Lump in my jaw line below rear molars

I thought I’d add a trip report for Universal Studios Japan as I found some of this detail was hard to find online (e.g. the opening time!) My husband and kids (aged 8 and 11) visited USJ on a weekday in mid April.
Tickets: All purchased through Klook without any problems. Printed at home to save the hassle of flicking through four passes on my phone every time. We bought the 7 Express Pass which was worth every cent. We also bought the Early Entry studio pass, designed to let us in 15 minutes early. That wasn’t entirely accurate, see paragraph below!
Entry times: We had read online that the park opens an hour before the posted time. Not today! The posted time was 9am, and we turned up at 8:15. The park opened at around 8:40. At this time, the regular lines and the Early Entry lines opened all at once. But it was still definitely worth buying the Early Entry pass, because the lines were much, MUCH shorter. If you’re using an Early Entry pass, just show the attendants when you turn up and they’ll direct you to the Early Entry lines.
Super Nintendo World: We had already reserved an entry time for Super Nintendo World at 10:50 through our express passes, but we didn’t want to wait. We checked the app as we walked in at 8:50, and we could get an entry time to SNW at 9:10. We went straight there, lined up, and they let us in 15 minutes early! We found the same for all of our express passes too: They would allow us in at least 10 minutes earlier. Perhaps it’s because it wasn’t a particularly crowded day (still crowded, but not a weekend or holiday). In brief, SNW is everything you’ve seen online, but so spectacular in person.
SNW power up bands: We bought these at the first kiosk, but should’ve followed the advice online and walked further into the area. There were power up band kiosks with no queues inside. We didn’t really get much value for money out of these: the kids had fun hitting the blocks and coins and interacting with them a little on the rides, but they couldn’t be bothered to wait in the long queues for the more elaborate games. There’s a big challenge which requires playing several games to collect keys to enter a boss level. It probably would have taken an extra hour or two, but we were ready to go on more rides.
Jaws: We went on this next, but there was no need for a fast pass as the queue was very short. It was entertaining enough despite being in Japanese. We would have preferred to ride the Hollywood roller coaster; our 7 express pass had that as an alternative to Jaws, but unfortunately it’s currently closed.
Minions Mayhem: This was the best 3D movie ride I had ever been on (until we went on Soaring at DisneySea!). Both are excellent. The intro videos have English subtitles; the main 3D movie ride didn’t, but there wasn’t much dialogue. Very fun, enjoyed by all. Walked past the other Minions ride, Freeze Ray Sliders, but looked like a version of spinning teacups, not worth the ever-lengthening queue times.
Mario Kart: Koopa’s Challenge: Probably our favourite ride for the day. It’s a combination ride / 3D movie / interactive experience with virtual goggles – worth every bit for the express pass, and worth the queue if you don’t have an express pass!
Yoshi’s Adventure: Very much a young kids’ ride and can be skipped! Even our kids looked bored. There are good views, but not much that you can’t see elsewhere. (As an aside, the two best views of the not-yet-opened Donkey Kong Country were found at the peak of the Flight of the Hippogriff rollercoaster, and on the Tempozan Ferris Wheel which we visited the day before.)
Flying Dinosaur: Our 11-year-old doesn’t like extreme roller coasters, but our 8-year-old was unsure as she has liked some bigger roller coasters before. We decided that my husband and I would ride it while the kids watched (and took videos, hilarious) and we could tell her afterwards if it was too scary. DEFINITELY too scary, haha. I love roller coasters, and I closed my eyes in parts. I’m so glad I did it, but it’s not for the faint-of-heart.
Jurassic Park meet and greet: We happened to walk past as the dinosaurs were coming out. Cute for the kids, but not worth structuring your day around. I wish the Jurassic Park log flume ride was open, but it’s currently still closed.
Waterworld: We queued for this 20 minutes before show time, but we needn’t have bothered, as the seating area was huge. They were still letting people in as the performance began, and none were having trouble finding seats. We could have chosen the front row, but we sat slightly behind the ‘splash zone’ so we wouldn’t get wet. Sitting higher up afforded a better view too, but views would have been good from anywhere. The plot was simple enough to follow without understanding Japanese – fun and good for a long rest for our already tired feet!
Hogsmeade: Utterly stunning, all of it: The shops, the food, the performances (singing frogs and magical beasts turned up regularly). We ate at the Three Broomsticks, which appeared crowded with a long queue, but with an app to order, it cleared quickly enough. There were plenty of empty tables out the back, with a view across the lake to Hogwarts! My kids had wanted to try butterbeer for so long, but it was sickly sweet, like bubbly maple syrup. It was quite difficult to find a place to dispose of the rest of the drink so we could take the souvenir cups home, but eventually we just dumped the contents in the bathroom sink.
Interactive wands: These were much better value for our kids, and they took part in five of the seven interactive spells before exhaustion hit at the end of the day. The first (wingardium leviosa!) was not being managed by staff, so it was hard to get it to work. It had about a 50% success rate. The later ones were all managed by very kind and patient staff (who also happened to speak excellent English) who allowed each guest to keep trying until it worked. It meant the queues were slow-moving, but most were short enough, and my kids were happy to wait while they watched others attempting the spells.
Harry Potter and the Forbidden Journey: We were so excited for this one, but it scared both my kids a bit! The 8-year-old because of the giant dementors (both on-screen and big animatronics), and the 11-year-old because the chair actually tipped a really long way back and forward. She was worried we would go right upside-down, but we didn’t. It was a lot more intense than we had expected. I really loved it, but be careful if you have sensitive kids.
Flight of the Hippogriff: This is a pretty tame roller coaster, and I’m not sure why people would queue two hours for it. The kids loved it, though. One warning: my six foot tall husband had to be moved to the front row as his legs didn’t fit!
Minions Mayhem again: We noticed on the app that there was only a 10 minute queue for Minions Mayhem, so my husband and 8-year-old had another go. A 10 minute queue means no queue at all, as it takes 10 minutes to walk through and watch the intro videos. We checked the app, and all the more popular rides still had huge queues, so decided to call it a day.
All up, we were there from opening to 6pm, and were utterly exhausted by the end of it. Plan a quieter day for afterwards, if you can! And we were very jealous of the people staying in the hotel right by the park – in hindsight it would have been worth the extra packing and unpacking to shift to that hotel for the night before and/or after.

Now that I discovered this community I am pretty confident what is happening to me is all tied back to this lovely little jaw muscle. I see my GP Monday 8am . Hoping for any advice - better details - corrections on my wrong assumptions or statements and ultimately a little reassurance and validation from yall , That what is happening to me right now is all connected and I am not crazy.
10 months ago I had my last 2 upper molars pulled the "ol fashioned" way with the wiggling and the tugging and the ripping and the "Okay now you're going to feel a bit of pressure" followed by the feeling that your jaw is in fact being ripped out of your mouth.
Things started mild 6 months ago intensified around the 3 month mark and now these last 3 weeks I can barely function. I feel the definition of "Malaise" hits perfect. I'm afraid to leave my house the head pain / brain fog has me feeling like I could blackout any second, And the whoosh / vertigo / world spins has me terrified of driving.
So here is what I'm feeling in order of how they hit , everything is on the left side if that matters
Shoulder Blade - Everything is felt along the bottom of the blade.
Jolt of fire and burning on the skin -- A tearing and ripping under the skin on the muscle - Starts to vibrate a tingling fire sensation outward in a semi circle
When I put my tens unit on there the flexing caused pain on the top of shoulder and collarbone.
Always strongest when I lift or carry, random bursts when I'm sitting doing nothing and now even the weight of my phone sends it to 11
Muscles Weakness and Tremors
When the blade pain is bad, I can barely grip anything with my hand, Hands tremble and different arm muscles randomly will twitch and flex.
My jaw is now (2 weeks) shivering / chittering (IDK wtf it is) as if im cold. Digging my fingers into the facial knots will stop it. Always hits when I first get out of bed, then a few times during the day no pattern in the trigger
Eyes/Ears
Couldn't keep my contacts in more than half day , left only felt cloudy hazy blurry - They are brand new lenses and Ive been use the good "eye juice" with no changes. Tried yesterday had to take em out within an hour.
Sharp twinge zap inside the ear - cold trickling sensation down the canal - ends with a punch of pain behind ear on the thick neck tendon
The Whoosh (Is this brain fog? Something else?) Zap / Jolt of electricity on top of my brain but under my skull - The whoosh when i see everything spin a 360 for a second - And ends with me "off kilter' for minutes to hours, As if there is a delay between what my eye sees to when my brain processes. During the spell ill feel "wonky" "Out of body" "tunnelly vision"
The Exploding Head
Its a constant feeling / sensation that my head is filling with sludge.
Forehead & eye have waves of intense dull aches, This part is killing so bad right now, even with NSAIDS it never stops having pressure just relieves it slightly. When it kicks hard and throbs my eyes go really fuzzy and that im going to blackout feeling hits. I have not actually passed or blacked out thank god - my cats would eat me alive in a day -
Jaw/ cheek & gums are twitchy with tightness/fullness and pointy pain shockwaves. The M in the TMJ is a ball of rubberbands and it is so very tender. My face does not appear to have anything swelling outwards from here but poking around in there i find tons of lumps I can break up.. Opening and closing i have full range I think and right now no popping or pains when i do. The area by my ear where the bones connect is so tender, but I dont feel lumps much here. I feel such relief when I hit here with my point tool.
Side of my Neck has small mushy lumps just under the skin and some big daddies deeper in and these ones get stabbyy pains that pulse with my heart.
Back of my neck the bottom half is gravel I can break up pretty easy but I think 3 more come back in their place.
Base of skull I have golf balls burried deep,. They dont throb but when I rub them it is painful but in the best way because I feel such release everywhere else but then they hurt for days. When I rub them to hard and deep oh man sore for days.
All this ends at my upper back and this area is awful. It burns on the surface level 24/7. Icy hot tricks my brain for about and hour. I did some scraping massage here and it sounded like rice krispies and I think hese are adhesions vs knots. .Deeper is full of thick knots, I have the trigger point hook to dig in there and sometimes magic happens and the ache everywhere else gets better for a bit.
The floating bone
It was mild discomfort, odd feelings of tightness inside my actual throat, tingles and a dry feel. It started wiggling around on its own pretty often and when I felt that first water balloon pop inside yikes I was scared AF. Now it just moves whenever it wants. I barely touch it and it "shoots" to the other side. Massaging in here hurts so GOOD! Looking all the way up and feeling from chin towards throat I have many bumps all different sizes. And lastly when I move my head certain ways it feels as if there is a leak happening and almost mucus-y like I could cough but usually dont need to
If you are still with me many apologies this got longer than I thought it would. Today has been my worst day so far, all the pains I mentioned are now hitting at once. Today I was sitting here sobbing in pain it because I was at 13 / 10 and wouldn't ease no matter what I pressed on . 3 Naproxen with 3 ibuprofen gives me about 3 hours of refief right now. I know posture is a part of my pain levels and ive aready ordered some tools so I can correct.

This will function as a one-stop guide to sound deaden the 3rd generation Mazda3. I believe it will be useful for any previous or next-gen Mazda3 owner, or anyone with a CX-30, as these platforms share many components.
Like others undertaking this project, I did a ton of research on sound deadening, the process, and the products first before jumping in. I would encourage anyone pursuing the same project to read through the links I’ve included in this write-up as they should give you all the information you need to sound-deaden your car in a comprehensive, easy manner, without having to do the weeks of research I had to do.
Pre-reading:
If you haven’t already, read through this thread for background as this is a solid, comprehensive write-up.
https://www.mazda3revolution.com/threads/sound-deadening-my-17-mazda-3-bn.242072/
Materials Needed:
1. Butyl-based mat to apply first as your base layer
I used 72 square feet to do the entire car, including hood, wheel wells, full interior, rear hatch area, and all doors. I did not do the headliner.
Total cost: $200 CAD
I used 1 box of 2mm (80 mil) Kilmat, and 1 box of 2.5mm Amazon branded butyl sheets. I found the Kilmat had better adhesion and was easier to cut and work with, because of the smaller sheet sizes, so I used this for tight spaces and the doors. The Amazon stuff was great to apply to large areas such as the floor of the vehicle, because I would just stick one entire sheet down and be done with it. It’s also slightly cheaper than the Kilmat.
Other brands: Silless, which manufactures the closed cell foam, also makes this stuff for a reasonable price.

2. Closed cell foam as the second layer
I used 100 square feet.
Total cost: $200
I did a LOT of research and shopping around to find the best balance between price, value, and performance of closed cell foam. I ultimately landed on using Siless Liner 157mil (4mm) closed cell foam which I found on Amazon. Noico is also another brand that makes this stuff for slightly more cost. These come in boxes of 51 square feet for about $100. I thus bought two boxes of the stuff. I did end up with leftover product, which I have saved as it can be used to stick on anything else that causes noise such as a furnace, washing machine, etc along with the leftover butyl mat.

3. Rubber-based floor underlay as the final layer
I used a 100 square foot roll of Technoflex Underlayment Acoustic Membrane, 2mm thickness.
Total cost: $85
Product link: https://www.rona.ca/en/product/technofloor-technoflex-underlayment-acoustic-membrane-thermal-insulation-4-ft-x-25-ft-x-008-in-100-sqft-rubber-material-black-m2000-100-73015020
Alternate link: https://technoflexintl.com/en/product/technofloor-acoutstic
Other products I considered, but chose against as the Technoflex is thicker

• https://www.rona.ca/en/product/mono-serra-zito-200-ft2-15-mm-blue-high-density-foam-underlayment-for-vinyl-floors-fm-906-84666069
• https://www.rona.ca/en/product/selitbloc-griptec-subfloor-underlay-pressure-resistent-foam-48-in-w-x-25-ft-l-100-sqft-15-mm-thickness-blue-gold-a64305-05075003

In Canada, you cannot find mass loaded vinyl. My goal was to find something relatively cheap and functional. I went to underlay because it’s sold in bulk and there are many products out there to compare effectiveness. Flooring underlay also has specific requirements in order to carry a particular sound deadening rating. It’s also rubber-based, like vinyl, so I figured I would just double up on layering as I had enough product to do so. I did end up doubling up the layering in most places and had leftover product.
Please note, this product is not adhesive. You lay it down like a blanket and you need to cut it to fit in tight spaces. Thus, I did not use it in vertical areas like the doors. I only used it on the floor and trunk of the vehicle. I am not technically inclined enough to adhere or screw it on the doors, but there are other people in the links on this thread who have done so, so depending on your skill level it is certainly possible.

All Tools Required

1. Socket set with 10mm socket and a Phillips screwdriver. I purchased a full socket set because I did not have one and found one on sale.
2. E-torx socket size 12 to remove the front seats. I just purchased a set of 8 for $20
3. Trim removal tool and plastic clip replacements, approx. $20. Extremely useful!!
   • https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B01N9AL149?psc=1&ref=ppx_yo2ov_dt_b_product_details
   • The metal trim removal tool is worth its weight in gold. Trust me, there are a LOT of plastic trim pieces to remove, and this tool makes them very easy to remove properly without breaking anything. All cars nowadays use plastic trim, so it’s a worthwhile purchase if you’re ever going to do work on any future car as well.
   • I purchased the set above because it came with a whole array of trim removal tools as well as a huge variety of replacement plastic trim pieces. I ended up using a couple pieces that broke when I did the doors. The kit has everything you may need for most vehicles, including our Mazdas.
4. Rubber roller, $12. Useful for rolling down the butyl mat and closed cell foam.
   • https://www.amazon.ca/dp/B01N9AL149?psc=1&ref=ppx_yo2ov_dt_b_product_details
5. Do yourself a favor and get some gloves. I used my bare hands for about 50% of the time, and they were sore, and had little nicks and cuts all over them by the time I was done. Much easier with gloves.

Skill Level
I have a general interest in cars but the most technical work I’ve ever done are oil changes and tire swaps. This was the largest and most technical project I ever embarked on. I work an office job, so I don’t even work with my hands a lot. If I can do it, so can you (as long as you set aside the time and have the proper tools).

Results
I did not take before-after videos, as that has been captured by videos on Youtube as well as people who have measured the noise levels in the threads below. All I can tell you is that this does work. In my opinion, the project even for a newb like me is totally worth it. For less than $500, and a couple days of work, you can make your Mazda feel like an entirely different vehicle.

Now, sounds and vibrations are barely transmitted going over rough roads. The car feels so much more planted and stable when going over bumps. The audio system sounds better. The doors close with a rich-sounding ‘thunk’. By far the biggest improvement is getting a whole new level of isolation within the car, which makes long trips so much more tolerable and the daily commute so much more relaxing. I would 100% do this again.

The project
Okay, let’s get to the project itself! I’ve broken up each area of the car into separate sections. As the write-ups below are fairly comprehensive, there is no need for me to reinvent the wheel.

Doors
This link contains pictures and instructions, very clearly detailed, on how to do the doors. I did the rear doors first to get used to working with all the materials, then the trunk, then the interior of the car. I would suggest following these instructions.
https://imgur.com/a/2018-mazda-3-sound-deadener-install-vE1o9Hi
Before taking apart your doors, also read through this thread as it contains some more details and information that you will find useful.
https://www.mazda3revolution.com/threads/sound-deadening.126105/?post_id=1624345&nested_view=1&sortby=oldest#post-1624345
This thread is also good to read as it is very detailed. It is for the previous generation, but the door design has not changed that much compared to our generation.
https://www.mazda3revolution.com/threads/cheaply-and-effectively-sound-deadening-your-2010-2013-mazda3.111385/

Wheel arches
Use these links and instructions for the wheel arches
https://www.mazda3revolution.com/threads/sound-deadening.126105/page-2
As well as the Imgur gallery from the Doors section for some more pictures.

Trunk
This is the easiest part of the whole project. If you’ve read the threads above, you don’t need any help with this. I did not do the hatch door. I do not think that is worth it, because if your trunk area is well insulated and you have your rear seat up, there’s not a lot of noise that’s going to get through the hatch door.

Interior
This is the part of the project that I had to figure out on my own, so I want to give several tips that will make it easier if you’re doing this.

~1. Removing the interior carpet:~
First vacuum the carpet.
You don't need to remove the entire console to get access to the majority of the floor. To remove the interior carpet, first remove the rear seat, then the front seats, then the interior plastic trim, and finally there are some pieces of Styrofoam in the front wheel wells. You can pull up the carpet for the left side of the vehicle as you work on that side, then tack it all down, and repeat for the right side of the vehicle.

~2. Removing the front seats~
First, disconnect the battery using the 10mm socket. This is recommended by the manufacturer to prevent accidental discharge of the air bags.
If you have the E-torx size 12 socket, removing the seat bolts is a breeze. I zipped them right off. Undo the back bolts, then slide the seat to its rearmost position, then remove the front bolts. Roll the seat onto it’s back to access the harness, undo the harness, then remove the front seat either from the front or rear door. It doesn’t matter.
Go to this site and download the PDF that Anchorman posted. That is all you need to know to remove the front harness. It took me HOURS of searching the web to find a resource this good – there aren’t even any good videos demonstrating what the PDF shows. https://www.cx3forum.com/threads/drivers-seat-removal.17234/
This was both the easiest and hardest thing about the project. Where I got stuck was removing the wiring harness from underneath the seat. Don’t be like me and stick a screwdriver in there, because that can damage the plastic. Instead, simply lift the white tab, press the tab underneath, and the harness comes off nice and easy. The link above with the PDF by Anchorman is what I WISHED I had at the start. I hope this will make it much easier for you.
Don’t be worried about the airbag going off etc. Using the diagram in the PDF, it’s just 1 harness and it comes off super easy and clips back in super easy too. It’s idiot-proof. You won’t have any trouble.

~3. Remove the interior plastic trim~
Again, watch this video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Aat4kUanm9w to see how to remove the trim and in what order. It’s actually quite easy and easy to reinstall as well. Just remember that the front and rear passenger scuff plates go on last. The other interior trim, does not matter what order you reinstall it.
Another tip, when removing the furthermost front inside trim (i.e the fusebox cover) and its equivalent on the front passenger side, there is a plastic nut securing that trim in place at the very front of it. It’s hard to see in there. Simply reach your hand in there, find the nut, and lefty-loosen it all the way until it comes off. Easy peasy!

~4. Remove the carpet~
You can pull up the carpet one side at a time. I recommend starting with the left side. In one area only, I cut through my carpet in order to remove it on the rear passenger areas, where it is affixed underneath the front seatbelt holder. This is not a problem. It was just easier this way, and because that area gets covered up by plastic trim, it doesn’t matter if you cut through it to make your life easier.
Once the carpet is lifted up, vacuum underneath it to ensure you have a clean surface that your butyl will adhere to.

~5. Do the driver’s side first!~
The front left side of the vehicle floor is the hardest to do because you have to contend with the footrest, reaching underneath the steering wheel, and the gas pedal. I removed the accelerator pedal – it is just held in place by two 10mm nuts, and then an electrical harness that easily clips off. Remove it and set it aside. Then, lift the carpet and remove the Styrofoam. Use a needlenose plyer to help unclip the plastic portion holding the Styrofoam in place. I did not end up reinstalling that plastic piece, as I installed sound deadener where it would have plugged into the floor. No harm.
I suggest doing the driver’s side first because once you’re done that front left area, the rest of the car is super easy. So do this while you’re fresh. Try to cover as much as you can in the front wheel wells, because that is a significant area of incoming road noise. Be systematic about cutting the butyl and closed cell foam in the correct sizes here, as you will have to reinstall the gas pedal, the Styrofoam, and the carpet properly. The good news is that it’s all easy to reinstall. I didn’t have any trouble.
Once you’re done with the driver’s compartment, systemically work your way with large butyl sheets and closed cell foam through the rest of the car floor. There is no need to apply this stuff up where the plastic trim will be reinstalled, on the inside lateral frame of the car – if you do so, it might be more difficult to reinstall the carpet and the plastic trim. Just do the flat bottom floor only, and you can hold the carpet up to access up along the centre console as well. (Keep in mind this is written for someone with my skill level – i.e newb. If you are more advanced and know what you’re doing, then go ahead and put some butyl or CCM in the inside lateral area, the area otherwise covered up with plastic trim).
I did not go for 100% coverage. To do that would take a lot longer. I went for about 90% coverage with the butyl and closed cell foam, and the rubber Technoflex layers covered up pretty well 95% of the area.
When you are laying the material down, ensure not to cover the holes for the seat bolts. If you do by accident, no worries – just use a screwdriver to poke through them, and you can easily still thread the bolt through when you go to reinstall your front seats.
Repeat the same steps on the right side of the vehicle.

~6. Reinstall the plastic trim.~
First reinstall the carpet and ensure all the holes line up. Reinsert the plastic clips into the holes to hold the carpet in place. Then, reinstall the frontmost trim piece, ensuring it clicks into place, and finally screw the plastic nut on. You may need to lift the rubber insert around the door to replace the plastic trim properly – the rubber insert comes off and goes on very easily, it is very forgiving to work with.
Then, install the B pillar trim piece. Then, the inside rear trim piece. Finally, the scuff plates, front and rear.

~7. Reinstall the front seats.~
~8. Reinstall the rear cushion.~
~9. Plug in the battery again.~
You’re done! Go for a rest drive and let the results speak for themselves!

Final thoughts
I did not take pictures because I was too busy installing the stuff and there are plenty of pictures available on the various threads.
I did reach out to many people on the forum and on Reddit who have done this project and from everything that I’ve learned, I believe this should be all you need to know to do this project successfully.
It will take several days so set some time aside. Here are some rough estimates:

• Trunk: 2 hours
• Each door: 2-3 hours (first door will take longer, then each door after gets shorter and shorter)
• Wheel wells: 2 hours
• Inside Hood: 1 hour
• Interior: 9 hours. Set aside a full day for this. You will want to take breaks in between steps. It took me from 10am to 8pm.

Hi, first time in this sub and hoping someone can explain the following to me like I am 2.
I live in a 2 story townhouse and have HOA fees.
The words: Unit and Lot would be my townhouse.
The below excerpt states that the HOA
Section 1. Association's Maintenance Responsibility. a. Association Repairs Generally. The Association shall make all repairs and replacements and provide any maintenance (including necessary painting) to maintain and keep in good condition and repair, clean and aesthetically pleasing (the "Maintenance Standards") (i) the Common Areas including Recreation Facilities; provided, however, that to the extent (city's utilities) has agreed to maintain and does maintain the storm sewers, sanitary sewers and water lines, and their appurtenances, within the Common Areas, the Association shall not be required to do such maintenance, (ii) paved walks, driveways and parking areas located on Lots or Common Areas, (iii) the exterior faces of the exterior walls, fixtures, fencing, painting, roofs, gutters, chimneys, siding, downspouts and roof drainage systems of the Units ( excluding foundations and windows and doors and their frames, hardware and appurtenances, except that the Association shall be responsible for painting the exterior of the doors and their frames), (iv) any grass, and landscaping on Lots installed by Declarant ( except that the Association shall have no responsibility for grass and landscaping contained in the Courtyard Unit's enclosed rear yards), and, (v) any Utility Facilities serving more than one Unit whether or not within a Lot or Unit. In undertaking such duties, the Association shall be responsible for the repair and replacement of paving, cutting grass, pruning and replacing 19 landscaping installed by Declarant ( except for the grass and landscaping contained in the Courtyard Unit's enclosed rear yards), painting, and, except as otherwise provided, providing all other maintenance, repair and replacements to comply with the above Maintenance Standards. The costs for the actions described in this Section 1.a. shall be assessed as described in Art. N, Sec. 1 through 3. The Association shall repair any damage to a Lot or Unit resulting from the Association's acts under this Article VI. Notwithstanding the above, the Owner of a Lot shall make any repairs and replacements to the Unit or the Lot required (i) as the result of an Insurable Loss, to restore the Unit to its condition existing immediately preceding such loss; or (ii) as the result of the acts or negligence of such Owner or his or her Occupants or their respective agents, employees, guests, or contractors. The Association shall not be responsible for the maintenance of any heating and air conditioning facilities located on or outside of the exterior walls of a Unit which exclusively serve that Unit. Association repairs described herein shall be funded as described in Article N.
Would this qualify a swap in coverage from a homeowners policy to a condo policy?
I've read this so much that my wires are now crossed and would really appreciate a separate set of eyes.
Thanks!

Royal Road here: https://www.royalroad.com/fiction/80877/nop-atalors-fate
Discord Tag: notafurrylad
It's been a while, huh?

First Last Next
Memory transcription subject: Yivreen, Cyonian Survivor
Date [standardized human time]: February 22nd, 2134
The flash daymares hadn’t stopped. Four nights since they’d set in, and now those two fire and brimstone eyes were lingering, waiting to come out when I was asleep. I’d thought that first daymare had been a fluke. It’d felt real, getting chomped up like that, crushed. But... ah.
I’d had more. Once I was in the mouth of that Arxur who’d kicked down the tree. Then I was in the cages with Hens Jr and Sr, and Alma... And each time if there was time for it that swampheaded, red eyed, smokey Arxur would come on in. Try and guilt me like I’d done something wrong.
It was working.
“Yiv. Yiv! I think I got it!” I blinked, my stupor broken by Junior. The kid had been a good help with the computer system since we’d let him fiddle with it instead of me. Much to my... begrudging admission: he was better at it. So, I stood from the chair and headed over to him. The monitor and console were lit up good as new, but they’d been like that for a couple nights now. We’d finally got access to a local map when that’d happened. Or rather a map of the surrounding area, outdated as it was it still had the location of the city on it. It wasn’t like anything had significantly changed in the past hundreds of years since this place had been abandoned. It had been the whole ‘trying to page it into the rest of the old systems at the outpost’ part that’d eluded Juniors little pet project.
“What did you get?” I replied, leaning over his shoulder with a paw on the console while he typed at it.
He cleared his throat. “W-well. I was able to find the wire that’d been causing the problem with the connection to the outpost’s server.” A server? What?
“What do you mean a server? I thought the only computer systems in here were in this room?” He turned his head, a brown eye winking at me. “Nuh-uh! Were you even listening when I explained it earlier? It’s more than just a weather monitoring station. It had a server, otherwise why would it need so many type-v connectors. See?” He pointed a claw to the bundle of wiring running up the wall and into a concrete hole that looked to lead to the next floor above us. Probably. I hadn’t really cared about how many wires there were.
“So... there’s more than just the databanks here in this room?” I asked. My eyes were tasked with looking over the monitor with pursed lips. I’d dug through some ye olde outpost files in the past nights for my journalist program but evidently I’d been missing things if all it took was one kid who had a knack for tech to ascertain there was more to these places.
Before my question could be answered though the command lines and startup protocols on the operating system for the thing had popped by and opened up onto a familiar desktop of our more modern tech. Junior went about clicking immediately to some command line and writing in some jibberish... And- my eyes widened. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing my claw to all the commands on his little black background’d screen.

1: Status
2: Logs
3: Garage Door
4: Barrack Override
5: Communications

Were among the top five, with a half dozen more I didn’t quite have time to think on. “Quick- quick! The uh- There’s a garage?” Don’t get distracted Yivreen. Ahhh moss-heaps.. “The Barrack Override. See what that does.”
The boy swatted away my paw trying to push at it. “Calm down! Calm down jeez, fine!” He jammed his digit into the corresponding number and pressed enter. A few moments passed as it simply displayed three dots. I waited... I waited.. Cmoooo-
Clank. VV-vv-vvv-veeeeeee....
It sounded like something behind the wall to our left was trying to unrust itself and move. A couple hundred years of not moving or being maintained had probably ensured it’d never get moving smooth again. Then of course the universe proved me wrong, and the wall actually shifted. The rounded metal slab I’d taken for a part of the tower’s superstructure began to lower, and behind it... “Holy shit.”
I don’t know where the extreme language had come from but... Wow. My eyes lit. Bunks. Bedding. Lockers.. It looked like the room beyond had been some sort of lodging area for soldiery when this place was built. But there’d been a grow-in on the back wall from a massive root. Snaring part of the room in its gripping-vinelike vice grip. The root was long dead, and the hole it’d bored through the concrete had left the inside exposed to the elements a touch more than if it’d just been left... At least there wasn’t much evidence of water damage.
“Yiv? Are you-” But I was already headed through the way, a paw on my pistol as I glanced around the abandoned room. My mind went right to checking out the lockers, which turned out to be a good idea. My little training sessions into understanding the named bits for guns with Alma were about to start paying off.
“We’ve got guns. Or... Something like guns.” I announced, pulling out the carrying case and flipping it open. Inside I found what looked to be a.. Hrm- no magazine, no bullets... I lifted it up, the rifle-like hardened carbon material was in remarkably good shape. Probably due to the case and materials, but something was different about it. I glanced my eyes over it, noting the electronic aiming system on top which... when I clicked at it offered a red circle for looking through the little scope with. Huh. Not a common thing to find on a Cyonian designed weapon, at least not these nights. This place was old, but this weapon looked like it’d been built by something more ambitious than Federation paws. Federation handhelds were all modified from the same combustion based lead belchers. A fact that rarely ever went unspoken on our own networks when we needed a reason to criticize Aafa.
It took a while longer, but eventually I did find a snap-button on the back of the trigger grip that made something inside it hum to life. My eyes widened. “It’s... An energy weapon.” I murmured. My tail flicking in apprehension. Would it even still fire? The red blinking just below the button told me it must have no power perhaps but... “Hey. Junior. You think you could figure out how to charge one of these guys-?”
I turned my head to see the kid standing at the threshold with his tail in his paws, gripping them anxiously. “Yiv. The uh. The communications aren’t working, but I think the garage door might open if we try it. It could be that cropping of wall and sealed door we figured the old power system must have been housed in right?” He glanced to the rifle in my paws. “I mean, if it uses the same standards as the computer out here it should still be compatible with our stuff. But- we don’t have anything to charge power packs of that size.” He pointed to the fixture sticking out the bottom of the stock. Hrm, he was right.
“See if you can’t get the garage open. I’ll keep looking in here and see if there’s something to help with that.” Came my own voice, I felt... Giddy. Alive. The potential to fight back was intoxicating. Before all I’d had was this dinky pistol I’d used to... kill a couple of the greys. But if we could bring the fight to their patrols, save more people-
I shook my head. Why was I thinking like this? I couldn’t stand up to an invasion fleet. I’d been a frightened Sivkit on the first night of the attack. I- I’d stampeded. I couldn’t remember any of it, but the chance I’d trampled someone in my panic was not zero. I might have contributed to someone being crushed... I’d failed Els, that soldier I’d dragged into the house. Obelisk I couldn’t even keep my mind straight in a fight with those howling, laughing Arxur in my head. The campfire fight had been a fluke!
I didn’t quite know how long I just sat there, staring at the rifle beating myself up, but eventually I was shaken from it by Keick when she sat beside me, an arm on my shoulder. “Hey. I heard you and Junior had a bit breakthrough eh?” She said non-chalantly. I could tell though, even with the chipper tone she’d read me. The accountant knew I’d been in one of my little moods. She’d known me the longest of anyone here, everyone else was like... a pack of convenience? Maybe not Junior. Keick and I had survived the woods together. I’d pulled her from her own hells next to that burning car.
“Hey.” I returned back. “Yeah. Junior got the servers working. Or something like that.” I pointed a claw over at the computer, only to notice he was gone now. I blinked. Had I been out of it that long?
Keick filled in the hole in my head. “He went with his old man to go check out the garage.” Oh. Yeah.
I looked around, “Ah. The guns. We have guns now. Real guns.” I explained, holding the one I had in my paws up for her to inspect.
“Doesn’t look like any gun I’ve seen.” She mused back, taking it from my grip. My body was moving on its own now, rummaging deeper into the lockers. Some of these cases had been broken by the snaring, smaller branches of the grow-in. The firearms within cracked open and busted. Probably no good at all, exposed to the ambient humidity as they had been for so long. Still, couple of the other rifle cases were good. We had weapons, plural. Binoculars? Got em. Spare power packs that needed charging? Got em. There was a lot of survival gear here. Like a militarized ranger outpost had been stationed here. The synthetic material of the camouflaged cloak I found proudly proclaimed it’d reflect thermal scanning on its faded label even! “Either the old rangers from before the treaties were really into operator stuff or the Obelisk put all this here just for us.” I murmured.
Keick, for her part seemed to be looking it all over with a little inventory in her head. Already tapping in the number of each item into her dataslate. “Well. I’d go with the former. The Obelisk hasn’t been around for us lately.” Came the reply as she poked a claw at one of the now entirely spoiled ration packs. “Still, there’s enough stuff here you could arm a squad of soldiers probably. If you know where we can find some spare soldiers that is.”
I flicked my ear at the poor humoured joke. “Ahuh.” Came my reply. “Maybe you should go try the radio again, they’d love to get their paws on stuff like this I think. Pre-war tech actually made to fight predators like this is rare.” Which begged the question... Why did the cloak boast about defeating thermals? These outposts were dated after our discovery and incorporation into the Federation as an early member, and WELL before the Arxur war. So why had we built cloaks like these? Was this equipment used during the years when we’d resisted the burning of our forests and jungles? If so, it meant it might have been auhh... much more violent then the archives made it out to be. Maybe there was a story here? My inner journalist was theorizing.
___________________________
I’d had to pick my jaw up off the ground after headed over to the garage. Hens Senior and Alma were leaned over the the opened hood of what looked like a remarkably still intact forest rover. The design was actually recognizable, having not changed much from what we had tonight. Six thick grooved tires, a buggy-like cockpit four seater set in the middle, and a back and top rack for storing anything you could want. “Is it working?” I asked the obvious as I stepped inside, noting Junior sat off to the side, fiddling with some wall mounted box or other. He didn’t look to actually know what he was doing beyond dusting it off and giving it a deep stare.
“I wouldn’t think so.” Came the chime of Keick, who’d followed me inside. It was around now my monocular visioned eyes were noting the various tools and spare parts laying around in the garage. Whoever had last been here had left in a hurry seemingly, because it was mostly stocked. No mess on all the immensely dusty parts. I could see a couple smaller fauna in the corners. A lizard here, a rodent there. Obviously there had been some way they’d chewed their way in at some point... Or they’d come in when the door was opened to the bustle and noise of the forest to my back.
It was Senior who looked back at my question, standing to his full height before leaning his back against the old vehicle. “No. It isn’t working. Or at least it won’t be until I figure a way to give the battery juice.” I tilted my head.
“Is it one of those older ones that zap out after a hundred years or so?” Came my obvious question.
He flicked his tail no. “It’s got one of the standard ones, it’s just that it stopped auto-cycling a couple hundred years ago. The electric motor looks like it should work if we pop it on. But we’ll have to see.” He glanced around the workshop. “I want to say we could probably get it working with the tools we have, but if the battery can’t be jumped, or it’s spent, or the motor needs a complete replacement we’re up a creek on getting it working.” It sounded like he knew a bit about it.
The feeling of my face scrunching ever so much came. “You didn’t tell me you were a handyman.” I said, crossing my arms.
“Well it never came up.” He said back with an affable smile. “Listen, it’s been a long couple weeks. Don’t get all spotty with me. We didn’t have anything a hobbying mechanic could fix anyhow.” Just a roll of the eyes from myself is all that met him as Keick spoke up, stepping over to the other three.
“So what’re you gonna jump it with?” She asked incredulously, leaning over the open cabin. From there I sort of... zoned out. All the older Cyonians present were bickering and blathering about the buggy which was quickly losing interest for me. I didn’t understand anything about mechanics like that beyond the bare minimum, so it was out of my purview. If they got it working that’d be another thing but I wouldn’t have been any help right now, so instead I placed a couple careful paws down until I was beside Junior, sitting next to him as he seemed to be eyeballing some far too faded label.
He had a paw lightly rubbing out the dust that’d caked an outlet, still one brown eye fixed on the label. All I could make out myself was the little yellow square symbol warning of an electric charge hazard. Weird to think even now those hadn’t changed. Had Federation technology really not changed all that much? Was it just us? A sigh. “So. What’s got your your nose twitching little dude?”
The past couple nights he’d gotten better with his anger, and... hadn’t destroyed any important tech in a fit of rage. All he’d needed was something to set himself to in a difficult situation like this. Keich had been right to set him on that computer. And.. I’d felt myself trying to encourage him along the way. Partly because I had an investment in getting those maps, and then partly because he’d ended up filling in a spot in my head like a younger cousin. Him and his old man had only been around for a little bit, but I guess maybe I didn’t want to think too hard about what had probably happened to my real family. For now, maybe I felt the most ‘at home’ around Keich and this little tinkerer. Was that weird? It felt like it should be weird.
He answered, looking up with a small upturn in his lips. “I think I found your energy cell charger for those guns you had.” He said simply. “One of the manuals over there wasn’t totally ruined, I saw something about a ‘optical projector weapon’ and ‘charger’ so I was trying to figure out if this was it. I... Think it might be, but I’d need one of those batteries to make sure.”
Now I felt like smirking. “Oh yeah? Well go get one swamp brain. Let’s see if these things still work huh?” Dutifully, he was up and off, tail shaking behind him in what I recognized as excitement. We weren’t totally defenceless anymore, and if the buggy could be salvaged there would be a means at least to relocate if we had to. Or... Maybe I could take a trip down to the city and paint a couple more of those scumbags red-
I shook my head. Where had that thought come from? If I was going back to Ataln it was to try and save more people... Yeah. I still needed to see if Gael was alive, maybe check that old house I’d left Els in. I don’t even know if I could find it now, knowing how scatterbrained I’d been at the time but- making a return to at least try seemed worth it.
Regardless, the box on the wall did turn out to be the correct port to charge energy cells for the guns. We’d just need to rig it up to the solar power system and juice them up to test them. Things were looking up! Our mobility had the potential to go from nights in every direction for shelter to mere hours, I’d just have to hope Senior knew what he was doing.
“Hey. Buddy.” I’d wrapped my arm around Junior’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go take a break for now huh? You were working on the computer all night. Maybe it’d be a good idea to just go relax. Enjoy how much you got done eh?” Besides. Gave me a good way to check out the logs page on the computer system myself before he stumbled on anything. It wasn’t like I didn’t trust him with it but- well there was no way to know what was in those logs.
He nodded, and with that I stood up, streeeetched out, and headed toward the tower. “Good, it’s your shift on the guard tower anyway.” I intoned politely. It was going to be a long day, assuming there was anything of substance in those logs... Scrounging through those would be preferable to sleeping right now anyway.

You guys know what an alpine coaster is? They are like a small roller coaster you find in the mountains. They are also called summer toboggans or mountain coasters and I think there’s some long German compound word they are called in parts of Europe. They are like a roller coaster, but with much smaller one or two person sleds you just sit on instead of multi-person cars you ride in, and instead of being built with like a scaffolding or a framework the tracks are just on the ground, using the elevation of the mountain. Basically it’s a coaster track on the side of a mountain where you ride a sled down.
They are pretty fun. Or at least I used to think so. They are more “personal” than roller coasters and although you get nowhere near the speed on them that you do on a good traditional roller coaster and they can’t do corkscrews or loops or anything like that the openness and simplicity of the ride gives an impression of a much greater speed. You’re just sitting there with nothing but a little plastic sled and the track between you and the ground as it goes zooming by. It’s like the difference between how fast a go-cart feels compared to how fast a sports car feels. You know the sports car goes faster but the open, simpleness of a go-cart feels a different kind of fast. There’s plenty of POV Youtube videos if you want to get the basic idea of what they are.
I used to love alpine coasters. Used to.
My family used to go to Gatlinburg and Pigeon Forge and up and down the Smokey Mountains for vacations when I was a kid and they are common in that area and I’d always rode them every chance I got.
But as with so many things after I grew up and went to college they just became part of my childhood that slipped away. They aren’t exactly common once you get away from the mountains.
Until one cool spring afternoon in 2004. I was in my final year at college and I was driving back to campus in Tennessee after a short visit to my folks in North Carolina. It was only like a 4 or 5 hour drive via the most efficient route and I had no need to be back at campus early so instead of taking the freeway all the way I got off and took part of my trip through the mountains. The scenery was nicer and I admit I liked pushing my Camaro just a little faster than I should through the twisty mountain roads.
Just after lunchtime happened upon one of those little by-the-highway tourist towns deep somewhere in the Smoky Mountains near the Carolina/Tennessee border. Nothing fancy, a gas station/truck stop, a diner, a couple of places selling tourist merch nestled deep in the mountains. I pulled into the gas station. My tank was getting low and I needed to stretch my legs, maybe grab something to eat. It was still early and I only had another couple of hours. I could kill an hour or so and still make it back to campus at a decent hour.
I pulled into the gas station and was filling my tank when I happened to glance across the road and… well I’ll be damned. There it was. “The Blue Ridge Alpine Coaster.” Nestled on the side of the mountain was a building, a mockup of a red barn, where a single railed track that led up into the mountains, where it soon got lost in the greenery. Wooden hand painted standees of cartoon character bears dressed in stereotypical “Hillbilly” getup stood around, some of them holding signs showing the ride hours and ticket costs and other info. I had to admit, as silly as it was, it made me smile.I finished pumping my gas and, well, nostalgia is a helluva thing. I decided then and there I could waste a little time riding an Alpine Coaster again after all these years before getting back on the road.
I parked my car in a corner of the truck stop's parking lot, put my phone in the center console, this being the days before smart phones when people didn’t keep their phones with them 24/7 and I didn’t want my old Nokia brick phone to fall out during the ride, locked my car and walked across the mountain highway to the Alpine Coaster building.
Getting closer, the place was less inviting. The half hearted attempt at a whimsical faux-Americana kitsch was far less effective when it brushed up against the actual decaying, run down wooden building. Hell calling it a building was generous. It was a wood frame holding up a long roof that covered the area where you got on the sleds. The wood boards creaked under my footsteps.
The only real enclosed structure was a shack that held, what I assumed, was a ticket booth. A door on the side had both a single occupancy bathroom with an out of order sign on it. An old Pepsi machine buzzed and glowed next to it.
Still the place looked alive. Ahead of me a bored looking attendant was helping a mother and her young son into one of the sleds while in a bored monotone repeating the safety brief. A few people were waiting in line at the ticket booth. Up in the mountains the playful shouts of people on the ride echoed down. Fond memories of my own childhood rides flooded my mind.10 minutes and 15 dollars later I was settling into the hard plastic seat of a bright red sled sat atop a simple aluminum rail.
I couldn’t help but grin as the sled slowly climbed the track up the mountains, making click-clack ratcheting sounds that hit my nostalgia centers hard. I felt good. The air was cool and crisp and smelled of pine.Higher and higher in the mountains we went. I don’t know if this is my mind trying to make sense of it after the fact but when I remember these moments, the last good moments, I sometimes think I remember a very slight, very subtle pit of fear in my stomach. I honestly don’t know if I felt it at the time or not or it’s just how my mind tries to make sense of it looking back at.
But either way mostly I was enjoying myself. I smiled. I was a kid again. I could hear riders in front of me let out that initial yell of terrified glee you get at the first drop of any good ride.
It peaked. I glanced around. I could see for miles, rolling hills and mountains. I the sled tipped over and zoomed down the mountain and I let out the same happy yell I heard from the other passengers.The ride zoomed down the mountain, catching speed. The mountain forest floor zoomed past, only a few feet under me. Trees zoomed past. I gave out a happy whoop as the ride banked hard around a curve and then looped back under itself.Another dip, another curve. I closed my eyes, enjoying the feel of the G-forces pulling me every which way.
There was no one exact single moment where things started to go “wrong.” The ride kept going. And going. At this point the first creeping thought entered my head.
The ride… was still going.
It just started to hit me… this ride was going on for a really long time. I had taken a dozen rides on various coasters of this type before that day and they topped out at about 5 minutes or so, and that was the long ones. Longer than a traditional roller coaster but not that long. This one had been going on for what felt like 10, maybe even 15 minutes.
I looked back over my shoulder and could only see trees, moving too fast to really get a bearing on where I was at in relation to anything.
I wasn't exactly really worried yet. Okay so I had found a particularly long alpine coaster. At the time I wasn’t 100% wasn't sure they didn’t exist or anything like that. I was a little… unnerved but nothing was happening that was impossible. Yet.
I was trying to talk myself back into just enjoying the ride and stop overthinking it, and halfway succeeded, when out of nowhere I suddenly banked hard, the track jutting out almost over a sheer cliffside. I gripped the sled more tightly as I was whipped around. The ride then dipped hard and picked up speed, barreling down the side of the mountain.
I was pushed back against the seat by the force of the drop. Jesus I didn’t remember them being this rough. I was feeling slightly nauseous. And where had this elevation drop come from I wondered? I was still in the foothills and I didn’t remember seeing anything but gentle rolling hills and light drops from looking at the ride’s route earlier. How the ride had managed such a long, steep drop in this area I didn’t know. . For the first time I hoped that the ride would be over soon. I had no idea then how much I would want that same hope to be true so much more as time went on.
With a whiplash motion I was whipped forward and then back as the ride leveled out on flat ground again, but by this point I was going fast, too fast. My neck hurt from the mild whiplash and I felt sour in my throat and for a moment the contents of my stomach threatened to come back up. For the first, but hardly the last time the ride felt unsafe. Alpine Coasters are tame affairs, much slower and gentler than full on roller coasters but this thing was throwing me around like no thrill ride I had ever been on.
I looked around. I mean I wasn’t that deep into the woods. I should have been able to see a glimpse of something; the highway, the gas station, the tourist shops, the Alpine Coaster office, something, anything. But nothing. Just trees.
I forced back some panic for the first time. I closed my eyes and counted to ten. The ride zoomed along. I counted to 60. I counted to 60 again. And again. Okay this was getting uncomfortably harder and harder to explain.
Suddenly I noticed that up ahead the track seemed to just end, for one brief, terrible moment I thought the track just ended but I was wrong. Almost without warning the track dipped in an almost vertical drop. I almost screamed as I plummeted for 20, maybe 30 seconds before flattening out again.
By this point the voice in my head that was telling me something was wrong was louder and I could no longer tell myself it was wrong. This ride could not have been this long. I tried to make sense of it, wondering if somehow I had gotten diverted onto some kind of maintenance track or, hell for one brief irrational moment even entertaining the idea that I had wound up on an actual train track somehow. But that was absurd. The rail below me was not a train track, it was still just the simple, aluminum rail of an alpine coaster and there had been no diversions or junctions in the track. I was still on the ride, as insane as that was starting to feel. Had the ride somehow looped? Again after having the thought I immediately dismissed it as crazy. There’s no way I could have missed the ride building where I got on. And what kind of ride loops over and over?
The sled zoomed through the forest, oddly never seeming to lose speed despite the relatively flat grade of the track. I cursed myself for leaving my phone in the car and not wearing a watch. I don’t know exactly how long I had been on the ride at that point but it felt like I had been on the ride for a half hour, maybe more. But time is a funny thing when you’re in a situation you’ve never been in. Could have been more, could have been less, at that point.
My pride finally failed me. I started to scream for help. I screamed out that the ride was broken, to stop it, that I needed help. I did that for about ten minutes or so I think. The ride kept going. Mostly flat, level track with occasional mild dips and turns. But the simple length of the ride grew more and more unnerving and unexplainable.
I thought about just bailing out. But the ride, impossibly, was still not slowing down and chunks of mountain rock and thick tree trunks were all around me. Bailing out without risking smashing into a rock or a tree seemed impossible.
The ride kept going.
Up ahead the forest was clearing out some, I could see the forest brightening, more sunlight making it through the canopy.
I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.
The trees stopped and I had just enough time to take in a flat, open area of rock maybe 40, 50 yards at most before another sheer cliff. The tracks twisted and turned and then shot straight down. But that wasn’t the worst of it. For a moment, a very short moment, I had a clear view for miles and the landscape was, to be blunt, totally impossible. Any possibility that I had just stumbled on some incredibly long ride was blasted out of my head. Barren, volcanic looking rock stretched for miles. Jagged, black rocky outcroppings as far as the eye could see. I was in the goddamn Smoky Mountains. They don’t look like that.
I had a few moments for the terror of that view to settle in before the cart plunged into another horrifying drop. I gripped the handles of the cheap plastic sled until my knuckles turned white. The drop felt completely vertical, like I was falling at terminal velocity. I screamed. My stomach dropped and turned. I imagined the sled coming away from the track and me just plummeting screaming to my death on the rocks below. But somehow the ride still functioned. I closed my eyes tightly and just waited for whatever was going to happen. Eventually after several what felt like a full minute of steep plunging the track again leveled out, and I opened my eyes to see myself moving at breakneck speed over that black, rocky landscape.
Now that I was moving on a more or less flat horizontal track again I took a few deep breaths. I looked over the edge of the track. Nothing but that black, jagged rock, almost looking like obsidian, zooming past. I had no idea how fast the sled was moving now. Fast. Faster than a gravity powered sled should be moving. And the track was higher off the ground now. Alpine slides usually stick pretty close to the ground, but I was 20 feet or so in the air, the track suspended in the air, a simple metal tube tower like a power pylon every few yards.
Without any immediate threat and the sled moving fast but steadily and level I was able to think about my situation again, for all the good that did me. Ahead of me the track just continued to the horizon, nothing but the same rocky landscape as far as I could see. I craned my neck to look back over my shoulder and looked back behind me and it looked the same. Even the mountains were but distant specs on the horizon behind me.
This was insane. There’s not a giant seemingly endless field of black jagged rock in the goddamn Smoky Mountains. There’s no cliff faces tall and steep enough for a multi-minute vertical drop. And alpine coasters were small affairs, not major engineering projects that span miles with pylons and vertical tracks. It made no sense.
Sadly it wasn’t going to start making any more sense anytime soon.
The ride kept going.
I was on this rocky landscape for several hours. I feel comfortable saying this because I could actually notice the sun getting lower in the sky. And the sled wasn’t slowing down despite the grade of the track being flat. I was getting cramped from sitting and stretched my legs and twisted my back as best I could. Didn’t do much help. My eyes were starting to get irritated from the constant wind in them. Worst of all it was starting to get chilly. I only had on a light jacket, a windbreaker, just something to keep the breeze off me, no real insulation. I was cold, my joints were stiff, I was hungry and thirsty. My eyes watered and my throat was so dry it was sore.
But none of that was as bad as just how little sense this all made. There’s nothing like this place anywhere near the Smoky Mountains. This was like some volcanic rock landscape. The more I thought about it the less sense it made.
The ride kept going.
My mind didn’t even try to process this. Whatever I was experiencing simply couldn’t be possible. I was crazy. I was dreaming. The CIA had kidnapped me and dosed me with some new version of LSD and I was in a straightjacket in a padded room at Area 51.
The sled kept zooming along as the sky turned to dusk. Soon the bridge disappeared from my view and I continued on along the endless, rocky, featureless landscape.
I sat back against the sled, mentally and physically numb. I was exhausted. I was thirsty. I was cramping up. I was hungry. I had to pee. I held it for as long as I could, then had no choice but just wet myself. I cried until I had no more tears left. Then I just sat there.
The ride kept going.
By the time the sun dipped below the horizon my throat felt like sandpaper. I dug around in my jacket pockets hoping to find a stick of gum or piece of candy. Nothing. I checked again, having nothing else to do. Under a crumpled store receipt in the inner pocket of my jacket was a single old, forgotten cough drop. I unwrapped it from the paper and popped it in my mouth. Saliva flooded back into my mouth and I was overwhelmed by the methanol and medicine taste. It was something at least, although I knew it would be a brief and temporary fix at best.
I felt my eyes get heavy. It was getting colder. That mountain cold. That deep cold the mountains have even into the early spring when the sun goes down. That kind that just pulls the heat right out of you. I shivered. A terrible, horrible certainty came to me. I would ride until I passed out from exhaustion or the hypothermia set in. My body would tumble off the sled to fall and skip across the rocky ground like a stone skipping across a lake, my bones breaking as I tumbled until my body finally came to a stop. If I was lucky I would be killed and not have to lie for days, broken and bruised, on the ground until death took me.
The ride kept going. The ride kept going. The fucking ride kept going.
“Fuck you” I said to the ride, my voice a horse whisper. I pulled my jacket closer around me, for all the good it did. The cold wind was slowly but surely pulling my body heat away. My shivering got worse, crossing the line from a simple normal shiver into those deep, almost violent full body ones.. I wasn’t anything you could call an experienced outdoorsman, but I knew enough to know that wasn’t a good sign.
It was getting dark. There was a full moon at least so I wasn’t totally in the dark.
About then I noticed something. The landscape, what little I could see in the fading light, was changing. It was smoothing out, becoming less rocky and craggy. Up ahead an odd, shimmering light was starting to appear on the ground.
I was over it before I even realized what it was. The tracks were going over a smooth surface.
Water. It was a lake. The odd lights I had seen were the moon, reflected in ripples on the lake.
Within minutes I was out of the view of the land. After the nearly endless rocky landscape and everything else I had seen, it scared me how little I was shocked. I didn’t like how mentally numb I was getting. I leaned over. There was enough moonlight to see the water, 15 or 20 feet below the track. The pylons holding up the track went into the water, the light wasn’t good enough to even make a guess at how far they went down or how deep the water was.I leaned back in the sled. My eyes were red and bloodshot from the constant wind. I closed them. This was a mistake.I jerked awake. I don’t know if I dozed off for a split second or an hour. My weight had shifted and I caught myself as my center of gravity was in danger of sending me off the sled and into the water.
I screamed in anger. A deep primal scream. I hurt so bad. My joints felt like they were full of glass. My limbs were full of pins and needles. I glanced over at the water. For the first time on the very edges of my brain a tiny voice started to speak up, telling me that I could be all over if I just jumped. I shut the voice up, but it scared me still.
I sat there as the ride went on. It felt like hours. Eventually the lake ended in a rocky shore line. The damned ride. There was no safe place to bail out. If the ride slowed down, it was high in the air, if it moved toward the ground it sped up. Sharp rocks, big trees, nothing you could safely bail out into.
I kept having to force myself awake. I kept dozing off. Once I felt myself falling asleep and drove a vicious uppercut into my own nose to stave it off.
I seriously started to think about how much longer I could hang on. The voice came back again. This time I didn’t shut it up. I wasn’t admitting it to myself yet, but I was starting to think about the best way to land that would end it quickly if I needed to.
Something was ahead. The track seemed to dip into the ground. I was too tired, too beaten to even get scared. I was just resigned to whatever happened at this point.
With little warning the track took my sled into a tunnel in the ground. Everything went completely pitch black. After several moments even the dim moonlight was gone.
This was the worst part. The creepy forest, the immense rocky landscape, the eerie lake… those were bad. But this was just nothing. Nothing to look at, nothing to hear, nothing for reference or sense of where I was going. The walls of the tunnel felt like they were inches from me in every direction. The air felt thick, like there wasn’t enough oxygen.
With every moment I was in that tunnel I lost a little more hope. After a long, long time I made a decision. When I got out of this tunnel, I would jump. I didn’t care anymore. Hopefully there would be a spot where I could be certain the fall would instantly kill me. I was done. The ride had beaten me. I sat there, waiting for a chance to end this on my terms. That was all I had left.
Eventually up ahead, a tiny speck of light appeared. I gathered my strength, ready to end it. I sat up, getting my legs under me so I could jump as soon as we were clear. The sled burst out of the tunnel. The dim light of the full moon was enough to be momentarily blinding after the pitch black of the tunnel.. I gave my eyes a moment to adjust.
I was back in a normal looking Appalachian forest. Rolling hills, green trees. The air smelled of pine again. I heard an owl hoot off somewhere.
Slowly I lowered myself back into a setting position, in shock. At first I refused to believe it but the ride was slowing down. I held still, making sure my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me, but no, the cheap plastic sled that had been my world for what felt like an eternity was slowing down.
Up ahead, a structure was visible, peeking out from among the trees in the dim lighting as the sled moved down the track.
It was the Alpine Slide building. The crappy fake red barn where I had boarded this cursed ride so long ago. I blinked and rubbed my eyes, sure it was either my mind or the cursed ride playing tricks with me. But the building stayed there.
It grew closer and closer. The track leveled completely out. The sled slowed down more. Before I had the time to really come to terms with it I arrived back at the building.
The sled slowed to a stop, gently pumping against another sled parked on the track. I sat there for a few moments, gasping in great big gulping fear breaths, trying to assure myself the ride didn’t have one last trick of its sleeve.
I looked around. The place was empty, deserted. The overhead lights were still on and the old Pepsi machine still glowed and buzzed, but the ticket booth was dark and empty, a metal gate pulled down over the ticket window.
Suddenly it hit me that I was free and I practically leapt out of the sled and onto the platform. I immediately collapsed. My legs were jelly and my head was spinning. I tried to stand up again and doubled over, dry heaving. Have you ever been out on a boat for a day and have that weird reverse motion sickness when you’re back on solid land? It was like that times a hundred. My inner ear was literally pounding, all the motion had really done a number on it.
I laid there for a few moments and eventually forced myself to stand up on my two wobbling legs. I looked around, a horrible certainty creeping into my mind that there would be no exit, no way off the platform but to my relief an exit turnstyle, one of those full height ones, was set into the fence that surrounded the ride property.
I went through it and found myself back on the main road. The truckstop was still there, still open but far less busy. My car sat in the same corner of the parking lot I had left it.
I allowed myself one look back, just one quick one. The metal skeleton of the Alpine Slide track sat there, dark and quiet but otherwise normal.
I stumbled-ran back to my car, dug the keys out of my pocket, and collapsed inside. When the door shut I let out a primal scream, the tons of fear and confusion and anger all fusing into a single, raw emotion. I screamed again and again.
After a few moments I felt like I was emotionally at least back to a place where I could act, although I wasn’t sure yet what to do next. Not really knowing what to do I cranked the car. The A/C had been on low when I shut off the car and it came roaring back to life and cold air blowing on me almost sent me back into a full on panic attack. I fumbled with the climate controls until the air stopped blowing directly on me, then calmed down enough to turn the heat on, helping to get the chill out of my bones. There was a half full bottle of water in the center console cup holder and I grabbed it and chugged it. Nothing ever tasted as good before or sense as that few ounces of water.
That was when I noticed the clock on the radio head unit. It was 4:17 in the morning. It had been about one, one thirty or so in the afternoon when I got on the accursed ride.
Over 15 hours. I had been on the goddamn ride for over 15 hours. Over half a day.
I just sat there. Warming up. Calming down. I was exhausted. I was dehydrated. I can’t even describe how my head felt. I probably had at least a minor case of hypothermia. I thought about going into the gas station and asking for help but what would I even say, and more than anything I just wanted to get away from this place. And I just wanted to get away. I wanted to be nowhere near that damn ride.
I put the Camaro in gear and pulled into the street and in panic I immediately slammed on the brakes. I was lucky there was no traffic on the road at that moment. The feeling of accelerating to just normal surface street speeds made me sick to my stomach. I gathered myself and very slowly accelerated the car I usually treated with a very heavy foot up to 30 miles an hour. Every time I tried to accelerate at a pace faster than “Old Lady Going to Church, Uphill” I would have a panic attack. I was okay once I was up to speed, but accelerating freaked me out after being on that ride.
I drove about 30 minutes, putting some arbitrary amount of distance between myself and the coaster. Eventually I made it back to where the twisty mountain road met back up with a major road that would eventually meet back up with the highway. After a few more minutes of driving I saw the onramp for the highway. There was one of those big truckstop travel plazas and pulled in, parking right up at the door. I smelled like pee and I can only imagine how I looked, but I didn’t care.
I kept a couple of emergency 20s in the back of my wallet and spent it on the biggest bottle of water the store had, an overpriced bottle of eye drops, and a huge travel mug of coffee. The clerk looked at me as if he was expecting me to either drop dead or rob him the entire time.
Back in my car I downed the coffee. I put a few eye drops in each of my eyes and sat there as the caffeine took effect until I felt like I could make it back to my apartment. The sun was just coming up when I finally pulled out of the truck stop and got on the freeway. I slowly, very slowly, accelerated up to highway speed, put the Camaro in cruise control, and let the miles start to drift away. I turned on the radio, I needed to hear human voices. Every time my mind went back to what had just happened I turned the radio up louder, eventually drowning it out with painful levels of rock music. I wasn’t ready to think about it yet. Yes looking back I know I was just in denial. I finally made it back to the crappy little apartment I had off campus, a little two story walk up studio. I let myself in and collapsed on the cheap couch. I was asleep before I even had the time to decide whether or not to do anything else. I woke up later that afternoon. I took a shower and ate a meal and didn’t think about the ride. I washed the pee stained filthy clothes I had been wearing and didn’t think about the ride. I went back to class and didn’t think about the ride. Every time I thought about the ride I forced it out of my head. I’m sure this wasn’t the most mentally healthy thing to do but what can you say?
I didn’t forget about it, don’t be silly. This isn’t the kind of thing you forget. One day while looking up something else in the university’s library my curiosity got the better of me and I looked up the Alpine Slide. No website but a few Google Map and Yelp mentions. None of them mentioned anything weird, certainly nothing even remotely like what I experienced. Near as I can tell it closed sometimes in the winter of 2012.
Life went on. I mean, that’s what it does. The next day was a little better. And the day after that a little better. And the day after that a little better still. I met a nice girl. Graduated. Got married. Got a nice house in the suburbs. Got a dog. Had a daughter. Spent a lot of time happy and not thinking about being trapped on an endless alpine coaster.And that was my life for many, many years after that.
Until a few weeks back when as a very different person I found myself driving a boring and safe mid sized family SUV through those same mountains. My wife Carol, 5 months pregnant, sat in the passenger seat, our 6 year old daughter Emily in a booster seat in the back, and Max our mixed breed mutt next to her. It had been a nice pleasant trip, driving back from visiting her folks.
I hadn’t thought about that fucking ride in so long I barely registered that I was in the same general area until it was too late. Suddenly I realized that little mountain tourist trap town was only a few minutes down the road. I swallowed hard and gripped the steering wheel hard. Carol was looking out the window at the scenery and Emily was deep into some kid’s Youtube video on an iPad. I forced myself to keep my breath steady as we rounded the corner.The town was still there, sorta. Time had not been kind to it. The gas station was still there, at some point it had been bought out by Shell. The tourist trap shops were still there. One of them was now a vape shop. The diner was closed, the building looking like it sat unused for a long time.
But of course that’s not what I cared about. A looked over at the site where the Alpine Coaster once stood. It was gone. The kitschy fake barn was gone. The site was just a bare concrete slab with a chainlink fence around it. Faded “no trespassing” and “for sale” signs hung off the fence. A pile of old, decaying lumber that might have once long ago been part of the structure covered part of the old lot. No sign of the track remained outside of some old concrete support posts dotting the side of the mountain.
I exhaled out a breath I hadn’t even realized I had been holding in. Soon the little town disappeared in my rear view mirror.
About a half hour later we stopped for gas. I pulled up to a gas pump across from a massive motorhome. Max stuck his head out the window and started barking at a little white dog, a toy breed of some kind, in the window of the motorhome. Carol and Emily immediately headed into the store to restock on snacks while I fueled up.
I stood there, a half smile on my lips as Max barked and wagged his tail in an attempt to attract the attention of the other dog while I filled up the tank, said dog doing an admirable job of ignoring him.
Right about the time I finished fueling up and cleaning the bugs off the windshield Carol returned from inside the store, Emily in tow, arms filled with two full sized bags of Salt and Vinegar Potato Chips and what looked to be a half dozen individually wrapped pickles.
I raised an eyebrow at the collection of food but knew better than to question a pregnant woman's snack choices.
“Should we take Max for a quick walk?” Carol asked. The travel plaza had a nice little gated dog walking area off to the side.
“Yeah probably not a bad idea, he’s been cooped up in the car for a few hours.” I said. Max, upon hearing his name and the word “walk” , forgot about the other dog and upgraded from wagging his tail to wagging his entire body while making whining sounds and staring right at me.
About this time I became half aware that the big motor home next to us was pulling away. I didn’t think much of it, outside of doing a quick automatic mental check to make sure Emily was well clear of the moving vehicle, but she was safely between me and our SUV, well out of the way.
But that was when Emily looked behind me and cheerfully yelled “Daddy look a roller coaster! Can I ride the coaster?”
It’s cliche as fuck I know but my blood went cold.
I turned around slowly, certain in my knowledge that terrible old decrepit Alpine Coaster would be there, having just popped into existence to trap me again.
That.. is not what I saw. Sure enough there was a coaster there, one I hadn’t noticed earlier because it had mostly been blocked by the motor home, but there it was. It was even an Alpine Coaster.
But it was not the same coaster I had encountered those years ago. That was immediately obvious. It was a small but modern and newish looking setup with neon lights and a bunch of people. There was an actual building where you bought tickets and a little snack stand.
“Daddy! Can we go on the coaster!” Emily asked again.
My mouth made motions but no words came out. I glanced over at Carol, hoping she’d say we didn’t have time but to my horror she smiled and said “You know what? That does sound like fun. Daddy will take you while I take Max for a walk.”
My mind raced, trying to think of a way to get out of it. But Emily was already dragging me across the parking lot to the entrance.
I patted my pocket, making sure my phone was in it. Every fiber of my being was screaming to run away. I slept walked through the line and the ticket booth while Emily bounced happily.
We got into a two seat plastic sled. This one was actually a lot nicer than the one my mind wouldn’t stop thinking about. It had two nice cushioned seats, big grab handles, even a nice rollbar.
The sled started up the track. I fought back the panic. I swerved my head around, keeping the building in my view. I was terrified of losing sight of it. We made it to the top and Emily did a happy squeal as we started down the side of the mountain.
My heart raced. Any second, any second my mind told me we’d lose sight of the building and then the ride would never end. The ride sped down the mountain. My mind tortured me with thoughts of not only going through it again, but seeing Emily go through it. The ride went around a big, banking turn. Emily kept shouting happily. How long before Carol reported us missing I wondered? Could I keep Emily calm? What if it lasted even longer this time? What if this time it never ended?
And then we were back at the start of the ride. The same attendant who had helped us into the sled was helping Emily out. I stepped out. The attendant gave me a brief look but said nothing. I guess I looked a little wild eyed.
I was fine. Emily was fine. It had been a perfectly normal, fun ride.
“That was fun Daddy! Thank you!” Emily said. I forced a smile back. “It was fun.” I responded, hoping like I sounded like I meant it.
I took Emily’s hand and we walked back to the car. Max saw us coming and barked happily. Carol looked up from the pint of Ben and Jerry’s she had somehow acquired and added to her snack collection while we were gone and smiled at us.
“Did you have fun?” she asked.
“It was so fun Mommy!” Emily said.
Carol smiled down at her, but then looked at me and frowned. “Are you okay?” Carol could read my face a lot better than the attendant could. “You’re pale.”
I smiled and this time the smile felt real. “Ya know what. Yeah, I think I am okay.”
Carol looked a little puzzled, but didn’t press it. We loaded Emily back in her booster seat, stopped Max from trying desperately to eat half a discarded gas station hot dog off the ground and got him back in the car. Carol and her small collection of snack food took her place in the passenger seat and I got in the driver's seat.I smiled. I cranked the car. I put it in gear. I pulled out of the gas station and back on the road, this time accelerating just a little faster than I had in years.

People with industry experience have generally told me something like, “The big print-on-demand companies print books using huge, industrial printers that cost hundreds of thousands of dollars. Obviously, the quality is going to be much better than your janky home printer.”
It turns out that’s not true!
I'll show you four scanned images of the first paragraph of a book. The first two are from the print-on-demand companies IngramSpark (who I believe printed it with something like a Canon/Océ ColorStream 6000) and Amazon KDP (who I believe used something like a Canon varioPRINT 6000 Series TITAN). The second two are from my ancient home printers: a Dell Laser Printer 1710n from 2005, and a Brother MFC-9840CDW from 2008.
First let’s take a look at the whole page width.
https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/626468793ed4b669a65c7631/8b486604-92c6-4afb-815e-7ab1ff401ca5/comparison+-+paragraph.jpg
At this zoom level, all four look pretty similar in print quality. The initial capital “A” on the left looks different, and I’ll explain that in a minute. But the normal-sized letters, set in 12-point Garamond Pro, appear quite comparable. The background of the first two scans is slightly darker than the second two, but this is only because fiction books are printed on cream-colored paper, not white printer paper.
But when you hold these pages in your hand at book-reading distance, they don’t look much alike. To see why not, let’s zoom in closer.
https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/626468793ed4b669a65c7631/00f3fb82-feb2-4469-9078-11f0ada28472/comparison+-+square.jpg
Looking at all four first words, including a little slice of the initial capital “A”, you can tell that IngramSpark is using an inkjet printer, where Amazon is using a laser printer. The dithered texture of the capital “A” is characteristic of inkjet printers. The last three show halftoning on the capital “A”, which is how laser printers typically print grayscale. Amazon KDP and my old Dell 1710 seem to have the same number of lines per inch in the halftone, though Amazon’s halftone dots look more uniform. The Brother 9840 has more lines per inch in the halftone, and the halftone dots are rounder. This makes sense when you look at the dots per inch (DPI) of resolution that those three printers can achieve. The TITAN is 600x1200 DPI, the Dell is 1200x1200 DPI, and the Brother is 2400x600 DPI.
Finally, let’s zoom in to the level of a single word:
https://images.squarespace-cdn.com/content/v1/626468793ed4b669a65c7631/100002c9-c13d-4bf4-a92d-873eb1f33d0b/comparison+-+word+all.jpg
Looking at them from top to bottom:

• The worst one is IngramSpark. The outlines of the letters are clearly quite rough and irregular. And interestingly, the irregularity is mostly in the vertical direction. This is probably because of the extremely high paper speeds in those continuous-feed inkjet printers. You can’t see all these details when reading a book that's printed this way, but the naked eye can certainly tell that the letters have fuzzy outlines. It’s not egregious, but it’s noticeable.
• Amazon KDP is third-best. It’s crisp, and their printer drum is clean, so there are no little voids in the letters like there are for my Dell printer below. But look at those stair-step edges on the letter “w”. That probably means that Amazon is running at 600x600 DPI instead of 1200x1200, presumably to speed up printing. So KDP could potentially look better, but that might take a bite out of Amazon’s profit margins :) At arm’s length under a reading light, it looks plenty good.
• I’d say the Dell printer is second-best: There are a few one-pixel voids in the letters, which probably just means that my printer drum needs cleaning :) But the edges and halos look about as good as the Brother printer below.
• The sixteen-year-old Brother printer gives the best print quality, in my opinion. The letter edges are pretty smooth, though not perfectly so, with little lumps or knobs every so often. There’s a bit of a halo around the edges, but not much, and it’s the same thickness in the horizontal and vertical directions.

In summary:

• Amazon KDP print quality is slightly worse than an old home laser printer
• IngramSpark print quality is noticeably worse than an old home laser printer

The current issue is with my Eddy USB. No matter what I try, it fails the z offset calibration saying:
Failed calibration - frequency not increasing each step
This only happens after I try to run the save_config option.

##################################################################### # Include Control ##################################################################### #[include led_macros.cfg] #[include toolboard.cfg] #[include adxl.cfg] [include Homing.cfg] [include mainsail.cfg] #[include Euclid.cfg] [exclude_object] [gcode_arcs] resolution: 0.1 [include macros.cfg] #[include led_progress.cfg] [include nevermore.cfg] # This file contains all settings for KAMP, and must be included in printer.cfg with: [include KAMP_Settings.cfg] ### The following [includes] can be uncommented from within KAMP_Settings.cfg. ### # This file enables the use of adaptive meshing. #[include ./KAMP/Adaptive_Meshing.cfg] # This file enables the use of adaptive line purging. [include ./KAMP/Line_Purge.cfg] # This file enables the use of the adaptive Voron logo purge. #[include ./KAMP/Voron_Purge.cfg] # This file enables the use of KAMP's Smart Park feature. [include ./KAMP/Smart_Park.cfg] ##################################################################### # Stepper Control ##################################################################### [stepper_x] step_pin: PC14 dir_pin: PC13 enable_pin: !PC15 microsteps: 16 rotation_distance: 40 endstop_pin: tmc2209_stepper_x:virtual_endstop # PA13 for X-max; endstop have'!' is NO position_endstop: -4 position_max: 325 position_min: -5 homing_speed: 20 homing_retract_dist: 0 [stepper_y] step_pin: PB5 dir_pin: !PB4 enable_pin: !PB6 microsteps: 16 rotation_distance: 40 endstop_pin: tmc2209_stepper_y:virtual_endstop # PC5 for Y-max; endstop have'!' is NO position_endstop: 0 position_max: 330 homing_speed: 20 homing_retract_dist: 0 [stepper_z] step_pin: PE5 dir_pin: PE4 enable_pin: !PC15 microsteps: 16 rotation_distance: 8 endstop_pin: probe:z_virtual_endstop # PB12 for Z-max; endstop have'!' is NO position_max: 400 position_min: -10 homing_speed: 5 [stepper_z1] step_pin: PE1 dir_pin: PE0 enable_pin: !PE2 microsteps: 16 rotation_distance: 8 [extruder] step_pin: PD6 dir_pin: !PD5 enable_pin: !PD7 microsteps: 16 microsteps: 16 full_steps_per_rotation: 400 gear_ratio: 3:1 rotation_distance: 26.370 nozzle_diameter: 0.400 filament_diameter: 1.750 pressure_advance_smooth_time: 0.025 pressure_advance: 0.0425 heater_pin: PB1 sensor_type: PT1000 sensor_pin: PC1 #control: pid #pid_Kp: 22 #pid_Ki: 1.08 #pid_Kd: 114 min_temp: 0 max_temp: 350 max_extrude_cross_section: 15 max_extrude_only_distance: 200 ##################################################################### # Feature Control ##################################################################### [skew_correction] [exclude_object] [input_shaper] #shaper_type_x = ei #shaper_freq_x = 67.2 #shaper_type_y = 2hump_ei #shaper_freq_y = 64.2 [bed_screws] screw1: 5, 5 screw2: 165, 5 screw3: 325, 5 screw4: 5, 325 screw5: 165, 325 screw6: 325, 325 [screws_tilt_adjust] screw1: 10, 10 screw1_name: front left screw screw2: 320, 10 screw2_name: front right screw screw3: 320, 225 screw3_name: rear right screw screw4: 10, 225 screw4_name: rear left screw horizontal_move_z: 12 speed: 350. screw_thread: CW-M3 [bed_mesh] speed: 250 probe_count: 5, 5 horizontal_move_z: 12 algorithm: bicubic mesh_min : 20, 10 mesh_max : 310, 285 fade_start: 1 fade_end: 10 mesh_pps: 2,3 bicubic_tension: 0.2 move_check_distance: 3 split_delta_z: 0.025 [z_tilt] z_positions: -50,165 380,165 # A list of X, Y coordinates (one per line; subsequent lines # indented) describing the location of each bed "pivot point". The # "pivot point" is the point where the bed attaches to the given Z # stepper. It is described using nozzle coordinates (the X, Y position # of the nozzle if it could move directly above the point). The # first entry corresponds to stepper_z, the second to stepper_z1, # the third to stepper_z2, etc. This parameter must be provided. points: 20,165 310,165 # A list of X, Y coordinates (one per line; subsequent lines # indented) that should be probed during a Z_TILT_ADJUST command. # Specify coordinates of the nozzle and be sure the probe is above # the bed at the given nozzle coordinates. This parameter must be # provided. speed: 350 # The speed (in mm/s) of non-probing moves during the calibration. # The default is 50. horizontal_move_z: 12 # The height (in mm) that the head should be commanded to move to # just prior to starting a probe operation. The default is 5. retries: 5 # Number of times to retry if the probed points aren't within # tolerance. retry_tolerance: 0.02 # If retries are enabled then retry if largest and smallest probed # points differ more than retry_tolerance. Note the smallest unit of # change here would be a single step. However if you are probing # more points than steppers then you will likely have a fixed # minimum value for the range of probed points which you can learn # by observing command output. [force_move] enable_force_move: True #[safe_z_home] #home_xy_position: 165, 90 # Change coordinates to the center of your print bed #speed: 250 #z_hop: 10 # Move up 10mm #z_hop_speed: 5 ##################################################################### # Thermistors ##################################################################### [thermistor Trianglelab-NTC100K-B3950] temperature1: 25 resistance1: 103180 temperature2: 150 resistance2: 1366.2 temperature3: 250 resistance3: 168.6 [heater_bed] heater_pin: PB10 sensor_type: Trianglelab-NTC100K-B3950 sensor_pin: PC0 control: pid pid_Kp: 54.027 pid_Ki: 0.770 pid_Kd: 948.182 min_temp: 0 max_temp: 110 max_power: 0.75 [temperature_sensor chamber] sensor_type: Generic 3950 sensor_pin: PC2 min_temp: 0 max_temp: 100 gcode_id: C ##################################################################### # Fan Control ##################################################################### #fan for printed model FAN0 [fan] pin: !PA0 max_power: 1 # adjust below 1 if you would like the max speed to be slower off_below: 0.3 # minimum speed where the fan starts spinning - on octopus pro this is correct - will be lower maybe 0 on mellow Super 8 because of different GPIO pullup and protection resistors cycle_time: .0005 #fan for control board FAN2 [controller_fan MCU_Cooling] pin: PA2 max_power: 0.5 #Hotend fan [heater_fan Hotend_Fan] pin: PA1 heater: extruder [fan_generic Nevermore] pin: PB0 ##################################################################### # Machine ##################################################################### [axis_twist_compensation] speed: 250 # The speed (in mm/s) of non-probing moves during the calibration. # The default is 50. horizontal_move_z: 12 # The height (in mm) that the head should be commanded to move to # just prior to starting a probe operation. The default is 5. calibrate_start_x: 20 # Defines the minimum X coordinate of the calibration # This should be the X coordinate that positions the nozzle at the starting # calibration position. This parameter must be provided. calibrate_end_x: 310 # Defines the maximum X coordinate of the calibration # This should be the X coordinate that positions the nozzle at the ending # calibration position. This parameter must be provided. calibrate_y: 165 # Defines the Y coordinate of the calibration # This should be the Y coordinate that positions the nozzle during the # calibration process. This parameter must be provided and is recommended to # be near the center of the bed [printer] kinematics: corexy max_velocity: 800 max_accel: 25000 max_z_velocity: 10 max_z_accel: 30 square_corner_velocity: 20 # [mcu lights] # serial: /dev/serial/by-id/usb-Klipper_stm32f103xe_35FFDA05304E553137682443-if00 [mcu] serial: /dev/serial/by-id/usb-Klipper_stm32f407xx_290031000E5031334C363220-if00 [pause_resume] [display_status] [virtual_sdcard] path: /home/pi/printer_data/gcodes on_error_gcode: CANCEL_PRINT [servo DockServo] pin: PA15 maximum_servo_angle: 180 minimum_pulse_width: 0.00025 maximum_pulse_width: 0.0024 ##################################################################### # BTT Eddy ##################################################################### [mcu eddy] serial: /dev/serial/by-id/usb-Klipper_rp2040_4550357129120F28-if00 [temperature_sensor btt_eddy_mcu] sensor_type: temperature_mcu sensor_mcu: eddy min_temp: 10 max_temp: 100 [probe_eddy_current btt_eddy] sensor_type: ldc1612 z_offset: 1.0 #i2c_address: i2c_mcu: eddy i2c_bus: i2c0f x_offset: -33 # Set according to the actual offset relative to the nozzle y_offset: -20 # Set according to the actual offset relative to the nozzle data_rate: 500 [temperature_probe btt_eddy] sensor_type: Generic 3950 sensor_pin: eddy:gpio26 horizontal_move_z: 2 [bed_mesh] horizontal_move_z: 2 speed: 300 mesh_min: 43, 30 mesh_max: 290, 300 probe_count: 9, 9 algorithm: bicubic #[safe_z_home] #home_xy_position: 197, 185 #z_hop: 10 #z_hop_speed: 15 #speed: 200 ##################################################################### # LED Control ##################################################################### # [neopixel HotendLight] # pin: lights:PA8 # chain_count: 6 # color_order: GRB # initial_RED: 1 # initial_GREEN: 0 # initial_BLUE: 1 [neopixel OverheadLight] pin: PA8 chain_count: 23 color_order: GRB initial_red: 1 initial_green: 1 initial_blue: 1 ######################################## # TMC UART configuration ######################################## [tmc2209 stepper_x] uart_pin: PE6 run_current: 1.2 hold_current: 0.5 stealthchop_threshold: 1 diag_pin: ^PA14 driver_SGTHRS: 50 interpolate: true [tmc2209 stepper_y] uart_pin: PB3 run_current: 1.2 hold_current: 0.5 stealthchop_threshold: 1 diag_pin: ^PB12 driver_SGTHRS: 50 interpolate: true [tmc2209 stepper_z] uart_pin: PE3 run_current: 0.5 hold_current: 0.5 stealthchop_threshold: 999999 [tmc2209 stepper_z1] uart_pin: PB7 run_current: 0.5 hold_current: 0.5 stealthchop_threshold: 999999 [tmc2209 extruder] uart_pin: PD4 run_current: 0.5 hold_current: 0.5 sense_resistor: 0.110 stealthchop_threshold: 999999 ######################################## # Display ######################################## [display] lcd_type: uc1701 cs_pin: EXP1_3 a0_pin: EXP1_4 rst_pin: EXP1_5 contrast: 63 encoder_pins: ^EXP2_5, ^EXP2_3 click_pin: ^!EXP1_2 ## Some micro-controller boards may require an spi bus to be specified: #spi_bus: spi ## Alternatively, some micro-controller boards may work with software spi: spi_software_miso_pin: EXP2_1 spi_software_mosi_pin: EXP2_6 spi_software_sclk_pin: EXP2_2 [neopixel Screen] pin: EXP1_6 chain_count: 3 color_order: RGB initial_RED: 1.0 initial_GREEN: 0 initial_BLUE: 0 ######################################## # EXP1 / EXP2 (display) pins ######################################## [board_pins] aliases: # EXP1 header EXP1_1=PB2, EXP1_3=PE11, EXP1_5=PD9, EXP1_7=PE15, EXP1_9=, EXP1_2=PE10, EXP1_4=PD10, EXP1_6=PD8, EXP1_8=PE7, EXP1_10=<5V>, # EXP2 header EXP2_1=PA6, EXP2_3=PE9, EXP2_5=PE8, EXP2_7=PB11, EXP2_9=, EXP2_2=PA5, EXP2_4=PA4, EXP2_6=PA7, EXP2_8=, EXP2_10=<3.3v> # Pins EXP2_1, EXP2_6, EXP2_2 are also MISO, MOSI, SCK of bus "ssp1" # See the MKS Lcd Config path file for definitions of common LCD displays. ######################################## # Auto tune ######################################## #*# <---------------------- SAVE_CONFIG -------------------- #*# DO NOT EDIT THIS BLOCK OR BELOW. The contents are auto-generated. #*# #*# [input_shaper] #*# shaper_type_x = mzv #*# shaper_freq_x = 120 #*# shaper_type_y = mzv #*# shaper_freq_y = 60 #*# #*# [bed_mesh default] #*# version = 1 #*# points = #*# -0.087500, -0.085000, -0.055000, -0.051250, -0.098750 #*# -0.091250, -0.068750, -0.032500, -0.045000, -0.080000 #*# -0.096250, -0.077500, -0.038750, -0.073750, -0.098750 #*# -0.110000, -0.097500, -0.065000, -0.106250, -0.180000 #*# tension = 0.2 #*# min_x = 56.21 #*# algo = lagrange #*# y_count = 4 #*# mesh_y_pps = 3 #*# min_y = 68.12 #*# x_count = 5 #*# max_y = 263.01 #*# mesh_x_pps = 2 #*# max_x = 276.1 #*# #*# [extruder] #*# control = pid #*# pid_kp = 25.341 #*# pid_ki = 2.521 #*# pid_kd = 63.669 #*# #*# [skew_correction CaliFlower] #*# xy_skew = 0.011027909611065182 #*# xz_skew = 0.0 #*# yz_skew = 0.0 #*# #*# [probe_eddy_current btt_eddy] #*# reg_drive_current = 16 

Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road
With the coming of morning Rene found the earth enwreathed in a grey and sinuous fog that was so thick he felt like he was standing on the shores of an ocean of sky. Only the lapping edges of the wide pond he had located was visible beneath rolling tails of mist. He couldn’t even tell where the heavens ended and the water began—they had all joined together at the waist in one vague mass. It all had filthy, sooty smell to it too, like the inside of a baker’s oven. As through a clouded window pane he saw a red and malevolent haze glowing on faraway slopes to the southeast. Zildiz noted his bewilderment and taunted him:
“Don’t you recognized your own handiwork when you see it? An entire biome went up in smoke because of the Engine’s rampage. Not that I mind—all this is Leaper territory after all.”
“Cry me a river,” Rene scowled, dipping his boots into pond and wading into it. It was only knee height at the deepest point. What’s more, he could see the blurred outlines of small darting shapes below the surface that he hoped were fish.
He made Zildiz sit with her back against a sapling and bound her to it with the spool of webbing he’d collected.
“Don’t get any ideas,” he told her. He slipped off his boots and raggedy socks, rolling up the jumpsuit around his calves and getting back into the water.
At first he tried to get at the fishes with his bare hands. It would be just as easy as catching the milky cave species they raise in the aquaculture ponds back in Ulysses, he thought. All one had to do was slip one’s hand in with glacial patience so as not to disturb them, dipping the palm right under their bellies. Rene had gotten so good at it as a boy that he could even tickle them right in the gills and under the chin. But he soon discovered that the fish on the surface world were nothing like their subterranean cousins. For one thing, they weren’t blind, or stupid. The little rascals fled when he floundered after them, feet slipping on the mossy stones that covered the pond bed. Zildiz looked on with interest as the single worst attempt at hunting she had ever had the misfortune to witness began. This Rene-creature was as clumsy as it was slow-witted, splashing around in fruitless pursuit of its feeble prey. How had these animals ever managed to conquer the stars? Zildiz watched as Rene stubbed his toes on a sharp rock and howled, falling arse-backwards and losing his visor in the process. He then painstakingly dredged the pond bottom for it, turning it up some time later all covered in water lilies and mud. Rene angrily slung his backpack back on and cleared the gunk out of his mask before fitting it back on his face, only to begin yelling as a river crab he’d left inside tried to crawl up his nose. He tore the mask off again and doused it in the pond, finally ridding himself of the curious crustacean.
“Phew!” he sighed with relief.
“Toss it in again,” Zildiz suggested gaily, “At least that way you might catch another.”
“Shut up,” Rene glowered, face going purple with rage. He grabbed the biggest stick of driftwood he could find and began beating the surface of the water as if it owed him money.
Zildiz hid a smile at that. She was famished and events had definitely taken a turn for the worse, but at least someone else was suffering more than she was.
And while this halfwit is preoccupied, Zildiz schemed, I’ll go ahead and signal the god for help. She activated the magnetosynaptic organ behind her inner ear and tried all the usual frequencies.
Nothing but static. Either her organ had been knocked out of commission with the loss of her exomorph’s functions, or the heavy smog caused by the wildfire was getting in the way of reception.
But more than this, a greater part of the Vitalus would be preoccupied with containing the damage to its work. As a shared consciousness It had unimaginable processing power, yet It tended to deal with the world in a holistic fashion, neglecting the individual elements. This did not mean that the god could not be effectively omniscient—It merely had a wholly different perspective and hierarchy of priorities than did Its mortal servants.
For problems on the micro scale, it did however deploy Hollowores or other Inkarnids. Zildiz wasn’t vain enough to think it would send such an avatar of creation and destruction just to retrieve one lone Gallivant. No help would be forthcoming for a while. No matter; she was certain that she could outsmart the Fleet-man soon enough.
Then something happened which drastically altered her perception of him and his kind. Rene grabbed another stick and banged the two pieces together, frowning with concentration. Without a word he returned to the survival kit and combined them with the spool of webbing, twisting them together into the silk and rotating them to create something that was greater than the sum of its parts.
Grinning evilly, the Fleet man took the two sticks and the webbing strung between them and gently lowered them into the pond. He then waited, tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth as a fish approached him. When it refused to come any closer, he took one of the white cubes and crumbled it into pieces, which he sprinkled liberally into the water right above his new tool. Eventually the fish took the bait and swam in for a nibble. In a flash Rene pulled up the net and held up a wriggling, pinknosed carp with an ecstatic cry of victory. Chuckling at his own cleverness, Rene hauled his catch to the bank and dashed its brains out on the rocks. He then repeated the process until he caught three more carp with the exact same method. He gutted and descaled the carp with his clasp knife in a trice.
Zildiz was seeing the boundless cunning of these creatures firsthand. It bothered her more than she cared to admit. Granted, if her exomorph was up and running she could’ve killed him in a heartbeat, humming sword or not. But the rate at which he had adapted to his surroundings was concerning.
For comparison, say a Gallivant wished to specialize in the catching of fish. It would have had to ask the Vitalus to edit its gilt helix so that its exomorph could accept the grafting of an appendage designed solely to catch fish. This was assuming the Vitalus had calculated that the addition of this new capability would not lead to the eventual collapse of the riverine ecosystem in the next ten or twenty generations, or that the Gallivant in question could be entrusted with such a responsibility, assuming that its lineage’s previous contributions to the Great Game rendered it worthy of the sudden advantage.
Meanwhile, Rene had developed the net tool in less than the span of an hour, with absolutely zero regard for the consequences of his actions. Zildiz could only imagine what an entire nation of Renes could do if they were given time to multiply beyond Arachnea’s carrying capacity. Clearly this Fleet was a threat not to be taken lightly.
Rene finished cleaning the fish and skewered them on sharp sticks. He then found some pebbles and started banging them together to produce sparks above a pile of bark scrapings and twigs, careful placing one of the brown lumps from the kit inside. It was just as successful as his first attempts at fishing; he smacked the rocks together until he bruised his fingers, then hurled them cursing into the fog.
“Sonofa…” he swore, squatting next to Zildiz and looking at the raw fish dejectedly.
“What, you can manage all that but can’t get a fire going?” she asked, nodding at the blaze in the distance. Rene made no reply, too busy sucking on his thumb. Suddenly he unsheathed the sword and Zildiz nearly panicked, thinking that she had finally annoyed him to the point of violence. Instead, Rene picked up a chunk of quartz crystal off the ground and cut it in half, producing a shower of sparks as the edge met the mineral. Rene piled the fuel again and repeated the trick with the sword and the stone until the tinder caught and tiny streamers of smoke wafted up. Cupping his hands around the precious heart of flame, Rene blew on it lovingly and smiled as it grew into a merry, crackling cookfire.
Making sure to give Zildiz a smug look, Rene sat cross-legged next to it and began to barbeque his meal. Zildiz had built fires herself during the cold monsoon seasons as a special allowance granted by the Vitalus for extreme weather fluctuations, but those had been for warmth, not to burn food with.
The smell of the browning fish skin flooded Rene’s mouth with spit. He saw Zildiz licking her chops unconsciously, said:
“Don’t worry. You’ll get yours.”
Sure enough he held out first batch of carp for her to eat, blowing on it to cool it. Zildiz even forgot her hostility for a moment as she seized the fish with her jaws.
“I can feed myself, you know,” she told him between crunchy mouthfuls of bone and white flesh. It was delicious! An explosion of flavors that was at once both salty and slightly burnt, the meat firm yet succulent. Swallowing greedily, she pulled the fish off its stick and ate it whole, the fish’s head crackling under her molars. Rene watched her choke the thing down with a mix of amazement and alarm, then replied:
“I would consider giving you an arm free to eat with, but you’re a walking arsenal, lady. Is it good, though? My cooking?”
“Passable,” Zildiz lied with a shrug of her shoulders. Her affected disdain did not stop her from giving the rest of the carp a longing look. Rene knew she was hungry and tore the next fish in half, gorging himself and giving Zildiz the rest. Very soon all that was left of their breakfast was a pile of bones and scales that Rene kicked back into the pond. He sat back and propped his bare feet next to the fire to dry his toes.
“Uuurrpp!” Zildiz belched appreciatively.
“Bless you,” Rene commented, and settled down for a nap. He could only rest his eyes for a moment, as the woman would slit his throat as soon as he let his guard down. But the fatigue of the constant marching and fighting amassed on the edges of his consciousness. Slowly but surely, he was pulled down into the untroubled realm of sleep, free from the cares of his existence.
Link for all the chapters available here: Engines of Arachnea on Royal Road

• Previous posts, since the bulleted list was getting super unwieldy.

Around 34 million Earth years ago, at the end of the very creatively named 18th Era, the boreal and polar regions including the Great Polar Plateau, where Kyanah would eventually evolve, and its surroundings, were a very different place. The climate was at the time cooler and drier than the modern Homeworld, and the plateau was filled with more open boreal savannas and polar barrens rather than the dense scrublands of modern times. These boreal savannas were quite different from the modern ones, as endoskeleton plants had yet to expand in the northern hemisphere beyond the tropics, and single-leaf crawlers (which would go extinct at the end of the era) dominated over the modern multi-leaf crawlers to form the ground cover, the equivalent of Terran grass. The most common Walkers (i.e. tetrapods) on the plateau in the late 18th Era were small to medium-sized grazers, many of which had heavy armor or glands to secrete poisonous substances, as a defense against the top predators of the day. There were also the Kakenkortiors, the ancestors of modern Kyanah and dozens of other species, as well as other carnivore groups that specialized in oasis environments, pursuing the amphibious neuz or small burrowing herbivores. The Kakenkortiors were solitary quadrupedal carnivores roughly the size of small to medium-sized dogs, which were opportunistic carnivores taking on all manner of small prey when they had the chance, but primarily subsisted on scavenging carrion or stealing eggs, and had scaly skin covered in a dense coating of feathers to keep them warm and provide camouflage; notably they had yet to evolve the pack behaviors seen in some of their descendants. However, they themselves often fell victim to the true predators of the time--not true Walkers, but rather an offshoot of the wingbeasts (themselves marsupial creatures with foldable wings that could fly like gliders or walk on all fours on land)--the terrorbeasts. These terrorbeasts gave up their flight in exchange for reaching enormous sizes--almost a ton and 4 meters tall for the largest species--adopting a permanently quadrupedal and rather uncanny stance, with their forelimbs (formerly wings) being much longer than their rear limbs, while the wings themselves lost the ability to unfold, instead becoming vestigial forelimb frills used for attracting mates. Some terrorbeasts used their height to feed from the tops of exoskeleton plants, but many were carnivorous, developing long necks and elongated, hardened spear-like snouts to peck at grazers from above; it's believed that they sometimes reared up on their hind legs to gain additional height and force. This was in direct contrast with every extant tetrapodal predator of large game, which would prioritize either attacking from below or else taking out their prey's legs to bring them crashing down; as a result most herbivores had the heaviest protection on their bellies and legs, with their backs being comparatively weak. But then again, most creatures on the Kyanah homeworld, both extinct and extent, tend to be wide and low to the ground due to living under 1.4G, not tall and spindly, so the terrorbeasts were a giant middle finger to the biosphere and planet in general. Though their 50 million Earth year reign was cut short by the meteor shower that formed the Homeworld's newest impact range, created the Shatter, and caused the most recent mass extinction, leading to the beginning of the 19th Era.
With the terrorbeasts gone (though not their relatives, the normal, flying wingbeasts), the early 19th Era saw the creatures of the Great Polar Plateau adapt to the changing landscape. A group of species which had evolved thorn-covered backs--essentially made from modified feathers--to protect themselves from the terrorbeasts, also went extinct, and many of the remaining grazers lost their heavy armor due to the sudden dearth of megacarnivores to necessitate it. The Kakenkortiors survived the mass extinction and continued to occupy their old niches, but by around 29-28 million years ago, one branch, known as the Tyorketforms, would shift to a more actively predatory niche, using enlarged dew claws to slash the tendons of prey to drop them to the ground; this branch would eventually lead to the domestic Tyorkets, common Kyanah pets in the modern era. Meanwhile, climatic shifts at the start of the mid 19th Era would lead to the Great Polar Plateau becoming warmer and wetter; the boreal savannas would give way to denser boreal scrublands. Through both speciation and migration, the smaller, armored grazers would be displaced by large unarmored browsers eating leaves and twigs and growing to much bigger sizes in the comparatively plant-dense nutrient-rich environment.
It was only natural that something would evolve to hunt these new browsers. Oddly enough, it would be the Kakenkortiors. The main line would go extinct around 9 million years ago, but long before that, they would produce one more notable sideline, the Ratoryinut, starting around 25 million years ago. Many of the early Ratoryinut would be much larger than both early Kakenkortiors and modern Kyanah, reaching average masses of 150-300 kilograms, depending on the species. Compared to early Kakenkortiors, they had a higher and proportionally slightly narrower, though still relatively broad, profile, with bulkier forelimbs and more dexterous forelimbs--an intermediate stage in developing opposable thumbs--with non-retractable claws, as well as losing their feather coating entirely. By 20-18 million years ago, the Ratoryinut would further split into the Ratorkortyot-forms and the ancestors of the Kyanahforms. The Ratorkortyot-forms (roughly "strong herald beast") would continue to grow in size, with the largest species reaching up to 500 kilograms by 10 million years ago, somewhat resembling large, reptilian bear-like forms with bare, greenish-brown scaly skin. They would also evolve a Parasaurolophus-like crest, which they would use to make loud and elaborate trumpeting noises to attract mates or scare rivals away from a kill, and, as the climate cooled in the mid-late 19th Era and they gravitated towards the poles, many evolved blubber deposits to replace the insulating role of their ancestors' feathers. Ratorkortyot-forms, including the eponymous Ratorkortyot, the most famous species, are still extant and where their ranges overlapped with prehistoric Kyanah, appear to have occasionally killed and eaten packless or young individuals, though the reverse was more common. Most Ratorkortyot-forms are now threatened by habitat destruction and pollution.
As for the Kyanahforms themselves, they took the opposite approach to hunting the soft browsing herbivores that were spreading throughout the boreal scrublands. They began steadily losing raw mass, but underwent a quantum leap in intelligence, with six-core brains rather than the four-core brains of most Walkers; the only other animals with six-core brains, before or since, were a few one-off species of social wingbeasts. Not coincidentally, the modern pack dynamics of modern Kyanah also emerged with early Kyanahforms by around 15 million years ago, with 4-6 adults bonding together for life, having children with each other, and cooperatively raising them to adulthood. It's believed that this pack dynamic evolved from simpler serial pair-bonding in Ratoryinuts and the earliest proto-Kyanahforms as a result of six-core brains enabling more complex social behavior, allowing such relationships to be stable. It also enabled reliable tool using and eventually tool manufacturing (modifying found objects to further enhance their utility), as the Kyanahforms were capable of bipedal movement--though early Kyanah forms still spent most of their time on four legs--and had developed opposable thumbs.
While one minor side-line, the arboreal Kyanahforms, continued to shrink further, taking up omnivorous behavior and living in the taller, shrub-like exoskeleton plant species, the main line continued to gradually optimize for attacking in packs and killing medium-large game on the ground. During the mid-late 19th Era cooling, they would take on migratory behavior, moving to the edge of the Great Polar Plateau in the winter to take advantage of the milder winds from the south, and back north in the summer to hunt the big-ticket game animals further into the plateau. The main line would eventually evolve into tkorks, the closest living relatives of Kyanah, who have been discussed elsewhere. The side-line that would become the true Kyanah diverged from tkorks around 5-6 million years ago, shortly after the evolution of the Tyotonikors (perhaps "strong leaf beast"). These were basically the final, logical conclusion of the trend of large generalist browsers, relying on raw mass rather than armor or numbers to deter predators; it was one of these species that would eventually become the domestic nyruds that are so important to the Kyanah. The largest species, the Tyotonikor, could reach heights of 1.8 meters, with a length of 7.6 meters and males averaging around 4-5 tons--one of the largest known animals in the history of the Kyanah homeworld, and the largest period since the 16th or 17th Era; it was hunted to extinction by prehistoric Kyanah around 8000 years ago. While other related species were not as large, even the smallest averaged 1.5 tons, 3 times bigger than the biggest carnivores in the Great Polar Plateau. With a long, whip-like tail, a wide and stocky frame, and a sturdy beak-like mouth capable of handling even the toughest leaves and twigs, the species under the Tyotonikor classification were quite formidable. Indeed, healthy adults had no natural predators...until the true Kyanah came along.
If it seems like Kyanah were optimized specifically to hunt and kill the giant Tyotonikors that no one else dared eat...well, they were. They shifted from a merely bipedal-capable form to obligate bipeds, enabling them to see over interfering shrubbery to better devise a plan of attack, and also be able to hold tools and weapons at all times. To maintain balance in a bipedal posture, their tails became longer and bulkier, enabling them to flail them around to keep balance, and also use them as a weapon. While their jaw size--and thus snout size--and bite force increased relative to predecessors to better penetrate the thick skin of Tyotonikors, their claws became somewhat shorter and stubbier, optimized more for gripping than piercing, making it easier to hold the sticks and rocks they were increasingly using as force multipliers. An increase in fast-twitch muscles in their legs enabled them to more easily catch fleeing Tyotonikors--which, despite their bulk, could be surprisingly fast, rather like Terran elephants, able to reach speeds above 30 kilometers per hour. The strong legs and gripping claws also made it more feasible to get onto the creatures and deliver devastating top attacks. Their skulls also broadened significantly to enable increased cranial capacity, which enabled them to form even more complex pack hunting strategies and even cooperate with other packs to take down especially large and dangerous prey; this would be a game changer, as tkorks and earlier Kyanahforms would almost always ignore or fight other packs instead of working together. Compared to the tkorks, true Kyanah are basically high-performance, high-maintenance creatures, relying on intelligently applying explosive bursts of strength and speed to quickly take down big-ticket prey, rather than stamina, low resource usage, and gradually accumulating smaller prey items. While having primarily evolved to fill the empty niche of preying on Tyotonikors, the various Kyanah species were more than capable of hunting any medium to large animal, both on and off the Great Polar Plateau, using their sophisticated tactics, high physical strength, and eventually primitive spears, axes, traps, and controlled use of fire. Meanwhile, most tkork species in modern times are endangered or extinct, except for those that have adapted to living in Kyanah cities and feeding off various urban critters and meat that has been thrown out or left unattended by the Kyanah themselves. Those tkork species have done very well for themselves, to the point of being a pest.
Proto-Kyanah would speciate several times, gradually expanding around the edges of the Great Northern Plateau by around 1 million years ago, with some species expanding to the poles and also to the more temperate latitudes by 750k years ago, though modern, main-line Kyanah did not spread off the Great Polar Plateau until around 100k years ago. Remains of the most far-flung Kyanah species, the Dunewalkers, have been discovered from the Shatter to the Western Sector, though they went extinct 84k years ago after the asteroid impact that created the Ikun Crater, which also reduced the main-line Kyanah population to a few thousand, though they, obviously, bounced back and then some. None of these other species remain; the last to go were the Kyanah Brutes, so-named because of their large stature (roughly on par with humans) and proportionally smaller brains compared to main-line Kyanah, dying out around 5500 years ago; it is possible that there were organized efforts by Kyanah proto-civilizations to eradicate the last of them, but also just as possible that the main-line Kyanah merely hunted their prey into extinction. Notably, main-line Kyanah have the largest cranial capacity of any of these species, with Dunewalkers being a close second; there is no evidence that any Kyanah species other than *the* Kyanah ever devised fully fledged language on their own, which made cooperation between multiple packs more frequent and reliable, and made teaching their young more efficient. The presence of bones from multiple species being found together indicates that main-line Kyanah occasionally included members of a couple of the more advanced Kyanah species, like Dunewalkers and Kyanah Brutes, into their own packs, and vice versa. While these species lack the genes associated with independently inventing complex languages, it's believed to be possible that they could be taught it to a limited degree, as they had similar vocalization structures, and even tkorks can be taught to understand simple words and phrases. The exact nature of this relationship, whether these other species were viewed as working animals, slaves, or fellow packmates, is unknown. While they likely interbred, it is also unknown if this led to fertile offspring--but probably not.

Scott Masterson had first met Scarlett at a rooftop party in downtown Dallas. Their age and the time of year were both in late springtime, them in their mid twenties and the date in early May. He had on a sharp yet breezy blazer and she astonished in a thigh length sleeveless blue dress.
“Oh hey Scott I don’t believe you two have met…” his then happily married friend had remarked with a slow swinging open hand toward her.
“Scott Masterson…reluctant friend to this knucklehead” he said with a tight lipped grin, trying not to be so obvious with his instant rapture.
“Scarlett…a pleasure…”
Her hand was so delicate to Scott’s touch. They locked eyes. It was like looking back through centuries of connection, endless days of laying in the sun next to the Seine River, or rising to Hollywood fame in the 1940’s and only having each other who would understand the glory and the pain of it all, or generations of quiet, simple country love that would bear such beautiful, happy children that would go on to raise beautiful, happy children, all with their dark blue eyes. Yes, the memories of every love story since the beginning of time was swirling right there in Scarlett’s irises. Scott had to catch himself before he stared embarrassingly too long.
“Sorry Scottie here doesn’t get out often” his friend quipped, which Scott appreciated actually, it helped him snap back to professionalism.
“Well I don’t either…at least I prefer not to.” Scarlett’s words flowed through the air like a flock of rose petals.
“Hey, kindred spirits.” Scott was really sensing a rising energy out of her, they had barely broken eye contact.
“Well, I’ll let you two have at it, I got a wife around here somewhere. Hey…Scott and Scarlett…not bad, not bad.” His friend exited stage right with a sly chuckle.
“Nice guy…so…what are you drinking, Scarlett?” Scott looked around for the emptiest corner of the rooftop bar, hoping to find a nice place for them to be able to hear each other. This night had just become something.
“That depends, Scott…what do you like?”
Oh man.
Well, as you can expect, the evening blossomed into a beautiful, long winded conversation that etched a long list of similarities between the two. They both lived in the city, had never married, and had dreamed of stable, simpler lives far away from tall buildings and busy streets. The next morning Scott awoke in her arms, which warmed much deeper than just his skin. He could feel her soothing his very identity, his future, everything. Her arms were tailor made to fit his very soul, and he had never felt more safe and at home.
“Mmm…you can stay right here…” she whispered, eyes still closed.
“I will…I will”
They both fell back asleep, into a dream that wouldn’t end upon waking.
Two years passed and suddenly they lived that simple backwoods life, way out where acres of land far out-populated the few and far between people. They took a lovely home, which happily looked over a long backyard, right up to a lively yet mostly undisturbed river. Their only neighbor within a mile was an older ranch worker named Charles, who rarely made himself perceivable. Days were spent way on into town where they both had offices. They didn’t mind the commute. Nights were spent mostly like this night, cuddled outside near a lovely little fire, with a slowly shrinking amount of wine sitting between them. Enjoying their Kingdom. Tonight, however, would prove to be a special night, for many reasons, all unexpected.
“Honey, I’ve been thinking…” Scott began, sitting up and opening his hands to the warmth of the fire.
“Oh?” Scarlett also sat up, eyes widening.
“So look, Scarlett, the last two years have been the best of my life. An absolute dream…”
She held her breath, her focus darting between his eyes and mouth.
“Yeah?”
“We have everything we ever want out here. But…what if there’s more?”
“More?” She had envisioned this very conversation hundreds of times.
“Our dreams have come true, but what if we…made some new dreams?” Scott turned and embedded his eyes into hers. He burst into a big smile.
“Scott…I thought…”
“Nevermind what I said” he cut her off, which he always made a point to never do, but this was a good exception.
“I’m ready, Scarlett…let’s have a family.”
“Ohhhh Scott, oh Scott”
They hugged tight enough to where it hurt.
“Well, in that case, we may need to open another bottle.” She said playfully, bouncing her eyebrows twice.
“Excellent. I’ll be right up. I’ll put this fire out and then start yours up.”
“Oh stop!” She bounded away girlishly, up the snowy back steps and into the house.
Scott let out a big sigh that he could see in the cold air and sat back in his chair, taking in his decision. He really was ready. He had secretly been keeping a long list of names that he liked and that he thought would work in front of Masterson. Especially little girl names. He stared into the campfire flames, getting lost imagining the three of them sitting right here, a little girl resting securely in Scarlett’s arms, as Scott had found himself, and stayed within these past two years.
Suddenly his trance was broken when, from the road in front of their house, came the sound of a vehicle approaching at high speed. Scott snapped his head back toward the house to get a better listen. He could see, around the house and through the trees, a large truck barreling down the country road, its headlights racing and bouncing with intensity. In an instant, it had passed up the road and out of sight.
“Huh?”
Soon, after a moment of silence, another sound echoed into the night. This sound rattled Scott to the bone and tore all that was right in his world into pieces. A sharp, bellowing squeal. His eyes shot over to his neighbors house, which was about a tenth of a mile to his right but still had a couple dim lights on that he could see. The shriek seemed to come from there.
Then, more squeals. It was hellish. More than animal but not quite human. Scott stood up. He heard crashing and tearing and further destruction coming from Charles’ house.
“Scarlett!! Scarlett!” He yelled toward his house, where he looked and could see her silhouette behind the curtains at the kitchen window. She didn’t seem to hear him.
He turned back toward his neighbors. The chaos had gone quiet. Not a half a moment after, though, he heard something big barreling through the trees as fast as that truck had been sprinting. Running, running furiously between the two houses. Searching, hunting. Scott was taken aback so hard that his heel had caught the edge of the fire pit, throwing him down only inches away from severe burns. He had knocked his head in the whiplash, making him groan and take a moment to regain his bearings.
“SCARLETT!!!!”
He screamed out toward his home as he sat up, rubbing a quickly rising bump on the back of his head. He heard a loud breaching on the side of his house. The patio door. No. No. Then, all hell broke loose. Scarlett started wailing and crying and he could hear crashes of plates and glasses and deep guttural roars coming from the kitchen inside. Shadows danced in a frenzy from the curtained windows. Sounds of instinctual survival seemed to be thrown from Scarlett inside. Sounds of defeat. Sounds of agony. Sounds of insanity. Scott sprang to his feet, his equilibrium being more damaged than he realized after his fall. He had to catch his hand on a chair to stabilize himself. Scarlett’s symphony of pain had gone quiet. Soon after something burst back out the patio door again and off in the same direction as that truck before.
Scott struggled back up to the house, slowly climbing the wintered, crunching stairs that led to the patio. He no longer yelled for Scarlett. In fact, the only thing that came to his senses was the sound of his own heavy breathing. Everything else had been turned off, save for a heavy and sudden dread that he had prayed he would never feel. He came to the side of his house where indeed the patio door had been busted and forced open. It laid inside the kitchen, its hinges snapped like toothpicks. Scott, with eyes wide and twitching, slowly entered his home and looked into the kitchen.
He didn’t scream. He didn’t even change his breathing. He didn’t blink. He just got a good long look at what laid before him.
Everything was broken. The fridge was on its side, the door hanging open and food and drink scattered all over the floor. The table was upended, its legs to the ceiling. A chair was resting on the counter, possibly having been thrown in defense. And Scarlett. Oh Scarlett. She…was…everywhere. She was all over the floor. She was sprayed against the walls. She was stuck to the window. She was in the sink.
Scott gently walked through the carnal mess and sabotage of his world. Long ago he had known exactly what he would do if something anywhere near this bad were to happen to him. He politely stumbled through the kitchen, down the hall, and into the bedroom. He opened his closet door and lowered a fire safe from the top rack. He unlocked it with a passcode. 511, after that warm May date when he had first met Scarlett. In the safe was a Sig Sauer P320 handgun. Scott took it out, along with a box of bullets, loaded one into the gun, put the safe back on its rack, and walked out of the closet, sitting on his bed. Their bed. Where they should’ve been laying right at this very moment, working toward a happy future. Where he would’ve kissed her forehead and put a hand on her growing midsection. Where they would have awoken on Christmas morning to the sound of children who were way too excited to remain asleep. Where they would’ve grown old. Where they would’ve smiled at each other through wrinkles, satisfied with all the love they shared and passed on to the next generations. Where they would’ve held each other in deep peace as they finally fell asleep to this world.
“I will…I will”
In one quick motion Scott pulled back the hammer and stuck the barrel of that pistol right up against his Governor and blew himself away, far away, right back into Scarlett’s loving arms.
Jeremy “Smallmouth” Bassett quickly yet stealthily made his way back to his Uncle’s house. He hugged the sides of the dark country road, keeping his eyes and ears wide open as to notice any sounds pertaining to the event that he had just witnessed there in the field next to the huge blaze. His only thought was Uncle Chuck. His house was right on the warpath of that horrible thing and Smallmouth had to go to him and make sure he was safe. He dared not go back to his truck, which would bring a lot of unwanted attention. No, Smallmouth walked and walked and finally saw the lights of his Uncle’s house. He carefully approached the front door from the shadowed driveway. Suddenly it occurred to Smallmouth that something was very wrong here. The door was busted in, having been plowed through by something very large and very strong.
“No…no…no”
Smallmouth slowly entered the house. The kitchen and living room were a disaster, chairs and tables and bottles strewn about and shattered. Bloody hoof-prints covered the floors, each of them the size of dinner plates. Smallmouth heard no noise. He felt himself well with tears, his nose a faucet that he began to sniff up as he worked his way through to his Uncle’s room, the door there also being broken in. A small whine growing in his throat, Smallmouth peaked into his uncles bedroom.
It was all in tatters. The bed had been attacked and shredded, the mattress being ripped up and thrown about as if it were made of cotton candy. More bloody hoof-prints were painted all over the brown carpet. Smallmouth trembled and put a hand up to his wet face. He didn’t see a way that his Uncle was anywhere near alive, knowing what he knew about the monster that had been in this house.
Smallmouth slowly walked to the living room, to the only little table that had been untouched in the attack. It was almost as if the bottle of whiskey teleported into his hand from the overturned cabinet, unopened. He fixed that real quick.
Soon he was several pulls deep of the only thing in the world that he knew would make him feel better, even if only for a few hours. He found his pack of cigarettes in his coat pocket and lit one up, although he was indoors. What did it matter? He sat in a chair that he had turned right side up and set the bottle on the table and looked out the back window into the pitch black. He cried for his Uncle and he cried for the world. He cried for himself. He cried for broken promises and his own weakness. He drank and drank until his vision shook from right to left everywhere he looked. At first he didn’t even notice the figures on the back porch. Then his vibrating focus did pick up on them, but by then it was too late. It was so dark out there but in their outlines he could see they wore long robes and hoods.
“HA!! COME AND GET ME! HAHA!! YOU COME AND YOU GET ME!!” Smallmouth boasted with a delusional amount of courage.
A creak escaped from the kitchen and he drunkenly slung his head over toward it. Three more figures stood there. Or was it just one? Smallmouth was none the wiser. All at once the hooded intruders from both inside and outside began to chant a strange, twisted rhyme in strikingly low and dissonant harmony:
“A sliver…of liver…goes down…with a shiver… …and gives…your gullet…to gall… …but drink…the Cider…that drowns…the Spider… …and you…will be free…of it all… …so tighten the grip…that loosens your lips… …O raise…the bottle…of brown… …and wake tomorrow…to find…in sorrow… …ANOTHER…SPIDER…TO…DROWN”
Smallmouth groaned at them in dissatisfaction and turned his bottle up again and began to chug the whiskey. As he did they repeated the chant except this time it was louder and closer. By the time Smallmouth had finished his bottle he was quickly losing consciousness. This wasn’t just whiskey. As he closed his eyes he felt hands grabbing him from all sides.
Smallmouth pulled open his sticky eyelids. His head felt like someone had bowled a strike into it. Wind froze his face. The smell of sickly, wet iron stung his nostrils. His vantage was higher than usual. Way higher. He was looking out into another field, but from easily ten feet up. He saw an old church, formerly painted white but now a flaky pale-beige. He heard the friction of a quick pull of rope below him, matched with a slight, tight pain at his feet. He looked down. A red-robed figure was fastening him against a wooden structure of some kind. His feet sat on a small flat platform perpendicular to a post that went from the ground up past smallmouths head. He couldn’t move his arms, so he quickly shot his eyes side to side. They were also tied to another horizontal post. A cross. He was being tied to a crude wooden cross. His shirt had been removed, exposing a hairy, overweight belly. Smallmouth tried to speak, but all that came out was a slow, unintelligible grumble. He was still drunk. No, this was more than that. He was under the influence of something strong and absolutely inhibitive. He wallowed again, and took in a deep breath. The smell of iron once again hit his nose. He looked down at himself. He was covered in a thick, red liquid. That wasn’t just the smell of iron. He had been splashed full body with blood.
“Now now, young servant…” the figure at his feet had finished his task and took a couple of steps out to admire his own handiwork.
“Ahh…perfect. The picture of martyrdom. Yes, you will always be remembered, Brother Bassett. You are to be the first Saint of The New Bible.” He opened his arms in his declaration.
Smallmouth looked up into the cold night sky. The moon shown down, giving everything a midnight spotlight. It was a gorgeous waxing gibbous, big and bright but not quite full. Yes, he was in a great big snowy field that housed an old worn down church. From the windows of the church he saw candles glowing, showing dark heads and shoulders looking out to him, also covered in loose hoods, hiding faces. He was hanging on a cross about one hundred feet from the old church. In front of the cross was a partially covered pit, a couple of two by fours supporting double armfuls of branches and dead leaves.
The figure at the base of the cross put his arms back to his side. He was still looking right at the drugged Smallmouth’s dumbstruck face. Even with a veiled mouth you could hear the twisted smile in his voice.
“Tonight you will help us finally defeat this legion, Smallmouth. You see, it may have the evil spirits within it, but at its core, it is still an owned animal. An animal that knows its Master very well. An animal that will remember the smell of its Master. You, my friend, are covered in its Master right now. And you are hanging on a cross, the symbol of this brute’s most hated enemy. But take heart, young Brother. Before you is our pit of spears. Yes you will attract the beast, but our Divine plan will intercept it and the beast will fall and be pierced. And then, oh dear brother, you will forever be immortalized. You will be purified in fire by the hands of your church brethren. Out of your screams and into the smoke the iniquities of all will be released. We will go on to preach your good example and your sainthood forever and ever.”
Smallmouth began to drool and hum pathetically. He could hear and understand the words of the robed man but he couldn’t fight back. His body was useless, limp inside its rope confines. All he could do now is think, and watch, and wait, and dread his fate.
The figure turned away from him, walking over near the pit and gathering up a bundle of brambles and throwing them over the last open area, covering it completely. He then crunched through the snow over to the front door of the old church, groaning open the door. He stood at the dark doorway for a few seconds in silence, and then began to make a noise. An over exaggerated pig squealing noise, high pitched and infuriating. Soon after other voices from inside the church began to do the same, their wailing echoing out of the building and all across the field, loudly signaling, calling out. It may as well have been a dinner bell. Not a half minute after they began the distress signal it was loudly answered by a distant squall. A furious squall.
This was it. Either way it happened Smallmouth was about to die. Experience terror, and then die, and not even have the ability to put up any kind of defense. It wasn’t fair. He just slowly lifted up his head and watched out far into the moonlit, white field. He then raised his heavy head further and took a good gander at the moon and stars for the last time.
“God,” he thought to himself, still having full inner monologue yet no outer motor function, “I am so sorry. I am so sorry for being what I am. I am so sorry for ending up in this place. It’s only my own fault. If it wasn’t for me being so stupid and messy and drunk and terrible then this wouldnt be happening to me.”
He began to shed tears that washed lines into the blood on his face.
“Please forgive me God. Please, please, please forgive me for all of my sins. This is it. I’m gonna die. I’m gonna die. PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!!!” He yelled inside his own mind, hoping and trying to send his silent words as far up into heaven as they could go.
He lowered his eyes back to the ground. He looked over at the church again. The windows were empty, the candles were extinguished. Those hooded cowards were hiding from their own handmade sacrificial service. All was quiet for a long pause until a much louder, closer bleating began at the edge of the forest not even three hundred feet away from Smallmouth’s glazed over eyes. It was time, and it was too late for a miracle.
Out of the woods, slowly and heavily, stomped the massive hog. As it marched closer and closer Smallmouth could see its white, boiled over eyes and black-burnt skin. Its jaws were flying open and snapping its sharp, pocket knife-sized teeth together in an intimidating “clack”. It was now less than a hundred feet away, the dark old church to its right shoulder. It stopped, its pale glowing eyes fixed right on Smallmouth on the crude cross. It truly was a monster. It stood as tall as a man and as long as a canoe. Around its murderous mouth were stains of red, the remnants of all that it had taken from the world on this unholy night. In its clanging jaws were bits of flesh. It snorted and scowled.
Then, in a fury, it wailed that horrible squeal and started off into a dead sprint. It galloped and galloped toward Smallmouth at a high, blistering speed. It kept yawping and howling as it cut the distance from the cross down to fifty feet, forty feet, thirty, twenty. All at once it passed over the covered pit and plunged in. In his doomed, dead eyed stupor Smallmouth could hear what sounded like paint being dumped from a rooftop onto concrete. Trails of black liquid squirted and splashed up from the pit, which had been uncovered in the fall of the beast. Unbelieving, Smallmouth saw dozens of steel spear tips standing up from the dug-in ground. Right in the middle of them the beast was stuck. The sheer weight of the animal had caused the spears to pierce through its tough skin, sticking out of its back, soaked in black blood. One spear had stabbed right under the hogs chin, passing up through its jaws and out its black snout. It made agonized sounds. It roared and roared and shook the spears inside it, beginning furiously, then growing weaker and weaker within seconds. Finally, it let out one last weak little squeal, before it went still and quiet.
Smallmouth was frozen both physically by drugs and constraints and mentally by shock. His mouth hung open toward the pit of spears, his vision blurry. He took in a deep, troubled breath and let out a moan of disbelief and relief. The old church doors sprang open, and the sound of jubilation within flowed out into the night. The red robed figures flocked out of the building toward the pit, arms raised in celebration. They surrounded the hole, getting a good look at their success and their enemies defeat. Some held additional spears and began further stabbing the dead animal, causing more black blood to be shed up at them. They all yelled loudly and triumphantly. Some danced around the pit. Some skipped over to Smallmouth on the cross and danced around him, slapping his legs and spinning in circles.
Smallmouth looked on at the raucous celebration, both in utter disbelief of their trap actually working and also in turmoil. How long now until they fully execute their plan.
A taller robed man, whose voice matched the same one who spoke to Smallmouth as he tied his feet, spoke up, sounding almost happily intoxicated.
“Ahh yes my Brothers!! It is done!! We have won!!!”
They all whooped and cheered.
“Brother Norman, go into the church and bring me the small tank of fuel. Let us send our dear Saint Bassett to the Holy lands, where he will be adored for all eternity!”
They all clapped and hollered. One figure began childishly skipping away from the pit and over toward the front door of the church.
Then, it happened.
From the pit all of a sudden a great blaze erupted instantly. It stood as tall as the cross, and it burned a furious red and blue. It raged and raged, blinding Smallmouth and making him clumsily turn his face away from the heat.
All of the figures panicked, screaming and scattering away toward the church. They didn’t get far. Up from the fiery pit, dozens of long, long, black arms, adorned with six hooking claws emerged and stretched out of the flames and latched on to the legs of those trying to escape. Smallmouth heard crying and wailing from the men as the black, razor clawed-hands of the legion grabbed them and began pulling them back, into the blazes. One by one the red robed people were dragged into the flames, their clothes catching instantly. Smallmouth could see violently shaking bodies in the evil furnace. Oh, the screams. Above the tortured howling, the sound of laughing broke out. Deep, menacing laughter, hundreds of voices, echoed up into the air from the burning hole. Then, in one extinguishing squeeze, the ground swallowed the entirety of the fiery pit, leaving it completely covered in dirt, still and quiet. Soon after, and just like the pit of spears, the old church building caught in an instant and raging fire, quickly toppling the walls and dropping the steeple into its ruins. The smoke towered high in the night sky, which had just began to hint at a pale morning blue. Smallmouth hung on his cross in utter horror and surprise.
As the late evening hours glowed into early morning the smoke eventually tapered off, as Smallmouth’s drugs finally began to wear off as well. The fires of the church did garner long distance attention, though. Just as Smallmouth was able to regain control of his muscles and voice he heard emergency sirens call out into the cold morning air. Not long after, two fire trucks, an ambulance and a sheriffs truck tore into the field and toward Smallmouth on the cross. Not long after Smallmouth could feel the tied ropes being cut loose by firemen, their uniforms easily the best red clothes he had seen all night.
“What on God’s green Earth happened here son?” A bearded man with a dark hat and brown shirt and pants asked Smallmouth once he had been lowered down from the cross and sat on the ground with a shock blanket around his shoulders. The Sheriff, no doubt.
“God’s green Earth. It really is God’s, isn’t it?” Smallmouth whispered, staring out across the cold field. Then, at the very place he was staring, an old, familiar truck came barreling out of the gravel road in the woods and through the field in the steadily growing morning light. It was Uncle Chuck’s truck. It hurried over toward the other emergency vehicles, parked, the driver’s side door burst open, and Uncle Chuck came bounding out over to Smallmouth, his eyes wide and his mouth a wonderfully shocked “O”.
“JEREMY! JEREMY!!!” He basically fell on Smallmouth in a tight, warm hug. Smallmouth was caught off guard by Chuck using his real name.
His Uncle held him for several seconds and then let up, but kept his hands on Smallmouth’s shoulders.
“I thought you were dead.” Both of them said at almost the exact same time.
“I came back and your house was a mess and there was blood everywhere. I thought you were dead.” Smallmouth weakly spat out.
“Well, I woke up and you were gone, son, so I walked to the ranch to get my truck. I was worried bout ya son. I came back home and the whole place had been turned upside down. Blood on the carpet. I just thought the worst. Then I tried my neighbors house. Buddy, they’re dead. Looks like some wacko murder-suicide if I ever saw one. Scott probably tried to come kill us too and wrecked the place when he found it empty. I don’t know. But what I DO know is that you are right here! You are okay Jeremy!! Ahhh Praise Jesus!!”
“It’s not that, Uncle. That isn’t what happened out here. It’s..it was a..a, uh…”
Smallmouth’s fried brain couldn’t even comprehend what he had witnessed over the past few hours. It was all a violent blur.
“Dont worry bout it son, you can tell me everything on the way to the hospital. We gotta go get you checked out and cleaned up. C’mon.” He helped Smallmouth up and they walked over to the ambulance, his Uncle’s arm thrown around his shoulder.
Smallmouth would be sent home later that afternoon. It would take him and his Uncle a long time to sort through the chaos of that deadly night and rebuild their lives. But life kept on. Smallmouth would remain living with his Uncle, and would begin a job working with him down at the ranch. Together they started to attend a local church. Smallmouth never touched a drink or a drug or even a cigarette ever again, and remained steadfast in his newly revitalized faith.

The first rays of rosy-fingered dawn climbed their way over the Macedonian hills and fell like arrows to glint upon the racing bronze of the Scythian raiders. Death clattered and rang among the early morning light as they made their way across the plateau towards the waking village. Gleaming in the rosy light, but obscured by the mist, they seemed like comets cast as Olympian arrows. Their horses' breath clung in the air as they dragged behind them chariots of bronze and chariots of iron. Each carried two men. Those with bronze carried a driver and an archer with bow bent, while those with iron carried a man with a mighty cleaving axe. Each driver also carried for himself a leather shield and bronze short sword. Behind the chariots came footmen equipped like the drivers, and at their flanks rode horsemen carrying one-handed axes, javelins, and wooden shields covered with leather. Thus the horde came down the valley towards the village, cloaked in the fog, but vastly beyond what their victims could hope to muster.
Then, the fog parted like the curtain of a theater. Before the coming horde stood arrayed a sturdy phalanx, a wall of bronze shields and forest of spears aimed towards the invaders. Behind them, men stood with bows bent and arrows knocked. At their center, a man sat astride a white-faced bay mare. Shining in his steel armor, he drew his bow and fired. An arrow sped into the eye of the foremost driver, and a moment later another caught his axeman in the throat. He roared with a voice like a trumpet. “MEN OF MACEDON, SET YOUR HEARTS ABLAZE!” Thus cried Leonidas Kygniois, keen eyed hunter, and with one voice his men answered him. “WOE! WOE! WOE TO THE WICKED!” At those a volley of arrows was loosed from behind the phalanx and fell among the Scythians. Many died, as Leon bid his aide unfurl the banners. Across the field each unit raised up two banners. Below was the banner of the unit, and above the sun with sixteen rays. Besides Leonidas arose his own banner, the white wolf on the blue field, under the black dragon’s wing.
The foremost forces of the Scythians were caught in the charge, unable to pull away. They crashed into the wall of shield and spear with the terrible sound of breaking bones, shearing bronze, dying horses and dying men. All the while arrows continued to rain, and the slaughter was brutal. But then, swift as a winding river, the Scythians turned and wheeled away. The chariots of bronze sent forth arrows of their own, coated in serpent’s venom. The phalanx raised their shields, and covered themselves. Even so some struck through, and the venom wrought a terrible toll on the men. Even so, the phalanx began to march forwards, stepping over the dead with their grim chant. “WOE! WOE! WOE TO THE WICKED”. With this chant they kept their stride, and advanced as a seamless wall. The wounded fell back, helped by their brothers. The archers helped guide them back, and reservists stepped forwards to replace them. Thus the army advanced.
The Scythians pulled back, and danced at the range of the archers. They sought a weakness, or to create a weakness. The bronze chariots formed into a circle and spun like a wheel. Each man turned and fired, and slipped out of range. It was troublesome to target and gave each Scythian plenty of time to line up his shot. In their midst was one most terrible, their chief in gilded chariot. Shining was their armor, brilliant as the sun, head hidden behind a helm like a lion. Their bow was strong and eye keen. Whenever they loosed, a Hellene fell dead.

At the same time, the chariots of iron gathered on the left, and with them the horsemen of the left. The army of the Hellenes had deployed on the flat ground before the village, with a forest on their right to guard that flank. For a flanked phalanx was a doomed phalanx, and the flat ground was optimal both for maintaining a unified line, but also for the chariots and horsemen to maneuver. So the scythians gathered on the left, and sought to envelop the Hellenes there. Their chief suspected their enemy might have hidden horsemen in the mists, and so the wheel turned. They drew forth arrows set with whistles and fired them into the flank. The arrows screamed with a terrible sound to spook horses and sunder morale. Then forwards the flanking force drove to envelop the foe, or else slip behind them to wreak ruin among the archers.

There they found the strongest of the Hellenes. Beneath a banner showing serpent-haired Medusa, they stood clad head to toe in steel. No arrow could find purchase against these immortals, and no blade of bronze could wound them. They turned with grim purpose, spears tracking the foe as the mist lifted. The flanking scythians found themselves with no cover, facing no exposed flank, but the royal elite of the Macedonian army.
Then out from their midst stepped a dark-haired woman with piercing blue eyes. She pulled back her cowl to reveal a diadem, and opened her thumb on a bladed ring. She reached into her cloak and drew forth iron shavings, a magnetic stone, and rose thorns. Then she spoke words of power and imposed her sovereignty over reality.
“Apaangan
Loha
Kaante”
Then she blew the iron over the field. From the bones of the earth, iron answered. It erupted like a field of nails under the feet of the horses. They screamed in pain and stumbled. They fell and cast their riders on the thorns, or else were slowed in their stride. Thus the charge was stalled and the pace ruined. Then spoke the witch again and the air stank of ozone.
“Trisula.
Munhatod
Bijalee chamakana.”
By these words she called forth lightning. It came as a brilliant trident to her bloodied hand. Her hair came alight into the air with static, her diadem gleamed in its light. The enemy saw her and beheld the dread heir of Olympus, last and mightiest of the demigods, Queen Cassandra of the Macedonians. She hurled forth her trident into the air. There it broke and a storm cloud formed over the battle. The fury of Heaven rained down on the chariots of the Scythians. Their chariots of iron were brought to ruin. Their men fell bloodied, deafened, and burned. So Cassandra brought ruin to her enemies.
Thus, the enemy retreated from the hellene lines, and fled from the wrath of Cassandra, daughter of Zeus. For her fury was terrible, and her deeds were mighty. Thus they came back around their chief, and escaped the ruin that had come upon them. They withdrew, step by step, and runners were sent further back to the baggage train to make ready. On the Hellenes came against them, but they were slow in step and cautious. Leon watched the canny chief of the Scythians, and never did his eye wander. The chief in turn watched him, and both put hand to bow, though they did not loose at one another. The range was wrong, but each made ready for their duel.
At length, the Hellenes pushed the Scythians back beyond the extent of the forest, and so their left became exposed. Their chief launched a probing attack with their horsemen, who drew near and threw their javelins into the midst of the Hellene line. The line recoiled, pulling back and inwards, bunching up. At this sign of weakness, at once the chieftain struck. The chariots closed in for the kill. Likewise, the horsemen circled and lowered their spears. As one they would drive into the exposed flank of the Hellenes and drive them from the field.
Then the forest vanished. It had not all been an illusion of it, but enough of it. The chieftain turned, the world seemingly slowing to a crawl. Out of the fading shadow ran bold men armed with long spears. They crashed into the flank of the charging horde and into the midst of the chariots. They drove their spears into the wheels of the chariots, and ground them to a stop. They thrust upwards at the horsemen, who’s mounts reared away from the danger. The charge had been utterly disorganized by this sudden surprise attack, and the advantage was to the Hellenes.
Valiantly the Scythians fought, and most valiant was their chieftain. They lashed about themselves with axes and swords. Their chieftain hefted high a mighty flax; a reverse-edged blade held in two hands. Down the falx fell, and a Hellene that drew too near was all but split in two. The surprise was sudden, but for their charge the Hellenes had forsaken shield and heavy armor. As surprise faded, the battle seemed to shift in favor of the Scythians. Yet the chieftain lifted up their eyes, and saw that they were in danger. The Hellene cavalry finally made its move. Slipping in behind and around the bulk of the Scythian force, with Leonidas at their head, they made to encircle and destroy the Scythian mobile element.
Then the tide truly turned against the Scythians, as a roar sounded out of the mist. A shadowy blur, nearly the size of an elephant, was among them. It snatched the wounded out of the jaws of death, and threw aside chariot and horse with ease. Axes struck at it, and bounced. Spears thrust and were broken. A few bold horsemen charged towards the black mass in the mist, then she raised up her head. Great wings split the mists aside, and her majesty froze horse and rider alike in terror.
Her body was like that of a panther or other great cat, covered in interlocking scales like a serpent. Her four limbs were long and powerful, ending in mighty claws gleaming white as ivory. A tail like a scorpion lashed, a glaive-headed blade at its tip, sharp enough to split a man in twain, swifter than arrows. A long neck terminated in a head a bit like a horse, a bit like a viper, and a bit like a bird of prey. Plated black scales overlapped across her body, gleaming in the dawnlight, sturdier than steel, yet flowing like water. Blue fire lapped around the edges of a mouth full of teeth like daggers. Two great wings eclpsed heaven behind her, leathery like a bat. Long white scars from battles past covered her throat, as eyes like amber froze men like trapped bugs.
Seramis of Achaea, the Dragon Princess, entered the battlefield.
The chieftain saw this doom amongst their men, but watched with wisdom. Though Seramis wielded terror as her weapon, roaring with flame and talons drawn, she wielded only terror. She might have slain many easily, but she used the Gehennan flames as only a firewall. Her tail lashed and claws struck, but they slapped rather than slashing. The dragoness certainly broke bones, but that was more a function of mass than malice. Her priority was the wounded, and she struck those that got in her way.
“Avoid the dragon! Do not strike the wounded, nor stand to capture them! Slay them in a single blow, or wound them and move away before the dragon intervenes!” The chieftain cried, and while the Hellenes could not understand her, Seramis did. The Diluvian princess turned her head and looked toward the lion-helmed Scythian. The pair shared a look of understanding, before the tumult of battle resumed their attention.
Seramis continued her work, all the easier for the lack of interference. Acting as both medic and ambulance, she rescued the wounded, Hellene and Scythian alike. Following in her shadow came a creature a bit like a ram, with seven horns of lapis lazuli. This was her familiar, a spirit of knowledge she called Elijah. He acted as her diagnosticator, identifying wounds and ailments to aid her work. Sera cast spells of healing, not complex work but quick and efficient. Bleeding stalled, bones were set, and pain was soothed. Then she would take the wounded and lash them to her side and back with tendrils of shadow. Once she had gathered a full load of men, she retreated back behind the Hellene lines. There she deposited them with the healers, and leapt forth to rescue yet more.
With the dragoness identified as less a threat, and more a mobile hazard, the Scythians returned their focus to the Hellene cavalry. Their own cavalry had been Leon’s primary target during the initial confusion of the charge, and he had made good use of the opportunity. Many a Scythian horseman had been slain in those first few moments, and no less than thirteen by the prince of marathon’s own hand. The white-feathered shafts of his steel-tipped arrows were seen planted in throat, eye, and heart, a testament to the prince’s deadly aim and fearsome bow. For he was wolf to ringbearers, and the strength of his bow and the superior metal of his arrows pierced breastplates of bronze, even the scale mail of the Scythians.
Even so, while the Hellenes had bled the Scythian horse fiercely, they had less success against the charioteers. The chariots provided additional cover from Hellene javelins, and space to evade their lances. Moreover, their sturdy construction made them perilous to the Hellenes horses, as a swinging wheel could easily break a leg. Finally, the simple fact that each chariot was a two-man team allowed for greater resilience. One man focused on driving, and the other on fighting. If either was wounded so they could not do their work as well, they could switch. Even if the driver was outright killed, the other could take over and use the mass of the chariot as a weapon. So, though the play gave the Hellenes the advantage, the Scythians were far from out of the fight.
So, with fury, their chieftain rallied their men about them and led a fierce counterattack. With the superior durability of the chariots and their mighty chief at their head, the Scythians reaped a bloody retaliation on their foes. Leonidas ordered his men back, to gather themselves anew. Each side had been bloodied, and both sought a retreat. Then with a cry, he took his personal guard back in, aimed directly at the enemy general. His bow was drawn, and fired.
The Scythian general stepped to the side of their chariot, dodging the shot. They drew their own bow, aimed, and fired. Leon evaded, but he wasn’t the target. Instead, his horse was. The white-faced bay mare took the Scythian’s arrow in her flank. The wound was minor, but the poison was not. She ran on seven steps, then seized, and fell down dead. Leon leapt from his dying steed, and landed in a roll. He came up with shield and spear at the ready, as the Scythian chief turned their chariot towards him.
The two general’s bodyguards whirled in a melee as the Scythian and Hellene commanders faced each other in single combat. The Scythian forsook their bow, knowing their poisoned arrows could not pierce the prince’s steel armor. Instead they raised high their fell falx, as their chariot closed in. Leon readied himself as the chariot closed to trample him. Then, at the last moment he sprang aside, unusually agile despite his heavy armor. Still, the lion helm tracked him, and down the falx came. Leonidas raised his shield and set his feet. The shield was steel, and sturdy enough to shatter a blade of bronze such as the falx falling upon him. But it struck true, and carved the steel shield, then kept going. Leon pulled back, but he’d braced himself and couldn’t maneuver. His steel armor parted, and he came away with a serious gash in his arm. He felt the blade hit bone, and realized that if he hadn’t been so well equipped, that blade would have taken his left arm off, cutting straight through the bone.
Still, though he bled, he did not quail. He threw aside his ruined shield and took his spear in both hands. While his foe had the mass and momentum of a charging chariot, the physics of metallurgy dictated that their blade should have broken against him. Curved blades were more fragile, a trade-off for their superior cutting power, and a bronze blade should have no chance against steel. If physics were being violated, it meant sorcery was at play. The enemy’s blade was enchanted.
Again came the chieftain with their blessed blade. Their horses panted heavily in the air, adding to the rattle of the chariot. Chaos swirled around them, but Leon silenced it. The world reduced to simply himself, his enemy, and the vanishing space between. He set his target, and waited for the space to entirely vanish. The beat of the horse’s hooves were set like a metronome. Then, at the precise beat, he shattered the rhythm. He drove his spear forwards into the knee of the Scythian horse. The spear’s wooden haft shattered from the force, but so did the stallion’s leg. It collapsed in a bloody heap, tangling its partner. The chariot crashed into its steeds, slaying both brutally. The chieftain and their driver were staggered, but grasped hold of the chariot and were not thrown.
Leonidas took fourteen calculated steps, moving around the wreck of the chariot, then stepping aboard. In a single motion he drew his blade and cut upwards. The driver fell back as a spray of blood erupted from his throat. He slumped over the front of the chariot, blood flowing to mingle with the horses. Leon whirled on the chieftain as a shout of rage came to their lips. He stepped in close, too close for his foe to swing their great blade effectively. Here, his short blade had the advantage, and the chariot cornered his target. He drew the blade back to his hip like he was knife-fighting, and thrust upwards towards the foe’s beast. The scaled armor of the Scythians was legendarily hard to slash through, but the overlapping scales that caused such strength were vulnerable to this exact kind of upwards thrust. But his canny foe knew the armor’s weaknesses just as well, and pivoted with agility to rival the warrior prince.
They slashed with their great falx, but the range was awkward, so Leon evaded. He then pivoted, taking his blade in both hands. Gritting through the pain of his wounded arm, he wheeled with a mighty blow. He put his back, legs, and both arms into a murderous strike too quick to evade. The Scythian chief recognized it, and ducked their head. Rather than suffering a decapitating blow, they took the hit on the crown of their helm. The gold gilding it deformed and parted, but this was by design. By using a coating of deformable gold above the bronze, the helmet could better absorb slashing attacks. The gold twisted as it was cut, catching the blade and altering the edge alignment. Leon cut though, but rather than burying his sword midway into his target’s skull, he cut apart the helm and left a relatively shallow wound along his foe’s scalp, running down their forehead and across their face. The lion helm split, and fell away. Leon looked the enemy general in the eye for the first time, and hesitated.
The helm fell away, and out spilled long, golden hair, now matted in places by blood. A fair face, with piercing blue eyes looked up at him. A warrior’s snarl covered her face, as the Scythian Queen recovered. She snapped up and slammed the hilt of her falx into Leon’s eye. The prince staggered back, blinking to recover, as she took a step back in turn. With this, she obtained her range, and cut down with her falx. Leon raised his sword to block, but the reverse curve of the unusual weapon made it difficult. His wound caused his arm to spasm, and the curve came around the sword. The enchanted blade bit ito the common one, then cast it away. Leon’s wrist was wounded in the exchange, and blood began to fill his gauntlet.
Leon realized his peril, and stepped in swiftly. He caught his foot behind hers, and pulled back as he slammed his shoulder into her. The queen fell back, but caught herself on the edge of her chariot so she did not fall. Leon pressed in, pinning her arm with his his hand so she could not swing. He drew his hunting knife, and it was at her throat in a moment. His grip was unsteady, as his wrist was wounded, and he felt an utter brute to have a knife at a woman’s throat. “Yield. I do not wish to harm you.” He ordered, uncertain if she could even understand.
The Scythian Queen laughed in his face. “You do not wish to harm me?” She asked through a thick accent. “Then you should never have come to the battlefield! Know that I am Tamur, Queen of the Scythians, no soft flower of the south that you might bruise with your breath. I am here to that I might crush my enemies, drive them before me, hear the lamentations of your pathetic women, and reap from your ruin the prosperity of my people. Slay me now you coward, or else you must yield, for I will slay you without mercy.” Clear and clarion was her voice, as Athena upon the battlefield or Artemis on the hunt. She feared neither death nor injury, and laughed in spite of the carnage all about them.
Leon held his ground and was not moved by her laughter or insult. “Hear me then, oh Queen of the Scythians. What is greater cowardice? To be slain for principle, or to breach principle for fear of being slain? You are a mighty warrior; this I cannot deny. But this is my principle, that no man is any man that slays a woman, even if she is a warrior. I bid you now yield, that we might bring peace between our people and an end to this meaningless conflict you have brought about.” He spoke with all respect due to a fellow warrior, and with the resolve of his own indestructible soul.
“Far be it from meaningless, warrior of the Hellenes. Would you not do anything, even go beyond the bounds of the earth for your people? Hear now my principle, that my people shall conquer that we might not be conquered. For you who are blessed with so much shall not offer a pittance to our meager tents. So we shall take, for this is the nature of things, that the prosperity of one must always be at the expense of another. This is the balance of the world, and it belongs to he who carries the sword.”
Then she snapped her head forward, and impacted with Leon’s helm. Headbutting a steel helmet with your bare, already wounded head is generally not a good idea. But she was braced, and he was not. The maneuver would have opened her throat, but Leon had held back his knife for his soul rebuked him to harm a woman. Needless to say this principle, while generally noble, was extremely foolish in this instance. Chivalry was certainly not on Tamur’s mind as she pushed him back, and kicked him in the balls.
Leon was wearing armor and greaves, but about his waist was more of a plated skirt than a codpiece. The introduction of a bronze boot to that region inflicted less damage than it might, but this was in the sense that his family line could continue, rather than full nullification. He staggered further back, agility shattered. Tamur lashed out with her falx, and Leon wisely rolled away.
Leonidas began pushing himself back to his feet, but a Scythian archer circled. Whether by skill or by luck, they let fly their arrow and it struck true into the gash their queen had torn in the prince’s armor. Leon gasped briefly in pain as the arrow hit under his shoulder plate and pierced the meat of his back. It went through to the rib, and cracked it. He felt his blood already burning as the poisoned arrow delivered its deadly payload into his veins. The meat of muscle across his back began to scream and spasm, dropping him back to the earth. He saw Tamur approaching, and grit his teeth to rise through the pain. He was too slow, the falx came up…
Then there was a rush of wind, a smell of sulfur, and the sound of bronze ringing against talon, then scraping against scale. Seramis had intervened. She swooped in, and her talon met the falling flax. The two mighty women’s blades rang against one another, then Tamur shifted the blade. She cut across the dragoness’s palm and wounded her, drawing blood as the enchanted weapon carved scale. Seramis retaliated by coiling her tail, then striking forth with it like a whip. The foot and a half long blade at the end of the tail met the barbarian queen’s guard, and drove her back. The blade of the falx shook and sang like a tuning fork.
Seramis lowered her head, and spoke with a voice tinged with fire. She spoke in the Scythian’s own language, a growl deep in her throat and fire on her tongue. “Have you not heard, queen of the Scythians, that one should not trifle with a dragon’s hoard? If not, then I will educate you. Come not between a daughter of Tiamat and her treasure. This is folly, and will be your ruin should you persist.”
Tamur heard the words of the dragoness, and looked once to the blood on her sword, and once to the flames in the maw before her. She saw the damage the hellenes had wrought on her vanguard, and the advance of their phalanx. She stepped back, and ordered a retreat. Scythian and Diluvian locked eyes as the queen boarded a new chariot, and swiftly they retreated from the battlefield.
Sera breathed a sigh of relief, and quickly turned to her prince. Leon had kept trying to get up, and managed to stagger to his feet. Gently, she took him in an unwounded claw, and bore him away. “Leon, please tell me you can hear me.”
“I can. Ow.” Leon replied, breathing slowly, and deeply, to keep his face and voice from twisting in pain. “What did you say to her?”
“Just a bit of theater to make her leave, don’t worry about it. You focus on not dying, oh chivalrous fool mine.”
“Hah. Tease me when I’m not dying, would you kindly? It hurts too much to laugh.”
“Maybe next time, don’t be such an idiot then.”
“Ah, but then how would you have an excuse to rescue me?”
“Please, we both know I don’t need an excuse to steal you away. I’ve done it before.” Sera teased, and Leon smiled through the pain.
Even as two of the trio of royals retreated, Cassandra remained. She saw the Scythians trying to quit the field, and that the ambush had not been successful enough. They had mauled the Scythian mobile element, but not utterly broken it. She sent an order for caution, for if they overpursued the wily Scythian general, she might turn and crush them in turn. Still, she would not allow her enemy to escape her wrath so easily. She cast again, and thunder boomed across the clear morning.
“Avataar”
“Poorvaj”
“Rosh”
The mists of early morning fled from the Hellenes, and ran down the Scythians. The retreating barbarians turned, and saw the mists gather together into a humanoid figure. Long curls of smoke came down from a scowling face, almost akin to hair. Winds howled like limbs to throw men from horse and chariot. Tamur quickly evaded as the growing titan of mist swung, clear blue eyes gleaming amongst the artificial cloud. Then the avatar drew back its hand, and lighting crackled into being. The heir of Olympus and last daughter of Zeus hurled down lighting bolts at the Scythians, reminding all why even with the thrones of Olympus long empty and ashen, they were still remembered in myth and legend.
Bolts of lightning mauled man and horse alike. Chariots fell away twisted and burning. Thunder terrified men and horses. Cassandra watched from the eyes of her avatar as she delivered the wrath of an angry god upon then. “I am the dread Queen of Macedon. I am the miracle of destruction. I am mankind’s answer to dragons, and you dare, YOU DARE! Come to my home, my kingdom, and hurt my people, and now you think you can simply run away?” The whisper grew to a roaring fury, bolts of lightning leaping from her eyes to slay yet more.
Then Tamur cried a loud challenge, and bid her driver turn the chariot. She charged at the avatar of mist and storm, raising her blade high. In rage, Cassandra cast down another bolt of lightning, but Tamur raised up her sword. The bolt caught the bronze blade, but did not rip down through into the queen. Instead, she turned and set herself, then cut the air. Lighting ripped back into the avatar, and cut it from crown to groin. There was a clap of thunder, and the avatar was banished.
Cassandra went flying back, caught by her men, but left dazed. A wound, thankfully shallow, had sprung from no apparent source, from her crown down the center of her body, even under her armor. She staggered upright, hands shaking violently. She reached for magic, but it was like a man who was concussed. It was there, but unstable, difficult to control, unreliable. The clean, efficient control she prided herself on eluded her. She drew in a breath, and clenched her fists to stop her shaking hand. Showing no pain from her wound, she watched as the scythians slipped out of her grasp.
“Where in the world did she get a sword that can cut the soul?” Cassandra wondered aloud. Then, heeding the insistence of her men, she retreated, and ordered the army to retire from the field. She growled as she made her way back towards the medical tents. “I hate dealing with other miracles.”

First/Previous
The travel took on a less gloomy quality in the day that passed since Gemma’s self-reflection and although there remained a queer distance in her eyes, she seemed in better spirits in losing the weight of the words.
It was a night just beyond Wabash Crevasse that we pushed on till sunset was almost upon us and we were each tired and the food stocks ran low and so we found harbor in a half collapsed cellar where a home once stood; it was only after examining the slatted, rotted boards of the old place, fallen over, tired with decay, that we spied the cellar doors intact; sheets of door metal plied us with safety from the outside world and the interior of the place stank of mold and the deeper recesses were collapsed, but there was a cradle to crossbar the stair hatch and I put my prybar there for the night. We finished the water and canned tomatoes, and I smoked a cigarette, staving off the inevitable doom which would come with the dwindling of our supplies.
I’d peeked through the space where the doors met at the cellar’s entry and watched the full darkness there while the youngins spoke of life and the trivial pursuits of it and I hardly said a word besides.
Sitting on the lowest step with Trouble dumbly maintaining her station by me, by the low glow of the space in the threshold, I saw they’d pushed their bedrolls together and Andrew had fallen asleep with his arm over Gemma’s shoulder and her eyes glowed with shine from the crack, blinked a few times while seeing me; she too eventually drifted to sleep, and I spent time by the secured door.
Gunshots rang across the stillness, and they stirred from their quiet slumber and Gemma asked, “Harlan, is it alright?”
I moved to the space there at the doorway again and listened and watched what I could through that crack and nothing beyond came. “It’s safe. I’ll be up a bit longer. I’ll watch.”
Andrew asked, “Can’t sleep?”
“I’ll sleep in a bit. Don’t worry about me. Rest. Sleep good and we can put more behind us.
They sat up, legs crossed triangle-wise, and Gemma spoke again, “Why do you have such a hard time sleeping? It seems I’m asleep after you and only awake after you too.”
“Yeah,” said Andrew.
“It’s cool at night. I can listen to the wind.” I shrugged.
“You should be the one that tries to get some sleep,” said Andrew.
I said nothing.
They reached out their arms and I shook my head.
“Here,” Gemma said, “Move your bedroll closer.” She reached across the dirt floor of the cellar and dragged my splayed roll so that it sat beside hers.
“I’ll sleep later.” I turned my attention back to the door and ignored them till their sounds of sleep could be heard. The Alukah was nowhere and did not tap on the door that night and when I moved to sleep, I shimmied onto the roll beside them, facing away on my shoulder; the dog followed, laid on the bare dirt beside me and I held the mutt.
Though I refused a noise as they stirred in the absolute darkness, I felt Gemma’s arm fall over my own shoulder and felt Andrew’s hand touch my back, and water traced the bridge of my nose and I slept deeply thereafter.
There was no breakfast without food, and the water was gone; I felt the eyes of the dog on us as we packed up our belongings that next morning and I tried not to imagine the poor animal skinned over fire. I smiled at Trouble, patted its head, scratched its chin; she sniffed my hand like she was looking for something that wouldn’t be found.
We went west again, ignoring roads and pushed through straight wasteland where nothing was and no one was, and with every dry footfall on the dry hard ground, I wished for rain, and I wished that when it had rained, as infrequent as it was, that I had been wise enough to save what we could from the sky; that sky was red and swollen and refused to burst. We pushed on through strange dead thickets where grayed and twisty yellow branches lurched from the ground into the sky like even they too wished for an end to all the suffering. It was days more till we would see Alexandria and though I could stave off hunger (thirst too, if necessary), I was not so certain that the children would be able to push on without it; they did not complain and watched the ground in our march and maintained higher spirits than I could’ve imagined from them.
Early in the day, they spoke often, and I listened and as they wore on, their words came less and even the dog seemed in a lower mood for the unsaid predicament; me too.
Gemma broke the silence on the matter by saying, “What are we going to do about food? Water?”
“We’ll push on.”
“We could turn back?” asked Andrew.
“The more time we spend out in the open, outside of a city, the more likely it is that the Alukah will catch us unawares. Tighten your belts.” Our feet took us around a dilapidated truck, an old thing with a rusty hook which dangled off a rear arm. “Save your urine.”
They made faces but did not protest.
“Does that work? You ever drink pee?” asked Andrew.
I laughed, “I thought we’d be there by now. I took us too long by trying to drop the scent of the Alukah. That thing’s hunted us for days—last night was the first time it ain’t bothered us. It’s got me wondering why.”
Gemma piped up, licking her dry lips before speaking, “Do you think that monster ran into those scavengers we saw?” Then I caught her shooting a look at Andrew, “At least we warned them.” Her smile was faint and almost indiscernible as one.
I shrugged. “Can’t say. Don’t think it’s smart to turn back. Won’t be long and we’ll touch the 40 and then it’ll be a straight on to Babylon—couple of days—can’t turn back though. Maybe without food; that’s doable. Water’s the worst, but if it comes to it,” I paused and looked on the weathered faces of the children, on the lowered head of Trouble which followed her nose across the ground (it searched just short of frantic), “Like I said, ‘save your urine’.”
The first pains of hunger held within me brought up some reminiscence and I wished for nothing more than to hold Suzanne; I could nearly smell them and in the swaying walk which took us on past toppled townships, I held long blinks where I could nearly make out their face and if I really pushed the limits of my imagination, I could feel them. In those moments, as we passed dead places, rotted pits of despair, I could think of little more than their presence. Though I knew it was a dangerous game, hoping for more than I was worth, I hoped for Suzanne then and I wished that I’d taken them up on their offer to travel to Alexandria with them; it could’ve been home—it never was in all the times I’d gone there, but who knows? The thoughts of Babylon brought forth their gardens; the wild gardens and the water which flowed freely through their pipes. I wished I was a different person entirely and that too would’ve been better for Suzanne; how it was that they’d seen anything in me, I don’t know. How it was that they could stoop to the level of being with someone like me—I warded off that thought, because to place the blame there would certainly be unfair. I thought of my love plainly and wanted a different life more suited to them.
Imaginations played more furiously, and I remembered the evening when Dave stopped me from leaping from that roof—it’s doubtful that he even realized that he’d slowed my demise; perhaps he did know—I wished then that I could ask him. Too kind for the world. People too kind for the world were scarce and hardly worth the trouble. Yet, there I was, chaperoning those two across the wastes.
Gemma was a broken person when I’d found her, tortured in Baphomet’s well; Andrew was a dullard boy who’d lost his hand. What a silly predicament.
I stopped in my movements and swiveled on my heel to catch Andrew by the shoulder. “You still got your hand, don’t you?”
In good humor, the boy grinned, lifted the nub on the end of his left forearm to show me, “Nope.”
“Dammit, no! The hand in the jar!”
Andrew raised his eyebrows. “In my pack.”
“Stop,” I commanded Trouble; the dog hardly recognized my words and continued a way then circled back, sad eyes looking up from where she took to sit by my side. Gemma, both arms dangling loosely from her own pack’s shoulder straps, took into the circle we’d formed.
The girl asked, “What about the jar? It’s nasty, but I guess it’s his.”
“I think that’s it,” I said. I took Andrew by his shoulders, looked him in his eyes, “We could use it!”
“What?” The boy almost laughed in the display of our concern. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I think I’ve got it! It’s good for a trap.” I shook him; maybe too hard. I almost smiled. “It’s worth a shot!”
“It’s mine.” He bit his top lip, withdrew from me.
“You’ll feel differently about that,” I said.
Gemma placed a hand on Andrew’s pack and tried ripping it open. “Give it to him!” shouted the girl.
The boy whipped from her grasp, and he spun on his feet, and panic stood on his face. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”
I took a step forward, “No, not anymore.” I put out my palm, “Give it.”
Andrew nearly flinched at the thought of it and shook his head a little. “Why?”
“I told you why,” I said.
“You don’t even know if it’ll work, do you?” his words were long in protest.
The girl started again, “Andrew, please.”
He locked eyes with Gemma and once again, his bottom teeth came up to meet over his top lip and he moved his jaw methodically with contemplation.
“What does it even matter?” she asked.
“It’s mine. You don’t know what it’s like.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!”
“C’mon,” he said, but his pack straps fell from his shoulders, and he hunkered down on the ground and opened his bag; his right hand plunged into the recesses therein and withdrew the jar with his severed left hand. He held the object up, refusing to come up from his open pack, keeping his eyes on the ground. “Take it then.” He shook the jar; its contents sloshed with liquid decay.
I grabbed the thing, held it to skylight; the remains within had congealed and rotted and lumps nearly floated in the brownish liquid which had formed in the base of the container. I shook it and stared for a moment at the miniscule debris which floated alongside the hand; each of its digits had swollen and erupted to expose bone; some had come away in pieces. “Tomorrow,” I said and nodded.
We gathered ourselves and Andrew pulled his pack on again and we moved, Trouble still looked sorry and the boy remained quiet while the girl chattered on with questions while we took through the dying ground in a formation with the dog on point then me then the children.
“What will you do with it?” she asked me.
“Not sure yet.”
Andrew made a noise like he wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You think it will work?” asked Gemma.
“Nothing’s a guarantee. They’re smart—Alukah.”
“Smart enough to figure out a trap?”
I shrugged. “We’ll find out.”
“We could put stakes in a pit.”
“Keep on the lookout for a building. Something with multiple floors.”
With that, we moved on, found a worn, mostly destroyed road and we fell into a travelling quiet and the thought of hunger or thirst arose again, and I pushed it down—though I knew the uneasiness could only last so long before savagery would overtake the human condition; the kids seemed strong enough, but I kept an eye on the dog too. Savagery belonged not only to humans, after all.
The ground of the wastes was harder when it was quiet, and it was flatter further west. The sky—red and full of thin and transparent drifting clouds—seemed an awful sight when stared at for too long; it was the thing which stretched as if to signal there wasn’t an end in any direction, as if to declare we had much more to go till safety. Wanderlust is a thing that I believe I’ve felt before, but under that sky, with those two and the dog, I didn’t feel it at all. It was doom that I felt. Ignorance and doom. And it was all because I was certain I’d made all the wrong mistakes, and it was coming back to me. I was experienced. We should’ve had food and water. Perhaps there was some deep and nasty part inside of me that had intended to sacrifice them along the way. The words of the Alukah might have rung true: You say you make no deals, but I smell it. I think you’d deal.
Surely, I felt differently. Surely.
“Getting darker,” called Andrew as we came to where signposts—worn and bent and barely legible—told us of a place once called Annapolis and the buildings were nearly gone entirely; places, maybe places that were once homes, were leveled—I was briefly caught in imagining what it might’ve been like all those ages ago. As are most places, it was haunted like that and when we came to a long rectangular structure of metal walls—thin walls—we took it as a place for rest for the night.
It once served as an agricultural station, for when we breached its entry, there were a line of dead machines—three in all—cultivators or tillers which stood higher than any of our heads and Gemma asked what they were, and I told her I thought they were for farming. The great rusted bodies stood in quiet shadow as we came through a side passage of the building and the great doors which had once been used to release those machines from the building stood frozen in their frame. I approached the doors, lighting my lantern and motioning for the children to shut the door we’d entered through.
Upon closer inspection, it seemed the doors would roll into the ceiling and the chains which held the doors in place were each secured with rusted padlocks—I removed my prybar from my pack and moved along the wall of doors, giving each old lock a smack with the weapon; each one held in place, seemingly fused there through years of corrosion, and I rounded the cultivators once more, back to the children, near the side door where they’d discovered a rickety stair frame which crawled up the side of the wall to a catwalk; along the catwalk, a levitated box stood at the height of the structure, stilted by metal legs, and we took the stairs slowly with the dog following close behind; the poor mutt was mute save the sound of its own shuffling paws.
The metal stairs creaked under our weight and Gemma held her own lantern high over her head so that the strange shadows of the place grew longer, stranger, and suddenly I felt very sure that something was in the dark with us, but there was no noise except what we made. My eyes scanned the darkness, and I followed the children up the stairs till we met the overhang of the catwalk and I peered into the shadows, the blades of the cultivators—far extended on foldable arms—struck up through the pool of blackness beneath us and I felt so cold there and if it were not for the breath of my fellow travelers, I might have been lost in the dark for longer than intended—lost and frozen and contemplative.
“There’s a room,” said the boy, and he pushed ahead on the hanging passage, and he was the first to the door. “Boxes,” he said plainly.
Upon coming to the place where he stood, Gemma pushed her lantern over the threshold, and I saw what he’d meant as I traced my own lantern to help; the room was crammed with plastic totes and old metal containers of varied sizes. There seemed to be enough empty space to maneuver through the room, but only if one watched their feet while they walked. Carefully.
We moved to the room, and I found a stack of crates to place my lantern then motioned for Gemma to douse hers. In minutes, the place was rearranged so that we could sit comfortably on the floor; crates lined the walls precariously and we breathed heavy from the work done, but we began to unpack and upon watching the children while I rolled a cigarette, I felt a pang of guilt, a terrible summation—all choices in my life had led me here and with them and perhaps it would have been a better world for them without me.
Mentally shrugging this thought away, I lit my cigarette, inhaled deeply, and then withdrew the jar which Andrew had handed over. I held it to the lantern to examine it. The grotesqueness of it hardly phased me and I watched it more curious and hopeful than disgusted.
“I hope it’ll work,” said the boy, “Whatever it is that you plan on doing with it.” He grimaced and maintained a further silence in patting his bedding for fluff. The dog moved to him, and she pushed her forehead against him where he squatted on floor. The boy scratched Trouble’s chin and whispered, “Good girl,” into the top of her head where he’d pushed his own face.
“I’m hungry,” said Gemma; she placed her chin in her arm while watching Andrew with the dog. She sat on her own flat bed there on the floor and stated plainly the thing that I’d hoped to ignore for longer.
“I know.” I took another drag from the cigarette and let the smoke hang over my head. “The dog?”
Andrew recoiled, pulling Trouble closer into his arms.
I smiled. “It was a joke.”
Andrew relaxed, but only a moment before Gemma added, “Maybe.”
The boy narrowed his eyes in the girl’s direction, and she shrugged. “If it’s life or death.”
He didn’t say anything and merely continued stroking Trouble’s coat.
That night, we slept awfully and even in the complete darkness, I felt the cramp of the storage room and the angled shapes of the tools that protruded from the containers on all sides remained permanent well after we’d turned the light off and it felt like those shapes were the teeth of a great creature like we were sitting inside of its mouth, looking out.
Trouble positioned herself partially on my chest, her slow rhythmic breathing brought my thoughts calm and I whispered to her in the dark after I was sure the others were asleep, “I promise it was a joke.” And I brushed the back of her neck with my hand and the animal let go of a long sigh then continued that deep rhythmic breathing.
Still without food or water, the following day was the true indication of the misery to come. Gemma’s stomach growled audibly in waking and Andrew—though he kept his complaints to himself—smacked his lips more often or protruded the tongue in his mouth in a starvation for water. The room, in the daylight which peered through pinpricks of its half-decayed roof, seemed another beast altogether from its nighttime counterpart; it was not so frightening. Again, I admonished myself for the lack of preparation, but there was another thought that brought together a more cohesive feeling; we had a possible plan, a trap for the demon that’d been following us.
We went into the field to the west of the building where there was only dirt beneath our feet in the early sunlight and in the coolness of morning air, I nearly felt like a person. The sun crested the horizon and brought with it a warmth that would quickly become overwhelming—in those few minutes though—it felt good enough. I wished for the shy dew and saw none. The weirdness of holding Andrew’s rotting hand in a jar momentarily caught me and I almost laughed, but refrained and the dog and the children looked on while I held the container up and suddenly, seeing the congealed mass of tissue floating in its own excretions, I was overcome with the urge to run, the urge that nothing would ever be right again in my life, and that I was marked to be that way.
I blinked and tossed the jar to Andrew. “Say goodbye,” I said. He fumbled after it with his right hand and caught it to his chest.
“It’s strange you care so much anyway,” said Gemma, shrugging—her eyes forgave a millisecond of pity and when Andrew looked at her, still holding the jar in his right hand, she smiled and stuffed her hands into the pockets of her pants.
“We’ve enough oil, I think,” my voice was raspy from it being early, “Enough for good fire, but if we use it, it’ll mean a few more dark nights on our way.”
“We’re going to set it on fire?” Andrew pondered, keeping his eyes to the contents of the jar. “It worked good enough last time. It’ll work,” I nodded, “I has to, doesn’t it?”
His dry lips creased into a brief smile, and he tossed the jar back to me and I caught it.
“Let’s dig,” I said.
Without much in the way of proper tools, we began at the ground under us with our hands, then taking turns with my prybar till there was a hole in the ground comfortably large enough to conceal a human head and I uncapped the jar and spilled it contents there and we covered it back and I lightly tamped it with my boot. My eyes scanned the outbuilding we’d taken refuge in the night prior and then to the street to the north then to the houses which stood as merely rotted plots of foundation with frames that struck from the ground more as markers than support. “I’ll take up over there across the street when it gets dark. I want you two in that storage room before anything goes off.”
“We can’t help?” asked Gemma.
“You can help by staying out of the way—the mutt too,” I said; the words were harsh, but my feelings were from worry.
“Wouldn’t it be better if we stuck together?” asked the girl.
I shook my head. “You stay in the room and keep quiet. No matter what you hear, you stay quiet and safe.”
“That’ll put you at a bigger risk,” Gemma furrowed her brow at me and shifted around to look out on the houses across the street, “There’s hardly any cover over there.”
The boy nodded, smacked his lips, and rubbed his forearm across his mouth then audibly agreed with her.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said, “No matter what you hear happening outside, no matter, you don’t open the door and you don’t scream—don’t make a noise at all. Alright? Even if you hear me calling you, you don’t do it.”
“Pfft,” Gemma crossed her arms and kicked her foot against the ground. The way her eyes seemed hollowed with bruising showed that the irritation would only grow without food. “Alright,” she finally sighed.
Andrew looked much the same as she did in that; he swallowed a dry swallow then stuffed his hand into his pocket and looked away when our eyes matched.
We gathered our light oil. Altogether, it seemed enough; rummaging through the room of the outbuilding we’d earlier taken refuge within, we managed three intact glass containers—the only ones found that wouldn’t leak with liquid; two were bottles and the third was the jar that’d once kept Andrew’s hand. With that work done, we sat with three Molotov cocktails within our huddled circle of the storage room.
“Is it enough?” asked Gemma.
“We’ll see,” I began rolling a cigarette to ignore the hunger and the thirst.
Andrew took to the corner and glanced over his shoulder only a moment before a steady liquid stream could be heard and when he rotated from the wall once the noise was finished and he held a canteen up to his nose, sniffed it and quivered and shook his head.
As the sun pushed on, I scanned the perimeter outside, and they followed. Far south I spied a mass of shadow inching across the horizon and Gemma commented, “What’s that?”
I pushed the binoculars to her and let her gaze through them.
“A fiend—that’s what we called it back in the day anyway. A mutant.”
She held the binoculars up and frowned. “A mutant? So, it was once human?”
“A fiend was once many humans.” I pointed out to the horizon though she couldn’t see me doing so and continued, “If you look at the edges of its shape, you’ll see it’s got limbs galore on it. Sticking up like hairs is what it’ll look like at this distance. Those are arms and legs. It’s got faces too. Many faces.” I shuddered.
“I can barely see any details,” she passed the binoculars to Andrew, and he looked through them, “What’s it do?”
“What?” I asked.
“What’s it do if it catches a person?”
“It pulls people into it. Makes you apart of its mass. Nasty fuckers.”
Andrew removed the lenses from his eyes and held them to his chest and asked, “It won’t mess up your trap, will it?”
“We’ll keep an eye on it,” I said, “You don’t want to mess with a fiend unless you have to.”
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Disclaimer: I do not speak Korean. This is purely translated by machine with a lot of cleanup afterward. With that in mind, I am open to criticism to improve these translations. Enjoy!
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Chapter 413
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Whoosh, boom!
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The ground shattered as a gigantic greatsword plunged down. Wu Hei-Xing, quick as lightning, narrowly escaped, missing the blade by mere inches.
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Thwack!
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The sword pierced under the ogre's jaw, emerging triumphantly through the top of its head — a clean, decisive strike.
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Wu Hei-Xing, extracting his sword from the creature, used the falling body as a springboard to launch himself into the fray among other monsters.
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His blade danced through the air, leaving behind a tapestry of shimmering lines.
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'Sword of Twelve Crimson Threads.' [Note: direct translation - Twelve Blood Net Sword.]
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While the Cultural Revolution from 1966 to 1976 was decried by many as a catastrophic injustice, for others, like Wu Hei-Xing’s family, it presented a golden opportunity. [Note: The Cultural Revolution in China, initiated by Mao Zedong, aimed to preserve Chinese Communism by purging remnants of capitalist and traditional elements from Chinese society. This extensive purge targeted a broad range of cultural, social, and economic features including old customs, culture, habits, and ideas. It led to the destruction of historical artifacts, temples, and texts, as well as the persecution of intellectuals, and the suppression of traditional practices and ceremonies.]
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His grandfather, once a close ally of Mao Zedong, used this turbulent period to amass a fortune, leveraging his son's position in the Red Guard to acquire priceless cultural relics and texts.
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Among these treasures was the Sword of Twelve Crimson Threads, an ancient text detailing a formidable sword technique.
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Shhhsh!
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Wu Hei-Xing unleashed the technique — a net of twelve crimson strands that spanned ten meters in every direction.
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The net, pulsating with a red glow, cleaved through skin, muscle, and bone, rendering dozens of high-ranking monsters into pieces.
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Such prowess was befitting of an S-rank Hunter. Thrilled by his dominance, Wu Hei-Xing bellowed:
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「What is the Red Guard Gang doing! Wipe them all out, you bastards!」
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「Yes!」
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The battle cry, imbued with potent mana, reverberated across the battlefield.
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Three hundred elite hunters, groomed and trained by Wu Hei-Xing’s family as personal soldiers, surged forward. They attacked relentlessly, driven by fierce loyalty and training.
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Shhhsh! Crack!
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Squish! Screech!
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- Crunch, gurgle!
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「Arrrgh!」
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The battlefield was a cacophony of human screams and monstrous howls, punctuated by the gruesome sounds of carnage.
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Though the remaining Red Guard Gang's hunters were formidable, the elite monsters at the rear were equally daunting.
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And the monsters emerged from the dense fog in overwhelming numbers.
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However…
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「How dare these filthy, foul-smelling bastards!」
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Puff, puff, puff!
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The presence of Wu Hei-Xing, an S-rank Hunter, was a force mighty enough to sway the tide of this brutal clash.
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Despite often being criticized for his reckless behavior and mercurial personality, Wu Hei-Xing was undeniably a product of both privilege and innate talent.
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His experiences on the frontlines, immersed in relentless combat and near-constant peril, had honed his abilities far beyond their initial limits.
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'I can do it! I am Wu Hei-Xing!'
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With a newfound zeal, Wu Hei-Xing brandished his sword with unyielding fervor.
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He faced an overwhelming legion of tens of thousands of monsters. Despite initial fears, he had grown immensely, adapting to the ruthless demands of war.
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Whenever wounds or fatigue threatened him, he would down costly potions like mere water and strategically use the hunters of the Red Guard Gang as his shields.
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Now, no creature could withstand the devastating sweeps of his crimson Aura Blade. [Note: a quick reminder - Aura Blade is the real-world equivalent of Sword Aura.]
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'I'll make sure no one can ignore me ever again. Lei Fei... The bangzi bastard... No one!'
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Wu Hei-Xing's jaw clenched as bitter memories surged, fueling his rage.
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Swoosh! Thud!
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A lance, hurled with stunning velocity, impaled several hunters and embedded itself deep into the earth.
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It was a 3-meter-long assault lance he had rarely seen before.
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Wu Hei-Xing snapped his head towards the source, his eyes widening in alarm.
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「Death Knight!」
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Thud, thud, thud, thud!
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It was a Death Knight, striding across the battlefield atop a skeletal horse. And not just one, but two.
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The second Death Knight poised its lance aloft while mounted.
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「Everyone, be careful......!」
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Swoosh! Bang!
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His warning was cut short as the second lance tore through the air, brutally penetrating a group of hunters.
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The finest armor was no match for the deadly force, scattering limbs and collapsing bodies.
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As the Death Knights continued their relentless advance, the hunters of the Red Guard Gang stood petrified, witnessing the gruesome spectacle unfold.
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- Dark. Vine.
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A sinister, rasping voice filled the air, heralding a new horror.
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Crack, crunch, crunch!
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The earth fractured like a spiderweb, and from the fissures, black vines surged.
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These vines, imbued with dark magic, writhed like serpents, snatching at human limbs and threading through armor gaps.
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Shiririrk! Thud!
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「Arghhh!」
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「Dark magic! It's dark magic!」
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「Don't panic! Cut the vines! Get out of range now!」
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The battlefield echoed with screams and commands, resonating through the chaotic fray.
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With a forceful yank, Wu Hei-Xing tore the encroaching black vines from the ground.
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His teeth clenched not in sorrow for fallen comrades, but in grim realization of the unfolding catastrophe.
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「Lich......!」
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His suspicion was confirmed. High above the melee, a death mage astride a massive wyvern brandished a staff crafted from skulls and bones, directing it menacingly towards the earth.
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- Dark. Fog. [Note: the direct translation here is 'confuse' so I changed it to something that sounds more like a technique.]
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Swoosh!
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A bone-chilling cry unleashed a shadowy miasma that enveloped the hunters.
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Those entangled in the black vines suffered hallucinations both visual and auditory, turning them into helpless targets for the circling monsters.
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- Squeal!
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- Roar!
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Crack! Crunch!
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「Argh, ugh!」
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「Save me!」
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「Mother! You mustn’t die. Mother!」
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Desperate cries pierced the air as some hunters succumbed to the illusions, their voices fading into silence.
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Yet, amidst the chaos, some with strong mental fortitutde managed to shake off the bewitchment.
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「You must go!」
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「Young Master!」
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Despite the cries of A-rank hunters surrounding him, Wu Hei-Xing's face was ashen like a blank sheet of paper.
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A single, daunting question plagued him.
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'How on earth do I handle this?'
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Above was the menacing Lich and on the ground, two Death Knights advanced swiftly.
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Could he retreat? If so, where and how should he retreat?
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Alone, perhaps he could face the Death Knights, but with the Lich’s sorcery and the encircling horde of monsters, the situation was dire.
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No strategy presented itself, no matter how desperately he pondered.
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'What a damn mess...'
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Clench.
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His jaw clenched so tightly he felt his teeth might crack from the pressure.
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Swoosh, bang!
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The air burst with a compressed whoosh as a streak of light rocketed from the distant ground, slicing through the sky.
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In the next instant, the headless wyvern began to falter and plummet earthward.
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「This...」
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Wu Hei-Xing murmured, his voice a mixture of awe and disbelief. Around him, everyone ceased their actions, eyes drawn skyward.
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Before them, the wyvern's massive body and a cascade of black bones, once the formidable Lich, tumbled through the air.
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「...This makes no sense.」
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The Lich was dead, vanquished by a single, astonishing strike.
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A blow that had pierced through layers of potent defensive spells to strike a target mid-air? Such precision and power were unheard of, even for an S-rank hunter.
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Wu Hei-Xing had never witnessed an attack so swift and lethal.
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Yet, for the one who delivered it, this seemed as effortless as drawing breath.
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Not far from the fray, he stood, observing the chaos his action had wrought. After a moment, he remarked casually,
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"It’s been a while since I threw a spear. It definitely doesn’t feel like it used to."
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Behind him, a figure as solid as an iron tower responded with a rigid tone,
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"You did well."
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"Hmm. Not really. It seems I've become dull. A sign of aging, I guess."
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"How could that be?"
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Lee Jeong-Ryong chuckled lightly at the security team leader’s unemotional response.
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"I saw a Death Knight."
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Seok Go-Jun silently nodded.
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"Yes. There were two of them."
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"Do you think Wu Hei-Xing can handle it?"
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"If you mean the Death Knights, he should be able to take them down without much trouble."
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Seok Go-Jun's voice dropped to a whisper,
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"As long as there are no monsters around."
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"That sounds challenging right now."
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"The influence of dark magic has disappeared, but the troop damage is significant, and there are too many monsters."
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"Then we must struggle with all our might."
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"It will be a very fierce and difficult fight."
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"Well, then we must lend a hand."
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"How about we continue to observe a bit longer?"
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Lee Jeong-Ryong's eyes widened dramatically.
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"Why?"
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Having been mentored by Lee Jeong-Ryong since his youth, Seok Go-Jun understood that every interaction was potentially a lesson. He knew the response expected of him.
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"Wouldn't people be more grateful in precarious situations?"
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Lee Jeong-Ryong’s stern expression softened into a satisfied smile upon hearing his disciple’s insightful reply.
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"Yes, exactly that."
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"The Red Guard Gang has always been a thorn in our side."
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"It’s funny, really. Those shouting about the people and communism, while forming a private army of hunters behind the scenes."
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"But aren't the Princelings, which support the Red Guard Gang, not friendly towards us?" [Note: the Princelings are descendants of the revolutionary veterans and Chinese Communist Party elites who leverage their lineage for influence and promote business-friendly policies. Wu Hei-Xing's family is part of this group.]
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"That's why the Red Guard Gang needs to be eliminated. We've always sat in the shade to avoid the sunlight, but if the tree is uprooted, what are we to do?"
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"We'll have to find another tree or buy a parasol."
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"We will become the new tree. That should open up more opportunities."
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Seok Go-Jun nodded in agreement before voicing another query that had been troubling him.
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"May I ask one more thing?"
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"Speak."
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"Is Wu Hei-Xing’s involvement in this operation... related to Jin Tae-Kyung?"
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This question had lingered in Seok Go-Jun’s mind, puzzling him.
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Despite Wu Hei-Xing’s status as an S-rank hunter, his inclusion seemed uncharacteristic.
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'He is a formidable opponent. Even if Master is using Wu Hei-Xing, what use could he have?'
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It was often like this.
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Just when Seok Go-Jun felt he had a grasp on his master's strategies, new layers would unfold, eluding full comprehension.
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And at such moments, Lee Jeong-Ryong would sport that enigmatic smile.
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As he did now.
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"Team Leader Seok."
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The atmosphere shifted; Seok Go-Jun instantly resumed his formal role as the security team leader of the Ares Guild, bowed respectfully.
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"Yes, Vice Guild Leader."
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"It seems like it’s time for you to step in. What do you think?"
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Raising his gaze, Seok Go-Jun peered over Lee Jeong-Ryong's shoulder, assessing the chaotic battlefield below.
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The Red Guard Gang’s elite, though carefully chosen, were faltering against the monster onslaught. Wu Hei-Xing had just managed to defeat one of the two Death Knights.
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"I will go now."
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"Take care not to get hurt."
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Seok Go-Jun nodded briefly in acknowledgment, then led the assembled Ares Guild members toward the battlefield.
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As they advanced towards the monsters, they remained silent, yet a palpable momentum radiated from them, overwhelming and dominating the field.
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Crunch! Screech!
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Lee Jeong-Ryong watched with a hint of satisfaction as one flank of the monster legion crumbled instantly under their charge. Just then, a scent of blood wafted to him on the wind.
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The breeze from the west was not just carrying the tang of battle; it was a harbinger for the arrival of someone Lee Jeong-Ryong had been eagerly awaiting.
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"Right on time."
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Lee Jeong-Ryong murmured, his eyes scanning the distant horizon.
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Heightening his senses with Qi, distant shouts reached his ears.
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- Damn it, kill them all! And that guy who keeps shouting 'eh', do it one more time and I'll consider you a monster! Got it?
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A soft chuckle escaped Lee Jeong-Ryong as he extended his hand toward the tumult.
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Then he clenched his fist, directing it towards Jin Tae-Kyung, who was somewhere amidst the chaos.
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(Hey! I’m F looking for a Warhammer 40K roleplay. Feel free to shoot me a message if you’re interested.)
The war for Octarius had been a bloody one. Though I really did not know much about the interstellar war itself it had been rumored that some brain dead inquisitor had been responsible for bringing the Orks and the Tyranids together. The ensuing chaos had caused nothing short of destruction on an apocalyptic level that needed to be contained at all costs. Many Imperial forces were sent in to the sector, my own included.
My name is Lt. Elise Veylan, commander officer of the Elysian Drop Troops, 34th advanced reconnaissance platoon. While the Elysians specialized in air superiority and boarding actions, making sure the flyboys knew where to drop their bombs was my specialty.
The battle for Numeria Prime had been a war of attrition against the greenskin menace. In the early days of the war, war boss Grimskull had captured the Hive City of Astoria. Several regiments had been mobilized to contain the threat and immediately the Imperium immediately found itself in siege footing. Trenches were built and many guns deployed all in the name of containing the ork menace.
Several months of attrition warfare had seen massive casualties on all sides but the Orks were becoming more powerful and the ammunition the munitorum had sent was running low. The commander of the offensive decided that the siege would need to be broken and thus the Elysians were called to action.
Although we were not siege warfare specialists, the Imperial navy had requisitioned a large fleet of marauder bombers for the campaign, all that was left now was to drop the bombs in the right spot and then the rest of the regiments here would be able to retake the hive, in theory.
.
In my 10 year service to the regiment, I had quite the track record. Even as a recruit I had a knack for daring raids. Some called my behavior reckless. Others said I simply had a death wish. Either way, command could not argue with the results. Though my methods were unorthodox, I accomplished my missions. So it was that when high command needed someone to put the strike package on target, my platoon was called into action.
It was early in the morning when we found ourselves soaring across the battered wasteland aboard our valkyries. The air in the rear cabin was intense. Many of my men knew the odds of this mission. Even so, time was on our side and I had been given strict orders to not take any unnecessary risks in the operation. Our target was the hive city’s ancient heat sinks just on the outskirts of the Northern perimeter. If we could destroy those, no doubt the xenos inside would be unable to regulate the hives systems. It would not be long after that the hive would begin to collapse on itself. What I was not prepared for however, was the stiff resistance.
The heat sinks had been completely surrounded by flakk towers and all sorts of makeshift fortifications, clearly some big Mek had been having a field day with the hives armoury. With little ancillary support to call upon, it would have been up to us alone to make the drop and paint the target. I made the call and given the chance, I would do it again…
Before we knew it, my men and I were gravchuting down into the perilous battlefield below. Before we had even made it over our drop site, one of our valkyries had exploded in midair, another descending in flames once its passengers had disembarked. The battlefield was complete chaos. All around us we were set upon by Orks and heavily outnumbered. The only thing that kept us alive was our quick thinking and tight battle formation as we moved toward a large rocky hill where we could gain clear sight to our target.
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Even with our speed and precision, our forces were dwindling. What had once been 40 men was now barely 20 and our third and fourth Valkyries had been destroyed trying to provide what limited air support they could. This was a nightmare scenario but there was no looking back. Once we had reached our objective, I placed the laser on its target and from there it was difficult to remember.
I only seemed able to recall the mass of explosions and earth shattering quakes of massive bombs raining down around us. Most everyone on the surface was thrown from their feet, myself included. The rest of it was a blur of blood and violence.
When I finally came through I found myself overlooking a ruined battlefield at the break of dawn. The heat sinks had been destroyed and so had our enemy, but at the cost of far more than anyone could have imagined. Only 7 of the original 40 remained. Four Valkyries and their crews had also been destroyed but we had won.
I dusted myself off and looked back toward our lines where I could see another flight of Valkyries approaching. I had ordered my radio man to call in for extraction and at some point during the chaos, I guess his message made it through. I savored the thought and glanced at his corpse with a somber expression. “Secure a landing zone.” I ordered my remaining soldiers as they fanned out, tossing out green smoke grenades and IR flares around us.
As the Valkyries came near, I dusted myself off best I could and slung my lascarbine over my shoulder, making way toward the landing zone. I was sure our relief would be wanting a situation report.

A few days ago I went to have one of my lower wisdom teeth extracted (erupted, not impacted) unfortunately it absolutely refused to play nice with my dentist. He tried everything he could but it wouldn’t budge beyond a little bit of movement. He’s referring me to a surgeon but I was quite loopy at the time from the experience when he was talking aftercare and didn’t absorb it like I should have and the office is closed now, so I can’t call till Monday.
The tooth broke during the attempt so I think all I’ve got left is at the gum line and below. He did something to my gum to get better access so that is pretty sore. Remaining tooth doesn’t hurt, just the gum and my face/jaw from all the pressure.
At the moment I’m swollen but the pain is decreasing everyday, bleeding has totally stopped, but the whole site is covered in this white stuff? It’s all around the gum trauma and over the entirety of the remaining tooth (can’t even see the tooth because of it). I don’t know if this is food, plaque or some healing process that I shouldn’t blunder around with. Should I brush it away or leave it alone? I’ve been doing salt rinses for the gum, icing my cheek and keeping up with painkillers. Which is helping a lot, salt rinses don’t budge the white stuff at all though.
Any advice would be greatly appreciated!
(I don’t drink or smoke, it’s hard to open my mouth wide enough to get a picture right now, but I can try again in a while)

He hoi me noi my buds. It is your baker man Pirate here. With Human Trauma book two coming to a close in the next week, I wanted to shre with you all the next planned novel I am working on. This time around we will have a stuborn human mercanary, a lizard princess, and one goal---escape Heavalun Mass city. all thats in thier way is corrupt cops, gangsters, the general populace and thier willingness to tolarate one another.
Lets get this Bread.
Shooting up from the blankets, Conor grabbed hold of the neck of whoever was jostling him awake, his cybernetic arm whirring while activating. Suddenly touching someone asleep was a stupid idea to do to anyone from Heavalun. Any sentient from this city was on edge most of the time and was usually particularly ornery when waking up.
He was especially prickly after years of contract killing and near-nonstop battles. While most people from Heavalun Mass City were used to fighting or having to keep an eye over their shoulder, watching for gangers, junkies, pickpockets, or the local police, his experience working and living here made him like a rubber band, ready to snap. Be that a neck, arm, leg, or whatever the poor sod he was fighting had.
“Who the fuck do you think you are,” Conor snarled, his natural and cybernetic eye narrowing and focusing in the wan light of his drab bedroom.
In an action built into him like an instinct, he willed his cybernetic eye to switch to see in infrared thermal sight, letting him get a good look at whoever this was while his natural eye adjusted to the lighting.
In bright orange, reds, and whites, Jurilra's face came into focus. She was a Jurintik, a werewolf like species; while he was human through and through. She had dull brown fur, long, dirty blonde hair, and a gaunt face and frame. The Jurintik was an alien species widespread throughout the galaxy, be it in the GU(galactic Union), Freespace, or here deep in the COS (concord of systems); you can’t swing a pipe without hitting at least two of them.
“Conor—let—-go,” Julitra gagged, clutching at Conor’s cybernetic forearm, her claws scratching roughly at the overlapping metal plates. “It’s me.”
Realizing who it was, Conor let her neck go, and she fell to the ground. He had only lifted her several centimeters off the floor, but doing that when half your torso, including your shoulders, one arm, and most of your organs were non-organic, or at least cybernetically enhanced, was a simple task, and he had done so out of sheer reflex.
“What were you thinking waking me up like that? You’re lucky I didn’t just dust you with my hand cannon,” Conor said, gesturing to the massive handgun sitting on the bedside table. “What in the stars are you doing here anyway?”
Taking a moment to rub at her neck and gag for a moment, Conor pieced together what likely happened. Considering that Julitra was naked, save for a thong, he must have hired her last night to blow off some steam—it wouldn’t be the first time he had done that when drunk.
“You didn’t pay me for last night,” Julitra said, standing up and nervously scratching her furry forearms and looking deeper into the shithole of an apartment toward the room where Conor stored all his weapons, money, and other precious items for barter or fencing purposes.
Conor sighed and scratched behind his still intact ear, the other having been halfway taken off by a frag grenade a few local years ago. After taking a moment to swing his legs out of bed, flexing his sore muscles, and rubbing his palms on his thighs, he looked up at her, having deactivated the thermal vision in his eye. “Fine; in the room top drawer on the right, you will find some bags of Murt and Syntrit. Take one of each.”
“Alright,” Julitra said, turning around and sashaying in that direction, clearly doing her best to move suavely and gracefully.
But Conor knew that was a load of Kret shit; She was little more than a strung-out junkie who just managed to keep herself on another fix fast enough by either guy like himself paying her for a quick lay or by managing not to get taken advantage of by one of the dealers on a street corner.
At least if she was selling herself for the night, she wasn’t going to end up in some slave market in the lower sections of the city or crammed into a skiff bound for a star on the far side of the galaxy. Julitra did have some kids to take care of, after all.
Not that it mattered to Conor if she went missing; there would be another skag he could bring in here. He just preferred her because she never tried to steal from him nor kill him in his sleep—finding another girl that he could trust would not be easy, especially in this shithole of a mass city. That well over a billion sentients were nestled in it did not matter; finding another piece of ass would be a pain.
“And only take one. I know how much product I have,” Conor grumbled, standing and heading toward the kitchenette. The dirty, blood-stained carpet was uncomfortable under bare feet.
God he hated going around with bare feet. It paid to have good boots to keep your feet safe from glass, nails, and other debris. That was especially important when operating in urban areas.
When he was out in the countryside or the house, he would forgo wearing them, and switch to sneekers, but being bare foot still sucked.
“I know,” Julitra replied from the room, “can I use your shower?”
“Whatever,” Conor replied flippantly, pulling down dried stulk leaves and tossing a pot of water on the stove.
So long as she didn't cause any issues with him getting started for the day, he honestly could not care less. All he needed to start the day was a pipping hot cup of stulk, and his stims. On that subject, the datapad built into his artificial arm chimed and reminded him of just that.
He frowned while retrieving the volatile cocktail of stimulants from the cupboard. He was almost out and only had enough for three days. Inside were six small autoinjectors about 20 centimeters long, marked with several warnings indicating that they should only be used in dire combat situations. But he was a particularly unique case and needed them just to survive.
After having a solid forty percent of his body replaced with cybernetics, from a metallic jaw, fake eye, a few replaced organs, torso, numerous enhanced joints, and even a few bits of wire running through his brain, the stims kept him working.
Without his friend Stich’s unique stimulant blend twice a day, Conor would start to fall apart. First would come the tremors, then body lockup, followed by seizures and eventually death. He had never made it that far in relapse; it was just easier to keep his organic parts cranked up to keep pace with his enhanced parts, and the video Stich showed him of sentients who relapsed was a good dissuasion.
Those poor sods were mangled wrecks, limbs at unnatural angles, blood, hydraulic fluid, and bone everywhere. And they were at most twenty percent wired up—what he could end up like was something he would rather not learn.
Dutifully and like clockwork, Conor ripped the cap off an auto-injector and shoved it into his thigh; a dull hiss sounded out as the brackish fluid flowed into his muscles. Just as he tossed the now empty injector into the trashcan, the sounds of Julitra starting the shower and humming flowed into the joint living and bedroom.
While Julitra was showering, Conor's friend and coworker Brakul sent him a message.
Brakul: Hey, conor, what are you doing tonight? I think I might have a contract for us to pick up.
Conor: No plans at this point. I just gotta get Julitra out of my safe house.
Brakul: Are you still fucking that scag? You know that won’t end well.
Conor: Yeah, gotta get my dick wet somehow. Besides, aren’t you still plowing that Kurilta we worked with a few months back—the one with the red hair?
Brakul: Yeah, I am. I like the crazy little woman. Plus, she is only a meter tall and makes me feel massive. But are you in or not?
Conor: Yeah, I'm in. When, where, and who is the client?
Brakul: Perfect, meet me at Zyntle’s around 2100. If all goes well, we got a contract for some new upstart to the north out of town. He is looking to hire some muscle for a few months. Don't worry about the contract's legitimacy; Norla sent this man my way to arrange half a dozen bodies. I just want you there in case something goes down.
Conor: So, bring a few extra solutions?
Brakul: if you would, and keep ‘em quiet, no shotguns. We will be in Zynie's place and need to keep things civil.
Conor: Afirm, see you then.
After switching off the arm-mounted datapad, Julitra stepped back into the room, redressed in her clothes from the previous night. They weren't anything fancy by any stretch of the imagination. Just a simple lowcut dress, showing off a shallow valley of furry cleavage, and cut to give ample view up her thighs and see the thong barely covering her womanhood.
For a hooker, it was good enough.
“Want to have some stulk?” Conor questioned, pouring himself a glass.
“Sure,” Julitra replied, going and lounging at the dingy table in the corner of the room.
They were quiet while eating their meager breakfast; neither had much in common or to talk about as is. The only things Julitra knew about Conor were: he killed people for money, sold stolen goods, and could give her a mean dick down. Whereas Conor knew damn near everything about her, acquired through basic profiling of her actions, attire, and mannerisms or from some of the intelligence brokers he dealt with regularly.
Some friends called him paranoid for keeping such tight tabs on anyone he dealt with; at least Brakul and Stich did. But Conor knew that knowledge was power and was needed if you wanted to always end up with your opponent dusted and not you. Conor knew better than anyone that you don’t survive like he has without a bit of paranoia. Hell, he was more persistent than a Hureclian beetle seeking water.
Once they had finished scarfing down crackers, canned meat, and the bitter, brackish brew, Julitra quickly took her leave, with Conor locking the door behind her. First, the deadbolts, then the chain, followed by a biometric scanner, and lastly, he kicked a metal wedge underneath the door—it would take a whole breaching team from the local government a solid hour to breach that reinforced metal monstrosity, and that was just how Conor liked it.
Unless you were invited into his home, it would behoove you to stay out and not try to get in.
Now that he was alone again, Conor trundled into the room Julitra had gotten her payment from and opened up one of the massive ceiling-high safes lining the walls. Inside was some of his equipment. This specific one contained most of his low-visibility equipment: body armor, weapons, knives, toolkits, and anything else he might need for more subtle operations.
In the other safes were other tools he might want, but those kits were built for more specific jobs: sniping, heavy assaults, aerial and maritime operations, along with anything else he could use in a warzone, but most of that was overkill for tonight.
So Conor pulled out a few items he thought could be useful and started his preparations in such meticulous detail that it would take him the rest of the day.
—-
The area outside of Zyntle’s nightclub was insanely crowded, even for Heavalun standards. Up and down the street, as far as the eye could see, were nightclubs, bars, and restaurants, catering to whatever vice once could possibly want.
Unlike some of the out portions of the city, areas in the inner and lower regions like here, you could not see the sky. Instead, if one looked up, they would be met with obnoxious neon signs and more buildings arching overhead, choking out any star or sunlight that might be visible.
Aiding in the choking and oppressive atmosphere, Aliens of all shapes and sizes bumped into one another with little grace, care, or concern. Most were decked out head to toe in bright neon colors that melded together in a caleidoscope of shifting brilliance.
At least that gave the usual drab greys, rust reds, and browns of the cityscape some color, even if Conor usually found it more annoying than not. Thankfully, neither Conor, Brakul, nor their strange contact could not hear the crowd outside from the second-floor window. Instead, they were being bombarded by something as if not more grating.
The happy tones and idle conversations of the crowd on the dancefloor below them, along with repetitive keyboards, synthetic snapping basslines, and ethereal vocals, filled the air to a near-deafening level. If not for the three of them having wired up to a local chatterbox that Conor brought along, they would not be able to hear one another.
The chatterbox was not fancy; it was just a tiny device Conor had whipped up. That lets them speak normally into microphones on their collars and be heard in earpieces. He had devised the idea for it after a few skiff airborne operations, where unless you were jacked into the aircraft comms, you could not talk without screaming.
Now, the chatterbox just doubled as the perfect tool for having conversations you would rather not have others around listen into. Hell, unless you were inches from them, you would not be able to hear them at all.
Brakul and whomever this Farun’se was, a two-meter tall feline-like alien, had been going over the finer details of the contract for the last half hour. Conor had been listening just enough to keep in the loop, but his focus was elsewhere. Namely in the crowds around them, watching for anything he did not want to see: other contractors, a gang war about to erupt, or anything else that caught his eye. People-watching was one of the things Conor enjoyed about setting up jobs; it gave him plenty of time to keep tabs on the ever-shifting city.
He had not spotted anything yet, in regular vision, Thermal, or through tracking, but something was off—he could feel it in his hackles. As such, One of Conor's hands was in his somewhat oversized brown leather jacket, wrapped tightly around the grip of his suppressed handgun. Neither Brakul nor the Client commented on him keeping watch; they both knew he was just filling the role of an enforcer and was backup for them.
“So, what do you think about the contract?” The Farun’se man questioned before taking a sip from his drink.
Whatever that glowing drink was, it was not ethanol-based; the smell was far too sweet. Conor could tell that much even through the skull-like mask covering his face. Not that the flat black ballistic bask he wore to cover his metallic jaw and mangled face covered scents much. It was built much like the other equipment he wore to enhance his senses, not diminish them.
“I think it is perfectly acceptable. But are you certain you only want a ten-man team to provide escort and transport for your client while within the city?” Brakul asked, flipping a palm up. “I am certain I can get more, considering your daily generous payment offer.”
Generous was one way to put it. The politician the Farun’se represented offered a whopping 15 thousand crit a day for well-experienced mercs. It was enough to get Conor's tail wagging; Most jobs barely pay that out, and this contract was supposed to be ten days long. You could almost buy a house outside the city for that kind of crit. If they were actually paid it out and not betrayed by their employer, at the end of the day, Conor likely would do just that; then, he would have a place to live without the threat of death around every corner.
Each of his jobs over the last few years was a means to that end—escaping this shithole. But getting out of the city was difficult, even for guys like him with opportunities to leave and a reasonably regular income.
“Well, we can work that out via messaging, but for now, I am just offering what I am allowed to,” The client said. “Anything more than that, and I won't be able to pay you half upfront.”
At least they are offering half the credits upfront. Conor must have missed that part during their long-winded discussion about what type of experience each mercenary needed, what weapons they would be allowed, and the specifics of the contract.
All they would have to do was finalize details of the team when Brakul had assembled another eight bodies, but they could do that in a few weeks.
“If that’s the case, then I think we should be good for now,” Brakul said, standing and extending a hand for the client.
“Perfect, expect to hear from me in a few days. Please have your team prepared by the end of the week,” The client replied, shaking Brakul’s hand.
After removing his earpiece and microphone, the client nodded to Conor and disappeared into the crowd looming around the stairs leading to the ground floor.
“So you like the sounds of that?” Brakul asked, sitting back down and sipping at his drink.
Keeping his sight on the crowd below, Conor tracked the client as he struggled to weave through the jostling dancers. The Feline was clearly out of his element in the crowds of the mass city. Based on how quickly he was recoiling from each touch by the intoxicated patrons, he was uncomfortable with all the physical contact forced onto him.
The sight was almost comedic, but Conor was used to dealing with people like the client's representative. If you had enough crit to hire ten mercs, you came from one of two walks of life: you were an influential underground leader who could afford the extra muscle, or you were a sheltered individual with no real business in Heavalun Mass City but decided you wanted to make some friends in low places and needed locals who would be loyal to the almighty crit.
But all of that was neither here nor there for the time being; Brakul would handle any issues with the contract. He was far better at being a politician than Conor was.
“So, any issues with what he wants?” Brakul smirked, knowing that it had been several months since Conor's last contract and that he needed the money.
Conor passively waved at his friend; he did not need to comment. Conor would take any contract that came his way so long as the pay was solid enough. In the past, he had taken contracts Brakul refused for moral reasons.
This contract of defending some high-born trader was in no way out of the ordinary and was relatively tame by Conor’s standards. His last contract was far more low-brow enough that he had almost said no. But for the low, low cost of 100 thousand crits and the fancy nanotech armor he was wearing under his tank top, he was more than willing to blow up the wing of a hospital with a firebomb—insurance paid to fix the building and burry anyone caught up when he killed a lowborn noble or some distant planet.
“I’m more interested in what's going on down below,” Conor said, pointing to a group gathering near the club's back entrance.
Below, barely visible through the flashing strobe lights and low haze of fog machines, seven Kyrail lingered at the back doors. One of the amphibian-like bipeds was giving instructions to the others. It was a shame the music was so loud; if not, Conor and Brakul could easily hear them, but even without sound, it was easy to see what they were doing. They were scouting a mark.
“What do you think, Voodals gang?” Conor posed, scanning the crowd for whomever the lead croaker was trying to target.
Voodal is a leader of one of the area's crime families and merc groups. They had been competitors of Conor and Brakul and their usual hiring groups for a long time. While Brakul and Conor did not have beef with them, one of their usual employers, the Farklut clan, had generations of bad blood.
That rivalry was nasty, to the point anyone who was a direct member of either family would dust the other on sight. Both had been caught up in that rivalry several times and had a negative opinion of the Voodal family and any of their ilk.
“Likely. This is part of a contested city, after all,” Brakul replied, sipping his drink.
“I wonder what they are doing here?” Conor said, still not having located whatever it was they were doing, but he had seen them pull out a particularly nasty drug, giving him an idea of precisely what they planned on doing—abduction.
The gaggle’s leader had passed out plastic bags with what looked like Visage clinging to the bags. That drug might as well be chloroform on the strongest combat stim out there. It would put you in a trance and make you forget the next several days until the effects wore off. The perfect drug for slave traffickers and abductors.
The only reason Conor could tell was that he had used the tactic several times to capture targets alive. It was great; you could fish information from them freely, and they wouldn't remember anything beyond where they had been picked up and whenever the drug wore off.
“I see their target,” Brakul muttered, “switch to IR. I will laze her for yah.”
As his friend and partner told him, Conor switched his false eye to IR and watched, and Brakul’s pistols laser pierced the crowd and danced on the back of a red scalled Kurlatra, dancing happily with some other repltilians of her species. All were woefully ignorant of the Kyrail weaving through the crowd toward them, hands tucked into jackets, likely clutching knives, pistols, and bags of drugs.
“Hmmm, odd, not a lot of Kurlatra on this side of the GU borders,” Conor commented.
“For sure,” Brakul agreed.
Kurlatra were a noble-esc species in the GU and tended to stay in the GU, as opposed ot the COS; most here only cared about their nobility for the sake of making money on ransom after all.
The GU was safe but was overbearing compared to the COS. It had far more laws, restrictions, and limitations on carving out a living. Conor’s chosen profession of being a Mercenary was outlawed in the GU unless you were on the Union congress's payroll, But he was not on that list, despite trying a few times.
“Wanna toss a wrench in their plans?” Brakul questioned.
“How so?” Conor replied, keeping a keen eye on the crimson scalled in the center.
Compared to those around her, she was different. Unlike the others who wore simple clothes, she wore a very revealing yellow dress that was low cut in the back and front, showing offer cleavage, but that's not what made her so different. It was all the glistening jewelry that made her smell of crit.
All those stones and precious metals were likely worth a few hundred thousand crits on their own. That was before you sold her pert ass to some slaver.
“We can go down, nab her after the entourage is dealt with, and be big damn heroes. Then we get an award from that payday of a ruby. If she is not feeling up to it, we could ransom her off to the Voodal; they want her for some reason,” Brakul explained, using his keen eye for diplomacy and deals to guide Conor’s mind to the potential payout.
Conor took a moment to take stock of the situation; he had enough ammo to carve through the Voodal family present and could carry such a Kurlatra if needed. Should this shit go sideways and end up in a firefight, they could just use the crowd and vanish.
“What about the contract we just took,” Conor posed
“We haven't taken one yet,” Brakul reminded, “that rep needs to get back to us with upfront payment. Until then, we are freelance.”
Conor could not deny he was right; no crit had changed hands yet, they were still unemployed, and this bitch might be worth some cash. Before Conor had a chance even to comment one way or the other, Brakul pressed on a nerve he knew would get Conor to act.
“Come on. I got fifty crit that says you can't extract that Kurlatra before the Voodal drug her,” the fellow Jurintik mocked.
The bastard knew how to get to Conor for sure. He was competitive and hated to have his abilities brought into question. Just out of professional pride, Conor could not let that lay.
“Two hundred,” Conor countered.
“One hundred,” Brakul retorted, “oh, look, they already nabbed one of the entourage.”
He was right. One of the Kurlatra heading toward the bathrooms near the back entrance just had a bag of Visage slammed into their mouth and had already gone glassy-eyed. Now, there were only five Kurlatra left, including the clear HVT(High-Value Target)
“One fifty,” Conor snapped, eager to have his friend stop messing with him.
“Deal, I will cover and feed you intel from her. Open channel one,” Brakul sneered.
Without missing a beat, Conor shot up from the table and descended the stairs into the crowd, drawing his suppressed pistol and activating his target tracker to keep sight of the HVT.
Conor did not know it yet, but that little bet, one that was not even worth as much ammo as he was about to expend, would send his life on a journey that would change him forever.
So what did you all think? was it a good time? a fun start at bare min? next chapter we will have connor dealing with the voodal, follwed by us meeting the little princess. It should be fun.
Please dont forget to updoot and comment. I will see you all in the comments.
Your Humble baker
-Pirate
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The new gift-specific dialogue from the 1.6 update has me absolutely tickled pink! This one especially… I also haven’t practiced my creative writing in a while, and I decided it needed to happen sooner rather than later, so here, have a short story! Sorry if it's boring… I’m a little rusty!
“A Gift From The Void”
It was only yesterday… No one was quite sure where it had come from. There had been a sinister cackling noise ringing through the night air and Abigail had mentioned seeing an unidentifiable shape soaring through the sky during her walk home from the cemetery. The townsfolk gossiped and speculated about what it could have been that evening, but by the next morning they still hadn’t come to any reasonable explanation. It was only yesterday, and yet the entire village seemed to have already put it out of their minds and moved on. The scandal and chatter following the “Anchovy Soup Incident” at the Summer Luau several years back had lasted far longer than this… Even now Sam was still getting sideways glances whenever he got within a 20 foot radius of the soup cauldron, but this just blows over in less than a day? The priorities of small town people were strange.
Things had gone back to that same semblance of backwater, middle-of-nowhere kind of normal, and now the night had become just the same as any other Friday evening. Sebastian was playing a round of billiards with Sam, and while Sam was preoccupied with lining up the cue with his intended target ball, the farmer strolled into the saloon and up to the bar. Heads turned and raised to the newcomer for a moment before returning to whatever it was that had been previously holding their attention. Sebastian caught the sudden flourish of movement out of his periphery, but didn’t pay it much mind. The farmer ordered a coffee and a plate of the night’s special, and struck up a conversation with Gus about a peculiar egg that had materialized in their coop seemingly out of nowhere the night before. Apparently they’d decided to tuck it away into the incubator and wait to see what… if anything hatched from it.
Sebastian had never really been one to eavesdrop, but the wait for Sam to make his move was becoming boring, and sometimes the stories that passed around the saloon on Friday evenings got interesting depending on who all was involved. The story didn’t really go too far into detail. The farmer poked at their food until it had cooled enough to not scald the inside of their mouth, then they took a few bites before bringing up the events of the previous evening. What first started off as a funny story seemed to turn into some deep discussion with Gus about the mysteries of life. Eventually, Willy and Elliott were caught up in the mirth and it turned into a medley of strange tales from faraway lands and once-upon-a-times. Obviously exaggerated sightings of fearsome creatures on a midnight stormy sea, legends of colossal white whales, references to works written by masters of the mystery genre, as well as some from a trashy neo-noir novel or two that had probably been picked up from a bookstore clearance shelf.
Willy stroked his beard and mused about some daring battle between himself and a fish of questionable proportions that seemed to grow larger each time he told the story. Sebastian had heard this one before. The fight over the line had gone on for over an hour before the shadow of the fish rose near to the surface, and just before Willy could land the monster of a catch, it dove below again, taking the whole fishing rod overboard and nearly Willy himself with it.
Elliott gulped down the last few swigs of ale in his tankard, slapped the farmer firmly on the back, snorted and chuckled in an ungraceful yet jolly display that only ever crept out of him when he’d had a bit too much to drink.
“That fish becomes more miraculous each time he talks about it!” Elliott shook his head and smiled as he leaned almost a little too far forward. There was a slight sway to his posture and he tried to straighten his body back in line with the barstool. “To life, and her many little silly tricks of fate, my friends!” he declared. He raised the empty mug, and with his free hand, delicately tucked a few strands of stray hair behind his ear with the tips of his fingers. He rested his elbow back on the bar before he could lose his balance and sighed contently. Elliott’s cheeks were practically glowing red at this point and it was a wonder that he wasn’t slurring his words yet.
“Aye, you’ve all heard my fish story haven’t ye?” Willy chuckled. “How ‘bout the one about the Baba Yaga?” the farmer’s head tilted and they gazed curiously at the fisherman. Willy rested his foot on the crossbar of the barstool, lifted the rim of his hat out of his line of sight, and leaned into the counter. “Some know ‘er as the cannibal witch… others say she’s just a misunderstood haggard ol’ woman who lives alone out in woods or marshes. It’s said she lives a rickety old house that stands on chicken feet, and she likes to lure weary travelers into ‘er home, only to gobble ‘em up once they let their guard down. Apparently she’s especially fond of the taste of children…” He laughed in a hoarse tone and made strange spider-like gestures with his calloused hands as if he were telling campfire stories to a group of kids. The farmer’s nose wrinkled at the outlandish notion of some feral old woman devouring toddlers, and Willy laughed heartily at their reaction. “I think that last part the parents like to add into the story to frighten the little ones. It keeps ‘em from wondering into the forests and swamps alone at night.”
Sebastian rolled his eyes and glanced back to the pool table. He watched the cue ball clack into the twelve before the twelve bounced off the barriers in the corner of the table and rolled slowly to a stop on the felt surface without pocketing. Sam huffed and stood back upright.
“You really aren’t very good at this, are you?” Seb chimed as he returned his full attention to the game at hand. Sam grinned and laughed.
“Nope!”
“Watch and learn….” Sebastian took aim at the cue ball, and after a single firm strike, drove it into the tiny gap between the two and seven. The cue stopped hard, but the two and seven sped to the opposite corners of the foot of the table, each dropping into one of the corner pockets simultaneously. Sam scoffed and paced about the pool room, but looked back over his shoulder just in time to catch Sebastian with a triumphantly cheeky grin on his face. Sam clicked his tongue and lightly thumped the base of his cue stick into the floorboards.
“Show-off…” he mumbled.
Elliott lifted the rim of the empty vessel to his lips, then chuckled again as he noticed the absence of ale and gestured it in Gus’ direction.
“Good sir, my glass is empty and…. I’m a writer!”
“Maybe you should stop for tonight…” the farmer interjected. “You won’t be sober enough to start your next chapter in the morning!” Elliott rolled his eyes and leaned against the bar counter. He tried to give one of his best theatrically exasperated sighs, but when the exhale turned into a case of the hiccups, they knew he was down for the count. He smiled defiantly and tried his best to look dignified through the sudden spasms in his diaphragm and soused thousand yard stare.
“I-am fiiine… ne’re betta’…”
“…..Aaaand, there he goes…” Leah giggled from the end of the bar counter. “It’s like dropping a ton of bricks on a peach.”
“I oughtta’ help the ol’ scallywag home, I s’pose!” Willy groaned as he stood from the bar stool. He smiled as he hoisted one of Elliott’s arms over his shoulders and stood him up from the bar stool. “C’mon you menace… Let’s get ya home before you make a fool of yourself in front of all the lassies!” he chuckled. Sam took a moment to appreciate the situation at the bar counter. He shook his head and laughed, then took another shot at the 12 and missed horribly yet again.
“Easy does it there!” Emily cooed as she cleared away the empty tankard. “Try not to drop him too hard!” Elliott wobbled towards the door as Willy struggled to keep him upright, and just before they stepped out into the lukewarm summer evening, the farmer waved one last farewell and called out to the well marinated dandy-man as he staggered away.
“Nighty-night! Sleep tight, Rapunzel!” they chirped. Elliot responded to the joke by blowing an overly exaggerated kiss over his shoulder and daintily waiving his fingertips at the company in the saloon, then he nearly tripped over himself as he turned back to the path home. A couple of snorts, giggles and guffaws rose up over the music and chatter in the saloon and quickly melted back into the white noise once the moment passed.
Seb looked Sam in the eyes with a determined glare and smirked.
“Eight in the corner pocket….” Seb didn’t have a clear shot, but leaned over the table, reared back the stick and spiked it into the cue ball. It ricocheted from the bumper, side-swiped the eight, and put just enough force into the edge to cause it to spin sideways into the pocket he’d called. Sam laughed and scratched at the back of his head.
“Awwww, man…” he groaned. “You got me again!” Sam leaned against his cue stick and looked over the table before his eyes lit up in anticipation. “How about a best three out of five?” Abigail giggled at Sam’s request as she stretched and leaned back into the sofa.
“Give it up, blondie! He cooks your goose at this game EVERY single time…. You’re doomed.” She teased. “It’s getting late anyways…”
…
It had been almost a month since the odd shape had been spotted flying over town at this point. Seb and Abby had talked in depth about it, and though most of the other townsfolk had come to the conclusion that it had merely been some sort of exotic bird flying out toward the fern islands, Abby was positive she hadn’t been mistaken. In fact she was adamant that the form looked human. She hadn’t seen or heard any wings flapping and the “squawking” sounded more so like the laugh of an old woman than the cries of a bird. The figure seemed to levitate or hover effortlessly and without the use of any physical or mechanical assistance. It was slumped over as if it was curled up or sitting and just…. Floated away.
The long night spent coding and researching the relevant programing issues at the computer, had caused Sebastian to rise late. He was groggy, didn’t have much motivation to bother rolling out of bed, and it was almost noon at this point. He could hear the rain pattering against the roof of the house and the rumble of distant thunder. As lazy as he felt, a smoke sounded pretty good about now. The sound and sight of the ocean on rainy days also had a way of clearing his head and a little stroll would probably do him some good.
He didn’t pass anyone on the way out of the house. Robin was likely at her aerobics club, Maru, at work in the clinic, and who knew where Demetrius was… Out shoving dirt samples into test tubes, or measuring the volume and PH of the current rainfall? As long as he wasn’t dissecting frogs. Out of all of Sebastian’s childhood memories, that was the one that stuck in his head and haunted him. Back then, Maru had only just been born, and while Robin was busy keeping her entertained, fixing her bottle or changing diapers, Seb was wandering the house trying to find something to occupy his time. He’d wandered into his step-father’s study and there on the examination tray was a deceased frog pinned on it’s back, limbs splayed like Da Vinci’s “Vitruvian Man” with it’s belly sliced open. Sebastian had cried and pouted over that for several days and had given Demetrius the silent treatment for even days longer intermixed with spells of arm crossing, head turning and the occasional stuck out tongue and blown raspberry. He cringed at the thought even now.
The hinges creaked as he pushed the front door open and paused. The summer was starting to give way to autumn and the parched ground soaked up the rain and turned loose the pungent, almost overpowering scent of petrichor.
Sebastian flipped the hood of his pull-over around his head and tightened up the drawstrings. He took a moment to smell the aroma of wet grass and earth that drifted through the air and held the fragrance in his lungs as he closed the door behind him.
He began his slow, steady march toward the beach and lost count of his steps after he’d passed the old Community Center. He’d barely noticed the changing of terrain under his feet as he moved almost subconsciously toward the ocean. The raw, muddy dirt paths of the mountain, the crunch of rough stones and shuffle of old, dead pine needles that carpeted the ground… They’d transitioned into the grass and cobblestone of the town plaza at some point, but they all seemed to blend together into “just steps” after a while. His inner thoughts distracted him to the point where he barely paid attention to his surroundings until he felt his footfalls sinking and shifting underneath him, and he knew he’d hit sand. He heaved a deep sigh of the salt air and looked over the horizon as he paced toward the docks.
When the sky was this gray and muted, the color of the sea seemed to take on it’s own jewel-like quality and without the blue sky to draw attention away from it, the eyes of each breaking wave became a splendor to watch. They erupted into columns of aquamarine, sapphire and sodalite laced with the bright, almost pearlescent white of the sea foam before curling over, crashing into the tides and giving way to the next one.
Sebastian came to a stop at the furthest reaching section of the wood panels and straightened up his posture as he groped into his pockets for the pack of cigarettes he’d brought with him. He selected one from the box, tucked it between his teeth and plunged his fingers back into the pocket for his lighter. He curled his left hand in front of his face, to protect the fire from the wind, flicked open the lid and thumbed the igniter. The flint sparked into a flame as it spun and lit up the end of the cigarette to a smoldering red glow. He pulled in a breath and held it for a moment before letting it out and watching the smoke dance away in the wind. It still wasn’t quite as satisfying as that first breath of rain when he’d stepped out of the house. Another sigh escaped Seb’s lips as he stared back at the oncoming crests of seawater and his mind started to drift again.
He imagined the city lights blazing somewhere across the ocean like stars, and thought about starting over somewhere far away. Disappearing, and reappearing somewhere else like a shadow moving through fragments of darkness and light, somewhere where no one knew him. Just vanishing and leaving everything behind. His parents, his sister, his friends… the thought excited him for a moment, before giving way to an intense feeling of regret and sadness. Maybe even a little shame. Having everyone was frustrating, but would having none of them be better or worse? He’d never known anything else. The same friends he’d grown up with, the same smell of the changing seasons in the mountain air, the same four walls of his bedroom, the sound of his sister’s laugh, or the taste of his mother’s cooking… even the way his stepfather overreacted to the littlest things was something he'd grown used to. He took another long breath.
The waves lapped and pounded at the underside of the dock so loudly he couldn’t hear the patter of oncoming footfalls against the wood and he was caught unaware when a sudden presence made itself known.
“Hey.” The start was enough to make him tense up, and he almost tripped over his own feet. Seb whirled around and when he found himself face to face with the farmer, he relaxed again.
“You scared the absolute crap out of me…..” He said as he rolled his eyes. He flicked his thumb against the filter of the cigarette to knock away the ashes and looked over the docks. They were alone.
“Sorry….” There was an awkward moment of silence between the two of them before Sebastian tried to force conversation.
“What are you up to out here?” He asked. He wasn’t really interested in the answer, but felt obligated to return the acknowledgement of his presence. The farmer held up the rod that was firmly clasped in their right hand and gestured to the ocean.
“Fishing!” Seb raised an eyebrow and cocked his head at the response.
“In the rain?” he asked. His tone was almost dismissive. The farmer nodded.
“Willy said that there’s a number of fish that only come out when it’s raining, so I wanted to see what bites.” They began. “Some fish just like it better this way I guess.” There was another long pause. “…and you?”
“Hanging out…” Seb shrugged and adjusted the collar of his hoodie.
“In the rain?” The irony of the retort wasn’t lost on either of them though only the farmer seemed to find it amusing.
“Some people just like it better this way too…” Seb declared as he shifted his posture and crossed his arms over his chest. “I like to come out here where it’s quiet and have some alone time with my own thoughts.” There was a brief moment of guilt when Sebastian realized that he hadn’t actually ever bothered to ask the farmer’s name, but his introverted nature snubbed it out pretty quickly.
“Well, if you’re out here for some alone time, I won’t keep bothering you. I’ll go find a spot to fish and leave you to it.” At least they could take a hint. The farmer turned to leave and Sebastian suddenly regretted the entire conversation. Maybe he came off as cold and bristly? Either way, they hadn’t meant any harm. Just engaging in basic pleasantries. He found himself compelled to say something else just so the conversation wouldn’t end on such a sour note, then the thought of the flying figure and the appearance of the strange egg in the farmer’s coop a while back suddenly popped into his head.
“Wait….” Sebastian flicked away the spent cigarette and stamped it out with the toe of his shoe before he continued. The farmer turned back in his direction. “I was just curious… do you remember what happened a couple of weeks ago? The night that… thing… flew over Pelican Town?” The farmer’s eyes narrowed and they nodded slowly. “That was the night that strange egg just showed up in your chicken coop, right?” The farmer looked bewildered. Seb chuckled soundlessly when he realized that, for at least a moment, he was acting like the epitome of some small town country boy who was nosing into someone else’s business. The farmer was likely confused because they hadn’t spoken to Sebastian about it directly. How could he know about that? They didn’t have to ask before he preemptively put the question to rest. “I was in the saloon playing pool with Sam the night after it happened. I overheard you talking about it with Gus, Willy and uh- …Rapunzel.” He explained. A tiny snort escaped the farmer’s nose as they stifled a laugh and they nodded again.
“Right… I still don’t know where it came from.” They rested the handle of the fishing pole on the dock like a staff or walking stick and looked up at the sky as if they were contemplating something. “I don’t know if the egg had anything to do with the flying figure, or if it was just a coincidence… they did both appear on the same night.”
“Everyone in town says that the flying thing was probably just some weird bird heading toward the islands…” Seb droned. He shoved his hands into his pockets to sooth the chill in his fingers. “If that IS where the egg came from, then maybe it was just a bird…” The farmer briskly shook their head before they answered.
“No, I don’t think so.” They rested a hand on their hip, fidgeted with the line strung through the fishing rod and seemed to gaze off into the distance towards the island in question. “That wouldn’t make sense considering what hatched.” Sebastian’s head snapped upright to meet their gaze. Now this was getting interesting.
“It actually hatched?!” He piped as his eyes widened inquisitively. “What was it?”
“A chicken…. And those can’t fly long distances.” The farmer chortled as they watched Sebastian’s face droop back to some semblance of apathy. He looked mildly disappointed.
“Aww…. Well that’s kind of anticlimactic.” He groaned.
“Yeah, sorry it’s not more exciting than that…” There was a sudden gust of wind and both of them had to brace against the pelting of raindrops that came with it. “It is a pretty peculiar looking chicken, if that makes you feel any better.”
“Really?... How so?” He gazed back at them expectantly and waited for them to go into detail.
“The feathers are jet black and the comb and wattles have a bit of an odd shape to them. The eyes are also bright red, like an animal with albinism and they’re almost reflective in the dark too… like a cat’s eyes.” They paused and rested their hand over the lower half of their face as if they were taking a moment to recall more of the specifics to memory. “And there’s just something about the way it clucks.” They added. “It doesn’t really cluck like a normal hen, but it sounds more like… an echo of a cluck, I suppose.”
“What?....” Sebastian laughed as his expression shifted again. The description of the noise sounded completely ridiculous. Not a cluck, but an echo of a cluck? They may as well have likened it to a phantom voice or the cry of a specter. Something that eluded the range of sounds that most humans would ever have the chance or perception to experience. The farmer lifted their eyes back to Sebastian’s as if they’d suddenly remembered something else.
“She started laying eggs a couple of days ago. They look just like the one that appeared in the coop that night…” They let the fishing pole drop from their hand to the wood planking of the dock and slipped their arm out of the left strap of their backpack. “I actually have one with me if you want to see it….” They slid the other strap off of their shoulder and swung the bag around their right side, letting it come to a rest in front of them as they knelt down. Seb took a few steps closer and stooped to get a better look as they dug through the contents.
They gingerly grasped what looked like a tiny bundle wrapped in a kerchief and began to slowly peel away the corners of the fabric, exposing what was probably the most bizarre looking egg he’d ever seen in his life. It was black and somewhat glossy, unlike the calcified matte shells of most chicken eggs, and the surface seemed to be covered in tiny indents or fissures that exposed flecks of a bright, almost luminescent red underneath. The farmer held the egg out to Sebastian as they stood up straight and nodded, silently offering to let him hold it for a closer look. He gently cupped the egg in his hands, tucked his arms in close to his body and cradled it in his palms like a cautious child trying to hold a hamster. It was heavier than he’d expected it to be, and surprisingly warm.
The color reminded him of magma or hot coals. Something like the intense heat glowing through crackling obsidian after a volcanic eruption or a dying fire. He leaned his head even closer to the egg as he examined the texture of the shell, and his nose wrinkled a bit when he caught the scent. It was sulphurous, and almost earthy smelling, but not overpoweringly so.
“It’s not rotten, is it?” he asked as he gently turned the egg over in his hands.
“See, that’s the strange thing about it. It can’t be…. That egg was just laid this morning.” They explained. “All of the eggs that hen lays have that… little whiff of something burning to them.” The rain was starting to slow up a bit. The farmer thought for a moment and giggled at the notion of what they said next. “I’m not inclined to say that they’re edible either… at least, not to people, and I wouldn’t be keen on being the first one to test that.” Sebastian winced at the thought…and smell, and stifled a laugh.
“Me neither…” He smiled softly when the red speckled pattern caught his attention again. “It does look really cool though!”
He really did have a nice smile. It was kind of a shame that he didn’t let people see it more often. His eyes brightened, and his face looked softer and more approachable, yet also, inquisitive and curious. It was a look of fascination and wonder. Like a kid who’d just discovered dinosaurs and outer space for the first time, or someone who’d just felt their first taste of freedom and didn’t quite know what to do with it. An imaginative or inspired sort of expression.
“Since you like it so much, why don’t you hang onto it?” the farmer beamed.
“Can I?” Sebastian’s eyes lit up again and he gazed back at the farmer with a delighted look on his face.
“Sure! Hens lay eggs every day or so. There’ll be more before long!” they chimed. Sebastian chuckled as he curled his fingers about the egg and sheltered it from the rain.
“Thank you!” He gazed at it for a few moments more as the farmer hefted the rucksack back onto their shoulders and pulled the fishing rod from it’s resting place on the dock. “Hey, this might sound kind of stupid….” He began as he gazed back and forth between the farmer and his new prize… “But, do you think it’ll hatch if I put it under my pillow?” he laughed awkwardly at his own question when he realized how foolish it must have sounded, but was pleasantly surprised when the farmer’s response was more optimistic than he had expected.
“Umm, I don’t know… Maybe! It’s worth a try anyway, and stranger things have happened.”
“Only one way to find out I guess!” Sebastian said smiling in anticipation.
“Good luck! You’ll have to let me know what happens!” They scanned out over the tides as if looking for something before turning back to Sebastian. “I should hurry and find a spot to fish before the rain stops again, but it was really nice talking to you!”
“Yeah, you too!” Seb agreed. “I’ll see you later!” He distracted himself for a moment, making sure the egg was tucked away safe and warm in his hoodie pocket, when he suddenly realized something. “Hey, wait!...” he quickly turned back to where the farmer had been standing just a minute before, but by the time he’d remembered what he’d needed to ask, they’d already trotted too far out of earshot to be able to hear him. “Aw, man… I forgot to catch their name again.” He lamented. “I’ll have to remember to ask them next time… Next time for sure.”

“Begin Audio Recording, Personal ID #38916907”
Fuck, I hate this world. Let the damn Squawks have it. The cold seeps through my body armor. I never feel warm unless we’re fighting. The wind whips up massive dust storms, gets in everything, fucks with our sensors and visibility. Worse, it fucks up our pulse rifles and leaves us these damn slug throwers. Don’t get me wrong, they hit hard but their range is less than a km. Not like we often have that much visibility in this terrain, even without the dust storms
. And going hand to hand with a Spike is practically a death sentence. Their claws rip into our armor like it’s not there. Their armored bodies can withstand a slash from our blades so we are limited to stabbing at their weak points. But their size makes them slow.
The only positive is it fucks with the Squawks equally and really fucks up their Spike’s senses. Their superior senses are almost useless during the storms. I guess the sound of the sand hitting their carapace really overwhelms their hearing.
I’m not sure why I’m recording this. Maybe to leave something of myself behind. Besides my bones in a shallow grave.
Who am I? Lance Sergeant JT Collins, currently in command of the 4th Cohort of the Dominion Marines Dead Rift Legion. At your service.
If you can call less than 62 (out of 500) combat effectives a cohort still. Which is why I am in command. All the other NCOs and officers above me are casualties. I’ve heard the other cohorts aren’t much better.
17 Cohorts made it to the ground and now there are less than half of the 8500 that hit the ground are combat effective. Only the 1st Cohort of Burning Haven Legion is close to full strength and they are kept in reserve to guard Echo Base and deal with any breakthroughs. It was supposed to be a standard sweep and clear of a recently abandoned mining colony world overrun by the Squawks last month. It’s a shit world but its location and launch facilities have made it an ideal base for Squawks to cut our supply lines into the next system. The Squawks had been upgrading the launch facilities and adding repair facilities for smaller ships that could land for repairs. They also started to build an orbital installation to repair their big ships.
Intel said there were less than 50k enemies on the entire world. 4 Legions were supposed to be enough to deal with them. As usual, intel fucked up and severely underestimated enemy strength. So we had 20k marines dropped into a hornets' nest of a quarter million Squawks and their pets. The enemy fleet in orbit should have been their first clue that something was wrong. Half of the Burning Haven never even made it to the drop ships before their ship exploded. 8 Cohorts of the Echo Fields Legion were still aboard when the fleet jumped out. I can’t blame them for jumping being outnumbered 2-1.
Better the Admiral save some than none of us. I just wished they made that decision before dropping us on this world. At least the mining facility we landed at still had plenty of food and water, since most of ours was still on the ships when they jumped. Another lucky break is they got 2/3rds of our ammo and other gear dropped. None of the armor made it down but some of the fast-firing mortars and a couple of light arty pieces did. Both inbound heavy dropships were shot up and never made it to the surface, or at least in one piece. One big ass chunk of a ship squashed a dropship flat. It’s a good thing it was mostly empty of people and gear.
The rest went with the fleet. Hopefully, they’ll be back with more ships and troopers but it’ll still take at least a week for them to get here.
Which is why I am huddled in this god-forsaken trench, riding out this damn Squawks artillery barrage. Every day, more and more of them arrive from all over the planet. We managed to secure the launch facilities, surprisingly easy, but we’ve been getting probing attacks all along the perimeter. Our defensive perimeter is slowly shrinking to less than 10 km in diameter. Another 5 km and that damn artillery will be able to shell the main base with some accuracy. The dust storms reduce them to old-school methods of dropping them in the general area and relying on the old Mark I eyeball. They really don’t want to do more damage to the facility than they have to.
They’ll probe the perimeter every so often but no major assaults since 2 days ago. The bodies of 1000+ Squawks and Spikes still rot in no man’s land. It was their first time running into the new squad-level railguns. They fire 40% faster and easy enough to be moved by a couple of men. Their new ammo system hits like a bitch too. Tears through armor like it’s not even there. 1st Cohort is spending its time building a final fallback defensive line. They’ve been using all the material left behind to build some wicked defenses and bunkers that’ll be a bitch to take out. Rumor has us falling back into the line as soon as it’s done.
If you haven’t figured it out yet, Squawks is our slang for the Scraasqok. They descended from some sort of bird-like creature. They kind of look like a Harpy Eagle where a pair of arms replaced the wings.
The Spikes are an alien species found on one of their planets that they then bio-engineered to make them bigger, faster, and meaner. I have no idea of their actual names and don’t care.
Damn things are around 3 meters tall with 4 legs and 4 arms. Their carapace is split into 3 pieces and covered in 10cm spikes all over the dorsal side of the thorax section. They slightly resemble an ant in that regard except they have alligator-like jaws and some nasty teeth.
One pair of arms ends in hands with opposable thumbs with short claws and the other 2 have a wicked, hook-like claw. I’ve seen them gut a man with one swipe.
At least they are fairly stupid and have really hurt them with ambushes but chances for that are getting fewer and fewer.
Unfortunately for us, their Squawk masters are damn smart. They’re about our height but much lighter, I guess they retain some of those hollow bones from back in the day. Doesn’t take much to cave their chest in, so they wear that power-assisted armor full-time on these heavier grav worlds.
Their pulse rifles don’t work any better than ours on this world. They have some weird kind of dart throwecrossbow thing but the range is only around 180 meters. And then, there are their blades. They are damn fond of using them and they are sharp. 1 meter long, split-blade sword that cuts through most body armor with little effort combined with their body armor.
By themselves, they’d never get within range to use those blades but using Spikes as meat shields lets it happen. .
Each attack costs them dearly but they can afford the losses. They keep pecking away at our defenses and we’ll lose a man here or there. Dead or wounded, doesn’t matter, they’re still out of the front line. Hell, it’s looking like by the time the fleet returns, we’ll all be dead. Surrender isn’t an option. No quarter offered, no quarter given. We know what the damn Squawks do to POWs and no way in hell I’m taking that route. So we just sit, watch, and wait for them to come or for our turn off the line.
Maybe when I go back they’ll be some good…
[The following was taken after Lance Sgt Collins stopped recording his personal log but it was accidentally left open. Names of speakers marked when known]
Unintelligible speech in the background
“They’re what? Fuck. Get em up and on the line” Lance Sgt Collins
8th (Unintelligible) been overrun and (Unintelligible) time. Unknown
“ Pull in the pickets and shorten the line on the left. It’s not good if they broke through on the left. We’ll need to consolidate in the center and still keep tied in with the 7th on the right. I want the men on the left redeployed at a 45-degree angle to the rear of the main line. Hopefully make it harder for those bastards to just roll us up.” Lance Sgt Collins
But (Unintelligible) it? Unknown
“ We’ll never make it until we push them back on their heels. And tell the men I’m going to try and get some fire support so stay in their damn holes.” Lance Sgt Collins
“HQ, HQ. Fire Mission. Coordinates 77-tango-8-9. Enemy has broken through the lines.” Lance Sgt Collins
“Aye Sir, thank you, Sir. Good Luck to all of us. “Lance Sgt Collins
Weapons fire, shouts, and explosions heard in the background
“Stay the fuck down, idiot. Want to get your head blown off by our own arty?” Lance Sgt Collins
(Unintelligible voice)

Weapons fire continues and explosions getting closer. Some kind of faint chittering noise.
Spikes! Unknown
“ The belly, you idiots. Shoot them in the belly! Headshots are a waste of ammo at this range.” Lance Sgt Collins

Chittering sounds much louder, Human sounding shouts, cussing, yelling and weak cries for help
“Hold the Line Marines! Show them that you don’t fuck with the Dead Rift Marines” Lance Sgt Collins
“ You, you, you, you and you 5 with me, Jackson take the wounded and whoever is left and beat feet towards the vehicles and back to base. We’ll hold them off.”
We should (Unintelligible ) together. Unknown
“ We’d never make it. We'll buy some time and join back up at the base.” Lance Sgt. Collins

“ You’re in charge until I get back Cpl now follow my damn orders” Lance Sgt. Collins
Do you (Unintelligible) this? Unknown
“ Naw, we’re fucked but it was the only way to get them moving. (Coarse laughter) Kenzin, get on that railgun.” Lance Sgt Collins
Aye, Sir Probably Pvt. Kenzin
Here They Come!
“Kenzin! Bring the Pain. Conway, Parker take the left, Jensen stay with Kenzin and that means you and me on the right Gonzales” Lance Sgt. Collins
Intense weapons fire, wordless shouts, loud chittering noise
“Come get some, you ugly fucks” Lance Sgt. Collins
Extremely loud chittering, high-pitched squeal
“Yeah, how you like th..” Lance Sgt Collins
Sound of ceramic shattering(?), human yell, loud chittering sound, gurgling noise, drumming sound.
Sarge is dead! Unknown
Shouts, screams and weapons fire diminish until only hear chittering.
- End Recording
“Please enter into the record that was taken from the personal recorder of a Lance Sgt. JT Collins, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA 9th of March, 2243- Lapita V
“Pvt. Paul Kenzin, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA 9th of March, 2243-
Pvt. Jack Parker, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA 9th of March, 2243-
Pvt. Billy Conway, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA 9th of March, 2243-
Pvt. Juan Gonzales, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA 9th of March, 2243-
Pvt. Jeremy Jensen, Dominion Marines, 4th Cohort, Dead Rift Legion. KIA 9th of March,2243-”
[ Source of Background Speech]
Captain Henderson asked the Recorder for the Galactic Council’s Board of Inquiry.
Captain Henderson walked to the stand where all the Council Members could see him.
“Honored Members of the Council and Guests, I present this posthumous piece of evidence along with the testimonies of survivors, from the ‘Siege of Echo Base’ as it is being called, the initial drop mission, and the later battles on the ground and in space once Admiral Zamug’s fleet returned with reinforcements.”
“Not a single member present, blames Admiral Zamug of the Krang’Zal for retreating in the face of a superior force, even with troops on the ground. Specifically Dominion Marines from Terra”
Captain Henderson slowly turned to look every Council member in the eye, or 2 of their eyes anyway in 5 instances, before speaking again.
“And unlike some ‘Civilian’ members of the Council and the Press, Do any of them see the actions of a Being committing suicide to avoid the consequences of his actions.”
“ It is the opinion of Terrans that Admiral Zamug’s death in the fighting above Lapita V happened while performing the duty of a superior officer to the Beings serving below them.”
“The Dominion of Terra and her Military high command, do not hold him responsible for the death of Terran Marines on the surface but we honor him for his sacrifice in the line of duty the Dominion’s Star of Valor, the highest honor possible for a non-Terran”
Captain Henderson stood up straight, nodded to the Krang’Zal delegation, and continued,
“We call for the exoneration of Admiral Zamug of the Krang’Zal for the actions at Lapita V and the restorations of his rights.”
“We deplore the charges of Specie Discrimination and Cowardice tainting his memory. Admiral Zamug did his duty as the Superior Officer to his subordinates.”

“Thank you for your time, Honored Council Members and Guests” Captain Henderson finished.
“Thank you for your testimony Captain Henderson, you may step down. But please approach the table” Chief Councilor Takalam of the Izirie said.
Captain Henderson approached the Chief Councilor, who covered his microphone. “Captain, I was curious why you included the rest of that last audio recording after the relevant information was shared.” The Chief Councilor asked
“ Well your Honor, it was for 3 reasons. For 1, the transcripts I shared were taken for use in a hearing of our own.” Captain Henderson started
Unable to contain his curiosity, Chief Councilor Takalam interrupted, “ What kind of hearing? Does it pertain to this case?”
“No, your Honor, it was to determine how to honor Lance Sergeant Collins and the other 5 Marines for their actions. When the Squawks, my apologies your Honor, Scraasqok were driven back and we could begin to retrieve our dead, The trench these 6 Marines held was filled with dead Spikes. We counted 52 dead either in the trench or near it.” Captain Henderson replied
“52 Spikes? Just 6 of them? That’s incredible. I remember facing those things when I was just a pup. Nasty things. “ Chief Councilor exclaimed. “And the other 2?”
“ We wanted to share another example of a Superior officer, or NCO in this case, doing their duty to their subordinates. Just like Lance Sgt Collins held his ground to let not only his men but 2 other Cohorts escape to base. He put their lives above his own.” the Captain explained
“And most of all, We wanted the rest of the Council to understand how Dominion Marines die, in case any of them gets any ideas to test us.” He replied with a wicked grin.
Author's note- I hope you enjoy the story. I feel a bit iffy about it since the first part was written sometime ago but wasn't sure where to go next so the second part was not originally intended to be part of the story. So not sure how well it actually fits together.
If you feel like it, I started a https://ko-fi.com/tomcarey#
As always, thank you