The link between Post-SSRI Sexual Dysfunction, Hard Flaccid Syndrome, Post Finasteride Syndrome, Pelvic Floor Dysfunction, Chronic Pelvic Pain Syndrome and advice on how to start your healing journey based on 8 years of research and personal experiences : pssdhealing (reddit.com)
Here are all my thoughts and advice based on my personal experiences, other people’s insight and helpful experiences, and research I have done on and off about pelvic floor issues from the past eight years or so. I am not claiming that any of this is revolutionary, but I hope it can help some of you out there to give you a head start on healing and advance our understanding of these conditions. As I am a 27 year old male with previous major problems with pelvic floor issues and hard flaccid, some of my advice may be biased towards my condition. However, I believe everyone can benefit from a lot of this because I really do think that all of these conditions that I mentioned are linked in at least some way, especially by pelvic floor dysfunction and sex hormone desensitization. I try not to come to these forums because it increases anxiety and negative emotions which leads to worse pelvic floor symptoms, so my apologies if I do not respond to your questions. For hard flaccid and pelvic floor affected people, follow my advice and I am confident you can heal and reach a place where your symptoms barely affect your life, if at all, which is where I am at now. The mentality of trying to find a 100% “magic cure” solution just leads to anxiety and catastrophic thinking if you have a set back which will only worsen your symptoms. You can and will heal. I know this is a lot of information, but try to implement just one or two things at a time. Focus on the present, and take it one day at a time. Don’t get overwhelmed. All of this is my opinion and not professional medical advice. Talk with your doctor before starting anything.
Post Finasteride Syndrome (PFS), Post-SSRI Sexual Dysfunction (PSSD), Hard Flaccid Syndrome (HFS), Pelvic Floor Dysfunction, and Chronic Pelvic Pain Syndrome all can have some similar symptoms. I believe that they are all either caused or can be exacerbated by androgen and estrogen receptor insensitivity and are triggered by medication, genital injury, and pelvic floor inflammation and dysfunction. The pelvic floor is rich in androgen receptors and estrogen receptors. However, without proper androgen receptor activation and sensitivity, the pelvic floor muscles don’t have enough DHT which line the tissues of the pelvic floor, genitalia, and lower urinary tract. DHT is vital for healthy sexual functioning in both sexes - it provides an anabolic effect to tissues to provide strength, stability, healing, and relaxation to tissues. As a result of androgen receptor insensitivity and lack of DHT, the pelvic floor can become chronically weakened, tight, and inflamed which reduces blood flow to the region leading to even more androgen receptor insensitivity and thus less DHT. These symptoms can cause psychological stress to the individual which tightens the pelvic floor further leading to more symptoms and less blood flow. One study found that androgen sensitivity has raised the possibility that androgens can be used to rebuild the weakened and/or damaged muscles comprising the pelvic floor - source. Some people may also have normal hormone levels in the blood when tested, but these hormones cannot reach or be effective in the pelvic floor tissues or brain due to sex hormone insensitivity and the lack of the blood flow in the region caused by pelvic floor tightness and dysfunction. It is also likely that there is a problem with desensitized estrogen receptors causing a similar mechanism of dysfunction because they are also found in the pelvic floor, genitals, and brain and are important for pelvic floor health, sexual functioning, cognition, and emotions in both sexes. The most important element to remember to help start the healing process for these disorders is to boost blood flow through supplements, stretches, and exercises which will increase both androgen and estrogen receptor sensitivity over time.
Many males with PFS, PSSD, and Pelvic Floor dysfunction are affected by the hard flaccid condition.
Post Finasteride Syndrome (PFS) caused by Finasteride, a 5-alpha-reductase inhibitor (5-ARI), plummets DHT levels in the body to try to help hair loss causing sexual dysfunction and pelvic floor issues. Androgen receptors that surround the pelvic floor, genitals, and brain become desensitized due to the Finasteride leading to less DHT binding to these receptors causing dysfunction and a tight, weak pelvic floor. The tight, dysfunctional pelvic floor now restricts blood flow which impacts healing and the delivery of testosterone to this area that further exacerbates androgen insensitivity leading to less DHT in these tissues. Since androgen receptors are found in the brain and androgens have neuroprotective effects, this could be one reason why some PFS and PSSD sufferers are also impacted cognitively. An herbal supplement called Saw Palmetto has also been reported to cause a disorder similar to PFS because it is also a 5-ARI that blocks the conversion of testosterone into DHT. Another disorder called Post Accutane Syndrome (PAS) is also similar to PFS and it reduces DHT as well through being a 5-ARI: “Isotretinoin, used to treat severe acne, has been shown to induce hormonal changes, especially to reduce 5 alpha-reductase in the production of the tissue-derived dihydrotestosterone (DHT) metabolite 3 alpha-Adiol G.”. PFS, PAS, and PSSD are thought to cause not only androgen receptor desensitization, but likely estrogen receptor desensitization as well.
For Post-SSRI Sexual Dysfunction (PSSD), SSRIs are also known to decrease androgens and down regulate androgen receptors. This study shows that SSRIs can have an anti-estrogenic effect as well and can even reduce the expression of estrogen receptors (ER), including in the hypothalamus.. As sex hormones get desensitized in the pelvic floor, genital region, and brain, it causes localized DHT and estrogen levels in these tissues to decrease causing emotional blunting, sexual dysfunction, pelvic floor issues, hard flaccid syndrome, and more. The pelvic floor dysfunction can then prevent the sex hormone receptors from being reactivated and sensitized due to restricting oxygen and sex hormone rich blood flow to the tissues. SSRIs can cause androgen receptor insensitivity and estrogen receptor insensitivity by severely inhibiting the serotonin transporter (SERT) leading to increased serotonin levels which desensitizes those receptors throughout the body. One key to help heal from PSSD is increasing androgen production, androgen receptor sensitivity, and blood flow to boost BDNF, SERT, and DHT levels to hopefully allow any estrogen receptor desensitization recover on its own over time after everything else is normalized. Once androgen levels in local tissues (pelvic floor, brain, genitals) are normalized again through androgen receptor activation and sensitivity, it will encourage the conversion of androgens into estrogens in these tissues via aromatase. It is also worth to mention that some community members are trying to restore estrogen receptor sensitivity via boosting estrogen in various ways including by taking hops extract which is a potent phytoestrogen. This is also interesting: Estradiol represents another important natural ligand for androgen receptors that may play an essential role for the androgen receptor function and the development of the male reproductive system.
As mentioned earlier, people with PSSD and other disorders might have normal looking hormone blood tests (testosterone, DHT, estrogen, etc), but the issue is that these hormones are not functioning in the brain, pelvic floor, and genitals properly due to androgen and estrogen receptor insensitivity. An important thing to also recognize is that the medical community still has no official explanation how exactly SSRIs cause all of these debilitating side effects, but they are still being readily prescribed without informed consent about the risks of PSSD. It is unfortunate that it is people like us on the internet leading the charge to investigate and inform. We all need to continue to do our part to spread awareness of these iatrogenic disorders to warn people about the risks of taking these medications because their medical providers aren’t likely going to. Thank you to the PSSD Network for helping to give a voice to the unheard.
Post-SSRI Sexual Dysfunction (PSSD): Biological Plausibility, Symptoms, Diagnosis, and Presumed Risk Factors
Androgen receptor (AR) inactivation in mice led to reduction in hypothalamic neural nitric oxide synthase (nNOS), indicating the regulatory sexual function of this neurotransmitter. Furthermore, activation of the pre and post-synaptic 5HT1A receptors was found to be correlated with inhibitory effect on erectile function. All of these factors are speculated to be involved in this symptom and might be related to epigenetic alteration of androgen receptor (AR) and estrogen receptor (ER) densities due to influence of SSRIs on the epigenome.
In male PSSD sufferers, the penile shaft can be rigid during erection, yet the glans of the penis remains flaccid.This symptom may arise from hypo-activation of the dopaminergic and oxytocinergic pathways. The glans of the penis, in particular, receives its blood supply from the deep dorsal artery. Perhaps this points to a selective arterial malfunction relative to pelvic floor dysfunction which usually accompanies PSSD.
Here is another interesting study that gives support to the importance of increasing blood flow to help heal:
If SSRIs produce sexual side effects by impairing vasocongestion to the genital region, it would be expected that pharmacologic agents that increase blood flow to the genital region would improve sexual functioning. Indeed, several anecdotal reports and studies have found that sildenafil (a drug designed to treat erectile failure by increasing blood flow into the penile tissue) was successful in reversing SSRI-induced sexual dysfunction in both men and women [8,9,87,88,109]. Sildenafil acts to increase blood flow into the genital tissue by facilitating c-GMP activity that is initiated by nitric oxide [19] and preliminary evidence suggests that the SSRIs may cause sexual difficulties by inhibiting nitric oxide synthase [39,118].
Here is a paper from a community member that hypothesizes that the main issue is lasting estrogen receptor insensitivity just to give another interesting perspective on Post-SSRI Sexual Dysfunction, Post-Finasteride Syndrome, and Post-Retinoid Sexual Dysfunction
As the body is starved of DHT, ARs upregulate in response. At the same time, ER activation is significantly increased as a result of the increased production of Estradiol during treatment (due to higher Testosterone availability by reduced 5a reduction to DHT) - eventually leading to ER downregulation.
Hard Flaccid Syndrome (HFS) - There are many men suffering from HFS and pelvic floor issues due to PSSD, PFS, heavy weight lifting, excess kegeling, or in the case I’m presenting here, physical damage to the genitals from excessive, vigorous sexual activity (my case) or penis enlargement exercises. When the genitals get damaged, an inflammatory process starts and the pelvic floor contracts to protect itself. Since the pelvic floor is now in a chronic, contracted state, it limits oxygen and sex hormone rich blood flow to the genitals and pelvic floor which leads to sex hormone insensitivity and negatively impacts healing, muscle relaxation, and DHT production in these tissues. Finasteride, Accutane, and SSRIs also desensitize sex hormone receptors in the genitals and pelvic floor tissues leading to hard flaccid and pelvic floor dysfunction. Since the pelvic floor tightness restricts blood flow, it is difficult for hard flaccid sufferers to reactivate and sensitize their pelvic floor muscle androgen receptors again to regain relaxation and strength in their pelvic floor muscles, including the ischiocavernosus (IC), bulbocavernosus (BC), and pubococcygeus (PC) which are in a contracted state; the IC muscle in particular is thought to be the most implicated in the cause of hard flaccid. We first need to promote relaxation in the pelvic floor by boosting blood flow through supplements and stretches because tight muscles are weak muscles. Once the pelvic floor is in a chronic state of tension, it is hard to heal from pelvic floor issues because you likely already had bad habits such as poor posture, unhealthy sexual practices, stiff muscles, sedentary lifestyle, unchecked anxiety, and other negative lifestyle factors. Along with supplements, exercises, and stretches, correcting these bad habits is necessary to heal to have an even healthier pelvic floor than you ever had before because it likely was already tight and dysfunctional to begin with before developing obvious issues, but it was more subtle and you had no awareness of your pelvic floor muscles until now. You have the potential to now become a much healthier person overall than you ever would have been without being affected by pelvic floor dysfunction and hard flaccid.
32% of women will develop a pelvic floor disorder in their lifetime which is double that of men. While childbirth and pregnancy plays a role in this discrepancy, women also have far less testosterone and DHT levels than men which I believe plays a major factor. Since women have less testosterone, their androgen receptors that line the pelvic floor don’t make enough DHT to adequately support these tissues compared to men. This makes them more prone to pelvic floor dysfunction that causes them a disparate amount of pain, tightness, and inflammation. Androgen receptors and their ability to convert testosterone into DHT play such a vital role in pelvic floor health and sexual functioning. This is mentioned in a research study: Prevailing scientific literature has indicated the presence of androgen receptors in the levator ani muscle and pelvic fascia. The existence of androgen receptors in the vaginal wall can play an essential role in the development of pelvic floor disorders in women.Thus, androgen-related disorders may interfere with the function of pelvic floor muscles. [Many people mistakenly believe that androgens are only important for male sexual health:](https://www.bumc.bu.edu/sexualmedicine/patientinformation-physicians/androgen-insuffiency-in-women/#:~:text=Androgen%20insufficiency%20syndrome%2C%20characterized%20by,of%20sexual%20dysfunction%20in%20women.] Androgens have a three-fold action on female sexual function. They (1) increase libido by providing the fuel for a woman’s psychosexual stimulation, (2) increase sensitivity and blood flow to the external genitalia, and (3) increase the intensity of sexual gratification.
What I see in all these conditions is that sex hormone receptors become desensitized in the pelvic floor and genital tissues either from a drug, pelvic tightness, or inflammation from injury leading to less hormones being produced causing sexual and pelvic floor dysfunction. The pelvic floor now goes into a chronic tightened state as a response, leading to less oxygen and testosterone rich blood flow to the genital and pelvic region which leads to more androgen insensitivity and subsequently less DHT. This all explains why many people who have these conditions are helped by supplements that improve androgen receptor sensitivity and blood flow, and why pelvic floor therapy and exercises are so helpful to many of them. Estrogen receptor insensitivity in the pelvic floor also appears to have a similar mechanical negative effect by leading to less estrogen levels in the pelvic floor and genital tissues. It is also possible that some people with PSSD/PFS may have subtle or no pelvic floor symptoms, but the medication still desensitizes sex hormone sensitivity in their genitals and pelvic floor tissues that is leading to sexual dysfunction.
Another study linking androgens and the pelvic floor: Levator ani and other muscles of the pelvic floor and lower urinary tract are sensitive to the anabolic effects of testosterone. Androgen receptors are also expressed in the pelvic floor and lower urinary tract of both animals and humans. Anabolic effects of androgens may play an important role in the female pelvic-floor and lower-urinary-tract disorders. Furthermore, the interactions between androgen and nitric oxide synthase and arginase have been demonstrated, suggesting that androgens may also participate in modulating the physiological functions of the lower urinary tract through nitric oxide. The action of androgens in the lower urinary tract and pelvic floor is complex and may depend on their anabolic effects, hormonal modulation, receptor expression, interaction with nitric oxide synthase, or a combination of these effects.
My solution to help heal and improve the well-being of people with these issues is to try to improve sex hormone receptor sensitivity and pelvic floor function through supplements, stretches, exercises, and boosting blood flow which will hopefully restore normal levels of estrogens and androgens in pelvic, genital, and brain tissues. The body has a tremendous capability of self-healing, but we need to support it through active recovery methods.
We will first start with supplements (this is not professional medical advice - talk with your doctor before taking):
L-citrulline - This is the precursor to l-arginine, and it will improve blood flow and levels of nitric oxide to help get oxygen and testosterone rich blood to the pelvic floor and genital tissues to increase androgen sensitivity. Nitric oxide can also induce smooth muscle relaxation which is important for relaxing the pelvic floor. Herein we report on a young man affected by PSSD who regained sexual functioning after 3-month treatment with EDOVIS, a dietary supplement containing L-citrulline and other commonly used aphrodisiacs.. I recommend taking at least 6000 mg daily by taking 2000mg three times throughout the day. The max dose is 10,000mg. Even potentially better, people report great results using Cialis to improve blood flow and healing rather than L-citrulline and some doctors will even prescribe it to women if you show them the evidence - talk with your doctor. “Tadalafil (Cialis) reversal of sexual dysfunction caused by serotonin enhancing medications in women”. L-Citrulline and Cialis are not recommended to be taken together.
L-Carnitine - This will improve the number of androgen receptors and their sensitivity to testosterone to increase levels of DHT in the pelvic floor, genital tissues, and brain. I recommend taking 2000mg daily. Acetyl-L-Carnitine can pass through the blood-brain barrier, while Propionyl-L-carnitine has a high degree of interaction with testosterone. Propionyl may be better for sexual and pelvic floor dysfunction, while Acetyl might help people suffering from the mental effects of PSSD. This study used each at 2000mg daily to improve erectile dysfunction along with Viagra.. I would work up to 2000mg each of Acetyl and Propionyl L-Carnitine along with Cialis instead of Viagra as it lasts in the body for much longer (36 hours) for increased blood flow healing purposes. You can also use L-Citrulline instead of Cialis as mentioned earlier. Discuss with your doctor before taking them.
Vitamin D - This vitamin, which acts more like a hormone, works directly with the endocrine system. It has its own receptors throughout the body and they are often in close proximity to androgen receptors. Deficiency in vitamin D is associated with a stunting of testosterone's effects on androgen receptors and a decline in testosterone levels. Vitamin D will encourage androgen receptor resensitization. One study found that higher vitamin D levels are associated with a decreased risk of pelvic floor disorders in women, and The levator ani and coccygeus muscles are skeletal muscles that are critical components of the pelvic floor and may be affected by vitamin D nutritional status. I recommend 4000IU of vitamin D daily or whatever gets your levels to 60 - 80 ng/ml.
If you have inflammatory issues or pain due to pelvic floor dysfunction, I recommend a fish oil supplement daily. I take fish oil, and I find that it helps limit pelvic inflammation. I also take Magnesium Glycinate to relax the smooth muscle that lines the pelvic floor and genital tissue. I recommend it for people with clear pelvic floor dysfunction, but others should be careful as research says magnesium is a 5-alpha-reductase inhibitor. Take quercetin and bromelain as needed if you experience pelvic inflammatory flare ups and pain, but just be careful as quercetin can also inhibit the production of DHT from testosterone as well. Some say fish oil blocks DHT too, but experiencing chronic pelvic floor pain and inflammation will do more harm to you than minimal DHT blocking. I recommend staying away from all DHT inhibiting foods and supplements for people with PSSD, PFS, and PAS unless you are experiencing pelvic pain and inflammation.
As always, discuss these supplements with your doctor to see if they are okay for you. Lower your supplement intake based on side effects. These aren’t a magic cure, but a tool to help you on your journey to recovery. Don’t do anything without doctor supervision, but this thread gives more evidence for the “cure” for PSSD/PFS being resensitizing androgen receptors and estrogen receptors along with enhancing blood flow as it details how some men recovered through taking high doses of androgens, post cycle therapy, and Cialis. This at least gives hope that a hormonal cure can be created one day by medical professionals. I would of course recommend trying to heal yourself naturally for a long time before doing any hormone treatments under the supervision of a doctor.
I also recommend doing some form of yoga or pelvic floor stretches daily to improve blood flow for pelvic floor relaxation and sex hormone receptor sensitivity. You also need to request to see a pelvic floor therapist for an evaluation and treatment. Learn how to do reverse kegels. Doing reverse kegels will be difficult at first because your pelvic floor is tight and you have little to no awareness of these muscles, so just focus on lengthening and relaxing the pelvic floor through stretches for now. Do not do regular kegels for pelvic floor issues. Learn how to diaphragmatically breathe in 360 degrees to create expansion in your rib cage and abdomen to encourage pelvic floor relaxation. Do not breathe through your chest, and “belly breathing” isn’t the right term because the ribs need to expand as well. You can learn how to diaphragmatically breathe through an exercise such as 4-7-8 breathing. Here is a great video on diaphragmatic breathing and another video. I cannot overstate it enough: retraining yourself to properly breathe diaphragmatically is the single most important thing that you can do to heal from pelvic floor issues. Be a student of breathing: study and take notes on how to breathe better.
Stretches/Yoga poses I recommend:
Hold the Malasana/hindi/yoga squat pose for at least 5-10 minutes at least twice a day, but doing it morning, mid-day, and at night would be the best. Some get great results holding it for 15-20 minutes.This is one of the most important things for your pelvic floor because it will help lengthen and release it. Doing them barefoot is also very beneficial to strengthen your ankles and feet which are connected to your pelvic floor. Again, remember to breathe deeply down into your belly and pelvic floor for all these stretches.
Begin your stretching routine with an Exercise ball ab stretch and Upward-facing dog/cobra pose. This will help stretch your lower abs and psoas muscles so that you can get more breath deeper down into your pelvic floor for the rest of your stretches. Some people say that these types of stretches aren’t great for people who have Anterior Pelvic Tilt, which we should fix, but I still do them as it is important to stretch the lower abs that are hard to get to. You can experiment with doing them sporadically instead of every time you stretch.
This is my current personal complete stretch routine I do in order 3+ days a week:
Myofascial release on my glutes with an orb massage ball but you can use any small hard ball (don’t do this if glutes are currently sore) > Calf stretch against a wall or a yoga block which is what I use > exercise ball ab stretch > upward facing dog > (optional) Do a handful of cat cows > Supine hamstring stretch with yoga strap or an IdealStretch tool which is what I use > Kneeling hip flexor stretch > flat on back supine single knee to chest stretch > then bring knee to opposite shoulder stretch > supine figure four > I do this stretch next right after figure four > Reclined bound angle pose > (optional) butterfly stretch > (optional) A little bit of downward facing dog to stretch the calves > (optional) Lizard Pose) > (optional) Half split stretch/Half monkey pose with yoga blocks > Half-pigeon pose > Child’s pose > Wall quad hip flexor stretch > Wall figure four stretch > Wall straddle pose > Wall happy baby pose > Flat on back while pulling knees apart > kneeling with one leg, other leg out to side for adductors > (optional) Frog pose with feet together > regular Frog pose with feet separated in line with the knees > Yoga squat/malasana > Corpse pose
All these stretches are the ones I found most useful in a routine. See what works for you and develop your own routine. Consistency is the most important. This long stretching routine may not be possible for you to complete regularly so make adjustments, but doing this routine at least 3 days a week is ideal. Stretches such as the yoga squat, supine hamstring stretch, hip flexor stretches, and wall stretches are vital and should be done most days to help relax the pelvic floor. For how long you should hold each stretch, just go by how you and your body feels. Really let go, breathe, and sink into every stretch. On rest days, doing some deep breathing in child’s pose, reclined bound angle pose, flat on back while pulling knees apart, and the happy baby wall pose is really great while trying to do gentle reverse kegels.
You can also work on more individualized stretches for posture to correct anterior pelvic tilt, muscle imbalances, and to release other tight muscles, such as the upper body. Listen to your body if you need to give yourself a rest day from stretching. Adding in a 30-60 minute walk/swim on rest days is incredibly beneficial as well. Eventually, you can also try to learn isometric PNF stretching to incorporate it into some of the stretches such as the kneeling hip flexor stretch and hamstring stretch.
After working to relax and lengthen your pelvic floor through yoga and stretches, I would begin gentle body strengthening exercises that are pelvic floor safe. The pelvic floor is a master compensator. So, if the glutes, adductors, deep hip rotators, transversus abdominis, and other supportive muscles are weak, then the pelvic floor is in the prime position to pick up the slack which leads to a lot of strain on the pelvic floor which results in tightness and dysfunction. You need to strengthen the surrounding muscles to relieve tightness in the pelvic floor. This is where working with a pelvic floor therapist would be helpful to point out safe individualized exercises for you. Yoga will help strengthen your muscles in a safe way too.
The glutes and transversus abdominis in particular are very important to strengthen. Glute bridge, single glute bridge, side lying leg raises, lateral band walks can help build up glute strength. Deadbugs, Bird Dog, 8- point planks, or planks with pelvic floor-friendly modifications, can help to strengthen the transversus abdominis (TVA). Abdominal work may be triggering to your pelvic floor symptoms, especially the 8 point plank, so you can instead look into hypopressive exercises to work the TVA without overworking the pelvic floor. These exercises will help you bring more awareness to your breathing, diaphragm, TVA, and pelvic floor which are all important for recovery. Here is how to find and become aware of the TVA. Do side planks for your oblique ab muscles.
For hip/abductors do the side lying hip abduction exercise, fire hydrants, and the shinbox lunge. For the adductors, do Copenhagen adductor exercise, cossack squats, and an exercise where you squeeze a soft ball between the knees just don’t do any crunch movements with pelvic floor issues. For hamstrings, Nordic hamstring curl/glute ham raises, and single leg bridge. For the back, do supine pelvic tilt. One person even reported that dorsiflexion exercises and stretches were one important element to solve his pelvic floor issues; this is most likely because the ankle bone, like everything else including even our jaw, is connected to the pelvic floor.
Like with anything, do all these exercises in moderation and stop if you sense your pelvic floor is not responding well to them - do them one at a time to see which ones your pelvic floor can handle for now. Here is an exercise routine from another poster that has helped many people. Just be careful of the ab exercises such as the ab wheel and 5 minute planks with your pelvic floor issues - don’t over do it or avoid it if they cause too many symptoms.
Myofascial release and foam rolling to release trigger points also helps a lot of people to relax their pelvic floor muscles and improve blood flow. The glutes are the most important area to target for pelvic floor issues when foam rolling in my experience if you only had limited time. Using a soft ball to lay on and breathe deeply can help release trigger points in the abdominal muscles and psoas which can help you breathe better and relax the pelvic floor. I haven’t done it, but you can also try out a massage gun for myofascial release; just be careful and don’t use it in sensitive pelvic areas. Some men and women also report success using a therawand to release internal trigger points that are causing them pelvic floor dysfunction symptoms.
Walking and swimming for 30-60 minutes are some of the best exercises to lengthen, relax, stretch, and release your pelvic floor, boost blood flow, and help to retain and build strength in muscles that give support to the pelvic floor. Walk or swim for 5+ days a week for the best results. The breaststroke and freestyle are very helpful for pelvic floor sufferers. Along with swimming, people also use an elliptical at a low resistance to help provide a cardio workout that is safer for your pelvic floor.
Fix your posture. Pelvic floor issues and hard flaccid syndrome are closely associated with Anterior Pelvic Tilt and other postural issues. Get evaluated by a physical therapist so that they can give you exercises and stretches to fix it. You could also look into the Postural Restoration institute and see one of their providers and try to implement some of their exercises. In the meantime, here is one video playlist on how to fix APT. Another video to fix APT says to stretch the hip flexors, lower back, while focusing on strengthening the abs, glutes, and hamstrings. Make sure that you sit and walk with good posture - watch this to learn how to walk correctly - activate your glutes during each step and push off with your back foot!. I also recommend getting a standing desk to try to avoid sitting for long periods of time.
Weight training can be effective for boosting active androgen receptors in the body to increase testosterone and DHT levels. However, you need to make sure that it isn’t making your pelvic floor symptoms worse which defeats the purpose. If you are going to lift weights with pelvic floor issues, don’t lift heavy, do any intensive ab workouts, or any other exercises that can put extra strain on your pelvic floor. Do lifts where you can sit down instead of standing up. Start with yoga, stretching, and gentle body exercises to relax your pelvic floor and strengthen surrounding muscles before incorporating consistent weight training. I highly recommend, however, just sticking with yoga and pelvic floor safe body weight exercises to build strength instead. Those with PSSD without pelvic floor dysfunction may benefit a lot from lifting weights, high-intensity interval training, and doing bodyweight exercises such as squats regularly to boost androgen receptors and DHT. Remember to see a pelvic floor therapist to get evaluated first before starting any weight lifting because many people have pelvic floor issues without even realizing it.
Work on your mental health. Anxiety can worsen pelvic floor issues. Just as dogs tuck and tense their tails when stressed, we tense our pelvic floors which are directly connected to our tailbone where we used to have tails ourselves in our evolutionary history. As we are impacted by sexual dysfunction and pelvic floor dysfunction symptoms, we become anxious along with other negative emotions which leads to more pelvic floor tension symptoms due to the fight or flight mode response causing even more anxiety leading to more symptoms. It is a vicious cycle that needs to break by not becoming anxious and negative when we experience pelvic floor symptoms or hard flaccid and instead let go, accept, and realize that it is a normal process when trying to heal because sometimes our muscles that are used to that tightness don't want to let go of the tension we hold in our pelvic floors. Daily yoga, meditation, stretching, and walking will help with anxiety. I would also see a mental health therapist because all of these issues are deeply traumatic and we cannot go through this alone. We often hold tension in the form of emotions and trauma in our bodies, especially our pelvic floor and genital areas. By openly talking about these issues with a therapist, it will help us process and release our emotions and trauma that we are holding inside our bodies to improve our anxiety, relax our pelvic floor, and to let go of all of our tension. Many people who healed their hard flaccid and pelvic floor issues said that solving their anxiety and negative thoughts by talking to a mental health counselor was vital in recovery. The mind-body connection is so powerful, and it directly impacts our pelvic floor. Those who are stuck in the cycle of experiencing pelvic floor symptoms leading to anxiety and negative thoughts will also benefit from Cognitive Behavioral Therapy you can do by yourself like in this video or preferably with a trained therapist. Here is an informative mini lecture on how stress impacts the pelvic floor.
I would also definitely go on a healthy anti-inflammatory diet. Avoid caffeine, alcohol, marijuana, and other substances. Avoid foods and liquids that can trigger pelvic floor inflammation such as highly acidic fruits and veggies, carbonated beverages, very spicy foods, and artificial sugars. To maintain a healthy gut to reduce inflammation in your body I recommend trying a low-histamine probiotic supplement along with eating healthy. You should also work on preventing or fixing constipation; eat a lot of soluble fiber to not get constipated - take a supplement such as metamucil if you have to. Check the Bristol stool shape chart to identify if you are constipated because even mild constipation can contribute to pelvic floor tension. This is because the constipation leads to a lot of pressure being put on your rectum and pelvic floor leading to the muscles becoming weak and dysfunctional. I am willing to bet many of you are constipated and don’t know it because it isn’t just whether you go regularly, it is also how your stool is shaped. People with pelvic floor disorders are at a high risk of constipation which makes their tension and dysfunction worse which then worsens the constipation, another cycle to fix. I recommend getting a Squatty Potty to reduce strain on the pelvic floor during elimination.
To help heal hard flaccid and pelvic floor issues, never watch pornography again (this is vital). Go on NoFap for 90+ days to help heal your brain and body from any unhealthy pornography and sexual habits you have partaken in. Pornography leads to involuntary kegels, a tight pelvic floor, desensitizes you, and messes up the dopamine and arousal circuitry in your brain. Don’t climax too often. Learn how to reverse kegel by yourself and during sexual activities. Never edge or regular kegel - it leads to pelvic floor tightness and dysfunction - just relax your arousal through a reverse kegel. Keep your pelvic floor relaxed during sexual activities.
Stay strong and never give up. You will heal. Thank you for reading.

Would like to hear from anyone with the equipment in the subject line (or another KJ or BGE model) about their fan and top vent settings.
The FireBoard 2 Drive replaced a CyberQ. With that device, I would set the fan and top vents wide open to start the fire, and when it got going I would gradually reduce the openings on both until they got to final settings of around 3/16" to 1/4" at 200F when targeting 225F. This would lead to a slow rise to my target temp and no overshoot.
I just did my first cook with the FireBoard 2 Drive. Target was 275F this time. I used big lump charcoal and followed the same procedure, setting the fan and top vents to their final settings at about 250F. When pit temp got to around 265 it seemed to stall and began dropping. I was able to get the temp rising again by opening the fan vent all the way, but the temp settled at 284F and stayed there. After an hour I removed the grates and top of the slo roller, added three chunks of wood, put the slo roller top and grates back on and put the pork butt on. The FireBoard Lid algorithm did its job, and the temp settled at 275F. So far, so good.
About an hour later, a slow rise began, peaking at 300F about 1:45 later. After about 45 minutes, the temp dropped down to 285F then rose again to 300F in about 30 minutes. After that, the temp slowly descended to 275F over about 90 minutes, and stayed there for the remaining 2:30 of the cook. Pork butt is very forgiving, so it turned out great (for a very cheap BJs pork butt.)
I think the two spikes may have been caused either by the chunks of wood I added with the butt, or two chunks of wood I buried at the bottom of the lump. I've never put chunks of wood at the bottom of the fire before. I usually bury two or three chunks under the top or second layer of lump. They ignite while the fire is building to temp, so sometimes I add few chunks when putting the meat on to make sure it gets plenty of smoke early on. Never saw spikes like that with the CyberQ (also, never did cooks above 225F.) I put the chunks at the bottom thinking they would provide some additional smoke early in the cook, but didn't consider that they might make it hard for the FireBoard to get back to 275F.
I think the wide-open bottom vent might have had something to do with it , too -- i.e., sucking in a lot of air even with the fan not running. After the cook I saw a post from someone with the same equipment who said he leaves the fan vent wide open and closes the top vent completely. I can see where this might avoid the overshoot, but I wonder about no top vent at all. I have to believe the KJ will vent through the gasket instead.
I'm thinking a better solution might be to reduce the fan opening to somewhere between half and wide open, and close down the top vent a little more -- maybe 1/16"-1/8".
Any words of wisdom from anyone with the same equipment?

Part 1 // Part 2
I paced my bedroom floor wondering what I should do next. I’d already placed the leg back in the gun safe, then searched the entirety of my house looking for something Christian to place on top of it. It seemed to work in the movies and I didn’t really have any idea what else to do. I couldn’t find any religious paraphernalia of any kind, so I ended up fashioning a small crucifix out of two large carrots and hot glue with a little Jesus made out of raisins.
I needed a plan! I was thinking about who might know more information about the artifact I’d come into possession of, then it hit me – all of my competitors!
Surely not all of them were fakes like me!
One by one, I called them up and set up meetings for that afternoon – staggered appointments of course.
The first one to show up was a woman named Destiny. I sent her home immediately after she tracked dog shit into my house from the bottom of her shoes. I will not work with someone who is not only rude but completely oblivious.
The second one was a guy named Tiger, which I thought was a badass name and he was a pretty cool guy. Too bad he failed every test I threw at him. I sent him home, but kept his number in case I wanted to try to connect with him sometime to hangout.
The third psychic was a total nutcase named Psycho Jimmy. I’m honestly not even sure if he was a medium or if google search just lumped the words ‘Psychic’ and ‘Psycho’ into the same page due to a lack of results.
He didn’t say a word to me the entire time. He came into my house, drank a glass of water, walked a lap around the living room, stared directly into my eyes, unblinking, for a solid thirty seconds, then simply left. Total fucking psycho indeed. And yes, I did upgrade my security system shortly after meeting him.
Out of options I reluctantly called Destiny back, even if she did smell like dog poop.
To my surprise, she didn’t smell like shit when she showed back up to my house. She explained to me that it wasn’t her that smelled but it was, in fact, the ghost of her dead dog, Hercules, that followed her around. She further explained that last winter, her dog passed away peacefully in his sleep. She was distraught, but thought it would be in bad taste to leave a dead dog lying on her living room floor, so she loaded the carcass up into a cardboard box along with his favorite blanket and a few toys. Then she sealed the top of the box with packing tape so animals couldn’t get in, and left the box out on her front porch where the cold December weather would keep him fresh for a day until she could gather herself long enough to make arrangements.
Porch pirates showed up not an hour later and stole the box off of her porch thinking they just scored a nice heavy Amazon delivery. I can’t imagine how they must have felt to open it up and find a dead dog.
Now Hercules walks the Earth as a ghost, unable to rest until he has his revenge against those that stole his bones away from his loving mother.
“Uh, okay, that’s…” I had no idea what to say in response to hearing such an insane story, “Well, can you have Hercules stay outside please?”
“Yeah, no problem,” She replied before bending at the waist to pet an invisible dog and whisper loving comments into its ears before following me into my kitchen.
“So how do I know you’re legit?” Was the first question I asked her when we were both seated at the table.
“Because I can see the ghost that is standing in your bedroom door,” She replied calmly.
I spun around in my chair towards my bedroom door just in time to watch it violently slam itself shut.
“You’re hired!”
I re-capped the entire situation to Destiny, who asked to see the leg.
She recoiled as soon as I placed it on the table in front of her, “You didn’t tell me it’s upholstered in human flesh” she said, “Pretty big detail to leave out”
“It is?” I asked.
She pointed to a pinkish brown blemish on the leather that covered the back thigh of the leg, “There is literally a nipple on it”
Closer inspection showed that she was right. The leg did indeed have a nipple on it.
“And here is a tattoo,” she said pointing at a heart shaped blemish. If you looked closely, you could just barely make out the words, “Mommy’s Home”. “Look I don’t know what this leg is, but I know a professor at my old college who might know,” Destiny said, she couldn’t take her eyes off of the nipple. “He specializes in ancient pagan literature and has several books bound with human skin in his collection. If anyone knows anything about this, it has to be him.”
With no other avenues to go down, I agreed a talk with this professor would be a good place to start.
Destiny left my house promising to call me tomorrow to let me know if her old professor had replied to her request to meet. Once again, I was alone with the leg.
Looking at the leg filled me with a strange sort of terror that I hadn’t felt since I was kid. The kind of helplessness you would feel as a child when you lost your mom in the mall, or when you were so sure that the shadow in the corner of your bedroom was a monster lying in wait until the moment you cross from wakefulness into sleep.
I brought the leg back to the gun safe and locked it away before leaving my house for the day. I didn’t have much in the way of errands, but I didn’t even want to be in the same building as the leg.
I wasted the day trying to get my mind off the absolute shit storm of a week I’d had so far. Ghosts, monsters, demons and God knows what else is real. How is someone supposed to just accept that and move forward with their lives? What else might be out there? Is God real? If so, that might be the scariest thing of all.
I went to the movies, but couldn’t pay attention. I went to my favorite restaurant, but didn’t have an appetite. I tried to go go-karting, but couldn’t get over how strange it was to go go-karting by myself. I spent the entire day thinking about how my inbox was full of things I’d thought were fake but now would never fully get over.
Eventually the sun fell and I found myself standing on my front porch trying to come up with any excuse to go and spend money on a hotel room. I almost did, but realized I was too broke to get one even if I wanted to.
A creeping dread wormed its way up my back as I walked through the dark house flipping lights on as went. I checked each room to make sure nothing had moved the positions I had left them in that morning. Looking back, I’m not sure if at that point I was more afraid of a ghost or demon or Psycho Jimmy in my house. Everything seemed to check out.
Feeling slightly better, but still a bit anxious I went to bed.
I woke up in total darkness, in the early morning. I could hear the wind in the trees. I turned over to squint at my alarm clock when the sound of my bedroom door unlatching made my stomach drop. In a flash I shot up in bed and tried to flip on the lamp on my nightstand only to find the light bulb had been removed.
I grabbed my phone, turned on the flashlight and directed the light at the door. The door was, indeed, unlatched and cracked open just a sliver. I sat in total silence, watching the small black crack between the door and the door frame, my ears strained to pick up any noise other than the wind outside.
My jaw dropped as the door slowly creaked forward, opening itself just wide enough for a head to peek into the room, but no one was there, just the empty blackness of the dark hallway beyond. My hands shook as I stared at the doorway, hoping something would come through, anything – a monster, a zombie, Psycho Jimmy. Anything would be better than the dread of sitting there in anticipation, my imagination conjuring up the worst. My heart was pounding against my ribcage and my mouth went dry. I gripped my phone with two hands to try to steady the shaking, but still they trembled, sending shadows dancing across my bedroom walls.
Then the door closed, just as slowly as it had opened, the door pulled itself back into its frame and latched itself closed.
Realizing I had forgotten to breathe, I sucked in air like a dying fish. I licked my lips and loosened my grip on my phone but my hands were still trembling and I dropped it. The phone bounced off the corner of my nightstand, hit the carpeted floor and bounced again under my bed.
A whole new set of shadows filled the room as the bright, fluorescent white light of the iPhone flashlight emanated from under my dirty bed.
It might sound weird, but this was almost as bad as the door opening by itself. The loss of control was devastating in the moment and I lunged over the side of the bed and blindly flailed my arm around searching for the phone.
My thrashing arm sent a wholly new set of shadows dancing around my room pushing my pulse even higher.
I’d never regretted not cleaning my room harder. I was wildly grabbing things and flinging them out from under the bed as soon as I confirmed they weren’t a cell phone. Magazines, old electronics and a few rock-hard socks flew across the room as I shoveled them out from under the bed. I continued to grasp blindly when my hand came across something I didn’t immediately recognize. It was a mess of tangled stringy material that seemed to grab at my hand as I brushed past it. I gripped and tugged hard to bring it out onto my bedroom floor, but encountered resistance as whatever it was seemed to cling to its secret refuge under my bed. I reestablished my grip on the object and pulled again, harder this time. I engaged the muscles in my stomach and back and just as it seemed the object would never relent a loud POP! echoed through the room as the object came free in my hand.
Startled and thrown off balance, I fell off my bed and sprawled onto the carpet below with the object still in my hand. I looked down at it and my blood turned to ice as I realized I was holding a woman’s head, her face frozen in surprise, her mouth a wide ‘O”.
I dropped the head and scrambled backwards on my butt until my back hit the opposite wall. It was only then I realized it was the head of a sex doll I had ordered 4 years ago, but never used. (It was too weird. Maybe guys who like sex dolls, would also like fucking dead bodies. Not for me!). Her name was Cynthia. I had hidden her under my bed in shame shortly after bringing her home and had forgotten about her. It’s not like a life-size doll is something you can easily throw away without the neighbors asking questions.
I relaxed at that moment. A wave of relief and amusement washed over me and I made a vow to get rid of Cynthia that weekend. Even if that meant I had to cut her into pieces and dispose of her in separate trash bags thrown into separate dumpsters like some sort of mannequin serial killer.
I started to get back up on my feet when the shadows danced around the room again. I glanced toward the space under the bed and saw the light was moving. Something under my bed had control of my phone.
Blinded by the light which was now pointed directly at me, I squinted my eyes to try to make out what fresh new terror was about to befall me. Slowly a form came into shape. A contorted silhouette that writhed in the confined space. It banged against the bed frame above it as it tried to right itself. The light moved, left, right, up, down as the dark shape twisted violently, but it always pointed the light directly into my eyes without fail.
For a moment, the noises below the bed stopped and the light remained still. The only noises audible were my own breathing and the wind that continued to whip the trees outside. I used my hand to shield my eyes from the now stable point of light and the shape solidified into a new form. It was a person crouched low. A Headless person. It was Cynthia.
She began to slowly crawl towards me. My heart skipped a beat as fear paralyzed me for a half second. Cynthia moved closer, moving in a jerky, unnatural motion because I hadn’t opted for the RealGirl™ realistic joint package.
My heart skipped another beat as curiosity paralyzed me for another half a second. Would it really be so bad to let her get to me? What would she do? Fuck me to death? Then I remembered she had fully articulated hands and a skeleton made out of titanium which snapped me out of it pretty quickly.
Cynthia dragged herself along, now halfway out from under the bed, my cellphone in hand.
I leapt into action. I sprang to my feet, took a few steps towards her and kicked at her. Unfortunately, it was dark and I aimed where a head would have been had this been a real person, or a fully-functional sex doll, and broke a toe on my metal bed frame.
Cynthia grabbed for me, but I quickly took a step back and she narrowly missed, her silicone fingers just brushing the skin of my leg. I tried another kick and this time aimed for my cellphone. I connected and sent the phone sliding across the bedroom carpet where it collided with the wall with such force that it flipped itself over landing the flashlight side-down.
The room plunged into darkness with the exception of the small light of my iPhone lock screen. I needed to get to the phone before the lock screen went dark in about 10 seconds, otherwise I would probably never find it.
I made a dash for the phone, but Cynthia caught my ankle sending me crashing to the floor. I couldn’t look back. I needed that phone, that light. Even if it was only so I could see how I was going to die I needed it. Worst case scenario, if I decided I didn’t like what I was seeing, I could always just turn the light off.
Not even wasting the time to stand back up, I crawled for my phone. I could hear the joints in Cynthia’s arms and legs squeak as she emerged from the bed behind me and stood herself up. (When I ordered her, they said the squeaking would fade with use, but like I said, I never used her, I want to make that very clear!) Still, I didn’t look back, I crawled forward, not paying attention to the rug burn on my knees or the pain that radiated up my leg from my broken toe or the 6 foot (tall girls, call me!) murderous sex bot that was standing itself up a mere few feet behind me. I need that phone.
I slammed my hand on the phone just as the light from the home screen faded away and I turned and pointed the flashlight at Cynthia.
She stood tall on her two feet, wearing a tattered and dusty school girl outfit (I’m different now), one large pendulous breast hung outside of her brassiere.
I was done for. Toast. Stick a fork in me. I was lying on my back, looking up at a killer dominatrix with a titanium skeleton, no head and zero pain receptors. All she had to do was fall forward and she’d be on top of me, strangling me with her delicate, perfectly formed and articulated fingers. Maybe, if I was lucky, her other breast would fall out of her shirt in the fall – you know, at least give me something to look at as life drained from me. Fortunately for me, that isn’t what she did.
The killer doll took one-step towards me and faltered.
The thing about sex dolls is that they are mainly designed to sit in chairs, pose on all fours and do a lot of lying on their backs. No one buys a sex doll to have it stand around. That’s like buying a dildo to use as a Christmas tree ornament. Sure, maybe with a little practice and a couple hidden supports you could have it stand around your house like some sort of fucked up anime wax museum, but that’s just not what it is designed to do. Especially if you didn’t spring for the RealGirl™ realistic joint package. I honestly doubt a real human woman would be able to stand unassisted if you gave them the strange cartoony proportions most of these dolls have.
So, Cynthia took a step towards me, wobbled, top heavy. Tried to over-correct, then fell backwards onto my night stand and started squirming to get back on her feet.
I took the opportunity to run.
I got back to my feet and found the bedroom door. My hand hesitated on the knob for a millisecond as I considered what else there might be hiding behind this door, then I opened it anyway. I rushed out of my bedroom and sprinted down the hallway, hearing moans and clicking and growling from behind the doors of the bathroom and second bedroom as I rushed past. I came to the end of the hallway to the main living area and kitchen and turned to head towards the door when I took one last look down the dark hallway towards my bedroom.
Just barely visible through the darkness was Cynthia, crawling on all fours out of the bedroom. Her head was now re-attached but backwards so she faced the ceiling as she crawled forward, her nails making a click-clack sound as she crossed from the carpeted bedroom to the hardwood floor of the hallway.
I shuddered and made for the door.
My plan was to get in the car and drive away, but I left my car keys inside. Instead, I walked to Walmart, the one place on earth where you can walk around in boxers and a white t-shirt and no one bats an eye.
For the second time in 12 hours, I was trying to distract myself to take my mind off of the horrors the lifting of the veil had shown me and this time I was stuck in a Walmart - the epicenter of human horror.
It actually wasn’t too bad; I only had a few hours to kill before the sun came up. At that point, I’d head back to my place, get some clothes and catch up with Destiny to see if she had scheduled a meeting with her old professor yet. I supposed I’d be expecting a call from Pedro at some point as well, I did promise him an internship. I just hoped I could run faster than him.

I'm an aspiring jazz pianist. This fall I will be attending the Music Conservatory at Juilliard. Typical for one of my interests, I didn't have many friends my age. Instead of playing sports, or finding a girlfriend, I spend weekends jamming with people 3-4 times my age.
We play at a bar the next town over, and after 4 years of playing there my Saturday night performances have become a family tradition. Every week my mom bakes a treat, and we bring it as an offering to the crowd of regulars.
People would take turns joining for a set and then take a break to drink. The best performers were easily Tony, a retired studio sax player with no common sense and almost as little hair, Lou, a drummer who always wore tinted shades, even inside, and the couple Adam and Ella, who traded fours better than any duo I'd ever heard.
The rest I would describe as fans: people who wished they learned to play, and people who wished they never stopped playing.
My favorite regular customer is a man named George, whom everyone else calls "Old Georgie."
George's appearance, age, and mannerisms, had me believing several times that he had died while listening to us play. The ancient man could sit statuesque for an entire twenty-minute jam without blinking or saying a word. Then as my turn at the keyboard ended, he might suddenly grab my arm and complement a rhythm I had played over an hour ago.
George was strange for sure, but he also gave me the best advice of any keyboardist I had ever met. For example, one night I sat next to him muttering under my breath about being unable to find the right notes. "You don't make notes," he told me, "You make sounds." A lot of the advice was like that. I'm not sure I could explain how it helped. But with each anecdote he made, another piece of the puzzle clicked in place for me. I'm not sure I could've gotten into my top school without Georges's strange remarks.
The old man also claimed to have connections with many jazz legends. Most of the performers assumed he was lying though, and teased Georgie about it constantly. Between every other song, one of the players would ask out to the audience how they compared to some famous musician. Most of the time, George would just grunt. But occasionally he would provide an honest comparison.
"Be glad you don't play like Miles Davis, " was one of his more iconic takes.
Two weeks ago, I decided it was time to figure out the truth. During one of my breaks, I went over to George and sat down next to him. He didn't react and continued staring out into the distance. Loud Bebop music threatened to drown out my words.
"Thank you for your advice the past couple of years, I wouldn't have gotten into school without it."
I wasn't sure if he could hear me through the noise, but I continued anyway.
"You know, I've heard a lot of rumors that you've played keys for Cannonball Adderly?"
"Yep." He replied after a long pause.
"Miles Davis too?" I asked, trying to draw out the conversation.
"Yeah, did some sets with him a couple of decades back. Couldn't stand the guy, but he was alright with a horn."
"Why don't you ever play with us then?"
"I don't play anymore." George's gaze remained distant but became less focused.
"Why not?"
"Why- It doesn't matter why. I met someone that changed my perspective, that's all." his last words were loud enough to get looks from the people around us.
I didn't say another word, but the damage was done. George waited till the end of the set, then left and didn't come back.
After the Jam, I went to Tony and told him what happened. His eyes widened, acknowledging what I had done. "Oh... he does not like it when people bring up his past."
This made me feel even worse. "Is there anything I can do?" I asked.
"Maybe eventually. I made the same mistake a couple of years back and teased him a bit too hard. He didn't show up for a couple of weeks."
"Well, do you know anything about why he stopped playing?"
"I mean, I know rumors about things he's said."
I made a gesture demanding that he elaborate.
"I don't know, it's something about playing music for the devil- or playing for a possessed man. But that's third-hand information, and you didn't hear it from me."
Then Tony quickly walked away, like he had just leaked some government secrets.
His prediction was right though. Three weeks went by before I saw George again. Just in case he was still mad, I sat on the opposite side of the room when my time on the keyboard was over. To my surprise, the old man wandered over as soon as I sat down.
"Listen, kid, I'm sorry for making a scene," he said. "I'm just tired of people trying to poke holes in my history."
"It's alright-" I began, but he interjected.
"- I don't care if you don't believe me. I don't care if anyone believes me. A bit of respect and privacy is all I'm asking for."
I fell silent and felt sorry for the old man. Not because of my failed interrogation, but because he was right. Every day people gave him crap for a history he never talked about. George wasn't out for attention or validation. He didn't put himself above others, and he didn't even try to show off. Acknowledging this, I trusted his words a little bit more.
I sat with George for the rest of the night. Tony came over an hour later, asking if I wanted to sub back in. I told him I was feeling a bit sick. After a while, it was just me, George, and the bar staff who were cleaning up the night's mess. The rest of my family had gone an hour ago, and I was expected to drive home myself after the jam was completely over.
I wasn't sure if I should apologize, or say anything at all. George had yet to finish his one drink. He took another baby sip that barely changed the level in the glass. I continued resisting the urge to check phantom notifications on my phone.
Just when I got up to leave, George began to speak.
"Right before I gave up music, I learned a very important lesson..."
The story that followed could not possibly be true, it SHOULDN'T be true. But I can't dismiss it completely as fiction in my mind. After all, if not this, what else could've made George give up the one thing he loved?
—
…It was from a man I met playing in Chicago, a week or two after my 25th birthday. The month was going poorly, as far as money's concerned. Bands and musicians I knew all happened to be in other cities. The lack of gigs drove me to the street.
A restaurant I knew had an upright piano they could roll out front. The owner, Ernie Davis, was a long-time friend of mine. He paid me by the hour for drawing in customers.
I was a hit, I knew I was. There was always a crowd around me. Once I established a routine, people would even show up early in the morning and wait for me to start playing.
One night a man pressed his way to the front of my audience wielding a violin case. He was tall, with ghost-white skin, and his face was tense like he was trying to hold back tears.
I judged the man as an academic and hated him on first impression. I might've been biased, as a self-taught pianist and an uneducated man, but jazz didn't have the same reverence back then. His type called it dirty, and you certainly couldn't learn the style at Juilliard.
I noticed he was trying to make eye contact with me.
Once you play jazz enough, you learn a special language of looks. Just by gesturing with your eyebrows, you can arrange a solo, or signal a new section. His eyes knew the language well, and they were whispering that he wanted to play.
All I had to do was nod once, and the man began to unpack. Awe moved through the crowd, and applause came as the fiddler mounted his instrument.
I tried to maintain a cheerful facade as my worry grew. But when he joined in the facade dropped and my jaw fell.
There was something wrong with how right he sounded. The tone was beyond perfect. It wasn't mechanical though, quite the opposite. His violin sang with a humanity I'd never heard before. The voice was operatic, and listening closely I could imagine lyrics being sung from it.
When we decided to end the tune, our audience cheered. I introduced myself, shaking the man's hand. He told me his name was "Terry," though now I believe that was an alias. I asked him if he had any requests, but he just shrugged and said "It didn't matter. I'm just here to play."
The restaurant had been closed for an hour when we decided to pack it up. There was still a crowd of roughly two dozen who were sorry to see us go. I apologetically told them I would be there tomorrow, then Terry's face lit up. He asked, "What time?"
I gave him a rough estimate since I didn't have a strict schedule. He said "See you then," and walked off before I could say anything else about it.
When I walked back to my apartment I put on a record, then started getting ready for bed. But the memory of Terry's melody itched the back of my brain. The more I thought about it, the worse my vinyl recording sounded in comparison. Eventually, the imperfections of the record bothered me so much that I had to turn it off.
Even the silence that followed sounded out of tune.
Every day for the next week, I showed up to the restaurant to find Terry already there playing. I'd fight my way through the crowd to the piano, join in with him, and play into the night.
We made more money in tips playing togeather than I did in total playing sets with Miles Davis. Often we would have to sub out and take a break to empty our tip jar into a larger container inside the restaurant. If I hadn't gambled most of it away back then, I might've been pretty well off today. It was that kind of money.
Around the third or fourth day of playing with him, I also realized that I'd never seen him tune his instrument. Usually after half an hour or so, it's a good idea to tune a violin. At least, that's how I understand it. If you don't, the finger positions on the instrument will be different for each note. Pretty sure it messes with the tone too. But even though he didn't tune, the violin's sound remained pristine.
On Saturday, late into the night, I finally decided to ask what his deal was. I believe it came out something like "How the hell do you get your notes to sound so perfect." Which is when he told me the proverb I often tell you:
"I don't make notes, I make sounds."
That made no sense to me, so I told him. "I don't follow."
He explained it to me. I suppose this was something you are supposed to learn in music school because I'd never heard about it before.
The way he taught it was that notes represent sounds. But the sounds a piano makes, like most instruments, aren't the sounds those notes represent. You see, the pitch of each sound an instrument makes is based on mathematics. Each one is the result of a specific ratio using a central pitch.
This is a crude way to put it, but as you play higher notes, the distance between the pitches changes.
At this point I was still confused, so he brought up his violin for a comparison. First, he played a chord, saying, "This is what the piano plays."
The harmony didn't have the usual sparkle I had associated with his playing. It didn't sound bad, it sounded just the same as any other violinist I'd ever heard.
"- and this is what the notes truly represent."
The next chord was the same notes, but they just sounded better in a way that was hard to describe.
It reminded me of the difference between a living flower, and a preserved clipping. Both plants might look the same, but put them side by side and your heart can tell the difference.
I interrupted the chord to ask who had taught him to play. I remember specifically, he said:
"I taught myself, just like you."
At the moment, this meant nothing to me. But now it sends chills down my spine since I don't recall ever telling Terry I was self-taught.
Not satisfied with the short answer, I continued. Specifically asking how he learned about the true note sounds, and how he'd taught himself to play them.
Terry sat silently for a moment. I could tell this was some secret, and he was deciding how much of it he could trust me with.
After an awkward moment, he answered: "I cut a deal with another violinist to teach me."
"A teacher?" I added.
"...Not Exactly." He concluded. I correctly assumed this was the last he was willing to say about the subject.
We started divvying up the tips when Terry surprised me by stating that he wouldn't be able to join me here tomorrow.
I told him it was no worry, and that I would see him the day after. But he cut me off, saying "I can't play here anymore, ever again."
I began apologizing, but Terry assured me it wasn't my fault, explaining that he was traveling around the globe, and it was time for him to move on to the next destination.
All I could say to this was "Oh." Then we continued sitting while Terry packed up his violin.
When we stood up to leave, I told Terry "If he ever needed a pianist, I would be there."
He got a look on his face then like something just occurred to him.
"...I became friends with a club owner," he began quietly like someone might hear, "who told me he'd let me play there any time I'd like. Are you interested in one last night together?"
I was thrilled at the opportunity, as the space would allow for a bigger crowd, which meant a bigger payout. I instantly agreed, and barely slept that night in anticipation of the show to come.
The next day came and went. I headed over to the address Terry gave me an hour early. "The Gates" was glowing in red neon lettering above an open set of doors. I didn't see any staff and was beginning to worry I had the wrong address when I heard a violin singing scales from backstage.
After a bit of searching, I found Terry practicing. He jumped in surprise when I greeted him. When he turned to face me I saw that he was drenched in sweat. Additionally, he had a familiar tenseness on his face, an expression I remembered from when we first met.
I asked him if he was ok and if we should call off the show, but he just shrugged it off. The rehearsal went as expected, but it became more clear to me as we went on that something was bothering him.
However, it was also clear that he wasn't going to tell me what it was. So I let it go.
Before long the distant sound of chatter and people sitting down signaled that our practice time was over.
I got up and headed to the door but felt a hand grab my shoulder.
"Listen, George. I need you to do something for me."
I turned around, and Terry was there holding out a hand. He opened his fist to reveal two cotton balls.
"For the last song we do, I need you to put these in your ears. Don't take them out until you feel my hand on your shoulder."
"I have my own earplugs," I replied, "but I doubt the crowd will get that loud."
"No!" He yelled, and I stepped away, surprised by the force of his words.
"It needs to be cotton. It's part of the deal."
Worried he’d call off the show, I conceded and took the cotton balls.
We walked on stage together to a full house. The crowd cheered, and I saw many of the regular attendees from our street performances. But something still felt wrong about it all.
There was still no staff. I could see the bar from the stage, but nobody stood behind it.
There were no waiters, busboys, or bouncers either. Just an endless flow of people trying to find a comfortable spot to sit or stand.
"Ready?" Terry yelled. I could barely hear him through the noise.
We launched into the first tune, and my worry melted away. With each song, the audience would go silent. Occasionally I would turn and look at the sea of gaping mouths and wide eyes. The faces stayed perfectly still like that while we played.
When each tune ended, the silence died with it, and the audience would go ballistic. People were not applauding as much as screaming, or howling.
I almost put the cotton in my ears then, but felt it would be better to follow Terry's explicit instructions.
Before I knew it, we had made it through every song but the last. Terry turned towards me, waiting for me to fulfill my promise.
He had been smart to choose a song that started with just him, and after a minute it was clear that he wouldn't begin until I obeyed.
So, I retrieved the cotton balls from my pocket and stuck them in my ears.
I'm almost certain I should've heard something, the screaming from the crowd maybe.
But every sound dissipated.
I was beginning to wonder how I was supposed to play like this when I heard Terry's violin, clear as ever. I put my hands on the keys and was surprised that I could hear the piano too.
The experience was otherworldly. I chuckled thinking that Terry had slipped something in my drink, a ‘treat’ to make the night more fun.
After the first repeat, I noticed something was wrong with the crowd.
It was the same spread of open eyes and mouths. But I could barely make out dark lines of fluid dripping down each face. The liquid streamed from every eye, and every mouth, staining anything it touched. It formed pools on tables and under feet. I refuse to consider what that fluid might’ve been.
At first, I thought it was a bad trip, then that I might be dreaming. But when I closed my eyes and re-opened them everything stayed the same.
Right when I thought the nightmare couldn't get any worse, I heard the violin speak to me.
"Don't stop," It commanded.
The voice could not have been Terry's or my own. The words swelled with the melody Terry played. He turned his head to meet my eyes, and I could see desperation on his face.
Somehow I could tell that he had heard the voice too.
There wasn't much left in the song so I sped up and Terry matched my pace. I tried to focus on the keys, but I saw bodies collapsing in the corner of my eye.
Terry’s violin sounded sharp in my ears. The melody cut into my mind, and I struggled against the urge to cover my ears.
I had the last solo, but it became nearly impossible to focus on my playing because the lights began to strobe rapidly.
Right before the end of my solo, the light cut out completely. We concluded the song, the two of us sharing a single chord. There was no applause.
I sat in silence, frozen with terror. After an eternity, I felt something brush my shoulder and I bolted for the exit.
I tripped in my escape but kept crawling to where I remembered the door being.
The entire building was dark and empty. I didn’t remember that many hallways when I went backstage to practice, but my anxiety could’ve been playing tricks on me.
I sprinted through door after door in perfect silence, unable to hear my footsteps. My lungs ached but I refused to take a breath or look behind me, even after, at last, I had found an emergency exit sign.
My run through the streets was a blur. I saw faces saying words, but I ignored them and kept going.
The cotton balls didn't leave my ears until I was back in my apartment with the door locked behind me.
Since then, the piano has never sounded the same.
That night was as beautiful as it was horrible. I can't tell how much of it was real, but no music I've heard since has come close to what I remember hearing from Terry's violin. Music just feels out of tune now, even my playing. I couldn’t even stand listening to my records until many years later. Maybe I was cursed, maybe I was drugged, or maybe something just snapped in my head. But I'm too scared to find out the truth.
—
This is the best I could manage with my recollection of what he told me that night and my writing ability. I should also mention that these are not the real names of the people in this story. I changed them to preserve privacy. It's safe to say if George is telling the truth, that he was probably drugged. But then the question becomes how much of the night was a hallucination.
Here are the facts:

1. George has some professional experience with the piano, based on the advice he gave me. It wasn't stuff that any random person, or even a musician of another instrument would say.
   
2. George refuses to play the piano anymore, assumedly from some traumatizing experience in his past. Also, unless he is a fantastic actor, George gets sincerely emotional whenever he is reminded of this experience.
   
3. The club "The Gates," has not ever existed in Chicago, as far as I can tell. Which makes me wonder where they were. I don't think this could've been part of the hallucination (if there was one) since George allegedly saw Terry for the first time that day only after he entered the club.
   
4. A normal violinist, with a normal violin, should not have the capability to affect people in the way described. However, in theory, a loud enough sound at the right frequency might have the capacity to damage organs.
   
5. Terry was correct in that most instruments, including pianos, are not tuned perfectly to the "pitch ratios" that we use in our 12-note tuning system.
   

I wish I could've recorded George's exact words, but since that night he hasn't returned to the bar. I have no way of contacting him, so I guess I'll never know the truth.

Author note: The Cryopod to Hell is a Reddit-exclusive story with over three years of editing and refining. As of this post, the total rewrite is 2,170,000+ words long! For more information, check out the link below:
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...................................
(Previous Part)
(Part 001)
On the world of Volgarius, inside the Founder's Thumb.
Unarin calmly walks into the main command center of the upper floors. He pauses for a second, looking at the dedicated team of Technopaths and Changelings who keep his mighty empire running, with all of them either directly linked to massive central networks that collect and gather information from abroad, or those who remain in contact with military forces currently in conflict.
In the center of the room, a massive hologram of the Milky Way spirals slowly above a table with a hole cut in is center. Various items sit on the tabletop, including datapads, experimental technology that has yet to be deployed in the field, and important design documents in need of approval.
Standing in the center of the table is none other than Unarin's obsidian-skinned brother, Randis, one of the three Ascended that live permanently inside the Founder's Thumb.
Randis looks up at the galactic hologram. Hundreds of points of light stand out from the rest, with some of them colored red, some colored yellow, and some colored blue. As for the vast majority, they are colored red.
The different colors, of course, represent worlds in various levels of danger, usually due to the Plague. White-colored worlds have no current major problems to speak of, and can run without Randis's intervention. Blue worlds exist in the periphery of danger and could come under threat at any time. Yellow worlds are at extreme risk from the Plague or have had major disruptions reported, while the red worlds are under attack and require immediate assistance.
When Unarin glances at the current situation of the Milky Way, as he usually does, he pauses for a moment to frown.
Slowly, he walks over to the edge of the table while his brother Randis continues to focus on the projection above him, reaching out to touch the differently-colored dots and issue commands to the forces stationed on those worlds as required.
After ten long seconds of silence, irritation flashes across Randis's face. He doesn't look at Unarin, but his attention noticeably shifts to the red-skinned Ascended.
"What is it?"
Randis's tone does not contain any warmth or brotherly love. He continues to remain focused on his duties.
"The number of Reds seems lower than usual." Unarin says. "Substantially so."
"You can thank the demons for that." Randis says. "Diablo has been up to his usual antics. He has 'helpfully' liberated more than a hundred worlds from the Plague so far. Curiously, he tends to focus on worlds currently in the process of being overrun, not worlds that have long become Kolvaxian strongholds."
"He's stopping the Plague from expanding." Unarin says mildly. "But at the same time, he's taking territory away from us. He's earning double the gains while expending half the effort."
"It's truly a genius play." Randis praises sarcastically. "And we can't do anything to stop him. The worlds he's taking from us were already going to be overrun by the Plague anyway. We just have to grit our teeth and endure."
"The Plague makes no further gains, we continue to lose power, and the Demons only strengthen over time." Unarin concludes. "This situation is starting to feel... untenable."
"Indeed." Randis says.
He continues to interact with the Volgrim Net, communicating in parallel with thousands of Volgrim thanks to his exceptional brain and talent at multi-tasking, but this doesn't even slightly harm his ability to hold a conversation.
"Is that all?" Randis eventually asks.
Unarin folds his hands behind his back. Then, he turns and walks away.
"Yes. That is all, brother. Keep up the good work."
"Don't tell me what to do." Randis retorts. "I am well aware of what our Empire needs."
Unarin pauses to look back at his brother, but eventually continues on his way without saying a word.
As he exits the Command Center, Unarin encounters Muuxunuu, his trusted administrator of affairs. She stands silently in the hallway, clearly waiting for him to exit, with her palms clasped at her waist.
"He still hates me." Unarin mutters.
"Yes." Muuxunuu says, in that same semi-robotic tone she always uses. "This is unlikely to change at any point in the future without external means."
Unarin smiles. He walks up to Muuxunuu and reaches his hand out to stroke her hair-tendrils. Her expression remains impassive as he kneads and toys with them lovingly, but her eyes do twitch slightly, revealing some sort of suppressed emotion.
"You used to love when I did this." Unarin murmurs. "What I wouldn't give to go back to those days..."
"My likes and dislikes are irrelevant." Muuxunuu says. "I came to find you because it is time for the Ascension Refresh."
"Oh." Unarin says as he reaches over to hold her chin in his hands, massaging the tip of her jaw with his thumb. "So soon? Feels like I did it just a few cycles ago."
"Synchronization coherency has decreased by 1.2% as a result of losing two worlds critical to the Ascension Net's infrastructure." Muuxunuu explains, unmoved by Unarin's touch. "The Ascension Net is at risk of decoupling several million users as a result."
Unarin finally pulls his hands away from Muuxunuu and sighs heavily, as if the weight of the world has momentarily increased by a hundredfold.
"Very well. I guess I'll deal with that, next."
He and Muuxunuu turn and walk down the hallway together. Unarin deliberately places his hand on Muuxunuu's back, but like always, she does not respond to his touch.
Even so, it still provides the First Founder a faint sense of comfort.
"Truly, I miss the old times..." He says to himself.
The two ascend upstairs until they reach Unarin's Sanctum, then they head inside through its giant double doors. Unarin and Muuxunuu eventually step into a small room located off to the side where a large glass pod filled with bubbling liquid resides.
Without fanfare, Unarin strips off his clothes, then climbs above the tank and hops inside, inhaling deeply to fill his lungs with the watery concoction.
Following this, he waits.
His consciousness becomes hazy.
His eyes begin to flutter...
He drifts off into an endless sleep, all while Muuxunuu keeps careful watch over his body's physical condition.
...
Unarin awakens.
He opens his eyes to find himself dressed in a resplendent and glorious military uniform, one that denotes his status as the Highest Among High. Its white color and red pinstripes give him a distinctive flair for the extravagant, making him appear a leader among exobeasts.
The world fizzles around Unarin, and countless tall, glittering white structures spring into existence.
Different from the bland and utilitarian stratoscrapers on Volgarius, these buildings only rise up a few thousand feet into the sky, and each one is completely unique. One building resembles a corkscrew with a lance stabbed through its center, as if someone had enveloped an ancient weapon with an observation deck just for their own pleasure.
Another structure looks like a series of geometric shapes stacked on top of and beside one another, making it mind-bending to look at.
And still another resembles a giant statue of Unarin himself, his palm lifted before himself, a simulacrum of the Milky Way suspended above his palm, slowly rotating as if to imply the First Founder has the entire galaxy in his grasp. What is most impressive, though, is that the miniature galaxy is not a hologram, but more than a billion tiny spheres, each a quarter the size of a standard playing marble, and all of them colored and carved with intricate detail to reflect the properties of the worlds and stars they represent.
How long could such an incredible display have taken to create? Only the greatest craftsman among the Ascended would know...
Unarin finds himself standing inside the Ascension Net, where hundreds of thousands of other Ascended walk around, their differently-colored skin making them resemble a living rainbow made of flesh and cloth. Surprisingly, most of the Ascended do not look impressive. They wear ordinary civilian clothes with simple colors and basic patterns. But among them, elites stick out here and there, wearing more elaborate military garb, training outfits for combat, and even heavy armor meant for military warfare. Innumerable trillions of Ascended live their lives inside the Ascension Net, but in this particular capital city, only fifty million or so can call it their home.
The moment Unarin arrives, the beautiful blackened starry sky above changes color. Its hue turns red, and an automated voice speaks from above.
"First Founder Unarin has made landfall in the city district of New Velaria. All citizens in the area, be alert for his movements and show all proper respect to his greatness."
Immediately, every Ascended in the city pauses what they are doing to look around them, uncertain where Unarin has arrived. Those nearest the First Founder spot him before the rest, and excitement appears in their eyes.
"He's here! First Founder! We are honored by your presence!"
"The Greatest Ascended! Everyone, show respect!"
"Step aside, Lord Vetreus is on his way!"
Countless cries go up among the crowd. Even after a million years of coming into the Ascension Net, Unarin has not spoken to or contacted more than 90% of the Volgrim currently residing within it. A chance to get just a glimpse of the First Founder is unfathomably rare, so his appearances always spark a great fervor among the crowd.
"Everyone, everyone. Thank you." Unarin says politely, nodding to those nearby while offering a friendly wave. Unlike the heavy emotions he displayed before entering the Ascension Net, he puts on a good show of compassion and strength for his fellow Ascended. "You honor me."
The crowd continues to cheer, while a noticeably taller blue-skinned Ascended wearing a black uniform pushes through them, making his way toward Unarin. When he reaches the First Founder, he pauses to bow at the waist.
"Founder Unarin. Thank you for visiting my city."
"Brother Vetreus," Unarin says, walking over to pat the other's shoulder. "There's no need to stand on formality. Let us retire to a quieter place. I need to speak with the Velaria Council."
"Of course." Vetreus says, straightening his posture to return to his full height. He stands more than a head taller than the First Founder, yet his presence somehow seems smaller due to Unarin's regal aura. "No doubt, they are already preparing for your arrival."
The two of them cut through the crowd, with all the Ascended nearby spreading out and making room for Unarin to walk. None of them do anything as vulgar as attempting to touch or speak to him, as their respect for him is higher than the heavens!
Before long, Unarin and Vetreus walk into a large building best described as a series of cubes separated by various walkways, each cube representing a structure isolated from the rest, levitating in the air via anti-gravitic propulsion. The extravagant cost of such a building could not easily be paid in the modern times; only in the Ascension Net where resources are practically infinite.
"Tell me," Vetreus says casually. "How goes the War outside?"
"Quite well." Unarin says with a smile. "The Volgrim still rule the galaxy. As of late, the Plague has all but frozen its advance thanks to assistance from a certain group of mud-dwellers. They came up with an innovative method to push those monsters back, and as a result we have begun to make inroads towards claiming the lost territory once again."
"Good. Good!" Vetrues says twice. "In truth, First Founder, I was beginning to feel dread toward the situation outside. The Ascended could be an incredible asset in the War. Why have you held off on at least deploying our elite shock troops?"
Unarin shakes his head. "It would be a complete loss for us if the Plague managed to capture just one Ascended. Its ability to assimilate the strengths of those it devours makes the Plague a fearsome adversary. Do you want the bodies of every Kolvaxian to become as strong as ours?"
"Hmm... that is true." Vetreus murmurs with a troubled expression. "I suppose that means you do not intend for our people to make their arrival onto the scene just yet."
"If I can help it, none of the Ascended will ever do battle with the Kolvaxians." Unarin sighs heavily. "The day I issue that demand will be the day I must admit the war is likely lost."
Vetreus pauses his walking to turn and direct a grim gaze at Unarin.
"Brother Unarin. Do you truly have so little faith in us?"
"It's not that." Unarin says, smiling weakly. "But if the true power of the Ascended must be unleashed, I would rather it be in glorious battle against the Dark Ones, rather than their weakest minions..."
"Ah. Then I shall not press the issue further." Vetreus concedes.
They resume walking, enter a grav-lift, and transfer between three different levitating cube-facilities before arriving in the uppermost one, where they step into a conference room with fifteen chairs positioned around a table.
At once, beams of light flash inside the room. Thirteen different Ascended materialize, each one a powerful warrior, diplomat, or other such talented figure of ancient yore. They wear extravagant robes, uniforms, and light armor, making them appear either fearsome or renowned in some capacity.
Even so, none of them immediately speak, but instead bow their heads to wait while Unarin walks to the head of the table, and pulls out the chair there.
As he takes a seat, with Vetreus sitting on his immediate right, Unarin waves his hand.
"Begin."
The other thirteen raise their heads. They also sit down, lining the table off into the distance as they look at Unarin with respectful gazes.
"First Founder." A blue-skinned woman on Unarin's left says. Her crimson eyes and ornately decorated hail-tendrils give her a princess-like vibe. "Recently, 20 million Ascended were abruptly disconnected from the Ascension Net. I would like to know what caused this malfunction."
Unarin's right eye twitches. "Lady Perii. A world essential to the Ascension Net's infrastructure was overtaken by the Plague. As a result, we suffered a momentary but severe outage until the backups on other worlds took over the processing burden."
He pauses for half a breath before adding, "But you need not be worried. We have backed up the connections and restored those we lost. They will return soon enough."
"That is good." Perii says slowly. She runs her fingers along the seams of her ornate red and gold dress, accentuating her figure. "But what of the War situation? For an entire planet to fall..."
"We lose minor planets all the time." Unarin says dismissively. "They do not possess much value, so we ignore them. Rarely do the Volgrim suffer a loss to our core systems. As I told Vetreus on the way here, one of our vassal species, the Demons, has recently obtained a unique ability to devour the Plague. Emperor Diablo has been core in pushing the Plague back, and thus we are looking to reward him with commendations, given time."
"So there is a light at the end of the galaxy." Another female Volgrim says. With skin as black as Randis's, she wears a light ensemble of skull-covered armor and other decorations on her tendrils to make herself appear fearsome to her foes. "Does that mean that you do not intend to awaken the Ascended after all?"
"Apologies, Admiral Merris." Unarin says. "I have not yet made up my mind. The War is looking winnable now, but it will take time for us to be sure."
"Mmm..." Merris says, her eyebrows knitting together. "My soldiers have long looked forward to making their triumphant return to the outer galaxy. I hope you will make a determination sooner rather than later."
Unarin tosses his hands lightly. "There are many conflicting factors at play. Placing the Ascended in the Plague's way could serve to empower our foes. I do not wish to do that unless necessary. In the meantime, Project Blinding Light may serve a greater purpose in the future. You should all prepare yourselves in case I need you to activate it."
"Is the project ready?" Perii asks. "I was under the impression it was... only experimental."
"It is." Unarin says mildly. "But should a crisis emerge, it will perform as predicted. I have looked into the theory myself and validated it with the High Technopaths."
"We should abide by Unarin's commands." Vetreus says, warning his fellow council members. "He is the one who saved our Empire. Unarin knows best."
"Unarin knows best." The other Ascended say, nodding their heads at him.
The meeting continues for a while, with Unarin informing everyone of the goings-on in the outer galaxy. Eventually, he concludes the talks, and departs the room with Vetreus at his side.
As the two men walk down the hall, Vetreus smiles at Unarin.
"All this heavy talk makes one's mind weak. Let us discuss something lighter."
Unarin nods. "That would be best."
"Your wife!" Vetreus says cheerfully. "How is she faring these days? She still has yet to enter the Ascended Net. She's still alive, isn't she?"
Unarin's expression remains calm. However, a faint gloominess builds up in his eyes. He lowers his gaze for a moment while he walks, but Vetreus does not notice.
"Yes. Muuxunuu... she is as well as ever." Unarin says numbly. "I've asked her to visit the Ascension Net time and time again, but she simply doesn't seem interested. I'm sorry for her... lack of concern."
"No, no. It is fine." Vetreus says, still smiling. "Lady Muuxunuu is truly the most beautiful of our people. The kindest, most compassionate. Ahh, so many suitors were jealous that you won her hand, back in the ancient times. Everyone feels more assured because she is there to keep your spirits up while you fight this damned War."
"Aye. Every time I look at her..." Unarin says, his words catching in his throat for half a breath, "...I feel the same love that I always have."
"Good, good." Vetreus says. "And what of Randis? Is your brother doing well, too?"
"He leads the war effort." Unarin says neutrally. "Every day, he manages tens of thousands of minor and major matters. The Empire would not be the same without him behind the scenes. Randis is... truly irreplaceable."
"Haha, excellent, most excellent." Vetreus says, never once having noticed the faint pain in Unarin's voice. To him, the First Founder has always been a cold and logical Sentient. He does not seem to be acting out of character in the least. "If it were not for the three of you, we might never have defeated those damned Sentinels. You must take care to always stick together, First Founder. Only the bonds of love you three share can give you the strength to stand bravely against our monstrous foes."
Unarin swallows a lump in his throat. "I couldn't... put it better if I tried."
Unarin finishes his business inside the Ascension Net, then he eventually disconnects.
His consciousness resurfaces inside the tank full of liquid, and he emerges from its watery depths soaked to the bone.
As the First Founder climbs out of the tank and splashes messily across the floor, Muuxunuu stands at the ready, a large towel held in her grasp.
"First Founder." Muuxunuu says emotionlessly. "Allow me to dry your body."
"Oh. You don't have to do that..." Unarin says. "I'll just use a sonic shower."
"Your statement is correct. I do not have to." Muuxunuu says. "But I still wish to do so."
"That... alright then." Unarin says softly.
He extends his arms outward, allowing the pink-skinned Ascended woman to wipe at his nude body, drying him attentively.
As Muuxunuu starts from his feet and works her way up, her eyes meet Unarin's when she goes to dry his arms. In that instant, a faint spark appears in her pupils.
But then it disappears.
She looks away and finishes drying him off.
Then, she steps back and looks at him with no expression at all.
"The task is finished. I have cleaned your clothes and set them over there."
Unarin doesn't immediately walk over to where she indicated. Instead, he stands in place, looking at her with a complicated gaze.
He takes a step toward Muuxunuu, and she remains in place.
Then he takes another step, and another...
He walks over to her, then strokes her neck with his hand. He plays with her hair-tendrils, but she still shows no reaction.
"You know..." Unarin says quietly. "Brother Vetreus asked about you. I had to lie to him again."
"What is there to lie about?" Muuxunuu asks, uncomprehending.
"What, indeed?" Unarin says bitterly.
He leans his face towards hers, as if to gently kiss her, but he pauses mid-movement and pulls away.
"No." Unarin says, lowering his eyes. "I don't deserve it."
Ultimately, he turns away from Muuxunuu and slowly shuffles back to his regal garb. He slides his robes back on, but each piece of fabric presses on him like an anvil, the burden of their significance feeling unearned, and making him uncomfortable from the bottom of his soul.
After he finishes, Unarin stares ahead blankly at the wall.
"...It was the right thing to do." He whispers. "I had to do it. It was the only way."
"But why... why did she have to pay the heaviest price?"
The question he whispers into the void receives no reply.
Perhaps there are no longer any who are capable of answering...

My grandfather sat in his rocking chair, holding his body rigid like that of a corpse. His eyes looked like those of an old dog. His lips constantly chattered and his fingers trembled with the Parkinson’s that was eating him away like a cancer. We both knew he didn’t have long left. He looked at me with his strange, yellow eyes and gave a weak grin.
“Elias, I think I should tell you the story of my childhood,” my grandfather said, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “I will tell you of what happened to me when I was only 13-years-old, when I was sent to Auschwitz with my father by my side.” This is the story he told me, unbelievable as it is. Though my grandfather has been dead for years now, his story still stays with me to this day as an unbearable burden on my heart.
***
I still remember the moment we arrived at the camp like it was yesterday. We were exhausted and starving. We had been on the cold cattle cars for five days and five nights, and we were given no food or water that entire time. Many of the sick and old died on the way. We moved their corpses to the corner of the car and my father said Kaddish over their corpses. It was the first time I saw the light of life extinguished from the eyes of so many in so short a time, but it would be far from the last.
Finally, long after the night had come, the doors to our cattle cars slid open. Pale, starving creatures in striped black-and-white rags stood around SS soldiers in black, spotless uniforms. They grinned as the Death’s Head insignia and sharp lightning bolt runes gleamed bright silver.
The SS men all had vicious German shepherds who lunged at the frightened prisoners, gnashing and snapping at the air. I saw more than a few people get bit by the vicious dogs. They had deep bite wounds and chunks torn out of their flesh, and we all learned to avoid the dogs and the SS men as much as possible after that.
***
In the dark night, we were formed into lines. Old women held the hands of their small grandchildren, and sons tried to stay with their fathers. We moved forward. Up ahead, I saw a man in a black SS uniform whistling a tune from Wagner. I would later realize that this man was Dr. Mengele.
I tried to stay with my father, but the surging crowds pulled us apart. I didn’t know it at that moment, but I would never see my father again.
If I had known, would I have acted differently? Would I have told him how much I loved him? I’ll never know, but his ashes rose up into the air later that night, and I saw it from the freezing barracks in that place of shadows.
Someone behind me whispered in my ear, “Boy, how old are you?”
“Thirteen,” I said, turning to look at the strange figure, a starving man in a striped uniform. The man shook his head.
“No, you’re sixteen. When you get up there, remember that. You’re not thirteen, you’re sixteen,” the man insisted. He was part of the prison Kommando that helped the SS with translating the many languages that streamed into the camp and also helped them organize the prisoners for slave labor or death.
I would never see that starving man again, but I followed his advice. As I got up to Dr. Mengele, he stopped whistling for just a couple seconds. The black, cloudless sky hung heavy above us, the clouds of smoke rising up from the crematoria with the smell of burning hair and searing flesh.
Dr. Mengele gave me a fatherly smile, but in his eyes, there was something as cold as frozen steel, hiding just under the surface. I could see it, I could feel it in the air, I could almost smell it radiating off of his skin. It sent ice water racing through my veins.
“Hello, son,” he said in a warm voice as he gave a faint smile, though his eyes didn’t smile, and as I think back on it, neither did his mouth. “What’s your age?”
“Sixteen,” I said confidently, looking him straight in the eye.
“Any physical deformities? Any illness?” he asked, the faint half-smile like a statue of Buddha still plastered across his lips. I shook my head.
“No, sir,” I said. He nodded and pointed to the right. I didn’t know if this was a good thing or a bad thing. I saw, to my growing horror, that most of the prisoners were going to the left, including all the elderly, all the children, anyone with disabilities and anyone who looked too frail or emaciated. In all, about 90% of the line went to the left, and about 10% went to the right.
Those who went to the left wouldn’t live out the hour. They would be stripped naked, beaten and bludgeoned to force as many people into the gas chamber as possible, then the heavy metal door would be sealed. The Zyklon B pellets would be dropped into a vat of sulfuric acid, and the vents would turn on, whirring like hornets, breathing their deadly poison into the concrete tomb.
The screams in the chamber often went on for over twenty minutes. The corpses would be intertwined in pyramids, their arms and legs caught together like rats in a rat king. The cyanide gas prevented their lips and fingernails from turning blue, and made the corpses look pink, almost healthy- except for their frozen, terrified death masks and sightless eyes.
***
In 1944, while I was at Auschwitz-Birkenau, I was coming back late from a work detail in the nearby concrete factory with some other inmates. We passed through the freezing winds and whipping snow that bit like an icepick into our bodies. There were open-air pits that belched black smoke into the air constantly. What a world we lived in, where the graveyards rose into the sky and the blackness of space descended on those below. That was the night when my faith in God finally died forever.
As I would learn later, the SS had a recent shortage of Zyklon B, the cyanide pellets used to exterminate masses of human beings and turn them into ashes and fetid, reeking smoke. The advances of the Red Army had caused issues with delivering it. And a transport of children had just come into the camp.
The SS men and the Kapos loaded these children, most of whom were no older than seven or eight, onto the beds of two dump trucks, beating them with truncheons and kicking and punching them. When the crying, bloody children were finally all settled in on the back of the dump trucks, they had drivers back them up towards the inferno of burning bodies. I watched, horrified, as they slowly angled the beds downwards.
The children began sliding out with horrible, wretched screams. They fell into the pit of fire. I watched their hair burn, their skin blacken and sizzle, the drops of fat melt and drip off their shrieking lips. Some of them tried to crawl out, but the black-clad SS men went around with long sticks and pushed the half-dead, writhing children back into the scorching flames. My grandson, I tell you truthfully that this is what I saw with my own eyes, heard with my own ears, when I was only thirteen-years-old.
The screams of the burning children went on for fifteen or twenty minutes. It felt like, at that moment, we stood in the center of the universe. God had died, He had murdered eternity and left us alone in this endless pit of suffering and death. There was no justice, I knew, and if God was real at all, then He was either evil or insane. The faraway stars of cold white light seemed to turn and look down on us, all of us, the living and the dead alike. The wind whipped past us, screaming with the voices of the damned.
Sometimes, late at night, I think I still hear those children screaming as their bodies burned and blackened. Is it any wonder, then, that I almost never sleep, and when I do, I wake up shrieking as mountains of pale, burning corpses flash across my mind?
***
One day, during selection, I saw Dr. Mengele again. He looked me up and down and wrote something on a clipboard. Later that day, I was told by the Kapo that I would be moved to the medical ward.
“The medical ward?” I asked, confused. “Why? I’m not sick.”
“The Doctor requests your presence,” the Kapo said sarcastically, giving me a little bow. He was a fat man with a face like a bulldog and red hands like a butcher. He loved to beat and rob the prisoners under him. “Move, scum. Doubletime. Get your ass to the medical barracks.” I didn’t need to be told twice. I quickly scurried away, constantly glancing back to make sure no blows from his fat hands would rain down on my head.
I wound my way through the bare, wooden barracks that acted as our homes, the homes for walking skeletons of men whose bodies were frozen and dying. Within these barracks, we were often packed so tightly together on the hard, wooden planks that one man couldn’t turn around in the night without every other man in the row having to move.
But when the freezing winter cold blew in and we only had thin blankets and our black-and-white striped rags, the body heat from the others kept us from freezing to death- at least some of the time. Corpses were taken out of the barracks every morning, prisoners who died from the cold, from hunger, from dysentery or disease, from beatings and murders and suicides. It was like a constant stream of death, a waterfall of oblivion crashing forward. The corpses came, but the fire ate them all greedily and exhaled only fetid black smoke in response.
I walked into the medical barracks. Sat on a chair, waiting, I saw my friend from the work Kommando, Moshe. His dark, serious eyes stared through me, as if he didn’t see me. He had a straight nose and high cheekbones on his aristocratic face, though he now looked as pale and starved as I did myself, no more than a bag of bones wrapped in skin and clad in rags.
“Eliezer,” Moshe said, suddenly realizing I was there. “Were you chosen for this, too?” I nodded grimly, not knowing what he was referring to, but feeling in my heart it was nothing good. Nothing good ever came from this camp, after all. Nothing but reeking smoke and ashes came from it. Nothing but the hurricane of souls whipped away in the currents of the Zyklon B came from it.
“Do you know why we are here?” I asked, fidgeting and nervous. I glanced around, seeing a clean, well-stocked medical room beyond with a surgical table in the middle. There were bunks in the back of the medical barracks where the lucky ones would live. We even got increased rations of sawdust bread and watery soup.
“Dr. Mengele wants us,” Moshe said simply, and his eyes looked through me again. His mind seemed to drift off, far away from this world of suffering.
***
My emaciated body was such a heavy thing. It felt like the weight of the entire universe was contained within that body. I despised that body, that starving, sickly thing that followed me like a shadow. I wanted to be free of it, to see the highest reality without a body, to see truth without this constant suffering and agony, the constant hunger and cold and beatings and the stench of death.
But it wasn’t to be. Dr. Mengele walked into the barracks a few minutes later, surrounded by female nurses clad in white. He looked at me and Moshe. His cold blue eyes sparkled with intelligence.
He always kept his black SS uniform perfectly cleaned and ironed. It gave an impression that some black knight from a lost tale of the Dark Ages had just wandered in. He held a clipboard in his hand. He glanced down at it, frowning. Then he spoke in clipped German.
“A-9971 and A-8991, you are hereby required to participate in a medical experiment that will test the effects of certain drugs on the body. We do this under the authority of the Greater German Reich and our Reichsfuhrer-SS Himmler. You will stay here in the medical barracks until the experiment has ended,” Dr. Mengele said. As soon as he was done, he walked briskly over to the dark room with the surgical table. He came back out with two syringes filled with some black fluid that shone with glittering rainbows. He came up to me first.
“A-9971, your arm,” Dr. Mengele demanded. I stretched out my arm. He applied a tourniquet. When the vein throbbed like a fat worm, he plunged the needle inside and pressed down on the plunger.
I felt something like lava ripping its way through my body as my breath caught in my throat. I thought I was choking and dying. My heart beat so fast in my chest that I feared it must explode. Dr. Mengele walked over to Moshe as my vision turned white. I groaned, my teeth chattering, and then I fell forward onto the wooden floor.
I must have lost consciousness, because when I awoke, it was night in the medical barracks. I found myself laying on a bunk. A small serving of sawdust bread and thin, watery soup was laid down next to me. Still sleeping, I saw the form of Moshe, his face as pale as a skull.
“Moshe?” I whispered, trying to push myself to my feet. My head throbbed. I looked down at my arm, seeing a spreading patch of blackened necrotic tissue spreading from the injection site. It almost looked like shiny scales were spreading across my skin. I looked down at Moshe’s arm and saw the same dark patches there. “Wake up, Moshe, please. I need you. I need someone. I can’t do this alone.”
But in my heart, I knew that we were all born alone and we all died alone. Moshe couldn’t help me with anything. Even God couldn’t help me here. He didn’t listen to our prayers or hear the Kaddish read for the dead. He had turned his face away from us, and every dying heart there felt that great emptiness as the life was extinguished from their eyes.
I shook Moshe gently, not wanting to scare him. His eyes flew open. He looked up at me, and I saw with horror that something was wrong. His eyes had become slitted and yellow, like the eyes of a serpent. He hissed at me. A thin stream of frothy blood bubbled from his throat as he gurgled, pushing himself up like a zombie.
“What’s happened to you?” I asked in panic, backpedaling away from the transformed Moshe. He looked like a rabid animal, his eyes gleaming with insanity. He came at me, and his teeth looked longer, sharper, more predatory. They looked like fangs.
He leapt off the bunk, soaring through the air towards me. As he gnashed his teeth, I frantically tried to push him away. His jaw snapped together with a crack like a bullwhip. He lunged forward and his bleached-white face came down. I felt the skin on my face tear with a pain like fire spreading through my head. He bit down on my cheek and ripped upwards, leaving a mutilated flap of skin hanging there.
I felt something hot and poisonous coursing through my bloodstream, but unlike Moshe, I had not gone insane. I felt my teeth lengthening, though, and my eyes abruptly adjusted to the dark. I could see every mote of dust floating through the air, see every spatter of my blood on the swept wooden floors.
A hiss tore its way out of my throat. My arm lunged forward, as if with a mind of its own. Sharp claws ripped their way out of the ends of my fingers as I threw Moshe off of me.
He ran out into the night, hissing and wailing, his forked tongue flicking out between his bloody lips. A few moments later, I heard SS men yelling at the nearby perimeter and then guns started firing. The banshee wail from Moshe grew louder, and the SS men screamed, their voices filled with panic and terror.
I staggered out of the medical barracks, seeing Moshe clawing and biting at the black-clad form of an SS man. Two others lay dead next to him, their throats torn out, the mutilated flesh sliced wide open.
Moshe leapt off of the dying SS man and loped towards the electrified fence. In horror and astonishment, I watched him swipe at it with his claws. It gave a loud pop of electricity and I saw a flash of blue light, but the black scales that now covered almost all of Moshe’s skin only seemed to glow brighter, gleaming like obsidian. Moshe remained unaffected. He ripped a hole in the fence as it continued sizzling, leapt over the razor wire and disappeared into the dark forests of Poland beyond.
After a long moment staring at the bodies of the SS men, I ran forwards toward freedom as well, following the trail of Moshe. I still had my mind, however. Whatever poison Dr. Mengele had given us hadn’t affected me like it had affected Moshe.
But still, I noticed I was healing faster. The deep gash on my cheek stopped bleeding within minutes, and a layer of thin, black scales started to cover the wound.
Over the next few weeks, I made my way to Switzerland, where I spent the rest of the war. But I heard rumors in the forests of Poland that there was a strange creature attacking isolated farms and houses. A creature with slitted eyes like a serpent’s and black scales covering his deformed, twisted body.
***
My grandfather stopped speaking suddenly, looking up at me with glazed eyes.
“Do you believe it, Elias?” he asked. “Do you believe what I’ve told you?” I nodded. He pulled up his sleeves, and there, on his arms, I saw black scales covering his skin all the way to the wrists.

On the world of Volgarius, inside the Founder's Thumb.
Unarin calmly walks into the main command center of the upper floors. He pauses for a second, looking at the dedicated team of Technopaths and Changelings who keep his mighty empire running, with all of them either directly linked to massive central networks that collect and gather information from abroad, or those who remain in contact with military forces currently in conflict.
In the center of the room, a massive hologram of the Milky Way spirals slowly above a table with a hole cut in is center. Various items sit on the tabletop, including datapads, experimental technology that has yet to be deployed in the field, and important design documents in need of approval.
Standing in the center of the table is none other than Unarin's obsidian-skinned brother, Randis, one of the three Ascended that live permanently inside the Founder's Thumb.
Randis looks up at the galactic hologram. Hundreds of points of light stand out from the rest, with some of them colored red, some colored yellow, and some colored blue. As for the vast majority, they are colored red.
The different colors, of course, represent worlds in various levels of danger, usually due to the Plague. White-colored worlds have no current major problems to speak of, and can run without Randis's intervention. Blue worlds exist in the periphery of danger and could come under threat at any time. Yellow worlds are at extreme risk from the Plague or have had major disruptions reported, while the red worlds are under attack and require immediate assistance.
When Unarin glances at the current situation of the Milky Way, as he usually does, he pauses for a moment to frown.
Slowly, he walks over to the edge of the table while his brother Randis continues to focus on the projection above him, reaching out to touch the differently-colored dots and issue commands to the forces stationed on those worlds as required.
After ten long seconds of silence, irritation flashes across Randis's face. He doesn't look at Unarin, but his attention noticeably shifts to the red-skinned Ascended.
"What is it?"
Randis's tone does not contain any warmth or brotherly love. He continues to remain focused on his duties.
"The number of Reds seems lower than usual." Unarin says. "Substantially so."
"You can thank the demons for that." Randis says. "Diablo has been up to his usual antics. He has 'helpfully' liberated more than a hundred worlds from the Plague so far. Curiously, he tends to focus on worlds currently in the process of being overrun, not worlds that have long become Kolvaxian strongholds."
"He's stopping the Plague from expanding." Unarin says mildly. "But at the same time, he's taking territory away from us. He's earning double the gains while expending half the effort."
"It's truly a genius play." Randis praises sarcastically. "And we can't do anything to stop him. The worlds he's taking from us were already going to be overrun by the Plague anyway. We just have to grit our teeth and endure."
"The Plague makes no further gains, we continue to lose power, and the Demons only strengthen over time." Unarin concludes. "This situation is starting to feel... untenable."
"Indeed." Randis says.
He continues to interact with the Volgrim Net, communicating in parallel with thousands of Volgrim thanks to his exceptional brain and talent at multi-tasking, but this doesn't even slightly harm his ability to hold a conversation.
"Is that all?" Randis eventually asks.
Unarin folds his hands behind his back. Then, he turns and walks away.
"Yes. That is all, brother. Keep up the good work."
"Don't tell me what to do." Randis retorts. "I am well aware of what our Empire needs."
Unarin pauses to look back at his brother, but eventually continues on his way without saying a word.
As he exits the Command Center, Unarin encounters Muuxunuu, his trusted administrator of affairs. She stands silently in the hallway, clearly waiting for him to exit, with her palms clasped at her waist.
"He still hates me." Unarin mutters.
"Yes." Muuxunuu says, in that same semi-robotic tone she always uses. "This is unlikely to change at any point in the future without external means."
Unarin smiles. He walks up to Muuxunuu and reaches his hand out to stroke her hair-tendrils. Her expression remains impassive as he kneads and toys with them lovingly, but her eyes do twitch slightly, revealing some sort of suppressed emotion.
"You used to love when I did this." Unarin murmurs. "What I wouldn't give to go back to those days..."
"My likes and dislikes are irrelevant." Muuxunuu says. "I came to find you because it is time for the Ascension Refresh."
"Oh." Unarin says as he reaches over to hold her chin in his hands, massaging the tip of her jaw with his thumb. "So soon? Feels like I did it just a few cycles ago."
"Synchronization coherency has decreased by 1.2% as a result of losing two worlds critical to the Ascension Net's infrastructure." Muuxunuu explains, unmoved by Unarin's touch. "The Ascension Net is at risk of decoupling several million users as a result."
Unarin finally pulls his hands away from Muuxunuu and sighs heavily, as if the weight of the world has momentarily increased by a hundredfold.
"Very well. I guess I'll deal with that, next."
He and Muuxunuu turn and walk down the hallway together. Unarin deliberately places his hand on Muuxunuu's back, but like always, she does not respond to his touch.
Even so, it still provides the First Founder a faint sense of comfort.
"Truly, I miss the old times..." He says to himself.
The two ascend upstairs until they reach Unarin's Sanctum, then they head inside through its giant double doors. Unarin and Muuxunuu eventually step into a small room located off to the side where a large glass pod filled with bubbling liquid resides.
Without fanfare, Unarin strips off his clothes, then climbs above the tank and hops inside, inhaling deeply to fill his lungs with the watery concoction.
Following this, he waits.
His consciousness becomes hazy.
His eyes begin to flutter...
He drifts off into an endless sleep, all while Muuxunuu keeps careful watch over his body's physical condition.
...
Unarin awakens.
He opens his eyes to find himself dressed in a resplendent and glorious military uniform, one that denotes his status as the Highest Among High. Its white color and red pinstripes give him a distinctive flair for the extravagant, making him appear a leader among exobeasts.
The world fizzles around Unarin, and countless tall, glittering white structures spring into existence.
Different from the bland and utilitarian stratoscrapers on Volgarius, these buildings only rise up a few thousand feet into the sky, and each one is completely unique. One building resembles a corkscrew with a lance stabbed through its center, as if someone had enveloped an ancient weapon with an observation deck just for their own pleasure.
Another structure looks like a series of geometric shapes stacked on top of and beside one another, making it mind-bending to look at.
And still another resembles a giant statue of Unarin himself, his palm lifted before himself, a simulacrum of the Milky Way suspended above his palm, slowly rotating as if to imply the First Founder has the entire galaxy in his grasp. What is most impressive, though, is that the miniature galaxy is not a hologram, but more than a billion tiny spheres, each a quarter the size of a standard playing marble, and all of them colored and carved with intricate detail to reflect the properties of the worlds and stars they represent.
How long could such an incredible display have taken to create? Only the greatest craftsman among the Ascended would know...
Unarin finds himself standing inside the Ascension Net, where hundreds of thousands of other Ascended walk around, their differently-colored skin making them resemble a living rainbow made of flesh and cloth. Surprisingly, most of the Ascended do not look impressive. They wear ordinary civilian clothes with simple colors and basic patterns. But among them, elites stick out here and there, wearing more elaborate military garb, training outfits for combat, and even heavy armor meant for military warfare. Innumerable trillions of Ascended live their lives inside the Ascension Net, but in this particular capital city, only fifty million or so can call it their home.
The moment Unarin arrives, the beautiful blackened starry sky above changes color. Its hue turns red, and an automated voice speaks from above.
"First Founder Unarin has made landfall in the city district of New Velaria. All citizens in the area, be alert for his movements and show all proper respect to his greatness."
Immediately, every Ascended in the city pauses what they are doing to look around them, uncertain where Unarin has arrived. Those nearest the First Founder spot him before the rest, and excitement appears in their eyes.
"He's here! First Founder! We are honored by your presence!"
"The Greatest Ascended! Everyone, show respect!"
"Step aside, Lord Vetreus is on his way!"
Countless cries go up among the crowd. Even after a million years of coming into the Ascension Net, Unarin has not spoken to or contacted more than 90% of the Volgrim currently residing within it. A chance to get just a glimpse of the First Founder is unfathomably rare, so his appearances always spark a great fervor among the crowd.
"Everyone, everyone. Thank you." Unarin says politely, nodding to those nearby while offering a friendly wave. Unlike the heavy emotions he displayed before entering the Ascension Net, he puts on a good show of compassion and strength for his fellow Ascended. "You honor me."
The crowd continues to cheer, while a noticeably taller blue-skinned Ascended wearing a black uniform pushes through them, making his way toward Unarin. When he reaches the First Founder, he pauses to bow at the waist.
"Founder Unarin. Thank you for visiting my city."
"Brother Vetreus," Unarin says, walking over to pat the other's shoulder. "There's no need to stand on formality. Let us retire to a quieter place. I need to speak with the Velaria Council."
"Of course." Vetreus says, straightening his posture to return to his full height. He stands more than a head taller than the First Founder, yet his presence somehow seems smaller due to Unarin's regal aura. "No doubt, they are already preparing for your arrival."
The two of them cut through the crowd, with all the Ascended nearby spreading out and making room for Unarin to walk. None of them do anything as vulgar as attempting to touch or speak to him, as their respect for him is higher than the heavens!
Before long, Unarin and Vetreus walk into a large building best described as a series of cubes separated by various walkways, each cube representing a structure isolated from the rest, levitating in the air via anti-gravitic propulsion. The extravagant cost of such a building could not easily be paid in the modern times; only in the Ascension Net where resources are practically infinite.
"Tell me," Vetreus says casually. "How goes the War outside?"
"Quite well." Unarin says with a smile. "The Volgrim still rule the galaxy. As of late, the Plague has all but frozen its advance thanks to assistance from a certain group of mud-dwellers. They came up with an innovative method to push those monsters back, and as a result we have begun to make inroads towards claiming the lost territory once again."
"Good. Good!" Vetrues says twice. "In truth, First Founder, I was beginning to feel dread toward the situation outside. The Ascended could be an incredible asset in the War. Why have you held off on at least deploying our elite shock troops?"
Unarin shakes his head. "It would be a complete loss for us if the Plague managed to capture just one Ascended. Its ability to assimilate the strengths of those it devours makes the Plague a fearsome adversary. Do you want the bodies of every Kolvaxian to become as strong as ours?"
"Hmm... that is true." Vetreus murmurs with a troubled expression. "I suppose that means you do not intend for our people to make their arrival onto the scene just yet."
"If I can help it, none of the Ascended will ever do battle with the Kolvaxians." Unarin sighs heavily. "The day I issue that demand will be the day I must admit the war is likely lost."
Vetreus pauses his walking to turn and direct a grim gaze at Unarin.
"Brother Unarin. Do you truly have so little faith in us?"
"It's not that." Unarin says, smiling weakly. "But if the true power of the Ascended must be unleashed, I would rather it be in glorious battle against the Dark Ones, rather than their weakest minions..."
"Ah. Then I shall not press the issue further." Vetreus concedes.
They resume walking, enter a grav-lift, and transfer between three different levitating cube-facilities before arriving in the uppermost one, where they step into a conference room with fifteen chairs positioned around a table.
At once, beams of light flash inside the room. Thirteen different Ascended materialize, each one a powerful warrior, diplomat, or other such talented figure of ancient yore. They wear extravagant robes, uniforms, and light armor, making them appear either fearsome or renowned in some capacity.
Even so, none of them immediately speak, but instead bow their heads to wait while Unarin walks to the head of the table, and pulls out the chair there.
As he takes a seat, with Vetreus sitting on his immediate right, Unarin waves his hand.
"Begin."
The other thirteen raise their heads. They also sit down, lining the table off into the distance as they look at Unarin with respectful gazes.
"First Founder." A blue-skinned woman on Unarin's left says. Her crimson eyes and ornately decorated hail-tendrils give her a princess-like vibe. "Recently, 20 million Ascended were abruptly disconnected from the Ascension Net. I would like to know what caused this malfunction."
Unarin's right eye twitches. "Lady Perii. A world essential to the Ascension Net's infrastructure was overtaken by the Plague. As a result, we suffered a momentary but severe outage until the backups on other worlds took over the processing burden."
He pauses for half a breath before adding, "But you need not be worried. We have backed up the connections and restored those we lost. They will return soon enough."
"That is good." Perii says slowly. She runs her fingers along the seams of her ornate red and gold dress, accentuating her figure. "But what of the War situation? For an entire planet to fall..."
"We lose minor planets all the time." Unarin says dismissively. "They do not possess much value, so we ignore them. Rarely do the Volgrim suffer a loss to our core systems. As I told Vetreus on the way here, one of our vassal species, the Demons, has recently obtained a unique ability to devour the Plague. Emperor Diablo has been core in pushing the Plague back, and thus we are looking to reward him with commendations, given time."
"So there is a light at the end of the galaxy." Another female Volgrim says. With skin as black as Randis's, she wears a light ensemble of skull-covered armor and other decorations on her tendrils to make herself appear fearsome to her foes. "Does that mean that you do not intend to awaken the Ascended after all?"
"Apologies, Admiral Merris." Unarin says. "I have not yet made up my mind. The War is looking winnable now, but it will take time for us to be sure."
"Mmm..." Merris says, her eyebrows knitting together. "My soldiers have long looked forward to making their triumphant return to the outer galaxy. I hope you will make a determination sooner rather than later."
Unarin tosses his hands lightly. "There are many conflicting factors at play. Placing the Ascended in the Plague's way could serve to empower our foes. I do not wish to do that unless necessary. In the meantime, Project Blinding Light may serve a greater purpose in the future. You should all prepare yourselves in case I need you to activate it."
"Is the project ready?" Perii asks. "I was under the impression it was... only experimental."
"It is." Unarin says mildly. "But should a crisis emerge, it will perform as predicted. I have looked into the theory myself and validated it with the High Technopaths."
"We should abide by Unarin's commands." Vetreus says, warning his fellow council members. "He is the one who saved our Empire. Unarin knows best."
"Unarin knows best." The other Ascended say, nodding their heads at him.
The meeting continues for a while, with Unarin informing everyone of the goings-on in the outer galaxy. Eventually, he concludes the talks, and departs the room with Vetreus at his side.
As the two men walk down the hall, Vetreus smiles at Unarin.
"All this heavy talk makes one's mind weak. Let us discuss something lighter."
Unarin nods. "That would be best."
"Your wife!" Vetreus says cheerfully. "How is she faring these days? She still has yet to enter the Ascended Net. She's still alive, isn't she?"
Unarin's expression remains calm. However, a faint gloominess builds up in his eyes. He lowers his gaze for a moment while he walks, but Vetreus does not notice.
"Yes. Muuxunuu... she is as well as ever." Unarin says numbly. "I've asked her to visit the Ascension Net time and time again, but she simply doesn't seem interested. I'm sorry for her... lack of concern."
"No, no. It is fine." Vetreus says, still smiling. "Lady Muuxunuu is truly the most beautiful of our people. The kindest, most compassionate. Ahh, so many suitors were jealous that you won her hand, back in the ancient times. Everyone feels more assured because she is there to keep your spirits up while you fight this damned War."
"Aye. Every time I look at her..." Unarin says, his words catching in his throat for half a breath, "...I feel the same love that I always have."
"Good, good." Vetreus says. "And what of Randis? Is your brother doing well, too?"
"He leads the war effort." Unarin says neutrally. "Every day, he manages tens of thousands of minor and major matters. The Empire would not be the same without him behind the scenes. Randis is... truly irreplaceable."
"Haha, excellent, most excellent." Vetreus says, never once having noticed the faint pain in Unarin's voice. To him, the First Founder has always been a cold and logical Sentient. He does not seem to be acting out of character in the least. "If it were not for the three of you, we might never have defeated those damned Sentinels. You must take care to always stick together, First Founder. Only the bonds of love you three share can give you the strength to stand bravely against our monstrous foes."
Unarin swallows a lump in his throat. "I couldn't... put it better if I tried."
Unarin finishes his business inside the Ascension Net, then he eventually disconnects.
His consciousness resurfaces inside the tank full of liquid, and he emerges from its watery depths soaked to the bone.
As the First Founder climbs out of the tank and splashes messily across the floor, Muuxunuu stands at the ready, a large towel held in her grasp.
"First Founder." Muuxunuu says emotionlessly. "Allow me to dry your body."
"Oh. You don't have to do that..." Unarin says. "I'll just use a sonic shower."
"Your statement is correct. I do not have to." Muuxunuu says. "But I still wish to do so."
"That... alright then." Unarin says softly.
He extends his arms outward, allowing the pink-skinned Ascended woman to wipe at his nude body, drying him attentively.
As Muuxunuu starts from his feet and works her way up, her eyes meet Unarin's when she goes to dry his arms. In that instant, a faint spark appears in her pupils.
But then it disappears.
She looks away and finishes drying him off.
Then, she steps back and looks at him with no expression at all.
"The task is finished. I have cleaned your clothes and set them over there."
Unarin doesn't immediately walk over to where she indicated. Instead, he stands in place, looking at her with a complicated gaze.
He takes a step toward Muuxunuu, and she remains in place.
Then he takes another step, and another...
He walks over to her, then strokes her neck with his hand. He plays with her hair-tendrils, but she still shows no reaction.
"You know..." Unarin says quietly. "Brother Vetreus asked about you. I had to lie to him again."
"What is there to lie about?" Muuxunuu asks, uncomprehending.
"What, indeed?" Unarin says bitterly.
He leans his face towards hers, as if to gently kiss her, but he pauses mid-movement and pulls away.
"No." Unarin says, lowering his eyes. "I don't deserve it."
Ultimately, he turns away from Muuxunuu and slowly shuffles back to his regal garb. He slides his robes back on, but each piece of fabric presses on him like an anvil, the burden of their significance feeling unearned, and making him uncomfortable from the bottom of his soul.
After he finishes, Unarin stares ahead blankly at the wall.
"...It was the right thing to do." He whispers. "I had to do it. It was the only way."
"But why... why did she have to pay the heaviest price?"
The question he whispers into the void receives no reply.
Perhaps there are no longer any who are capable of answering...

Welcome to The Oblivion Cycle universe, a vast setting spanning all of time and space and so much more. While many stories may shed perspective on this grand cosmic vista, there are also tales of adventure and sacrifice, romance and terror, grimdark corruption and scientific progress. To become immersed in the setting is to let the chaos of creativity flow through you, to let go of what is probable to discover what’s possible. I have created TOC for one reason, to inspire and entertain any who will listen. So please feel free to join me on this great adventure as I push the boundaries of what is possible and expand the limits of our creativity together. For more information on the setting and its lore there is a subreddit for TOC at TheOblivionCycle and a Discord server dedicated to it here [https://discord.gg/uGsYHfdjYf] called ‘The Oblivion Cycle Community Server’. I hope you find the following story entertaining and once more, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy.
+ E1:P1 + E3:P1 + Previous + Next +
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Continued From E3:P3
Balinski took a few steps down the hall towards the distant exit but stopped as he realised Daryon wasn’t following. He looked at her and the police woman seemed to shrink slightly. “What? What is it? We need to get moving, Daryon.”
He waited another second as she put her weapon away and compiled. She seemed strangely subdued now all of the sudden, as if she were embarrassed to be around him. They walked down the hall, thuds coming from behind them as the barred doors did their job. He reached out towards her but she flinched away slightly. “Okay, what is going on? What’s the issue?”
She walked a few more meters in silence and then spoke softly, “I jusst.. I didn't want you to have to ssee anything like that. Who I usssed to be.”
Balinski shook his head, he didn't care who she used to be in her past. He cared about who she was now. And who she was, was a friend. “Daryon, I don't give a znot’s ass about that asshole or what he said. You are my friend, and I promised that I would watch your back.” he had made the promise in order to calm her down, he didn't mention that he hadn't actually expected to have to cash in on it so soon.
She made a gesture of dejected misery, “I know you did. But you didn’t know who I used to be. What I did.. to ssurvive.” She looked at him and her tone became pleading. “Please don’t think less of me becausse I used to.. do things.”
Balinski shook his head. “Why would I think any less of you, Daryon?” She seemed to look at him in mild confusion, her faceplates cracking open to reveal the pink flesh of her lipless mouth. “I mean it. I have known you for a few months now, but we have been working together on this case for Siyel together for a few weeks now. I feel like we can trust each other with our secrets..” he trailed off, he was about to take a big step in trusting her.
He started hesitantly, now the large insectoid woman’s turn to hear something he didn’t like others to know. “Daryon..” he hesitated again and then took a deep breath. “I am not the hero that people make me out to be. I am simply the one that survived. And not even by being brave.” She looked at him, her head cocking slightly as he spoke. “I was placed on perimeter watch, I never even entered the complex before the destruction. Ima fraud, I never even fired a single shot at the rebels that day.” he stopped talking and slumped slightly himself.
It felt strangely liberating to get it off his chest, even if it was not the whole truth of what had happened in actuality. No, the whole truth was far too dangerous to share. “So now you know. I’m not the war hero who took out the enemies of the Union single handedly. I'm just the scared little boy that the commander of my unit did not trust enough to take into battle. And I have to live with that, the images still haunt me. My comrades shattered bodies, the blood.. The fire..”
He felt a wave of pain crashed through his mind, the memories once more causing the psychic anguish to overwhelm him. He raised his hands to his head and groaned quietly, he felt himself backslide towards that dark personal oblivion that was the pit of his past trauma. He stopped, or rather something stopped him.
He looked up as a voice brought him back to the present, “..can’t help you if I don’t know what’ss wrong, Balinski.”
He shook his head and stood. “I.. sorry. I have an.. a condition.” He finished lamely.
Daryon seemed to look him over without moving. Her bright blue compound eyes were able to see so much without her having to turn her head. She reached out and gave his shoulder a pat. “I get it. I think I do at leasst.”
He had a thousand things he could have said in response ranging from cruel to straight up flirtatious. But he never got to explore any of the options as just then a mighty crash echoed through the hall. This was soon followed up by the sound of distant screams and angry yelling.
He looked at Daryon briefly and then began running down the hall again. They skidded around the corner into the final stretch and up the slight incline towards the exit. Next to the door stood Dunmec and a slightly battered looking Terri, the yeown woman looked to be bleeding from several cuts across her forearms. They looked like they had been made by some manner of sharp objects.
Despite her oozing injuries the woman was beaming, her long pointed ears and wide predatory grin as gleeful as he had ever seen one of the big werewolf-like aliens. As they made their mad dash up towards the exit he also noticed that the tall umraghj was bandaging her wounds, the soft buzz of their synthetic voice echoing through the enclosed space.
“..andeged like this tightly or you may get infected. I don’t know why you had to go and do something like that Terri.” Balinski was able to pick up on the tail end of their muted conversation. “What’s that? Hey, it’s you two! You won’t believe what happened..”
Balinski skidded to a halt, breathing hard. Daryon was only centimeters behind. He saw Terri bristle, her mantle hair standing on end as she stood and whirled to face them. In her haste she scattered the small first aid kit that Dunmec had been using.
As she looked back and forth between them a gleam of recognition flashed in her eyes and she glanced at the umraghj who was busy trying to pick up the scattered debris of her suspicion. “This is the ones?” She seemed at once curious and skeptical.
He gave her a nod and a synthetic grunt as he stood with some difficulty despite the exosuit he wore. The gravity of the planet was nearly a perfect standard G, but the umraghj had evolved on a planet with much lower gravity and thusly had trouble standing unaided under standard gravity.
Balinski nodded to her as he reached them and then gestured towards the door. “We need to get out of here, like right now.”
“Too late, look out!” Daryon yelled as she dodged into the small alcove to the side of the chamber. Balinski twitched as he meant to follow, but in that second of hesitation he realised that Dunmec was entirely out in the open, and the approaching henchmen had drawn their guns.
The fool had gone for the exit, in a second he would likely be riddled with bullets and dead. Balinski stepped towards the man just as the thugs opened fire at him with an AP-6 submachine gun. He threw up an arm to shield his face as he felt a series of impacts against his chest and legs. He grunted in pain as he was thrown backwards by the force of the absorbed impacts. He swore internally as he slammed into the door right next to the cowering Dunmec, that was going to hurt like a bitch in the morning.
Dunmec lowed in fear, the electronic tone of the sound magnified by the distortion of his suit. Balinski coughed as he reached up and grabbed the man right as another flurry of shots flew their way. The umraghj jerked in either fear or pain as Balinski used his body to shield the man while simultaneously dragging him towards cover. He tried to send a mental alert to Caesar for backup but didn’t feel the transmission go. He couldn't be sure that the message had been sent, much less been received.
It looked like they were on their own. A bullet nicked his neck, causing him to jerk. With a last herculean effort he hauled the tall alien into the cover of the alcove while the other three tried to shelter in place. “Daryon, waste these fucks.” he shouted to her, unholstering his ThunderEagle and tossing it to her.
She grabbed it out of the air deftly and gave a grim looking nod, her antennae pressed down her back as she leaned out from cover and fired a shot off. He didn’t see if she hit anything as he was preoccupied with the whimpering Dunmec.
Terri was hovering nearby, her bloody wounds forgotten as the unfinished bandages hung from her arms. “Oh no! Oh-oh no.” the woman muttered as Balinski looked the suited man over. He had a small puncture in the shoulder of his suit, a thick green liquid seeped from the wound. The man’s chlorine based blood stained the fabric of the suit as Balinski checked him for patches.
He pointed to Terri, the woman still looking a little freaked out. “Hey, you.” Her chatoyant blue eyes snapped to his face. “First aid kit, now. I can help him if you help me!” He told her loudly as Daryon fired another two shots.
“Two down!” The vinarfel shouted. “I never sshould have let myssself get dragged in here.” He heard her mutter, as if anything he said or did would have stopped her from entering the building. She opened the revolver’s chamber and asked, “You got reloads?”
Balinski nodded and handed her a handful of bullets, AP, HE and others. He hadn’t looked, he had just grabbed some from his pockets as he lay on the ground wheezing slightly through the pain in his chest. Tarri had grabbed the first aid kit that Dunmec had been rummaging around in and he flung open the lid to see what he was working with. His own medkit he wore on his waist would come in handy if he couldn't find what he needed.
He looked through it as more gunfire erupted from down the hall, it sounded as if the gunmen in the hall had been reinforced. Balinski ignored it, instead focusing on the injured alien. Dunmec was breathing heavy, his eyes just visible through the HUD visor he wore. Balinski placed a hand on the man’s injured shoulder causing him to moan in pain.
“Hey, stay with me kid. This might hurt a bit, but I need to seal the wound. It looks like the bullet is still inside, I am going to have to get it out.” He watched as the man nodded, his breathing taking in a more fearful pitch.
Terri hovered by his side, dancing from foot to foot as she mumbled in some manner of near incoherent babble. He gave her a look, pausing in his work. “Terri, I need space. Most importantly I need you to watch my partner’s back. Here, take this.” He undid his ammo belt, handing it to her he gave her a small smile, “I got this. Don’t worry. I'm a professional.”
The yeown rushed off to help Daryon, now alone with the injured man he reached for the kit and located a small vitatector. He switched the portable MRI detector on and scanned over the wound. The small device beeped and showed an interior scan of the man’s injury. The bullet had been slowed by his suit, it looked like and embedded itself in the bone just next to his shoulder joint. It would be a difficult fix, but he had done this before on the battlefield on several occasions when a designated medic wasn’t available.
Balinski grabbed a small pair of packaged forceps from his own medical pouch. They had been stored in antiseptic fluid that he used to sterilise the wound as he ripped the package open. Dunmec once more cried out in pain as the liquid seeped into the open wound but Balinski sat him up against the wall and held him still with his free hand.
He looked at the man and asked him, “This is going to hurt. I don’t have any anesthetic that will work on you, I recommend that you hold onto my arm and squeeze as hard as you feel the need to.”
The umraghj nodded, their long double jointed arms reached out and his suited hands gripped his free arm. Balinski breathed deep and then pushed the tool into the wound to where the vitatector had told him to. It took a few seconds to find the bullet, in that time the man’s hands tightened down hard enough on his arm to make the allow creak concerningly. He felt the tool slip of the bullet and he swore.
“Luck damned thing! Come one!” He fished for it again and succeeded in getting a grip on it the second time. He had to work it back and forth a few times to loosen the projectile from its death grip. As soon as the projectile was free he dropped the forceps to grab some sterile gauze, he needed to stop the bleeding and didn't have a QTube handy. He needed to requisition more from the precinct when he got the chance.
He checked the man’s waist pouches quickly and found a patch kit. He squirted some basic medical foam into the wound, it would swell and keep pressure on the wound internally. It didn’t have the healing properties of a QTube, but it would keep the man from bleeding out. Balinski used a sterile bandage to clean the suit as best he could before applying the patch to it. Oxygen wasn’t harmful to the man, but it might not be good if the pressurised chlorinated atmosphere from inside the suit got out.
He reached for the first aid kit and closed it before patting the man on his shoulder. He was still lucid, impressive as most non-combat oriented species of the Union would quickly succumb to shocksleep when injured. Dunmec must be tougher than his lanky frame looked at a glance.
Daryon shouted as he stood. “Alright, they just got rushed by club staff it looks like. They are laying down their arms!” She scuttled back into the cover of the alcove as shouting replaced the sound of gunfire in the distance. She handed him his .50 calibre revolver and he replaced it into his shoulder holster as Terri rushed to Dunmec’s side.
She spoke quickly, “Oh.. oh Dunmec.. I’m so sorry. Are you alright? You got shot!” She added, a bit obviously.
The downed alien just coughed lightly and shook his helmeted head while reaching up towards the muscular alien woman. “I feel bad. But not as bad as I did before I met you.” He said the lines in an almost practised way, as if he had been waiting for the opportunity to use them for a while.
Balinski snorted slightly under his breath at the cheesy line causing Daryon to punch him in the shoulder. He gave her a glance as Terri lifted the nearly three meter tall man to his feet. He leaned heavily on her much shorter frame, but she didn't seem to mind. Her powerful muscles easily compensated for the additional strain as she replied to him, “Well, that was before. Now you don’t have to feel bad or scared. I will protect you now. I won't let anyone else hurt you, I promise.” Dunmec just chuckled and then groaned in discomfort.
Balinski stood straight as he heard the sound of approaching footsteps, his hand flashed inside of his trench coat. His fingers finding the handgrip of his gun as a quartet of heavily armed people rounded the corner with MR-12s raised.
Daryon automatically raised her hands and after a moment he did as well, relinquishing his grip on the gun reluctantly. A tattooed nerivith female stepped forwards, her face taken up on one side by a flowing vine-like pattern that disappeared into the collar of her suit. She wore a bullet resistant vest over the top of it, very much business-combat attire.
She nodded her horned head to them and shouted loudly, “You two, get on the ground! No funny business or you will find out just how much I care about problem brewers in my establishment.” She stopped as Terri rushed forwards.
The yeown woman’s arms were still wrapped up in the bandages from earlier and spots of bright red blood dripped slowly from at least one of the deep cuts. “Stop! These two saved us, literally. The human took some bullets to save Dunmec, he got shot by those packbreakers.” She spat the last word with considerable venom. Her disdain for the submachine gun wielding men was obvious.
The nerivith woman looked from Terri to Dunmec a few times before stepping closer to Balinski with a suspicious look. “Hands all the way up, move and I’ll give you another orifice to breathe through.” She stepped close and opened his coat, her hand feeling his ballistic vest that had stopped the first burst of automatic fire. She nodded and then stepped back before lowering her gun.
“Don't touch that hand cannon in your shoulder holster, but I think I trust you. Who are you two and what the smeg are you doing antagonising these jerkoffs?” The pink skinned alien demanded as she looked between him and Daryon.
Balinski gave Daryon a glance and she nodded before raising one of her middle arms. “I can ansswer that for you.” She pulled out a physical badge from her back pocket and handed it to the woman.
The club workers' tufted tail flicked as she took it and Balinski watched as her raven colored eyebrows rose. “CPD? What the hel are you doing here, if you don’t mind me asking?”
Daryon spoke again, the nerivith woman frowning as she laid out the tale in as accurate a fashion as she could without compromising their true agenda. “Well, we were following a lead to a persson of interessst when we were accossted by these men for ssome unfathomable reason. We tried to run and when that didn’t work we defended ourselves to the full legal extent of the law. You may notice that I didn't shoot to kill, at least not on purposse.” She added with a slightly guilty hiss.
Terri let out a small noise as she said it. The woman likely still in some manner of mild shock, despite her species violent natures, death was not always so easy to grasp. The gun-wielding woman turned to the few other club workers that had come with her and commanded, “Tell the boss what happened, call the police. I want this wrapped up as soon as possible. I’m not taking the fall for this one.” She turned back to Balinski and punched him in the chest, not hard enough to be aggressive but still with considerable force. “I think I like you, big man. You got some horns on you, I guess I don't have to ask you to wait for the police to arrive to give a statement do I?”
Balinski chuckled and glanced towards Terri and Dunmec. “No, you don't have to worry. I will be submitting a full report of the events..” He wasn't able to finish as a loud thud echoed from the main door followed by a series of loud percussive noises. Everyone immediately went on high alert but Balinski raised a hand. “No, it's okay, that’s my backup. Fashionably late as usual. Here, let me get the door so she knows it alright.” He looked towards Terri who nodded.
The nerivith woman’s gun was still raised but she nodded too. “Be my guest.” She gestured for him to go ahead. He walked to the door and unlatched it before swinging it open slightly. Before he could say anything, Caesar burst through it as she pushed it out of his grip. He grunted in mild discomfort as she slammed into his legs and landed in a stunned heap.
Chuckling as the embarrassed looking dog stood to her feet, he watched as she shook her triangular head. “You big oaf. Everything is fine now girl, thanks for coming though.” he reached down and gave her head a scrub that made her grumble in annoyance like a put upon teenager.
Daryon scuttled over on her short, pointed legs and Caesar perked up a little. “Oh you brave warrior, you would have ssaved usss for ssure if Balinsski had just taken you with uss.” She gave him a look, her faceplates cracked in her version of a grin. He could only shake his head as the nerivith woman walked up to him once more.
“Alright, I need to get this mess cleaned up. I beg your pardon if I ask you not to come back here on official business again?” He nodded.
He pointed to the door. “It wasn’t my plan to cause such a disruption when I came in here.”
She shook her raven haired head. “It’s all over now. No sense worrying about what did and didn't happen. It just so happens that we have had trouble with these individuals before. So as far as I see it you did us a favour because we now have cause to bar them from ever coming back.” She nodded again as she said it, her smile flashing at him. As she did he noticed that she had several gold teeth.
She turned and stalked away, her tail lashing behind her. Balinski rubbed his chest and then glanced down at Caesar. “Yeah, you did good in coming. If we hadn’t been able to make it out your backup would have been the thing we needed.” She just gave him a little bark and then headbutted his thigh affectionately.
Daryon was talking to Terri and the still slouching Dunmec. Balinski got the feeling he didn’t need the support as much as he was simply enjoying being physically close to the brawny furred alien.
Balinski decided to walk over to them to hear what they were whispering about. He picked up on the conversation as he neared. Terri was speaking, “Yes. She likely will keep trying to force her ideas on me, but I already beat her once and she won't ever be able to forget that. It is an exploitable weakness if we should ever lock claws again. Thank you for your concern.”
The woman looked over at him as he approached, her eyes settling on Caesar. “Oh, what’s that?” She exclaimed.
Caesar tossed her little head and gave him a look as if to say, ‘What? Another one?’ He chuckled and gave her a pat on the head. “This is my erstwhile companion and oldest living friend, Caesar. She is a cybernetically enhanced dog, a Jureillion husky to be precise. She’s got cognitive implants, you can talk to her if you want.” He prompted.
The yeown woman gave him a look that seemed as if she was unsure of herself. Finally she reached out and spoke softly, “Wow, look at you. You kind of look a little like my grandmother, it's uncanny.” Caesar snorted at the comment and then walked over for free head scritches, grumbling contentedly as she received them. “Ok she is so.. I mean, you are so soft. I love her.”
Caesar seemed to be enjoying the attention. Dunmec spoke now, the suited alien’s robotic sounding voice wheezing out from his helmet’s speakers. “I just wanted to thank you again for saving my life, man. Here, take this.” the man handed him something, it was a datachip card. An old style one too. “If you ever want to get a hold of me..” he glanced at Terri and she nodded, “..or Terri. Just call me with the number on that card.”
Balinski had to nod as he heard the faint sound of sirens coming from the still open door. “I will do that. You two take care of each other.”
Terry gave a wide grin, her teeth clinting in the light. “Oh, we will.” Daryon gave her a pat on the back as she followed Balinski out the door. Caesar hot on her tail.
He took a few steps out into the night and then patted his pockets. He grunted in mild delight as he found what he was looking for. It was a small shiny package of pibbles, the small candies one of his favorites. He poured a few out into his open mouth and jerked as he felt a tap on his shoulder. He glanced over, it was Daryon.
“Pibble?” he asked her with his mouth full. She seemed to smile slightly and offered a hand into which he poured a few of the colorful candies.
He chewed vigorously on the fruity sugar orbs as he contemplated the massive shitstorm they had just managed to walk out of. Daryon must have been thinking the same thing as she gave a loud sigh, “Wow.. that was. Well, it wassn't good.”
He just nodded silently. They stayed that way for another few seconds before he turned to her. “What did we actually get out of that old skorp? Anything that we can use to track down the one’s behind the attack?”
Daryon walked a few paces away and then returned quickly, the side-to-side scuttling motion of her pacing threw him off a little. “I really don’t know. The trail hasss gone cold, without another major lead I am fearful that we will losse them. That ssimply isn't acceptable to me.” He nodded, she was right.
He would have liked to respond but it was about that time that a series of screeching vehicles covered in flashing lights skidded into view at the end of the alley. He sighed and fished around in his trench coat for his credentials. “Here we go..” He muttered to which Daryon gave an amused hiss.
A series of officers rushed down the alley with guns drawn, shouts directed their way. It took only a few minutes of back and forth with them to convince them that they were in fact officers, or in Balinski’s case, employed by the CPD.
When it was over he gave a statement and almost a whole hour after they had walked down the alley he found himself leaving it. A bit the worse for wear but secure in the knowledge that they had at least put down a dangerous criminal for their trouble.
Daryon scuttled along beside him, “Gee, I ssure hope the club doesn't get into any ssort of trouble for thisss.”
The comment caught him off guard and he chuckled. “Yeah, they seemed like downright decent folk for running a burlesque underground club.” She gave him a pointed look, her antennae shooting up as she looked like she was about to rebuke him. He raised his arms in mock surrender before she could though, “Oh hey, not saying I didn’t like the place. Just that they likely were not excited to see the boys in blue.”
It was a fair point and she conceded. “Yeah, I ssuppose. But I think we sstill got out of there with a halfway decent lead.”
Now it was his turn to look shocked as they crossed the street, weaving between emergency vehicles to get to the opposite side of the gloomy street. The flashing of emergency lights was behind her and it made her eyes glitter like gemstones, he frowned. “What do you mean? That crusty old skorp didn’t tell us anything we didn’t already suspect.”
She raised an arm and pointed to the wall. He looked and noticed the graffiti for the first time. The one in particular she was gesturing to was a gang affiliated symbol for the Sunstarters. “I can ssay with sssome measure of certainty that we might be able to look around for ssome additional cluesss.”
The Sunstarters were known distributors for the Psychosis Division. It stood to reason that if the Pit Vipers had gotten involved with the Psychs then they were likely also involved with the Sunstarters. Balinski clapped his hands together and smiled, they might just have a lead indeed. What had the old skorp said? To follow the source?
They walked into the large parking garage and to his big blue truck, as they climbed back inside he leaned his head back. “That was a bit of a fuckfest. Are you hungry, I’m hungry.” Indeed almost as he said it he felt a small grumble from his middle.
Daryon made an affirmative gesture, her antennae moving excitedly. “Oh yess, where do you want to go for lunch? Ullnek’ss Hut maybe? McDoinkss?”
He folded his arms. He wasn’t really in the mood for greasy burgers or razah’voolian seafood. No, he would have to think about it. “Why don’t we just drive around till we find something interesting? We need to keep an eye out for any good leads too.”
He started the truck as the large insectoid woman gave Caesar a head pat while nodding. “Okay. But if you see a TFDs then we are sstopping immediately, isss that fair?”
Balinski shrugged. He liked fried drebble as much as anything else. Caesar however seemed very excited by the idea of crispy breaded arthropod as she woofed happily. He shook his head and looked back out the window. He would have to keep his eyes peeled for one of the yellow and black spotted stores.
**********
Balinski smacked his lips happily as he took another great bite out of the steaming fried drebbleloaf sandwich. The snallke was fresh and the pickles were crispy, just the way he liked them. Glancing over at the other two revealed similar scenes of personal enjoyment. Caesar was snacking on some popcorn drebble and Daryon was cleaning out a six-piece bucket of BBQ drebble graspers. Her long radula snaked from her lipless mouth between her opened faceplates as he watched, mildly intrigued to watch the alien woman eat.
He took another bite of his sandwich as Daryon sucked the meat off another fried and breaded grasper. Lacking a jaw she was unable to chew but her radula and powerful cheek muscles made up for her lack as she deftly disassembled the meat with the skill of a surgeon.
She waved the de-meated shell and gave a small hissing sigh as another of her ten arms reached out for the Smarkus grape soda sitting in the dash drink-holder. “Ahhh… Yeah, that'ss the sstuff. How’sss your ssandwich?” She looked at him without moving her head, her compound eyes making her constantly aware of her surroundings in a manner that some might describe as unsettling.
He got the feeling she was watching him eat too, his mastication of the sandwich as inherently alien to him as her own strange method of ingestion was to him. As he took another bite her curiosity seemed to get the better of her. He saw her head cock a little as she asked, “Sso, can you feel with your teeth? I know that you can’t tasste with them. I read that much on the hyperweb at leassst.”
He finished chewing and swallowed before giving her a wide smile. She froze, her fascination with his teeth obvious. “Yeah, kind of. I was lucky that I didn't lose them. It's not uncommon for people who go through.. what I did, to have their teeth shatter. And when they go they don’t come back.”
She nodded slightly as she took a loud slurp of her soda. “Yeah, I read that humanss only get a sssingle sset of adult teeth in their life. No wonder they are so hard, you have to keep using them for a hundred yearss.”
He looked out the window, they were driving slowly around the entertainment district looking for anything that might point them in the right direction. He wasn’t really too sure what he was looking for to be honest, but Daryon insisted that she knew what to look for. He nodded towards a distant structure, it rose so high it went out of sight. “What’s that there?”
Daryon made a loud noise as she cleared her throat. “That’ss one of the upper-city sspires. It connectss the people up there to the ones down here, think of it as a vertical metro..” She trailed off before pointing to something in the near distance. Her BBQ bucket forgotten. “Hey.. hey right there.. Sstop. Pull over.” She tapped him on the shoulder with one of her lower arms rapidly and he obliged.
He looked forwards and saw nothing out of the ordinary, a few people walking along the edge of the street. There was a tall human woman leaning against one of the street signs at the corner, she was dressed in some tight fitting dress and high heels but other than that looked as normal as the rest of them.
Daryon put her yellow and black spotted grasper bucket on the dash and cleaned her hands at the same time she undid her seatbelt and straightened her clothing. She stopped fussing after a moment and then pulled a soft cloth out of one of the inner pockets of her overcoat and used it to polish her eyes. She replaced it and then held out her arms, “Well, how do I look?”
Balinski took the opportunity to give her a completely unabashed once over. He shrugged, “You look like you. What can I say?”
She seemed to smirk. “Alright, good enough. You know you have a way with words Balinski, any girl would just swoon to hear such things.” He frowned but didn't get to reply as she continued, “I’ll be right back. Sstay there and try not to look too harmlesss. This will only take a ssecond.
She slithered out of the truck and he kept his eyes firmly forwards this time as she closed it and sauntered off, well as much as the fifty-two legged alien was able too. He noticed that she had once more adopted that somewhat provocative side to side sway in her stride as she walked away from him. He just shook his head, she was doing it again.
Continued In E3:P5
==End of transmission==

Blurb: Stranded on the hell-planet of Arachnea, the last remnants of the human Fleet fight to survive in a world overrun by insectoid monsters and a sentient ecosystem gone mad. It is a war they are destined to lose, as with every century that passes, more of the ancient science lies forgotten, replaced by myth and superstition. That is, until assistant navigator Rene stumbles the mightiest weapon of the ancestor-gods...
Link for more chapters available here!: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
As he ran, Rene relived the utter savagery of that moment that lingered so fresh in his mind.
The very stone had come alive with the enemy. Thick screens of vine were torn violently aside to reveal sally ports gnawed into the soft rock face. From each one spewed forth a dozen Amits, creatures nearly a meter and a half tall, with broad sets of shoulders and hips supporting four short, powerful limbs. An extra pair of shriveled arms emerged from the chest cavity. These served the purpose of fine motor control, while the rest were solely for digging and killing. Their necks and torsos were armored in segmented chitin, atop which rested huge oblate skulls that gleamed like dull pearls. The albino beasts flexed their curved mandibles and charged, armored heads lowered, each towering brute swinging a crude maul or axe head of chiseled flint.
“First rank, fire!”
The men discharged a furious volley. The beasts staggered, but only a handful were struck in the vital mark. Mouths consisting of a dozen moving parts rustled in screams of wordless rage. That was another unnerving thing about the Amits: they fought and died in utter silence.
They were closing fast. First rank withdrew and began reloading in a panic. A boulder came crashing down from the heights and dashed the brains out from a man to Rene’s left. He blinked as a fragment of bone grazed his cheek.
“Second rank, ready!”
The Amits reached for them, a terrible hunger in their lidless, milk-white eyes. Right before the moment of contact, the second line stepped forward and discharged the special-issue ammunition.
Clouds of orange smoke erupted from each muzzle. The Amit reared back, their sensitive olfactory organs assaulted by acrid vapors. They milled about in confusion, lashing out blindly in every direction. With cries of desperate bravery, the men unsheathed their bayonets and threw themselves at their foes.
There were few things that could permanently kill an Amit. Bullets and blades pierced them well enough, provided one avoided the armor, but such was their physiology that major organ damage was often negated by redundant systems. They had two brains for primary motor functions and three chambered organs for the distribution of vitae, and the destruction of one wouldn’t cripple them for certain. The only instantly fatal wound was to sever a thick bundle of nerves located near the base of their gargantuan heads, right behind the mouth.
Of course, getting there alive was the trick; one still had to account for the mandibles.
In teams of threes they singled out individuals and went to work. Rene and Lethway took the flanks, taking turns to dart in under the wild swings to stab the pair of cortexes at either side of the body. The beast snapped its jaws sideways, distracted, and Jensen seized that moment to step in close and bury his hatchet in the center of its face. The first blow rebounded off the thick cranium with a gonglike sound, but the second bit deep. The Amit went limp and collapsed, yellow blood frothing down its jowls.
Jensen yelled with triumph and reached down to retrieve his weapon. He took hold of the haft and began to yank it free. The Amit’s eyes flickered open, glittering with baleful light. It spasmed, and a clear fluid fountained up at Jensen, drenching his arm to the elbow. He screamed in agony; in a matter of moments the acid ate through his sealant suit and peeled his flesh raw.
Rene ducked as a stone the size of a cart wheel flew past. All around them on every hillock and cliff face, more and more Amit clambered to meet them, mandibles spread wide in anticipation. Worse still, the clever ones had begun to circle around behind them. If they managed to bottle up the defile they would be trapped and killed to a man.
Deschane had reached the same conclusion. He bellowed:
“First rank! First rank, about face and fire at will!”
What was left of them rushed to comply. Most of the first rank had managed to load their own noxious cartridges in time, and a second cloud of sulphurous compounds scattered the Amit at their rear.
“Disperse and overlap! Make for the outpost!”
Rene and the rest of the men fought through under a hail of hurled projectiles, stumbling over the broken bodies littering the ground, mauled beyond recognition, bisected, Amits shot and stabbed and hacked into twitching heaps of meat, human skulls split by axe heads and dripping cranial fluid. T. He saw one man caught out by a pair of beasts who took an arm and a leg each and pulled him shrieking into the dark mouth of a tunnel. Several other unfortunates shared his grisly fate, disappeared beneath the earth with loud wails.
_______________________________________________________
They fled, but not in wild terror. Rather, they each found a partner and took off in separate directions. The eyesight of an Amit was good only for a few dozen meters, beyond which they had to operate by scent and sound. Arguably this fact did not help much, as these senses were highly tuned and superior to vision for the purposes of tracking and killing, but it was not impossible to confuse them.
And so Rene now ran alone. Like the others he had picked a direction and taken off as fast as his legs could carry him. In his haste he had forgotten to attach himself to a partner. He was beginning to regret it. His pursuer was gaining on him, how he could not say. He darted a quick glance behind him, then looked back in time to narrowly duck a low branch that swiped at his face.
It was coming at an oblique angle to his path, and in a moment it would close the distance and take him from behind with the terrible strength of its jaws.
But not if he had anything to say about it. Rene reached out, seized the narrow trunk of a sapling and swung himself around. With his other hand he drew his pistol and aimed.
The Amit stumbled, flopped onto the ground, and began to swear.
“Why, you absolute bastard!”
“Lethway?”
“Watch where you’re pointing that thing, you imbecile!”
Rene laughed with hysterical relief.
“Don’t see why you’re so pleased,” Lethway said, getting up and spitting out saliva thick with clotted blood, “Bastards almost got me.” Lethway was nursing a shallow, jagged cut at his side from an axe. His sealant suit was torn open, twists of rubber lining peeping through.
“They may yet still. Were you the one on the whistle?”
“No. That was Damus. He was too slow. You got a whistle on you?”
“Yes. How many minutes has it been?”
“Damned if I know. Figure we intersect now?”
“Aye.”
Rene blew on the whistle, and the two of them began to run. On either side of them, other pair answered with a whistle of their own, and they came crashing into view from the side. They nodded to one another as they passed. Their paths began to wind and crisscross as the men ran in extended, overlapping figures of eight.
The aim of dispersion was to create a messy trail of scents for the Amit to follow, winding patterns that ended as suddenly as they began, the aromas of some individuals mingling with that of others. The maneuver would buy them time and split the attention of the horde.
The Amits, confounded for the moment, passed quickly out of their hearing, milling about the undergrowth in confusion. Rene and Lethway ran until their lungs gave out, then settled into a measured jog.
“We’ll head south for a bit, until morning comes.” Rene was saying, “We’ll find a nice tall hill, do a bit of scouting, see what the roundheads are up to. Maybe find some of the others. Then we’ll head south west and find the river. Wash our scent off, follow it east to the outpost.”
They stopped abruptly, listened hard. From far off they heard a long, plaintive wail as the Amit caught themselves a straggler.
If they had needed motivation not to break off their breakneck flight, they had it now. They heard him being butchered for quite some time before his cries faded away into silence.
“Better him than us,” Lethway spat bitterly, “Can you still run?” “I can now,” Rene said, and together they crashed on through the green hell that had swallowed their friends.
Link for more chapters available here!: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

After all this and that ‘bout Barry Obama having queer fantasies come to light, it reminded me bout a disturbing fishin’ incident that happened to me a while back. Let me tell ya’ll about it.
Old Bob and I were sittin’ in my old john boat in the bend of the river, fishin’ fer flatheads. We wuz using rotten chicken gizzards fer bait, soaked in my “secret sauce” and marinated therein in the hot Alabama sun fer 3 days and nights. This here marinade is one foul concoction that been handed down frum generations to generation fer decades! It am one one-quarter Coca-Cola, one quarter sugar cane, one quarter hog piss, one quarter virginal menses, and one more quarter Louisiana Hot Sauce. We put them thar rotten chicken gizzards in this shit, bless the concoction with several Satanic spells, incantations, and rituals, all under the light of the 7th full moon of the season, then let it stew in the hot sun fer 3 days, not one day less and not one day more.
When them old rotten gizzards are ready they give off a certain pulsating red and yeller glow, along with a low frequency humming sound. This here is the “magic period”, both literally and figuratively. Them thar dad-blamed flat head cats will be beatin’ each other off to git to the bait! Hell, sumtimes I gots to beat off old Bob to keep him outa my gizzard, I tell ya what!
So thar we wuz, sittin in a bend in the Chupacabra River, soaking our lines and waiting fer the action to begin. Old Bob and I were jest shootin’ the shit, ya know. Now, fer sum reason we got to talkin’ bout them thar homosexuals. I mused audibly, “Hmmm … A man, having sexual relations with…anutha man… Well, if’n that jest don’t beat all! I cain’t figure out how sech a thang is even possible.” Then I asked Bob, “Does ya think this here ‘homosexual’ shit is even real? I been livin all my live here in Moonshine Hollow and I ain’t never did dun seed any sech behavior.”
Now, this here is whar shit got real weird. As old Bob sat thar, fishin’ pole in one hand and a cold Pabst Blue Ribbon in the other, staring off into the void, he said, “Well sir, I make love to men everyday, in my imagination. I am androgynous in my mind, and seek to become more so each day. But then I return to my male body and accept that contingency”, Bob said.
Stunned into silence fer a spell, I eventually spoke up and asked my old fishing buddy, “Uh, Bob… What the fuck is you talkin’ bout, son?” Well, it were right about then that this here big ole gator came flying outa the water and across my lil boat, taking old Bob into its powerful jaws and away with him back into the black inky depths.
“GODDAMNIT!!!”, I exclaimed, “Bob spilled his goddamn beer!!” At least the sumbitch left me sum instead of takin it all with him.
I finished Bob’s beer, and mine, then popped open another cold one. It were about that time that them old catfish got fired up and started biting!! I filled up my boat with flatheads and channel cats that day. In fact, I had so many fish in my boat that I was starting to take on water over the stern. So I had to call it a day.
Later on, and at home, I was cleaning fish in the kitchen sank. My old lady, Ethel Jean, wuz already passed out on the couch, drunker than a skunk. So I dun figured I would clean them thar fish inside so I could listen to the 6 o’clock news as I worked.
As I dun the job I started thinking about poor old Bob and his demise. Frankly, I believe that his passing was a blessing. I am not sayin’ that ya’ll ought to die from the assault of a giant man-eating lizard, or otherwise, if’n you is having homosexual fantasies. What I mean is that his expedited passing was a blessing because it meant that I was spared having to ponder that thar that is so odious and foul to our conscience and morality.
In fact, I do thinks that Bob’s end was divinely deevined at his request. Clearly, nobody wants to burden thar kinfolk with stories bout homosexual fantasies and sech. Poor old Beatrice would have left Bob if’n she dun did think old Bob was fantasizing about wrasslin’ a Johnson.
Yessir, this here were fer the best. Old Bob’s chilluns can rest easy knowing that thar daddy was eatin’ by a hungry gator, and not that he were eatin’ trouser snakes. Yep, all is well thanks to that thar ole gator.

For context the Forge World Columnus sits in the path of a massive Ork Weirdwaagh led by the powerful Ork Psyker Zagdakka. The Raven Guard have engaged the Waagh and have been harassing it to give the Forge World time to prepare its defences. When Clan Raukaan of the Iron Hands, led by Captain Kristos: a powerful and accomplished Iron Hands warleader renowned for his embrace of logic arrive to bolster the defences victory seems assured. However, as the Orks assault the fortress factory of Urdi the Iron Hands refuse to reinforce the defenders.
This excerpt is shown through an Iron Hands marine accessing a bank of data that allows him to relive the battle which is why there's a part mentioning some data being restricted. I think this excerpt is very interesting for showing a major incident within the Iron Hands when they were at their lowest point in-lore.

Having harried these orks for every metre they took towards Urdri, Stenn knew that this was no ordinary invasion.
He had heard in dispatches of the psychic energies that flowed through their Gargants – weapon grids, shields and piercing uncanny augurs – and that brought their lumpen drop ships to ground still. He had heard too of the court of warpheads with which the self-styled warpboss, Zagdakka, surrounded himself, and had lost two squads of his most experienced Scouts in a failed attempt at thinning their numbers. He saw now with his own eyes the weird energy that flowed through these greenskins in their battle-madness like some manner of psychic connective tissue, the brawn and sinew of some gestalt ork that drove them unto death with a single, overriding will.
The fire discipline of the Raven Guard and their mortal allies slaughtered greenskins every minute by the hundred, but they didn’t seem to care, hurling themselves recklessly against the Imperial guns as though possessed. Not that the blasted Iron Hands would allow for the slightest deviation from their precious calculus. Stenn sneered, his pistol emitting a final hiss as coolant jets sprayed from the weapon’s muzzle and the vents locked. He thumbed off the safety and selected rapid fire. He could teach the Iron Hands a thing or two about logic.
‘Kristos, you honourless shell, I’m talking to you.’ He raged into the vox as he seared the heaving mass of orks with plasma. Too soon, heat warnings blinked red on the pistol’s side and he was forced to flick back to vent. ‘I need reinforcements and I need them now. Now, Kristos! I want a creeping artillery barrage walking outwards from the outer wall over the southern highway and I want aeronautica backup. Kristos!’
‘Captain,’ shouted Yavid. His company standard-bearer was on one knee behind the low wall and blazing into the horde with tight semi-automatic bursts of his pistol. He jerked his beaked helm towards the wrecked loading yard to the northeast of haulage depot 764. Stenn looked to where his brother pointed.
A squad of Iron Hands Centurions, almost as well camouflaged as the Raven Guard themselves in their huge black warsuits and perfect stillness. Their hurricane bolters were unloaded and pointed at the ground or at walls, whichever direction they had happened to be facing when the strange malaise of inaction had taken them.
Stenn regarded them with fury. The few Iron Hands he had seen had been that way, ever since the unexpected psychic onslaught had levelled the south wall outright. At first he had wondered if it was a secondary effect of Zagdakka’s powers, but the Raven Guard and their mortal allies were unaffected. Yavid had a replacement eye as well as a bionic arm and he remained functional, as did the crew interfaces of their vehicles. As did the damned skitarii.
‘Kristos!’ he roared down the vox again, knowing he wasn’t going to be answered, but determined that his last words be heard just the same, even if it were only by a comatose machine. ‘And he had the nerve to tell me that the Raven Guard dragged his primarch down,’ he growled to Yavid. ‘Corvia, but I hate them. You hear that, Kristos? You think it was coincidence that found us both in the vicinity of this world? We too heard Dawnbreak’s mortis cry. The second one, the one they sent after you abandoned their world to the eldar!’
An ork ran at him. He tore its head from its shoulders with a slash of lightning claw, then incinerated two more with precise blasts from his pistol. With the meaty clash of butcher’s work, the bangs of bolter-fire diminished as orks thundered into the thin line of Space Marines. The Rhinos’ storm bolters flashed; the thudding reports dissolved into the meat of chainblades and knives and primal screams. Assault Marines leapt into the air on bursts of thrust, flung back to earth as though on elastic cords to send orks flying. Lightning claws sizzled and cracked. He was aware of men fleeing, skitarii jerking as they were cut down, but the melee had swallowed him whole.
All the feints and tricks and stratagems that had delayed the Weirdwaaagh thus far were done. Now it came down to the strength of his arm, the artifice of his armour – kill orks until there were no orks left and pray to the Throne that enough men survived to hold this line when it was done.
It was what failure looked like.

...

The Centurions moved!
There they were, silent as the blown-out repair shops through which they came, ghosts of the machine bound forever to a doomed cycle of destruction and repair. The firepower of the Centurions alone would have ripped a hole into the ork horde as wide as the gates of the Ravenspire, but six full squads of Tactical Marines also moved up through the rubble behind them. They spread out, taking fire-positions just beyond the chokepoint where Stenn’s efforts held the orks at bay.
What were they waiting for?
He saw a pair of hellfire Dreadnoughts lumbering into position either side of the smaller Centurions, and then heard the weary collapse of a pockmarked stretch of rockcrete as the glacis plate of a Redeemer pattern Land Raider drove through it. Its sponson flamestorm cannons traversed to track the flows of the ork horde, liquid promethium dribbling to the rubble floor. Stenn cursed as he punched his lightning claw through a charging ork’s ribs. Never expect an Iron Hand to commit until he was good and ready.
‘What are you waiting for?’ He shot an ork in the face as it made to barrel towards Yavid, and found himself in the sights of the nearest Iron Hands squad.
They had bolters locked and aimed, but for some reason held their fire. Their eye slits shone an ephemeral white, but they could have been decoy suits for all the urgency they showed. ‘Shoot, curse you!’

[Zagdakka's psychic powers begin to assault the Space Marines]

An ectoplasmic limb twice the girth of an armoured Space Marine manifested from the random snaps of energy and smacked down on a Raven Guard that had been about to deliver the kill shot to the ork at his feet. Stenn strained as his own adversary’s brute strength slowly pushed him towards his knees. The ork gave a roar of surprise as another great fist snatched it away and hurled it through a rockcrete wall. Stenn too cried out as, for the first few seconds of flight, the ork’s grip on his arms took him with it. He hit the ground like a grenade dropped from a Land Speeder, and clattered through wreckage until his helmet smashed into the keystone at the base of an ablutorial block and he was lumped bodily against the wall. He groaned.
Gauntlet fingers crunched through the rubble as he drew his hands under him and began to push. Then he looked up. He swore as the confusion of contradictory threat markers suddenly parted around the black shape of the Rhino that was somersaulting towards him. He dropped back to the ground, body flat, feeling the tremendous shift in air pressure as the tank turned overhead and smashed through the ablutorial wall like a rock launched from a trebuchet.
‘Kristos,’ he coughed. His helm’s respirator seals were damaged and blast debris from the demolished building was making his breath catch. ‘Engage, damn it.’
Screams penetrated the death haze. Urgent signals through vox and data-link lent it a crackling, chopped-up dimension: red lit, threat markers circling with malign intent. He discharged his pistol, full charge, then screamed aloud as something grabbed his ankle and dragged him through what was left of the ablutorial. He bumped and slid over broken tiling and then put another wild shot through a standing column as he was turned upside down and pulled into the air.
A greenish coalescence had him by the leg. A flurry of short-lived plasmic tendrils burst from his pistol, and through the force that held him as though it were a hallucination. He fired until the weapon emitted shrill overheat tones and then he fired once more.
The pistol exploded in his hand, a newborn star about half a metre across that turned his arm to a crisp and buckled his plastron with the ferocity of its birth. Yelling in delirious fury as bio-implants flooded his bloodstream with clotting factors and powerful neuralgics, he activated his jump pack. It roared, shuddered madly for several seconds, then burned out, having moved him nowhere. The force around his ankle hardened into the clear form of a fist as it dragged him over the battleground until he hung upside down in front of an enormous greenskin wreathed in psychic flame.
The ork regarded him quizzically through a pair of green-tinted goggles. It was encased in war plate of white bone, arcane sigils of alien design daubed in pink using, or so Stenn’s Scouts had reported, the mashed brains of its human captives. Its helmet was made of scrap metal and buckled tightly under its chin, a single massive spike coiled with razor wire rising from the crown like some breed of antenna. Green energy spat from the coils and swirled in the lenses of its goggles. It watched him writhe as it would a worm on its claw.
Stenn gave a grunt of pain as psychic fingers tightened around him and squeezed. ‘Damn you >> RESTRICTED DATA >> Just kill me yourself.’
His armour cracked like a sea-crustacean’s shell, blood spurting from ruptured seals as his body was crushed. He screamed, genhanced anatomy fighting a battle with pain that had been stacked well against it from the outset. ‘Emperor forgive you!’
With every scrap of conscious thought locked away in hardened centres of his brain structure he cursed the Iron Hands. He cursed the casual brutality, the bare calculation of risk versus reward. His last thoughts before those final redoubts succumbed to braindeath were not of the pain, nor of his brother Raven Guard that fell to the mind-blasts of the warpboss’ retinue, nor even of the Iron Hands themselves as they finally descended on the fray.
With the enemy leaders bottled up with the last of the Raven Guard, the Iron Hands opened fire. Tactical Marines, Centurions, Land Raiders, each warrior a cog in a war machine that sprayed fire to a perfectly choreographed maelstrom that consumed Warpboss Zagdakka, his retinue, the Raven Guard, and Stenn himself.

Every week this thread will feature the Free Black Men Comment of the Week Award.

• The award will go to the Free Black Man with the most thought-provoking insightful facts in any comment or post for that week.
  
• The point of the awards is to highlight the brilliance of Free Black Men to spark more discussion and education amongst one another.
  

If you want to nominate a comment, link to it below.

This first award goes to me. Cause y'all need this knowledge.

My only issue with your assessment is that OP question focuses on America and not the world.

Yeah I read it. But it shouldn't focus on just America because America don't exist in a vacuum, and anti-African racism is not an American invention. Our enemies have tried the tactic OP describes many times around the world. And all it has done is increased racism, not lessened it.

Moreover, do you think that lumping those groups together under the umbrella of "too many African men are focused on gratification and attention", detracts from blacks in America (ADOS and Africans) who are fighting for black issues?

I've read your comments enough to know that you're not a dumb man. So when you started this line of questioning, I had a feeling you were just trying to push me to adopt your definition of African American in a slick way instead of just coming out and saying it.
So let me spell it out point blank for you so you have no doubts about my position:
People who say any version of the following are dumb and wrong: "We aren't African American, we're Black," "we're Black Americans not African Americans," "African American was invented by Jessie Jackson and he doesn't represent me," "Elon Musk and Theresa Hines Kerry was born in Africa so they are considered African American too," "Barack Obama's father is really from Africa so Barack Obama is the true African American," "Nigerian, Ghanaian, and Ethiopian immigrants are the real African Americans."
All that is braindead ahistorical nonsense with no basis in etymology or historical usage.
We call ourselves African American because historically we were unable to trace our lineage to any specific African country due to torture by our families' captors in attempts to force our families to renounce their African identities. When the earliest Africans in America [1] [2] began publishing in English, they called themselves African [1] [2]. Our people's earliest corporations and organizations are called African: the African Methodist Episcopal Church, the Free African Society and etc. By the late 1800s Reconstruction-era thought leaders began adopting "Afro-American" in reaction to Dixiecrats and the Klan trying to attack our people's rights of citizenship in the confederacy's push to reinstitute enslavement. That's when you see corporations like the Afro American Press Association founded and adopt the name.
Only in the 20th century did our people begin to formally refer to ourselves by color, with the exception of places like Louisiana where the French attempted to create a buffer class of mixed people who they called "Men of Color" since the 1700s.
Immigrants from Nigeria, Ethiopia, Jamaica, Haiti, Barbados, Guyana and etc do not refer to themselves as African American -- they call themselves Nigerian American, Ethiopian American, Jamaican American and etc just as we African Americans would if we knew which countries our families were abducted from. Barack Obama called himself African American to ingratiate himself to the African American electorate, but he is technically Kenyan American. Kamala Harris is Jamaican American and Indian American.
Again, having read your comments in the past, I know you're well-read enough to already know this or to have looked it up yourself. But your real objective here was just to setup this statement right here:

Moreover, do you think that lumping those groups together under the umbrella of "too many African men are focused on gratification and attention", detracts from blacks in America (ADOS and Africans) who are fighting for black issues?

Look man -- As far back as 2008 at least, I was pointing out the folly of our leadership using language too loosely and allowing our identity language to be adopted as a catch-all by any and everyone. I can link you to writing of mine from nearly 20 years ago online making the precise same point you just made, long before Yvette Carnell and Antonio Moore decided they needed to "rebrand" the race.
Our race is African, our ethnicity is African American, and our nationality is American. There is nothing difficult about saying we are fighting for exclusive African American interests at home to address the particular harms caused by the enemy here while simultaneously standing with our global African cousins to combat the enemy's harms against all of us worldwide.
As an aside, people who think language and making new names acts as some kind of moat to keep infiltrators out are ignoring both history and current events: in England "black" means Africans, Arabs, and South Asians. In South Africa "black" means Africans, Indians, and Chinese. And here in America, "black" means Wesley Snipes, Lupito Nyango AND Rasheda Jones. And as we're all aware, Rachel Dolezal and Sean King go out of their way to claim "black" too when their asses are mixed with nothing but mayonnaise and baking soda.
So playing these cute little word games don't stop nothing or build nothing. Only exercising power aggressively and jealously and exclusively for our people builds sustainably.
And that is why I "lumped these groups together under the umbrela of African men:" because nature and the Ancestors "lumped us together" by blood. We are the same race of men. I can show you DNA proof linking me to blood relatives in multiple African countries who my family lost contact with 300 years ago when my Xth Great-Grandparents were enslaved. So Africans all around the world are literally our cousins. And the answer to u/RaikageQ's question is: we as a race of men have been losing against the Eurasian race for 400 years everywhere throughout the world -- not just here in America. And African men who have tried to cut corners by "fixing" racism in their little part of the map have found themselves mired in just more racism -- as I alluded when namechecking Brazil (heavily mixed and more racist than ever), the Dominican Republic (heavily mixed and more racist than ever), California (heavily mixed and yet leading in carceral enslavement of African American men), South Africa (created a mixed buffer class of millions and yet Africans are still a bottom caste in the country with pushing 90% of the population, and Australia (tried to breed Aboriginal Australians out of existence, and the Aboriginals, who are not African but look identical to us in many cases, experience more racism than ever). I could even add Nigerians and Ghanians to the mix, because while they often claim obliviousness to racism in their homelands, the Chinese and Arabs are recorded daily attacking them in their own home and their young men who travel abroad for work reach only as far as Libya, Morroco, and Algeria before Tuaregs and Maghrebs who tried u/RaikageQ's "breed out of existince" trick as far back as 4000 years ago actually ENSLAVE those Nigerian and Ghanaian young men the minute they cross the desert -- today in 2024.
Again -- I've read you enough to know you're informed enough to know all this or smart enough to look it up if you don't. I respected you enough not spell it out for you the first time. In the future please respect me enough to just come out and make your point instead of asking me leading questions that force me to write all of this as proof that my words mean what they say.

Sometime between today and tomorrow the uneven beam of a singular dim headlight sweeps along asphalt, its twin long dead. Gravel crackles and pops under tire weight. Worn brake pads cry out as the car slows to Park. The doors creak open, slam shut. A boy and a girl stand on either side, their short breaths producing faint clouds of condensation. Shivering, she says to him,
I want to show you something. It’s called, 'Greeting the Sun'. Like in yoga.
This is a vague answer to the questioning of their purpose here. They’re standing at the farthest end of a lot. Ahead of them stretches an acre of park lawn, manicured, coated in frosty dew, encircled by rows of thick leafless oaks and soaring evergreens.
You mean Sun Salutation?
You’ll see.
The motion is quick– a jerking of her head– beckoning him toward the cement path snaking its way away from them through the green. He follows her, this acquaintance of five or six hours, their way lit by the warm glow of copper lamps, poles patina-green from oxidation. The two of them, this boy and this girl, stroll in early morning silence till they reach the farthest edge of the park. When she steps off the path and into the brush he hesitates.
Wait, he says. I’m not going in there.
Icy gusts whip about, rattling branches, prickling exposed skin, scattering pine needles at their feet. She flips up the fur lined hood of her winter coat, jams her hands in the pockets and marches on.
Hey, he tries again. Don't just walk away from me.
By now only her silhouette is visible in the gloam. She glances back– a shadow with sage colored eyes– says, in a tone reserved for reassuring anxious pups,
C’mon.
It is enough to move him.
With three quick breaths, a patting of his cheeks, he pushes forward. Shouldering through the thicket he nearly rolls an ankle, his flat soled shoes tractionless on the loose soil. Hardly able to see her, he listens for snapping twigs and scuffing rubber against rock as the narrow path slopes downward to a clearing dappled in soft light by a sky now brimming with shades of opal.
A sign swinging loose from a single strand of chain-link reads, Warning: Unstable Cliff… Keep Away From Edge. The girl pays it no mind, rounds her legs over the waist high fence one after the other. Hands still in her pockets, she approaches the bluff while he watches on from apparent safety. Below them, the rushing interstate, a river of red halogen, its tide rising, banks flooding with the morning commute. Beyond, the major metropolitan area stirs, a forest of steel and brick glinting in pre-twilight.
This is Lover’s Lane or Make-out Point or whatever you want to call it, all cities have them; a place high up and secluded, where the local teens sneak away to explore their sexuality, to scream and commune with God unobserved. It is Pride Rock, Mount Sinai and The Parthenon.
Dare me to jump? The girl shouts, arms flung back, head craned out over the drop. The boy steps over the chain, drops his voice an octave, says,
Be serious, what is this?
The girl shuffles backward, she’s winding up for a charge.
It’s on you, she says to him. Yes or no?
There’s a bolt of sincerity in the way her eyebrows narrow, the way her jaw tightens. He hesitates.
When no response comes she goes to pitch herself over. In a panic the boy scrambles forward, loses his footing, crashes to his knees. He thinks to call her name, realizes he’s forgotten it, and instead lets out a hiss,
Don’t play.
The girl skids to a stop, her left boot catching inches before the edge. She laughs– a sudden explosive, Hah! Projected over the valley. And it bounces back, each reverberation extending its life a little longer.
You’re crazy, the boy says out of breath, his front coated in dirt. She doesn’t respond. Her gaze stays on the vista, flecks of gold have begun to appear over the horizon. It’s almost time. The girl stands straight, sticks her hands in her pockets, says,
Why come all this way to sit in the nosebleeds?
I can see.
You sure?
She’s watching the clouds now, the tilt of her chin causing her hood to slip. When he approaches the precipice, he tells himself that it’s because he’s gotten tired of speaking to the back of her head.
Better, right?
If you say so.
His eyes are downcast taking in the craggy dullness below. Amongst the rock and shrubbery there’s evidence of humanity come and gone; plastic and glass, rusted steel, tattered clothing, needles, condoms, what remains of a mattress.
That fall wouldn’t kill you, he adds. You’d spend a few days at the bottom with a broken back probably.
A sly grimace, her gaze joins his on the splash zone still too dark to see clearly, she says,
Bird food. Not my best work.
That why we’re here?
Stop it. I’m just… killing time.
Cuz we’ve got so much of it.
It’s bird food either way. What's the difference?
For a moment they stand in silence. A red eye flight streaks overhead turbines screaming, loaded with passengers. Their seats upright as they prepare to escape the gravity of this place. Following the plane with an eastward nod, the girl says,
Here it comes.
The star's arrival is an act of creation. The horizon cracks– erupting in a blast of light that refracts across the skyline. A yolk of cosmic ignition, the Sun, creeps upward, burning the atmosphere, scattering swatches of magenta and orange. In this moment the veil feels thin– between here and there, now and then, real and imagined. Great flurries of wind break against the cliff face like waves on the distant coasts. Eyes watery, they fight the urge to blink for fear the vision might end. It is miraculous, pure phantasia: a true beginning.
The girl's hand slips out of her pocket, finds the boy's at his side. Their fingers link. She is warm. He is so cold. Then, low so not to be mistaken as meant for him, she says,
Hello.

A little idea that I had, Evolved Godzilla in GxK was just way too fucking cool, and I feel he was kind of underutilized. Especially for the extra little additions he had in his design, and in this story I want to put him up against the main threats that Goji himself had previously fought in the Monsterverse, just with his evolved state instead.
Will this be fair? Absolutely not lol, but will it be fun to write? Hell yeah.
Ao3 link if you want to read it there: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54956917/chapters/139311436
No one could have foreseen such a catastrophic event.

Ishiro Serizawa's heart pounded in his chest, threatening to burst entirely as sweat poured from his weary head. He couldn't sit straight upon the metal seat he had confined himself to, no one at Monarch could say otherwise too. The subtle rocking of the aircraft carrier certainly didn't help the pounding sensation in his head either, further adding to the stress placed upon the old doctor's mind. The sleepless nights ever since... it broke out had taken their toll upon the man, his brows furrowing as he clasped his hands together.

He had seen it for himself after all, to say Janjira was an absolute disaster would be the greatest understatement in the past century of human history. They thought they had everything under control, how could they not at this point? They had studied it for a decade without an end in sight, making sure that they could pull the plug on it. The kill field around the spore was capable of outputting enough electricity to power half a damn city...
And it shrugged it off like it was a jolt of carpet static.
In hindsight,he could do nothing but mentally curse himself over their own hubris. Monarch had become another example of mankind prancing its supposed control over the world, and the world was quick to put their arrogance into the ground. Nature came knocking, and its message was one that was echoed through the annals of human history.
Nature was a beast, a beast like no other. No amount of technology, science, religion or whatever else Mankind could conjure would ever be truly able to conquer and tame it. The creature that sprouted from the ancient spore exemplified such a thought like no other. Those deep crimson slits it had for eyes spoke of total and utter malevolence, like the world itself bored back into their souls... seeing red at them playing god.
"Sensei..."
He was broken out of his crushing thoughts upon the soft voice of one Doctor Graham, who was quick to sit beside the Japanese man when she had seen her mentor so deep and stuck in thought. The brit was always a comforting presence to him and to many other people at Monarch. Even if it did little to alleviate the old doctor's stress at the moment, it was something at the very least.
"Ah, Forgive me for my current state... there has been much on my mind."
A dry scoff emanated from the woman upon hearing his words, looking to the side of the doctor's head.
"There's been a lot on everyone's minds as of late."
Her shoulders sagged as she sighed, a finger of hers going up and rubbing one of her temples. The old doctor leaned back a little, looking up at his apprentice who looked no better than him in this state. The bags under her eyes said it all, she too was at the containment site when the creature emerged. They were lucky to have escaped relatively unscathed, the same could not be said for the Brody's.
"Has it been located?"
The old doctor's thick accented voice asked, rearing his head from his palm to look towards his apprentice. The expression on her face said it all, the shake of her head only cemented such a fact. The thought of that creature, being completely left unattended to and free to wreak havoc upon... anywhere for all god knew in the world was beyond horrifying to Serizawa.
"No... but I saw something in the audio readings..."
She paused, standing up and going towards one of the computer screens of the control room they were in. Tapping on the keyboard and bringing up something on the green tinted screen. The old doctor sat down in front of the computer, seeing that it was the audio patterns recorded through the minutes of hell when the creature broke free. He was unsure on what Graham wanted him to see, but she looked over from behind the screen and briefly gazed at him.
"Keep scrolling, before the EMP." She urged, as he complied to her request. Skimming through the readings, just seeing the spikes in audio through the graph made those chilling noises ring out in his ears again, but he kept going.
"This." She pointed and tapped on the screen, an all too familiar pattern to the both of them at this point. The call of the thing. But what really caught his attention was what sat right next to it.

A second call... a response.
Serizawa looked back to his apprentice at the realization of such a thing. It couldn't have been... could it? That second spore...
"A response." He muttered, his eyes wide as he considered the possibility of another MUTO having been awakened. But how? That second spore from the Philippine dig site that decade ago was wheeled off to storage probably far, far away from any source of radiation, unlike the spore in Janjira...At least to his knowledge. Writing this fact down onto his notes, he pondered such a scenario. As if things couldn't have possible gotten even more grim for not only Monarch but the world.
Vivienne went off to talk about with the other personnel present in the room, but quickly the attention of all those present was drawn to something else.
"We've received reports of a nuclear Akula 50, disappeared about 50 nautical miles from Hawaii." The voice of the officer was both heard by Admiral Stenz and the two Monarch scientists in earshot. Instantly that caught their attention, making Serizawa spring up from his seat and Vivienne to look over to face the Admiral. Stenz's gaze upon the two scientists still exhumed an underlying hint of contempt, one that the both scientists picked up on but disregarded for the time being. There were far better things to worry about at the moment anyways.

"A Russian sub's up and disappeared off the coast of Hawaii... could be the Muto." The admiral reiterated their own assumption that they thought of, and the screens behind the Admiral showed that they were about to get their answers soon enough...

---


The depths of the world were a place that human hands had not touched in many millennia. In times immemorial, when man walked alongside their gods... their titans, both lived in coexistence with each other. It was not one without conflict of course, but it was an existence of stability thanks to the efforts of beings were larger than life, to the eyes of men who were but ants to their splendor.
But as time flowed and the great wars began, when the aureate storm came and ravaged the lands, and when the crimson tyrant obsessed over total dominion upon nature...

One stood.

A king amongst the old gods of the world, the one that cheated death. The last one of a once great race, a guardian to all those who sided with his cause, that being the continued stability of nature. But to those that basked in anarchy, spreading it forth like a malignant cancer...
He was a monster.

And as the great wars raged on across the lands, the monster set forth upon innumerable battlefields. The auric wings of destruction found their match against the wrathful king, forging a rivalry etched into the very fabric of the world. The crimson tyrant learned to feel fear in his blackened soul, weeping in the shadow of the God-King.
In the end of it all, the king emerged victorious. But it was not a victory without bloodshed, not only of his enemies and himself but also of those he held dearest to him. The unwavering martyred in his name, The little ones caught in-between the battles of titans, his beloved queen...
Never again, he promised to himself. For all his might he couldn't save them. The queen would return, he knew that she wouldn't just fade away into nothingness like that. But that never erased the sorrow, the pain, the grief on his soul. He may have won the wars in placing the golden death in an icy prison and locking away the crimson tyrant deep below, but he was nearly destroyed in the process.
Defeat was never an option, and the wars had been the absolute closest the lord of the titans was to being gobbled up by the jaws of defeat. As of late the king of the monsters had decided that his form was not sufficient enough to cement his dominance over his enemies. Evolution was in order, to be a proverbial step ahead over what threats lied in wait, threats that he knew would come one day to jumpstart the cycle once more.
Evolve he did, the primordial minerals of the Hollow was something his kind always had been able to utilize, blessed with the ability to draw power from the crystalline materials. That was how they were blessed with their fire after all, but some sources yielded more interesting results. Said sources however were considered taboo to him and his lot, as there was really no telling what could possibly come out of consuming such things, the ones that did try usually succumbed to madness or explosive demises at the hands of volatile energies.
It was a gamble really, but one that ended up paying off. That fucshia-tinted nest of the serpent was quite the deposit of the volatile energy, one that she would never have let go without a fight. She was to be removed and besides, he already had a distaste for Tiamat anyway. Robbing him of the satisfaction of bringing down the rival that had cast him out from his territory long ago, and having the gall to side with the Golden One in the great war, and her being in the way of power that would make his job easier in the future was another thing to add onto the pile.

It was either her life or the world potentially being in jeopardy in the future.
A very easy decision that was to the leviathan.

Now transmogrified in the depths he remained, the crushing pressure of the entire ocean at this level made sure that very little life persevered here, let alone life that was intelligent enough to do anything to pose a threat to him. He rather enjoyed the relative silence, the only things being audible to him was the low churning of the rock all around him and the water rushing against his gargantuan form as he effortlessly glided through the water. Some peace and quiet was exactly what he sought, taking in those magenta crystals was quite the process he had to endure, but one that was worth the time to evolve.
The new form that he wore now was taking some getting used to, it felt like he had put on a completely new layer of skin to replace what once was. The lack of bulk in some areas was something he would have to rectify at a later occasion, but even then he hadn't felt so spry and filled with energy in a very, very long time. The more armored scales all over himself was something that he very much appreciated, the extra plates on his elbows and tail-tip were welcome additions of weaponry to use. Sustenance was in order if he wanted to regain his bulk and his home deep below would be able to quell the hunger he felt at the moment.

The peace ever since the last freeze proved to be a long one, but peace never was a permanent thing especially to him despite how much he would yearn and plead silently that it was. Despite the little ones unearthing him relatively recently, nothing seemed to come of it except for the strange incident at the remote atolls. Whether the little ones wanted to feed him or kill him was something that still eluded the leviathan but he definitely was displeased at seeing the damages that were incurred by the strange cylinder's detonation.
Continuing to trudge through the abyss and back to his home, the thought of him being overtly paranoid about all this crossed his mind. The innumerable sun cycles ever since the deep freeze started by the mother of ice marked a strange and silent point in his existence. At first it seemed too good to be true, but that first millennia going by without incident after the freeze started lulled him into a sense of security. Perhaps he was being overtly cynical about all this, evolving for threats that may never rear their ugly heads ever again. Had the Moth been around, perhaps the two of them could have finally gotten to "living a little." as the queen said to him.
A low grumble escaped the leviathan's throat, unheard to anyone in the depths as those bitter memories reemerged. How much he had wanted to have the "happy ending" that the goddess wanted not only for her, but for the both of them. A true sense of happiness was something that became a rarity to him long ago, when the wars first broke out at the auric death's arrival, it might as well have died alongside the queen in the last stretch of the conflict. He knew she would return, she would never be content to just fade way like that, even if it took millions upon millions of sun cycles for her to return, he would count down each and every day. In the meantime, he would ensure he did her and his own kind proud, continuing to tend to the lands as they always had done. But for now, home was calling.
When she did return, he would make sure that she would never fall to death's clutches ever again.

Come heaven or hell, he would make sure of it.


---

The air was tense upon the carrier, the two doctors watching the screens displaying the body cams of personnel on the ground. If a Nuclear submarine had gone up and missing near a relatively high-populated area like Hawaii would definitely be a cause for concern.

Especially considering there was a two hundred foot tall winged monster on the loose.

The nuclear submersible disappearing alongside the fact that the titan's main source of nourishment being radiation certainly painted a grim picture in their heads... that thing possibly being around, completely free to trample over the isles was a mortifying thought. The possibility of Monarch's secrecy to the public had now completely gone up in flames, but that was secondary to the potential millions that the existence of but one active titan could do. It was a nightmare born straight out of the darkest conceivable timeline to both Dr Graham and Serizawa, the top priority now in this dire situation would be to get a visual on the MUTO, and assess how to deal with it from there.
The men continued to march through the brush, being watched over by the two doctors from the screens, the night vision of the body cameras still doing little to give the clear picture to both of them. The disturbance that was picked up by the military at the very least was being taken completely seriously, both men on the ground and the air force had been called in for this, for a disturbance near Honolulu, combined with that sudden disappearance of that sub on top of the MUTO's escape probably had everyone on edge at the moment.

"We played god..." The old doctor thought to himself. How much he wished he could turn back time, destroy the damn spore the moment it had come to Janjira and nestled itself atop the irradiated wasteland. Nature was certainly giving him and everyone else at Monarch a hell of a lesson in not playing with flames they should never have even stoked in the first place.
"The consequences were bound to rear their heads at us eventually." Another thought ran through his mind, as he wiped the sweat from his weary head. Were they even able to do anything to the creature had they found it? He hated to be pessimistic, but considering the kill field around it's spore didn't even earn so much as a twitch from the thing as it was electrocuted... he had his doubts.

Though now... the prospect of him emerging again became very, very real.

"Gojira..." The old man whispered under his breath, to which his apprentice picked up on.
"Do you think he will come, sensei?" Graham replied back.

Had the tales been true, the old legends of a wrathful king emerging to weed out anything and everything that threatened the natural balance, Serizawa could only pray that forgiveness was something in Gojira's forte. They certainly did not give the King of the Monsters a welcoming taste of the modern world considering the in retrospect, utterly futile attempt on the King's life back in 1954 with Castle Bravo.
The aged man reared his bespectacled head to Graham, a look of uncertainty shining through his eyes.
"If the tales are to be believed... he will come. Nature's power will rise to alleviate the blight we have wrought upon it."
"We can only pray, that he does not consider us among the blighted."
Such words made chills run down Vivienne's spine, when Serizawa spoke in that way, she knew he was being more than serious. Others may have called his reverence of Godzilla as ludicrous, foolish even for placing his faith to tales of ancient 'uncivilized' humans, venerating what was 'just' a big animal. Serizawa saw it differently though, and while she couldn't exactly know why, she too believed in the old man's faith.
"I suppose we'll see." The English woman replied back, uncertain yet cautiously optimistic about it. Had Godzilla emerged due to the MUTOs, he would likely be at very least, focusing on them first and foremost. Whether he somehow knew that humanity was responsible for their reawakening was a scenario that she silently pleaded not to happen.

The eyes of all in the control room returned to the array of screens showing the men finally laying their vision upon something... it was hard to make out from the fuzzy vision of the cameras projecting the image and the nighttime darkness, but there was some sort of vague shape stuck up in the tree line. Was it the creature again? They got their answers quickly, when the group reared their lights upon the shape...
"Looks like we found your Russian sub." The stunned voice of one of the soldiers came over the comms, his camera completely frozen and transfixed upon the vehicle in very much not the appropriate terrain for it.
To everyone's total horror it was indeed the very submarine that was reported missing, stuck dozens of feet up in the tree line and from the looks of things, covered in some sort of viscous substance. Both the people watching from the carrier as well as the boots on the ground were all in utter shock, there could only be one thing responsible for the submersible's current predicament. The searchlights from the choppers above quickly got to scanning the immediate vicinity and from behind the suspended submarine... there was movement.
The choppers reared their way towards the flanks of the submarine, and everyone both watching and on the ground at that moment gasped from the sheer horror. It was not immediately spotted, but now with the illumination upon the side, the abyssal tinted hides of the MUTO once again showed itself... those crimson slits it had for eyes shining at the cameras like the uncaring gaze of a malevolent demon, the almost insectoid creature's dagger toothed jaws had been clamping down and munching upon the nuclear payload of the submarine. Just like they had suspected, these titans fed upon radiation. The question of if this MUTO was feeding just out of hunger or for something else crossed Serizawa and Graham's minds, but their current shock pushed it into the back of their minds.

"Cat's out of the bag now doctor..." The admiral's glare at Serizawa now returned, still maintaining a sense of calm but subtly the Doctor could tell that the current situation had definitely struck a chord within the man.
"No more keeping things under wraps, the public's safety is our utmost priority now." The admiral added, before going off elsewhere in the room as nearly everyone was sent into a complete panic as all hands on deck were sprung into action quickly, for the situation has now reached levels of potential danger that bode a grim outlook upon the local population on Hawaii.
Amidst all the panic now though, the doctors overheard another announcement from an officer manning the Radar...
"Second signature's coming in from the Pacific!"
Immediately, both doctors present knew immediately just who was coming... and just how utterly out of proportion this horrid situation that they already found themselves in had just gotten.

The king was coming.

For decades the great leviathan had remained docile and under the radar despite the uncalled provocation that was the welcoming he had received from Humanity in 1954, but now that Humanity had truly tipped the scales of the natural balance in a way that had never been shifted for countless millennia. Nature's power was to be called upon once more and Serizawa definitely wanted to be one of the first to witness such an event.
He sprung into action, quickly making his way out of the control room and into the busy halls of the manic carrier.
"Where are you going?!" Graham shouted as she followed the old man, nearly falling over due to the sudden rush.
"I have to see this!" Serizawa yelled back, his stride not breaking in the slightest as he practically sprinted for the main deck of the aircraft carrier.

As if History hadn't already been changed enough with the return of a Titan, now the very King of all the Titans was now coming. From the tales he knew of Gojira, while benevolent to the continued safety of the Planet he was also as capable of destruction like no other. As wrathful as he was merciful, for he himself was a true paragon of the two sides of Mother Nature itself, like the oceans as beautiful as they were yet capable of raging like no other...

He could only pray the his mercy graces humanity.

---

He had heard it.

Those familiar calls... reverberating through the murk, immediately being picked up by his senses.
A parasite.

The time of peace and introspection had now passed... and a king's work had to be done. Disorder had dawned upon the lands once more, and his services had been called upon once again.
Effortlessly, the leviathan shifted his course from headed back towards his undersea home and in the direction of the calls. The water around him raged and surged, heralding the king's incoming movements as he began to rise quickly towards the ocean surface from the crushing depths. This new body of his already proved its usefulness, the increased levels of energy that surged all around every ounce of his being giving him far greater speed than ever before. All that much better to address this tumor upon the balance he had tended and watched over from the shadows for all this time.
Rising and rising ever closer towards the water's surface, the moonlight gleaming through the waves that now swelled to be as large as trees to the beast's gigantic body waded past the waves. The adrenaline running through Gojira's veins were much like the very waves that he had kicked up now, driving him further and further as he felt his dorsal plates protruding above the ocean and knifing through the frigid air.
Focusing his eyes forwards and now seeing the deep abyss of the ocean give way to outline of land beneath the waves, he was close to making landfall now. Rearing the still massive bulk of his evolved form further and further towards the surface as he continued to trudge along... the subtle swishing of the air was audible to him, followed by the beating of what seemed to be... wings?
His momentary confusion was only furthered, as beams of light from all around traced over him and the beating and swishing grew louder and more intense as he travelled closer and closer inland. Averting his eyes up above and even through the rough waves he was kicking up, the lights seemed to have been coming from strange creatures that were tracking and following him as he swam.
They were nothing like he had ever seen before, those 'wings' that he had heard earlier spun around in a circular motion atop their strange looking frames, the lights attached to them were more like lamps that the little ones would use though even these ones were nothing like what he knew. What was stranger still, was that he could sense the little ones riding these metallic looking 'birds'. Truly strange creatures they had tamed, or maybe had even created but that was of little concern to him now.

If they still knew who he was, then they would stay out of his way.

Looking forwards once again now, the king was forced to slow down his current pace as what seemed to be an island came into his trajectory. Only upon another momentary inspection... this was no island at all. It was floating atop the water, the metallic material that made up it's land was a hallmark of being made by the little ones, much like the 'birds' that were illuminating him at the moment. It was less of an island and more like a manmade whale, and here too he could sense countless amounts of the little ones within and atop the 'whale'.
Rearing his body down below the waves once more, his dorsal plates narrowly missed ripping straight through the 'whale'. They were not his concern at the moment, and it would do him nothing to cause needless casualties towards the little ones when a potential disaster was running amok on the lands ahead.

Leaving the metal 'whale' behind but still having the 'birds' follow him from above, he picked up speed once more.

Land was ahead now... and a legend would voice his will once again.

(We Don't Talk to the Thing in the Woods)
I won't go up north anymore, not by those woods. I'll go out of my way to avoid driving in that direction. Even so, I need to write this down, I need a paper trail if I suddenly disappear like Sean. We saw something up there, and I think it saw us, too. Now, I'm terrified it's just waiting for me to come back. I saw the Thing in the Woods, and I got away from it, at least I thought we did.
About six months ago, we were gearing up for one hell of a camping weekend out by a secluded lake that our friend James had found. He had said it was off the beaten path and not in any open campgrounds so the odds of us being disturbed were slim. That meant we could party and enjoy ourselves without needing to worry about other campers, and to top it all off we'd be near a lake so we could go swimming.
There were five of us in total: myself, Sean, James, Rick, and our buddy Dylan. We had piled into two cars with our camping gear and began the trip north. It was about 3 three hours, and James spent most of it talking up the campsite, telling us how awesome it was going to be getting to camp out by a lakeshore, and that we were going to have an awesome time. I hadn't been this excited to do something in a long time, I looked forward to a chance to unwind with some of my closest friends.
The road didn't lead us up to our campsite, and there wasn't a path, but James was insistent that we were in the right area. So, we gathered our things and followed him in a hike through the woods toward the site. That was when we first noticed that things may have been wrong.
As we journeyed through the woods, I had heard Dylan call out to us from behind. When we turned back we saw he was holding what looked like a rotted old sign.
"Says 'don't talk to it," he observed, staring at the old thing. "Looks pretty ancient, too. Maybe it's like a piece of old settler shit?"
"More likely the rambling of some crazy guy from a long time ago. Heard there were like cults in these parts in the early 1900s." Rick responded.
"Oh good, cults." I said rolling my eyes.
"Guys, there are no cults up here, I've been here a few times now and never ran into anything weird. Maybe got close to mountain lion once, but they're not gonna mess with you if you leave 'em alone." James didn't seem amused by the conversation that was being had. "The sign's obviously old, we can sit here and speculate about what it was about for the next six hours and we won't be any closer to the campsite, or we can leave it where we found it and not worry about what some old piece of wood has to say."
We all agreed that the sign was a little silly, maybe it was an old Halloween direction or a relic from some old movie they shot up here. None of us assumed it was some kind of cryptic warning. Warnings should be direct. "Hey, if you talk to this thing it's gonna eat your eyes" or something along those lines. Not just "Don't talk to it." What was it? Why didn't we want to talk with it? Vague warnings gave us nothing, and so we paid it no heed. No matter how much we should have.
There were no more weird signs or vague warnings on the journey, just the sound of birds and the growing sound of calm waters lapping against a shore. We had hiked a good four miles into the deep woods before we came to a clearing. James was right, though. It was magnificent. The sun illuminated a grassy field that broke into a sandy shoreline revealing a crystalline blue lake that shimmered like a diamond in the sun's rays.
"Wow." I murmured.
James elbowed me and grinned. "What'd I tell you? Absolutely gorgeous." I nodded in amazement.
"This is choice, man. Just, wow."
We all spent a few minutes admiring the scene set out before us, and then we got to work setting up our campsite. Within the hour we were ready to relax and enjoy our first night in paradise.
We enjoyed the day fishing, swimming, and drinking and as night began to fall we built a fire and enjoyed some of the food we had brought. We spent the night exchanging creepy stories and getting drunk. When James' turn rolled around he brought us all in close, shining the flashlight under his chin.
"You guys ever hear of the Thing in the Woods?" he asked, and as we all shook our heads he grinned. "There's stories that float around these parts of a monstrous creature that roams the woods at night. It speaks using stolen voices to draw out unwary travelers. Then, it tears them apart, stealing their identities and leaving behind nothing but a pile of gore. Legend says the creature can speak as anyone it has taken. That the only way to survive an encounter with it is to ignore it completely. Never ever acknowledge it."
Something clicked as he told this story and I muttered "Don't talk to it."
The others looked at me as James smiled. "That's right. Don't talk to it, don't look at it. Pretend it's not there, because the moment you acknowledge it. The moment it knows you know it's there. It will take everything from you."
"Like the sign..." I said warily.
"I did say it was a local legend, man." James replied with a smile. He said nothing else, handing off the stick we were using to determine whose turn it was to tell a story to Dylan. As Dylan was finishing his story about a man on the bus, we heard something. At first it was faint, and hard to make to out, but the sound continued and as it did it became clearer.
Someone was screaming. Long, agonized wails from somewhere within the forest. When Rick and I stood to see what the hell was going on, James stopped us.
"Animals are weird in these parts, man. Don't go putting your nose where it doesn't belong. Night time can be weird, and whatever the hell that was? Let's not bring it to the campsite." We both stared at him, bewildered. He wasn't usually that vague.
"The hell are you talking about, man? That sounds like a woman screaming! We need to go see if we can help her!" Rick hissed.
"And if it is? Did you bring a gun to shoot any mountain lions or bears that might be in the woods? Night time is their time, man. If you wanna check it out we can go in the morning. For now, I say we kill the fire and get some rest. No sense in drawing any predators in." James argued, and then he smirked "Besides. what if it's the Thing in the Woods?"
"He makes a good point, Rick. Even if we did get there and it was someone being attacked, what would we do aside from shout or get ourselves killed?" I responded, ignoring the comment about monsters.
Rick shook his head. "No, I'm going to find out what the hell that was. If you aren't coming, fine. Stay here and kill the light, piss your pants while you wait for this stupid Thing in the Woods. I'm not gonna. I came to have fun, not to be scared shitless."
James sighed and shook his head, and for a second I could swear there was the slightest of smiles on his face. "Your funeral man." he muttered as he stood and poured a water bucket over the flames. In the moonlight, he looked to the rest of us. "Get some sleep guys."
Rick growled and grabbed a flashlight from his tent. "I'll be back," he said bluntly, stomping off into the woods.
We weren't about to let our friend go out into the dark alone, and the rest of us followed suit. Well, all of us save for James. He just stood there at the campsite and watched, waving as we headed into the woods.
"What the hell is his problem?" Sean asked quietly.
"I don't know," I replied softly, looking back over my shoulder "But he told that weird story and now we're hearing things. You think he's trying to pull some kind of elaborate prank?"
Sean nodded. "James has always been kinda weird. You remember when him and Daisy went camping and he came back by himself? Said they broke up and Daisy wasn't coming back? You remember how we all quietly joked he killed her, but we got that call later on saying she was sorry she didn't stop by to say goodbye and that she was moving to California? She said she couldn't be around James anymore, that he did something that really pissed her off. Wonder if he tried to pull this shit with her?"
I barely remembered that incident, but I wasn't surprised Sean did. He and Daisy were always really close, and he must've been pretty upset that she didn't come by to talk about what had happened. "If this is a prank, it's an awful one." I whispered as we trudged through the darkness guided by the beams of our flashlights. Then we heard the scream again, louder and clearer than we had before. Rick burst into a sprint, heading off into the direction of the screams. We followed him, ducking under low branches and jumping over roots. Dylan, Rick, and James were way more athletic than I was, but I did my best to keep up.
Until my foot snagged a root and I tripped.
I hit the ground and stars rocked my vision as my head bounced against a rock. The others didn't notice, at least I didn't think they did, but I heard Sean. At first, he sounded like he was underwater, but as my head cleared I could hear him calling my name more distinctly. Thinking back on it now, hitting my head the way I did probably saved my life.
Sean helped me to my feet and we followed the direction Rick and Dylan and run off to, a lot more cautiously than we had been before. We arrived at what I could only assume was the site of the screaming, and we found Rick and Dylan.
We found what was left of them, and we saw it.
It was a campsite, the fire still smoldering and the tents thrown against trees, their frames bent and the canvas torn. There was a faint wet shimmer on the trees and all over the ground, I had assumed it was blood. As I took in the carnage there was something else that I noticed. There was no sound, no insects chirping no leaves rustling, just the occasional crackle from the fire. The world around this place was eerily still, but then something caught my eye just a few feet into the treeline. There, standing over what I can only describe as the viscera that was once my friends was a creature. It hunched over what was left of them, picking through pieces of gore. Its form looked as though it was made of gnarled and twisted branches woven together to form this weird facsimile of a body. Its face was like a skull carved from bark without a lower jaw, and as it held pieces of gore into the moonlight I could see the twisted, empty hollows that were its eyes. I wanted to gasp, to scream at the sight of the thing, but Sean's hand quickly shot to my shoulder and started to pull me away.
The snapping twig had to be the loudest thing I had ever heard. The creature's eyeless gaze shot into the trees and saw it speak, mouthlessly.
"Hey? Who is that? Who's out there? Sean?" it spoke with Rick's voice. "Hey bro, it's fine, come here real quick. I got something I wanna show ya."
"Run..." Sean whispered. "Run to the cars." I watched as Sean did a full about-face and broke into a sprint, and I followed close behind. We bolted through the darkness of the forest, in what we had both assumed was the direction of the road. Branches whipped against my exposed skin, scratching and tearing into my flesh as I imagined what those clawlike branches of the Thing would do to me. My chest burned and heaved as I spared a glance over my shoulder.
I wish I didn't.
It was following us, silently. It was sprinting after us on all fours, but its footfalls made no noise. "Don't run, man! Hey! It's gonna be alright!" it called to us in Dylan's voice. I rasped, focusing my attention back into the darkness, pushing my burning muscles to the brink. I wanted to fall over, every part of me screamed to just give up and let this thing take me, but I pushed forward. I was rewarded with the sight of a break in the treeline.
"Come play! Come be with us!" a child's voice called to me. "Stop being such a coward!" it was a woman's voice, vaguely familiar.
I burst from the treeline and threw open my car door, Sean dove into the passenger's seat. I got the engine started just as the Thing burst from the treeline. It furiously raise one of its gnarled claws and swiped at my car door. The vehicle crunched as the steel caved and its claws tore through the metal, but the door remained. I slammed on the gas and sped away, the creature roared in frustration, thousands of voices crying out in rage. "NO! COME BACK! COME BACK AND BE A PART OF US!"
I barreled down the highway as fast as my car would go, adrenaline pushing me forward. Every time I glanced in the mirror I expected the thing to be following, but it wasn't. I sped to the nearest town and we immediately went to the police. We didn't expect them to believe us, but they took one look at us and at my car and they told me they'd take a look first thing in the morning, that it was dangerous to go out poking through the woods in the middle of the night. There was nothing we could do to convince them to go earlier, they seemed adamant about going the morning, claiming it would be safer for everyone.
Did they know? Did they know about the Thing?
The next morning, a squad of officers left to investigate the place we had described, they returned late in the afternoon. There was a grimness in their faces, like they had seen something terrible. They told us about the campsite that we had found, and of all the blood. They chalked it up to an animal attack, claiming there was no way anything human could do that sort of damage. When we asked about James, they all looked at each other and shook their heads. They couldn't find any sign of him, and his car was gone. The only reason they were able to figure out where we had been were the skidmarks and the damage to the treeline.
​We drove home after I got checked out by a doctor for my head. I swore to myself that I'd never go back up there. That whatever the hell that Thing was could have its territory.
Sean was different, though. He told me he was going to find James. Said he was going to figure out why James knew so much about this Thing and why he brought us up there in the first place.
​Two months ago Sean called me, saying he got a message from James. He said James told him he could come to talk to him in the place where it all began. I begged him not to go. Pleaded with him to stay away from that place, but he told me he was going to expose James and everything he had done. That was two months ago, and I didn't hear from Sean again.
Not until last week, when I got a manilla envelope with a collection of recordings that he had made. There was a note, but only one thing was written: "Watch, Listen."

“It seems that the Blightswell is beginning to come out of hibernation. Decide who will be going and meet me at the cottage gate in two hours. I’ll bring you the usual supplies and tell the others.” - Mabel
The task of settling the Blightswell down is reserved for the more senior members of the ranger team, those who’ve been here more than two years. Unfortunately, aside from Bea and Arata, there are very few experienced rangers who’ll be able to go out and handle it this year. For the ceremony to be performed safely, five rangers are needed: Aside from Bea, Arata and myself, we’ll need two others to read the guide in detail before we all head out.
The Blightswell resides at the southernmost point of Raifee Wood, in a cave which faces the misty border of the territory. The Blightswell hibernates there for the majority of the year but begins to stir in the spring. At this time of year, Mabel will be keeping a close eye on it, and alert us when she believes that it will be emerging soon. It is one of the few times she breaks from her usual routine, since if we are too late, the Blightswell will leave Raifee Wood- this mustn't allowed to happen.
Collect the following items from the equipment cupboard: The crystal bowl, the sack of dried flower petals (a mixture of poppies, rose petals, lavender and mint), the gas lighter, a jar of sap, the black-ribboned scroll, two spears and three censers (check they’re filled). Bring enough rations for two days. Mabel will meet us at the cottage gate and provide a pitcher filled with dark liquid. She will also provide a large wrapped parcel and a folded tent.

1. Before you leave, every ranger should put on one of the oilskin uniforms (a hooded cape, trousers and gloves) that are stored under the living room sofa, as well as the leather masks which are kept in the same box. Best to leave wearing the oilskin uniforms, but you only need to wear the masks for the ceremony.
2. Reaching the cave should take about three hours on foot at a steady pace. You many notice the woods are quieter than usual but this shouldn’t be a concern. Double check the inventory as you walk- returning for a missing item at the last moment could prove disastrous.
3. As you approach the cave, you may notice red eyes in the bushes or trees. Do not worry about them for now, but don’t approach them either. They are wary of humans and the last thing we want is to scare them off.
4. When you have reached the mouth of the cave, listen to the noise coming from inside- it is a valuable indicator of approximately when the Blightswell will emerge. If only rustling can be heard within the cave, the Blightswell is in Stage 1. It is awake but will not emerge for at least a day. If chittering and squeaking can be heard, the Blightswell is in Stage 2. It is becoming more active and will emerge within the next 24 hours (but no sooner than 4). Human cries signal that the Blightswell is in Stage 3: It is fully awake and on the move within the next few hours. During my time here, Mabel has never been late enough for us to arrive during Stage 3, but if it does happen, set up the ceremony as quickly as possible. Hopefully, this scenario will remain theoretical.
5. It is best to prepare for the ceremony, even if the Blightswell is still in Stage 1. Using the jar of sap, create a semi-circular border that starts and ends at each edge of the cave mouth- ensure there is no gap where something could slip through. There should be a stain on the ground from the previous year, which you can use as a guide. When the sap has been spread, press the dried petals into the border. Reserve a few handfuls but there should be more than enough to create a thick layer. Directly opposite the cave entrance and just on the cusp of the border is a stone plinth- place the crystal bowl on it, and fill it with the contents of the pitcher.
6. Erect the tent in the clearing next to the cave, close enough that you can hear what is going on inside. It is made of a silver fabric and has been soaked in a floral substance, giving it a strong scent. Make sure to set up the tent at least two meters away from the fog border- it can ripple slightly if it is windy and the last thing you want is to wake up with a melted shoulder or foot. Scatter the rest of the dried petal mix within the tent and keep it tightly sealed unless you are entering or exiting it.
7. The air within a 100-metre radius around the Blightswell’s cave is warm and smells terrible, somewhere between vinegar and rotten meat. More concerningly, it has a deadly effect on rangers if exposed to it for long periods- headaches, followed by a powerful urge to walk into the cave. Needless to say, if you end up entering the cave, you will not be coming out of it. To stay safe while remaining close enough to the cave to monitor the Blightswell, use the tent. Stay inside it whenever possible, and avoid being out in the open air for more than 6 hours at a time. However, if you do get a headache at any point, go into the tent immediately. It may just be a regular one, but it is not worth the risk. Obviously, if you spot a ranger walking towards the cave, restrain them and seal them in the tent until they stop struggling.
8. Once Mabel realises that the Blightswell is waking up, she will inform as many inhabitants as possible and request that we are left to our own devices to complete the ceremony. Fortunately, the inhabitants reliably honour this request. The reasons for this seem to vary: Fear or respect for Mabel, a favour to leverage for ranger services or just a desire to preserve their pool of prey outside the Wood. Whatever the case, we usually have minimal interactions with other inhabitants before and during the ceremony. However, a few curious ones may visit the edge of the clearing to see what is happening. Ignore them. I suspect that if they don’t think you are taking your task seriously, they would see it as justification to break their agreement with Mabel. We almost had a disaster eight years ago, when something picked off a ranger who wandered away from the cave just before Stage 3 began- we’re still not sure to this day who or what it was. Thankfully, a replacement was able to get out to the cave on time, but it was close. Much too close.
9. During Stage 2 spend as much time as possible in the tent to avoid the air’s effects from taking hold during Stage 3 or (god forbid) the ceremony itself.
10. Between yourselves, memorise the contents of the scroll- a short prayer to Saint Sebastian. If you anticipate that memorising is going to be a problem, memorise a line or two each and agree to speak them in sequence during the ceremony. However you choose to go about it, it must be recited consistently and accurately throughout the ritual.
11. When Stage 3 begins, put on the leather masks, and secure them firmly. Check your clothing to ensure that you are fully covered. Agree upon your roles- three rangers will need to hold the censers, and two will use the spears. Have them on hand.
12. At the end of Stage 3, the crying and screaming will subside. You will have a few minutes to light the censers and surround the border. Begin to chant the prayer. The combination of smoke and prayer will weaken the Blightswell, slowing its reactions and giving you essential time.
13. The Blightswell will spill out of the cave, its black, viscous body only stopping when it touches the sap border. You will see the petals of the border begin to slowly darken and turn to sludge- it will fully dissolve the border in approximately 40 minutes. Being restrained by the border agitates the Blightswell and it will begin to pulse, the black skin of its body bubbling with buboes. The rangers with spears should lance these lumps with small cuts. Relieving the pressure from these growths placates the Blightswell and will help it settle. Avoid being hit with the pus- your uniform will protect you from a small amount but if any gets underneath, it infects the skin with similar sores. If left untreated, they will spread, begin to bleed and then kill you within a few days. If you do develop any sores, go to Mabel straight after the ceremony- she has a tincture that will prevent the buboes from spreading and give you a decent chance of survival. Unfortunately, the scarring is permanent.
14. When the Blightswell stops producing new buboes, it will begin to calm down. This is usually when it takes notice of us properly. Straining, it can warp its body to form small tendrils that reach approximately a foot over the border, if only for a short time. It will try to touch you- thankfully the smoke will slow its reflexes and help you avoid its grasp. If it touches you directly, even through the oilskin, you will experience an accelerated version of the sickness caused by its pus. We will not be able to save you, but if this happens, please try to hold out until the end of the ceremony. For the sake of everyone you cared about before you arrived here.
15. Eventually, the Blightswell will stop moving. Once it has determined that it cannot contaminate a ranger, it will look for something else to occupy itself while its decay eats away at the border. We are incredibly fortunate that the Blightswell is impatient and animalistic enough to succumb to the same tactic every year. In this phase avoid providing any distractions. Do not speak or move unless absolutely vital. Don’t make eye contact. Well, it doesn’t have eyes, just avoid looking at its head. We’re not sure what it’s supposed to resemble, but the general consensus is a cross between the skull of a rat and the head of a flea. In any case, the Blightswell seems to be able to see out of the empty sockets and becomes agitated if you meet its gaze.
16. Without any distractions, the bowl should catch the Blightswell’s attention. From what Mabel has told us, it is a combination of beer, blood and laudanum, although there is an unknown silver powder mixed in too. The combination seems rather enticing for the Blightswell, and it will use its tendrils to soak up the bowl's contents. When the Blightswell has finished drinking, it will slump and fall unconscious. Just before it is fully down, it usually tries to reach us as a last-ditch effort. Stay together, and use the smoke from the censers to keep it at bay. Keep chanting the prayer. Some rangers have reported feeling sympathy for it in this stage, especially as the sobbing from Stage 3 starts up again. Just remember that those are stolen voices.
17. When the Blightswell is fully unconscious, leave the three censers burning around the border. Put Mabel’s package next to the plinth and unwrap it. The contents differ a bit every year, but there are always portions of dried meat and dried herbs alongside a few miscellaneous items. The contents vary a bit every year, but share a common theme: In my years, I’ve seen jade figures of Bastet, postcards with Louis Wain illustrations and a Battersea adoption form. Reminders perhaps, of the more positive aspects of our relationship. Step back and go into the tent as a group- zip it up completely.
18. Eventually, the red eyed creatures you may have noticed around the clearing will step out and surround the Blightswell, to push its body back into the cave. We are very fortunate that they are willing to do this for us, seeing as we are unable to touch the Blightswell directly. Judging by the hissing, we suspect they dislike it just as much as we do. As I mentioned before, these creatures are very skittish around humans so do not come out of the tent while they are in the clearing- you will be able to see the glow of their eyes through the tent fabric so stay put until they're gone. They will take the contents of the parcel with them.

After the Blightswell has been returned to its cave, return to the cottage as soon as possible- the temporary agreement with the inhabitants will wear off pretty quickly so it is best not to hang around. Check yourself for buboes as soon as you return home- use the bathroom mirror to be 100% certain. Seek immediate treatment if needed and give all of the oilskin uniforms to Mabel for disinfection. Apparently, our usual laundry routine won’t be sufficient. Monitor your health for the next few days but you should be in the clear. Until next year, at least.
Previous Entry: Entry 31, Madam Cotton
Introduction and basic guide to surviving in Raifee Wood

[Vast Listen, head curator of the “Heretic Collection” here! Today, while our “Heroes” and Maxwell are doing their thing, and currently it’s just boring travel, I thought we would take a look at the goings-on of the rest of the world.]

Heretics Dell
Bear, looking dapper in his new straw fishing hat, was looking out at the ever-expanding lake, while gesticulating at his fishing partner. He was currently retelling a story about some kids getting “lost” in the woods so he could rescue them. He almost hadn’t since they had gotten trapped in a ditch by a very annoyed skunk.
Then his fishing partner, an “old” man wearing a coffee-stained robe, pulled a big pike from the lake, and they started discussing the bait and new-fangled “fishing-reel” he had gotten in the little “mom and pop” bait and tackle store in town.

Pando
In a very large park bordered by a larger city sits a stand of trees. A very large stand of trees. In the very center of the stand; surrounded by old trunks, some of whom were more rot than wood; stands a single tree. A tree than has outlived all but one of its grandchildren.
The tree’s leaves were out, shaking happily in the wind, as a little girl played in the branches. As she danced from branch to branch, she talked to a chickadee.
“Do you think father will ever come to visit?”
“Chirp”
“He’s visited my granddaughter several times; but she says that he has never really talked to her.”
“Chirp chirp.”
“True.” She cocked her head. “I know he’s a busy man, I just wish he would come visit. Just once would be fine.”
On the ground, the only park ranger that could make her way to the tree stared up the hundred-foot trunk and shook her head at the child’s antics. “Heretic’s balls, I wish that kid would climb down.”

Gilip, Capital city of Demonia;

In the chamber of the high-council, twelve people sat around a large table; a table that maintained fourteen seats, even though one seat was, until not long ago, never used. Some had horns, others had tusks, some long claws, and some were plain human. They all sat shoulder to shoulder, and talked.
“We need to fill General Garblex’s* seat.” The Communications Director said.
“Indeed, we do.” One of the other councilors said. “But who can fill the great generals’ hooves?”
“Why don’t we elevate that boy?” One woman asked, clicking her cold iron shod hoof on the tile floor. “The cousin of your underling that…he who should not be named... is so fond of?”
“Well, the boy has merit, and He did say the boy was adequate…” Another said.
“I call for a vote.” The director of people resources said from under her light-proof coat. “All in favor of the cousin taking up General Garblex’s seat, raise your hands?”
Hands were raised, and so, a poor young man was thrust into another uncomfortable situation due to his cousin’s “friend”.

The Celestial Realm

Esmerelda, goddess of wisdom was wandering through the hall of wisdom looking for someone. A particular Brother of the order who was never where he was supposed to be. She finally gave up, and walked to the front door; not the front door that led to one of the various temples on the world, but the Front door, the one that lead to the celestial world.
As she stepped out into the sundrenched air, Narrissa, the goddess of Tranquility approached. “Esmeralda! Just who I wanted to see!”
“What can I do for you.” Frost dripped with each word as Esmerelda locked eyes with the other goddess.
“I actually…need your help?”
Esmerelda’s jaw almost fell off. “You? You need MY help?”
“Yes. As much as it pains me to admit, I need to find a way to speedily heal a soul.” Narissa replied.
Esmerelda squinted at Narissa, “What are you going to do with it after it’s been healed?”
“Rip it to shreds again. Over and over and over…”
Esmerelda laughed. “That sounds about right. Follow me.”

…Meanwhile, in a nearby barn…
Ghondish grunted, then let out a bleat of annoyance. “Stupid idiots. Morons. Nincompoops.” He kicked a table, nearly collapsing the thing.
“Summon heroes untethered to a task.
“Stick me with the job of punishing you.
“Then that…that thing shows up in my home.
“Now I have to find a way to break the Geass so you can come back!
“And we had just been selected to beta-test the new Humans and Highrises^TM system!
“I am sooo going to hurt your characters for this!

The Abyss

The unnamed horror of the Abyss sat on its throne, listening to the petitioners as they raised one plea or another. Finally; after a number of pesky questions that were almost always answered with “Are you stupid? Go do ‘X’!”; it let out a might sigh, “I’m tired of all your stupidity. Does anyone have anything that Actually need my attention?”
No one spoke for a while, until near the back of the line, a minor demon spoke. “Your lordship? If I may?”
“Yes Zander?”
“Um… Do you remember that one device? The one that brought people here from the heroes’ world?” Zander asked.
“Yes. What of it?”
Zander coughed, “Well, it looks like someone turned it on. On the other side, I mean.”
“And?”
Zander bit his reptilian lip, “Well, I mean, that means there is still some sort of connection, right?”
“AND?”
“W-well, your…your highness,” Zander stammered and stuttered, “S-someone could have nefarious intentions with it. Like making a new one? Or worse yet, making a Game with it?”
The whole assemblage gasped at the horror they had just heard.
“An-and they m.m.might even use…” Zander choked on his tongue, “MightevenuseMicro-transactions!”
Half the hall of demons fainted.

Dis, Capital of Dis

John, son of John sat on his throne. Being the king of a country was a pain. Being a Lich was a pain. Being both at the same time was the worst kind of pain. He sat all day listening to complaints, and he stood at a tall desk all night doing paperwork. Today, he was re-reading his notes for the “state of the state” address he needed to deliver in a few hours. I hope something interesting comes up so I can miss the address. And as all things wished for, the worst possible thing happened.
A courier, one Mr. Smartt, ran into the great hall. “Your Highness! I bring grave tidings!”
“How grave?” Jonh asked, hope leaking into his voice.
“No, my lord, Grave. As in Graves in the Graveyard, Grave.” Mr. Smartt replied.
“Oh.” John slumped back onto the throne, not realizing that he had risen. “Go ahead. And no gallows humor from you today.”
“Yes, my lord.” Mr. Smartt said. “The Grave news is that a band of heroes has appeared on the continental shore, and is killing off the undead!”
“Oh. OH! That is excellent news!” John perked up. “Send them a thousand gold coins to help them on their quest!”
“My lord?” Mr. Smartt stopped dead.
“You heard me.” John tried to smile, but stopped after remembering that he couldn’t anymore. “Send them money to help them on their quest.”
Mr. Smartt blinked, “But…Sire…You’re undead too?”
“Bah. Don’t care.” John said. “Now don’t Hang around. Take them the money!”

* General Garblex
Commander of the armies of Demonia. First mentioned in book one, “33 The Not-Immortal Blacksmith Chapter 10 – Demonia”. Most recently, he sacrificed himself to raise the shield around Gilip, the Capital city of Demonia, during the demon invasion.
Original - First - Previous - Next
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Been a bad week. Didn't have a MRI on my neck done. Didn't get to go to a gun show with my kid because of homework not being done on their part. And have found that without a lot of help, I will never be able to ride a motorcycle.
Surprisingly, of the three, the motorcycle is the worst news. I've wanted to ride ever since I saw Evil Knievel on TV as a kid. Now, either the pegs are to far back for my knees, OR the bike is to big for me to comfortably ride, or I can't get my gimp leg over the bike. I'm depressed about it. At least things might change after physical therapy?
That's about it for this weeks news!
Still broke, have conventions coming up, please give what you can.
ALSO Help those people down in the tornado belt! They can use the money too!!!
Shakes donation box:
Ko-Fi https://ko-fi.com/vastlisten1457
Patreon https://www.patreon.com/VastListen1457
Ps. GunCon still has some tickets, if you are interested in going. It is in Iowa, so maybe not??
Pps. I will be retiring the Ghondish shirts and such at the end of June. Just an FYI.
Ppps. The movie Abigail was a fun flick. Not Oscar worthy, but still fun.

I'm a new climber. I've given my new Tarantulaces 9 sessions to break in and I'm still having problems with them, but I truly don't know if I need to toughen up and get more calluses or give them a longer chance to shape to my foot, so I'm here to ask.
tl;dr There are two problems: general roughness/seaminess and a big lumpy pressure point right over one big toe.
Background: I don't have prior experience with sports with specialty shoes, and I wear very roomy minimalist shoes with toe socks, so I was braced for a new and uncomfortable experience. In the store, they felt great. I got a professional fit from a salesperson. I was careful with my sizing, and I'm confident I got the right size. The size doesn't hurt; my toes are very snug, but not painful because of that. It's cozy until I put weight on them, then a little cramped.
The first day, I wore them barefoot and got an immediate bubble blister on my right big toe. I slapped Leukotape on it and the pain disappeared as it always has when I used it in hiking contexts... in all other shoes. Not in my climbing shoes, where the blister was as hot as ever and I was actively limping. The rest of my toes were warning me of possible hot spots so I read up on the Internet and found the bread bag trick.
The next 7 sessions, I had bread bags protecting my toes while the shoes got a chance to shape to my foot and the toes got a chance to get used to the seams. Big loose leather flap right across the line of my toes for some reason, and lots of stitching where I could feel it. How many calluses am I supposed to develop? This is not a sarcastic question, I am sincerely trying to figure this out.
Meanwhile, I couldn't put my foot down on the basic peg-shaped holds on the rainbow wall because my toes hurt. I assumed this was because I needed to toughen up my ability to bear weight on them in general.
Session 9, I tossed the bread bags. It was time to try again. I put my bare feet in the shoes, walked out on the floor... and walked right back to the bench to put my toe socks on because I could tell I would get hot spots everywhere within the hour. With my socks on, everything felt great and I wasn't limping. I went and tried the rainbow wall again and discovered that my toes were happy to bear weight if they weren't pressing against mean shoes.
The only remaining problem was that at the end of the hour I had a fresh hot spot on my big toe where that one big lump had pressed a deep red spot. I can feel the place under the rubber where there's some kind of join in the cobbling.
Tarantulaces are recommended all over the place as a good all-around shoe and no one says "pity about the inside finish which is a little rough" so I assumed that if I try another kind I'll just get more of the same and this is just... how climbing shoes are. Is there a range on that? Did I get a weird pair?
Did I get unlucky with the lump over the big toe on my pair, or am I just unlucky on the placement of my big toe?
In any case, am I likely to have better luck if I take these back to REI for different shoes, and do folks have particular recommendations for a more finished interior if that's a thing?