Piercing hooded

"You gotta know that there's an art to it, Ezra," Hitch said, cutting another piece of duct tape.
The sleeves of his weather-beaten coat were shoved all the way up his arms, to stop the fabric from falling over his knuckles while he was working, and goosebumps lined his skin. He was strapping a rubber chicken to the back of his truck, over the lens of the shattered backup camera, with the legs pointing down so that they hung a couple inches above the ground. There were dents in the hood from the crash last week, and scratches along the door from scraping into a curb. The chicken, hopefully, would keep him from breaking anything else.
"You can't go cheap," Hitch said. "The cheap rubber chickens only make noise when pressure lets go. That's no good. As soon as I back up into something, I want this chicken to be screaming like it’s in the depths of hell."
“Sure thing,” I said in a monotone, leaning against the side of the truck.
There were scrambled electronic parts piled in the back of the truck, the innards of a radio, a broken computer, tangled wires, a couple loose pairs of earbuds. He found the parts in alleyways or bummed them off his friends for a couple bucks or stole them from the vacation homes that were left empty for most of the year. Then he sold them for a profit at the scrapyard. Hitch had bounced between minimum-wage jobs for a while after high school, spending a couple months as a bagger at the grocery store or as a seasonal worker at the farm two hours down the highway. He'd never stuck with it. At the very least, the scrapyard got him enough money to eat and occasionally spend a night in a motel when he got tired of sleeping in his car.
Hitch pressed the last piece of tape in place and grinned up at me. "I've got something for you, duck."
The nickname came from when I’d broken my leg as a child and waddled around in a cast until it was healed. I hated it with a burning passion, and I glared at Hitch with the ease of twenty-one years of practice. He had a duck tattoo at the base of his thumb that he’d gotten in a back-alley shop as a teenager. He said that he’d gotten it to remind him of me, and the fact that I hated the nickname was just a bonus. It was shaky-lined, with an uneven face, but he loved it anyway.
The handle stuck when Hitch tried to open the door, a consequence of the rust collecting in the crevices of the car and running down the sides like blood from a cut. The car groaned when the door finally popped open, a metal against metal screech that had me flinching away. Hitch dug through the cluttered fast food containers in the passenger-side footwell, eventually coming up with a crinkly paper bag. He waved away the flies buzzing around the opening of the bag and held it out to me.
The last time Hitch had brought me food, I’d gotten food poisoning because he’d left it out in the midday sun for two days. The donut was squished slightly, and the icing was stuck to the bag. I still ate it, grimacing at the harsh citrus flavor. Taking Hitch’s food was an instinct engraved from the days when Dad had given us a can of kidney beans for dinner and Hitch had drank the juice, leaving the beans for me.
I rarely went hungry anymore, three mostly square meals a day and granola in my pockets just in case, but habits didn’t die easy.
These days, Hitch only brought me food when he wanted my help, like when he saw a place he wanted to hit but was worried about doing it alone.
I got in the car, like I always did.
We drove past the cluster of seafood-themed restaurants with chipped paint decks, the beachfront park where there were always shifty-eyed men sitting under the slide, the single room library where all the books had been water damaged in the flood last year. The change was quick as we drove across Main Street, heading closer to the beach. The roads were freshly paved, the concrete a smooth black except where the sun had already started to pick away at it. The three-story homes lining the sides of the street were crouched on elegant stilts, with space underneath for a car or three. Most of the garages were empty, with the lights off and curtains drawn in the house. Come summer, the streets would be swarming with tourists and vacationers, but until then, most of the buildings nearest to the beach were unoccupied.
Hitch stopped as the sun started to go down at a house that was leaning precariously out towards the beach, tilted ever so slightly, the edge of its foundation buried in the shifting sand of the beach. It certainly looked deserted, with an overgrown yard and blue paint peeling off the door in sheets.
Hitch took his hammer out of the backseat, hoisting it over his shoulder. It was two feet of solid metal with rags wrapped around the head to muffle the sound of the hits. Hitch squared up, bending his knees and holding the hammer like a baseball bat. Before he could swing, though, the door creaked open on its own, the hinges squeaking. The house beyond was dark enough that I could only make out general shapes, glimpsing the curve of a sofa to the left, what was maybe the shimmer of a chandelier on the other side.
Hitch lowered his hammer, looking vaguely disappointed that he didn’t get to use it. “That’s…weird as hell.”
“Maybe the deadbolt broke, maybe they forgot to lock it, it doesn’t matter,” I hissed, checking our surroundings for other people again. “Just hurry up and get inside before someone calls the cops.”
Hitch flicked the lightswitch on the wall, and the lights flickered on. They were dim, buzzing audibly and blinking off occasionally. The walls were plastered with contrasting swatches of wallpaper and splattered with random colors. There was neon orange behind the dining table, a galaxy swirl in the kitchen, and on the ceiling there was a repeating floral pattern covered in nametag stickers. Each of the stickers was filled out with The Erlking. Chandeliers hung in every room, three or four for each, and rubber ducks sat on every table. A miniature carousel sat in the corner along with a towering model rocket.
Sand was heaped on every surface, at least a couple inches everywhere. It was piled in the corners and stuck to the walls, and it covered the floor in a thick blanket. Our hesitant steps into the house left footprints clearly outlined in the sand.
Hitch took a cursory look around and headed immediately for the TV mounted on the wall. “Look out the windows and tell me if anyone is coming.”
I shook the sand out of the blinds and pulled them open, then had to brush sand off of the window before I could see anything.
Hitch was quick, practiced at finding and appropriating the things that were worth taking. He came back to me with an armful of electronics and chandeliers, dumping it at my feet before turning to head deeper into the house again.
There was a thump, somewhere upstairs, and then footsteps, slow and deliberate. Hitch froze at the threshold of the room, then ran for the door with me just ahead of him, sand flying out from under our feet.
My hand was almost brushing the doorknob, close enough that I could see the light from the streetlamp outside streaming in through the cracks in the door. My fingers touched the wood and it gave under my touch, becoming malleable and warm. I yelped, stumbling backwards, and the door started to melt. The paint ran down in thick drops, pooling at the bottom of the door, and the wood warped like metal being welded. The soft edges of the door ran into the walls until there was no sign of an exit ever being there.
“Well, well, well,” said a cultured voice with just an edge of snooty elitism. “What do we have here?”
The man was well over eight feet tall, with long black hair covering his eyes. He was wearing a yellow raincoat with holes cut out of the hood to accommodate the deer antlers jutting upwards from his head. There was sand settled on his shoulders and hovering around his head like a halo.
“Who the fuck are you?” Hitch said, inching towards a window.
He smiled, just a little bit, and his teeth shone in the dim light. “I am the Erlking.”
Hitch nodded, and seemed about to respond. I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him towards the window. I could feel sand in the wind roaring against my back as the Erlking growled in anger, the grains scraping harshly against my cheeks.
We were almost to the window when Hitch was ripped away from me, and I came to a startled halt. The sand had formed long grasping arms that pressed Hitch against the floral wallpaper. His wrists were held tight, and as I watched, a sandy hand wrapped around his mouth and forced its way between his teeth. He gagged, and sand trickled out of the corners of his mouth.
The Erlking strolled towards him, not seeming to be in any sort of rush. “You know, I’m not very fond of your yapping.”
He made an idle gesture and the sand wrapped around my ankles, tethering me in place.
“I yap all the time,” Hitch said. “Three-time olympic yapper, that’s me. Best to just let me go now and save yourself some trouble.”
The Erlking tapped a manicured nail against Hitch’s mouth, hard enough to hurt, judging by the way he flinched away. “But why would I ever let you go when I’ve gone to this much trouble to catch you and your sister? It’s so hard, these days, to find people that no one will miss.”
Hitch struggled against the sand, trying to escape and failing. “What do you want with us, then? You just said it, we’re nobody.”
“I’m fae, dear one,” the Erlking said. “I get my power from my followers. And I think that you two will make lovely additions to my flock.”

He flicked Hitch's nose and Hitch gasped. Feathers started to form on his arms, popping out from under his skin in a spray of blood.
Hitch pushed off the wall, using his bound hands as a fulcrum, and his knees crashed into the Erlking’s stomach. The Erlking fell backwards, wheezing, and the sand around my ankles loosened.
Hitch made desperate eye contact with me as feathers shot up his neck and jerked his head towards the window. The message was obvious. Run.
The last thing I saw before crashing out the window and into freedom was Hitch’s body twisting, his arms wrenching into wings and feathers covering every inch of his skin. By the time I landed on the concrete outside, he was a small black bird, held tightly in the Erlking’s hands. The whole building was sinking into the ground, burnished-gold sand piling up over top and streaming from the windows.
Thirty years later, I saw Sam’s Supernatural Consultation and Neutralization written in neat, looping handwriting on a piece of paper taped to the door. The tape was peeling at the corners and the paper was yellowed with age, but there was obviously care put into the sign, in its perfectly centered text and looping floral designs drawn over the edges in gold marker.
I knocked, hesitantly, drawing my woolen coat closer around my shoulders. I’d bought it as a fiftieth birthday gift for myself, and I took comfort in the heavy weight of it over my shoulders.
“Coming!” someone called from within the depths of the office.
There were a couple crashes, and the sound of paper shuffling. Eventually, the door was opened by a young woman with ketchup stains on her shirt and pencils stuck through her hair.
“Hi, I’m Sam, I specialize in supernatural consultation and hunting, how may I help you today?” Sam said, customer-service pep in her voice. She stood in the doorway, solidly blocking entry into the office.
“My name is Ezra, I’m for a consultation. I emailed you but you didn’t respond?” I shifted in place, suddenly feeling awkward.
“Oh! Yeah, I lost the password for the email ages ago. Sorry for the bad welcome, I get lots of people thinking I’m crazy or pulling a prank and harassing me.”
She ushered me into the office, clearing papers off one of the chairs to make room for me to sit down. There was a collection of swords along one wall, all of them polished to perfection, several with deep knicks in the metal which indicated that they’d been used heavily.
“So what can I help you with?” Sam asked again, more sincere this time.
“Thirty years ago, my brother was turned into a bird,” I started. I’d told this story so many times that it barely felt ridiculous to say anymore. I was used to the disbelieving looks, the careful pity. But Sam just nodded along, face open and welcoming.
“I’ve almost given up on finding him, at this point,” I said. “But I saw your ad in the newspaper, and…here I am, I suppose.”
“Here you are,” Sam echoed, smiling. She pulled one of the pencils out of her hair and took a bit of paperwork off of one of her stacks, turning it over so that the blank side sat neatly in front of her. “Tell me everything.”
I told Sam everything, and she wrote it all down, pencil scratching along the paper.
The last part of the story was always the hardest to tell. “I left him there. I ran and I didn’t look back.”
I had been to dozens of detectives and investigators over the years, once the police had dropped Hitch’s case. I’d been to professional offices with smartly-dressed secretaries and met scraggly men in coffee shops. All of them had given me the same look, pity and annoyance all mixed up into a humor-the-crazy-lady soup. Sam, though, just seemed thoughtful.
Sam leaned forward and put a hand over mine, carefully, like she thought that I would pull away. “Sometimes you have to leave people behind.”
I tightened her hold on Sam’s hand and drew it towards me, like I could make Sam listen if only I squeezed tight enough. “But that’s why I’m here. I don’t want to leave him behind.”
“Okay then. I’ll do my best to help you.” Sam agreed, finally. Then she paused, and said softly, “You know…I think I met your brother once. He might have saved my life. He’s certainly why I started in this business.”
“Really? What happened?” I asked.
This is the story that Sam told me, related to the best of my abilities:
It was a new moon, so the only illumination came from the stars gazing idly down and distant porch lights shining across the scraggly brush of the dunes. Sam’s neighbors were decent people who cared about baby turtles, so the lights were a low, unobtrusive red, and the ocean sloshed like blood. Sam walked on the beach almost every night, drawing back the gauzy pink curtains and clambering out her bedroom window. She didn’t often bother to be quiet; her mama worked the late shift and came home exhausted. As long as Sam got home before the sun, her mama would never find out that she paced the shoreline and dreamed of inhaling sand until her lungs became their own beach.
The sky was lightening. The sun would come up soon, and that meant Sam’s time on the beach was over. She needed to get back to her real life, go to her fifth grade class and stop that nonsense, as her mother would say. Her mother loved to say things like that, pushing Sam into her proper place by implication alone.
“She’s a good kid, of course, but she’s a bit…” Her mother would trail off there, usually getting a commiserating expression from whoever she was talking to. Sam always wondered how that sentence would have finished. She’s a bit strange, maybe. She’s a bit intense. She’s a bit abrasive. She’s quiet enough but when Jason tried to steal her pencil in math class, she stabbed him in the hand so hard that the lead tattooed him.
Her mother was better, for the most part. The days of her stocking up the fridge, and leaving a post-it note on the counter, and leaving for days at a time were gone. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen tile where her mother had collapsed and caved her head in, even though the bloodstains had been replaced with new tile.
“Your auntie got an abortion, you know,” her mother had said from her place on the couch, slurring her words. “Pill in the mail and then bam, no more baby.”
She had clapped her hands together to illustrate her point. Her mother jerked forward and grabbed Sam by the wrist, then, staring up at her until Sam met her eyes.
“I love you, you know? But sometimes I wonder…” She settled back onto the couch. “Yeah. I wonder.”
She’d gotten up, then, back to the kitchen. She’d been stumbling, a shambling zombie of a woman. The ground in the entryway of the kitchen was raised, ever so slightly, and her mother went down hard. Her head cracked against the tile, chin first, and she didn’t move.
Sam had been the one to call the ambulance. She had stared at the scattering of loose teeth on the ground while she waited, and considered what her life would be like with a dead mom. Not so bad, she thought, and immediately felt guilty for it.
Her mom was better, now, for the most part. But Sam still stepped around the place on the kitchen floor where she had collapsed. There was still a matchbox hidden under her bed with the gleaming shine of her mother’s lost teeth, two canines and a molar. It was nice, having a piece of her mom to keep. Even if she left again, Sam would still have part of her.
Sam sighed, and turned away from the ocean. As she faced towards the low dunes further up the beach, she saw a sandcastle sitting nestled among them. It was such a strange sight that her eyes skipped over it at first, almost automatically, disregarding it because it was so out of place.
Sam found sandcastles out on the beach sometimes, usually half-collapsed and on the verge of being washed away by the waves, but she had never seen anything like the sandcastle in front of her. It was life-sized, something that wouldn’t have looked out of place in the Scottish highlands, with spires shooting up above her head and carefully etched out bricks lining each side. The front wall was dominated by an arched set of double doors, twice her height, with a portcullis nestled at the top, ready to be dropped. All of it was lovingly detailed, down to the rust on the tips of the towers and the wood grain of the door. It was made out of wet, densely-packed sand, held together impossibly. It had not been there two hours ago, when she had come to the beach.
There was a bird sitting on the overhang of the door, small and black.
As soon as she took a step towards the sandcastle, the bird shook out its feathers and swooped down towards Sam, landing at her feet with a little stumble.
“Hey, kid, get out of here,” said the bird.
Sam closed her eyes, very deliberately. When she opened them, the bird was still there. Sam considered herself a very reasonable person, so she immediately drew the most logical conclusion. The bird was, she was almost certain, a demon.
“Trust me, you don’t want to run into Mr. Salty, the queen bitch himself,” the bird said.
“Mr. Salty?” Sam inquired, polite as she knew how to be. She edged to the side, trying to get a good angle to kick the bird like a soccer ball.
The bird did something similar to a wince, all its feathers fluffing up then settling back down. “Ah, don’t call him that. He’d turn you into a toad.”
The bird gestured with its head, towards the looming sand structure. “That’s his castle. He’s in there, probably scuttling along the ceiling or some shit because that’s the sort of weirdo he is.”
Sam nodded, encouraging. She pulled back her foot and lined up her shot, the way she’d seen athletes do on TV. She aimed right for its sharp beak and let loose. The bird saw it coming, its beady eyes widening, and it cawed in distress. It flapped away, avoiding her kick only to fall backward into the sand in a scramble of wings.
“What’s your fucking problem?” it squawked. “I was trying to help you!”
“I don’t need the help of a demon,” Sam yelled, trying to remember the exorcism that her mama had taught her once, because her mama believed in being prepared for anything.
“I’m not a demon,” the bird said indignantly.
It was at about that moment that Sam gave up and just decided to roll with it.
“What are you, then?” Sam asked.
The bird shuffled its clawed feet, looking about as awkward as it could, given that it didn’t really have recognizable facial expressions. “Technically I’m a familiar of the Erlking, prince of the fae, but I prefer to be called Hitch.”
“You can’t blame me for assuming, though,” Sam said. “Ravens do tend to be associated with murder.”
“Hey, excuse you,” Hitch said. “I’m a rook, not a raven. Ravens are way bigger.”
“Sure,” Sam said, not really paying attention. Her eyes had caught on the details of the sandcastle, and she was transfixed by the slow spirals of the sand, the strange beauty of it. She found herself stepping towards the great doors, lifting a hand to knock, and as she did, the sand warped in front of her eyes, heaving itself towards her with bulging slowness. The door creaked open before her, revealing a vast, empty room. Just before she stepped inside, she felt a piercing pain in her foot, and she yelped, leaping backwards.
Hitch pecked her again, really digging his beak in. “Don’t be an idiot.”
Sam glared at him, rubbing her foot. About to retort, she finally really took in the room inside the sandcastle, and her words died in her throat.
There was a body just past the threshold of the door, face down and limbs hanging limp at its sides. Long hair splayed out in a halo around its head.
“Don’t,” Hitch warned, suddenly serious. “Just leave, kid, I mean it. I’ve seen too many people go down this road and you don’t want to be one of them.”
Sam ignored him. She made her way across the beach, slipping with every step. The sand felt deeper, piling up around her feet in silent drifts. She picked up the nearest stick and poked the body with it through the door, ready to leap back if anything went wrong, staying firmly outside of the sandcastle.
This close, Sam could tell that it used to be a woman. Her head wasn’t attached to her body. It hadn’t been a clean amputation, either. Her upper body was bruised, with chunks taken out of it, and the bones in her neck hung mangled, not connected to anything.
“Well, I warned you,” Hitch said, defeated. “I did warn you.”
Sam nudged the head with the end of the stick, nudging it over so that she could see the face. Her mother stared back at her, torn to pieces, breath still wheezing from her lungs. She wasn’t blinking, just gazing forward with glazed eyes. Sweat dripped down from her hairline.
Sam screamed and dropped the stick, tripping over herself in her haste to get away.
Her mother’s eyes were wide and pleading, and she was mouthing desperate words at Sam. Her vocal cords were broken to bits, and the only sound that came out was a strained groan.
The head rolled, inching closer to Sam like a grotesque caterpillar.
Her mother gasped for air, torn lips fluttering. Finally, comprehensible words came out. “Help. Help me, daughter.”
“That’s not your mother,” Hitch said, quiet.
Sam knew that. Her mother was sleeping back at home, and anyways her mom had never asked for her help. She had an aversion to accepting charity, as she put it.
“Okay,” Sam said, shaking all over. “Okay.”
She backed away from the sandcastle, not looking away.
“Failure,” her mother hissed as she stepped away. “I never wanted a daughter like you.”
The sun came up over the horizon. The sandcastle, Hitch, and her mom all disintegrated into sand as the light hit them.
The beach, the next night, was almost exactly how I remembered it. The beams of our flashlights sent light bouncing across the dunes, illuminating the waves, and I imagined faces in the foam of the waves.
“I’ve been back here a hundred times. There’s nothing left,” I said.
Sam took the car key out of her purse and pointed it at the sand, adjusting the sword slung over her shoulder in order to do it. The key had belonged to Hitch; Sam had requested an item of his, and it was the only thing I had left. She rested the key on the sand and drew a circle around it, inscribing symbols around the borders.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Sam shrugged. “Not much, really. I’m…I guess you could say that I’m knocking.”
The key laid inert on the sand for long enough that I was just about to give up and go home, admit to myself that Hitch was dead and that I was a fool to believe that Sam could actually help me. Then a building started to take shape, flickering in and out like it was struggling to get away. With a pop of displaced air, the sandcastle settled into existence.
Sam banged on the entryway. Nothing happened. She did it again, harder, and scowled when the door still didn’t open.
“We demand entrance, under your honor,” Sam yelled. There was a hard rush of wind, and I gripped Sam’s arm to keep my balance, but the doors cracked open reluctantly.
The inside of the sandcastle consisted of one enormous hall, the roof arching up out of sight. Rafters crisscrossed from wall to wall, and a cobbled path led further into the building, but other than that, it was completely empty, except for the birds. There were thousands of them, perched on the rafters or hopping along the ground. They parted in front of Sam and I, and reformed behind us, leaving us in a small pocket of open space. They were all black-feathered, with sharp beaks and beady eyes.
The Erlking sat on a throne at the end of the hall, lounging across it with his feet up on the armrest. He watched them as they came forward, the soft caw of the birds the only sound.
“I am here to bargain for the life of my brother,” I said, with as much dignity as I could muster, before the Erlking could say anything.
The Erlking ignored her, tilting his head to look at Sam. “I remember you. I almost got you, once.”

Sam glared at him but didn’t respond.
“You want your brother,” The Erlking said to me, and he almost sounded amused. “Then go get him.”
As if by some sort of silent signal, every bird in the room took flight at once, and their cawing made me think of screams. I covered my head against the flapping of their wings, and my vision was quickly obscured by the chaotic movement of them. I found myself on my knees, just trying to escape them.
A hand met my shoulder. Sam urged me to my feet, and together we ran for the edge of the room, where the swarm was the thinnest. We pressed ourselves into the corner and the swarm spiraled tighter and tighter at the center of the room. It went on until there seemed to be no differentiation between the birds, all of them fused together into one creature.
When the chaos died down, the birds had become one mass, with wings and eyes and talons sticking out of its flesh, thrashing and chirping. Human body parts stuck out of it, bulging out from the feathers. It was hands, mostly, with a couple knees or staring eyes. The bird amalgamation had no recognizable facial features, but there was one long beak extending from the front of its head. Most of the body parts were concentrated around the beak, and they peeked out from where the beak connected with muscle, or grew from the tongue, nestled between the two crushing halves of the beak.
It turned its beak down and crawled forward, using the hands to balance. The fingers scrambled over the ground. I was afraid of centipedes as a child, and I felt that same crawling dread when it started moving.
“Holy shit,” Sam whispered, which was rather disappointing, because I had been hoping that at least one of us knew what to do.
The creature turned, a lurching movement that crushed some of the hands underneath it, and started heaving itself slowly towards our corner.
“Better hurry up!” the Erlking called from his throne.
It was blocking the exit, by then. The shifting body of it had moved to block us off. It ambled towards us and I tried to sink further into the corner.
As it approached, getting close enough that I could smell the stink of it, I saw a flash of a tattoo on one of the hands. I leaned in, trying to find it again, like looking for dolphins surfacing in the ocean. And again, I caught a glimpse of a duck tattoo, the tattoo that Hitch had gotten on his hand as a teenager.
I ripped away from Sam’s death grip and ran for the monster.
I fell to my knees in front of it, wincing as I impacted the ground, and reached into the nest of hands. I could feel them tearing at my forearms and ripping into me with their sharp nails, but I kept going. I pressed further in, up to my shoulder in a writhing mass of limbs, aiming for the spot where I had last seen that tattoo.
The hands were tugging at me, wrapping around my back and hair. They were pulling together, trying to draw me completely into the mass of them. I was aware of Sam at my side, anchoring me in place and bashing any hand that got too close with her sword or the sparks that leapt from her hands with muttered words. But I didn’t think it would be enough. They were too strong, and there were too many of them.
I was up to my waist in the hands when something grabbed my palm. I felt the way it clung to me, and the calluses on its palm, and I knew that I had found my brother.
I flung herself back. The hands didn’t want to let me go, and they fought the whole way, but slowly, I made progress. I kept hold of Hitch’s hand in mine the whole time, gripping it as hard as I could. I finally broke free, Hitch with me, and Sam was immediately charging the creature, able to use her sword with much greater strength without being worried about injuring Hitch. She swung it forward, and it sliced through the wrist of one of the hands. It fell without a sound, red sand flowing out of it. It deflated until it looked like dirty laundry, just a piece of limp flesh. The creature shrieked, scuttling away enough that the door was finally accessible. The three of us ran for it, Sam and I supporting Hitch between us.
I looked back as I left and found the Erlking staring right at me.
“Interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying impossibly across the vast space between us.
The sandcastle collapsed behind us, the great walls falling in on themselves. We were out in the morning sun, the sandcastle disappearing as we watched. Hitch was on the ground in front of me, as young as he’d been thirty years ago, when he was captured. He started laughing, feathers puffing out of his mouth. He laughed until he cried and I hugged him in the way that he’d held me when I was young, in the times when my life had been defined by hunger and fear.
Hitch left, afterwards. He scratched at the pinhole scars covering his body, where feathers burst through his skin, and pulled his long sleeves down around his wrists. He didn’t know where he was going but he told me that he needed time
I had spent thirty years worth of time without him. I wanted to grab my brother by the shoulders and beg him to stay. But he flinched when I hugged him goodbye and he refused to go near sand and he stared distrustfully at the birds chirping in the trees. Hitch needed to go away and I loved him too much to stop him.
I sat out on the beach every morning. I felt the sun on my face and I waited for Hitch to come home.

Mischief walks up to the blue crystal clock. She spins the the big hand with her magic and the little hand lands of three. A blue flame is lit. Mischief walks away into the darkness; the light from the blue clock making her look like a silhouette.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KuZbmLLv1vM

A bead of sweat falls down Mischief head. Her hair on the ground and her back up august the wall. Mischief had been doing a headstand for the last thirty minutes. In her mind, doing this action once a week was a good way to keep her blood flowing and strength high. Sun walked outside and saw Mischief up august the wall. 

“Are you gonna stand there all day”, Sun asks, holding a peach in his hand.
“You should try it”, Mischief said under the pressure. She uses her feet to push off the rock and picks herself up. “It helps with strength endurance and it help you think.”
“Hard pass”, Sun says, biting the peach. “You know I’m not good with my arms.” Mischief smirks and says, “That’s not what I heard from Ne Zha~” Sun stopped walking and almost chocked on the chunk of peach in his mouth. He looked over at Mischief and said in embarrassment, “Could you not bring Him up?”
“Why? What’s the problem”, Mischief teased. “Oh right, you still like him.” Mischief laughs and then says, “After a millennia and you still haven't told him?” Mischief continues to laugh while Sun burns a bright red and shouts, “Can you shut up?!” Sun starts to hit Mischief head and she still laughs.
“Okay, Okay, I’ll stop”, Mischief says. Sun stops laughing and crosses his arms in annoyance. “Go train Mk. I’ll see you in a bit.” Sun walks out to the training dojo. Mischief smiles but then holds her head in pain with both of her hands. She keeps her eyes shut and feels herself being surrounded by darkness. Even when her eyes where shut, she could see a being covered in a moon themed cloak.
“No…! Why are you here?!” The being looks back; her eyes glowing a light blue. She turns and starts to walk over to Mischief. Mischief raises her hand and cast a spell, but the being covered in the moon cloak faces Mischief.
I am you, as you are me.
We are two become one.
Mischief opens her eyes once the pain subsides and sees that the world around her is normal. She looks around to see if anybody else is there. No one. Mischief looks at her hands and sees then shaking with fear.
“No…. not this night…! Please, not this night….!” Mischief walked back into the house and looked around for a quill and scroll.

Mischief walks back outside to see Mk and Sun training. She sits under a shady area near the entrance to the waterfall. Mk jumps back and lands on the mountains wall. She pushes himself off and charges at Sun from above. Sun smirks and jumps directly up while Mk crashed to the ground. 

“Missed me again”, Sun said. He picks up Mk with his tail and asks, “Now how did I win?”
“Misdirection”, Mk guesses.
“Correct”, Sun says.
“That seams like a shady lesson”, Mischief yells.
“Too soon sis.” Mk chuckles a bit.
“I’m just saying the truth”, Mischief says. She walks over and whispers, “And I bet Ne Zha would say the same thing if he was here.” Sun gets an annoyed look on his face and says, “Whatever. And plus, I was always better at fighting than you.”
“Oh really?”
“Wait a second”, Mk interrupted, “You two have fought before?”
“Yeah. But it was for training purposes”, Sun says.
“Now that you mention it, we haven't trained in a while”, Mischief says. “What do you say, but brother?” Sun smirks and says, “Your on.”

Mischief and Sun get into their fighting positions on each side of the training ground. Mk sits on the stairs in anticipation. 

“Not using your weapon sis?”
“I don’t need it”, Mischief said with a smirk on her face. Sun chuckles under his breath and says, “Your done if I land this.” Sun charges to Mischief at full speed. Mischief closes her eyes and smirks. She moves out of the way and pushes her brother to the wall. Sun blinks a few times in confusion and looks back to sees Mischief untouched.
“I’m waiting.” Sun runs over to Mischief and tried to hit her multiple times but each time, Mischief blocks his attacks over and over. “Wow, brother. Your getting rusty.”
“I’ll show you rusty”, Sun exclaims. He jumps back and starts to attack with his legs.
“Not really effective!” Mischief takes Sun’s leg and pins him down with her foot. “Moon: 1. Sun: 0. I win again.”
“Mischief, let me up”, Sun says. Mischief moved her foot off of Sun’s back and says, “I thought you fought celestial beings bigger than me. You sure your not getting rusty?”
“He’s not”, Mk says. “He beat Demon Bull King, Spider Queen, and More! He’s strong enough to fight the Jade Emperor!” Mischief could hear her thoughts snap in half. She chuckles to herself in annoyance and says under her breath, “Yeah…. Sure…” Mischief then holds her head in pain.
“Mischief, are you okay”, Sun asks. He holds her shoulders.
“I’m fine”, Mischief says. “It’s just a headache. And I don’t think I’ll be able to train Mk tonight.”
“It’s okay”, Mk says. “Plus, I promised Mei I would help her fix her bike”
“Thank you, Mk.”

The full moon shines from above the mountain; its rays passing the peek of the mountain. A being covered in a night themed cloak looks down on the city below. She turns back and jumps backward. She closes her eyes and summoned a portal under her. The portal was covered in shadows and it’s magic was a dark blue. The being fell thought the portal and landed on a roof with grace and elegance. She looks back and sees the lights on in each building from each block ahead. 

“Now… where are you?”

Mk walks down the street of the city. He was walking home from Mei’s bike shop and he was hoping to get some well needed rest. 

“This is the last time I stay out this late”, Mk thinks to himself. He looks up and sees a being silhouetted bu the light of the moon. “Who is that?” Mk squints his eyes and sees the being crying up at the moon. “Are they crying?” Before Mk could call to the person, they jumped to the next roof and vanish into the night. Mk runs to the end of the block but doesn’t see the being.
“That person….. Why where they crying?”

“I’m sorry, say that again?” 

“I saw a person last night”, Mk explains. “It looked like they where crying.” Mischief stopped in her tracks and hides behind the house. She looks to her right and back down to the floor.
“H-How, the, Hell, did he see me”, Mischief thought with worry, panicking in her mind. Her racing thoughts coming to a halt. Mischief touched her broach and thought, “He was with Mei that night. He must have been walking home when he saw me.” Mischief lied the back of her head on the house wall and says, “Damn you, Moon Maiden…!” Mischief sighs and thinks, “There’s no way I can control her at this rate.” Mischief walks back to the front and sees Mk and Sun walking to the top of the mountain.
“Where are you two going?”
“We’re going to train at the top of the mountain”, Sun says. “Wanna come?”
“Sorry, not this time”, Mischief says. “I still have a bit of a headache.”
“Oh… does that mean no training tonight either”, Mk asks.
“I’m sorry, Mk”, Mischief says.
“It’s alright. Take care of yourself. We can train when you feel better.” Mischief smiles. She then remembered how her mentor from years past was so understanding. She saw a lot of them in Mk. “Well see you later.” Mk and Sun walked up the path to the top of the mountain. Mischief looks off to the side is sadness. She hated lying to Mk and her brother, but she had to protect them at all cost. She could risk to lose them like she lost…… her….
Mischief sits on a rock near the edge of the cliff and looks up at the sky. It had almost been a month since she had been away from the celestial realm: her home. She wondered if the cheetah twins had been playing in the celestial forest around this time. She touches her broach and says, “I miss you, mother…..” Pink magic flew around Mischief and a scroll appeared. Mischief catches the scroll and looks at the wax seal. “This is Ne Zha’s crest.” Mischief opens the scroll and a necklace rolls into her lap. She looks at the necklace and then read the scroll as follows:
Mischief,

**It’s good to hear from you again. I heard from your mother that you moved to earth. I hope Sun hasn’t been giving you too much of a headache. I did some research on what you told me about and it lead me to this necklace. And I also found out that the reason your alter ego is coming out on her own is because she hasn’t been bound. One of your ancestors had the same problem and they had a solution. The necklace I set you is called the moon of Apithaea. It has the power to control your alter ego’s rage. It might help you. I hope you get a hendel on your powers.** 

Could you tell sun I said hi?
-Ne Zha
Mischief chuckles and says, “Looks like Ne Zha hasn’t changed one bit. Still the same helpful prince I know.” She smirks. “And his interest in Sun hasn’t left at all.” Mischief looks at the necklace and then placed it around her neck. “Thank you, Lotus.”

Mk and Sun fight along the mountain Plato. However, Mk couldn’t couldn’t really concentrate. He was worried about Mischief, and he was thinking about the person he saw the other night. Mk was so distracted that he didn’t realize that he had left an opening for Sun to hit him. Sun stops his attack midway. 

“You got distracted.” Mk lowers his staff and shudders, “S-Sorry.”
“Are you okay? You seam distracted”, Sun points out.
“I’m worried about Mischief”, Mk says. Sun looked at Mk and the to the side of him, thinking of how to help Mk. she smiles and says, “Kid, follow me. I wanna show you something.”
“What is it?” Sun taps on the ground and a hatch opens. “Now way! How long had this been here?”
“A long time”, Sun says. He jumps and and says, “Come on!” Mk jumps down the hole and lands in a cavern like cave.
“Whoa…. Had this always been down here”, Mk asks.
“Yup”, Sun says. Mk looks ahead and sees a crystal floating above a pedestal; it’s light casting along the floor. Mk walks up to the crystal and asks, “What is this?”
“This is the crystal of the sun”, Sun explains. “This crystal has protected this mountain for a very long time. It was made over three millennia ago.”
“It’s amazing.” Mk takes a closer look at and then gets a vision.
Mischief looks back at someone; her face angry and upset.
She says something but her words are distorted and scrambled.
“She was your mentor!”
Mk blinks a few times and moves his hand away from the crystal. Sun notice Mk’s discomfort and asks, “Are you okay?”
“Huh? Oh, I’m fine”, Mk reassures Sun.
“If you say so.” Sun says.
“Hey, Monkie King? Can I ask you something?”

Mk and Sun walk along the roof of a building. 

“Are you sure the person you saw the other night is gonna be here”, sun asked.
“I’m sure of it”, Mk says. The two look around. Mk looks to the north and sees the same person from the other night. “Hey!” Sun looks over to see Mk running over to the hooded person.
“Mk, wait!”
“Um. Excuse me?” The hooded figure looks back; her eyes covered in shadows. “I noticed you the other night and I wanted to meet you.” The hooded figure looks at Mk for a second.
“MK…..?”
“You know who I am?” Sun takes a closer look at the hooded woman and gains a surprised look on his face.
“Mischief?” The being blinks a few times and then says, “I’m sorry. I don’t know anyone by that name.” She tries to walk away, but Sun holds her by the solder which makes Mischief’s necklace break off. The necklace falls to the ground and Mischief’s head hands low.
“Mischief? Are you okay”, Sun asks. Mischief looks back with her glowing eyes piercing Sun’s soul from within. Sun could feel a chill go up his spine. “Um, Mischief?” Mischief rushes back and attacks Sun. “Sis! Stop! What are you doing?!”
“Anyone who get’s in my way will be destroyed”, She yells. Sun whips around and holds his sister down with all the strength he has within him.
“Mk, get the necklace”, he shouts. Mk looks over and sees the necklace. He runs over and picks it up. Mischief looks over in panic and rage.
“No!” She breaks free from her brothers hold and rushes over to Mk and holds him by his collar. Sun tries to rush over to Mischief, but she puts of a barrier. She looks up at Mk and says, “I will not be locked up like a prisoner!”
“What? I don’t get it. Who are you”, Mk asks, struggling to break free. Mischief chuckles to herself, looks up at Mk and says, “So she didn’t tell you? Your her apprentice. Surely you can tell the difference.”
“What?”
“You don’t know? I am–!” Before she could finish her sentence, A ghostly rendition of Mischief, the real Mischief, Holds back her own body. Mk falls to the ground and looks up to see the scene taking place before him.
“Mischief?”
“Mk, I’m sorry”, Mischief exclaims. “I got you and my brother rapped up in this!” Sun runs over and helps up Mk.
“Mischief, who is this”, Mk asks.
“Moon Maiden”, Mischief answers, struggling to hold her back. “She’s my alter ego. I can’t control her without the necklace! Get it!” Sun and Mk run over to the necklace. “You have gone out of control for the last time! You going back where you belong!” Moon maiden holds Mischief by her neck and says, You really think you can control me?! I am half of you that lingers in your shadow! The dark side of light! You can’t escape me, Mischief Wukong!” Mischief puts her hand on Moon Maiden’s arm and says, “No…”
“What?”
“Your right. You are part of me. But you are nothing but an alter ego! I have been through hell and back! I have lost my way over and over, but I never gave up! I have kept you back for over two damn millennia, and I’m not stopping now”, Mischief shouts, felling herself gaining power. Mischief breaks free and holds Moon Maiden with her magic. “NOW!” Mk and Sun put the necklace on Moon Maiden. Mischief lies up and forces herself back into her body. Mischief looks in the darkness and faces her alter ego. “I know you are part of me, and it’s time to make peace with the past”, Mischief says. She puts out her hand to her alter ego. “And I want you to face it with me. If you allow me to.” Moon Maiden looks down and says, “Then I guess we really are one in the same.” She takes Mischief hand.
“We are two become one. The shadow of the sun.”

Mischief gains breath and she holds herself up. 

“M, are you okay”, Sun asks.
“I’m alright”, Mischief says.

“Alter ego, Huh? That’s a new one”, Sun says. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about her before”, Mischief says. “I though I could control her on my own, but I can’t even do that right.”
“Mischief, you can talk to us”, Mk says. “We’re here for you.” Mischief looks at both Mk and Sun and says, “You know, I think me coming down here was a blessing in disguise. I’m glad you two are here with me.” The trio smiles.

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.

Dolores the Agonized grew up in a cult dedicated to Loviatar, Goddess of Pain and Agony.
She is roughly 5'11" tall, with a slender figure. She has long black hair that she usually wears in a bun. Her eyes are an icy, piercing blue, with a scar across her left eye. Her skin is pale, though her body is covered in old scars, particularly her back. She has multiple piercings, both in her ears and face (eyebrows, nose, lips, etc.), though I haven't quite decided exactly where the piercings are.
Dolores wears a set of black robes with a hood. The robes and hood have a silver trim, and the chest has a silver cat-o-nine-tails embroidered onto it, complete with red embellishments to resemble drops of blood. Dolores carries a cat-o-nine-tails herself, which she uses both in combat and to self-flagellate as part of her rituals.

When I was looking through the finished chapter folder today, one was missing, and I got worried that I deleted it on accident. Turns out it was at the top of the folder instead of the bottom, because I put a space in the title that wasn't supposed to be there. So, crisis averted, I guess.
Many thanks to u/SpacePaladin15 for the universe.
Enjoy.
Prev - First - Next
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Chapter 14: Hydrophobic
- Memory Transcription Subject: Meba, Venlil Computer Scientist
Date [Standardized Human Time]: October 20th, 2136
It was comfy.
I wasn’t sure about the whole ‘scarf’ thing, but after finishing it, and putting it on, I actually liked it quite a bit. Finishing it wasn’t even hard, all I had to do was bring the end of the yarn through the last loop and weave in the end, which was a breeze with a little help from Arlene.
She helped me put it on. Apparently, there was a nearly infinite number of ways to wear the garment. Anything from braids, to knots, to wraps, to simply dangling from the neck. It was truly amazing how many ways humans managed to use a simple strip of fabric.
She showed me several different ways to tie it. First only draping it around my neck, then showing me how to do the ‘once around’, next tying a ‘Parisian’ knot, and finally showing me a braided one that was really just a modified version of the Parisian, where instead of bringing both ends through the loop, you only put one through, and then give it a half turn, put the other end in, and repeat until the ends are completely integrated into the braid.
Arlene made a weird squealing noise. “Okay hold on, I need to take a picture of this.” She pulled out her phone and took shots of me from several angles, even pulling the camera right up to my snout at one point, and causing me to flinch.
She turned the phone around to reveal an extremely distorted, and equally unflattering close up of my face. “Everybody loves a fish eye filter.”
I didn’t know what to say. The disrespect was palpable.
“Oh, let me show you a trick.” She undid the braid, taking the scarf and wrapping it around front to back, and bringing the ends back around and down through the loop at the front. Then she took the back part, and brought it over the back of my head in a hood, having a bit of trouble getting it past my wool, and pressing my ears down towards the front of my face. I liked the Parisian better.
“This is really uncomfortable.” My voice sounded muffled with the hood flattening my ears.
“Okay, okay. Just let me get one picture.” She pointed the phone at me again.
Once she was done with her ‘photoshoot’, I took off the scarf. “Is this really that enjoyable for you?”
“Extremely. You have no idea how cute this is. I’ll make one with ear holes for you so you can wear the hood comfortably next time.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever need that much insulation.”
“You never know. What if you go to the night for some reason?”
“Despite my heritage, I don’t have much of a thing for freezing temperatures.”
“Well, it’s up to you. Do you like it?”
I folded up the scarf and put it into my bag. “It’s comfy. Like a hug.”
She smiled. “It looks good on you too.”
My tail wagged of its own accord. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Hold on, let’s get one more picture.” She pulled out her phone again, and crouched next to me to match my height, pointing the camera towards us both. “Smile!”
Flustered, I struggled to make the foreign expression. Arlene put her arm around my shoulder, and took the picture.
“There we go, Dad’s gonna get a kick out of that… once I actually get a way to send it to him.” She tapped away at the screen for a moment. “How much time do we have before we need to leave for dinner?”
“A quarter claw or so.”
“Okay, perfect. Since we have some time…” She smiled. “You wanna learn how to spin thread?”
“Sure.”
Her smile deepened. “Okay okay, come on, let me show you how.” She nearly sprinted over to the spinning wheel.
I followed, though not nearly as eager.
“Sit down.” She ordered, bringing up a chair next to the contraption.
I obliged. Arlene loomed over me, looking even larger while I sat in the wooden seat. A pointless shiver went up my spine.
She brought a little bag of rolags next to the wheel, placing it on the ground, then turning to the wheel.
“It’s already set up, but I’ll redo it so you can see how.” She removed the bobbin from its spot. “Before you start, you need a bit of yarn to start off, so you can attach the new fibers to it.” She tied a loop in the end of the yarn, and slotted the bobbin back in with a clack. “It goes in like this. Then we set the tension, which is how much the bobbin will pull on your side of the yarn. You change it using this little knob down here.” She twisted the knob back and forth a few times for effect. “It should be fine for you, just tell me if it’s pulling too hard.”
I flicked an ear.
“Okay, so we bring the yarn along the hooks here, towards this hole, which is called the orifice. I have a little hook here to pull the yarn through.” She stuck it in, then pulled the yarn back through, and handed it to me.
The yarn was fine; a single strand of wool, though I knew it was actually a tangle of several. As I slid my paw pad along the yarn, it felt slightly fuzzy in my paws, with a few errant hairs struggling to escape.
“Don’t grab it so hard. Try to be firm, but gentle.”
I adjusted my grip. “Better?”
“I wont really know for sure until you start. Let’s try the treadle. You play an instrument?”
“No, why?”
What would music have to do with this?
“Well, just pretend that you do. You need to keep a steady beat so the speed stays constant. Put your foot on the treadle and give it a try.” She smiled.
“Okay then.” I put my paw down, and gave it a push. As the wheel turned, my paw was soon lifted back up from the floor, then reaching the apex of the turn. Instinctively, I pushed down again, and the wheel gained yet more speed. Then, I misplaced my next push, and sent the wheel turning the other way.
A pat on my shoulder. I didn’t realize I was so tense. “Relax, it’s hard at first. Just keep trying. You gotta be gentle with it; you don’t want it to go too fast. You had the right idea before, just let it move your foot, and give it a little tap when needed… oh, and be careful not to let go of the yarn.”
“Uh huh… thanks.” I tried again, paying more attention to my timing now. Keeping the speed consistent was harder than it looked. However, while I didn’t think of myself as more coordinated than the average venlil, I think I was getting the hang of it.
“There ya’ go. That’s pretty good. Can you try changing directions?”
How the brahk am I supposed to do that?
I looked up at her, then back to the wheel, when my concentration faltered.
“Just push down before it goes over the top of the spin. It’s basically what you’re doing now, but in reverse.”
Just keeping it spinning was hard enough. Turning it around? Nope, that wasn’t gonna happen.
“Come on, you can do it.”
Ugh.
I attempted to get it to turn in the other way, to no avail; when I pushed down, it still went over the apex of the turn, and I didn’t take the pressure off fast enough, so it sped up way more than before, throwing me off beat.
“Brahk.” I spat, claws from my free paw digging into my thigh. My face burned with bloom.
The wheel slowed to a crawl, then a stop, lifeless. My eyes fixed on it like hooks to meat.
“Hey, don’t worry, just give it another shot.”
“Y-yeah.” I gave it another push, repeating until it was up to speed. The machine made a gentle whirring as it turned.
I watched the treadle, and the plank that attached it to the wheel. After a few more rotations, I gave it a big push in the other direction, and it slowed greatly. The next rotation, I gave it another push, and it turned around.
“Woo! You did it!”
Arlene’s yelling startled me, and I stopped.
“Let’s get you spinning some thread now.” She gave me a big teeth bearing grin.
I tried not to look at her mouth too hard. “Okay.”
She grabbed a rolag from the pile. “It’s probably best if I just show you.”
“Alright.”
Arlene roughed up the end of the rolag, then she grabbed the yarn from my hand, and looped the fibers around the loop. “Could you start it up again?”
“Yeah.”
Once the wheel was spinning, she slid her fingers down the rolag; the whole thing constricted into a length of yarn, due to the twist.
After it twisted up, she fed it into the orifice, which promptly swallowed it up, and then she repeated the process: thinning out the rolag a bit, sliding the twist in, and feeding it into the machine. She did this 6 times before she ran out of fiber. But that didn’t stop her; she just grabbed another rolag and pressed the feathery end into the yarn, and continued. Three more times, and she stopped.
She motioned for me to stop pedaling. “You get all that?”
I blinked. “It doesn’t look too hard.”
“Let’s get to it then.” She handed me the fibers, and stood back, a thumb pointing up to the sky.
I took them in my paws, and held them in a firm grip, so they wouldn’t come out of my hands when I started pedaling. The wheel came up to speed, blurring slightly. My vision narrowed to the singular point in front of me: the fiber. Heartbeats felt like footsteps in my chest, my breathing slow. I felt the fiber; how it pulled against my paws, the roughness of the strands, the texture of the wool. Drafting a bit of the fibers out, I slid my paw pads along the fiber, to let a little twist into it. It strangled into a single line of yarn. Slowly, carefully, I fed it into the orifice, all while keeping the wheel turning at a reasonable speed. There were bits where the yarn was thicker, and thinner, where I failed to keep the fibers consistent. Particles of dust played in the corner of my vision.
Repeat.
The bumps slid against my paw pads like thorns, though I tried to squish them down. I didn’t know how you were supposed to get rid of them. I pulled along the fiber, feeling the twist rub against me. Another length into the bobbin.
Repeat.
My claws slid along the fibers, twist came in, I fed it into the orifice. Repeat. I drafted more fiber, slid along it, and fed it into the orifice. Repeat. I struggled to pull apart the fibers, so I slowed down the wheel’s speed. Repeat. When I untwisted part of the yarn in my paws, the fiber came apart easier. Repeat. Every now and then, I would grab more yarn from the pile, and attach it to the yarn. My leg burned from the constant motion. Repeat.
Repeat, repeat, repeat,
Instead of hitting wool, my paw struck air. I was out. I sopped pedaling, and the wheel came to a stop.
Arlene struck her hands together in a rhythmic motion. “Good job!” She had moved to the other side of the machine from her original place beside me, and I didn’t even notice. “I was going to show you how to feed the yarn evenly onto the bobbin, but you were so focused I just decided to change the hooks for you. Seriously, you’re a natural; I’ve never seen someone get it so fast.”
My mouth was dry from thirst. How long had I been spinning? I glanced around the room. “W-what time is it?”
Arlene grabbed the end of the fibers from my paws and tied it around an extrusion on the machine. “I think you started about forty minutes ago.” She scratched at her head. “Sorry, that’s uh…”
“So not long?” I asked. My perception of time was completely off. It felt like I had just sat down, though that was obviously not the case.
“Yeah.” She replied. “Wanna take a look at your yarn?”
An ear flick later, and she was humming some Earth tune while removing the bobbing from the spinning wheel, tying off the end of the fiber in an overhand knot to keep it from unraveling. After a moment of inspection, she passed the bobbin to me.
“It’s damn good work for your first time.” She said bluntly.
I ran a paw along the bundled yarn. “There’s a bunch of bumps.”
“Come on, I didn’t even show you how to control the thickness yet. You should be proud.” Arlene ordered, with a slap on the back that struck a cough out of me.
She was just being nice, I knew. Arlene was like that; she would probably praise me even if I somehow managed to destroy the wheel. Yet, I couldn’t help but feel a little bit happy about it. I made this. I was holding it in my own two paws.
“Thanks.” I tried to smile.
“Aw, you’re welcome.” Arlene smiled back. It was warm.
“We should get going, or we’ll be late.” I said, handing her the bobbin back.
“Sure, give me a sec.” She replied, grabbing a pocket umbrella from the other room. I considered the claim that humans could smell rain before it started dubious at best. Though, it might have been a good idea to check the weather report.
---
I should have listened.
So much rain, and that’s not even mentioning the wind. Anything that wasn’t blown away was pummeled, including us. We huddled under the singular human umbrella, which was wholly insufficient to shield us from the raindrops. We were shuffling towards the restaurant at a painfully slow pace, Arlene unbuttoning her coat to drape its hydrophobic veil around the both of us. From the outside, we probably looked like a horrid chimera of venlil and human, with tough stitched skin, stretching under powerful muscles. It’s a good thing we didn’t have to worry about other pedestrians. It was too late to go back now.
Arlene said something, but I couldn’t hear it over the rain and the wind.
“What?!” I asked.
“I said! Are we close!?” She yelled in response.
“What?!”
She brought the coat around our heads to shield from the wind. “Are we almost there?!”
“Almost!” I said, throat scratchy.
On the horizon—no, it wasn’t the horizon, it was just the edge of our vision in the wet hell we were trapped in—a spattering of warm neon lights shot through the endless layers of water like a photon cannon, while each speck of liquid reflected the shiny oasis, beckoning us closer with promises of warmth and comfort. Arlene slipped on a puddle, her boots caked thick with mud, the rubber treads no longer providing traction. I helped her to steady herself, and almost fell myself.
I saw movement in the window of the establishment, the details of which I couldn’t place. A drop of rain charged straight into my eye, and I lost focus.
There was a small awning above the door, but it didn’t do much to help against the rain, completely useless against the nearly sideways path of the water. Though, at least we weren’t completely soaked. Arlene’s coat was a boon I couldn’t have predicted. I was beginning to see the appeal of human apparel; I couldn’t imagine traveling through such weather with just my wool, or, stars forbid, nothing but skin. Though, that wouldn’t stop my brain from trying.
The rain like gunfire, wind stinging like nettles, piercing right through your insignificant form. Bones rattling with imminent death, breath frozen in the lungs.
We both wiped our feet on the doormat, which was as soaked as everything else. Arlene heaved the door open with excessive force, completely void of concern for the reaction of those inside the building, which was… sub-optimal, to say the least.
I had not yet noticed what an expensive place it was, but as soon as I spotted the two waitstaff near the entrance, I couldn’t help but say a prayer for my wallet, and our survival. Both of them nearly jumped out of their wool as soon as we entered, and almost immediately after, the more confident of the two stepped forward to shove us right back out the doors.
“Get out, get out! You’ll scare the patrons!” He hissed, below the chatter of the dining area.
“We’re not going back into the storm.” Arlene informed him.
“Oh yes you are, human.” The waitstaff corrected.
“We do not serve predators in this establishment.” The second educated further.
You’re not going to let them speak to her like that, are you?
I flicked my tail in disgust, and my voice bounded forth with unprecedented spirit. “Are you brahking dense? You can’t refuse service because she’s human.”
“What a farce. Do you seriously expect the exterminators to comply with that drivel?” The first questioned.
“Who in their right mind would let a blood thirsty animal into a place for eating? Do you want to get someone killed? Or are you just as mad?” Reiterated the second.
“What the fuck did you just say?” I inquired calmly.
Arlene grabbed me by the shoulders. “Hey, calm down. They’re just doing their jobs.”
Jobs? What do jobs have to do with this?
“You must be some sort of mad if you think we’re going back into that storm.” I explained.
The first waitstaff sighed. “Do you even have a reservation?”
“Of course we do!” I pulled my datapad out from its pocket. It wouldn’t turn on.
“What’s wrong?” Arlene asked.
“The rain killed it.” I replied.
“No reservation? I figured.” Said the first waitstaff, with an extremely punchable look on his face. “Then, if you please. Get. Out.”
“Now hold on just a second,” Arlene said, with palms raised in some sort of odd threat display. “it’s murder out there. Won’t you let us stay at least until the rain lets up?”
“Most certainly not.” Said the first.
“Not a chance.” Echoed the second.
“Look, I’m sorry about my friend, he’s on edge because of the storm. We won’t be long, just until it’s safe to leave.” She pleaded.
Some of the people dining noticed the commotion at the door, and more than a few shot sidelong glances at us. Gusts of wind blew against the door, shaking it against the little foyer we were standing in.
As the waitstaff were about to give their rebuttal, I spotted a familiar coat near the back of the dining room, ducking out from behind a covered booth. A small figure, with sandy fur, and a look of endless confidence on his face: Gram. He made his way towards the entrance, stopped a few paces from the foyer, rubbed his eyes, pinched himself, rubbed his eyes again, and then hid a deranged snicker behind his paw.
“H-hey Meba.” He let out a muffled giggle. “Doormen giving you trouble?”
I rolled my eyes.
Gram addressed the waitstaff. “Don’t worry, he’s with me.”

Sorry if this is long text and maybe bad english, i drive a Corsa C (Z12XE), i had the door card weirdly placed (i was installing sound system that day 5yrs ago) and sometimes when closing door the car was locking. My bro managed to lock the car with key inside, i really wanted to unlock it on that moment so (i had no front bumper) I opened the hood with my hand, and then pulled out the fusebox plug, and the car unlocked.
The spanner light came on and car was very slow and didn't rev, i took the car to someone to fix it, car fixed and everything ok.
Yesterday i was cleaning the car, i noticed 2 wires are connected together on the throttle pedal (its a fly by wire car), i know they are not supposed to be connected so out of curiosity i disconnected them to see what will happen and then i started the car.
WITHOUT pressing the gas pedal, the car was bangin rev limiters by ITSELF!
I turned it off, and there was a VERY awful electronic burning smell (no smoke) but the smell was very strong and piercing. I ran and disconnected battery, and then i did the wires like they were before. And car everything ok again, no problem. I can drive it the same as before.
Im just curious what happened here.

How long is healing and any issues with heeling etc do these crust as well

Sitting here, in this chair, it's hard to believe the view from my window used to be the endless stretch of the city. Now, it's all trees, hills, and the most picturesque town you could ever imagine. They call it Big Sky, right outside Yellowstone, which suits it perfectly. I've been here for six months, and honestly, I've never been happier to be out of the city.
But I don't think I deserve this peace after what happened. Ten years I spent as a cop in LA with little to no incident. That's why they only fired me, I suppose. Ten years and one day, I made a mistake that changed everything.
I responded to a bank robbery call, and half of the force was downtown in seconds. With no clear leadership, chaos ensued. I'm not sure who shot first, but it triggered an eruption of bullets toward the robbers.
We're trained to react in a second to situations like this. So, after only five seconds, every gun was empty. For some reason, I paused. I didn't pull the trigger. When I realized what had happened, I panicked and shot at the first thing I saw move while everyone else was reloading.
It was a mother and her daughter trying to run away from the shots. Everything stopped in my life at that moment. I saw every cop's eyes on me; some were confused, but some who realized what happened had a look of sympathy.
The media frenzy was insane, and I don't think I'll ever fully recover mentally. I've grown my beard, and my hair is longer than usual. I've successfully gone under the radar, except when I tell someone my full name. I can sense their looks of disgust, even though they never say anything.
There's not a night that I don't see the mother and her daughter in my dreams. Their faces haunt me, and their screams echo in my mind.
It's funny how things change, you know? One minute, you're a cop; the next, you're a park ranger. Well, not really a park ranger; more of a forest ranger. The forest's solitude amplifies the guilt that gnaws at me every day. Every rustle in the leaves and every gust of wind feels like a reminder of what I did. And yet, I can't bring myself to leave. It's as though I'm punishing myself, living in this quiet, isolated place where my only company is the ghosts of my past mistakes. Sometimes, I catch myself thinking about what their lives would have been like if I hadn't made that fatal mistake. Would they still be alive, laughing, and enjoying life? The weight of their loss is a burden I cannot shake.
Out here in Big Sky, it's not like dealing with bears and mountain lions; it's mostly just tourists lost in the woods and the occasional poacher. And then there are the kids... God, the kids. They're always sneaking into places they shouldn't be, trying to find a thrill.
The air is clean, the sky is blue, and the trees stretch for miles in every direction. The only time you see a cop around here is when they're escorting a senior citizen across the road.
And then, just like that, everything changed. Two hikers went missing. At first, it was just another day. I went about my rounds and checked in on the usual hotspots. But then I saw their faces. They were young, probably in their early twenties. Their faces were plastered across every news channel and every billboard in town. It was almost as if they were haunting me.
The first few days were chaotic. Search parties were organized, and the entire force was called to help find them. But as time passed, and there was no sign of them, the search began to die. It was as if everyone had accepted the fact that they were gone.
I couldn't help but feel a weight on my chest every time I saw their faces. It was like they were a constant reminder of my own failures. I tried to push the thoughts away to focus on the task, but it was impossible.
The search parties continued, and with every passing day, the hope of finding them alive dwindled. It felt like I was holding my breath, waiting for a miracle. But deep down, I knew that miracle was unlikely to come.
And with each passing day, the guilt weighed heavier, sinking me deeper into despair. Every time I looked at the faces of those missing hikers, it felt like a punch to the gut. Their disappearance was a haunting echo of my failure, a stark reminder of the lives I had unintentionally shattered. The knowledge that my hesitation and mistake led to this tragedy was a burden I could hardly bear. It felt like I was carrying the weight of their absence on my shoulders, and no amount of searching could alleviate the guilt that consumed me.
I decided to go where the hikers were last seen along the trail. They'd passed another group of hikers around the five-mile marker, but who knows how far and in what direction they have gone since their last sighting.
As I get to mile marker 5, I notice a tree that looks freshly fallen. The inside was splintered with fresh, healthy lumber in the middle of the tree like someone or something had pushed or fallen on it. I went to investigate and noticed large footprints leading further into the woods, but I'd never seen anything out in these woods big enough to create something this large. My mind immediately went to dinosaurs, but I quickly shook that off.
The footprint was unlike anything I had ever seen before. Enormous and ominous, it stretched deep into the earth, leaving a chilling impression of what had passed through the forest. Each claw mark was etched deeply into the soil, as though whatever creature had left it had tremendous power behind each step. For a moment, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. It was a footprint like that of a wolf but far larger and more menacing, a stark reminder that things in these woods were far beyond my understanding.
With a shiver, I followed the footprints' trail into the woods, my heart racing. The air seemed to grow heavier with each step, as though some immense weight was pressing down upon me. The trees seemed to close in, forming a menacing canopy overhead, blocking the sunlight and casting the forest into a cold, eerie twilight.
The footprints led me to a small clearing, where I caught sight of movement out of the corner of my eye. My heart leaped into my throat as I whirled around, but there was nothing but a small opening for a cave on the side of the mountain.
I walk closer to peer in, but it's too dark to see anything. I contemplate using my phone light when I hear a huge thud in the trees behind me. I turn quickly, but I can't see anything. Thinking I was too paranoid, I decided to walk back to the path. I walk past the spot where I thought I heard the thud, and it looks like a fresh pair of prints. I have to be going crazy. I return to the path and make it to the station as the sun sets.
I can't stop thinking about those footprints and that cave. As I lay in bed later that night, every time I fall asleep, I dream about the entrance to the cave and the two hikers screaming for help inside. It's like there's an invisible wall preventing them from escaping. I see their faces better as I approach and realize it's the mother and daughter I shot in LA. I wake up covered in sweat every time.
The following day, I asked Lauren, one of my coworkers and the only person who treats me like I'm not an outsider from a secret club.
"You should ask Henry; he can access any record we've ever kept. Maybe he can find something about the cave in that clearing." She told me.
"You think he'll help? Since I've arrived, everyone has been so distant, like they're hiding something from me." I reply, hoping she feels enough sympathy to ask Henry herself.
No luck as she replies, "Yeah! Henry's a good one. Look, you've only been here, what, six months? Give it time; I know people will warm up to you."
"Thanks, Lauren," I say, disappointed, as I head to Henry's office. He's been here longer than anyone, so he must know something. When I knock on his door, he looks up at me over his glasses as wrinkles form inquisitively on his forehead. I wait for a greeting, but it never comes; there is only an awkward silence before I break it.
"Hey Henry, how's it going?" I ask awkwardly
Henry sighs and leans back in his chair as he folds his arms, waiting for me to ask him to do his job.
"Um, yeah, so I found this small cave entrance near the Hart Trail. I saw a tree that must've just been torn down from the middle a few days before I arrived, and I saw these giant, weird-looking footprints. I followed them, and I found the cave entrance. Do you know anything about that cave?" I ask, hoping he'll be more willing to help.
Henry's unamused look faded the more I told the story. He knew exactly what I was talking about.
He leans forward, resting his forearms on his desk, looks up at me, and says, "Nope."
I waited for him to expand, but once again, he left me to marinade in the awkwardness.
"I mean, can you look at least? And even if it's not recorded, don't you think you'd want to put it on record?" I ask, annoyed at his unwillingness to act like he wanted to help.
My frowns and sits back in his chair and says, "Are you telling me how to do my job, rookie? I've been here longer than most of these townsfolks were even conceived," He started to raise his voice the more he talked, "and you come in here after what you did to that poor mother and daughter. Yeah, you didn't think anyone knew?" I knew people were aware, but hearing him say it, it stabbed through my chest like a serrated knife made of ice.
Realizing that he has lost his temper, he calms himself and cleans off his glasses, "Get permission from Forest Supervisor Reggie, and I'll be your personal Google." He looks back down at his computer and continues doing whatever he does.
Still stunned, I stand there, not knowing how to react to this interaction. After a few seconds, I slowly turn around and return to my desk.
The rest of the day is a blur as I try to focus on my other tasks, but Henry's words keep replaying. Every time I close my eyes, I see the footprints and the tree that was torn down. Everyone in this office knows something they aren't telling me.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I muster up the courage to go see Reggie. I knock on his door, and he calls me in. He's an older man with white hair and a kind smile.
"Sir, I-" I say, but before I can continue, Reggie puts his hand up to stop me from talking and chuckles.
"Please, just call me Reg. Sir, sounds like we're in the military." He said as he placed his hand down on his desk.
A little thrown off, I continued telling him about the tree off the hiking trail, footprints, and the cave I found. Just like Henry, Reggie's face dropped as I explained. He stares at me briefly before fixing his face and responding, "Oh, yeah, that sounds like old Grungers Cave. It's probably recorded somewhere."
"Yeah, that's why I'm here. Henry said I needed your permission to get more information about the cave." I reply
He looks at me, puzzled and weary, "What kind of information are you looking for, exactly?"
"Well, I don't really know yet. Something about it gave me a weird feeling, so I thought I'd look into it." I said
Reggie looked at me briefly before changing gears, "With all due respect, you don't have anything else to do?"
I was caught off guard, not expecting him to shut me down like that, "Yeah, you're right. Sorry sir, Uh, Reggie."
I turned around and left the room. As I thought of how to get information without letting anyone at the station know, I decided to try the library.
The library is quiet, with a few people here and there doing their own thing. I asked the librarian if they had anything on Grungers Cave, and she directed me to the local history section. I spend hours pouring over old newspapers, books, and archives, trying to find anything to help me.
One book, written by a local historian, has some information on the cave. According to the author, Grungers Cave was found in 1917 and nothing in particular sticks out except for a short passage that briefly mentions local tales about a giant creature who is said to live near this cave. After about an hour, I gave up and decided to go out there again to see for myself, making sure to bring a flashlight.
As I drive back to the trailhead, I wonder if the stories about the giant creature were just a cover-up for something else. Maybe there was something else in that cave that people didn't want found. Tonight, I'm going to find out.
It's getting dark as I return to the hiking trail and the cave. I can see my breath as I walk, and the air is crisp and cold. The trees loom overhead, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. I can almost feel the presence of whatever has been haunting me since I found that footprint.
I take a deep breath and steady my nerves as I approach the cave entrance. The entrance is narrow and covered in moss, making it appear almost organic. I flick on my flashlight and step inside, bracing myself for what I might find.
The cave's interior is more extensive than I expected, with jagged stalactites hanging from the ceiling like teeth and jutting stalagmites rising from the floor around me like bones. I move further in, feeling a sense of dread creeping up. There's an unsettling silence here, broken only by the echo of my footsteps and the distant sound of water dripping from above.
I shine my flashlight around, searching for anything unusual, and my eyes fall on a large, irregular shape half-hidden in the shadows. As I approach, my heart starts to race. It's a pile of bones, human bones. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. This is a crime scene.
The hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I carefully move around the cave, finding more and more evidence of foul play. The further I go, the more confident I am that something terrible happened here. The bones of at least four people are scattered about, and there are signs of struggle everywhere. I try to remain calm, but I can feel my breath coming faster and faster.
Suddenly, I feel the air get thick as I hear the rumble of big footsteps in the shadows before me. My heart pounds against my ribs as I realize what's about to happen. Before I can react, the creature lunges at me, its massive form filling my vision. Its skin is pale and rough, covered in dirty and matted fur covered in moss and twigs, like it's been living in these caves for centuries. It's a monster, a beast that shouldn't exist in the modern world.
I manage to dodge out of the way, but it's not fast enough to escape its grasp entirely. The creature's claws rake down my arm, tearing through my jacket and leaving long, deep gashes that fill with blood. I stumble backward, feeling the cold, hard stone of the cave floor beneath me. My heart is racing, and all I can hear is the sound of my own panicked breathing.
The creature looms over me, its putrid breath washing over my face as it growls low in its throat. Its eyes are like two burning coals, glinting in the light of my flashlight. It's not human, not anymore. Whatever this creature was once, it's been twisted and warped by whatever horrors it's faced in these caves.
I try to stand, but my legs are weak and shaking. The pain in my arm is excruciating, and I can feel warm blood trickling down my side. The creature circles around me slowly, claws clicking against the stone floor. It seems to be studying me, sizing me up. I can't move, I can't breathe, I can't even scream.
It turns its back, and I take a moment to get on my feet and run out of the cave, hearing the creature's roar echo against the cave walls. I can hear its giant footsteps getting closer and closer until I finally reach the entrance and throw myself out. The creature doesn't follow as I sigh in relief on the floor.
Shaking uncontrollably, I try to catch my breath as I look at my bloody arm. The cut is deep, but I don't think it's life-threatening. I need to get out of here and call for backup, but first, I must find something to use as a tourniquet. I look around and spot a nearby tree, its branches laden with vines. I rip some of the vines off and quickly tie them around my arm, trying to staunch the flow of blood.
Once I'm sure I've done what I can, I return to the station, my heart pounding. My vision is blurry from the pain and shock, but I manage to make it to the front desk. I collapse into a chair, trying to catch my breath. The receptionist looks at me with wide eyes, concerned for my well-being.
"What happened?" she asks, her voice shaking. "Are you okay?"
I try to calm my breathing before responding. "I...I think so. But I need to tell you what I found." I gesture to my bloodied arm, and she jumps to her feet, looking horrified. "No, no, it's not as bad as it looks. Just...get a first aid kit."
She practically runs out of the room, and I lean back in the chair, closing my eyes for a moment. When she returns, she carefully cleans, stitches, and bandages my arm, all the while listening to my story. I told her everything that had happened, but I could tell that she didn't believe me.
"You're sure you didn't imagine this?" she asks, her voice filled with doubt. You should get some rest and reconsider your story in the morning.
I nod, trying to convince myself as much as her. "I know what I saw. It wasn't a dream, and it wasn't a hallucination. That thing...it wasn't an animal. It was some sort of Monster. And it's still out there."
She sighs, looking unconvinced. "Look, I'm sure you've been through a lot tonight. Why don't you just go home and get some rest? We can deal with this in the morning, okay?"
Reluctantly, I agree and head home, hoping word doesn't get around to Reggie that I went back. The rest of the night passes in a blur of nightmares and restless sleep. I can't shake the image of that creature from my mind, and every time I close my eyes, I see its razor-sharp claws and ravenous yellow eyes.
When I finally muster the courage to return to the station the following day, I find that the receptionist didn't report my little expedition after all. Maybe she thought I was crazy too. I feel a strange relief as if admitting my story would make it real.
I make my way to my desk, still shaken from the events of the night before. The station is bustling with activity as usual, but it's difficult for me to focus on anything but the Monster. I try to convince myself that it was just a dream, a hallucination brought on by stress and exhaustion.
I went through my day on autopilot, trying to make it through my shift. When I went home, it was only 8, but I went to sleep as soon as my ass hit the couch. I had dreams of the creature and what it could do to me. I woke up in a cold sweat; looking at the clock, it said 2:03am. I knew I wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, so I decided to start my morning early by brewing some coffee.
The Monster still plagued my mind as I showered and groomed for the day. I dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, the injury on my arm itching slightly as I pulled a long-sleeved shirt on to hide them. I didn't want to draw more attention to myself than I already had.
I decided to head to the station since I had nothing else to do. As I drive, I start concocting a plan to get the information from Henry. I knew he wouldn't be in for a few more hours so I could snoop around his office. I park my car and go to his office; I take a deep breath and slowly open the door. The room is just like I remember, messy and full of clues. I sit at his desk, feeling guilty but determined to find what I need to know.
I begin by searching through his files, looking for anything that might have a connection to the secret society. Finding a few files with suspicious names and symbols doesn't take me long. As I flip through them, I notice a hidden drawer in the desk. I pull it open and find a stack of even more incriminating files. They're filled with names, dates, and locations of people who have disappeared, all linked to something called The Covenant of the Hound. I feel a mixture of fear and determination as I slip the files into my bag.
With the evidence in hand, I know I have to do something about this. I can't just ignore it and hope it goes away. I decided to see if I could find anything else on The Covenant of the Hound. I search the dusty shelves and find an old, leather-bound book. The title page reads: "The Covenant of the Hound: Values".
I carefully open the book, expecting to find some twisted code or hidden message. Instead, I'm met with seemingly innocuous paragraphs about loyalty, obedience, and protection. As I read on, however, a darker undertone begins to emerge. The Covenant seems to be less about helping others and more about controlling them. There are mentions of ancient rituals and bloodlines and a monster demanding complete submission from his followers. In return, the Monster provides protection from any threats brought to the members. This had to be the Monster I saw in the cave.
Shaken by what I've read, I quickly close the book and put everything back in place. I can't help but feel a sense of dread as I make it to my desk. I know that I have to do something about this, but at the same time, my mind is running about who exactly is a part of the Covenant.
I decided to start with the files I found earlier and see if I could find any connections between the names on the list and Henry's friends or acquaintances. As I searched through the files, I came across Henry's note that he was meeting someone important early in the morning at a local diner. The time said 4:30am, an hour away. I decide to find the diner and wait for them.
I drive to the diner, parking my car discreetly down the street as I wait until I see them. I watch Henry's car pull up, and another person pulls up behind him. They exchange words before Henry hands something over, and the other man leaves. Henry returned to his car, likely heading to the station, so I did the same.
As I follow him, I can't help but feel a sense of dread in my stomach. I don't know what I will do, but I know I can't let him get away with whatever he's involved in. Maybe if I confront him, he'll tell me the truth. Perhaps he's not part of it, and this was a misunderstanding. But then, why did he have those files on his desk? And why did he meet that man at the diner? I decide to keep the information to myself and act like I know nothing as I park my car at the station.
I walk into the station, trying to act casual and approach the locker room. There's a strange atmosphere in the air today; everyone seems on edge. I quickly change into my uniform and head to my patrol car, hoping to avoid awkward conversations.
As I drive through the forest, I can't help but feel a sense of unease. Every shadow, every movement, every sound makes me jump. I try to push these thoughts away, telling myself that I'm just being paranoid.
When I get to my post, I notice Lauren sitting in her car. Was she waiting for me?
I get out and knock on her window to get her attention, and she rolls it down.
"Hey, you okay?" Lauren asks, noticing the look on my face.
I take a deep breath and try to compose myself before answering. "Yeah, I'm fine. I just... I think I might have made a huge mistake." I tell her about finding the files in Henry's desk and seeing him at the diner earlier, giving something to a mysterious person. I leave out the part about the Covenant, just in case.
Lauren listens intently, her eyes narrowing as I speak. "And you think Henry's involved in something shady?" she asks.
I nod, feeling a mixture of fear and anger. "I don't know what to think, but I know I can't ignore it."
Lauren sighs, her expression softening. "Look, I can't confirm or deny anything, but I can tell you this: if you're worried about Henry, you should stay away from him. He's not who he seems."
I nod, feeling a mix of relief and fear. "What about you? Can I trust you?"
Lauren gives me a small smile. "You can trust me. I've been watching out for you, even before all this. I want to help you, but we need to be careful. The people you're dealing with are dangerous."
I nod, still not entirely sure what to think. "What do I do now?"
Lauren looks around, making sure no one is watching us. "We need to be careful. I can help you, but you need to trust me. And you need to understand that this goes deeper than you think. The people you're dealing with are powerful and dangerous."
"How do you know that?" I ask hesitantly.
"Let's just say I have my sources," Lauren replies cryptically. "Now, listen carefully. You need to keep your guard up at all times. The people you're dealing with are smart, and they're watching you. They'll try to make contact again, probably through someone close to you. You can't trust anyone."
As she says this, I can't help but feel a chill run down my spine. "So, what am I supposed to do? Just wait for them to make the first move?"
Lauren shakes her head. "No, you need to be proactive. You need to find out more about this secret society. You need to find out what they want from you and why they're after you. You need to figure out how to stop them. If my research is correct, we need to kill the Monster."
I take a deep breath, my heart racing. "Kill the Monster? What do you mean?"
"The secret society is called the Covenant," Lauren explains. "It's been around for generations, and it's behind some of the most horrific events in the town's history. They're led by a man called the Master, who you saw at the diner earlier. He has a pet name for the creature: the Dogman."
I don't know what to do with this information. Ironically, I trust her less now that I'm aware she has ties to this Covenant; even if they're loose ties, it still makes me weary. I try to gather my thoughts, but my mind feels like puzzle pieces. "So, what's our plan?" I ask, not seeing any other direction to turn.
Lauren leans in closer, her expression serious. "Our plan is to kill the monster."
I get into her cruiser, and we drive toward the cave, not knowing if I will make it past today alive.
"I don't understand why they're after me," I say as Lauren navigates the narrow path to the cave. "What do they want from me?"
"You know too much, James, and they know it. You've been asking questions about things you shouldn't have. You were getting close to something they've been trying to keep hidden for a long time. They want to control the information, and they can't do that if you keep digging." Lauren says as she parks the car, and we both get out.
She takes a deep breath, steeling herself before continuing. "They're not going to let you go easily. They'll come after you again, and getting away might not be easy next time. We need to be prepared. You need to trust me, and I need you to trust yourself."
I nod, feeling a mixture of fear and determination welling up inside me. "Okay," I say, taking a deep breath. "Then let's do this."
We approached the entrance to the cave, and I quickly set up bear traps that Lauren had stored in her cruiser. Lauren watches me intently, offering advice and suggestions when needed. As I work, I can't help but feel a strange sense of purpose, as if everything in my life has been leading up to this moment.
Once the traps are set, we both step back, our hearts pounding in our chests, "Now, we just wait." Lauren said
Hours have passed as we sit in a bush, out of sight, and still no creature or signs of anything. Lauren, ever so patiently, is chewing on her fingernails, making my stomach turn. I look at her, and she looks back at me, worry etched on her face. We've been sitting here for an eternity, and I'm curious if I've made the wrong choice. I should have run away, hidden somewhere, and tried to forget about this whole mess. But I can't shake the feeling that I'm not supposed to leave this place, that there's something more I need to do.
Hours pass as we tell each other our life stories. I must admit, at some points, I'd forgotten the danger we were in and found myself having fun. Lauren's an interesting person. She's lived a life of adventure. She's seen things that I can't even begin to imagine. And yet, here she is, sitting beside me, waiting for a monster to come out of a cave.
My eyes grow heavy as the sun starts to set. It's completely night when I open my eyes, and I panic, forgetting where I was and why. As it all starts coming back to me, I look for Lauren, but I don't see her anywhere. I get up, trying to stay quiet, to look at the traps. One is closed and has a blood trail leading to the cave entrance. I frantically look for Lauren but still don't see her. As I peer into the cave, I can see light flickering like the cave was lined with torches the further you go in. I continued to follow the torches with my flashlight in hand when I heard an uneven sound of giant footsteps behind me. When I turn around, I see the vast creature limping into the cave, so I find a crevasse to hide in.
As I carefully peer out, I see the creature limping slowly, periodically stopping to lick its wound. I try to shallow my breath and stay as quiet as possible. The light flickers brighter as it draws closer, and I can see it better now. It's massive, with skin like burnt leather and eyes that glow with an eerie yellow light. Its limbs are like a twisted and deformed wolf, moving with a strange, jerky grace.
As I carefully shift my weight, a small pebble, just big enough to make a noise, tumbles. The creature jerks its body in my direction and roars. It sounds like a mixture of a human screaming and a lion roaring. It takes a step closer to me, its yellow eyes piercing the darkness. I try calming my breathing, praying it doesn't hear or smell me. The creature takes another step and another, inching closer with each move. My heart feels like it's going to beat right out of my chest. I can't even begin to imagine what it would be like to face this creature in a fair fight.
Just as I'm sure it's close enough to smell me, I hear what I can only assume is Lauren screaming at the top of her lungs. The creature quickly limps away, further into the cave. I'm momentarily relieved but then realize that I have to find her. I carefully follow the creature's trail, hoping it leads to Lauren. The cave winds deeper and deeper into the mountain, the air growing colder and more damp. As I round a bend, I see a flickering light in the distance. My heart pounds in my chest as I cautiously approach, wondering if it's Lauren or the society.
I enter a pitch-black round room. As I swing my flashlight, I can't see anything in the room until I hear Lauren whisper, "Pssst, James."
I go toward the sound, but I can't find anything. When I turn around, my flashlight catches the creature before me as it lunges toward me. I was able to jump out of the way, just in time, but he was able to scratch my cheek a bit, but nothing life-threatening. On the ground, I frantically search for something to defend myself with, and I find a sharp, long rock and pick it up.
I looked up and saw the creature lunging at me again, but this time, I wasn't fast enough to move as it grabbed me with one hand, tightly by my waist. It lifts me up to its face, but before it can do anything, I plunge the rock into its left eye as it drops me onto the floor.
It roars and stumbles around as it runs into the walls, falling to its knees periodically. I slide my body on my butt until I hit a wall. I get to my feet and follow the wall, making sure to avoid the stumbling creature. I finally found an entrance, but it's different from where I came in. Finally gaining composure, the creature sees me leave and stumbles toward me. I run deeper into the new tunnel, praying it leads to safety.
I hear voices further into it, and I sprint as I make my way into a room of about eight individuals dressed in brown cloaks. Some of them have a hood, hiding their faces. Startled by my entrance, they all look up, and I recognize most faces. Reggie, Henry, Freddy the theater owner, Larry the elementary school principal, and the most surprising one, Lauren.
One of the men I didn't recognize, who looked to be the leader, opened his mouth to say something, but before he could, the loud footsteps limping is heard echoing toward us. The man smiles wide and relaxes himself, likely confident he controls the creature. As I hear the footsteps, I run toward what I assume was the exit, but I'm tackled to the ground, and everyone cheers and laughs.
I look up and see Lauren on top of me, the one who tackled me. Her smile is horrifying and not at all like the Lauren I know. She leans close, her breath hot on my face as she whispers, "I'm sorry, James. I had to do it." The creature enters the room, still stumbling as it accidentally crushes two members under its foot, not seeing what it is doing. The leader begins screaming mysterious words that I can't remember, which seems like it snapped the creature out of its destructive ways for a second before realizing the pain in its eye again.
It continues destroying everything in its path indiscriminately, killing most of the Covenant members. Lauren was still on top of me, and neither of us was moving in shock about what we saw. I snapped out of it and used the moment to get the advantage, so I grabbed a nearby rock and hit Lauren over the head with it, causing her to fall to the ground, still conscious but unmoving. I run toward the exit, but I look back one more time and see the creature tearing bodies apart as blood and the screams of something I've never heard in my life fill the room.
As I run, I can faintly hear Lauren begging me to help her, but it turns into a blood-curdling scream that echoes in my ears to this day. Finding my way out took about half an hour, as the cave was like a maze. When I make it out, I head to Lauren's cruiser and dig through her stuff, hoping to find something to help destroy the cave entrance. Finally, after too many minutes, I see a pickaxe, which, thinking about it now, looks pretty odd. But then again, Lauren was never the person I thought she was.
I use the pick and attempt to remove enough rock on the sides so the top will cave in and cover the entrance. I was doing this for about 45 minutes when I heard the faded, limping footsteps of that creature heading out of the cave toward me. I hurried my pace, but I'd already done a good amount of work on both sides. My arms are starting to give, but my mind won't let them quit as I hear the footsteps, which are now accompanied by the roar and growl of the creature getting closer. I only have about 5 more minutes until it makes it to me.
As the growl gets louder, I finally remove enough rock, and it all comes tumbling down on top of the entrance, sealing it shut. I fall backward onto the ground, exhausted and out of breath, as the growling gets louder. When it finally reaches the caved entrance, I can hear it howling and roaring in anger.
Looking around, I see I'm now at the forest's edge. I stand up and walk away, still in shock at what had happened, not knowing where to go.
Walking, I feel something warm and sticky dripping down my arm. I look at it in horror and realize that it's blood. I've been wounded, somehow. I try to remember if it was from Lauren or the creature, but my mind is still reeling from the night's events.
I keep walking, figuring out where to go or what to do. The forest around me is eerily quiet, almost as if it's holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. The trees loom overhead, their branches swaying gently in the night breeze. I try to remain calm and focus on my surroundings, but the adrenaline from the attack keeps pumping through my veins.
I look down at my arm again and see that the blood is still seeping out, staining my shirt and dripping onto the forest floor. The pain begins to set in, and I realize I have no idea how badly I'm hurt. I can't get to a hospital in time; hell, I don't even know where I am. Feeling weak, I sit with my back against a tree and slowly fall asleep.
When I wake up, I'm in a hospital surrounded by doctors. I feel an immense pain in my arm as they wheel me into the ER. I pass out again and wake up four days later.
Doctors tell me that another ranger found me and brought me in. My heart sank as I thought of the possibility of the Covenant saving me for some reason. I started to panic and asked about discharge, but they told me that they had to do surgery on my arm since it had gotten too infected.
Long story short, I had to be sedated for a month straight, and I lost my arm. Every day, every moment I wasn't sedated was filled with panic. I dreamt of the creature and Lauren. The creature scared me, but Lauren's betrayal hurt me the most. I know I didn't know her for long, but she was the only one there for me. I now realize that she was probably planted to ensure I stayed away, and when she realized I wasn't going to back down, she led me to a trap.
The doctors kept telling me I was lucky to be alive, but I didn't feel lucky. I felt like a failure. A month passed, and I finally fully woke up from the sedation, feeling restless and angry. I demanded a discharge, and after hours of arguing, I was back on the streets.
That was eight years ago, and I still dream of the creature and Lauren every night. Whenever I have trouble with my missing arm, I think of them. At this point in my head, they have become the same Monster.

[First] [Previous] [Next]
For a moment I am shocked. If I had expected anyone to be here, aside from the Librarian herself, it would be Ricardo! But I guess the world is trying to surprise me today? Then again, considering the rumors, miss Pelafina wasn’t that much of an outrage either.

Then it hits me. What does she mean ‘took you long enough’, huh!?

“She was waiting for y—”

Yes I get that part! Was this whole deal a game for her?

I take my first steps towards her, a little indignant and I feel it is justified, but then I notice something in the corner of my eye. Movement. I immediately turn on my heels to face it: there’s shades of black in the darkness, at least in one spot. Soon, a figure steps up from the corner of the room, dressed in a long black cloak, dressing pants and elegant shoes. The hood covers their head and some magical darkness obscurs their eyes, but I can see a few locks of green hair slip from underneath the shadow.

The figure lifts a hand, they are even wearing black gloves! That’s some commitment to the bit.

“Yo. The name is Lucía. Sorry for skulking around but it is kind of my job; I assume you already know Overseer Pelafina?” She smirks. “She gets around! She said she was waiting for a Bastard to arrive but, Hell, we thought it was just an excuse of hers to skip work!”

“I am very responsible, excuse you.” Pelafina frowns, shaking her head softly. “Ignore Lucy, dear. She’s just my assigned guard, here to keep me safe!”

Her assigned guard? So she IS with the Cloaks after all! I mean, if the cloak she’s wearing wasn’t indication enough. I don’t like her, not one bit. She’s smiling too much, just balancing on her heels and toes while I stand there. I don’t wanna say I hate her, we’ve barely exchanged words… but I don’t like her. Not one bit.

I decide to take Pelafina’s words to heart and ignore her, when another thing hits me.

“Overseer Pelafina!? But you’re just the lady from the bookstore!” I think my eyes are going to jump right out of my skull like in one of those old cartoons.

“A girl has to move up in this world if she wants to survive.” The old lady chuckled, just a little bit. “You know my name, but I never truly caught yours though. How do we call you, dear?”

Fuck, here we go with names again… but hey, maybe this is a great chance to build a new identity for myself!

“People call me Tav.” I say, trying to puff up my chest a bit.

“That was not what she asked though!” Lucía intervenes with a singsongy voice.

“Oh let her have her own nom de guerre, Lucy. It’s adorable!” Having these two messing with me is really going to be bad for my health. I’ll have to endure it though. “Alright then, Tav. If you’re here, I assume you managed to read through the book at least a bit?”

I flinch. Just how much does this woman know? Did she know the contents of the book from the start? Is this a weird ‘Hero’s journey’ situation? A mysterious adventure she has sent me into so I grow as a person?

Or is she just fucking with me.

“Well? Don’t keep me waiting! It’s been days!” Pelafina insists with a twinkle shining in her eyes.

“... I have a few words translated.” I managed to say.

“Oh great! So Humiko left you hints. That’s great.”

“Miss Pelafina–”

“Please, just call me P.”

“Uhm. Miss P.” I gulp. “Just how much do you know of the book, exactly?”

“Well, Humiko asked me personally to keep it safe, so that’s one thing.” The overseer counts with her fingers. “I know it is written in Magic Runes, which… shouldn’t be possible, and yet, there it is! I trust Humiko enough to know it has to be real.”

“Wait.” I blink. “What do you mean ‘shouldn’t be possible’?”

“Magic is not a language, or at least it hasn’t been understood as one until… well, right now.” The old lady smiles a bit wider. “If you manage to make more sense of it than a few phrases, you’d be making history, boy!”

Again with the damn gendering… I frown a little bit but, try not to make it too visible. I gotta focus.

“Yeah, get it together. This is not the time for your ridiculous whining.”

Sigh.

“So you know what the book is, but you don’t know what it says.”

“To be honest, I am not really sure what it is either.” Pelafina admits with an embarrassed grin. “All I know is that it is a project Humiko had for a long time already, and according to her express instructions, the hints could only be read by a sleeper.”

I haven’t really checked if I can no longer check Humiko’s note in the book, so there’s homework for when I return.

“I am sorry we put this on you with deceit and all, but would you have really believed me if I said ‘You have to study magic’ just like that?” The old lady shrugs. “It was necessary, and if Ricardo could see the potential in you, then this was surely the correct choice.”

“Is Ricardo an Overseer too?” I feel like that is a sensible question.

“Oh heavens no, he’s a Sleeper. Not a word of this to him, you hear me?” P’s gesture grows severe for a moment. “I don’t want him involved in such things at his age. He had enough adventures already.”

I guess the rumors of Ricardo being a world-trotting adventurer are also true. Huh.

“So. Tell me, what did you learn?”

She’s very eager… I can notice Lucía’s gaze on me, too. They are both very, very eager.

“This doesn’t make sense.”

Right? It’s all wrong.

The book’s first warning was to avoid the cloaks, and yet here’s P! Just hanging out with this one, talking about the book like it’s nothing!

Well, if it’s true that she doesn’t know the contents, I can lie through my teeth!

“Well… I’ve learned a few characters. Do you have somewhere to write?” My body suddenly relaxes, my demeanor tightens. I may be bad at many things, but lying? I was born lying in this world and I can keep it up no matter what.

“Ah, sure. Lucy!”

The guard walks up to me casually, offering me a fancy black leather notebook decorated with a golden apple and a silver arrow piercing it. She even opens the yellow pages for me, and provides a cheap plastic pen.

I nod, and quickly begin scribbling.

I scribble ‘Tlo’i’, ‘Golthoi’ and ‘Thako’ with their respective symbols.

“There. These are the ones I’ve learned.”

Lucía looks at me dead in the eye for a moment. I can feel the sharpness of her wit, she’s trying to read me… but it will be useless. I am in a dissertation now, bitch. I’ve been doing these for years, it’s my one skill.

“Interesting.” Lucía nods.

“So, what do these mean?” Pelafina approaches us to check on the symbols. “Terrible calligraphy, by the way.”

“Yeah, I know.” The confidence abandons me for a moment, before I puff up my chest again and begin talking. “The first one is the word for ‘Butterfly’. The second one is a word for the action of turning something on, the third one… I am not sure yet.”

“When used on a spell, it makes the effect happen upon touching the glyph.” Lucía knows. “It’s a very common one.”

“Glyph?” I tilt my head.

“She means a combination of Runes, dear.” P smiles warmly. “Alright, so ‘Butterfly’, ‘Ignite’ and ‘Touch’, then?”

I never said ‘Ignite’ for Golthoi, but I guess that is a interpretation of it?

… Interesting. That these things have different meanings in different contexts, would that affect casting?

“Ah, I also found this.” I draw ‘Jo’ in the book. “Does this mean anything?”

“That one is used to counteract spells. If you draw this in a Glyph, it cancels its effect.” Lucía seems happy to provide the knowledge I lack.

I actually appreciate it, for it immediately made something click in my brain.

“It means ‘No’.” A voice whispers in my head, my own voice.

Yes. It’s a negative. That’s why it isn’t so common on its own. When added to another symbol, it negates it. ‘No-Light’ must be a way to say ‘Darkness’ or such… or… backwards, ‘No-Darkness’ equals ‘Light’.

Would this be dependent on the culture?

I smile a little bit to myself. This knowledge I will keep up my sleeve for now.

“What’s that smile for? Did you see something new?” Lucía is way too sharp to keep that smile from. I have to make something up quick.

“I realized I now know how to counter spells. That’s so cool…” I whisper to myself, channeling some of that wonder into my lie.

She seems to buy it, for she immediately focuses on correcting me.

“Knowing the Counterspell Rune is not enough, there are other factors to consider, so don’t go around trying to counter every spell so quickly.” She give me a smile I really dislike.

“Hmmm… well, that’s plenty for now,if that is all.” Pelafina shrugs softly. “It is quite late already… go back home for now, Tav.”

“B-But. I have so many questions!” I immediately pout. Saints damn it, so close to learn actually useful stuff!

“Yes, but sadly I cannot teach you. As the Overseer, I am bound by oath to remain neutral and not show favoritism for anyone.” The woman shrugged. “So, I can’t really teach you much. But, if you identify more words, I can definitely give you a few more pointers!”

“Fine…” A defeated sigh escapes my lips. So I’ll have to buy knowledge with knowledge, hmm? I look at Lucía for a second.

“Nope. I am too young to teach.” She immediately denies me.

“Tsk.” I look down… but then, an idea comes to me. Just a confirmation I need to get. “Can I check more stuff online? Maybe there’s resources out there…”

Pelafina frowns, looking at Lucía and waiting for her to explain. She eventually does, with a sigh.

“The process of getting on the internet as a mage is hard. You need a special router and everything, it’s honestly not worth it.” The guard shakes her head. “If you want, we can provide you one next time. But really, there aren’t many resources online for this… mages are isolationists, usually.”

Ah hah! So they don’t know of the forum! Alright then, that’s another point to my advantage.

“I don’t think I’ll need that, I have enough with mundane internet thank you very much.” I chuckle a little bit.

“I never got the so called ‘interwebs’ to be honest.” P grins. “Now, off to bed you go. Shoo, shoo. Remember coming back here at night, alright? That’s when it is nice and empty.”

Honestly, a nice and empty place to try and translate sounds fine to me. But I can just do that at home…

Besides. These people are dripfeeding me the information I need, so they are probably not trustworthy in the slightest.

I feel a little bad for not trusting Pelafina immediately, but…

“She threw you into this mess without consent.”

“Yeah, fuck her.”

Right.

“Alright then, I am going. Thank you again for everything, miss P!” I fail to hold back a yawn as I turn around and stand on the stairs. They… are still going up. “Uh.”

“The other stairs dear, there’s a magic escalator down.” Lucía tries not to laugh at my face, and fails.

“A-Ah, thank you.”

With a heavy sigh, I take the right escalator this time and disappear down the stairs. Looking at my clock, it’s already three in the morning…time to sleep for sure.

With some luck, the pillow will make this all make much more sense.


As Tav finally disappeared from the Elysium, and the sound of a closing door echoed through the room, Pelafina let out a little sigh, shaking her head.

“This isn’t going to work.” She commented, crossing her arms. “This girl is no good.”

“She seems smart enough. The type to keep notes….” Lucía suggested, her smile growing slowly.

“What are you suggesting?”

“Well. If we give her a few months and turns out she doesn’t make any breakthroughs, we can always… you know.”

“I don’t.”

“We can take her stuff.” Lucía finally said. “Just erase her memory and take the book and the notes back! With some luck, she probably took notes of the hints.”

“...Lucy, you’re diabolical.” The old crone chuckled loudly. “Ohhh, I guess we will get our chips back no matter how this gamble goes, then!”

“Of course! But I still don’t know why we can’t just go to a family of Mages and put this on their sleeper child!”

“That bitch Humiko probably thought of something like that.” A grumble escaped from the old lady. “This is our safest bet.”

“Well, I am just saying. If this experiment of yours doesn’t pay up, I may have to talk about this with the rest of the Coven…~” Lucía’s eyes were, for a moment, fully visible under that hood, brightly green. “And you know the captain wouldn’t like you skulking around with unapproved knowledge.~”

“Oh shush, you won’t.” Pelafina seemed quite confident of this. “Not after coming this close to finally finding that bitch…”

The overseer sighed, looking up to the fake stars for a moment while rubbing her hands together. What was this she felt? Anxiety?

“... It has to work, Lucía.” She finally said. “It has to.”

“What if it doesn’t though?” The guard tilted her head.

“It has to… it is our only way to free our King from his cell.”

“Welp, let’s hope this girl works fast!”

“I know. After all, King Hamil isn’t a patient man.”

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Goosebumps 2 HD MA $4
Grace Unplugged HD Vudu $4
Grand Budapest Hotel HD MA $4.50
Green Room HD Vudu $5
Grown Ups 2 HD MA $4
Guardians Of The Galaxy 4K MA $6.50 HDMA/4KIT $4.50 HD GP $2
Guardians Of The Galaxy Volume 2 HD MA $3.50 HD GP $1.50
Guilt Trip HD VD/IT $4
Hacksaw Ridge 4K iTunes $4 HD Vudu $2.50
Halloween 2018 HD MA $4
Halloween Kills HD MA $4
Haywire Itunes $3.50
Heat 4K MA $5
Heaven Is For Real HD MA $4 SD MA $2
Hell Or High Water 4K iTunes $4 HD Vudu $3
Hellboy 2019 HDVD/4KIT $5.50
Hercules 2014 HD VD/IT $3
Here Comes The Boom SD MA $2
Hereditary HD Vudu $4
Hilary's America SD Vudu $2
Hillsong Let Hope Rise HD MA $1 HD iTunes $1
Hitman's Bodyguard 4K Vudu $5 4K iTunes $4.50 HD Vudu $3
Hitman's Wife's Bodyguard 4K VD/IT $5.50
Hocus Pocus HD MA $5 HD GP $3
Home 2015 HD MA $3.50
Home Alone HDMA/4KIT $5
Home Alone 2 HD MA $4
Hope Springs HD MA $3.50 SD MA $2
Hotel Transylvania HD MA $4
Hotel Transylvania 3 SD MA $2.50
Hostiles 4K VD/IT $6
How To Train Your Dragon 1-3 Film Collection HD MA $10
Hugo SD VD/IT $2
Hunger Games 4K Itunes $3.50 HD Vudu $1 SD Vudu $0.50
Hunger Games Catching Fire 4K Vudu $4.50 4K Itunes $4 HD Vudu $1.50 SD Vudu $0.50
Hunger Games Mockingjay Part 1 4K Itunes $4 HD Vudu $1.50
Hunger Games Mockingjay Part 2 HD Vudu $3
Hunger Games 4 Film Collection 4K Vudu $15 HD Vudu $6.50
Hunter Killer HD Vudu $3.50
I Can Only Imagine HD VD/IT $3
I Feel Pretty Itunes $2.50
I Frankenstein HD VD/IT $3.50
Ice Age 5 Film Collection HD MA $18
Ice Age HD MA $4.50
Ice Age Christmas Special HD MA $4.50
Ice Age Continental Drift HD MA $4.50
Ice Age Dawn Of The Dinosaurs HD MA $4.50
Ides Of March HD MA $4.50
Incarnate iTunes $4
Incredibles 2 4K MA $6 HDMA/4KIT $4.50 HD GP $3
Indiana Jones 4 Kingdom Of The Crystal Skull 4K VD/IT $6
Indiana Jones 5 Dial Of Destiny HD MA $5.50
Independence Day 2 Film HD MA $8
Independence Day HDMA/4KIT $4.50
Independence Day Resurgence HDMA/4KIT $4.50
Inferno HD MA $4
Inside Out HDMA/4KIT $5.50 HD GP $3.50
Instructions Not Included HD Vudu $4 SD Vudu $2
Interstellar 4K VD/IT $5.50 HD Vudu $3
Into The Woods HD MA $4 HD GP $3
Iron Man HD GP $4.50
Iron Man 3 HD GP $3.50
Iron Man And Hulk Heroes United HD MA $5
Iron Mask HDVD/4KIT $5.50
It's A Wonderful Life 4K VD/IT $6
Jack And Jill HD MA $4
Jack Reacher Never Go Back 4K Itunes $3.50 HD Vudu $2
Jack Ryan Shadow Recruit 4K Itunes $3.50 HD Vudu $2
Jackass 3 HD VD/IT $4.50
James Bond Connery Collection Volume 1 HD Vudu $14
James Bond Connery Collection Volume 2 HD Vudu $14
James Bond Daniel Craig 4 Film Collection HD Vudu $11
James Bond Skyfall HD Vudu $1.50
James Bond Spectre HD Vudu $3.50
Jarhead 2 HD MA $3 iTunes $2.50
Jarhead 3 HD MA $3 iTunes $2.50
Jaws 4K MA $6
Jay And Silent Bob Reboot HD VD/IT $4.50
Jigsaw 4K VD/IT $4.50 HD Vudu $3
Joe Dirt 2 HD MA $4.50
John Wick 1 4K iTunes $3 HD Vudu $1
John Wick 1 And 2 Combo HD Vudu $2.50
John Wick 2 HD Vudu $2
John Wick 3 HDVD/4KIT $4
Journey To Bethlehem HD MA $5
Jumanji 2 Film (Welcome To The Jungle/Next Level) HD MA $6.50
Jumanji Welcome To The Jungle HD MA $3.50 SD MA $2
Jungle Book 1967 HD GP $4.50
Jungle Cruise 4K MA $6 HD MA $4 HD GP $3
Jurassic Dominion 4K MA $5.50
Jurassic Park 4K MA $4 HD MA $3
Jurassic World 4K Itunes $2.50 HD MA $1
Jurassic World Fallen Kingdom HD MA $3
Jurassic 5 Film Collection 4K MA $15
Jurassic 6 Film Collection 4K MA $19 HD MA $15
Justice 2017 HD MA $4
Justin Bieber Never Say Never Itunes $1.50
Kickass 2 HD MA $4
Kickboxer HD Vudu $4.50
Killer Elite iTunes $3
King Kong 2005 4K MA $6
Kingsman The Golden Circle 4K MA $6 4K ITunes $4
Kingsman The Secret Service 4K MA $6 4K Itunes $4 HD MA $3
Kingsman The Kings Man 4K MA $6
Knock At The Cabin HD MA $4.50
Krampus iTunes $4.50
Lady And The Tramp HD MA $5
Lady And The Tramp 2 Scamps Adventure HD MA $6 HD GP $5
La La Land HD Vudu $3.50
Lara Croft Tomb Raider HD Vudu $4
Last Vegas HD MA $4 SD MA $2
Lee Daniels The Butler HD Vudu $4
Legends Of Oz Dorothy's Return HD MA $5
Leperchaun 8 Film Collection HD Vudu $13
Leprechaun Origins HD VD $3
Let Him Go HD MA $4
Life Of Pi Itunes $4 HD MA $3
Lightyear 4K MA $6 HD MA $3.50 HD GP $2.50
Lilo And Stitch HD MA $4.50 HD GP $4
Lilo And Stitch 2 HD MA $3.50 HD GP $3
Lion King 1994 HD MA $4 HD GP $2.50
Lion King 2019 HD MA $4 HD GP $2.50
Little Mermaid 1989 HD MA $4 HD GP $3
Little Mermaid 2023 HD MA $5.50
Lone Ranger HD MA $4.50 HD GP $4
Lone Survivor 4K MA $5.50 4K Itunes $4 HD MA $2.50
Longest Ride 4K iTunes $4 HD MA $2
Looper HD MA $4.50
Lorax 2012 HD MA $4 HD iTunes $3.50
Lord Of War 4K VD/IT $6
Lucy 4K MA $4.50 4K iTunes $4 HD MA $3
Machine Gun Preacher iTunes $4
Madea's Witness Protection VD $2
Maggie HD Vudu $3
Maleficent 4K MA $6 HDMA/4KIT $4 HD GP $2.50
Maleficent Mistress Of Evil HD GP $3.50
Marvins Room HD VD/IT $4
Mary Poppins HD MA $3.50 HD GP $2
Mary Poppins Returns 4K MA $5.50 HDMA/4KIT $4.50 HD GP $3
Max Payne Unrated iTunes $4
Mechanic Resurrection 4K Itunes $3.50 HD Vudu $2.50
Megan Leavey HDMA/iTunes $2
Men In Black 3 HD MA $3
Men In Black International 4K MA $5
Mickeys Christmas Carol HD MA $6
Mickey Classic Shorts Volume 1 HD MA $6 HD GP $5
Mickey Classic Shorts Volume 2 HD MA $6
Midsommar HD Vudu $5.50
Midway 4K VD/IT $5 HD GP $3
Mile 22 4K iTunes $5
Million Dollar Arm HD MA $3.50 HD GP $3
Mike And Dave Need Wedding Dates HD MA $4.50
Miss Peregrines Home For Peculiar Children HD MA $4
Mission Impossible 1 HD Vudu $3.50
Mission Impossible 2 HD Vudu $3.50
Mission Impossible 4 Ghost Protocol 4K iTunes $4 HD Vudu $2
Mission Impossible 5 Rogue Nation 4K Vudu $4.50 4K Itunes $4 HD Vudu $2
Mission Impossible 6 Fallout 4K Vudu $4.50 4K iTunes $4 HD Vudu $2
Moana 4K MA $6.50 HDMA/4KIT $4 HD GP $3
Moneyball HD MA $4
Monsters University HD MA $6.50 HD GP $4.50
Moonfall HDVD/4KIT $5.50
Morbius 4K MA $5.50 SD MA $2
Mr Peabody And Sherman HD MA $4.50
Mud HD Vudu $3
Mulan 1 HD MA $6 HD GP $5
Mulan 2 HD MA $5 HD GP $4
Mulan 2020 HD MA $4 HD GP $2.50
Mummy 1932 4K iTunes $4.50
Murder On The Orient Express HD MA $4.50
My All American HD MA $4 iTunes $3.50
My Girl 1 And 2 Film Collection SD MA $6
Need For Speed HD MA $4.50 HD iTunes $4.50 HD GP $4
News Of The World HD MA $4.50
Night At The Museum Secret Tomb HD MA $3
Nightmare Before Christmas 4K MA $6 HD MA $5 HD GP $4
No Escape HD Vudu $4
No Good Deed 2014 HD MA $3.50
Noah 2014 Itunes $3.50
Nonstop 4K Itunes $5 HD MA $4
Norm Of The North HD Vudu $3
Now You See Me HD VD/IT $2 SD Vudu $1
Now You See Me 2 SD Vudu $1.50
Nutcracker And The Four Realms 4K MA $5 HD GP $3
Oblivion 4k iTunes $4 HD MA $3
Office Christmas Party 4K iTunes $5.50 HD Vudu $4.50
Olympus Has Fallen HD MA $4.50
Onward HD MA $3.50 HD GP $3
Oppenheimer 4K MA $6.50
Overdrive HD Vudu $4 iTunes $2.50
Oz The Great And Powerful HD MA $3 HD GP $2
Paddington HD Vudu $4.50
Pain And Gain HD Vudu $4
Paranormal Activity 3 HD VD/IT $1
Paranormal Activity Ghost Dimensions HD VD/IT $3
Parental Guidance HD MA $4 iTunes $3
Parker SD MA $2
Patriots Day 4K iTunes $4 HD Vudu $3
Paul Blart Mall Cop 2 SD MA $2.50
Peanuts The Movie HDMA/4KIT $4.50
Percy Jackson Sea of Monsters HD MA $2.50
Pet Semetary 2019 4K Vudu $5 4K Itunes $4.50
Peter Pan HD MA $5.50 HD GP $4
Peter Pan 2 Return To Neverland HD MA $6 HD GP $5.50
Petes Dragon 2016 HD MA $4 HD GP $3
Pinocchio 1940 HD MA $5 HD GP $4
Pirates Of The Caribbean DMTNT HD MA $3.50 HD GP $2
Pitch Perfect 4K iTunes $4 HD MA $2
Pitch Perfect 2 4K ITunes $4 HD MA $2
Planes HD MA $3.50 HD GP $2
Planes Fire And Rescue HD MA $3.50 HD GP $2
Planes Trains And Automobiles HDVD/4KIT $5.50
Planet Of The Apes "Dawn" HDMA/4KIT $3.50
Pocahontas HD MA $5.50 HD GP $4.50
Pocahontas 2 HD MA $5.50 HD GP $4.50
Poltergeist 4K MA $5.50
Precious Cargo HD VD/IT $3.50
Predator 4 Film Collection 4K MA $19
Premium Rush HD MA $4.50 SD MA $2
Prey For The Devil 4K Vudu $5.50 HDVD/4KIT $4.50
Psycho HD MA $4
Public Enemies iTunes $4
Queen And Slim 4K MA $6
Queen Of Katwe HD MA $4 HD GP $3
Rambo First Blood HD Vudu $3
Rambo Last Blood 4K iTunes $4 HD Vudu $3
Raya And The Last Dragon HD MA $4 HD GP $3
Red 2 4K iTunes $3.50 HD Vudu $2 SD Vudu $1
Red Dawn 2012 HD MA $4.50 iTunes $4
Redemption HD VD $3
Replicas HDVD/4KIT $5.50
Rescuers HD MA $4.50 HD GP $4
Rescuers Down Under HD MA $4.50 HD GP $4
Reservoir Dogs 4K VD/IT $5
Resident Evil Death Island HD MA $4.50
Riddick Unrated Directors Cut HD MA $4 iTunes $4
Ride Along iTunes $3.50 HD MA $3
Ride Along 2 ITunes $3.50 HD MA $3
Rio 2 Sing Along HD MA $4
RIPD 4K ITunes $4.50 HD MA $3.50
Rise Of The Guardians HD MA $4
Rob Zombie Firefly 3 Film Collection HD Vudu $8
Robin Hood Disney 1973 HD MA $4 HD GP $2
Robocop HD Vudu $4.50
Rocketman 4K iTunes $4 HD Vudu $3
Rocky 2 4K VD/IT $5
Rogue Warfare The Hunt SD VD/IT $2
Roman J Israel HD MA $3
Rons Gone Wrong 4K MA $6 HD MA $3.50 HD GP $2.50
Saban's Power Rangers 4K VD/IT $5 HD Vudu $3
Safe HD VD/IT $2.50
Same Kind Of Different As Me HD VD/IT $3
Samson HD MA $3
Savages iTunes $4
Saving Mr Banks HD MA $5 HD GP $4
Saw 4K VD/IT $5
Saw 7 Film Collection HD Vudu $13
Saw Spiral 4K VD/IT $6
Scarface 4K MA $5.50 4K ITunes $5
Scream 1996 4K VD/IT $6 HD Vudu $4.50
Scream 2022 4K VD/IT $6
Scream 2 HDVD/4KIT $4.50
Scream 3 4K VD/IT $6
Scream 5 HDVD/4KIT $4.50
Season Of The Witch iTunes $4
Second Act iTunes $4
See No Evil 2 SD Vudu $3
Selma HD Vudu $2.50 HD Itunes $2
Serenity 4K MA $6
Seventh Son iTunes $3.50
Shang Chi HD MA $4.50 HD GP $3
Shaun Of The Dead 4K iTunes $5 HD MA $4
Show Dogs HD MA $4
Sicario 4K iTunes $4.50 HD Vudu $3.50
Sing 4K ITunes $5 HD MA $4
Sisters Unrated Itunes $3
Sixteen Candles HD MA $4 HD iTunes $3.50
Skyscraper HD MA $3
Sleeping Beauty HD MA $4.50 HD GP $3.50
Sleepless Itunes $3.50
Smurfs Lost Village HD MA $4
Snatched HDMA/4KIT $4
Sniper HD MA $5
Sniper 2 HD MA $5
Sniper 3 HD MA $5
Sniper 4 Reloaded HD MA $4.50
Sniper 5 Legacy HD MA $4.50
Sniper 6 Ghost Shooter HD MA $4.50
Sniper 7 Ultimate Kill HD MA $4.50
Sniper 8 Assassins End HD MA $4.50
Snitch 4K Itunes $4 HD Vudu $3 SD Vudu $2
Snow White Disney 4K MA $6.50 HD MA $5 HD GP $4
Snow White And The Huntsman 4K Itunes $3.50 HD MA $3
Snowden HD MA $4.50 HD iTunes $4
Sonic Hedgehog 4K VD/IT $6 HD Vudu $5
Soul 4K MA $5.50 HD MA $3 HD GP $2
Southpaw HD Vudu $4.50
Speed 4K MA $6.50
Spider-Man Across The Spiderverse 4K MA $6 HD MA $4.50 SD MA $2
Spider-Man Amazing Spider-Man 4K MA $6 HD MA $4
Spider-Man Amazing Spider-Man 2 4K MA $6 HD MA $4 SD MA $2
Spider-Man Far From Home HD MA $4
Spider-Man Homecoming 4K MA $6 HD MA $2
Spider-Man Into The Spiderverse HD MA $4.50
Spider-Man No Way Home 4K MA $6 HD MA $4
Spider-Man Tobey HD MA $4
Spider-Man 2 Tobey 2 Film Collection Theatrical/Extended HD MA $4.50
Spider-Man 3 Tobey HD MA $4
Spies In Disguise HD MA $4.50HD GP $3
Spy Unrated HD MA $4
St Vincent HD Vudu $4.50
Star Trek Beyond 4K VD/IT $4.50 HD Vudu $2.50
Star Trek Into Darkness 4K Itunes $3 HD Vudu $1
Star Trek 2 Wrath Of Khan 4K VD/IT $4 50
Star Wars Rogue One HDMA/4KIT $4 HD GP $2
Star Wars Solo HD GP $4.50
Star Wars Ep 4 A New Hope HD GP $5.50
Star Wars Ep 5 Empire Strikes Back HD GP $5.50
Star Wars Ep 6 Return Of The Jedi HDMA/4KIT $6.50
Star Wars Ep 7 Force Awaken 4K MA $6 HDMA/4KIT $3 HD GP $2
Star Wars Ep 8 The Last Jedi 4K MA $5 HDMA/4KIT $3 HD GP $2
Star Wars Ep 9 Rise Skywalker 4K MA $6.50 HD GP $3.50
Step Up All In SD Vudu $2.50
Step Up Revolution HD Vudu $3
Straight Outta Compton Unrated 4K iTunes $4.50 HD MA $3.50
Strange World HD MA $5 HD GP $4
Suburbicon 4K Itunes $4
Super 8 HD Vudu $3.50
Superfly HD MA $3
Superman 5 Film Collection 4K MA $20
Super Mario Bros Movie 4K MA $6 HD MA $5
Sweetwater HD MA $4
Taken iTunes $4
Taken 2 HDMA $4 iTunes $3.50
Tangled HD GP $4.50
Ted Unrated HD MA $3
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Mutant Mayhem 4K VD/IT $6.50
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles 2014 4K Vudu $4 4K Itunes $3.50 HD Vudu $2
Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles Out Of Shadows HD Vudu $4
Terminator 2 Judgment Day HDVD/4KIT $5.50
Terminator Dark Fate 4K Vudu $5.50 4K iTunes $4.50
Terminator Genesis 4K Vudu $5.50 4K Itunes $4.50 HD Vudu $3
The A Team iTunes $4
The Adventures Of Tin Tin SD Vudu $2
The Artist SD MA $2
The Art Of Self Defense HD MA $3
The Best Man Holiday 4K iTunes $4.50
The BFG HD GP $4
The Boy HD MA $3.50 Itunes $3
The Bye Bye Man HD iTunes $4
The Cabin In The Woods 4K iTunes $4.50 HD Vudu $3
The Call HD MA $4.50
The Call Of The Wild HD GP $4
The Children HD Vudu $4.50
The Choice HD Vudu $3.50 iTunes $3 SD Vudu $2
The Commuter 4K VD/IT $5 HDVD/4KIT $4
The Croods HD MA $4.50 Itunes $3.50
The Croods 2 Film Collection HD MA $8
The Dentist 2 Film Collection HD Vudu $6
The Departed 4K MA $7
The Devil Inside SD Vudu $2
The Dilemma HD MA $4.50 HD iTunes $4
The Duff HD Vudu $3
The Emoji Movie HD MA $3
The Exorcist 2 Film Theatrical/Extended 4K MA $6
The Gambler HD VD/IT $3.50
The Ghost Writer HD Vudu $4.50
The Girl On The Train 4K Itunes $4 HD MA $3.50
The Good Dinosaur HD MA $4 HD GP $3
The Greatest Showman HD MA $4
The Gunman HD MA $2.50 HD iTunes $2
The Heat HD MA $3 Itunes $2.50
The High Note HD MA $3
The Host iTunes $4
The Imitation Game HD Vudu $4.50
The Internship HD MA $3 iTunes $2.50
The Interview HD MA $4.50
The King Of Staten Island HD MA $4.50
The Last Duel HD MA $5 HD GP $4
The Last Witch Hunter 4K Vudu $4.50 HD Vudu $3.50
The Legend Of Hercules HD VD/IT $3
The Machine HD MA $4.50
The Magnificent Seven 2016 HD MA $4
The Marksman HD MA $4
The Martian HDMA/4KIT $5
The Mask Of Zorro 4K MA $6
The Menu HD GP $4
The Mist 4K Vudu $6
The Monuments Men HD MA $3.50 SD MA $2
The Mountain Between Us HD MA $4
The Mummy "Tom Cruise" 4K ITunes $5 HD MA $4
The Night Before HD MA $3.50
The Nut Job HD MA $4 iTunes $3.50
The Nut Job 2 HD MA $4 Itunes $3.50
The Perfect Guy SD MA $2
The Perks Of Being A Wallflower HD VD/IT $3.50 SD Vudu $2
The Possession HD VD/IT $3.50 SD Vudu $2
The Purge 4 Film Collection HD MA $14
The Purge 5 Film Collection HD MA $17
The Purge 4K MA $5 4K Itunes $4.50 HD MA $4
The Purge Anarchy 4K MA $5.50 4K Itunes $4.50 HD MA $4
The Purge Election Year 4K MA $5.50 4K iTunes $4.50 HD MA $4
The Purge First Purge 4K MA $5.50
The Purge Forever Purge HD MA $4.50
The Raven iTunes $4
The Revenant 4K MA $6
The Rocker iTunes $4
The Santa Clause HDMA/4KIT $5 HD GP $3
The Santa Clause 2 HDMA/4KIT $5 HD GP $3
The Santa Clause 3 HDMA/4KIT $5 HD GP $3
The Secret Garden 2020 4K Vudu $5 Itunes $3.50
The Secret Life Of Pets 4K Itunes $4 HD MA $2.50
The Shack HD VD/IT $3.50
The Shallows HD MA $4.50
The Spectacular Now HD Vudu $4 SD Vudu $2
The Star SD MA $2
The Sting 4K iTunes $5
The Sum Of All Fears 4K VD/IT $5.50
The Upside iTunes $4
The Vanishing HD VD $3.50
The Vow SD MA $1.50
The Warriors Way iTunes $3
The Whale HD Vudu $6
The Wedding Ringer HD MA $3
The Witch HD Vudu $4.50
The Wolf On Wall Street 4K Vudu $5.50 4K iTunes $5
This Is 40 HD MA $4
This Is The End HD MA $4
Thor HD GP $4
Thor Dark World HDMA/4KIT $5 HD GP $2
Thor Love And Thunder HD MA $4.50 HD GP $3
Thor Ragnarok 4K MA $6 HD MA $3 HD GP $2
Three Billboards Outside Missouri HD MA $4.50
Thumbelina HD MA $6
Tinkerbell Pirate Fairy HD MA $3.50 HD GP $2
Titanic 4K VD/IT $6
To Kill A Mockingbird 4K iTunes $4.50 HD MA $3.50
Tommy Boy HD VD/IT $5
Top Gun 4K VD/IT $5 HD Vudu $3.50
Top Gun Maverick 4K VD/IT $5
Total Recall 1990 HD Vudu $4
Tower Heist Itunes $3
Toy Story 4K MA $6 HDMA/4KIT $5.50 HD GP $3
Toy Story 4 4K MA $4.50 4KIT/HDMA $3.50 HD GP $2
Trainwreck 4K iTunes $5
Transformers 3 Dark Of The Moon 4K iTunes $4.50 HD Vudu $3
Transformers 4 The Last Knight 4K VD/IT $4.50 HD Vudu $3
Transformers 5 Age Extinction 4K VD/IT $4 HD Vudu $3
Transformers Bumblebee 4K iTunes $4.50 4K HD Vudu $3
Transformers Rise Of The Beasts 4K VD/IT $6
Trauma Center HDVD/4KIT $3.50
Trolls HD MA $3.50
True Blood Season 2 Itunes $4
Turning Red HD MA $4 HD GP $3
Twilight Eclipse HD Vudu $4.50
Twilight Breaking Dawn Part 1 HDVD/4KIT $5
Twilight Breaking Dawn Part 2 4K iTunes $2 HD Vudu $1 SD Vudu $0.50
Twilight Complete 5 Film Collection 4K Vudu $19
Tyler Perry Madea Christmas Vudu $3
Tyler Perry Neighbors From Hell Vudu $3
Unbreakable 4K MA $5.50 HD GP $3.50
Unbroken 4K iTunes $4.50 HD MA $4
Uncharted 4K MA $6
Uncle Drew 4K Vudu $5.50 HDVD/4KIT $4.50
Underworld Awakening HD MA $3.50 SD MA $2
Unfinished Business HD MA $4.50
Universal Rewards Monthly Movies You Pick HD/4K MA "1 for $3.50 or 2 for $6"
Unknown iTunes $4
Valerian And The City Of A Thousand Planets HD VUDU $4
Van Helsing 4K iTunes $5.50 HD MA $4.50
Vanquish HDVD/4KIT $5.50
Venom 4K MA $6 HD MA $3
Venom Let There Be Carnage HD MA $4.50
Violent Night 4K MA $6.50
Walking With Dinosaurs HD MA $3.50 HD iTunes $3
Wanted iTunes $4
War Room HD MA $3
Warcraft 4k iTunes $3.50 HD MA $2
Warhunt 4K Vudu $5
Warm Bodies 4K Itunes $4.50 HD Vudu $3.50
Warrior iTunes $4
Water For Elephants Itunes $4
We Die Young HD VD/IT $4
What Happens In Vegas Stays In Vegas iTunes $4
West Side Story 2021 HD MA $3 HD GP $2.50
What To Expect When Your Expecting HD Vudu $3.50
When The Game Stands Tall SD MA $1.50
White House Down HD MA $4 SD MA $2
Winnie Pooh Springtime With Roo HD MA $4.50
Winnie Pooh A Very Merry Pooh Year HD MA $4 HD GP $3.50
Wonder Park 4K Itunes $4 HD Vudu $2.50
World War Z 4K iTunes $5 HD Vudu $4
Wreck It 2 Ralph Breaks The Internet 4K MA $6 HD MA $4 HD GP $3
Wrong Turn 5 Bloodlines iTunes $4
X-Men 3 Film Collection (X-Men/X-2/Last Stand) HD MA $13
X-Men 3 Film Collection (Apocalypse/Days Of Future Past/First Class) HD MA $12
X-Men Apocalypse HDMA/4KIT $5
X-Men Days Of Future Past HDMA/4KIT $5
X-Men Days Of Future Past Rogue Cut HDMA/4KIT $6
X-Men Logan 4K Itunes $4 HD MA $3
X-Men Wolverine Unrated HD MA $4 SD iTunes $2
XXX Return Of Xander Cage 4K Vudu $5.50 4K iTunes $4 HD Vudu $2.50
Zero Dark Thirty HD MA $4
Zootopia HD GP $3
TRADES FOR PERSONAL REDEEM LOOKING FOR LIST
These are some new release movies im looking for
American Society Of Magical Negroes
Ghostbusters Frozen Empire
Killers Of Flower Moon
The Kill Room
These are some older movies I know have codes I'm looking for
Battle For Sky Ark
Doubt
Judge Archer
Little Stranger
Piercing
Stonewall
Throwdown

An idea I have been toiling with, it finally scratched my mind strong enough to escape. This is a little excerpt of the idea of a man being reincarnated into Westeros during the prelude of the Dance of the Dragons. Being born to Laena and Daemon, the blood of the dragon and the blood of the sea form a strong force in him.
"Dracarys Vhagar!" The piercing cry jolted me from sleep, sending my heart racing as I bolted upright in bed. Time seemed to stretch, the world slowing to a crawl as a familiar clicking sound echoed ominously in the air. My mind raced with a single thought: 'No, it can't be...'
Disregarding my dishevelled state and clad only in underwear, I dashed to the window, gauging the distance to the ground below. The lone palm trees swayed in the wind outside as if offering silent reassurance that the fall wouldn't be too dire.
"A body fit for the lord of the seas I was promised, let's see how that goes..." With resolve hardening my nerves, I leapt over the balcony, the rush of air accompanying my descent.
Fwoosh!
Time seemed to freeze once more as I hurtled toward the staircase leading to the beach. As I landed with a jarring impact, the scene before me unfolded in chaotic clarity. My mother lay collapsed on the sand, a trail of blood staining the shore—a broken figure in the moonlight.
"Keligon zȳhon (Stop Her), Tiamat!" I bellowed, even as flames erupted from Vhagar's jaws. With a primal roar, the sea responded, and the serpentine jaws of Tiamat, the 'dragon' that hatched with me, emerged from the waves. Her various knobs, spines and horns contrasted with her large, sinuous, white body. She surged forward from the depths, her red eyes focused and the hood around her neck flared as her powerful jaws snapped shut with a resounding crack. The clash of titanic forces reverberated through the water as Vhagar roared in defiance, its flames sputtering against the onslaught. Arcs of electricity crackled between each sharp fang, the resonance of the elements contrasting the deep of the night.
With gritted teeth, I ignored the pain from my fall and raced toward my mother's side. Vhagar's Dragonfire faltered, replaced by a pained cry as she struggled against Tiamat's grip. "Jikagon arlī (Go Back), Tiamat," I commanded, and the sea creature obediently released its hold, slipping back beneath the waves. In my mind, I could feel how concerned she was for me and my mother as well.
As Vhagar turned, disoriented and enraged, I approached cautiously, soothing words falling from my lips. "gīda, gīda, (calm, calm) Vhagar," I murmured, hoping to quell the storm raging within her.
Holding my mother in my arms, I noted that only half of her body was burnt, yet they seemed to only penetrate to the last layer of the skin. Her body was a charred remnant, I asked her to be quiet as I asked for the water's help in healing her.
In my mind, however, I felt Tiamat indicate that dragonfire was the exception. Gritting my teeth, I asked my mother,

"would... would you like me to at least save the baby painlessly?"
She nodded. I proceeded to ask the water within my mother to release the child, and it slowly began to push the baby out.
Amidst the cries of a newborn, echoing across the desolate beach, a figure descended the weathered stone stairs, casting a long, solemn shadow over the scene. The gentle lapping of the waves provided a haunting backdrop to the momentous occasion unfolding in the fading light of day.
"It's a boy, mother..." I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper, choked with emotion. "I'll call him Laenor... in your and... and ah, uncle's honour..."
Tears welled in my eyes as I swallowed the rising bile, threatening to spill over as I gazed down at the fragile bundle in my arms. His cries, though piercing, seemed to fade into the background as I focused on the woman who had given me life.
Summoning the last reserves of her strength, my mother nodded slightly as she extended a trembling hand to touch my tear-streaked face. Her touch was both searing and tender, a bittersweet reminder of the love that bound us together. A faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips, a silent reassurance in the face of impending separation.
"My... special boy..." she whispered, her voice barely more than a breath, yet filled with a depth of love that transcended words. "I... will... al...ways... lo...ve y-"
But her words trailed off into silence, the light fading from her once bright eyes as her spirit slipped quietly from this world. At that moment, as I cradled my newborn son in my arms, I felt the weight of her absence settle over me like a heavy shroud. My mother is now forever lost to me...
Moving away from her body, I understood what she wished for, a true valyrian death. I moved towards the cause of the rapid footsteps and knew who it was from their build,
The tension between father and son crackled in the air like the static before a storm as I confronted Daemon, my words dripping with bitterness and accusation.
"Father," I seethed, my voice heavy with venom, "I wonder... did you grant me that final moment with her out of respect, or was it merely your own disinterest in her that allowed it?"
Emerging from the shadows, Daemon regarded me with a cool detachment that only fueled my anger. His silence spoke volumes, a tacit acknowledgement of the rift that had grown between us.
"You are upset, I understand--" he began, attempting to placate me.
"Upset? UPSET?!" I erupted, the floodgates of my grief and frustration bursting forth. "My fucking mother just died! Your WIFE! At the age of 26! How could you have let this happen?!"
Daemon remained stoic, unmoved by my outburst. I continued to rail against him, pouring out my anguish and resentment until I was left gasping for breath.
"I tried... Everything," He whispered out, the weight of his failure resting silently on his shoulders. "Everything that the masters recommended, I did without question."
"You KNEW I was special," I accused, my voice trembling with betrayal. "Why did you not come to me?"
"Special, yes," Daemon conceded with a sigh. "But able to ensure a safe delivery? That was not something I expected to be within your abilities."
His words cut deep, slicing through the haze of my grief with a sharp clarity. I silenced him with a look, determination hardening my resolve.
"We will discuss this later," I declared, my voice firm. "After I have cremated my mother."
Daemon's gaze lingered on me, a silent acknowledgement of my authority at this moment. But his next words grated against me,
"And how will you do that without a dragon that breathes... fire?"
With a silent exchange, I passed my younger brother into his care, my jaw clenched with determination. Turning away, I strode toward Vhagar, my mother's final resting place.
"Dracarys, Vhagar," I commanded, but she remained stubbornly unmoved, defying my order. Frustration surged within me, but I refused to be stopped.
Raising my arms toward the open ocean, I summoned a thick tendril of water to wrap around Vhagar's throat. With a clenched fist, I repeated my command, forcing her head towards my mother's body.
"Vhagar. DRACARYS."
This time, she obeyed, her flames engulfing my mother's body in the ancient funeral rite of Valyria. As her body blazed, consuming my mother's earthly remains, I honoured her final request, granting her the dignity of a true Valyrian death.
"Keligon, Vhagar," I murmured, the flames extinguishing at my command. She seemed to listen now, subdued by the solemnity of the moment. I let Vhagar free of the water tendril before stepping back towards my father,
"IF. And I truly mean IF," I emphasized, locking eyes with Daemon, "I find out that you had anything to do with her death or that you tell anyone of my abilities... I swear on the memory of my dead mother that I will pierce your heart and lungs with that targaryen blood that you are oh so proud of."
My words hung heavy in the air, a solemn oath borne of grief and determination.
There was a moment of tense silence as my words reverberated between us, each syllable weighted with the weight of my resolve. Daemon's expression remained inscrutable, but I detected a flicker of unease beneath the mask of indifference.
With a final, piercing stare, I turned away, leaving him to contemplate the gravity of my vow. As I left the yard, I noted the small smile that replaced his expression.
Ascending the steps, exhaustion weighed heavily on my shoulders, mingling with the simmering emotions that churned within me. It was then that I realized the reason for Daemon's smile, the underlying pride that lay beneath his stoic facade.
Halting midway up the stairs, I turned back to face him, my gaze meeting his across the distance.
"You're proud, aren't you?" I questioned, my voice tinged with a mix of frustration and resignation.
Daemon met my gaze, his expression unreadable yet tinged with a hint of something akin to pride.
"Of course," he replied, his voice carrying a weight of its own. "After all, that part of you is finally out... The fire and fury of a dragon."
His words resonated within me, stirring a complex mixture of emotions. With a nod of acknowledgement, I turned away once more, leaving him to his thoughts on the desolate beach below.
Though my anger still simmered beneath the surface, tempered by the realization that some of my accusations had been fueled by raw emotion, I resolved to address them with a clearer mind in the days to come. For now, I needed time to process, to mourn, and to prepare for the challenges that lay ahead.
So yeah, hope you enjoyed that. I'm thinking of writing the entire thing but idk yet.

(Thanks to SpacePaladin for creating NOP)
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Memory Transcription Subject: Elder Researcher Slira of the Vyr Exploration Initiative
Date [standardised Vyr time]: Day 102/321, Year 110
I remembered when they drilled to the top of Rime.I had been studying to be a computer engineer at the time, only a single course away from graduating. My home city of Frozen Perch had been chosen for the project, something that no local really paid any mind to. Almost no one believed there was anything to find within Rime’s depths, for she didn’t have any of the gifts her Sisters did. There was no ore or soil like Stone had, no warmth or light like Glow’s magma. Even Abyss held corrupted treasures of Tide’s life which members of her Second and Third Church used with enthusiasm to survive and thrive in places were the very water would crush you to nothing.
We all knew they’d give up after drilling up for a few kilometres and Vyrkind would be content that nothing lay above our heads up Rime’s endless ice, that reality was only so big and that we had explored almost everything that exists besides for some patches within the dark deeps.
I admit, I didn’t have much passion for my career of choice. I’d likely end up as a system admin somewhere, managing networks and improving what we already had, never creating anything new because we already built everything we needed.Born too late to explore the world…
When the engineers working on the drill reported that the ice was thinning, that they were getting faint signals from beyond… curiosity and passion ignited in my soul, in the soul of nearly every vyr that lived and breathed.The drilling project went from a boring little science project only a choice few geologists and industrialists held any hope for to a global event which caught the eye of all vyrkind.
I remember lying in my nest, surrounded by pillows and swaddled in blankets while my eyes were glued to a livestream of drill’s progress. My tail was playing with a tassel of a stuffed toy, which if I remembered rightly was modelled after my first pet, a grumpy but sweet crab named Admiral Cookpot.I remember the smell of burnt squid, because my father had been cooking a meal at the time and got distracted by world events, same as me. The only sound in my room was the tideheater’s propeller whirring softly.
I was too scared to breathe, worried that if I was too loud I’d scare away the most interesting thing that had ever happened in my entire life.And when the drill finally pierced the top layer of Rime I and every Vyr caught our first sight of a world beyond our little planet. The sky a black void so unlike that of Abyss, my eyes filled with the light of thousands, millions of…
Stars.
A luminous field as beautiful as any glittering reef or magma vent, uncountable jewels and embers. I stared at them for over an hour, until the blazing personification of Glow herself arose from beneath the horizon, which I’d later learn… no, discover was our own personal star.
I knew what I’d dedicate my life to then and there. My life’s mission would be to uncover the secrets of this strange new realm beyond Rime, which scientists named and priests baptised as Space.
-][-
It has been many rotations around our star (now named Beacon) since I was a young college student. I got a degree in physics and with my computer simulations I managed to not only chart the movement of celestial bodies, but predict their movements as surely as the currents. I hadn’t intended to become one of the founding mothers of the field of Astrophysics but I was more than happy to lead the charge, to explore this new frontier as thoroughly as possible.
Now I was being invited to a meeting of some of the most important people in my country, perhaps of vyrkind. Sure, I had spoken to some of them before, but only over text or video chat. Only ever about theories and possibilities.
Now it would be in a physical location, all in one big room, still about theories but now much more tangible, life altering things. And I wasn’t going to be an advisor or a consultant. Just as some people were seen as leaders of armies, planners of cities or managing agricultural regions, I was being invited as our foremost expert on… Space.
It was funny and terrifying how one can wake up one morning and suddenly realise you are a world leader, responsible for guiding the fates of every creature you or anyone else had ever met.
As scared and nervous as I was, this was no time for imposter syndrome. I was one of the oldest, most experienced astrophysicists on the planet. Of course I was, I helped invent it dammit! I was still as passionate about Space as the day I started, because it was the first time we realised what a day was. I had worked with members of fields related to mine for so long I was practically an expert at those too, including engineering.There is no one more qualified to do this than I, Elder Researcher Slira! Vyrkind needed me!
…
Great, now I also feel nervous about being too arrogant. Still, I managed to clear some of my self-doubt and packed my bags. I had an elevator to catch.
-][-
Castle Yarshu was absolutely filled with people, busier than I’ve ever seen it before. Normally it’s just a museum, filled with old relics from the time of the last Forge Lords. Technically it’s owned by the Ka’lai Militia though and their leader has made sure to keep it well renovated. It is that very leader, General Taraksus, that has invited us all to the Castle’s massive Roundhall, filled with trophies and spoils of conquests that exist only in memory.The hall’s centre stage was covered in posts, perches and seats for the over one hundred representatives the General had invited, with boxy camera drones jetting here and there to capture the discussion for all to see.Around the hall Vyr crowded and swarmed to get a look at us, even clinging to the pillars and ceiling to see the “action”. The castle and our meeting was open to the public after all, and anyone could enter as long as occupancy allowed and they brought nothing dangerous with them besides their claws and fangs.
From my perch I spy Taraksus sitting atop the old Forge Lord’s throne, on its headrest to be precise, discussing something with a fellow general curled up on the armrest and an aide lying at the foot. The seat itself was filled with a sponge-stuffed dummy dressed to fit any monarch, albeit with a sign around its neck with a slur word written on it in a language few speak anymore.
Taraksus themself wasn’t too impressive a sight, well below the size average for females and decently above it for males. Their only ornamentation was a black stripe painted over his head to create a striking contrast as it went over their eyes, and a chain which held a few dozen metal strips, each with the name of a fallen comrade written on it. Or so I hear.
Taraksus ends his conversation and takes up a spear from a guard, the rear of which he uses to stamp the ground.
“Pipe down you lot! I’m calling this meeting to order!” Their voice pierced through the cacophony with a clarity that surprised me.
“As ridiculous as it feels to say, we’ve been contacted by aliens. You all saw the translation broadcasted live from our friends over at the VEI. Suffice to say the contents of their message to us is… concerning. I’ve already forwarded recommendations to our R&D sectors to start working on designs for military spacecraft. Certainly not something I or most anyone else here thought or hoped would ever be needed. I’m hoping that the consensus we reach here will keep that true. Before any of that however I call upon one of the most prominent members of the aforementioned VEI, Elder Slira, to clue us in on the nature of what we face and go over her team’s conclusions.”
I quickly check the notes on my portable computer which my assistant Neeran had so kindly organised for me before erecting myself on my perch.
I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, coupled with the near oppressive silence. I took a steady breath, trying to gather my courage. “You can do it Slira!” echoed a voice from the back of the hall. The chuckles that followed was evidence enough that I hadn’t imagined it, and I felt some of my fears dissipate.
“Greetings, vyr from across the world. I’ll jump right to the meat of the issue and start with an analysis of the ‘Sivkit’ that spoke to us. One of the most startling discoveries we uncovered in our investigation was the incredibly high possibility of them breathing… gas.”
I spotted the ears of more than a few vyr shoot up in shock, including those of the stout administrator of the Vrental Commune’s heartlands, Ireni.
“Gasbreathers? Surely such a thing is not possible?”
“The footage clearly indicates a lack of liquid, and the sivkit’s chest is clearly contracting and expanding in a manner that indicates breathing. We could be wrong, but likely we are looking at an organism that defies our current understanding of how complex life can develop.”
I typed away at my computer, bringing up my second point.
“Next we have their next statement, something about us being Arxur…”
A delegate I do not recognise raises a claw.
“Do we know who these Arxur are? The Sivkit seemed ready to bolt at the idea of them.”
“We currently have no information on the Arxur. All we can extrapolate is that they are another sapient alien species, that we resemble them somewhat except for our eyes and that they represent a clear threat to the Sivkit. Also, for whatever reason, the sivkit mistook us for a prey species because our eyes are on the side of our heads…”
…
“That’s… no, I don't have a way to soften that, that’s stupid as shit.”
“It’s… not scientifically correct, no. But it made them mistake us for fellow kindred among the stars, their captain even going so far to gift us translator technology.”
“Was it a mistake?” Taraksus asks, seemingly in thought. “I mean clearly they mistook us for something we are not, but is it impossible for us to be kindred?”
I understood his question, and sadly had no real answer.
“I don’t know General. The kind of friendship you describe is a two-way street, and if they are not willing then there is nothing we can do. But that does not mean we can’t do anything about it. Diplomat Zhara, your turn.”
A vyr across the stage from me straightens herself. Her body is wrapped in colourful fabrics and her various bits of jewellery show a clear love of ornamentation and precious stones.
“Thank you Elder. The Sivkit Captain promised to return at a time less than [3 weeks] away. Irrelevant of any bigger picture, he seems to care mostly about establishing relations with us and getting access to the deposits on our planetary neighbour Turqo. Whether for personal wealth or aiding his kin, who’s to say. He seems to assume we are part of a larger civilisation, likely unable to sense us underneath all the ice and mistaking our surface city for some kind of local outpost. Whatever the case may be, our diplomatic strategy is simple: lie through our fangs and trade metal.”
An uneasy murmur fills the hall.
“I know, lying may come back to bite us. But we need to be cautious, we know nothing about these aliens and if pretending to be a larger civilisation of peaceful herbivores will put them at ease then so be it. In addition my friends in the industrial sector tell me we don’t have any need for such a vast amount of heavy metals, so mining the deposit and trading the resources to the Sivkit for what they have in abundance seems good business. It will also help further the ‘small mining outpost’ facade and aid us in getting more information about who these ‘meat-eating humans’ are.”
“Excellent! We’re right on time!”
A gasp passes through the crowd. My eyes dart around and my ears swivel every which way, trying to identify the source of the shout. The crowd of onlookers to my left were making way, clearly shocked at… some new arrivals? What under Rime…?
Two vyr had entered the hall.
The first was a small male, their body wiry and covered in scars. Even the tip of their flat tale had a V-shaped chunk cut out of it. A sash of black cloth covered in white pictograms was wrapped around his chest, and attached to the sash was a broad, bladed weapon almost comically large for him. The second was a rather average female, still almost twice the size of the male. Black robes and a hood hid her form, though I noticed a pair of silver reading glasses sitting on her snout and a… by Glow, was that a fucking tome? An actual book, with thick kelp-fibre pages and bound in Nesis bark.
My brain almost refused to recognise the two, but finally sense overruled logic. The male was Krattron, and the female was Kahltrak. The highest authorities of the Second and Third Churches of the Abyss respectively.
Krattron swam up to the stage, eyes brimming with what I could only describe as maniacal glee.
“Greetings, children of Vyrkind! When do we set out to hunt the demons of Void?”
Kahltrak follows shortly behind. I would have been able to hear her sigh from the surface.
“Hello delegates. We’ve come to pledge our aid, and to discuss how we shall be dealing with our enemies.”
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Welcome back to a little more MARRIED Mary Mania before I wrap things up with The Abridged Goblinization. I decided that this bit deserved its own chapter. Some of you seem to be entertained by Mary (or at least entertained by your own loathing of her), so I hope this will prove amusing. In my life, I've encountered an inordinate number of low-key lolcows (probably because I was far too patient and far too passive for far too long), so I might as well throw just enough distortion on the page to protect the good guys and the genuinely reformed beards. But I'm also gonna shine a bright, unflattering spotlight on the lolcows, creeps, weirdos, pervs, and BEARDS, both neck and leg.
And I'll very, very cautiously tiptoe over the bit where I do a bunch of mental gymnastics, squint my eyes, tilt my head, and convince myself that dating Whisky might be a welcome change of pace. I have no delusions when I look back on it. This was a dumb move in retrospect, but all the mental gymnastics in the world can't bring me to a reasonable scenario where I was psychic and thus able to predict what he'd become once he stopped pretending to be a gentleman. Nor can the most elite, Olympic-level mental gymnastics execute a double salto layout with a half-twist perfectly enough to force me to concede the "logical point" that I should have spotted warning signs that I'd never freakin' seen before. Okay, that's enough saltiness for today. Don't worry. This chapter mostly focuses on Mary's mania. Whisky's just kind of... there.
So there I was... dating a guy who called when he said he would, remained consistent in his affections, never asked for weird stuff in the sack (in fact, we weren't even intimate at that point), and claimed to be a secular humanist who practiced elements of Hinduism (as opposed to conveniently becoming born-again whenever it suited his needs to wallow in shame). And we seemed to have similar enough tastes in media, which made for pleasant movie nights and enjoyable conversations about nerdy stuff. It felt like a step up. It felt like emotional maturation. It wasn't. I was deluding myself and I was listening to people who had seriously whacked-out views on romance. I'd learn eventually. But at this point in time, I was "de loo loo" and impressionable. For shame!
But here's an even more shameful admission for ya. My original intention was to make Whisky the "for now guy." I knew I could do better. I was formally educated, I was in shape, I was normatively attractive, and I tended to be successful in both my theatrical and academic endeavors. Plus, I was super friendly and good with people. Whisky was kind of a bump on a log. Sure, he seemed nice. He was sometimes able to make interesting conversation. But my overall sentiment regarding the relationship was, to quote Whisky's favorite catch phrase, "Meh."
I knew he was mooching off his mysterious "big bro," and he wasn't doing this with the intention of saving up and eventually becoming self-sufficient. He just kicked up a fuss whenever he wanted something, and... it usually appeared. I still thought he was physically unattractive, too. I hate nasty-ass beards, I have a strong preference for shorter guys (they don't need to be as short as Dennis, but I don't exactly love being towered over), and Whisky had whatever the dude version of resting bitch face is. I admonished myself for being shallow and decided to soldier on. Date after date. And I did kind of get used to all the shallow things I objected to.
But, really... Dating Whisky at all was a dick move on my part. Then again, how many Nice Guy (TM)s want girls to do exactly what I did? Not attracted? Think he's kind of a bum? Find him a bit boring? Just give him a chance!!! Go on a crap-ton of dates with him until you like the familiarity enough to settle for him. That's the key to a healthy relationship!!! It never works. You could flip this around and apply it to Nice Girls who want pity dates, too.
Anyway. Lucy knew I was dating Whisky, and she thought it was great. She was honestly just happy to see that I was no longer pining over Dennis and that Whisky was no longer getting relentlessly stalked by Mary. Speaking of Mary... She'd had an imaginary dramatic breakup with Scumbanger not long after she crashed Lucy's brunch. Murky aside... The following summer, I'd do another show with the pervy pest and I'd find out that Mary had given the former Rum Tum Tugger a tug in the parking lot of The Imp and had let him motorboat her. When dozens of lewd messaged filled his inbox the following day, the most indiscriminate playboy I'd ever met in my freakin' life blocked that clingy legbeard's number and never had any further contact with her. But seeing as neither of them are especially reliable sources, my best guess is that the truth is somewhere in between.
After the dramatic "breakup" with Scumbanger, Mary immediately became obsessed with the new tech guy. I wasn't seeing shows as often, but I heard from Lucy and George that Mary had taken to wearing see-through mesh shirts with no bra since Tech Guy operated the spotlight. She'd rush out to Tech Guy's car as soon as the show ended and just... wait for him. George said he often saw Tech Guy sneaking out of the emergency exit. Lucy said she saw him get into an Uber a few times and leave his car in the parking lot all night with Mary lounging provocatively on the hood. Did she finally give up and go home? No one knew. No one cared.
Soon enough, Tech Guy's wife started attending shows. And she would remain glued to him. And so, Mary's narrative became, "He was shy about things at first 'cause he's married. But then I explained ethical infidelity and polyamory to him. So now I'm the guest star in their sex life!!!" Neither Lucy nor George saw any evidence of this. In fact, Mrs. Tech Guy was consistently rude and aggressive towards Mary. According to the delusional legbeard, "That's just foreplay. She loves angry bangs! And I'm cool with being a sub. She ties me up and shoves her entire fis..." Lucy would usually shush her when she sensed that Mary was ramping up the raunch factor.
After a very short time, Tech Guy issued a formal complaint, which led to Mary getting called into the artistic director's office. Tech Guy quit the following week, and Mary was suddenly "officially" dating the artistic director of The Imp. She began calling herself the "First Lady of the Theatre." At first, this seemed outlandish. But the director had been the one to hire her. And he repeatedly refused to replace her when she consistently failed to learned her lines, ran around naked, stalked the tech guy, and contributed little more than mukbangs to the comedy.
Some sort of skullduggery was certainly stirring. Was it "sexy time," as Mary enthusiastically claimed? Who knows. Chuckie might have been paying the dude to give Mary a hobby. But not long after Mary started boasting about boning this new boo, he lost his temper during a show, stormed onto the stage, swept her mountains of food aside (making an enormous mess), and shouted in her face, "You've had enough food for four fucking lifetimes, so put the fork DOWN. And put your big bazoombas away. You're not as hot as you think you are. In fact, you're getting FAT." The audience, thinking it was part of the sketch, apparently roared with laughter. And then Artistic Directer pivoted and added, "And learn to deliver a joke for the love of FUCK." Mary burst into tears and went into hiding for a few days.
When she reemerged, she was miraculously back in the improv group, much to Lucy's chagrin. She began dressing a little more conservatively (which basically only meant that she knocked off the deliberate nip slips and started wearing underwear). The director barely interacted with her, and she still wept in the dressing room over the harrowing breakup. Was this true in the slightest? Well, Mary bragged that she could sue the director for sexual harassment if he fired her. Seeing as she could have and SHOULD HAVE been booted many times over, it does check out to some extent.
And then... there was the pièce de résistance of Mary's misadventures in mating. She met a biker dude at Filthy McNasty's. This guy was disgusting. Most of her previous dudes had been questionable, weird, or possibly imaginary. But we all saw (and smelled) this one. He was as fat as a Hutt, he smelled like a grease trap, motor oil, B.O., and a very specific type of cheese... The few teeth that he had were black and green, his fingernails were yellowed and a few of them oozed pus. Finally, the volume and crackly, bubbly properties of his frequent farts indicated to George Gay that he, "definitely had a virgin booty." Mary's lard-ass loverboy called himself "Hogg," which was probably a reference to the two-wheeled vehicle that he was very obviously too large to actually ride. Or it might have just been an obvious nickname for a filthy fat fuck.
But Hogg, like Tech Guy a few loverboys ago, had a wife. And she made frequent appearances at Filthy's as well. Hogg's wife was shockingly... kind of pretty. A little rough around the edges. Didn't smell the greatest. But she stood in stark contrast to her repugnant hubby, even with her fried hair, her sloppily inked tats, her awkwardly placed piercings, and her imprecisely applied eye makeup. Her teeth were free of obvious rot. She had a beautiful figure. And she had a carefree attitude that was probably attractive to a number of people. She'd fart right along with Hogg, she didn't shave her legs, and the profane compound nouns she came up with always cracked me up (lard-tard, smegma-booger, felch-belcher).
And Mary was once again claiming to be in a throuple with The Hoggs. But this time, there was hard evidence. They'd get busy in some corner of the establishment, and even got booted from the dive bar a few times for lewd behavior, offensive odors, and illegal drug use. On one particular night, Mrs. Hogg lit one of her hubby's gargantuan ass-rippers while Mary was doing her thing, completely shrouded by his big belly. The blue flame ignited some spilt booze on the dingy floor, and a small fire erupted. The staff were able to stomp it out, but the nasty throuple was unceremoniously banished.
Alas, management allowed Mary to re-enter the bar because she apparently had some sort of sway with one of the bartenders. Instead of meeting her...uh... "partners" for some more boom-boom, Mary decided to come back inside and gush about Hogg's majestic rooster to all of us. She smelled like D cheese, ammonia, and burnt farts as she plopped down at our table, already screeching about how much bigger her "new boo" was, compared to that vile turd of an artistic director.
George Gay: Fuck me, Mary!!! You reek. Go wash the uncircumcised methhead off your hands and then you can sit with us.
Mary started to protest. Lucy cut her off. "Your whole body is probably a veritable Petri dish from fooling around with those nasty-ass people." She handed Mary some Purell. "Wash the junkie junk off, keep the bottle, and don't you fucking touch me when you come back!"
Mary's bottom lip began to quiver and she looked pleadingly at me. "Just wash up," I told her. "You're too pretty to go around smelling like that.”
Off she went to the dingy bathroom. Maybe I wasn't harsh enough, but flattery got results in this instance. And when she returned, she had managed to dilute the stench enough so that we could stand to sit at the same table with her.
Mary took a deep breath in preparation to gush about something that would have undoubtedly been disgusting, but George cut her off this time. "Mare. How do you even BANG someone with a belly like that?"
Mary (speaking a bit more quickly than usual): Oh, it just takes some creative positioning. We get him to lie down. If Mrs. Hogg is taking in the rod, I hold his bowl of jelly up with both arms and stick my cooter in his face. He eats it like his mommy made it! And when it's my turn to get blasted, the missus uses a bunch of yoga straps to hold it up. I have to take it from behind because my own little tiny bit of va-jiggle-jaggle bumps up against his bowl of jelly if why try to smash like vanilla people. It's so much fun, though!!! And then he props his bowl of jelly up on the coffee table and plays with himself while he watches his honey strap on a dil...
George: I so regret asking.
Mary: They're sooo fun to fool around with! I think they might be my forever partners! (Her hands were too shaky to slide down her body in unbridled ecstasy, so she clasped them together and hid them underneath her itty bitty little gunt.)
Lucy: So when are you gonna dump Chuck?
Mary: Well... Hogg and the missus don't have much scratch. And what they do have, they spend on smokeables. When I meet a real sugar daddy, I'll get rid of Chuckle. He pretended to be a baller before we got married. But he's just middle management and he's content to stay there. Pffffftt. No ambition.
Mary launched into another long, unnecessarily graphic gushing about her garbage partners and their nasty-ass boom-boom. So I decided this would be a good time to clear my conscience about dating Whisky. Mary hadn't so much as mentioned him in months. She was inexplicably smitten with The Hoggs. And her ultimate dream man was obviously some filthy rich dude (perhaps a literally filthy dude who was also rich), which took Whisky out of the running. I still think it would have been amusing if Mary had tried to date Mori...
I waited for her adult film star gasp to wind down before I finally interjected, "Wow. Sounds like you've got a fantastic sex life right now!"
Mary: I do! You need to get over that born-again bozo and find a real man so that you and I can have good girl talk!
Me: Well... I'm not banging anybody, but I am dating somebody. Sort of. It's not really that big of a deal. I'm not even sure that I'm completely into him. But he's been super sweet to me...
Lucy put her arm around me, almost as if she knew I was about to need protection.
Mary: TELL ME!
I hesitated. "Well... It's Whiskers."
In an instant, George jumped up and grabbed Mary by the shoulders, lest she lunge at me.
But Mary got very quiet. Silent tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She gasped and buried her face in her hands, now emitting one seemingly endless, impossibly high-pitched whine.
George loosened his grip and began to pat her on the back. Lucy's grip tightened on me and she whispered, "Here we go. Overreaction sequence has commenced."
Mary lifted her red, tear-stained face and glared at me. "HOW COULD YOU???"
Me: Mary, I swear. I thought you hated his guts. I haven't heard you talk about him in ages. When he asked, I thought it would be good for me to give him a chance since he's always been really sweet to me.
Mary: But what about the way he treated ME??? He was such an asshole!
Lucy: Was he? Mary, you stalked the guy. If he was rude, it was only because you weren't taking NO for an answer.
Mary: He never told me he wanted to end things. He just kept ghosting me. But whenever I showed up at his house and jumped on him, we always wound up smashing. Eventually.
I didn't have the gumption at that point in my life to suggest to Mary that it's wrong on every imaginable level to coerce someone into intimate activity, regardless of gender. And even knowing what Whiskers would eventually become, he didn't deserve THAT. I should have called her out. Instead, I tried to steer the conversation back to her current bedroom bliss, hoping she'd get distracted by the disgusting thoughts that delighted her so much.
Me: Who cares what he's doing now?! Aren't you insanely happy with your fun new lovers???
Mary: NO! THEY STINK! HE'S FAT. I want my sexy Whisky-Boo Whiskers back!!! Give him back, Valley! Puh-leeee-eeee-eeeee-eeeease.
Me: I don't "have" him. I'm just seeing him. If he hurt you this much, why don't you try to sit down and have a real conversation with him? It might be good for both of you to clear the air.
Mary: He blocked me on everythi-iiiiiii-iiiii-iiiiiing. Waaaaaaaaaah!
Me: Well, I guess that's your answer. You probably overwhelmed him. He seems like a bit of a softy. Personally, I need a softy right now. But I think you need a manly man.
Mary rose. She gave me an icy stare. And then she cooed in an unnervingly sweet tone. "I love you, Valley-Boo. I know you didn't mean to break my heart."
Me: Thank you, Mary. Really, I wouldn't have even considered his initial invitation if you hadn't been calling him "Satan," and telling us all that you hated him, and dating all these new guys. I didn't do it to spite you, I swear. It just happened.
Mary (still creepily, icily sweet): Yes. We're so alike, you and I. It's perfectly understandable that the same guy would go for both of us. But you owe me. You owe me big.
Me: I disagree. If you think I slighted you, just tell me to fuck off and never talk to me again. If you really do understand that these things happen, then you'll accept that there was no malice on anyone's part.
Mary: Mmmm-hmmmm. We'll see about that.
She jiggled her Jupiters, tossed her hair, and stalked out of the dive bar...

AND THEN SHE BANGED DENNIS.

Reddit: u/smooth-option-4375 Discord Name: Swag Name and House: Waymar Corbray of House Corbray Age: 24 Cultural Group: Andal Appearance:
A tall man, lean yet muscular after the fashion of a professional athlete. He has the build of a knight who favors lithe dexterity over sheer strength.
When garbed for battle he is an intimidating figure, wearing a mail hauberk and chausses covered with a blackened steel cuirass, with a white surcoat emblazoned with the sigil of his house: a black raven in flight carrying a red heart. On his limbs, he wears steel vambraces, darkened black, enclosed around his forearms and simple should guards. On his feet, he dons hard leather boots with steel toes, that rise to meet steel leg greaves.
On his side swings a scabbard that holds his ancestral longsword, its pommel housing a dark red ruby in the shape of a heart. The guard as simple as it is ancient.
Though young he has a well-worn face, making him appear some years older than he ought to. Hardened from long hours in the sun and scarred from battle. He has piercing blue eyes, and cheeks rough with stubble.
When on the road, he will be found with a travel-stained cloak and hood, tied to his shoulders. Never far from his side is his massive, pitch black destrier Warlord, who stands at the considerable seventeen hands high at the shoulder.
Compared to most nobility he makes a pitiful sight, his armor is darkened, scratched, and dented. His clothing torn and mended a dozen times over. Dressed in hardy cloth and wool rather than more extravagant furs and silks. Despite his outward appearance however, he bears the heart full of valor and chivalry.
Trait: Strong Skills: Andal Knight (e), Swords, Water Dancer, Riding Talents: Etiquette, Heraldry & Tourney Lore, Outdoorsmanship Starting Titles: The Wayfarer, Hastiluder of Hearts Home Starting Location: [Starting Event]
BIOGRAPHY:
Ser Waymar Corbray was born into the noble house of Corbray in the year 1 AC to the Raven Knight, Lord Corwyn Corbray and Lady Ellyn Hightower. The pair spared no expense with any of their children despite the houses less than robust financial situation, thinking of it as the most sure of investments.
Lady Ellyn, a woman of refined taste and abnormal learning saw to it that Waymar (and the other children) were all well versed in etiquette and had a firm grasp of the intricacies of court life. In particular she bonded with Waymar, Corenna, and Tristan by sharing her love of literature, music, arts, and story telling. This had the dual purpose of sharing her loves but also ensuring the children grew up knowledgeable and well-rounded nobles.
On the other hand, Lord Corwyn focused on their martial educations. Where Colmar received the lions share, especially in terms of governance and lordship, Waymar was free to pursue and focus solely on knightly pursuits. Lord Corwyn himself, well known across the seven kingdoms as 'The Raven Knight' was both a superior commander and deadly swordsman, teaching the now famous Ser Rolland his art.
One of, if not the first momentous events that shaped Waymar's life was the birth of his younger brother Tristan. Tristan grew up with great difficulty, small, frail, and lacking the ability to speak many considered him ill-fated and treated him with contempt. Waymar however quickly developed a deeply engraved sense of guardianship over Tristan, and the two grew inseperable. Each day Tristan would attend his brothers studies, and each night Waymar would regale his brother with stories of epic heroes, fell deeds, and legendary champions.
The second was the Mooncrest Tourney, where Waymar entered in secret as a Mystery Knight: The Knight of the Wild Wood. During the tupinaire, Waymar encountered his elder brother and defeated him soundly. He went on to fight and overcome the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Malwyn Blackwood. Earning himself a knighthood when his identity was later revealed, for scoring seven strikes in seven seconds, with each strike having the force of three men'. This day was one of the best and worst days in the young Waymar's life: It was the day he was knighted by a living legend and it was the day a rift was formed that would never heal, between the two brothers.
The third was young Tristan's plan to study at Oldtown. In an attempt to separate the ever more violent Colmar and the young Waymar, Tristan convinced his parents to allow him to study at Oldtown and to take with him a small entourage for security. Amongst them was Waymar who, during there travel entered into the Strawberry Hall tourney.
His showing there was impressive if varied, fairing well in the melee, tupinaire, and archery contest, even going so far to claim first in the footrace. Unfortunately an administrative error meant that he was disqualified from the joust, his match timing being changed at short notice and the heralds unable to contact him in time to advise him of such.
This was however the start of his errantry. Taking near a year to return to Heart's Home where he stayed for only handful of weeks before departing again.
Now a man grown, Waymar travels Westeros following the tourney circuit, participating in as many as he can. The knight has earnt himself the moniker ‘The Wayfarer.’ A mocking title meant to demean him and his families fortune as he would walk rather than ride from place to place, lacking the funds to have a second horse and unwilling to tire his treasured destrier “Warlord.” Despite its original purpose, he bears the title with great pride.
Unbeknownst to lords and commonfolk alike, even those within the Halls of Heart’s Home, Waymar has been sending his earnings home to his younger brother who has been named Castellan of Heart’s Home, though for what purpose only the pair could know.
TIMELINE:
10 AC — Lord Corwyn and Lady Ellen marry. 3 BC — Colmar Corbray is born, eldest son of House Corbray and Heir to Hearts Home. 1 BC — Corenna Corbray is born, second eldest of House Corbray. 1 AC — Waymar Corbray is born, second eldest son of House Corbray. 6 AC — Lord Corwyn leads a band of knights against the Root Father & the Sons of the Tree. 7 AC — Trisan Corbray is born. 10 AC — Waymar attends the Maiden Bay tourney and begins his dream of becoming the Greatest Knight in the Realm. 14 AC — The Cavaliers visit Heart’s Home to secure recruits and sponsorship. 18 AC — Colmar Corbray marries XXXXX of House XXXXX at age 21. 19 AC — Mooncrest Tourney is held, Waymar enters as a mystery knight defeating his elder brother Colmar. 19 AC — For excellence with arms and unyielding valour Waymar is knighted by Ser Malwyn Blackwood, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. 20 AC — Ser Waymar rides under Ser Godric Royce against the mountain clan raiders of the Burned Men clan, his first battlefield proper. 20 AC — Corenna Corbray marries Marq Grafton of Gulltown. 21 AC — Tristan leaves for Oldtown, intending to study at the Citadel and stay with their cousins. 21 AC — Waymar enters Strawberry Hall Tourney with mixed results, being suspiciously disqualified from the Lists. 22 AC — Janyce Swyft and Tristan Corbray become betrothed. 22 AC — The first piece of the Winged Knight armour is found, the quest for more pieces begin. 22-25 AC — Waymar travels Westeros largely by foot, earning himself the moniker Waymar the Wayfarer. 25 25 AC — Start Date

FAMILY TREE:

Auxiliary Character -------------------------
Name and House: Tristan Corbray
Age: 18
Cultural Group: Andal
Appearance:
A young man with who looks as young as he is, Tristans black hair is unruly and quite long, resting on his neck and usually covering his ears. Despite his inability to speak, Tristan has a warm and genuine smile. His eyes are a deep thoughtful blue, with freckles adorning his nose and cheeks. His skin pale, indicative of the long hours he has spent inside studying. Despite being called timid he moves and dresses with a quiet confidence and grace that comes from self-awareness. For Tristan, his silence is not a barrier but instead a weapon. Tristan is not the most striking nor handsome man, but he bears a comfortable and approachable appearance that endears him well with others.
Trait: Erudite
Skill(s): Scrutinous, Scholar (e)
Talent(s): Mechanisms, Puzzles, Arts & Music, Cyvasse
Negative Trait(s): Mute
Starting Title(s): The Timid
Starting Location: Starting Event
BIOGRAPHY:
A ferociously keen mind, Tristan is a maester born, with an endless appetite for puzzles and mystery and an eerie ability to calculate. Despite being considered a fool for much of his early life, he has blown away his detractors with his prodigious intelligence. At the age of 15 he entered the Citadel to study, and in just three short years has earned himself no less than 8 links being: black iron, copper, both yellow and red gold, silver, brass, lead, and pewter.
With his father’s recent illness, he has been summoned back to Heart’s Home and named Castellan of the Castle and aide to the Lord. Rumours abound as to how his elder brother has taken this, having shortly afterwards departed on a quest for the Wing Knights legacy.
Supporting Characters -----------------------------
Name and House: Martyn Rivers Archetype: Trader (+4 bonus to Trade)
In his youth Martyn Rivers was a sellsword in the riverlands. He first entered service with House Corbray prior to the battle of Misty Moor. Later, he returned to permanent service after the Riverlands went up in flames. Lord Corwyn took him in first as a trade caravan guard, but in the years since he has reached the lofty heights of seneschal.
Name and House: Maester Dormund Archetype: Scholar (+2 lore searches, +1 treating others)
Maester Dormund has served House Corbray for three generations, serving first serving Lord Corwyn’s Father Corswain and now advising the young Master Tristan. He is one of the few that both knows of, and understands Master Tristan’s sign and short hand conversationally, the others being his mother, sister, and favourite brother.

To live in the Undead Burg is a daily test of one’s wit and their will. The brutish and dull fall to the cunning, and the weak intellectual tears their own mind asunder. For those who escape the Asylum, it is sometimes enough to make one consider voyaging back to their cell.
After all, only a few are Chosen.
In the lower levels of the Undead Burg, a cloak of rat skin fluttered behind a walking corpse as they hurriedly turned the corner of a short length of stone stairs, slamming the shield of a hollow soldier against the ground just as the claws and fangs of the first hound rose to meet it. In truth he lacked the strength to properly defend himself with the thing, to raise it with only one arm and withstand a blow with the same, but it didn’t matter here. The lower corner of the shield lay braced against the bottommost of a length of stone steps. This, with his shoulder pressed against the shield’s top, made progress against him nearly impossible for a foe so light as this.
If idiocy was to lose one’s common sense, then it couldn’t account for the stupidity of an undead hound. The corpse raised a spear over the shield and swung it downward in a pathetic arc, the wood slapping against the metal with hardly a noise to report. Seeing the motion, the dog leapt sideways out of some horribly trained reflex, and in this manner crashed into large pile of eternally burning corpses. It yelped as the heat caught it, spasmed as it searched for purchase amidst the mass of charred bones and melted flesh, and promptly died. The commotion brought with it the sound of distant footsteps, and soon another beast had run headlong into the shield. This one took two similar “attacks” of the spear to repeat its fellow’s mistake, and the one after it four.
To think he had once been terrified of these things, and discovered his tactic in panic.
Beside the steps was a well, and (after a moment to ensure no further dogs were coming), it was this against which the corpse laid his heavy shield. The next test between him and his goal would require agility, something ill-afforded with such heavy hardware. For this, he turned his attention to the well’s crank, and set thereafter to turning it. From the depths was raised a target shield tied in place of a bucket, and upon it a collection of bones, a severed hand, a ring, and a candlestick. The corpse laid the miscellaneous treasures aside, untying the shield and equipping it to his left arm.
The first two thieves were marked by buckets… or rather, the buckets were set in place to tell the thieves which doors were to be hid behind. As travelers came and went, the buckets would roll down the hill as they were knocked aside or blown by the wind or carried around by the dogs, and thus the thieves’ stations would move. When it was determined one had rolled too far down the decline of the alleyway, an annoyed thief would inevitably carry it to a more desired station, pretend it had always been there, and hide themselves behind the newly marked door. It was possible some band of thieves set this tradition in place long ago and retained the habit after they’d eventually gone hollow, but proving this thought today would be nearly beyond impossible. The reasoning didn’t matter to the corpse, of course, but the effect he used to his advantage.
The tops of the doors he adorned with knives from the Lady of Moss- blades up, such that the forceful opening of the door would spin the knives just right to sink their poisonous bile into the victims below. What additional wastes and acids the corpse had applied need not be mentioned by name, only that they shared their patron creature with the leather cloak on his back. With his work done, he now walked the side of the alley as any clueless traveler would have, and awaited the springing of the trap.
As always, the third and lowermost thief signaled the attack by kicking open their door. The two now behind the corpse followed, and shortly thereafter issued their raspy exhales of pain amidst the clatter of falling steel. The corpse charged. The leader hurriedly reached for their throwing knives but was swiftly force-fed the edge of the corpse’s shield, thusly to be brought to the ground. Here was the corpse’s blade drawn, its cracked and jagged tip turned down towards its latest prey.
When skinning rats, it is important that one carries a sharp blade. This both to pierce the thick hide, and to avoid unnecessary damage to the intestines, stomach, and other usable bits lying beneath. Replacing the rat with a hollow, the corpse preferred the tip of a broken straight sword to the edge of his usual dagger. The motions made indeed bore some crude similarity to his work when harvesting leather, but the abandon of care became only more evident with each forceful cut and flailingly resisted gouge. In the end, what remained could hardly be discerned from a spot of muck on the road, a hollow-faced madman above it.
Further down, beyond a second set of stone steps, was another favorite spot of ambush for the thieves. The mutts at the end of the alley had long since devoured whatever scraps had been used to position them, and so readily charged forth at the beckoning call of the corpse. They found at his feet the now separated legs of the corpse’s most recent kill, adorned in many fresh gouges and oozing with a pungent liquid. The source of this meal mattered not to them, and so they eagerly set to work engorging themselves on the new flesh. So single-minded were they, intent on ridding themselves of the insatiable undead hunger that plagued them, that neither one slowed as a white foam began to pour from their mouths. Their stomachs first bulged, then split apart and spilt what little they had for content as the acid worked its way through. Their legs gave way from beneath them, first the hind, then the front, and yet still they desperately swallowed more of the decaying flesh and embedded stomach-skin pouches that rapidly digested them in return. When at last the pair had at last lost such strength as to no longer reach the meals inches away from their first gasping, then whining maws, the corpse delivered their mercy. A swift kick, and what little remained of their necks gave freedom to their lifeless skulls. The thieves, meanwhile, bore no challenge the corpse had not already faced. Knives over the first few doors, the greeting of jaw and shield, the pillaging of another victim. Nothing unusual, and nothing of note.
With the capra demon gone, some “chosen” adventurer having long since vanquished it from realm, little now stood between the corpse and… her… save only one thing. The corpse took the last flight of stairs three at a time, ricocheting off the wall on the outside of its only turn and bounding towards his target.
There she was, out in the open as always. The corpse sprinted down the stairs and, after passing a blind corner, set his left foot forward and crouched to halt his considerable momentum. The ambusher behind him was easily parried as he brought his shield up and behind him, cracking something in their forearm or perhaps their wrist. Not bothering to waste time, the corpse’s broken blade was brought upwards through the ambusher’s jaw until it snapped the bit bone between their eyes. This done, the corpse wrenched his weapon up and sideways with a hollow “pop” as the neck gave leave of its skull. The body collapsed to the side, its head twisting unnaturally upwards and backwards as it freed itself of the blade. The corpse, unbothered, bore no interest in holding either aloft. Now he turned, inspected the last of the thieves, and after a moment returned his blade to its holder.
“You are Patient.”
This first time he’d uttered the phrase, the last word was merely an attribute. ‘Twas a description of the one hollow that could be shot with any arrow, afflicted with any pain, and would yet remain loyally in her position. To be fair, it wasn’t for great gift a choice, as the position of “live bait” was reserved only for whichever of the thieves had been deemed least desirable by the rest. What caused this, and whatever penalties lay for abandoning of the post, were matters the corpse could only assume. The important part was that it was her, the thief who had become “Patient” by name. At their first encounter the corpse had considered dispatching her like the rest, but had hesitated in piercing her skin. He still bore the scar about his neck that she had given him for his idleness, and she still wore the rat skin “grieves” he’d forcefully tied to her for a marker. As time passed, the two gradually traded more scars and more black fur hide between them- the corpse receiving the former, Patient gaining the latter. He had stripped her and tied a pelt about her chest which lay now beneath her leather armor, he’d fashioned a double-thick leather stock to protect her neck, and though he tied gloves to her at a point she’d taken great effort in cutting them off. All this he had done across many visits, through much pain, and at expense of his best materials. Todays gift had by far been the hardest to craft- a thrice layered leather helm affixed on one side with a jawbone to replace what he’d broken so long ago.
His approach was slow, and well-rehearsed. At about ten paces, Patient’s patience finally broke as she ran for him. Today she chose to hesitate upon reaching him, though he'd learned this was by chance of random choice than any form of compassion. The corpse waited for the attack, not daring to kick another outcast as he had once been in life. She tried first her more viscous pattern, a pair of vigorous strikes that slid across the corpse’s target shield rather than bouncing away. She completed the maneuver and immediately prepared for a more powerful, slamming attack, granting the corpse the opportunity he had been seeking.
As she brought her blade down, the corpse deftly batted her strong hand away and gripped her shield with his open hand. Having no further need for his own shield, he cast it now away and spun the patient thief ‘round. She made as if to leap upward and over the corpse, but the maneuver was one he’d long since learned to counter. He stepped back, spinning himself so as to bring her sideways and around and down into a prone position with his right elbow along her back and his left hand pinning her knife arm down.
His next task, before gifts could be given, was to ensure he received no further scars in return. Placing his knee at her back to free one of his hands, he drew from beneath his cloak a coil of red twine fashioned from the same rats he’d skinned for his gift… some of the same, at least. With great effort, the twine was managed around the thief until she could no longer terribly well resist, and her hood was pulled back from her head.
Seeing the sunken red skin, the glowing eyes, the bare teeth, it reminded the corpse of life in the Pit of Outcasts. It was there he’d met the kindest of the living, the most desperate of the poor, and occasionally even a soul or two willing to speak or come close to him. ‘Twas a place for the diseased, the undead, and those criminals deemed too vile to disgrace the hangman’s noose with their neck. It was there he’d learned to knit and to sew, skills gifted to him from an undead woman not terribly discernable from the one before him now. The main difference, at least for now, was the slack jaw broken in uncountable pieces during their first encounter.
Casting the memories aside, the corpse set to his work. The leather about the thief’s neck stilled her head a little, but precisely cutting the skin beneath her jaw to remove the old bone was still a difficult task. The end result was unsightly, and it involved more than a few excessive cuts from the patient’s constant struggling, but it was enough to work with. Removing the old bone took a great deal of time thanks to the many fragments hidden in odd bits and pockets of flesh, but sliding the new one into place and wrapping it in the old muscle proved as easily said as done. The most tiring part was retying the cuts back closed, as the thief regained and continually demonstrated a greater ability to bite and snap as the corpse made more and more progress. The last of these gaps closed, the corpse finally wrapped the rest of the leather helmet about the thief’s skull and tied the loose end to the other side of her new jaw with more twine. It wasn’t his best work, but it was the best he’d done on something still kicking around.
Patient’s hood was returned to its proper position, and the corpse took hold of a length of twine connected to a slipknot in the middle of her back. Midway up the last stretch of stairs he’d come down, the twine was pulled and the knot it held gave way, restoring the thief her freedom. Knowing better than to stick around, the corpse fled to the top of the stairs, standing on the bridge overlooking her station just beyond where she would pursue. He watched as she freed herself of the last of the twine, as she looked to him, and as she eventually returned to her post. He said then the same thing he always said to her, though still he knew not if she recognized it.
“I am Aldin Paltry, the Leper of Hangknell. I will return again.”
He watched a moment more, but was paid not a glance in return. Back through the alley he went, bound for the dragon’s bridge.

I've only done one other LotR comparison post about Denna's ring, Quenya Vilya
This one's about the Wandering Wizard.

‘The Grey Pilgrim?’ said Frodo. ‘Had he a name?’
‘Mithrandir we called him in elf-fashion,’ said Faramir, ‘and he was content. Many are my names in many countries, he said. "Many are my names in many countries. Mithrandir among the Elves, Tharkûn to the Dwarves; Olórin I was in my youth in the West that is forgotten, in the South Incánus, in the North Gandalf, to the East I go not."

Lanre at Drossen Tor, Menda-who-is-Tehlu and Encanis, Lanre vs Selitos. All pulled from LotR. Gandalf the Grey as Taborlin, wandering wizard who defeats the 'great beast' at the highest peak but pays for it with his life, returns from the dead but now he's all in white, the wielder of the "secret fire" who threw the demon down into the pit and cast himself in after it. The one who removes the skin dancer from the King.
He is Saruman, but not. The same way that Menda is Tehlu, but not. He returns from beyond death and restores the flickering flame of hope, and he gains a greater sight.

The old man was too quick for him. He sprang to his feet and leaped to the top of a large rock. There he stood, grown suddenly tall, towering above them. His hood and his grey rags were flung away. His white garments shone...
They all gazed at him. His hair was white as snow in the sunshine; and gleaming white was his robe; the eyes under his deep brows were bright, piercing as the rays of the sun; power was in his hand. Between wonder, joy, and fear they stood and found no words to say.
At last Aragorn stirred. ‘Gandalf !’ he said. ‘Beyond all hope you return to us in our need! What veil was over my sight? Gandalf !’ Gimli said nothing, but sank to his knees, shading his eyes.
He laid his hand on Gimli’s head, and the Dwarf looked up and laughed suddenly. ‘Gandalf !’ he said. ‘But you are all in white!’
‘Yes, I am white now,’ said Gandalf. ‘Indeed I am Saruman, one might almost say, Saruman as he should have been. But come now, tell me of yourselves! I have passed through fire and deep water, since we parted. I have forgotten much that I thought I knew, and learned again much that I had forgotten. I can see many things far off, but many things that are close at hand I cannot see. Tell me of yourselves!’

I said it in my previous LotR post, these roots run DEEP. Just look into the Maiar lore compared to the Ruach and you can't unsee it. Lol Gandalf's sword is even 'a hammer' like Menda/Tehlu. Love it when all the little details fit all snug like that.
Great stuff.
Incánus
The White Rider

He was two dozen feet from me, but I could see him perfectly in the fading light of sunset. I remember him as clearly as I remember my own mother, sometimes better. His face was narrow and sharp, with the perfect beauty of porcelain. His hair was shoulder length, framing his face in loose curls the color of frost. He was a creature of winter’s pale. Everything about him was cold and sharp and white.

Genocide looked to the sky. He thought of his mentor. The one who had saved him. He remembered his childhood. How powerless he was. He remembered the anger. He never wanted to hurt anybody. He thought of all the times he showed compassion. How much they hurt him for it. He saw the world before him, a graveyard. Humans. People that were supposed to be made in the image of some divine creator. They were but maggots feasting upon his remains. They ate away at his very being until nothing human remained. His thoughts were no longer his own. He had no joys in life that mattered. He hated humanity more than he could love anything about himself. He remember his first killing spree. Being gunned down by police. Left for dead. He remembered a hooded figure moving towards him. Getting closer the more he neared his death. He saw its pale face. Its impossibly black eyes. It was a man. This figure in question appeared to be of Japanese nationality with long, straight, loose hair. It emanated extreme malice. It offered him a choice. A purpose. Power. He thought the figure a reaper but it identified itself as Amakusa Masataka. Masataka guided him on how to kill and gave him specific locations to kill people in. In a sense, he became a hitman for quotas of people. He inquired what Masataka was. The presence of evil, his ability to appear and disappear at will, how he could control what people could see him and what people couldn't. While vague, years of killing for this being offered some insight. Amakusa Masataka belonged to a group of people not of this world. His people had been corrupted by a dark force long ago and had aligned themselves with the warlord who had subjugated their version of Japan. Their dark high priest assisted the warlord along with two others. These four rulers in turn served a larger order. The four were tasked with bringing about the end of the current world as an act of retribution for some fallen deity. Masataka's people acted as covert operatives for this empire. They were feared across the land and were collectively referred to as "Shinigami". An agent of the coming apocalypse, a servant of evil possessed by the will of those gods of death, Genocide would walk the earth.
Genocide stepped toward the station. A police cruiser rammed into him. He pulled out a knife and stabbed the hood of the car. The inhuman force of the knife created sparks which burst the engine into flames. The car crashed into a streetlight and exploded. A second cruiser neared the scene. No way a man could have done this. Yet still, out of the fires Genocide strode forth. It set upon the second vehicle, shooting out it's tires while jumping 9 feet into the air. The car tries to reverse but crashes into a wall. Genocide lands on the hood and kicks through the front window. Glass shatters under its boot, blinding the two officers inside. Genocide shoots one of the officers with a shotgun, killing him. The second officer in the passenger seat readies his pistol and takes aim. Only two shots fired, both directed at Genocide's head. It casually cocks its neck to avoid them. Then it grabs the officer's arm, breaking it. Genocide uses its free hand to grab the officer's head and bangs it into the dashboard no less than 5 times. The skull is shattered on the final impact. Genocide jumps off the car and continues on his mission.
Detective Evans speaks through a megaphone," This is your first and final warning. Stand down or we will use any and all means at our disposal to put you down." Genocide dropped its shotgun and raised its hands. A group of five SWAT team members rushed out the station, surrounding Genocide with riot shields. An officer accompanies them, edging behind the figure to apply handcuffs. Suddenly, Genocide springs to life , grabbing the officer behind him. He flips the officer over his head, slamming him into the pavement at his feet. Then Genocide stomps his head causing it to burst. Genocide drops a flash bomb from his coat sleeve, blinding the SWAT team as he draws his knife. He drives it into one SWAT member, the knife puncturing the shield and piercing his chest. Genocide kicks the corpse away withdrawing his knife. He goes to another, this time using the end of his boot toe in a rising kick to disarm their shield. He grabs them by the throat and drives the knife slowly into their eye socket. Another is tackled to the ground and beaten to death despite still being under the shield. Another is picked up and thrown into the fires still burning from the first auto incident. In no time, Genocide stood before an indistinguishable mass of gore, blood streaking across his black leather outfit. He laughed" So this is all you can give me. I'm not entertained." Officers took aim from the station windows, and snipers did so from other rooftops. Genocide laughed maniacally as he was rained down upon from all sides by a hailstorm of bullets. His body convulsed, but he did not fall. Moments more and he was on his knees. Still though, their efforts were futile. Gracia looked out and saw a black mist coalescing around the man in black. His blood. Blood erupted from his body only to transform into this dark mist that reentered his wounds. Genocide screamed. No. It was just an elevated pitch in his laughter. Optimism failed everyone yet again. Gracia saw Genocide holding something in his right hand. She could only make out a beeping red light. Genocide pushed the button triggering the carefully concealed explosives he laid in preparation for this event. C4 explosives went off in all the places he saw fit. The sniping posts he couldn't reach. The assault of lead lightened. Then Genocide drew an RPG from...somewhere. He collected himself and fired at the station's entrance. The explosion shook the station. From inside, the lights began to flicker. Communications were down on all fronts. Had he modified the rocket with some type of EMP? Not good. Amisdst the confusion Genocide entered using smoke bombs to mask his presence. Moving like a shadow, he killed everyone in the lobby silently with his knife. He made his way to the holding cells. Still they chanted. Still they praised. Still they raved for the arrival of genocide. Genocide shot the lock opening the cell. Jim Jimenez walked out and bowed before his master. Genocide smiled. He couldn't have imagined how proficient he had gotten with possession. Well, not quite possession. He had known of the Shinigami's ability to share their thoughts and emotions with humans. Shinigami like his mentor were ancient. They had so many years of memories, such strong a hatred for life that they overwhelmed the personality of the victim. The victim sees themselves as one of them. Shinigami can't force the will of the victim, so they find those who are already similar to them in some way. Genocide found the collective universal distrust of police to be a prime sentiment to capitalize on. He armed the inmates, infecting them with samples of his own dark essence.One particular inmate caught Genocide's eye. He knew the man's work. An arsonist. The one whom he recalls was responsible for blowing up his first car way back in high school. Rather than a standard firearm, Genocide gave the man a random assortment of grenades containing a special surprise. Genocide showed them visions of anarchy, of sending a message to a society that used and disregarded them. While this was also true of how he felt, years of living in darkness had changed him. He needed no purpose. No end goal. No justification. He just wanted to watch the world burn.
Genocide's small army broke off to engage several different wings of the station. Genocide went to the security room. He found Wayne, his informant, playing some FPS on one of the monitors. Wayne took of his headphones and asked," You kill everyone yet?" Genocide responded," No. You should get going before that happens. Your life becomes fair game if I run out of pigs to cook." Wayne clapped his hands, "Aight, GC my man, say less." He packed his things and left. Genocide drew a twin pair of handguns and laid waste to the station. He followed a group that took cover in the men's restroom. Kicking open multiple stalls he was surprised to find...nothing. Where had they gone? He turned around and saw his mentor, Masataka, smiling at him. It looked like him. Long, dark hair, black clothing, and soulless, empty eyes. But it wasn't. It was Genocide's own reflection in the mirror. Genocide smiled. He didn't notice the changes at first. They must have happened gradually. Subconsciously. From the final stall, an officer sprung into action, rushing Genocide, hitting him point blank with a shockgun round. Genocide felt the tingling sensation electrifying his body and grew numb. In spite of the pain, he took a single step. Then, another. He came within striking range of the officer and snatched the shockgun. Two more officers erupted from another stall, battering him with baton strikes. Genocide felt nothing. He clutched the shockgun in his hand like a bat and went to work pulverizing his attackers. An officer kicked in the bathroom door, a woman holding a pistol. She fired multiple times to no effect. Genocide stood covered in blood. He even let her reload. Twice. He wanted to see her despair. Her hopelessness. He walked towards her, shrugging off bullets as they pierced his body. His wounds healed nigh instantly due to the dark essence he had been imbued with. He held her face with both hands, lifting her body off the ground. As she screamed, he used her head to shatter the restroom mirror, running down the full length of it while smashing her into it at several points. He dropped the remains of what he held, washed his hands with soap, dried them, then exited the restroom.
The inmates that rallied for the cause of genocide attacked the station. Fortunately, they were nowhere near Genocide in terms of power and only carried one type of firearm each. They shared his healing ability but could be killed quite easily. Gracia encountered a sniper on the end or a west wing hallway. Other officers waited behind corners unable to get close. Gracia noticed the faulty lighting. In this hallway, the lights flickered in intervals of 3 seconds. Finding a pattern and timing her movements, she rushed the sniper at the exact moment the lights went out. Running the length of the hall, Gracia zigzagged, dodging the sniper inmate's bullets. She jumped on a wall, ran 3 feet on it, then kicked off it, pouncing on the assailant. She fired five shots into him, making sure to hit the brain and the heart. Two severe injuries that were impossible for Shinigami essence to heal simultaneously. Elsewhere, Evans took on another escaped inmate. A vehicular arsonist named Carson. Carson had a bag filled with an assortment of different grenades and was happily giving them out like candy on Halloween. "A flash bang here, a bit of tear gas there. Oh. Wait! Was that an ice grenade? Did the explosion freeze your leg to the floor? Whoops. Maybe a fire grenade will melt that for you. Hold on let me get one fore you," Carson rambled gleefully. Evans looked at the carnage before him. Officers burning. Officers partially frozen in blocks of ice. He took a breath and aimed his wristgun. He steadied his right forearm. Carson readied to throw a random grenade. Evans shot it the moment it left Carson's hand. The grenade exploded directly in front of Carson. Both Evans and Carson looked at each other in shock. Confetti. A party grenade? Carson quickly fumbled for another but was tackled and restrained by several officers. Meanwhile in the South wing, Lary had some colleagues set a trap for another shotgun toting inmate. He had them bait the inmate and flee. Giving chase he turned a corner and ran straight into Lary's fist. The inmate recovered and motioned to shoot Lary. "Let's tango. " Lary gave the code word. Nearby officers activated a device. A signal jammer of sorts. The inmate shoved the barrel of his gun into Lary's gut and pulled the trigger. Nothing. The special signal jammer in question was designed for firearms. It was a last resort as it left officers just as defenseless. Lary was having fun. He boxed the inmate in hand to hand combat. Despite the inmate's enhanced strength, Lary's technique pulled through. Lary ducked under one of the inmate's wide punches and did some type of rising uppercut where he jumped off the ground while spinning. One of the other officers whispered" The rising dragon." Lary smiled giving a thumbs up" Yeah, it was a rising dragon uppercut. Saw it in one O my kid's vidya games. Thought I'd try it out while I'm jacked on adrenaline".
Jim Jimenez looked long and hard at himself in the mirror. He was in the women's restroom. Some brainless woman had broken the men's restroom mirror with her face. For the first time in a long while Jim could think clearly. He was becoming sane. At the least he was no longer a raving lunatic. The life essence of the dark gods had healed the wounds to both his body and his mind. He saw his face, his scraggly dirty beard. He found a razor and shaved. He trimmed his beard somewhat. He liked it. He washed his hair. It fell down his face like silk, no longer greasy. His bloodshot eyes once burning with crazed intensity had cooled. He blinked. Just for a second, he saw the man known as Genocide. The man that attacked him. The one that killed him and gave him new life. The drug dealers. The police. They were all the same in his eyes now. They were all to blame for the world being what it is. Jim wanted to hate them. He wanted to take revenge, but he felt nothing. It didn't matter. He knew he was wronged, could logically justify acting against them, but he just didn't care anymore. About anything. He was finally free. Sensing his presence was no longer needed here, Jim vanished into the night. He needed to find someone who had had the answers he needed. Himself. Who had he been? Who was he now? Who could he become? Where was he going? So many questions to ponder indefinitely. So much time left in the rest of his life.
Genocide ran down the station's halls raining hailstorms of bullets upon its occupants. He had a handgun in each hand as well as a wristgun on each wrist. This effectively gave him 4 separate firearms that he could use simultaneously. Lary regrouped with Gracia, Evans, and a handful of others. They radioed all surviving officers near Genocide to flee to the roof. This plan had been set in motion days before the assault and had been kept hidden from most of the force. The plan involved scheduling flights for several helicopters to arrive at some point after Genocide arrived. There would be no way for him to prepare for them and pre-scheduling their arrival ensured they arrived regardless of if they were called or not. Lary and the others set about preparing the second jamming device. Genocide stood among a hallway of bodies. He saw one man clinging to life trying to crawl away. He decided on trying that other thing he saw his master do. He grabbed the dying man and pinned him to the wall. Slowly he drove a knife into his chest. As the man's life slipped away, something else entered his body. Genocide channeled a small amount of his essence into the vessel. He had steadily done this with other casualties around the station whose bodies were somewhat salvageable. He dropped the body he was holding and looked upon the others. He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, his eyed were black, both sclera and iris. The scene before him changed. Genocide had a vision. He saw a dead gray wasteland littered with bodies. These people however weren't cops and wore traditional Japanese attire. In his hand wasn't a gun or knife but a short sickle akin to a farming tool. He heard a dark voice call out to him. Slowly, the corpses around him began to rise, now mere puppets bound eternally to their master's whim. The bodies sold to the reaper who had claimed their lives. Genocide's vision ended. His eyes had returned normal. Around him, dead cops began to rise. His dark essence had entered their bodies and reanimated them. He sent his dead army to attack the officers fleeing to the roof of the station. These zombies swarmed the stairwell giving chase to the few survivors. There were five of them. They had two flights of stairs to climb and a horde of their former colleagues close behind them. One officer tripped and was set upon by the horde. The zombies didn't bite them but held them firmly in place. The other four officers stared down wondering what to do. They could hear Genocide chuckling. They could hear humming. They could feel the temperature rising. Their colleague and the two zombies holding him were hit by an enormous green fireball. Genocide had fired a Magnum Opus and had charged the bullet to level 3. The Magnum Opus was simply a magnum that shot fireballs, with bullets that could be charged by holding down the trigger. It had three levels of charges. Level 1 was a small reddish ball of plasma. Level 2 was slightly larger and yellow. Level 3 was the maximum charge and resulted in a large slow moving green blast of energy. The officer was ignited and Genocide watched gleefully as the force of the blast sent him flying through a wall. The four officers continued up firing occasionally to slow down the zombies. Soon they made it to a door leading to the roof. Before one officer could reach it, he was sniped by Genocide, a bullet to the head killing him instantly. The remaining three made it out. They regrouped with the others already there, 12 in total, including Lary, Evans, and Gracia. This would be their final stand. They just had to hold out until Genocide made it up there. They just had to keep Genocide occupied until the helicopters arrived. Genocide slowly ascended the stairs behind his horde. On the roof, the remaining survivors faced off against waves of the undead. Evans recognized the attackers. These zombies were being controlled by nanomachines. He heard the stories of several weapons encountered by soldiers on the battlefield. These creatures were called Metaldeads as they were reanimated via machines. They had been officially banned by most of the worlds' governments for being unethical. However, this did not stop the technology from being spread still between shady organizations, terrorists, etc. Evans wondered how Genocide got this form of nanotechnology. Evans long speculated that the dark essence used by most of the killers they encountered was a a form of nanotech however it was different from anything else he had seen or heard about. The dark essence seemed to be an amalgamation of other types of nanotech. Evans had to save his inquiries for later. He reloaded his wristgun and took aim at the approaching group of Metaldeads. Gracia steadied her handgun and shot two Metaldeads in the head. From the single door countless arms seemed to spill forth from the darkness. The other officers took turns firing in intervals. this allowed them to create a steady stream of fire where no more that three guns needed to be reloaded at once. The horde seemed to thin out over time as if they were making progress. In actuality, the Metaldeads were just making room for Genocide to enter. Genocide exploded in a sprint from the door. Everyone fired upon the killer. Genocide had now chosen a wrist mounted mini flamethrower to use as his weapon. He stormed past the oncoming bullets taking some damage, but refused to slow down. He unleashed a stream of fire that caught five of the officers in one fell swoop. Gracia fired five rounds into Genocide's face. He stumbled back. Lary took the chance to fire several mine gun bullets at Genocide's feet. The mines quickly detected his movement and exploded. In seconds, Genocide was on his back.
Staring at the night sky Genocide saw the moon. He reached for it. He called for the darkness to give him more power. His wounds began healing. In the sky he could hear the whirl of propellers. There were six helicopters in total. The first two had evacuated the survivors while the others stayed to engage Genocide. Genocide got up and unstrapped the sniper rifle from his back. He stood before the searchlights as a black silhouette, cornered but unwilling to back down. Lary stared down at him smiling. "Okay!" He shouted, "Let's Tango!" Upon this declaration the second jamming device was activated. Now, isolated on the roof, Genocide's guns couldn't be fired and the helicopters were out of range of the device. Now Genocide stood like a sitting duck. A helicopter fired a rocket. Genocide side stepped and grabbed it. He turned his body redirecting the rocket to hit another helicopter. As it exploded Genocide drew his knife and threw it at another helicopter. Behind the knife was such force that it shattered the helicopter window's glass, embedding itself in the pilot. This helicopter too went down where it exploded. "Holy clucknuggets!Did you see that!?" Lary said dumbfounded. Evans looked out the helicopter door he was in jaw open in shock. "There's no way." He collected himself quickly and radioed the remaining two helicopters to keep moving and to use their machineguns as much as possible. The helicopters reigned down upon Genocide tearing apart his body. Shreds of leather and darkened blood sprayed across the pavement of the roof. Gracia watched as Genocide's body was destroyed repeatedly as it tried to heal. Surely he had to stop at some point. After 10 minutes the helicopters had exhausted their cache of ammunition and soldiers opted to fire their own rifles and occasionally throw grenades. After about six minutes, they too had run out of bullets. Genocide stood unfazed. He had long since healed himself and now appeared intangible with gunfire seeming to pass through his body. His coat once ripped , now appeared whole though on closer inspection seemed to writhe. Gracia looked in horror as she remembered the tales her adopted father had told her. Tales he had in turn heard from his predecessors. Every so often officers had reported encounters with ghost like beings cloaked in a cloud of living dark mist. The beings were rumored to be responsible for the deaths of multiple people ranging from scientists, veterans, mafia, politicians, etc. They were seen near such crime scenes and even more shockingly appeared around several sites where suicides were committed. These beings were reportedly impervious to bullets and filled anyone who got near with an impending sense of dread. If Genocide was connected to them or somehow turning into one , there was little chance they would be able to defeat him. Gracia's fears were confirmed when she saw that Genocide's leather coat had been destroyed and he had replaced it with the dark mist coalescing from his own spilled blood. The dark mist, swirling, grew larger and several tendrils sprouted out from it. Gracia could briefly make out a figure standing next to Genocide. A hooded figure cloaked in the same black substance. The figure stared up at her with soulless, blackened eyes which seemed to beckon her to jump from the aircraft she was standing in. Compelling her to give in to the death that plagued the earth. Genocide kneeled to his master. The Shinigami, Masataka stared down at his disciple. "You have done a great service to us. Even now the sealed god stirs in its slumber. Its...Awakening will soon be upon us. It calls out for war. It begs for famine. It longs to continue its conquest. We are the death it so desires. The death that is necessary for this civilization to grow. Use the power that I have bestowed upon you. Finish the mission as you see fit." The Shinigami vanished and Genocide stood.Genocide stared at his hands. He remembered the first killing spree. He was on a bus. It stopped. A woman got on the bus and walked to the back smiling as she passed him. Something about her eyes unnerved him. They were so bright but something dark reflected inside them. He ignored the thought and put in his headphones. In minutes he had dozed off. He jumped awake. He looked around and froze in panic. All around him, everyone had been hacked to pieces. He saw the driver, actively being stabbed by a masked assailant. The mask, painted white with black eyeholes, stared back at him. It raised a finger over where its lips would be. Even under the expressionless visage, he could feel that same smile. He ran home that morning. He went to his room to find it destroyed. His posters, his computer, his tv, everything, had been ruined. He turned around and saw a man at the end of the hallway holding a sledge hammer. "The hell you been, boy?", his stepdad sneered. The man dropped his hammer and walked closer, veins pulsing with rage. He tried to explain how his car had caught fire forcing him to walk 4 miles to the nearest bus stop, but the man's fist was faster than his words. "Boy!Answer me when I talk to you!!" the man says as he backhands the taste out of the would be Genocide's mouth. He took that beating for several minutes before being left to stare at his ransacked room. He hated how his stepdad went out of his way to destroy the things he loved. Soon, another set of footsteps could be heard. It was his mother standing behind his locked door. She didn't knock, or say anything. She just stood there, doing nothing as always. He never knew if she came to talk to him or apologize. All he knew was that she could never bring herself to speak to or even acknowledge him. Maybe out of guilt or perhaps shame. A year or two later after he had had enough he ran away from home. Living out on the streets alone, without friends, or family, he would embark on countless killing sprees. These killings weren't of his own volition however. He was coerced by some corrupt officers from The Unit. They made him kill on their behalf. Sometimes they were protesters, sometimes they were drug dealers, other times, petty criminals they couldn't be bothered to process. It was routine for him to be used to kill entire houses of drug riddled addicts. During one such venture he entered a drug den, killing the dealer as instructed. He took out several junkies before turning to leave. A woman who survived her injuries clung to his heel begging him to stop. Looking down he aimed the handgun he was carrying at her head of long disheveled brown hair and fired. Feeling nothing, he kicked her body aside like trash when it hit him. Her face. This woman had been his mother. What was she doing in a place like this? He felt a shock of emotion. He wondered if she had always been like this, or had she changed after he left. He never made amends, but decided to stop killing from then on. The unit did not like that. Once it became apparent that he was no longer of use to them they started a manhunt to apprehend him with lethal force. They found him. They killed him. But he survived.
He remembered the girl on the bus. He remembered her eyes. Those of a sadistic killer. Still there was something else inside them. Something faint but deeper. So. Much. Sadness. Just like him. He felt the hatred begin to spread. His purpose, he decided, was to make all humans rot in the hell they created for him.
These people, he thought to himself, these living diseases, all needed to die. Their struggles, their problems, they spread like cancer to others. The only cure for humanity's sin, its collective wrongdoings, was genocide.
Around him, dark tendrils continued to form and expand, spinning in a vortex. Genocide pulled out two pistols. He squeezed the triggers to no effect. "As I see fit, huh? Hehe." He squeezed both guns in his hands, breaking them into pieces. He concentrated. In his hands, two more guns materialized now completely black due to being forged from the dark essence. Forged by his will. Immune to the jamming device that shut down conventional firearms. He raised his arms at each remaining helicopter and opened fire. Countless tendrils whipped out and slashed at his targets joining the dark essence bullets. It was chaos. Dark tendrils and bullets tore through every direction as Genocide spun and swirled around in 360 degrees firing randomly with purpose. A tendril pierced Gracia's right arm, another, her abdomen. She was however, fortunate, as the other passengers of her helicopter were dismembered. She barely had time to jump from the vehicle before it crashed. She fell 2 yards onto solid concrete. She felt immense pain as her right shoulder shattered on impact. She looked up to see Genocide's blade like appendages ripping through the other escape helicopters. She rolled onto her back and tried to steady herself. Within seconds her body began to repair itself. The nanocells inside her had saved her life but were now depleted. She would need another supplement lest she receive another fatal injury. The standard nanocells she and the others had were much less potent than those of the killers they faced. In truth, they had only minimal strength boosts being able to lift 5-8 more pounds than before and healing being limited to one or two fatal injuries so long as death didn't occur instantly. Gracia blacked out. She awoke the next morning in a hospital. There the doctors refilled her nanocells. She learned that the station had been left in ruins. Genocide had detonated some type of minature nuke following his rampage. He always blew up the stations as if to send a message. Gracia looked out the window thinking about why she became a cop. Twice her family had been murdered by them. Her biological family had been killed in an on record drug raid committed by a group of corrupt officers called The Unit. She had been adopted by another officer that arrived at the scene who found her as a child hiding in a closed. Sadly, he too was killed for trying to expose the activities of The Unit. Gracia joined the force to avenge both losses and bring justice to the killers that disguised themselves as normal people. Law enforcement was neither good, nor bad. It depended upon the people that made it up. In the dying corrupt world Gracia lived in, she vowed to be a beacon of light. Evans laid in a bed adjacent to Lary. "That damn Genocide's somethin else in' he?Like the stories you told us were understatements. That man could legit not die at this point in the story. Like he has friggin plot armor or somthin.'' Evans cut him off" I get it. We all got our asses handed to us. But did you see that ..thing that appeared next to him. Right before he created that black vortex that wiped us out. That must have something to do with his power. Maybe there's a still a way to stop him."Lary chimed in," That fella looked like he was on the way to a black metal concert wit all the black facepaint he was wearin' Creeped me out to be honest." As the survivors mulled over their predicament, the cycle of evil continued to spread elsewhere.
Budley flips through the pages of a magazine. He checks his watch. He looks around the gas station and doesn't see any customers. Seizing the opportunity, he puts in his headphones and begins playing an imaginary guitar as he jams to a progressive deathcore album. Oblivious to the screams coming from outside, the store clerk moves on to thumping two candy bars on the counter to simulate drums. Budley sees that his shift has ended and begins locking up the store. He sweeps the aisles and jumps as a shadow appears behind him. He turns and sees a well groomed bearded man dressed in a black hoodie, black shirt, and black and gray camo pants. The man holds out his hand and smiles. Budley rings up the pack of nicotine substitute gum. "Tryin to kick the habit huh?" Budley asks. The man replies, "Somethin like that. Gotta get my priorities back in check. Focus on the things that really matter. That damn KonCreep's a hell of a band aren't they?" He nods to the playlist on Budley's phone. "Yeah, they're killer. just got into them a month back." Budley answers. "You know, I'm something of a musician myself. Maybe you'll hear of me on the news someday." Jim Jimenez says as he sees himself out. He walks to the back of the building and passes an ominous form of graffiti. A woman lays unmoving and above her, written on concrete in red is a message that simply says "Genocide Reigns".