Everyone watched with bated breath as their teammate and friend thrashed and recoiled from the hit. Her breathing was rapid, although it felt closer to panic than unabashed fury. She clasped her hands over her head, groaning. Then, suddenly, she stopped.
Her face had softened completely, her jaw slack, and tears filled her vision. She looked up at Slade with a comfort in her eyes. The aura emanating from him was pervasive and contagious, and although she had felt lost in a sea of impossibly vast emotions, its warmth and comfort cut through. The anger was still there somewhat, the last remaining dregs still working its way out of her system, but the comfort, the peace that Slade was providing was the anchor for her to stabilise herself. She had only ever seen this kind of power when Don…
Raven’s eyes widened as she realised what that meant. She collapsed to her knees, suddenly feeling the bone-deep fatigue her rage had suppressed. Her teammates rushed in around her. Mar’i dropped to a knee by her side and put a hand on her shoulder. “It’s OK. You’re safe. Everyone’s OK.”
“Don I’m—” She wiped away a stream of tears, stumbling her way out of the emotional vortex she’d been sucked into. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know what happened. I’ve lost control before, but never like this.”
Don looked older. Creases ran across his forehead and around his eyes. His smile hadn’t changed. “Raven, my brother and I got those powers when I was a kid. We didn’t ask for them. We weren’t ready for them. We didn’t know how to use them, let alone control them.” He laughed dryly, recalling Hank. “I don’t regret anything. Giving my powers to Slade is the best thing I’ve done with them in years. I know Hank would feel the same way.”
In the moment of silence that followed, Raven rose to her feet and pulled her cloak tightly around herself. She was still shaking. Tim’s eyes drifted from her to Slade. “Something’s gnawing at me. Kestrel’s powers are weakened in Skartaris. Don’s…” He coughed, “Slade’s powers are amplified. If this place is what affected you—”
Mar’i’s face flashed with recognition, “—your powers must be tied to the Lords of Order and Chaos!”
Tim furrowed his brow. “Maybe.” He hardly had time to consider further when a thundering crack tore open the sky. Two bolts of swirling energy - one red and one blue - met above them, forming a swirling portal at their vertex. The Titans readied their weapons, expecting the worst.
“It’s them.” Slade murmured, still put off by his uncanny awareness. Terataya and T’Charr descended from the sky, one wreathed in mist, the other, magma. The two elementals stopped a few feet above the ground, hovering.
Terataya was the first to speak. Even at a whisper, her voice reverberated through the air. “I don’t usually care for surprises, Don, but this was a pleasant one.” A thin smile appeared on her face.
“Slade Wilson.” Terataya’s neck turned at an unnatural angle to face him. “You wield the powers of Order with great skill. Who understands the dangers of unchecked War better than a soldier. Become my champion. Protect the balance.”
Slade took a step back, then glanced at Don.
“She’s right.” Don said, with only a hint of hesitation. “It took me years to use the powers like you used them today. You’re a natural.”
Slade looked at his hands, still gently pulsing with pale blue light. “Thanks.” He allowed himself a weak smile. “But no thanks.”
“What.” T’Charr’s voice boomed.
“It doesn’t take Zatanna to realize an old soldier like me makes a piss-poor Avatar of Peace. I fight for a living, and I’m not deluded enough to think that makes me good at anything but fighting. If you want someone who understands the need for balance, Don just sacrificed everything special about him for it.”
Don raised an eyebrow. “None taken.”
“His actions today were noble, but they do not make up for years spent squandering the gift.”
“Squandering? The Titans wouldn’t exist today if he hadn’t pulled them together. Everything they’ve done. Everything they’ve achieved for your balance wouldn’t have happened without him, including stopping that monster you made.”
“Watch your tone, mortal.” T’Charr threatened.
“There may be a vein of truth to his words, lover.” Terataya said. “But *if we were to restore Don Hall’s power, we would need assurances. His indecision led down this path.”*
Rocks ground against each other as T’Charr landed beside Don. “You would have weeks, not years, to select a counterpart and return to your duties.”
Don’s response was instantaneous. “I’ve made a decision.”
“You’ve decided if you’ll take up the mantle of Dove again?”
Don nodded. “And who should be the new Hawk.”
Terataya giggled. “Full of surprises today. T’Charr?”
“We should discuss this.” He said. “In private.”
The three of them vanished, leaving the Titans and Slade alone on a battlefield riddled with bits of dino meat and ape fur.
 
○○ Ⓣ ○○
 
“You don’t think they’re gonna come back in like, 200 years, right?” Conner asked. He sat beside the depowered Slade Wilson, who was downing aspirin to make up for the sudden deficit in peace energy.
“I don’t know.” Tim said. “But we should give them more than fifteen minutes.”
As if on cue, the skies opened again. Again, the chromatic energy lit the sky and again a portal opened its swirling maw. This time, however, it wasn’t two elemental Lords to descend. Raven squinted to make the figures out.
“Oh my god.” Conner said, having a far easier time with his super-vision.
“What? Who is it?” Tim asked.
“Donna!” Mar’i shouted. She shot off the ground towards her. Her black combat armor was replaced with a crimson and white bodysuit studded with stars that seemed to twinkle as the light shifted around her. The sword at her side was gone too, replaced with a coiled loop of rope suffused with the same brilliant energy. The two collided into an embrace, spinning through the air as they held each other tightly.
Don was the first to land, restored with the powers of Dove. He looked stronger than ever, and maybe more importantly, happier. Even Tim’s typical thoughtful brooding has been pierced by an unimpeachable joy.
“I don’t understand,.” Raven said. “S-She’s alive. How is this possible?”
“I knew there was only one person who could be trusted with the powers of War, with Hank’s abilities.” He scratched the back of his neck, a bit guilty. “And she’d been staring me in the face for years. It took some doing, but eventually T’Charr and Terataya saw that too.”
Donna landed beside him, Mar’i only a step behind. By now Conner had stepped forward. He tried not to choke over his words. “I’m sorry. If I’d—”
Donna didn’t let him get the words out before pulling him into a grapple-turned-hug that quickly grew as the rest of the team piled in. Slade flicked another aspirin into his mouth.
“Danyah!” A voice called out from over the ridge. It was Travis, mounted atop a fanged reptilian creature in the vague shape of a horse and flanked on either side by his gold-armored honor guard. He broke into a gallop, stopping just short of the Titans. “When I saw the skies, I feared the worst. Is it really you? Has sorcery brought you back to us?”
“It’s me, Travis. A Lord of Chaos brought me back.”
“Not to interrupt,.” Slade said, still nursing his wounds. “But did either of you ask them to bring us back to Chicago?”
“I…” Don grimaced. “Donna, how do we get home?”
“How did you get here? Surely you could return the way you came.” Travis said.
“No, we can’t.” Tim said, pressing a few buttons on his wrist’s holographic display. “Whatever magic pervades Skartaris is also causing some extreme time dilation. I can’t guarantee we’d return to the 21st century, or even to Earth.”
“I spent a decade in Skartaris and returned to Earth nearly two centuries later. It’s the influence of Chaos. We’d need a Skartaran mage of overwhelming power to stabilize our return.” She spat the word mage with disgust. Travis’s expression seemed to confirm the reputation of Skartaran spellcasters.
Before their anxiety could spiral, the sky above began to churn. Moments later, the ground shook as a violent bolt of lightning cleaved the air, striking with such ferocity that all but Conner and Donna were flung backward. Mar'i skidded across the damp undergrowth, her senses overwhelmed by the acrid scent of ozone. Her mind was racing; their victory was hard fought, and she doubted they had much left in the tank for another confrontation. She dug her hands into the ground and pushed herself up as she choked from the smell. The Warlord Morgan and his military guards snapped to attention, forming a protective ring around the crater that now marred the earth.
From the smoking pit, a figure rose, unfolding from a crouch like something out of Terminator. Adorned in a red and white jumpsuit that accentuated his lithe build, the young man's appearance was marked by a red cowl and goggles, with sandy brown hair rebelliously spilling out.
Conner squinted through the dissipating smoke, murmuring under his breath, “A speedster?” The Flashes had had a variety of different sidekicks and other allies over the years, but none of them recognised this one
With a nonchalant flair that seemed at odds with the charged atmosphere, the newcomer greeted them. “Hey, everyone chillax. I'm here to get you guys back home.”
Donna, ever the leader, stepped forward and spoke with a commanding curiosity, now emboldened with the war aura of Hawk. “And who are you exactly? Why should we trust you with such a claim?”
Flashing a cheeky grin, he tilted his head and responded, “Well, I’m a speedster for one. Name’s Impulse. If I run fast enough, then I can… well, I guess bend time.”
Behind Donna, the group exchanged sceptical glances. Raven's face remained shadowed by recovery, Mar'i and Conner braced for action, and Tim discretely checked his gadgets, no doubt for something that he could use on a speedster should the need arise.
“Yeah, we figured that much,” Don cut through the tension, his voice calm yet insistent. “Who sent you?”
Impulse chuckled, his demeanour remaining unfazed by their scrutiny. “Look, the details aren't the fun part. Trust me, I can get us back.”
As a silence thick with doubt and scepticism settled over the group, Impulse seemed to realise his casual assurances weren't sufficient. With a theatrical sigh, he reached up and removed his mask, revealing a face familiar to both Mar'i and Raven.
“Brody!?” Mar'i exclaimed, her surprise echoing through the clearing as she stared at the boy who had once hobbled through their college classes with his leg in a cast.
The young man’s grin widened, his eyes sparkling with mischief and a hint of pride. “Actually, it’s Bart.”
 
○○ Ⓣ ○○
 
When Slade emerged from the shower, his skin was glistening with moisture, the water tracing the contours of his scars. He wrapped a stark white towel around his waist, and crossed the plush carpet to sit on the edge of the hotel room bed. He released a slow, deep breath; it was a good job the speedster kid arrived when he did. The notion of being stranded in an alien land or, worse, a different time had gnawed at him with a ferocity that was hard to admit. Without Bart’s intervention, every one of Slade’s meticulously crafted plans would have been utterly dashed.
Facing him, a wall-mounted mirror caught his rugged reflection. Drawn to his own image, Slade studied the scars that mapped his trials, the slick white hair that crowned his head, and the deep lines etched into his face. A familiar discomfort nagged at him, focusing his attention on his right eye. Unable to alleviate the irritation through the skin, Slade exhaled heavily and carefully removed the eye altogether. The movement, fluid and practised, spoke of years of adaptation.
He placed the prosthetic gently on the bed beside him and as he massaged the socket, a decades-old habit, his mind wandered. He wasn't accustomed to keeping the prosthetic in for extended periods. Showering with it had been an uncomfortable experiment in necessity - he didn't like it, but understood the importance of maintaining the facade. The Slade he would have people believe he was would have never lost an eye, because that Slade had led a life far from by the darker paths Slade had truthfully trodden.
His thoughts wandered to his brief time wielding the potent powers of Dove, and Slade felt a twinge of regret at their loss. The clarity and strength those powers had provided were intoxicating, yet he recognised that he had a more important goal, one he couldn’t compromise. His current role demanded not the accumulation of power but the perfection of his deceit, ensuring that all believed he was not the Slade Wilson they knew, but a Reawakened, more innocent doppelganger.
Now, with the glass eye resting beside him, Slade stared at his unmasked visage. Maintaining the myth of the noble Slade was critical. The ruthless mercenary, the World’s Deadliest Killer - those identities had to remain buried. The Titans had believed him enough to entrust him with divine powers, their faith a testament to his performance, but the game was far from over; in fact, it was entering its most critical phase.
 
 
Next: Return to normality in The New Titans #10
 

Well, Hi all! again! 4Th Wall here, I figured since I just got power back, I might as well play some catch up on both series. Hope you enjoy this episode!!
Yup, I fucked that up. This is a repost with the correct Episode number, LOL! It's been a while since I've done that.
First, Previous, Next (Patreon)
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Benjamin smiled, watching the girls skip ahead of him. Today was a testing day of sorts for him. Unwilling to release firearms into this world haphazardly, yet unwilling to go without them as a backup; he had pulled from one of his sister’s favorite video games. He had “melted down” his bowie knife, repurposing the metal to be used in his latest creation. The final product rode on his hip like a short sword, but Ben was satisfied in the design when the vast majority of the people he passed ignored it as just another adventurer’s blade. Benjamin hoped, that with the existence of Majik, that he would be able to pass off any… peculiarities... as the realm of the supernatural.

The three of them arrived at the tailor’s establishment, and the girls were met with a customary indifference that seemed to present itself when a slave’s “master” was present. The moment Benjamin entered, the seamstress ceased to pay attention to the girls, and instead addressed him directly, “Ah, The Forgemaster’s Protégé. What can I do for you this day.” She said cooly, bowing slightly in welcome. “I’m here commission some clothing for these two, a reward for good service.” Benjamin began. It was technically true; the success of the forge had afforded him much more coin than a mere apprentice could have made. Qort had taken him on as a true partner, and Benjamin earned enough to comfortably afford to cloth his “slaves” in whatever he chose.

Some stigma’s remained however, and the seamstress seemed to glare sideways at the girls as they perused the fabrics adorning the walls. “Is that wise? A slave could lose her place with such gifts.” she asked, her polite tone barely hiding her disapproval. Benjamin sighed internally, ‘oh for fucks sake’ he groaned in his own mind before putting on facad, “I find that proper reward, afforded on the right servant can result in” he paused, projecting a smug expression and blatantly looking the girls up and down. “a profound dedication to their duties” he finished with a satisfied smile as the seamstress covered her mouth with a hand to hide a smile of her own. The gambit worked, and the Seamstress was obviously satisfied that the “Aereesen slave whores” were being properly “used”. “Ah, I understand. What did you have in mind for them.” She practically moaned back at Benjamin. ‘This hag needs a good pounding….’ Benjamin’s inner monologue threatened to crack his facade, “That’s the fun part, my good lady. It’s their choice. The surprise is half the excitement.” He chuckled.

The seamstress openly smiled at him this time before nodding and stepping over to the two girls. Benjamin breathed a sigh of relief as she seemed to treat them at least marginally more warmly. The old racist bag didn’t need to know that Benjamin was secretly building a small nest egg for his girls, or that his sending them out to do errands for him was how he was teaching them about money, value, and the application of Mathematics. She also didn’t need to know that the full Cutlery set that she had purchased last week had been made by Vi’s own hand as her first full solo commission set. Benjamin had stamped his “mark” on them, because slaves were not allowed to own anything, including their own work; but Vi had begun with raw steel and finished with one of the finest cooking knife sets he had seen in this world or his.

Benjamin settled onto a bench outside, using the excuse of wanting to enjoy the morning air to afford his girls some privacy. Now that Viola and Valtrya were eating a healthy diet, and the right calorie amount; they had blossomed into absolute bombshells. Their hair had recovered, and both sported long flowing locks that boasted a silky satin black color and texture that betrayed hints of deep royal purple. The color reminded Benjamin of one of those expensive custom car paints that changed color depending on the lighting.

Their skin recovered almost as quickly as their hair. The sickly, scabbed look was quickly replaced with the same satin quality as their hair to the touch, but with a light grey coloring that almost seemed to tease the edge of hinting at a greyish purple. A dense pattern of Small freckles of the same dark, almost royal, purple as the highlights in their hair frolicked on both girl’s cheeks, and down the sides of their necks. Because of their early lack of understanding on modestly, Ben knew that those freckles traveled much further. The sad truth was that Benjamin understood fully why Aereesen’s were the prize of slavers and brothels, and he silently prayed that he could give them enough self-worth and skill to have a better life than that, once he got them out of the Principality.

A door’s soft creaking broke Benjamin from his thoughts as the two sisters stepped out smiling, “Get everything you need?” he asked standing as the three of them departed the establishment. Val nodded vigorously, and Vi smiled as she spoke, “I think so, but I had to practically beg the woman to stop showing us lingerie… what did you tell her?” Benjamin felt his cheeks heat as he responded, “What I had to. The old hag doesn’t get enough at home. It’s not my fault that your ‘enthusiasm’ is in the forge and your studies, not between the sheets. I didn’t lie to her, I just let her draw her own conclusions, sorry.”

Vi’s eyes twinkled for a second, “Oh,” She smirked, “Thaaat’s why she broke out the silk. Some of her options were..” She blatantly bit her lip at Benjamin. “You didn’t…” He asked in shock, and Vi lifted up on her tippy toes to brush her lips against his ear, “Not telling” she purred, setting Bens senses on fire. She backed up a step, openly smirking at his beet red face. “But your expression is adorable… My Lord” She stated the last two words with a deep sultry tone, knowing that Ben couldn’t scold her in public before taking his hand, “May we visit the bazar next? Val saw some jewelry she wanted to look at.” Benjamin gave her a pointed look, that turned into a smile as she beamed at him, “Ok, sounds good. I need to pick up some food for the week.”

It was later that afternoon when the three of them left the bazar. They found Jukha waiting on the bench in front of their home. “Jukha! How are you!” Benjamin called, clasping the Orc’s hand firmly as the girls rushed inside to put up their purchases. Jukha reciprocated, if somewhat stiffly, to the strange to him gesture. “Benjamin, it is good to see you well.” His tone stopped Ben in his tracks, “What is it. Is your wife, ok?”
Jukha shook his head, “Vilora is well, but I have been tasked with finding you.” He said carefully, “The slaver, the one you dueled for those two,” he nodded to Vi and Val as they stepped back out of the building, “The Heir of The Romoregin house is here. He has lodged an official demand for satisfaction, and he brought a champion.”

Benjamin stiffened, “Another duel? You said an ‘official demand’… what happens if I refuse.” Jukha winced at Ben’s tone, “It is an archaic practice of my people, rarely remembered, and even more rarely demanded. You cannot deny a satisfaction claim, but should you prevail, no further claims can be made upon your person. I am sorry Benjamin, but if you flee or refuse, your life is forfeit; and your property goes to the claimant.” Jukha looked pointedly at Viola and Valtrya. “The young puke has put me in danger as well, if I do not deliver you and them to the duel, I can be detained. If they torture me….” Benjamin’s eyes widened before hardening in understanding. “Jukha…” He turned to find Viola standing next to him, with his musket in one arm and his ammunition bag in the other, and sighed, “Fuck”. He loaded his musket with a single roundball cartridge this time, unwilling to fire buck and ball in the town streets. He pealed the ball out of the paper wading after pouring the poweder, reaching into his haversack to retrieve a small round patch made of pillow ticking. Jukha looked on in mild fascination as Benjamin spit on the cloth patch before wrapping the ball in it and ramming the whole thing down the barrel. It wasn’t much, but it reduce windage, ensuring at least reasonable enough accuracy from the smoothbore to keep from hitting innocent bystanders. It would also virtually eliminate blow-by, upping the chamber pressure and giving him a little more velocity. “I’m ready.”

The four of them entered the small city square to be met with Qort and three Org guards. These soldiers wore different insignia that Benjamin had been taught were the mark of the capital. “Beenjaymen Shayfe” one of them butchered his name, “I am.” Ben nodded firmly, the other guard nodded, “And your two slaves, good. Has Jukha informed you of the proceedings.” Benjamin scowled, “A legalized way to attempt a revenge killing? Yea, I’ve been told.” Ben didn’t bother to hide his vitriol, “So I have to kill a motherfucker for defending myself from his father?”

“Not quite. The Heir has brought a champion. The rules are simple, all forms of combat are allowed” The first guard began as the second one began chaining the wrists of Viola and Valtrya. Benjamin began to move before thinking, only to be held back by Jukha, “Peace albino. They must do this. Fighting them will cause a forfeit.” Benjamin looked at the terrified faces of the two girls. He forced himself to calm down outwardly, but Benjamin could feel the rage building. He had worked so hard to save those two, to get them out.. now some snot nosed brat was going to try to kill him because his father didn’t know when to fuck off. Benjamin stepped out from around the guards. The “heir” was a young Durr. Ben had no frame of reference for age, but the Heir was substantially shorter, and his facial tentacles were almost mere buds. Beside him stood a crimson colossus, the same species as the Hunter he had shot saving Jukha. He was taller than that female, and was wearing plate armor, gilded in silver. He hefted a great sword of some kind and smiled openly at Benjamin. It was not a pleasant expression. “Ah, so You’re the puke I’ll be cleaning from my blade. I am Krastorin. Come here, pale one, I’ll make it quick.”

Benjamin looked him over, subtly shifting into a shooting stance but keeping his musket looking like he was resting the butt of a spear on the ground. “You look accomplished, what makes you do the bidding of the boy.” He asked, blatant scorn on his tone. The Young Durr flinched, his small tentacle buds writhing violently. “H’Dare Yee!” he bellowed, voice cracking with the strain of fury, “Aye’ll ‘ave Yee Head on Me’Wall!!”
Benjamin ignored him, focusing on the Hellirine. The man looked back at the boy with a raised eyebrow, “The young puke promised me one of those.” He pointed at Vi and Val, who had reverted to their former trembling submissive postures that Ben had met them in. “It appears that they are as well kept as claimed. I look forward to sampling them.” He leered. Benjamin looked over at the Young Durr and found his face a mixture of relief and anger. ‘Ah, lied about daddy’s slaves.’ He turned to the soldier standing next to him, “Is the duel on?” he growled.

“Combatants! Begin!” was the Soldiers response, and the crimson mercenary lifted his sword from his shoulders advancing forward with a long confident stride, “at last, let’s get this over wi..” a clap of thunder echo’d through the Feral wood, and most of the crowd cried out in surprise as Benjamin disappeared, seemingly behind a bubble of fire, and brimstone. The single round ball ignored the mercenary’s plate armor. Punching straight through as the soft lead mushroomed out into a ragged disk that measured almost an inch and a half. The mangled projectile, still travelling at almost half the speed of sound, eviscerated the chest cavity of the Mercenary before blowing a one foot wide hole out of the crimson man’s back. The exit wound missed Krastorin’s spine by an inch, but it didn’t matter. The projectile embedded itself into a post, thankfully missing any bystanders by mere inches in some cases. The Young Durr, who was standing just behind and to the side of his champion, was screaming as he pawed at the bits of pale yellow blood, bones, and fragments of internal organs now covering him from head to toe.

Benjamin handed the smoking musket to Jukha, drawing his short sword and walking over to a sputtering, choking, and coughing Krastorin. The Hellirine lay face down on the ground, having fallen that way from the momentum of his initial advance. The back of Benjamins mind was sickly amused as he remembered the old Hollywood trope of bullets throwing people backward, and a pinch of regret sparked in his soul as his opponent death rattled. He stepped up to the Heir, resting the blade against his neck, “Are we done here. Be a better man than your father and learn when to save your own life.” The Young Durr froze, staring up at him in abject terror for several moments as a puddle formed at his feet. Benjamin opened his mouth to speak again when the boy simply passed out, falling into the puddle of his own mess as his mind refused to stay conscious.

Benjamin turned to walk back towards Jukha and the girls. “Unchain them.” Benjamin’s tone could have frozen a raging forge’s inferno. To his surprise, two of the soldiers drew their weapons on him, “You need to come with us. All Touched must be registered with...” Benjamin pointed his short sword at the one talking… and pulled the trigger. The percussion revolver built into the hilt of the short sword was zero’d using a notch Benjamin cut into the crossguard, and the tip of the curved blade as a crude set of open sights. The barrel of the revolver lay along one side of the blade, and was rifled. The speaking soldier orc’s took the smaller pistol round through the forehead, exploding the back of his skull in a cone of dark green and grey mist. The exit wound showered his companion in bits of bone and brains. Benjamin’s thumb found the hammer, and four satisfying clicks echo’d in the stunned silence, “HEAR ME!” He growled, “I, am touched by the Gods. I posses the power to end any life I choose using the power of Hell itself!” ‘if I have to show them a gun, might as well throw them off the trail’ “The violence of the raging volcano obeys my very fingertips.” His revolvesword bucked a second time as another soldier orc made a move to rush him. The smaller pistol round still punched through the orcs armor and out the back, but only left him screaming on the ground. Benjamin re-cocked, and leveled his weapon at the orc holding the chains to Val and Vi. “Now, release them.” This last remaining Orc did as asked, before gathering up his screaming companion as the girls rushed to Benjamin, he pulled them close, whispering, “I’m sorry we wont be able to pick up your dresses.”

The three of them packed up that night. Qort had understood, knowing all too well what the Principality would do to acquire a Touched of Benjamins ability. “Stay safe my friend. I pray our paths cross again.” Jukha snuck them out of the village that night, using his wagon to get them to his home. They stayed a week, laying low while they planned their next move. The girls spent their time learning recipes from Jukha’s wife, and ben took the time to unwind a bit. Jukha and He went on a hunt, and Benjamin was given a run down on the flora and fauna of the Feral wood. The two of them brought back a pair of Stags, and the three women cooked them a feast.

“Dinner’s ready!!” called Viola, setting the last of the sides on the table as the dutch oven roasted meat was brought off of the stove top. It was a simple yet elegant meal. Stag, potatoes, some kind of Kale style vegetable that Benjamin had never seen before. Soon enough, everyone at the table was leaning back, as full as they could make themselves. “So, pinkskin,” Jukha asked, “Where do you plan on going. I wouldn’t mind you staying with me. I could use another hunter, but I suspect that they would notice the extra product I brought to the village.”

Benjamin Hummed, “The Maridian Combine. Qort told me that they banned slavery over a century ago, the girls have learned so much already. It would be easy to find jobs for them.” Vi and Val drooped slightly but hid it well. Jukha noticed it but said nothing. “A good choice, their boarders are well guarded, you would need to free them before you cross, or end up in a dungeon yourself.”

“Good point, I can write up a simple writ of freedom. Something I can sign and give to them.” Benjamin nodded, “I can get started on that to…” he paused as a hand fell on his. He looked to see Viola staring at him, fighting back tears, “Hey, what’s wrong. You will be free…” Jukha nodded slowly and stood. “love,” he said to Vilora, “I need some help with the livestock” The Farie met his eyes in unspoken understanding, fluttering out the front door with Jukha.

“Vi, what’s wrong.” Benjamin asked gently.

“No… go… Val… stay…” Both of them turned to Valtrya in shock. She was trembling, “I wont..leave.”

“You speak?” Benjamin looked in shock, but Viola spoke next, “Benjamin, we don’t want to leave. We want to stay, with you. I…” She paused. Ben sighed, “I want you to stay too.” He said, finally admitting it to himself, “But I can’t own you. It’s killing me that you are my property.” He reached up and wiped a tear from Vi’s eyes, “You are so much more than property. I feel evil, every day that I wake up knowing that I could do anything I wanted to you, or worse, die and have someone else hurt you for the fun of it.” Benjamin bowed his head. Viola reached out, lifting his chin to look into his eyes, “Then come with us.” She whispered as Val stood up and stepped around the table, “yes.. You, come.” She wrapped herself around Ben from the side leaning in until she was resting her head against his shoulder, “I’m… staying.. with you.” she said softly. Viola nodded, “Benjamin, how old do you think we are.”

Ben looked at her in confusion, “I have no idea, I’ve always assumed you were teenagers. 13-14 years old for Val, maybe 16 for you, but that was when you were skin and bones.” He admitted.

Viola’s eyes widened in understanding. “You did not want to bed us because you thought us children.” Benjamin nodded slowly, answering. “And forcing sex on a child is the worst kind of crime on my world”. Viola and Valtrya looked at each other, before Vi spoke. “Ben, my sister will turn one hundred and three in a fortnight. I just had my one hundred and fifteenth birthday last week.” She leaned in, pressing her lips to Bens as she kissed him passionately for a moment. “We are no children,” Viola paused as Valtrya leaned in, kissing Ben lightly on the neck, “You are not forcing us to do anything, but leave.” Viola whispered as she began to close in to a surprised Benjamin for another kiss.

The door to the cabin flew open violently, and the girls pulled back to a more modest distance. Jukha walked in, carrying a panting Vilora. “What happened.” Ben asked hurriedly, hoping he wasn’t blushing as hard as the heat on his cheeks suggested. Vilora waved a hand as Jukha set her down in her chair, “The Vin… My sisters… they reached out… They wish to meet…” The Farie gathered herself, “They also sent a warning. We must leave, tonight… hunters.”
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If you made it this far, I very much appreciate it. I hope you enjoyed the episode! If you believe I have earned it, I have a Patreon that is two episodes ahead of the free releases for this series. I hope you feel taking a look is worth it. Either way, come hang out in the comments. Everyone's welcome! I've discovered Im a bit of a "warts and all" poster, so even critical comments are welcome. Hell, You might even teach me something (it happens more than I'd like to admit).
I have heard people off and on reference Royal road, So I am going to give it another shot. I'll be adding the Royal Road link from now on. If you like reading over there, It is on the same schedule as here. I would greatly appreciate a like/review/comment if you feel so inclined. Thank you again for stopping by.
First, Previous, Next (Patreon) Royal Road

I held the package close, its precious contents pressed against my spine. The steady beeps that communicated life drove my exhausted legs forward. Even with the combat stimulants running rampant through my blood, my nervous system bringing fibrous polymer muscles to their brink, and a set of assisting servos practically tripling my stride speed, I was exhausted. The sun and its rays bared down on me like a predatory dragon, each ray a fang made of flame, ready to tear open my suit and scorch my skin…but not today.
“Not today!”
I picked my stride up and sent every muscle in my body past overdrive, I tore stone and sand as I sprinted farther forward and collapsed. I had finally made it to one of the only rations of shade on the desolate moon surface. As I hit the ground and retreated into the shade, I removed the pack from my shoulders and gently laid the box down. I opened the zipper that held the sunshade on and looked at the pale figure inside.
“Hello my love, I hope you’re resting well, we finally made it, now just time to wait…and you'll be better again”
I took my helmet off and took a deep breath before beginning to set up camp. I thought back to the mission room, where I was nearly denied entry to Io
“You understand the journey you’re undertaking has never been completed before? This is a mission that as of this moment has a 100% rate of failure. Do you not think it would be wiser to simply say your goodbyes and prepare for a life without her?”
I shook my head as the council stared at me with tired expressions and pained eyes
“I am three times decorated am I not?”
The head minister nodded and shuffled her papers, reading slowly from the top page
“Argon Lethius, 12 tours, 7 rotations, 153 confirmed neutralizations, 3000 pending, strength record unmatched, augmentations class S granted. You’re also the sole surviving candidate of the sky petal program”
The sky petal program, an experimental research project I had taken part in to pay for my wedding. The core concept was simple: graft photovoltaic cells onto our skin and use nanotechnology to create a bio-mechanical ecosystem within the dermis.
The result was going to be humans capable of photosynthesis, making us less susceptible to nutrition based disaster. Rejection however was high in the program and when your body is trying to fight its skin, things get ugly quickly. A dormant gene I had passed on from my mother allowed my body to accept the prosthesis but at great cost, I was now essentially allergic to solar radiation. When I'm planetside I'm just fine, but if I was in an area devoid of atmosphere, the nanotech would go overkill, usually producing energy akin to solar flares from my skin.
“Mr. Lethius, your feats and skills are unmatched, your circumstances are impossible to reproduce and the dedication you’ve shown to this coalition has been unwavering. Which is why we sympathize with your loss, and grieve with you. Crystal was-”
I snapped at her
“Is…she’s still alive”
The minister nodded and corrected herself
“I'm sorry, Crystal is an incredible addition to this council, and we are deeply sorry both internally and externally. But the dragons of Io have no official record, and the sunlight alone could overcharge you in a day, leaving not only our best military asset but also his sick wife stranded without hope of rescue”
I nodded and spoke solemnly
“3 days supply, and a ship to drop me off, if I don't respond in 4 days, come get my body and bury her where we fall. She loves it there. Even if I can't save her, I want her to rest somewhere she would be happy”
I snapped back to the present and finished setting up camp. Unpacking our supplies and connecting a set of solar panels to her cryo-chamber. I watched her take deep breaths through the ventilator as I threw a tarp overhead and began digging into the rockface.
“You’ll be ok my love, by this time tomorrow you’ll be your old self again”
I dug for hours, tearing holes in my suit and flaying the skin from my fingers. As my blood hit the white dirt and stained the cracked surface, I felt a degree of nausea rise up from my stomach. Saliva filled my dry mouth and I bit down on my tongue to prevent the vomit. Bile reached the back of my throat and I dug my fingers into the dirt, searching for the Will to resist my body’s urges. The sun couldn’t take me, my mind couldn’t shake me, I would not buckle before saving her. Before long I couldn't go on, and I needed to rest.
I swallowed hard and sat back, laying down and looking up at the harsh sky.
“Hindsight is 20/20, we can keep trying new things but sometimes this is just how things work out, I’m sorry”
I nodded as the doctor left the room and she sat motionless in her gown.
“That guy didn’t know what he was talking about, there’s so many treatments, we’ll just go to another doctor”
She brushed a strand of hair out of her face and looked up at me
“I’m tired of my love, can we go home?”
I nodded without speaking and embraced her, feeling her slow and weakened heartbeat against my chest, its rhythm in sync with my own.
“Sure, We’ll go home”
That was the last time I saw her awake, she fell asleep on the car ride home…and never woke up. I was able to bring her to the hospital where they revived her, but she was comatose, most likely asleep till the cancer kills her.
“I’m sorry my love”
I looked over at her chamber before bringing my hand up to my face and staring at the mangled flesh of my palms.
“A drop of blood for a question, a thousand heartbeats for an answer”
I heard the voice in my head as if it was a thought I had formulated all on my own, but the voice was different, it didn’t belong to me nor anyone I had ever heard before.
“A single tear for a favor, an entire ocean for its completion”
I crawled to the spot where my blood had dripped into the ground, the sand was stained red but almost completely dry. I leaned over it and thought about my honeymoon, I thought about vacations and work, time together and apart, moments where she was everything. I thought about the idea of my life without her, and then it came like a flood. Tears flowed freely from my eyes and drenched the ground, the first falling square on the red stain in the sand. The liquid pooled on top and a small ribbon of crimson fluid flowed upward into the tear drop. The ribbon danced and waved in a thin line through the microscopic ocean.
“What is your question?”
The voice came from above me now, and as I slowly looked upward, a loomed overhead, blocking the sun from view, and causing my heart to skip a beat.
“What…is your question”
Before me now stood a massive beast, speaking in the voice I had heard in my mind and digging his gargantuan claws into the sand. The tip of each toe ended in a blade that was crystalline and almost translucent. Each blade too had a glowing orange stripe that when shifted, turned the sand underneath him to panes of glass. His arms were broad and powerful, covered in green scales and his maw hung open with a light blue mist emanating from his teeth. He was the dragon, the one from Io who space gods told legends about.
“I…I want to know something about my wife”
He knelt down on his two front arms and brought his eyes to my level, a kindness flowing between his seemingly infinite pupils.
“Your wife. She is a story I myself cannot seem to get over. What do you wish to know?”
I looked up at him and let out a deep breath before gesturing to her
“Can- can she be saved”
His gaze snapped to her case and he slowly moved over to where she slept
“You brought her with you, of course you did, you could never leave her behind.
I crawled over and knelt next to him, tears still flowing from my eyes.
“Please tell me, can she make it?”
He turned around and knelt next to me, putting a massive hand gently on my shoulder and speaking softly.
“My boy, She’s already made it, just not in the direction…you were hoping”
He tapped the monitor screen and it stopped showing vitals, instead displaying a digital sign in dark red letters. I read them aloud to myself.
“Subject deceased, time since last recorded activity. 37 hours 22 minutes 48-49 seconds”
He nodded and spoke calmly
“You wanted to badly for her to live, you saw her living, even when she wasn’t”
I slammed my hand on the crate and opened the lid, picking her up in my arms and putting my ear to her chest.
“Come on, come on. You’re ok, you’re ok”
I clutched her in my arms as silence arrived to my ears. I rocked her and cried into her soft silken hair. Her pale skin had lost its glimmer and I pressed my forehead against her own. I spoke through tears and a tightened throat
‘No, she cant die, I found you! I finally found you! Come on sweetheart you’re ok right? Just wake up. He's here baby we made it, please just wake up, please”
The dragon loomed over head and let out a deep breath, speaking gently, so as not to disturb the silence
“She is gone, and even I cannot save her”
I felt my skin begin flaming as I turned my head back up toward him
“Then what can you do? What can you do if you can’t bring her back to me? Why are you a legend if you cant make her breath again?!?”
He whispered softly into her ears and I felt the wind of the world around me change
“Because I can send you to her”
The planet fell silent and she disappeared along with the dragon. The camp was gone, my hand had been healed, my suit was gone and instead I wore a thin white shirt and loose cotton shorts. I was comfortable, and as I stood to my feet I felt as if my thirst had been quenched, my hunger satiated, I was…ok.
“Hello?”
I called to the emptiness, and before long a soft sullen voice spoke back.
“Hello darling”
She took my face in her hands and turned me around, holding my cheek as my whole body shook
“Hi beautiful”
I brought my hand up to her own and felt her soft warm skin against mine, I pressed my head into her hand and leapt forward, bringing her close and up into the air as I spun her around. She laughed as I gently set her down and wrapped my arms around her.
“I’m sorry you can’t stay”
I looked at her and spoke quickly
“What do you mean I can’t stay? The dragon sent me to you, he sent me to see you, so we can be together again”
She shook her head and kissed my softly, as she pulled away she put her hand on my chest
“It’s not your time hero, I’ll see you eventually, but this is goodbye for now”
I woke up on the sand, the dragon standing over me, holding her body as she began to slowly turn to dust. His tears fell on her degrading body as he handed her to me, and lowered his head.
“I'm sorry, it’s never permanent, did she tell you goodbye?”
I took a deep breath and held her in my arms before walking a few paces forward, and laying her down on the sand. I spoke calmly as tears streamed down my face.
“Yea…she did”
He nodded
“That is more than most get, was she smiling?’
I wiped my eyes and laughed
“Yea…she was”
He fluffed his wings and let the world around us grow heavy with winds
“Then your mission is complete”
I continued to cry as I looked back at him and spoke in a wavering tone
“Did you know I was a general?”
He strolled over and sat next to me, watching her particles flow away with the storm
“You were the most powerful general of all time, incapacitating but never killing, for a man with your rank one must usually commit vast atrocities but you…you never took one life”
I nodded and watched the wind whip and carry sand alongside her body
“I didn’t want to take life, I was reprimanded over and over but I always knew there was a better way, she wanted me to try, to make it so at every opportunity we could fight without ending lives…she hated senseless death…and I think I see why now”
He spoke calmly, wiping his eyes as the last of her bones turned to crystalline dust in the wind
“Her death was not senseless, in fact you'll find that when something as beautiful as her dies, it becomes impossible to make sense of it. That does not mean it happened without sense, and it does not mean her death must be for nothing. When men first meet me, they offer a drop of blood, and that is all I require for the question, but to gain my favor, they must give up a piece of themselves”
I sighed and looked up at him
“What do you need from me then?”
He gestured to where her body had sat moments ago
“You just let the biggest piece of yourself go without a fight. You have paid for more than enough trips to see her”
I nodded and spoke without waiver
“I'm not supposed to keep visiting her though, am I? She won’t be happy till we see eachother again permanently, and if I show up prematurely…she would probably be pissed. So ,I guess now I just live?”
He laid down in the sand and let out a deep groan
“I don’t think I’ve lived in quite some time, I’ve been stranded here for so long, evading capture to exist within my freedom, too afraid to face the cosmos again”
I patted his side and gripped what was essentially his ankle
“You shouldn’t be afraid, fear doesn’t do anything for men like us. Maybe we should sit a while, and see if your fear doesn’t go away”
He let out a deep breath and closed his eyes, laying down as I watched the sun rise over the horizon. My heartbeat continued, but as I watched the last of her ashes swirl through the air, I found a modicum of peace, and I thought about her.

I don't really know why I'm writing this ... I think it's because I've tried to explain it to my uncle but all he said is that I should get my addiction under control and stop forgetting to take my meds.
I can't blame him. You see... I have a history. I've lost it in the past , twice actually. I'm not here to talk about it , but I think it's important to lay this down first. So you can understand.

I've been told something's wrong with my brain, maybe I was born this way, maybe I've been through too much. That my mother was an addict, she'd cut ties with her family for 10 years when she had me. That where she had been and who my father was, is was very unclear. She was part of a community in the forgotten part of the nearest big city when she died. I was there when it happened.
My uncle Sean and Aunt Maggie became my guardians just before my 5th birthday and I'm still with him 20 years later. Maggie left the ranch a few weeks ago after an amicable divorce, I never understood why they were together anyway she was always working somewhere, traveling a lot. I was closer to him and his sturdy way of life.

When I first arrived at the ranch, I was in a bad shape. I got better thanks to him but when I reached thirteen, all the memories from my early childhood suddenly came back. I started having flashbacks. My memories came back, but they came back wrong.

I had been told that my mother had died of an untreated infection. Yet in my dreams, I saw her , again and again , in a pool of blood. An then... Then it came. The... Thing. I won't describe it. It kind of triggers something in me that I really don't need right now.

I've been told that what happened next was so traumatic that my brain made up a monster, a fiction , to make sense of what I was seeing and not processing.
This ... Thing started obsessing me and during my early teenage years I focused all my energy on finding what it was and proving it happened. That a monster did kill and mutilated my mother. My nightmares were so bad that I stopped sleeping. I drank so much energy drinks that I ended up in the hospital twice with severe dehydration.

Thankfully, I got better. I started working more and more with my uncle's horses. I think it's why he employed me, he saw how manual work and caring for the animals helped. I even got my first girlfriend around my 17th year. I was prom king. Who would have thought?
But then... She had a cheerleading accident. In front of me. And I lost it again. I won't go into details but she broke her neck during half-time and once again... The way she fell, folded and screamed. I couldn't process. It was IT. It'd shapeshifted to get to her. I'm ashamed of it but I became violent. Looking for it franticly. Screaming non sense and talking made up words. I had to be sedated. She made it alive, but she never wanted to see me again. I was accused by pretty much everyone to make the accident all about myself. And they were kind of right....

Now you know how I came to be the " crazy" guy. I have a bit of a drinking problem too to be honest... You see I never went back to high school. I started working full time at the ranch when I came by, and sometimes, it gets lonely. It's not rare to find me passed out in the hay in the early morning in the summer. And what can I tell you... I know I shouldn't. I know it's "bad" . But I love those nights. I put music , cuddle with my dog and just look at the cold bright stars, drinking beer until they start spinning.

It's because of this bad habit that I realized something was wrong with the horses. You see, contrary to the movies, horses are pretty silent. They don't neigh unless you separate them from their best mate or bring food. And that night... The night it all started. They wouldn't stop. I could hear them galloping and snorting. I wondered if there was a stray dog but they were used to dogs. I was a bit worried. Horses get stupid when they are afraid and we had a big show coming, it wasn't the time so sprain a leg. What really troubled me was my dog. He seemed ... Weird.
Max was a pit mix my uncle had rescued when I was 15. He only woke when I got up and walked a bit to look at the paddocks. That's when I realised the moon behind me. It was huge, and red. I wondered if I had ever seen it so close and so red before. I looked at Max The white of his eyes showed and he started whining. I had never heard him make this noise. Ever.

I looked at my phone. It was quarter to three. I took a pitchfork to be safe and walked toward the clubhouse. We kept a shotgun there in a locker. The horses kept going crazy and max's tail was stiff. I was walking fast but carefully in the darkness when the music reached me. A chant. A low chant. I kind of felt it too... Like a ... vibration.
It was coming from the yearlings field near the forest patch, on the opposite direction of the clubhouse. My horse was in this field. I backtracked immediately and rushed toward the sound as I dialled my uncle. Off course he didn't answer. He didn't live on the property anymore but a few miles away. I left a message, whispering. " I'm at the stable, something weird ‘s happening. I think they're people messing with horses I'm going to see. I think you should come , I don't know...Call me back.". The weird chant buzzed in the background, louder, as if more people had joined. I saw the glow of the fire before I passed the last building. It rose , under the bloody moonlight. Dark figures circled around it. Slowly. The horses seemed to have retreated at the other end of the pasture and I was relieved. Until I saw it. The figure at the centre of this dark carousel. " What the f are those creeps doing" escaped my lips.
blazing fury filled me , like a white iron like a white hot blade blinding me . "HEYYYY" I screamed at the top of lungs. " WHAT ARE YOU DOING !? ". The figures stopped and turn toward me. I was running now , my knuckles going white around the pitchfork's stick. Max was growling. A deep growl. His hair high upon his backbone. The figure, still pretty far did not move. I could see their heavy hooded cloaks. " what kind of sick pricks are those " I muttered. " HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAY" I screamed again, louder than I ever thought I could scream. And then I saw him. Gun.
Gun was my uncle's favourite horse. His old stallion's spitting image. The young horse was lying in front of the fire behind the intruders.
"WHAT DID YOU DO! I'M CALLING THE COPS!!!!". I stopped and was dialling when a figure detached itself from the group and advanced. It seemed to ... float? It moved toward Max and I... so silently.
The burning rage in veins turned cold , and heavy. I opened my mouth but nothing crossed my lips. Suddenly, Max jumped. He growled in a way I hope to never hear any dog do again. A desperate, furious growl. A life or death sound. A war cry... His warm blood spattered on my face. He... Honestly I don't know what happened at that moment. Something lied bloody on the ground but I couldn't even have told that it used to be a dog, even less Max. Acid tears filled my eyes as I realized my mouth was still open. I was tasting him.
I wanted to scream, to run, to just get swallowed by the earth and yet I did nothing at all but stare at the floating silhouette. It was so tall. " Come, my child". " We were waiting for you, we knew you'd come, Your father told us you'd be here when we'd call".
I heard those words, but I wouldn't be able to tell you anything about the thing who spoke them. I say thing because it didn't have a voice. It... Buzzed. Like... a cello.
Suddenly... I floated too. Panick seized me. Like a trapped raccoon in my
chest it dug its claws, scratching furiously my closed throat.
" Your father said you were ready. We will prepare you." I was now in front of the crackling blaze. the other figures circling me. Smiling Men and woman welcomed me. On their faces they all wore a similar mark. a cross covering their eyes horizontally, and their nose and mouth vertically. Their hands... Their hands were still dripping with gun's inside. Gun... Was ... opened.
" A necessary sacrificed" whispered a woman, still smiling. " I know you liked him very much... I'm sorry..." " I could have taken yours, but I knew you wouldn't have forgiven me'. Her voice. .." Aunt Maggie?' I croaked. Her eyes shone with a mad light. " Gosh do you look like your mother tonight... She'd be so proud. Her baby boy..." .
The tall figure made a gesture and I spined and found myself looking at the sky. I thought I'd fallen but... I wasn't touching the ground...
My aunt continued speaking." She was just like you the first time ... So... naive, so afraid.. She was only 16! That was our mistake you see, she wasn't ready for her destiny yet when she joined us... That's why we waited for you."
The chant , the low buzzing chant rose once again. The people around me started walking in a circle around me. I was just above Gun's body.
One, by one, they buried they hands in the belly of the horse and traced the cross on my face. I sealed my lips as tight as I could as the warm blood covered my face. Through the blood and tears I recognize faces. A nurse from the hospital. A teacher. The coffeeshop barista. My psychiatrist... I closed my eyes.
It was a nightmare. It couldn't be anything but a nightmare.
Yet the smell of the horse's inside and the crackling fire still reached me as they started ripping my clothes off.
" This is not real" I whispered. " This is not real, this is not real THIS IS NOT real" I screamed weakly.
'Oh , My dear I'm so sorry ' whispered my aunt. I should have told you earlier... But Dr Carter said it was better to let you grow up a bit first. He said it help you keep the secrets if you were afraid of them. I'm sure you don't feel this way, but it was an honour to watch your mother ascend the way she did. Her agony was the most beautiful thing she could have hoped for. You were supposed to ascend with her but she ruined it". " Slut" groaned a middle aged woman before spitting on the floor.
" She was my best friend you know... I thought I knew her. I thought I could trust her. But she lied to me."
"You see, we know you are his son. But... She wasn't a virgin when she was honoured."
She smiled. " It doesn't matter how cruelly she tricked us. You can help us find the perfect girl."
One by one, each member traced a symbol on my skin.
" You're so handsome... He'll be so glad. The perfect boy. The perfect vessel."
"It's almost time, Prepare" hissed the tall figure.
" You're going to give him his heir, the one ruler among the realms. You see he can't travel here whenever but you're an anchor my love. Each generation he choses an anchor until he finds one who'll give him THE son, the one who'll die for his freedom. Our freedom."
"QUIET SLAVE AND KNEEL" shrieked the tall figure.
She kneeled right near me, and whispered " You're...". I heard a slash. Aunt Maggie’s face slid horizontally. Her eyes followed me as the upper part of the face slid slowly toward the ground.
" HAIL THE PRINCE".
A chant, colder and louder than never before rose with the crackling flames toward the moon.
" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! » chanted the disciples."
Frozen, I watched the blazing sky above and saw a door. A perfect wooden door , in the sky. It slowly cracked open as the crowd turn to hysterics and the chant turned to mad screams.
"MY SOOOOOOOON" The whole earth seemed to split open under the weight of the sound coming from the perfect rectangle of empty darkness in the sky.
And then... I saw... I saw what I had tried to forget for twenty-years. I saw those split red eyes and their evil glare. I saw the iron hooves at the end of too many legs. I saw the tentacles who fled my mother with their thousand beaks. Everything all at once, I saw it shift, from an odious form to a more loathsome one. I burned in a way I'll never be able to describe.
I woke up two weeks ago in the nearest hospital. I was found on the ground, surrounded by the yearlings, the corpse of gun and some remains of Max. My uncle explained to me that I had found a bear feasting on Gun, that Max must have attacked it and I'd fainted or been knocked out trying to scare it away. Laying lifeless had saved me. I didn't speak of what I saw at the hospital. I knew better now. I've tried to explain to my uncle why I had to move out to the big city. That I had a mission now. That I had never been crazy and that I shouldn't have been afraid.
I know now that I'm blessed. You see he thinks I'm just having another episode, that it’s a "manic" episode and I should go back to the clinic, but I know better now. I am special. I am. And he can be too. Anyway... He'll be whether he joins or not. You'll all be. Because he is coming. He 'll bless us all. Because you see, I know I can find her and I'll give him the perfect door. A door to let him in. A door to let all of him in. He'll honour us all, all at once.
" Iä! Shub-Niggurath! The Black Goat of the Woods with a Thousand Young! »

The scene faded back in to a shot of the team and host in the prison courtyard, the two groups of teens each standing by a dirty laundry cart. "Elimination challenge!" Chris exclaimed happily. "Here we go! No 'Get Out of Jail Free' cards here, people! This, is 'Escape from Total Drama Pen.'!" The camera quick-panned away from Chris' close-up to one of the carts.
"Each team must hop in their laundry carts, while one member pushes through the obstacle course to freedom!" As he spoke, the scene flashed to a shot of wooden dummies dressed like prison guards with automatic swinging arms, and then again to a pair of narrow platforms over a water pool with large sandbags swinging back and forth between them, and once more to the prisoner dummies with various sharp objects attached to their hands.
"When you reach the wall," Chris continued as the camera moved back to the group shot, "get diggin'! First team to reach the boxcar to freedom wins immunity!" The shot quick-panned over to a pair of boxcars sitting on a small section of rail tracks. "Convicts, select a pusher!"
"I'll do it!" Chase and Sky volunteered simultaneously, and the two quickly turned their heads to each other.
"I'll be the one to push for us!" Jasmine declared to the Grips. "Does anybody have a problem with that?" she asked her team, who were already starting to climb into the cart.
"I don't," Millie said as she got on.
"You are our best option," Anne Maria added as she hopped onto the cart.
Jasmine smiled. "Excellent!"
Confessional: Jasmine
“When you have long legs, speed can come off as an attribute,” Jasmine confessed.
Confessional Ends
"Not to be a jerk or anything," Chase said as the focus moved back to the Gaffers, "but I want to be the one who pushes, not you."
"Only one of us can do it, and it should be me," Sky offered.
"I know we won the shovel, but the Grips have Jasmine pushing for them," Chase argued, “and if we want to beat them, we'll need a lot of speed coming from me.”
"You're not the only one who's been on a track team," Sky protested. “I practice track at my school in order to prep myself for the Olympics.”
"I have longer legs than you," Chase pointed out, "and that'll at least make us on par with the other team."
“This bickering is not helping us,” Sky groaned and turned to her team. "So team, who do you want to drive the cart? Me or Chase?"
"I say Chase," Ripper said first. “Sky's not Sonic fast.”
"Well I think Sky should push us," Scott declared. “Chase being on the track team is more of a hobby to him.”
"To break the tie, I'll go with Sky," MK said. "She is the team's leader."
Chase sighed. "Alright!" He walked towards the cart. "But if we don't win, it's not coming back to me."
Confessional: Sky
“Me and MK don't know each other well, and she is generally not cordial, but I do have to thank her for having my back in the situation,” Sky explained.
Confessional: MK
“The way I see it, if Sky loses the cart challenge for us, me and Scott can use that as a reason to pick her off,” MK told the audience. “With her and Trent's love plot coming to a halt, there's no need to keep her in the game any longer.”
Confessionals End
"This is it, teams," Chris announced as the two groups were shown in their starting positions – most of the teams in their carts, with Jasmine and Sky ready to push. "On your marks...," the host said as a few deep notes began the fast-paced music that would play during the challenge, "get set...escape!"
The two started pushing immediately, and Jasmine managed to get an early lead for the Grips. However, Sky was gaining momentum, and the two kicked up a cloud of dust behind them as they entered the first obstacle – the sharp-handed prisoner dummies. The camera watched from above as they weaved around and through the field in different directions, and at one point it looked like their paths were going to intersect. The two girls briefly locked eyes and steeled themselves as their carts bounced off each other, rattling their teammates inside.
The viewpoint shifted to show the start of the next obstacle – the narrow platforms over water, with large bags already swinging back and forth threateningly. Sky pushed her team up onto the platform, and the focus moved ahead to Jasmine doing the same as well. The people in the carts ducked down to get away from the swinging bags. However, Anne Maria's big hair stuck up enough for one of the bags to brush past it, which slowed it down enough that Jasmine ran face-first into it while she had been distracted looking back at the other team. It knocked her down and caused her to let go of the cart, which managed to keep rolling along without her.
"We can use this to our advantage!" Ripper barked. "Keep it steady and we can catch up!"
"I got it!" Sky picked up her pace. She managed to get them past Jasmine and another two bags and they caught up to the Grips' cart, which had stopped at the end of the second obstacle. The viewpoint shifted to show them watching in shock as the Gaffers approached unsteadily, with Jasmine running just inches behind them.
Just as Sky was getting the groove of pushing the cart, a bag hit her in the head, which caused her to lose her balance and the front left wheel of the Gaffers' cart to leave the platform as it rapidly approached the end of the second obstacle, and the camera zoomed in as it dipped down and hit the corner where the narrow platform ended, causing the cart to spill forward.
"Hurry up!" Anne Maria commanded as Jasmine retook control over the Grips’ cart and sped forward, past the pile of Gaffers and into the final obstacle.
The camera followed them as they weaved through the guard-dummies, becoming more and more excited as they neared the wall. "Alright," Jasmine said. "We're getting closer to victory!"
A second passed in silence as they kept going at the same speed. "Uhh, Jasmine?" Justin said nervously as he eyed the approaching wall.
"We can stop now!" Millie notified.
Their words caused her to skid to a stop just in front of the wall. "Thanks for the warning," Jasmine said as her teammates breathed a sigh of relief.
"We may not have a shovel," Brick told his team with a spoon in hand, "but we must make do with what we have."
“Go go!" Jasmine eagerly ordered everyone out the cart. “Hop to it like kangaroos!” They all ran over to the large 'X' and started digging.
"Well this is just great!" Ripper complained as he, MK, Chase, and Scott picked themselves up off the ground, and Sky turned their cart back upright. "We're behind the Grips!"
“This is why I should've been the driver,” Chase spoke out. “I would have been able to avoid those bags.”
"None of this is our fault," Sky said. "We can still catch up to the Grips if we don't start arguing with each other."
The footage flashed ahead, showing the Gaffers sitting in the laundry cart with Sky pushing them through the final obstacle. Moments later they arrived at the wall, a hole and sizable dirt pile already by their opponent's cart. The four Gaffers hopped out, and Sky took the shovel out of her pocket.
"Jump right to it, team," Sky ordered. "We have a lot to dig!"
The camera flashed to Chris and Chef at the finish line, Chris sitting on the entrance of a boxcar while Chef leaned against it. "So..." Chris asked. "You ever seen that prison flick? The one with the guy in it? You know? The guy with that face?" Chef rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"So are you doing anything after work?" the host asked awkwardly. "We could always rent a-" He noticed the look on the cook's face and amended, "or not. I was... busy... anyway. Very busy. I'm just… throwing it out there."
The scene changed to a side view of the Grips in their tunnel, Jasmine hastily digging in front with her spoon.
"We're making good progress so far," Jasmine said. "Even if we're stuck with spoons."
"I can hear them ahead of us now," Millie said. "Wouldn't it be faster if we helped dig too?"
"Ten hands are better than two," Jasmine agreed.
Confessional: Jasmine
“After losing two challenges in a row, the Grips really need to bounce back this time,” Jasmine stated. “I've watched enough prison movie like “Holes” and “The Shawshank Redemption” to understand which spots are easier to dig out first.”
Confessional Ends
Another flash took the scene back to the Gaffers, Ripper being the one using the shovel to dig in the front.
"I'm not lying when I say that we're going to win," Ripper said as he kept digging.
"The Grips may have gotten here before us, but they have spoons and we have a shovel," Chase added.
“And it's all thanks to me!” MK cheered before catching sight of Scott's glare. “And Scott as well.”
Confessional: MK
“Right. Forgot the basic concept of teamwork,” MK sheepishly confessed. “Usually I always fly solo in everything I do, except group projects, and most of the time, I have to do everything because my supposed group members are uncooperative.”
Confessional Ends
The Gaffers heard a sudden rumble, causing them to stop in their tracks. A hand burst out of the dirt, creating a hole that increases thanks to a familiar head sticking their head out.
“Izzy?!” the team cries out at the sight of her. The psycho hose beast had fake buck teeth in her mouth and a camo hat with sticks sticking out on top, and she chittered in response.
“Yep. That's her,” Chase confirmed.
“Yeah, I've been living underground amongst the prairie dogs,” Izzy explained as one of the prairie dogs popped up and angrily chittered at the team.
“Aw, Butchie, it's okay,” Izzy assured the creature. “These are my friends.”
“Are you here to help us or…” Scott started to ask.
“Of course! Follow me, I know a shortcut to the finish line!” Izzy said.
“A shortcut?” Sky felt uneasy.
“Of course,” Ripper scoffed. “Why spend hours digging when you can finish faster?”
Confessional: Sky
"I'm not the type to cheat whenever I'm in a competition, and taking shortcuts is the easy way out," Sky explained in the confessional trailer, "but I don't really have a choice here."
Confessional Ends
“And of course, I became the second in command prairie dog,” Izzy told her team a story as they moved through the shortcut, “which meant I shared all the prairie dog council meetings and oh, oh! Here we are!”
“Finally! I need to get out of this hole!” Chase said and crawled faster.
The viewpoint moved to the surface as rock got pushed out of the way and Chase emerged from beneath. "You've got to be kidding," he muttered in annoyance.
The camera moved again, showing that the Grips’ tunnel had come up in front of the boxcars. All members of the Killer Grips were celebrating in front, while Chris and Chef watched.
"We lost?" Izzy said as she emerged from her hole.
"Yes, we did," Chase told her as he and the other Gaffers got out of the hole. "And aren't you out of the game? We did vote you off."
“Uh-uh. You voted off Kaleidoscope,” Izzy rebutted.
A flash took the scene back to the third episode's elimination with Izzy, Ripper, and Chase in the bottom three. “Izzy! Time to go!” Chris announced.
“I'm not going anywhere,” Izzy objected. “That's not my name.”
“Can I get a pen over here?” Chris raised his hand in annoyance. A pen was given to him, and he started to write on the paper. “It says "E-Scope" now, okay?!”
Izzy stubbornly stayed in her seat, and Chris looked over to his side. “Yo guys. Want to make sure we keep this ballot in the files as an official record of Kaleidoscope's departure?” he asked as he continued to scribble. “I'll notarize it. Foresight. That's why they pay me the big bucks.”
The flashback ended and the focus returned to the Gaffers. “So technically, Izzy's still in the game!” Sky realized.
Confessional: MK
“I didn't expect this to happen, but I'll allow it if it means I get an extra vote for tonight's elimination ceremony,” MK said.
Confessional Ends
A flash took the scene to the craft services tent, the camera lingering on an outside shot before cutting to Chef at the counter while the Grips ate at their table in the foreground.
“It's such a relief to have finally won a challenge after losing the past two ones,” Brick started to say.
“Well, this is an effect of Trent not being around to lose for us,” Justin said. “We made the right decision voting him off last time.”
“Even with the other team getting Izzy back, they're still going to lose a member,” Anne Maria remarked. “It's sorta a win-win for us.”
The footage skipped ahead, showing Ripper and Scott sitting around in their trailer before MK joined them.
"Okay, look," MK said as she addressed the two boys, "we have to vote Sky off tonight. She's helpful, sure, but she'd be hard to beat if the teams merge."
"I second that," Scott nodded. "She also slowed us down in the cart portion of the challenge."
"I told you guys that Chase should've pushed for us, but you didn't listen," Ripper huffed.
“I convinced Izzy to help us with the vote, and Chase won't be necessary since he and Sky have some sort of friendship with each other,” MK said.
"As long as we have the majority, we're all set to go," Scott said with a wink.
The theme of the Gilded Chris ceremony began to play, accompanied by the standard introduction sequence. It faded into a long-distance shot of the award stage, the camera zooming in as the theme came to an end. The six Gaffers cast their votes, the camera panning down from Chase and MK in the top row, to Izzy and Scott in the middle, and Ripper and Sky at the bottom.
"Time's up!" Chris announced excitedly. "I'll tally the votes!" He held up a device similar to the voting pads, and began to read off names. "Chase, Scott, Izzy, and MK." Each name was accompanied by the sound of an award getting thrown and caught and the four were shown holding their latest prizes. "Another award, and another day to compete."
The host held up the final award. "Tonight's final Gilded Chris and another chance at the million goes to…" he said as Ripper and Sky were shown watching nervously, "...Ripper!"
The aforementioned contestant caught his prize as Sky felt disappointed with the results.
Confessional: Sky
“I didn't want to vote for Chase and Izzy and MK and Scott helped out with the challenge, even if they're unsportsmanlike,” Sky explained. “I talked to Chase and Izzy about voting for Ripper since he didn't do much today, but I guess Izzy chose to vote off someone else.”
Confessional: Ripper
“Voting for Sky didn't hurt one bit,” Ripper confessed. “Like MK said, she's really athletic and could easily win the season if we chose to eliminate somebody else tonight.”
Confessional: Izzy
“Even though I was told to vote off specific people, I decided to go with voting MK,” Izzy admitted. “I still remember how she acted during last season's dodgeball challenge.”
Confessionals End
The footage flashed forward, showing Sky on the red carpet getting handcuffed by Chef.
"Dead girl walking!" Chef called out before escorting the eliminated contestant.
"Hold on!" the voice of MK cried out as she ran up to the two. “Leave her and take me!”
“Sure. Whatever,” Chef took the handcuffs off Sky and offered them to MK.
“I was kidding!” MK pushed the cuffs away from her. “Like I'd willingly quit the game. I'm just here to see the loser off.” She looked at the slightly taller girl teasingly. “I'm sure you'll be happily reunited with Trent the Challenge Thrower.”
"As long as I'm not on a team with someone as underhanded as you," Sky retorted as she grabbed the handcuffs and walked past the now miffed girl, "I'll be happy anywhere."
The Gilded Chris theme began to play as Chris turned to the camera. "Folks are getting feisty!" he said. "The Gaffers just lost their best player and team leader this early in the game, and with her out of the way, how low will this team sink just to win? Tune in next week to find out on Total! Drama! Action!"
(Roll the Credits)
(Bonus Clip)
Sky was sitting in the back of the Lame-o-sine as she looked at the window. "You know what’s ironic?" she started. "Trent outlasted me last season by one episode, and now the same thing occurred, only with the roles reversed." She turned her head to look at the camera. "I wish I could've stayed on the show longer and prove that I'm more than Trent's athletic girlfriend, but I'm pretty sure the fans know that I have a distinct personality."
"If there's one thing I can say about my performance, it's that I didn't do anything questionable or controversial that could be used against me in the future or vilify me." She paused for a moment and blinked. "What do you mean Aftermath?"
Eva - 14th
Geoff - 14th
Izzy - RETURNED
Trent - 12th
Sky - 11th
Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Brick, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, Izzy, MK, Ripper, Scott

Killer Grips: Anne Maria, Brick, Jasmine, Justin, Millie
Screaming Gaffers: Chase, MK, Ripper, Scott, Sky
Episode 7: The Chefshank Redemption
"Last week, the dry desert heat baked our favorite pardners like roadkill on the black top! But, crispy bottoms or not, they still had to mount their ancient steed… from a hundred-foot platform!"
“But that wasn't all. A calf-roping contest had the teams lasso each other. When Trent threw challenges for Sky, she gave him a much deserved talking to, which led to some Total Drama from Justin. Well, poor old deputy Trent found himself hitching a ride on the 3:10 to Loserville.”
"With ten remaining, it's anyone's guess who will win this week!" The camera now showed the cast trailers, with nobody in sight. "Will the Gaffers manage to win again?" the host asked as the shot moved to the team of five, loitering together beneath a tree.
"Or will the Grips even things out?" Chris asked next as the shot cut to the team of five, all sitting outside at a picnic table.
"It can happen!" Anne Maria said.
"Right," Chris said in a close-up before smiling at the camera. "See for yourself, next, on Total! Drama! Action!"
(Theme Song)
The episode properly opened on a scene of the morning sun, a lilting tune playing as the camera panned down and over to the cast trailers. The sound of snoring could be heard as the shot zoomed further in on the boys' trailer, and cut inside to show the boys all in the beds they'd picked at the start of the season, though Justin was in the middle of a facial while a fan was blowing on his nails.
An air horn was sounded loudly as the shot zoomed in on Chase, who woke up with a snap. The focus switched to Scott, who opened his eyes and rubbed them before Ripper sat up and yawned.
"I call dibs on the bathroom!" Chase said after he got out of bed, rushing to the door of the trailer. The scene cut to a close-up of the handle as he grabbed it and pulled to no effect, leading him to frown and try pulling with both hands, still with no results.
Chase then saw Justin still in bed. "Can you help with this?"
“This is day 12 of my manicure!” Justin replied. “To risk any more cuticle damage would be madness!”
"I'll open the door if you can't," Ripper told Chase as he stood next to him. “I have more muscle than all of you wimps.”
“By all means, go ahead and give it a try,” Scott encouraged insincerely.
Ripper grabbed the handle and pulled to the best of his ability, but the door remained closed. "I can't open it. We're trapped."
Confessional: Ripper
“I'm pretty much the strongest of my brothers," Ripper told the confessional camera. "In my school, I'd usually have to rip open lockers so I could either stuff somebody into it or take money. I'd usually get weeks of detention for that though."
Confessional Ends
“Why did they even trap us in here?” Chase complained as the scene cut back to the guys' trailer.
“They probably want us to fight each other to see who'll come out on top,” Scott theorized.
“We should find a way out instead of doing that,” Justin argued. “My hands have just been manicured.”
The camera cut back outside as the scene panned over to the girls' trailer, and the camera cut inside to show Millie jiggling the girls' door handle.
"I don't know how I ended up inside this trailer when I slept in a tree, but we have to open the door," Jasmine panicked as the scene panned over to her. Anne Maria and Sky were sitting on the lower bunk next to her.
“I'm pretty sure they snuck you in here while you were sleeping,” Anne Maria said. “And why are you so worked up about this?”
“I have claustrophobia, and I hate being in tight spaces,” Jasmine said.
Millie gave up pulling the handle. “This thing is jammed. I'm not able to get it open.”
"So we should try a different exit," MK walked past the bunks and pointed up at the ceiling. The other girls looked up as well and the camera followed their gazes, stopping on an emergency hatch.
"One of us should be able to squeeze through it," Sky noted and tilted her head down at MK.
“Uh, why are you staring at me?” MK asked gruffly.
Confessional: Sky
"I'm not happy to see Trent leave this early," Sky confessed. "He did do some questionable things in the past few challenges, but I thought he could get better after our talk. Regardless," she looked at the camera with determination, "I have to not let this affect my game now that I'm competing without him for the first time, and we are still together, unlike me and Keith."
Confessional Ends
"You should be the one to do it," Sky told her petite teammate. "You are the smallest one here."
MK furrowed her eyebrows. "I don't like being singled out because of my height, but for the sake of escaping this trailer, I'll excuse it." The techno looked back up at the hatch. "I will need a boost though."
"I'll help you get up there," Jasmine offered as she walked over to the girl. "My height will definitely come in handy."
The scene flashed back over to the guys, showing them looking up at the hatch.
"So obviously, we need someone to fit through the hatch and open our trailer," Scott deduced.
"Count me out," Ripper huffed. "I'm too heavy to fit through."
“I'd do it, but I would need more people to climb up through,” Justin said. “This would be a lot easier if Brick was here.”
“Speaking of which, where is Brick anyway?” Chase asked aloud.
The scene cut over to the craft services tent before flashing inside to Brick standing in the kitchen wearing a pot as a hat while Chef stood next to him in his drill sergeant uniform. "Okay maggot," Chef said. "I'm gonna ride you 'til your confidence coats the back of a spoon and your self-respect forms stiff peaks!" He showed the cadet his reflection in a cleaver and said, "No more War Child Brick. Watch and learn." He used a knife to cut a banana, a can, a bitten apple, and a boot into pieces.
"What is that?" Brick wondered.
"Taste perfection, boy," Chef poured the sliced items into a pot and served a spoonful to Brick, who cringed in disgust. "What you're tasting is pride, son. The most important virtue in a man's life. Now stir that pot!" the cook ordered before storming out.
"If Chef wants pride, then I'm going to give it my best effort," Brick talked to himself as he stirred. "What he gave me was an order, and I always follow orders."
The scene flashed back to the guys' trailer, cutting inside as Ripper placed himself in a fighting position with his arm folded and sticking out in front of him.
“Are you sure you want to do this, Ripper?” Justin asked in concern.
"Of course," Ripper said. "All I have to do is show that door who's boss by bursting through it!" Moments later, he charged across the room, yelling at the top of his lungs.
The door opened outside just before Ripper reached it, and unable to stop himself, he flew outside, past a smirking Chris wearing a police uniform, and landed next to the girls who had already gathered outside their own trailer.
"Hope you all enjoyed your first taste of the gulag," Chris said as he walked over to them, the other boys coming out of their trailer and joining the group.
"Gulag?" Anne Maria asked as Ripper stood up and dusted himself off. "What even is that? Food?"
“Gulag means prison, not food,” Sky pointed out.
"Correctamondo," Chris told her. "Because today," the camera quick-panned to a prison set with high walls rimmed with barbed wire and several wooden dummies in prison uniforms set up in a courtyard, "is Prison Flick day!"
The castmates groaned.
"Ah, prison," Chris continued. "The confinement, the claustrophobia!" he said, getting excited as he began to pace back and forth in front of the unimpressed contestants, a tense tune building up in the background. "The vile, nasty food! And you're always lookin' over your shoulder, 'cause Mr. Killer Dude wants to cut ya for takin' the last tater tot! And no matter how hard you try, digging out spoonfuls of dirt, year after year, there's no escape!"
"Unless you get voted off, of course!" he added plainly.
Confessional: Chase
“As if this place wasn't prison-like enough,” Chase muttered. “Now we have to actually live like criminals. It won't surprise me if in a year or two, Chris gets locked up for teenage abuse.”
Confessional Ends
"Lockdown, people," Chris said with a grin as the footage cut back to him in the interior of a prison lit by a handful of stage lights. "Let's get this challenge started!" The shot pulled back, revealing the teams standing across from each other next to tables filled with a variety of cooking dishes. A covered cart sat near the hot, and in the background were a pair of cages.
"Teams, take a prisoner from the competition," he told them in a close-up as footsteps were heard in the background, "and Chef,” Chef arrived on screen in his earlier outfit, "I mean Warden," the host corrected with a wink. "Lock 'em up."
The shot cut over to the Grips. "Okay," Justin whispered as the five huddled, "we have to pick the weakest member of the other team."
“We do have to weigh our options,” Millie said. “Chase once told me that he swallowed ten bugs into his mouth in under a minute as a dare, and Scott and Sky have strong stomachs as evident in the eating challenge from last season.”
“Ripper doesn't seem the type to chuck out what he eats, so we're picking MK,” Jasmine decided.
The shot cut over to the Gaffers' huddle. "Obviously, we need to pick Millie for this," Scott suggested. "She's less likely to handle gross food."
"I would say Jasmine since she's less likely to go through being locked up because of her claustrophobia," MK said, "but using someone's fear against them would make me look bad."
"Looks like we have a choice," Chase finished.
"Choices?" Chris announced suddenly. "Gaffers?"
"We choose Millie," Sky announced, causing the writer to groan.
"Grips?" Chris followed up, taking a few steps to the other team. "Now remember, this is an important choice. Whoever gets the upper hand here could win the whole challenge!"
"Because of that," Brick announced, "we're picking MK." The techno girl gulped.
"Today's first game is," Chris announced as he walked back over to the covered cart, "the Prison Chow-llenge!" A few deep notes played as he grabbed the cover and whipped it away, revealing the stinking, rotting, half eaten food lying beneath. "Each team of prison chefs whips up the foulest, nastiest, most barf-inducing slop this side of Alcatraz," he explained as the camera moved in for a close-up of the 'food', then cut to a cringing Brick and a again to a somewhat surprised-looking Anne Maria.
"Millie and MK have to stomach as much as they can," the host explained. "Last one to power-hurl wins!"
"Technically, this isn't an actual prison," Millie said as Chef herded her into the cage closest to the Grips. "If I was, I'd be protesting how unfair my “arrest” is."
"That's what some of them say," Chris told her with a smile as the door slammed shut and the camera pulled back, showing that MK had been locked up as well.
Confessional: Millie
"I'm not exactly hyped for this," Millie confessed uncertainly. "With the exception of the Brunch of Disgustingness, I'm not the kind to eat gross food, and I don't plan on doing so in the future, but since I've already been nominated, I might as well just suck it up."
Confessional Ends
The camera panned across the Grips' table, showing only a handful of dishes filled with unidentifiable mush. "This just keeps getting worse and worse!" Millie said as she looked at it in horror.
"The reward better be worth it," MK said from her cage.
"Have I ever let you down?" Chris asked before quickly adding "Wait! Scratch that!" He smiled before continuing. "Anyway, the winning team gets this!" He held up a golden shovel, which gleamed in the light.
"A shovel?" Millie asked skeptically. “Seriously?”
Confessional: Jasmine
"Given what I know about confinement cells, I think I know what the next part of the challenge will be," Jasmine told the confessional camera. "If it's digging, then we have to believe that Millie will pull through for us."
Confessional Ends
"Prisoners ready?" Chris called from between the two cages. "Aaaand, culinate!"
The host continued his rapid commentary as the Gaffers were shown making their first moves around a large bowl of something brown. "Ripper goes right for the roaches. Chase tops it off with some moldy pineapple slices and oh! Here come the horse lips!" The burly boy dropped his ingredient into the bowl and walked away while the daredevil stuffed the pineapples into the bowl and grabbed some horse lips in order to add them in.
Sky approached the table from the other side. “Where did you even get these things?” the athlete asked.
"I found some leftover pineapples from the beach party," Chase told her before they left the table.
“Gross, but effective,” Sky said.
Scott arrived with his wife beater taken off and in his hands. “This oughta be good,” he snickered as he twisted his cloth and squeezed out all the sweat into the bowl. After doing so, he put his wife beater back on his bare chest.
The camera cut over to the Grips as Justin took some dead hair out of his pockets and put them into his team's bowl. "Looks like Justin is sacrificing some of his dead hair," Chris commented as Jasmine stepped forward with a cheese grater and a moldy onion, "and Jasmine adds a topping of ripe onion." The Australian woman quickly grated the onion and walked away as Anne Maria walked up to the bowl.
"Remember," Brick whispered to the Jersey girl, "we're trying to make the food gross, not tasty."
"I know that, which is why I'm throwing out these expired lip gloss," Anne Maria said as she took out two sticks of lip gloss and put them in the bowl, followed by her using her spray can on it.
"Time's up!" Chris announced suddenly and with a grin. "And jailbirds, hope your appetites are primed!"
"Hope you're not feeling queasy today," Jasmine said with a smirk as she delivered her team's bowl of white-and-moldy 'food' over to MK.
"Here is what me and my team put together," Chase said as he walked past to take a bowl of something mostly brown to Millie. “Sorry if it grosses you out, babe.”
"This looks," Millie said before gulping, "uh, incredibly...not so bad..."
"Are you maggots ready?" Chris asked excitedly. The shot cut to a close-up of maggots squirming beneath the white mush, the camera zooming out to show a horrified MK. "One minute to down that chow! Aaaaanndd...Dig in!"
The hacker took a spoonful of prison food and forced it into her mouth, cringing and shuddering immediately.
Confessional: MK
"I don't even know how the contestants could go through the Brunch of Disgustingness without dying last season," MK admitted in the make-up trailer. "I clearly don't have the iron stomach for this challenge, even after eating Chef's grossening excuse for food for two seasons."
Confessional Ends
The footage cut back to Millie as she hesitantly plunged the first spoonful into her mouth. She swallowed it whole and moaned. "What did you even put in this? Anchovy paste?"
"Not gonna answer," Ripper snorted cruelly.
Millie took another spoonful, and after a pause, she opened her mouth and pulled out a moldy pineapple slice. She shuddered again and flung it away from her.
A quick-pan over to MK showed the short girl forcing her way through her own meal. "Don't think about it," she said with a disgusted grimace after a swallow. "Do not think about it!" She took another bite, shuddered, and swallowed.
Seeing her struggle, Scott quickly conducted a plan. "Wow, who knew Millie had such a strong stomach?" he said to his team. "Especially after I squeezed all of my sweat into the bowl!"
“What?!” Millie's eyes went wide as she dropped her bowl of food to the ground with an off-screen splat. She vomited moments later, in a stream that hit a stunned MK in the head.
"MK keeps it down for the Screaming Gaffers," Chris announced over a piece of triumphant music, "and wins the reward!"
The Gaffers cheered, Sky holding the golden shovel in her hand.
"Hey Chris, can I throw up now?" MK asked as Chris let her out.
"As long as you don't get any puke on my hair and below, go right ahead," Chris told her.
"Cool," MK said, holding her stomach as she walked out of her cage. The moment the host left, she turned around and grabbed the side of her former cell, and puked right into it.
"Are you gonna be alright?" Sky asked as she and Scott walked over to her.
"Yeah," MK said after she turned around. "I was just waiting for Millie to puke her guts out."
"And because of me, she did it much faster," Scott gloated. “My sweat came through for us.
“You didn't need to say it out loud,” Sky told her teammate. “That was sort of cheating.”
"You say cheating, we say getting an advantage," MK said before getting queasy again. "Now can you excuse me for a sec?" Without waiting for a response, she turned back around and puked again.
The camera cut to Chef on another part of the set. "Sir, we may not have won," Brick said as he ran over to the cook, "but I can take pride in the fact that we created a meal that even you wouldn't eat."
"You've still got more to learn!" Chef shouted.
“Pardon?” Brick grew confused.
“Pride and two bucks will get you a cup of coffee!” Chef said. “What a man really needs is loyalty, and you clearly came through for your team. If it wasn't for the sweat thing, you would've won!”
“Thank you?” Brick said confusingly.
Chef placed a hand on his shoulder. “I was once like you. Young, weird, kinda ugly. But you've got a gift. Now own it. Don't let it go to waste. Like I did,” he sniffled and returned to his gruff state. “Meet me in the kitchen after the challenge. You're on permanent KP duty, soldier,” he said as he left.
Confessional: Brick
“I had no idea Chef could show empathy towards me, and though I don't like going against my morals by doing this secret alliance, that was the highlight,” Brick said with a smile.
Confessional Ends
(Commercial Break)

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

FYI, this is a story COLLECTION. Lots of standalones technically. So, you can basically start to read at any chapter, no pre-read of the other chapters needed technically (other than maybe getting better descriptions of characters than: Adam Vir=human, Krill=antlike alien, Sunny=tall alien, Conn=telepathic alien). The numbers are (mostly) only for organization of posts and continuity.
OC Written by Charlie Stastarrfallknightrise,
Typed up and then posted here by me.
Proofreading and language check for some chapters by u/Finbar9800 u/BakeGullible9975 u/Didnotseemecomein and u/medium_jock
Future Lore and fact check done by me.
Caution swearing!
Also, god I love you Conn… please never change!
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"Both of you get your suits back on."
"What the hell is going on!?”
Richards demanded, Adam took a deep breath,
"Captain Richards that was not an opening for a discussion, that was an order. Now put the damn suit on, or I swear I will knock you out and do it myself!”
The three of them were floating in the module staring at each other, hands resting against what must have been no more than a few millimeters of aluminum.
He stared at them, and they stared back.
Adam did not break eye contact with the two, willing them to do as they were told. Chavez was the first to move, hurrying over to her space suit and struggling to pull it on in a near panic as bright lights flashed from outside. Inside his heart was pounding but he tried to remain calm for the two standing before him.
He hurried over to help Chavez pull on her gear, finally sealing the helmet in place as Richards finally moved to do the same.
Adam helped pull the hard torso over the man's head and link it to the waist before helping him pull on his gloves and, eventually the helmet. Before he let go, he kept hold of Richards by either side of the helmet staring at him through the glass,
"I promise, if you listen to me, I will keep you safe."
He kept eye contact with the other man until Richards finally nodded, and Adam let him go to float over and put on his own suit. His hands were steady, for now, but he knew as soon as the crisis was over he'd be shaking like a leaf.
If he survived…
He gritted his teeth, cursing himself for thinking like that.
He was Admiral Vir for crying out loud. He had survived far too much to go and die now.
He returned to the helm of the command module as he looked out the thick window at the lights flashing on either side of them. Despite the war that was raging around them, everything seemed so strangely quiet. There was no sound no rumbling, not even a vibration as one of the jets flew past. Despite being at the controls of the vehicle, there was nothing he could do. They only had a certain amount of fuel to get them to the lunar surface, and if he wasted any of it at all, they would be either caught in orbit, or miss the moon entirely.
He had to keep his cool.
Another bright burst of light lit the window to his right. This one was closer this time.
His heart leaped up into his throat.
Richards and Chaves joined him buckling into their seats.
"What is going on?”
Richards demanded again, his mike distant and tinny with the sound of very old technology.
"I believe Anti-Alliance forces are attempting to assassinate me. They have been trying for months now, and I think they are being encouraged by very powerful members of the government."
They watched as another set of ships zoomed past.
He saw a flash of a silhouette, just enough to know that one of them was a Thunderhawk and the other was a silver Rundi drone.
It confirmed his worst fears. The Chairwoman had been behind this the whole time!
[…]
Red nearly collided with the rocket. The Thunderhawk had pulled up the last minute, but he had almost been too late. He jerked the stick to the side, throwing up his wing just in time to avoid hitting the rocket as it made its slow way through space. He dove down on the other side forced to break off pursuit and cut in front of another Thunderhawk coming in from above. He made to look like he was going to ram them, playing a dangerous game of chicken, which he won at the last second as the other pilot panicked and cut to the left.
There were too many of them. Only five out of the original twenty had been destroyed, and he and the rest of their pilots were busy just keeping the thunder hawks away from the rocket, much less to have any time of firing at them. He had sent one of his people down to earth and one of them off towards the moon for backup. The moon was still hours away yet, so the hope that some help would be sent from them was unlikely, and even the woman he had sent down to earth's surface was cutting it close.
He didn't have much hopes that they would be able to hold out that long.
Inside the cockpit his warning lights began to blink and blair as one of the other jets got a lock on him. He rolled right to avoid them and dove down, cutting off the lock but still being pursued by those behind him. Up ahead he saw one of the silver balls erupt into flames as it was targeted by an expert hit from one of the Thunderhawk pilots.
He rolled right.
Someone else rolled left. He cut up just in time to avoid being hit and raced forward to cut off another Thunderbird that was heading directly towards the rocket.
[…]
Eris hurried down the hallway, her knees screaming as she did her very best to sprint, but despite her human anatomy, she was a little too much like a starborn.
With a cry of frustration she reached up and tore off her hoodie, throwing it to the ground and engaging her anti-gravity belt. The ribbons on her back billowed out behind her.
Light spilled in from the windows on either side of the catwalk she was now on, filling her with a buzzing energy that she could feel radiating through the ribbons like electricity. She knew from her study of starborn that they could travel at thousands of miles an hour in the vacuum of space, especially when under the power of a star. She didn't think she needed to go THAT fast, but anything would be better than what she was doing now.
As if in response to her will, she suddenly began to glide forward, picking up speed as she swooped towards the end of the hall, wind catching her in the face and roaring along her cheeks. With her starborn skin, she barely felt a thing as she raced around the corner and out of the waiting door. Two men dressed in military ACUs dived to the side as she blew past them crying out in alarm and confusion as the "Alien" floated by.
Somewhere distantly, she could sense Conn racing in the opposite direction towards the base.
Sunny and Admiral Kelly had Admiral Massie in their custody and were dragging him out into the hallway.
She blew across the open ground her ribbons snapping and billowing behind her as she did. She didn't even have time to imagine what she looked like as she roared over the open field and towards the waiting news vans which were just beginning to pack up their things. They were close to leaving, but she set out a sharp hard telepathic pulse ordering them to stop.
Compelling them to stop.
They froze in their tracks and looked up to see her coming.
Someone scrambled to turn on their camera, not sure what was going on but sure it had to be something good.
She tried not to think about what they would see as the camera flared to life following her approach.
"Make us live."
She ordered,
The news people glanced between each other in confusion,
"But no… we aren’t-"
"What are-"
She came to a sudden jolting stop before them, her billowing black hair fanning out behind her like a curling halo.
"I said, put us on air."
This time the telepathic pulse was too strong to resist. Mostly that, paired with the fact that none of them were sure they really wanted to resist. She was way too interesting to pass up.
They hurried to do what they were doing, and Eris was given just enough time to feel nervous before the camera was turned to her.
They were live.
She read it in the minds of those behind camera who she cut off as she began to speak,
"Citizens of Earth, there has been a horrible conspiracy against you. The UN president has ordered the assassination of Admiral Adam Vir and has continually attempted to sabotage the mission. Just now General Massie was taken into custody after ordering the deployment of twenty Thunderhawk’s to harass the rocket and make its destruction look like some sort of collision with space debris."
The group gawked at her as she raised her hand with the small silver device and began playing the recording.
She knew something like this would never be admissible in court. She was pretty sure it would be considered entrapment of some kind, which is why it must be heard now, before everyone, so that the actions of the president could be judged by a jury of the world where it could not be hidden by political machinations.
"Communications have been lost with Apollo 11. And it is... Well... It is likely that he is already dead..."
Her voice broke,
"No matter what happens, I need you, and this nation to understand what is happening before it gets swept under the rug. I saw it with my own eyes, heard it with my own ears and experienced their meeting in the thoughts of a man who is both xenophobic and hateful to his own humankind."
She kept talking trying to give them all the information she could, spilling thoughts she had heard in the head of the UN president and General Massie alike. Every meeting, every liaison, every name until her voice was beginning to crack.
[…]
The UN president was just standing to enter her vehicle when a slow muttering began in the crowd behind her. She turned as the ground before her went silent.
She watched as a wave ran through the people. A wave of nudging and whispering and showing off news feeds they had pulled up on their wrist implants. It wasn't long before the entire crowd was either staring down at their arms or clustered around someone else for viewing.
"What is going on?”
She wondered, turning to one of her men who was staring down at her own wrist.
"Madame president?"
He said with a look of confusion.
She could hear it now.
"Her and General Massie have ordered members of the UNSC to adjust funds in order to hide the twenty Thunderhawk’s they were squirting away for just such an event."
She hurried forward, grabbing the secret serviceman by the arm, staring at it as she watched the streaming newsfeed and the freaky white alien with the large dark eyes and flowing black hair.
"She is afraid of aliens, she wishes to isolate and eventually use humanity's superior forces to overtake trade in the galaxy, forceful if need be."
The muttering behind her had turned into an angry grumbling, and she turned to see the eyes of hundreds that turned towards her.
"Get me out of here."
She hissed. the Secret Serviceman took a step back with a look of confusion and indecision on his face.
"It's your job."
She snarled, but he just stared at her.
She hurriedly ran over to her car as the crowd began to filter in around them pressing close. A few of the secret service men pulled guns, but a large majority of them were frozen with indecision and were taken over by the crowd. She scrambled into the back seat of her vehicle and slammed the door shut screaming at the driver to get moving.
The crowd was surrounding them now, pounding at the glass.
She could hear their angry voices raised for her to be heard behind bullet proof glass.
Outside, she watched a lone figure step onto the platform where the lectern was and stare at her with its beady black eyes. The Chairwoman of the GA stood over the crowd like it's filthy alien lord.
And even though Rundi could not smile, she could swear it was smiling.
[…]
Baby K hit a rough patch of turbulence coming down from the atmosphere. She struggled with the controls as she was thrown left and right inside the cockpit of her rickety shuttle.
Donovan Red had ordered her down here to grab the UNSC, but she was so scared and full of adrenaline that she had dropped it at too steep an angle. The ride was much bumpier than it was supposed to be, and her teeth were rattling inside her head.
Just then two Jets suddenly cut in behind her out of nowhere, and she heard her console beep and warn her about a lock on, making it clear that she was just one click of a trigger away from imminent doom.
"This is Eagle Dispatch One, unidentified vessel, you have crossed into restricted UNSC airspace, identify yourself or be destroyed! You have ten seconds to comply, over."
She scrambled for her communications, but her fingers felt as stiff as wood as she scrambled for the button.
"I repeat, this is Eagle Dispatch One, unidentified vessel, you have entered restricted UNSC airspace, you are ordered to identify yourself or be destroyed. Five seconds remaining. Over."
She slammed her first into the comms button nearly panicking,
"UNSC!"
Her voice was rattling,
"This is B-baby K, and I... The Apollo 11 is under attack!"
She was breathless as she forced the words out.
There was silence over the coms,
"Say again? Uhm I mean please repeat over.”
"Apollo 11 is under attack!"
”…”
”…”
More silence,
”Roger that. Please stand by. Over."
The lock lifted and the two jets pulled up to the side of her, staying close now.
She recognized those jets as two F-90 Darkfires.
They stayed by her side for a moment, and as close as they were she could see one of the pilots fidgeting with the coms, talking and wildly gesticulating, while his copilot was beginning to wildly flip switches.
Meanwhile, a second voice came in over the coms.
"On your left! Eagle Dispatch Two here, unidentified vessel, please land on UNSC base airstrip one. Just contact the control tower once you get close for guidance and instruction."
Baby K looked over into the other jet, just to see the pilot adjusting his helmet and clicking an oxygen tube to the front of his helmet. His co-pilot had already put the additional oxygen mask on and was also flipping switches.
”Uhm aren’t you going to escort me?”
Baby K managed to blurt out in confusion,
”Godspeed Baby K, Eagle Dispatch Two over and out.”
Both men in the jet to her left had apparently finished their preparations and gave her a quick salute.
Then suddenly, both jets adjusted their angle and cut engines, before switching to their big fusion engines, rocketing them up and out of sight within seconds.
[…]
So far it had been a relatively quiet day at the Ellington Field Joint Reserve Base. Most of the air traffic had been canceled due to the launch of the Apollo mission, so there was not much to do, leaving much of the Airport less staffed than normal.
In the Air Traffic Control tower of the base, only two men were working. Though “working” was stretching it, considering Senior Controller M. Fredrick was currently in the middle of his book (though he was at least in front of his station) and his comrade Senior ATC Instructor A. Millard was currently sitting in a corner, watching a movie on his implant.
”So what are you watching? One of those old Star Wars movies?”
”You bet! Those are the best! By the way any info on that “lost civilian” who got into our airspace?”
”No not yet, though I sent Eagle Dispatch and told them to be extra unfriendly, that will scare these civilians off for sure!”
”Pffft, why couldn’t they watch the start like any other person? There is always some dumb rich kid doing dumb stuff with daddies private shuttle… I don’t understand why we always let them off with a warning…”
The console started beeping,
”Oh look that’s them now!”
”Put ‘em on speakers!”
”Will do!”
…
”ATC this is Eagle, come the FUCK in!”
Fredrick rolled his eyes,
”Ahem… This is Elling Field ATC, calling Eagle Dispatch One. We hear you, over.”
”ATC what the FUCK took you so long!?”
”Ellington Field ATC, to Eagle Dispatch one, firstly: language, secondly: please follow standard radio rules, over.”
”THE APOLLO IS UNDER ATACK BY HOSTILE ELEMENTS!”
”Ellingt-WHAAAAT!? Repeat please! Over!”
”THE APOLLO IS BEEING ATACKED BY HOSTILE ELEMENTS! REQUETING IMMEDIATE ASSIST!”
Fredrick just stared at Millard dumbfounded. As the senior officer Millard was quick to collect himself and jumped up and towards his console.
”What are you waiting for Fredrick! Are we blind!? DEPLOY THE GARRISON!”
Fredrick ignored all protocol and just flipped the switch to connect his comms to every recipient available.
”ATC to all personnel and everyone who can hear me, the Apollo is under attack, I repeat, the apollo is under attack. I want all available planes that can reach the outer atmosphere ready ASAP! Get the darkfires on the runway I want them in the air yesterday!”
[…]
Conn raced towards the airstrip, feeling the wind in the ribbons at his back. He couldn't go nearly as fast as he wanted to with air resistance.
Why the hell did Adam always have to get into so much trouble, why did he always have to be the center of attention!?
Everyone either hated him or loved him, but the problem was people who hated him also wanted to kill him.
Why did he have to be so controversial!?
Why did he have to be hated for something that was such a big deal. Why couldn't he be hated for having controversial political opinions. Conn paused…
On second thought, controversial political opinions were kind of what had gotten them here in the first place, so he guessed that was kind of a useless comparison. How about being the kind of guy who liked to talk too much about fishing. That was a great way to make people hate you for being boring, but it didn't usually mean that people wanted to kill you.
Maybe they could get the man a hobby doing something that wasn't so controversial…
Like…
Kicking small Animals or…
Cannibalism.
He came roaring to the stop at the edge of the airfield just in time to watch an entire platoon of pilots racing towards jets. He could hear their minds and looked up to see a rather dinky shuttle descending from the sky. He floated forward towards one of the jets as two pilots leaped inside.
He was going to need a ride.
The pilots turned to look at him, but Conn just shook his head.
The pilots decided to ignore him in the confusion and Conn grabbed on tight.
Starborn, he had come to learn, were a very interesting species in comparison to others. Vertically, as in from the top down he was very fragile and likely to break his neck or collapse his spine if there was any kind of pressure, but with horizontal forces, he was practically indestructible. Below him the ship roared to life and soon they were gathering speed along the runway.
His grip was tight, and he used the extra energy from his ribbons to speed himself up along with the jet to reduce the pull on his arms.
His grip wasn't that strong.
They went vertical almost immediately, and he made sure to orient his body in the correct direction as they went hurtling into the sky.
[…]
Red's right wing had been hit. If there had been atmosphere around him he would have been a goner, but there was no air resistance here, so once he regained control of his roll, he pulled back into position and fired one last shot as the opportunity arose. The sixth Thunderhawk was destroyed in an eruption of debris, which he dodged only with difficulty, limping without the aid of the maneuvering jet on the end of his one wing. Things were only speeding up now, the Rundi were almost gone and the pressure was being laid thick on his people. They were hard to hit but the pursuit made it almost impossible for them to do any real maneuvering of their own. He was almost hit again as another Thunderhawk sped underneath him. They rolled this way and that rocking from one side to the other. Flying through debris and over strips of silver metal.
Below them the earth hung as a glowing orb.
Red cut in a wide circle coming in with the sun at his back, using it to blind one of the enemy Thunderhawk’s as he came in. He watched the group of them form up suddenly as a ring around the slow moving rocket, intending quite certainly to rush it all at once. He screamed into the comm trying to order his men around, but it was going to be too late, he could already see it coming.
The jets rushed forward, and he did too, screaming inside his helmet as they went to broadside Apollo 11.
And then with all the silence of space, sixteen F-90 Dark Fires came spitting overhead all at once, raining down a line of ordinance that cut through the group of unsuspecting Thunderhawk’s.
Space around them was filled with a myriad of silent explosions as each and every one of them was ripped to shreds.
All except one…
He saw it at the last moment.
It had been hit in the tail and had gone wildly off course.
It turned sideways, but had just enough force... For its wing to tear straight through the aluminum siding of the rocket.
FUCK!
[…]
Chavez and Richards had been ordered to strap into their seats.
Adam had taken it upon himself to lock down the rest of the main cabin. Outside the flashing lights were like a fireworks display without sound. He grabbed onto one of the rails, forcing equipment back into place, so that if anything happened it wouldn't fly out.
His legs were kicked up behind him as he floated forward reaching for some of the controls as a sudden bright wash of light filtered in through the windows. He heard a scream over his com, and then the air around him was rent with a horrific tearing noise, which suddenly went silent. There was a rush, and he jerked forward as he was sucked back... And out of the ship entirely.
His hands and legs kicked and flailed as he tried to right himself, hearing his own breathing as the only sound as he watched the rocket begin to spin, debris erupting around him as air, and whatever wasn't strapped down was sucked through the small opening.
The rocket was spinning wildly but still on course, while he was spinning wildly in a silent abyss.
Grunting against the force of his spin, he reached down for the controls to the CO2 canister built into the pack of his spacesuit.
He groaned, not sure which way was up or down or back. He tried to right himself against the spin by firing in the opposite direction to slow his spin.
He could see the rocket now spinning in the opposite direction with the sudden loss of oxygen. He hoped the other astronauts were ok. He saw the silhouette of a jet fly past in the distance making its way towards the spinning rocket.
At least there was someone here to help.
Maybe the others would survive-
And then he just… stopped, coming to a confusing halt in the middle of space.
That shouldn't have been right!
He should have kept going forever!
He tried turning his head, but he felt like the pillsbury doughboy in this two thousand year old suit.
What was happening?
"Did you miss me Baby?”
Well shit, now he sort of wished he could keep spinning.
There was a tugging on the outside of his suit, and Conn floated into view in front of his helmet.
"Hey sweetheart."
"You are probably the last person I wanted to see."
He said, though he didn't entirely mean it, and unfortunately Conn knew that too, the mindreading asshole that he was.
”I could hardly let the father of my child go spinning off into space without taking accountability for his family. After al child support is paying way more than widows pension."
"Shove it up your ass Conn."
"No really, not even the vacuum of space is going to save you from your responsibilities. Now, about custody, I was thinking you could have every other weekend and a couple of major holidays…”
He gave a rueful sort of smile as Conn grabbed him by the life support pack and started floating them towards the rocket.
The F-90s had somehow managed to slow the spin of the rocket, and pull it back on course with grappling magnets.
All around them space was filled with debris. No more working Thunderhawk’s were present and those that were were quickly being grappled. One sleek racing jet slowly cruised past them. One of its wings was damaged, but whoever was inside waved with one hand as he rolled past.
Adam lifted a hand as Conn brought him the last few hundred feet to the torn opening in the side of the ship, allowing him to step through.
Conn patted him on the side of the helmet,
"Make sure to be home by dinnertime sweetie."
Before blowing him a kiss and vanishing back out the hole.
Adam floated there, a bit nonplussed for a moment before turning back to the front of the ship where Chaves and Richards were still strapped into their seats staring at him and after Conn. He floated over to strap himself in.
"Admiral! You're ok!”
"Yes, it seems that I am, thanks to a... Friend of mine."
Just then Conn appeared again just before their right side window, and like the classy gentlemen that he was began rubbing his butt up against the glass.
He sighed,
"Friend is kind of stretching it."
"Apollo 11 this is Houston, do you copy!"
The man on the other end of the line sounded close to tears, and Adam hurried to respond,
"Houston this is Apollo 11."
On the other side he thought he heard the sound of voices cheering in relief.
"What is your status, over?”
"We are a bit beat up Houston, we have a tear in our hull, but our suits are ok, and we have help."
"Prepare to abort mission."
Adam frowned,
"Now wait a second there Houston! I didn't get sucked out the side of my own rocket to just quit now. Tell the boys to come up here and patch us up and we can finish the mission. All systems are still functioning, and we are back on course."
He glanced over at the others,
”That is, if the crew wants to continue."
There was a pause and then Chavez timidly piped in,
"I'd be ok with that."
Richards sighed,
"Roger Houston, patch us up."
Granted it may have been cheating. Apollo 11 hadn't had support with special tools that could just patch up a spaceship within ten minutes, but then again the original Apollo 11 hadn't been in the middle of a firefight while on their journey to the moon.
So it was with some trepidation that Houston allowed it, and before long they had air back inside the cabin back up to pressure, but they also had a sixteen-man rotating escort for the rest of the way.
The group of them were even shocked to see Rundi drones join the formation, only to learn that it had been the UN president who had allegedly called the hit on him. It was hard to believe, but they were only getting snippets here and then from over radio and from Conn, who floated around occasionally to rub another part of his anatomy against the window and give them teasing updates.
The moon was growing slowly in their vision.
"Hehe, I can see my house from here."
Adam remarked as they prepared to detach the lunar module from the rest of the ship.
They landed without incident, observed by mobile camera crews and news reporters as he made his own footprint on the never changing dust of the moon's surface. He gave them a thumbs up to let them know he was fine and hesitated only once before setting up the UN flag in the dirt. He refused to let his enthusiasm be dampened by the day's events and hopped around dancing and leaping for joy as another one of his childhood dreams was fulfilled.
…
That was before he plowed face first into the moon's surface and required help from Richards to stand back up again.
They left soon after taking another three days of escort back to earth before strapping themselves in for final entry.
Conn left them just as they were entering orbit with a very big and very drawn out middle finger for all three of them.
"Your friend is super delightful isn't he?”
"You don’t know the half of it, try having a child with him."
Adam muttered, refusing to elaborate even as they stared at him in confusion.
They fell from the sky and landed somewhere in the Pacific Ocean, picked up by the waiting navy vessel who was within nine miles of their landing site. They were fished from the water and returned safe and sound to the ship to cheers and cameras. Adam's legs felt a little like jelly after days of not using them, and he was finally able to relax lying on the deck of the ship under the sun as people ran around them on either side.
His hands shook slowly building up after the stress of the last week. He took long deep breaths and closed his eyes.
The next few days were going to be a real shit show.
And somehow it wasn’t because he was now known as the man who faceplanted on not one, but TWO interstellar bodies…
The media was way to busy with the other story, a massive net of deceit and corruption that would now be uncovered.
Previous First Next
Want to find a specific one, see the whole list or check fanart?
Here is the link to the master-post.
Intro post by me
OC-whole collection
Patreon of the author
Thanks for reading! As you saw in the title, this is a cross posted story written by starrfallknightrise and I'll just upload some of it here for you guys, if you are interested and want to read ahead, the original story-collection can be found on tumblr or wattpad to read for free. (link above this text under "OC:..." ) It is the Empyrean Iris story collection by starfallknightrise. Also, if you want to know more about the story collection i made an intro post about it, so feel free to check that out to see what other great characters to look forward to! (Link also above this text). I have no affiliations to the author; just thought I’d share some of the great stories you might enjoy a lot!
Obviously, I have Charlie’s permission to post this and for the people already knowing the stories, or starting to read them: If you follow the link and check out the story you will see some differences. I made some small (non-artistic) changes, mainly correcting writing mistakes, pronoun correction and some small additional info here and there of things which were not thought of/forgotten or even were added/changed in later stories (like the “USS->UNSC” prefix of Stabby, Chalar=/->Sunny etc). As well as some "biggemajor" changes in descriptions and info’s for the same stringency/continuity reason. That can be explained by the story collection being, well a story collection at the start with many standalone-stories just starring the same people, but later on it gets more to a stringent storyline with backstories and throwbacks. (For example Adam Vir has some HEAVY scars over his body, following his bones, which were not really talked about up till half the collection, where it says it covers his whole body and you find out via backflash that he had them the whole time and how he got them, they just weren't mentioned before. However, I would think a doctor would at least see these scars before that, especially since he gets analyzed, treated and goes shirtless/in T-shirts in some stories). So TLDR: Writing and some descriptions are slightly changed, with full OK from the author, since he himself did not bother to correct these things before.