《Midnight Hell Sonata [Lovecraftian Cyberpunk LitRPG]》


 1. Prologue: Fetal Movements

    "Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win"


    ¨D Stephen King


    1


    In the highest tower of Kaleidoscope City, there was a strange egg. For starters, it was big enough to hold a human being, and that''s what it did. Since it was transparent, inside you could see a human being curled up in a ball, wrapped in the egg.


    But not for long. Like any egg, it hatched.


    Its fluids fell into the sea of the dark of the night. And on black wings like a raven''s, she soared. Naked, but she wasn''t human to begin with. Her body was like black glass, and there was nothing to see; she had a mouth and eyes, but no sexual organs.


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    The world didn''t come to bless the birth of a new being. The world already belonged, or should belong, to human beings, so they could only hate and fear it.


    The only thing around her were war helicopters. Soldiers ready for anything, even giving their lives.


    But they didn''t even have the chance to give them, nor did they get anything out of it. The woman raised a hand, clenched a fist.


    That was it.


    For that, the helicopters around her fell burning into the night like shooting stars.


    The woman descended towards Sylvester, who was on his knees on the ground, his body covered with severe wounds. There was no trace of whatever had been used to wound him so severely. One thing was certain, the holes were too large to be bullet wounds.


    "What are you?"


    The woman did not answer.


    She grabbed his chin and pulled him toward her as if to kiss him.


    Face to face.


    Sylvester''s shadowed eyes in front of the slitted eyes of an inhuman creature, a creature that didn''t even belong to this world.


    "The time of humanity has come to an end. That is all that matters."

 2. Welcome to the Midnight Hell, Part 1

    1


    The eyes of his prey glowed in the darkness.


    Although the wrapper still looked human, at this point it was more beast than man. It raised an arm, which had transformed into a mess of metal and wires. A firearm installed in your own arm, one of the many atrocities of the modern era.


    "Die!" Shouting his desperate desire, the prey opened fire.


    The man across the alley did not move from his position. He didn''t even try to dodge. That steel storm could shatter tree trunks with ease, so it went without saying what it could do to a frail human body. But he didn''t even try to dodge.


    He didn''t need to.


    With one fluid motion, so much so that his prey didn''t even see him, the man unsheathed his katana.


    "What? How is that possible?"


    He only realized seconds later what had happened. The man had deflected every single bullet with his katana. It was so amazing that, instead of being overwhelmed by his inhuman speed, he was more surprised than frightened. For the moment.


    The prey acted as such. In other words, turned around and ran away. He rounded the corner. The man knew very well what was on the other side.


    He walked unhurriedly forward, chasing his prey. All in good time. There was no need to rush the moment of climax.


    Another storm of steel greeted him as soon as he turned the corner. He deflected the bullets with the blade of his katana as smoothly as before. He saw the fear grow in the eyes of his prey. He saw the first crack in his heart.


    There was little left for him to collapse completely.


    Only then would he deliver the coup de grace.


    He didn''t know what he had gotten himself into. The fair thing would be to send him to hell only after opening his eyes. Though it wasn''t as if that beast knew anything about fairness, or deserved it.


    His prey kept running. The man didn''t increase his pace one bit. Not that he knew it was a dead end. He didn''t know what lay beyond the next corner. He simply had no fear of this weakling getting away from him.


    The prey must have been feeling like the alley was endless. He stopped to turn around and shoot him again. He should have kept running since that didn''t even slow him down. Barely moving the hand with which he held the katana, he did it again.


    If the bullets were a tempest of steel, then the man was an impenetrable fortress of steel. Not a single one would get through.


    The prey rounded the next corner.


    When the man got there, still walking, he saw him nowhere even as he moved his head. Then he felt him. Behind him, putting the gun against his skull.


    He wasn''t as dumb as one might expect. He didn''t boast of his apparent victory, didn''t waste time. But the man didn''t allow him to fire anyway. Demonstrating once again his inhuman speed, he spun on his heels and cut off his gun arm with a single slash. On the ground, it was enveloped by particles of dark blue light as it returned to its original form, a human arm.


    The prey writhed on the ground as he screamed and cradled what was left of his arm as if he could retrieve it, as if there was a way back.


    In the moonlight, his face sunk in shadows, the man raised the katana to finish what he had started.


    A massive form descended beside the wounded beast.


    A man over six feet tall with arms like logs. Aside from a mask, very short pants and knee pads he wore nothing but his boots. Yes, he was dressed as if he had stepped out of a wrestling ring. The man blinked. The wounded beast was vulgarly common, but this was not something you saw every day.


    "This is the best bodyguard you could get?" The man spoke to his prey for the first time. He usually didn''t like to waste oxygen when he was working. "What, only this circus freak was in your budget?"


    The wounded animal stood up, still clinging to the stump of his arm as if it could do anything to stop the bleeding. Despite the wound he had just received, he ran very fast to escape. The fear must have eclipsed the pain. He couldn''t waste time with this freak.


    The giant said nothing. It didn''t lunge to attack directly, instead, he grabbed one of the garbage cans with both hands. He lifted it with ease and threw it towards him. The object reached a surprising speed, which was the same as strength. If it hit.


    It didn''t quite make it. His katana cut the trash can in half, and the trash fell all around him without even soiling his suit with the smallest stain.


    The giant had wasted no time. He was big, but not slow. He lunged at him, trying to grab him with both hands and crush him as if he were a toy.


    The man jumped. The leap carried him over the giant dressed like a wrestler, and he was able to land smoothly crouched down.


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    He took off running. He could handle the circus freak, but that didn''t matter. He''d waste too much time on that, and his real target was that man.


    It wasn''t a dead end. He saw the wounded animal steal a car, dragging the occupant out with the only arm he had left. The man might be superhuman, but he wasn''t some kind of superhero. If he tried to chase him on foot, he would lose him.


    Fortunately, he had come prepared.


    The man pulled a black cube from his elegant jacket pocket. On top of it was a blue circle. He dropped it on the ground, watched it as it rolled. As it gave off discharges of blue energy and grew to more than twenty times its size, transforming into a motorcycle.


    He got behind the controls of the bike. He stepped on the accelerator. The prey had proved to have an ace up its sleeve and had now disappeared from his sight, but he was still not afraid of losing him.


    The wrestler didn''t give up so easily. In other words, he picked up another dumpster and tried to hit him. This time he didn''t even have to split it, it just missed him. It bounced off the hood of a car, sinking it and cracking the glass before falling to the side.


    His organization didn''t like collateral damage, it wasn''t his style either, but it was more important to stop his prey than to stop the wrestler on his tracks.


    That guy wouldn''t be able to catch him on foot either, naturally. As much of a freak as he might be, that would be a step too far. So that shot would be the last thing. He''d have to back down after that.


    Completely ignoring traffic laws, the man from the syndicate pursued the prey at high speed.


    And the ability to weave through traffic without getting hit and ending up in the middle of the road.


    Soon he saw the car the prey had stolen again. In no time he would be on top of him and this time he wouldn''t escape.


    His motorcycle stopped suddenly. For a moment, he thought he had run out of fuel. But the engine was still roaring and the wheels were still skimming the road. It hadn''t stopped, it had been stopped. The giant wrestler had grabbed the rear end, bringing it to a halt.


    Fast. And strong. Too strong.


    The man didn''t use his sword, he just kicked the wrestler in the chest. That''s how he got him to let go and started off again. He almost hit a car in the process. He would have, had they not swerved to avoid running him over. He had to get out of here before he caused a car accident, and he had to catch his prey no matter what.


    As for the wrestler, who could be a problem for the civilians....


    2


    The big guy fell to his knees in the middle of the road. To his credit, he only let out a grunt of pain instead of screaming. Anyone else in his position would have screamed.


    She''d blown a chunk out of his right leg, after all.


    The big guy turned the mask in her direction. There was nothing friendly about him even with the shiny star on his forehead.


    "Now you''re going to play with me," the woman said.


    Retreating back into the darkness of the alley.


    3


    He didn''t work alone.


    The prey had simply chosen the first vehicle at hand. With something like that he couldn''t outrun him and his motorcycle. He was almost upon him.


    But the man was patient, and now he had a better reason to hold back than in the alley. He just had to wait a little longer.


    Get it a little closer. Until the distance to cover in one jump was within his capabilities.


    Now.


    There was no room for doubt or fear of death. If he hesitated even for a second, the opportunity would slip through his fingers. The man jumped, returning the bike to its cube shape at the same time. He landed perfectly on the roof of the car he was chasing, on all fours, with the elegance of a cat.


    He thrust the sword into and through the roof, intending to take the scalp of his prey. The vehicle began to move erratically. Because of the fright and because he was trying to get rid of him like that, to throw him off. He hadn''t killed the prey, not yet. The man couldn''t see him, but he could hear him whimpering. It didn''t matter.


    He pulled the sword from the roof of the vehicle. He didn''t need it to keep his balance. The katana had cut a hole in the roof, his hands finished the job. He opened the roof wide, exposing his wounded prey.


    He had been doing a good job driving so far, considering he only had one arm, but his luck had run out.


    Their gazes met for the last time.


    The eyes of a wounded animal and the eyes of a hunter.


    In the blink of an eye, less than a breath, he drove the sword into his skull. The man spun over his head, forward. He landed on the hood of the car. He didn''t see the rest, but he heard enough. Skin and flesh tearing, blood and gray matter flowing. The katana blade must have reached up to his nose.


    The driver was dead. The man was ready to regain control of the vehicle, he started up at once. He entered through the window, smashing it with his boots and dislodging the corpse of his prey to one side. But it had been too late to avoid crashing from the start. It wasn''t a matter of if he had only been a few seconds faster, he hadn''t had a chance from the start.


    The vehicle slammed into the fence hard enough to sweep it away, even as he slammed on the brakes.


    But in the end it stopped.


    There were no more incidents, no more surprises, no more cards up the sleeve. The job was over for the night.


    The man glanced at his copilot. What was left of him, anyway. His head had been split in half. His nose too, his judgment had been correct.


    "Pathetic. But nothing is more pathetic than the life you led. I think this is all there is to it, but I still hope you''re burning in hell."


    Those weren''t the words of the professional, but of the man behind it. He didn''t have to act professional because the job was already finished.


    But it turned out to be another misunderstanding. He, no, the syndicate had misunderstood the nature of this job.


    The body began to shake. The first thing that crossed his mind, naturally, was that these were spasmodic movements. The natural process of death. Then he saw the purple energy it began to give off and he understood.


    He understood that he wasn''t dead yet. The man jumped out of the car. He got out just in time. Just before the corpse burst like a pi?ata. Long, hairy legs emerged from the hole in his chest. Then, from his back, two more legs.... No, they were like the claws of a crab.


    In any case, the creature continued to grow, the wrapper continued to writhe. It grew to the point that the vehicle was also shattered in the process of transformation.


    It was transformed into nothing more than a metal ball that gave no hint of its original form. It was as if it was telling him that it would crush him that way too.


    When the monster emerged from its shell, what did it turn out to be? A spider or a crab? A bit of both. Spider, since it had eight hairy legs that looked sharp as swords. Crab, because of the two extra legs that were pincers. And...


    Human. Human, too. Although the corpse had been torn apart, the shape of his prey was perfectly reproduced in the middle. He was sort of hanging upside down, though. The two long pincers began on his legs, which had been lengthened, twisted and monstrously transformed.


    It was a complete hideous freak that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end just by looking at it. At least that was the effect it would produce on any normal person.


    The man simply adjusted his red tie. Then he pushed his short, dark, scrupulously combed hair back with one hand. Preparing to continue his work. Simple, neat, professional.


    "It looks like the hunt isn''t over. Not yet."


    His eyes glittered like gold coins in the moonlight as he smiled.


    That was a slightly less professional smile, but rather that of a hungry wild beast.

 3. Welcome to the Midnight Hell, Part 2

    1


    The man felt like mocking his prey, but now that it was clear that the job had only just begun, he had to return to professional mode. He put a hand to his earpiece.


    "Agent Sylvester? Is it done yet?"


    "I have a Lunar Remnant. Get the satellite ready."


    "How? What happened?"


    "The target was a monster in more ways than one. Hurry up."


    "Yeah, yeah, of course."


    The target, now that his outward appearance partly reflected his rotten soul, ran away. But he wasn''t heading for the road to flee.


    With the transformation, he had forgotten his eagerness to crush the enemy.


    He had forgotten many things, to the point where he now only wanted to eat. Fortunately, he wouldn''t get that far. Instead of feasting on whoever was enjoying the city''s nightlife along the way, he simply ran into a barrier that sparked like an electrified fence. Like, almost, the fence they had thrown down on the way in.


    But it wasn''t simple electricity nor had it been there all along.


    The beast, whether out of instinct or what was left of human in him, turned, pinning its eyes on him. Because it felt it. It knew it.


    The barrier energy had flowed from his sword. Sylvester had managed to trace the barrier in time with that energy. And it came from beyond the heavens. From space, where the satellite floated.


    It wasn''t an unbreakable barrier, but it didn''t need to be either.


    Sylvester took a step forward.


    He just needed to make sure it didn''t get away, that it couldn''t hurt innocent people. It wouldn''t even give him time to try to break it. And he would do this. Even if he had to do it alone, he would win.


    Because it was his job, after all.


    "Talk to me if you can. I''d like to confirm that there''s enough of you left in there to feel this. It''s fine if you pieces of shit kill each other. But involving children... Even this is less than you deserve."


    Sylvester didn''t get a response from the beast.


    He hadn''t expected it either. Not really. It seemed that this Remnant was fresh. His professional mask was slipping off his face.


    He gripped the katana with both hands. Rage, desire for revenge, sadness. If he had time for such useless things, he should fill the blade of his katana with those feelings and wield it until the thing was dead.


    The beast, half spider, half crab and half scorpion, roared, lowering its body to approach him. As if trying to intimidate him.


    Useless.


    Useless.


    One of the claws flew towards his neck.


    It went nowhere. It flew off in dozens of pieces. The beast roared again, but in its voice now there was pain above all else.


    In a little while there would be fear.


    The Remnant opened its mouth, its only mouth, that is, the human one. From it shot out a web. This caught him by surprise, even though it was obvious it had certain spider parts, he hadn''t been able to take that for granted.


    Still, the web didn''t hit him, trapping him or his katana.


    He didn¡¯t roll away or cut it down either. All he had to do was to lean to the side slightly, without moving from the spot. He dodged the attack with as little movement as possible.


    He did cut the second web shot in half, however.


    Meanwhile, the beast used its scorpion tail to skewer a car. The citizen would regret the loss of the vehicle, but at least he would be compensated for the collateral damage. And he had been lucky not to be inside.


    The barrier prevented the beast from leaving this area, but still had a few empty cars on hand and other things it could throw at him.


    It threw the car.


    Sylvester jumped over it, dodging it with no trouble, but before he knew it he had the beast on top of him. That was because the car, spinning in the air, had covered its movements. It might not have retained much human consciousness, but it had enough to use the vehicle as a distraction.


    Sylvester raised the katana to defend his head. The impact of the tail against the blade sounded like a small earthquake.


    Sylvester was thrown back to the ground, but landed on his knees. A little shaken, but okay. He stood up on shaky legs. That weakness would pass in a matter of seconds. He too had only just begun.


    The monster crashed into him. The force of the impact, combined with the enormity of his body, knocked his feet off the ground. He was dragged more than ten meters backwards, against and through the wall of a warehouse.


    Dust and debris fell all around him, passing close by.


    His enemy retreated as soon as he managed to get him inside the warehouse, moving on to run along the walls like a giant spider. He still had some remnants of his human consciousness, all things considered. Enough intelligence to want to take the fight to an enclosed space where he could take full advantage of his mobility, for example.


    As it moved around the warehouse, it was occasionally knocking shelves and all the boxes and other crap to the floor. If it hoped to make him lose sight of it, between the darkness and the loud noise masking its footsteps, then it was very delusional prey.


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    It fired more webbing and immediately darted off in another direction.


    It would have been as easy to dodge as at first, but Sylvester decided he should cut it to pieces. He was determined to kill the creature as quickly as possible, but if he didn''t succeed, he might find it difficult to move with the web glued everywhere.


    He could run out of the warehouse and force it to come out after him. He should.


    But it didn''t matter when or where. He would stop it here, which it had chosen as its lair of sorts, and then send it to eternal oblivion.


    The monster took a leap. Its landing shook the floor and the walls. In one fluid motion, it grabbed one of the fallen bookshelves and lifted it as it spun.


    The bookshelf, but also its whole body.


    Sylvester struck the bookshelf with his katana. The blade went through, though not all the way, it got stuck in the middle.


    He decided to take advantage of that. As the beast finished spinning, Sylvester took a leap, leaping up onto the shelf. With the katana still stuck in it, but well, step by step, all in good time.


    He pushed with both hands, slicing the shelf in two and freeing his weapon. He stood up, a position that couldn''t have been more precarious with the creature swinging the shelf like it was a toy, and used it as a fulcrum to launch himself towards the face of the human who had given birth to this abomination


    Sylvester landed right on his head. It ate his boots, his dust.


    "Deep down, you must have known this day would come."


    Sylvester lowered his center of gravity, like a panther about to pounce on its prey. Then everything changed. His five senses accelerated to the maximum and beyond. To the point that color disappeared from the world. His body glowed like the edge of his katana, his enemy too.


    He lunged at it.


    How many slashes had he made in a single second? Even he wasn''t sure of that. Color returned to the world slash by slash. Blood flowed like water spit out of a sprinkler.


    He lost track of everything, whether it was day or night. The only thing he knew was the movement of his katana, which flowed as if it were part of his body.


    There was no resistance. The weapon seemed to have lost its weight completely. The enemy''s skin and flesh gave way instantly. Sylvester never felt more at one with the world than at times like this. Separated from the limitations of his body, he could simply do whatever he wanted.


    But all good things had to come to an end. No, he ended it. He had to. Even someone like him would collapse if he spent too long in that state.


    It didn''t matter. The Lunar Remnant fell at his feet.


    In pieces. Nothing but blood and gore everywhere. Color slowly returned to the world, apart from the hints of red when he had begun to tear it apart. His heart beat faster again. For yes, in that state it didn''t race, but rather his heartbeat slowed to almost nothing. It was a state as if his whole being was concentrated on a single point.


    The prey was still alive. He could see its eyes moving. The mouth closing and opening weakly.


    But it was already defeated.


    Sylvester raised the katana.


    "Taste a little of the fear and despair you put those children through and go to hell, you monster.


    The katana descended like a guillotine.


    And that was it.


    He would say silence returned, but no city of that size was truly silent. The night was young.


    "Agent Sylvester?"


    "The Lunar Remnant is dead. There were no civilian casualties."


    Only that wasn''t true, as he had just said. But what good did it do those kids that he''d doled out justice now? Nothing could erase what had happened to them. Even if there really was another world in which to pay the debt of what you had done here, or to receive a reward for your effort and suffering.


    "Excellent work."


    Sylvester said nothing. He simply adjusted his tie again. He tightened it to such an extent that it hurt. He had to loosen it a little.


    If there was one advantage about these things, it was that you didn''t have to get rid of them. Sylvester hadn''t come out through the hole in the wall before the monster disappeared as it had appeared, that is, enveloped in purple energy.


    Energy that transformed into butterflies that flew towards the moon, seeking its light.


    He lifted his head to watch them go, but he didn''t allow himself to waste much time on that. It was a sight he had already witnessed countless times and would have to witness as many more in the future, after all. The work just kept coming.


    As he had said, the city was still awake even at this hour. And, of course, they hadn''t missed anything that had happened. But they were starting to treat it like a common crime.


    Like they''d just heard gunshots or something.


    Some, of course, were closing doors and windows tightly, turning off lights, pretending they weren''t there.


    Others watched as if it was more entertaining than anything on TV. The subtlety of the onlookers varied. There was one thing that never varied. When their eyes met Sylvester''s as he scanned the buildings, they averted their gaze. Always.


    The world had changed too much in too short a time. At first they had tried to keep it a secret, but then these incidents had become more and more common.


    But some things never changed. He supposed it was human nature.


    He spotted his partner. She was relaxed, leaning against Sylvester''s bike precisely, even though her own was next to it. She had picked up the cube along the way and turned it back on, so he couldn''t complain, he hadn''t expected her to do that.


    From the way she was dressed she looked more like an office worker than someone who was sticking her neck out fighting monsters from outer space, but the same went for him, of course. That was the thing about having a uniform.


    "Were you worried about me?"


    "You are close to three months. I''ve had partners who have lasted less." She was tough and he trusted her. Would she break the one-year record? That remained to be seen, but he preferred not to think about it. He''d rather not think about anything so far ahead. With this job, it was better to take things one day at a time.


    "I know. It was in the files. What wasn''t is that you don''t have a sense of humor.


    Cynthia hit him on the shoulder with her fist. Gently, of course. Her version of a pat on the back.


    "I do, but we''re working." It was true because he hadn''t said it was a good one.


    "Precisely!" She stretched her arms out to the sides to put extra emphasis on that word, exaggerating as usual. "With all this, you''re going to drive yourself crazy if you don''t let yourself have some fun once in a while."


    Maybe she was right. Maybe she wasn''t.


    But Sylvester had his own way of living. It hadn''t failed him so far.


    "What happened with that eccentric guy?"


    "You don''t want to talk about it anymore? Very subtle. All right, then. He''s all tied up nice and tight for you, boss, unconscious in the back of a truck." One of their trucks, right? She wouldn''t have dumped him in just any truck. Probably. "And I got your bike back."


    That was all her job, as a member of the syndicate and as his partner, in theory. But that didn''t mean he couldn''t be polite.


    "I can see that. Thank you."


    Cynthia nodded, satisfied with that. She wasn''t asking for much, either. Sylvester had things to improve on, too.


    They got on their respective bikes, preparing to leave after a night''s work well done. But the conversation wasn''t over yet. The rookie was inquisitive.


    "I guess it''s time to interrogate him."


    "Have you ever seen one of our interrogations?"


    Sylvester was pretty sure she hadn''t. Even if she had, she would have had to report it to him. But there was always a possibility. It wasn''t a pleasant thing to talk about to begin with. So he felt the need to ask that question.


    "No, but I''ve read enough."


    Sylvester smiled slightly.


    Tough, a great partner, but a rookie nonetheless. She had no idea what she was talking about.


    "It''s never enough until you see it with your own eyes."


    There were many things she didn''t yet know about the syndicate and about him. Like the notifications that floated in front of his eyes, visible only to him. In this day and age, where eye implants and brain chips could be installed in an afternoon at most, that kind of interface was commonplace in those who could afford it.


    But what Sylvester was seeing had nothing to do with his cybernetic enhancements.


    And they were showing strange things. Levels and abilities, as if his life was a video game. That he had gained fifty experience points for killing the Lunar Remnant. A poor reward, but it made sense. It had been in its infancy.


    Even that bastard didn''t know what he was hatching until he split his skull open with his katana.


    Name: Sylvester Sunderland


    Level: 51


    Strength: 32


    Endurance: 29


    Dexterity: 25


    Agility: 24


    Speed: 27


    Spirit: 34


    Luck: 9

 4. Ryan Madison - The Wrestler, Part 1

    1


    Now it was their turn to escort the prisoner to his interrogation cell.


    No endless red tape and paperwork, at least it wasn''t up to them to deal with that part of the business. Sylvester wished the prisoner had remained unconscious until he was taken to the machine, thus sparing him the usual pleas, empty threats or attempts to negotiate, but nothing could be perfect.


    The wrestler, named Ryan Madison, was naturally handcuffed with his hands behind his back. But Sylvester also had a firm grip on his wrists.


    His katana was still sheathed, but it didn''t matter. He could unsheathe it in a matter of milliseconds, if necessary. The fact that he had it dangling from his waist was threat enough.


    Or it should be.


    Enough desperate people tried to escape even at this point. Human nature, again. When they shouldn''t, people caved very easily, but when they had nothing to do, they didn''t want to give up.


    What a mess and a pain in the ass.


    "When that chick beat me," the wrestling fan began, "I thought I''d never wake up again. I should have known it can always get worse. What''s in store for me?"


    "You''re a prisoner. You think you have the right to ask questions?" Cynthia said. That was a professional, textbook response. Everything you''d expect from an agent.


    Sylvester had nothing to reproach her about. But he still contradicted her.


    "It won''t hurt. But you''ll wish it did."


    The job was done, the fight was over. This was just a cleanup. Maybe he deserved to know what was in store for him despite the nature of the things he''d been involved in.


    Maybe he just deserved to have his head cut off. He couldn''t know.


    Yet.


    "You strike me as the kind of guy who doesn''t see the need to lie because the truth hurts more. I believe you." The giant sighed deeply, regretting it only when it was too late. "Man, the pay wasn''t even that good."


    Sylvester smiled in response as if it were some kind of joke.


    It wasn''t, but it was funny. He could have taken the opportunity to elbow Cynthia and show her that he did have a sense of humor, but now wasn''t the time. All in good time.


    Fortunately there was none of what he had been expecting.


    After saying those words, Ryan was silent. He doubted he had resigned himself, it was still too early for that, but at least he had the sense to know that words would do him no good.


    They arrived at the interrogation room. It had nothing special, it had four black walls and was very narrow, almost claustrophobic. Not even the machine at the back was anything special. There were many of those scattered all over the country in similar rooms, after all.


    They made him sit in the chair.


    While Cynthia watched him and kept him at bay, Sylvester connected the prisoner to the chair. He first closed the restraints around his wrists and ankles, then lowered the helmet to his head.


    It resembled an electric chair. But, as he had said, Ryan would wish it hurt. That it were something as simple as torture, something he could face by biting his tongue, gritting his teeth and simply resisting.


    "You''re the one who should be here, not me." He still had the balls to talk to him that way, without looking away even a little. It was admirable, in a way.


    Soon he fell unconscious. The machine couldn''t work any other way. So there was no point, but Sylvester felt the need to respond out loud anyway.


    As if hoping a part of him could still hear him.


    "Maybe it will be my turn one of these days."


    Cynthia had heard him, couldn''t have missed it, but chose not to say anything. Which he was grateful for. Discretion was also an important quality in a partner.


    "How does this work?"


    Sylvester put a hand to his head, tossing his hair back. His hair was rather short, so it was a rather useless gesture right now, but he did it anyway. Reflex.


    Yeah. The job.


    "You sit down, put on your helmet. The rest you''ll see step by step. I''ll guide you."


    "Okay, boss."


    "If you don''t want to take part, you don''t have to. You insisted.


    "I know. "He didn''t believe it, Cynthia gave the impression that she wished she was anywhere but here, but it didn''t matter. He wouldn''t force her to go away. Trusting her was part of his job, too. "That''s not the point. Well, let''s get going.


    So they did. Three helmets each, all plugged into the machine. Neither the official name nor its nickname did the thing justice. Sylvester thought of it for what it was: a door.


    Now that all the users were connected, the machine started up on its own.


    The victim had to be unconscious, but it wasn''t the same for them, of course. They started the journey with their eyes wide open. Even so, the transition was so quick that it might have taken seconds to notice the change had they not been in a completely empty room.


    Now they were in what appeared to be an ordinary living room. The house was empty.


    The television, placed in front of a ratty, dirty sofa, wasn''t being watched by anyone. Nor would it have mattered. The screen only reflected static.


    Sylvester didn''t know where to start yet. He never did.


    But there would be time for that. If the clues weren''t hidden in this room, then the clue would come to them soon, maybe literally on two legs. Maybe on more.


    "That''s it? This is his mind palace?"


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    "You watch too many movies, but.... Yeah. Something like that. At least the tip of the iceberg."


    A loud, violent sound. It had to be a door or a window opening. Either way, it meant trouble.


    "What was that?" Cynthia asked, stepping back and shrinking in on herself. Half fear at not knowing what to expect, half preparing for a battle they couldn''t win.


    Not directly, at least.


    "Lower your voice."


    Sylvester gave her the order expecting her to obey, for he was her boss and, above all else, a partner she trusted on and off the battlefield. He trusted her, he really did.


    But still he didn''t even wait for her to obey.


    He put a hand over her mouth right away.


    If they had to die, fine. Everyone died sooner or later, but he refused to die because of a typical horror movie mistake. He had common sense!


    Next, he used his free hand to grab her by the wrist and dragged her towards the first hiding place he saw. Namely, a closet. It didn''t look very big, but it turned out to be just enough for the two of them to fit inside.


    Possibly, too, it got bigger as soon as they got inside.


    In any case, it suited them. For the time being.


    "It doesn''t matter how strong we are in reality. None of this is real." Sylvester gave her a quick explanation in a very low voice, close to her ear, to make sure she understood. And that she didn''t do anything stupid.


    Again, he trusted her, but it wouldn''t be strange if she screwed up. For all intents and purposes this was a different world. On his first visit he had made quite a few impulsive mistakes and had just barely managed to get away with his life. That, among other things, explained why he didn''t want to remember it. Or mention it.


    It wasn''t long before they heard footsteps.


    Through the slits, they saw a monster enter the living room. Even if it had once been a human being, it hardly looked like one anymore. There were many lurid and sickening details he could mention, such as the huge goat horns that sprouted from its back like wings and, twisted, pierced it, sticking out of its chest.


    But what was truly disturbing was how it changed shape subtly and constantly.


    As if it were not the actual creature, but a reflection of the creature on the water of a lake and the ripples were stirring that reflection.


    It was actually a metaphor quite close to reality.


    The monster had no nose, but appeared to be sniffing the air as it moved its head back and forth with an agitation characteristic of a guy in the middle of an acid trip. Ryan Madison''s subconscious knew there were intruders even in this state, naturally.


    As it flailed and sniffed the air, the monster tossed the fabric with one of its many extra limbs and with no apparent purpose, or at least a purpose quite difficult to discern just by observing their shape. Sylvester couldn''t help but notice that the television didn''t break when it hit the ground. Not even a tiny crack appeared on the screen.


    That was of no importance now, but it could be everything later, so he couldn''t help but notice it.


    As soon as the monster turned its back on them, Sylvester came out of the closet. Trying not to make any noise, but still not wasting any time. His left hand descended to the pommel of the katana.


    He had to be very careful. If he missed this opportunity, maybe they could still fight. Maybe. But it could also be the end.


    Sylvester unsheathed the sword quickly. No matter how careful he was, there was no way it wouldn''t hear him trying to draw the sword from its scabbard anyway.


    It heard him, made to turn around after which it would undoubtedly come at his throat.


    The monster didn''t get the chance. The sword pierced it cleanly through, right where the heart would be in a humanoid being. And that was enough. It fell to the ground, dead.


    It should be, at least. He couldn''t be one hundred percent sure of anything in this place.


    "Is that it?" Cynthia asked, and for that reason he avoided answering her question directly.


    "If it had seen us, it could have torn us apart without even touching us. It''s hard to predict what will happen here. The mind has its own rules."


    "And what''s this? Did he encounter a Lunar Remnant in the past? A trauma from his child...? No, he''s too old for that."


    It was only natural that she''d come to that conclusion. Anyone would try to fit strange occurrences into their common sense, their frame of reference. Humans were the best at pattern recognition, after all.


    "I think you''re on the right track. Only whatever this is wasn''t a monster." He cocked his head to the side, thoughtful." Literally, at least.


    "Oh." Cynthia sounded empathetic. She was good at that. Him?


    "Nothing of interest to us, anyway. Let''s move on."


    Not so much.


    The first thing Cynthia did was try the door. That, breaking it down if it was locked, was the natural thing to do, what anyone would do. That''s why it was a mistake. Sylvester didn''t even need to look to know the result.


    Nor did he have to wait for her to open her mouth, complaining.


    "It won''t open."


    "Didn''t you look at the windows? There''s nothing outside." Darkness, maybe more things like this or worse crawling within it, but certainly not a path or a way out.


    The only thing they would find in the depths of darkness would be oblivion and death.


    "So how do we continue?"


    "Give me a minute."


    Only he''d already had it figured out, more or less. A bit risky, but there weren''t that many options.


    "Maybe this is it. Come here."


    That''s what she did.


    "The TV?"


    "That''s what works best here. Static, only, but even though there''s light, the bulbs seem to be off." Among other things, like the fact that it had survived the fall intact. Things not breaking when they should wasn''t necessarily strange in a dream, nothing was, but it could be a clue. There were always clues, a pattern. Always. "For example. I''ll go first."


    If it turned out to be a mistake, he''d rather pay for it alone.


    Sylvester reached out a hand toward the TV screen reluctantly, as if he were pulling it closer to a bear trap. It was even possible for a bear to come out of there, anything could happen in a person''s mind.


    His hand sank into the screen as if it were made of water.


    It was some kind of door leading somewhere else, but that didn''t mean it wasn''t dangerous. Sylvester took a deep breath. He had no choice but to try.


    Sylvester got his whole body through the television with no trouble. It took him up a hill with a long drop into nothingness, because the hill was floating in the air. There was absolutely nothing but that piece of hill, the slope down, and clouds painting an endless sky. He couldn''t even dimly see, in the distance, a bit of land.


    Sylvester was going to scream that it was safe to pass, hoping Cynthia could hear him from the other side, but he didn''t have to. She fell out of the sky as he did. Didn''t land as well, but at least she didn''t get ahead of him, rolling down the hill.


    "I''m glad to see you''re okay. What''s this?"


    "A path. We''ll expose even his smallest secrets if we have to.


    "But... Boss, there is no path. I mean, it ends." Why bother saying that? He could see, in her tone and in her eyes, that she already knew the answer. Even if she wished she didn''t.


    "Downward."


    "Oh, great."


    "You don¡¯t like heights?"


    "Not these heights. Not without a parachute."


    Good thing Cynthia didn''t ask if he was sure they wouldn''t kill themselves. He wouldn''t have been able to give her the answer she wanted. Not without lying, but she surely would have figured it out instantly, so it wouldn''t make sense anyway.


    They grabbed each other''s hands and began to slide down the hill, propelled by the water running down it. He hadn''t mentioned her so far because it wasn''t there before they started moving downhill.


    He hated this.


    He always did, but apparently Ryan had a very disorganized mind. Full of surprises.


    The hill ended and they began to fall through the sky, through the clouds, with the icy wind passing through their bones like countless swords, a tempest of steel that could hardly be endured. But they had to, they could only hope this would be over soon.


    They didn''t fall to the ground, exploding like a pi?ata. Nor did they exactly find land.


    The speed of the fall suddenly dropped to a point where you could say they were more like floating down, and they landed safely.


    Into a ring, with a phantom crowd that was out for blood, apparently.


    "At least now we know why he was dressed like that," Cynthia said.


    Right. Positive thinking.


    Whether this was some sort of symbolic representation or an actual memory of the target, what entered the ring to greet them, their dance partner for the night, wasn''t another wrestler dressed rather scantily in a mask and cape or something.


    No.


    It was a fucking lion.


    "Boss? I don''t like where this is going, boss." Cynthia sounded desperate to believe he''d pull a magical solution out of his ass. Perhaps some hitherto unknown power to make the lion simply disappear off the face of the earth.


    Unfortunately for her, well, for both of them, he didn''t have the power to manipulate what went on inside other people''s minds.


    At the moment, at least.


    So there was only one thing to do.


    "And you think I do? Brace yourself."


    Sylvester drew his katana as that beast approached them with its jaws wide open, blood and saliva dripping from them, showing that it may have eaten recently, but it hadn''t been enough by a long shot. Cynthia also prepared her weapon of choice, that is, a pair of black revolvers with red accents.


    The lion was hungry. And he had just been handed another two plates of food.


    But he wouldn''t have his way.

 5. Ryan Madison - The Wrestler, Part 2

    1


    The lion roared from the back of his throat and lunged for them, running at high speed, his mane flapping.


    The arena had seemed rather large to him earlier, perhaps because it was just them and the phantom crowd, who were still cheering as if the prospect of witnessing two people defeat a lion or be torn to pieces in the attempt was the most interesting thing that had ever happened to them.


    In any case, that feeling disappeared in the blink of an eye.


    That thing was fast and its jaws were getting bigger and sharper. Cynthia shot the creature four or five times, he lost count at some point.


    That, naturally, would have been enough to tear a normal animal apart.


    But this lion didn''t even react. He''d say the bullets went right through him, but that wouldn''t be entirely true. They just disappeared. If they had come out the other side, he would have seen them without fail.


    When the lion reached them, biting and waving its claws, Cynthia quickly backed up with her rope launcher, pinning it to a wall and propelling herself toward it.


    Sylvester did that too, more or less.


    He backed up against and through some bars, just at the moment when he thought he was between a rock and a hard place. Because of this, the lion bit through the steel bars instead of his neck. By the skin of his teeth.


    "I think we have to defeat him."


    "Ah, you don''t say?"


    "Listen to me. Whether that''s because that''s what really happened or because Madison failed in real life, we have to beat him to get through. The lion is the way out."


    It had a certain logic to it.


    A stupid logic, of dreams and insecurities, so the right one.


    "Here. Kitty, kitty, kitty," Cynthia said, teasing, almost singing.


    Trying to distract the lion so he could attack from behind? That is, what had worked before? Although he hadn''t had her help then, and actually, the situation was quite different, not only in that.


    Anyway.


    Why fix what wasn''t broken? It was worth a try.


    The lion changed his target, perhaps because of Cynthia''s provocations, perhaps because he had given up on tearing down the iron bars, or possibly a combination of the two.


    In any case, he lunged after his companion. She kept firing, not having to worry about it even overheating (reloading wasn''t a concern even in the real world, that was a thing of the past), she wouldn''t have to unless she realized it was strange.


    But it wasn''t like it was doing any good anyway.


    The bullets simply went right through that beast as if it wasn''t there. In a way, that was true. The lion wasn''t there. It had probably died by now, either of old age or after being slaughtered once the fun was over. It was just a memory of the past, so then....


    Sylvester acted fast.


    Leaping on top of the lion, plunging the sword between his ribs and into his heart.


    Or so it seemed, but in reality it did absolutely nothing to him. His boots had found the lion solid, but his sword couldn''t cut him. Cynthia''s bullets were also useless, although with those revolvers loaded with overpowered ammunition she would have stood a chance against a tank.


    Was it impossible to damage, let alone kill the beast? Was that not what it was all about? Had he misunderstood that they had to fight? Or...?


    The beast lunged at him, somersaulted backwards and extended his claws. Sylvester couldn''t dodge in time, even though he had seen it coming from a distance. The sharp claws tore a sleeve of his expensive suit (he had to remind himself that it was perfectly fine out there in the real world) and also the skin underneath.


    Blood flowed unnaturally, like water spat out of a sprinkler. Sylvester took a few more steps back and stared at the blood gushing from his arm, thoughtfully.


    Meanwhile, the phantom crowd couldn''t stand it any more.


    "We didn''t come here to see this!"


    "I thought watching two animals fighting would be more fun."


    "He''s barely started and it looks like he''s had enough."


    "I don''t know which one of them should be in a cage."


    And more and more and more. There was no end to it. Sylvester would have to turn a deaf ear or they would eventually make him lose his concentration at a critical moment. Most importantly, he now had an idea.


    Maybe not a good one, but he wasn''t hearing any alternatives.


    Sylvester jumped off the lion''s back. His attack didn''t even manage to bring the beast''s attention back to him, he kept going after Cynthia. That was exactly why it was going to be a bit difficult for her to listen to his orders, follow his idea. Anyway.


    "Put away your weapons!" Sylvester shouted, wasting no time. That is, he returned the katana to the scabbard.


    Cynthia stood for about half a second, with both revolvers raised and fingers on the trigger. Then she kept firing at the beast that wanted nothing more than to feast on her guts and would soon be upon her.


    Naturally, but still Sylvester sighed.


    He would have to set an example, first of all.


    Sylvester threw himself on top of the lion again and, a second before his claws reached his partner''s neck, he squeezed. This he did notice. He stood up and began to thrash around, trying to shake him off.


    "We have to beat him, but.... This memory has certain rules! Ryan didn''t enter the ring with weapons!"


    That''s why they wouldn''t get out of here until they broke the king of the jungle with their bare hands. Literally, without further help. If only it were as easy to do that as it was to say it.


    It was only a matter of time, but in the end the lion managed to shake him off with all that wiggling, squirming and jumping, which was still bad. Sylvester hit the ground and kept rolling forward like a sack of garbage. His roars were digging deep into him, he literally felt like his head was going to explode.


    Like giant hands were squeezing and squeezing.


    The lion leapt after him, but Cynthia intercepted him by giving him a flying double kick. One of her boots sank into the animal''s side. The other hit him squarely in the head. The lion went flying. He growled, more in rage than pain, as he writhed on the ground, trying to get back on his feet.


    His partner had finally listened to him. Good. Sylvester sat up.


    Although lionesses were the ones who hunted, still, it was going to be difficult to handle that beast barehanded, so it was worth trying one of his various skills.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.


    Spending PM, that is, magic points, Sylvester hit the ground.


    Energy was born at the point of impact. It traveled underground towards the lion. A mass of darkness emerged explosively from the ground and made an attempt to engulf the enemy.... But it was useless.


    His ability simply passed through the creature, as had his katana and Cynthia''s bullets.


    This memory had very clear and strict rules.


    He couldn''t help but notice that his PM hadn''t actually dropped.


    It made sense. They were inside Ryan''s mind, so he hadn''t actually used that skill, just as he hadn''t actually unsheathed the katana. In the real world, their bodies were completely still in the chairs.


    It should be something to be happy about, but what was the point?


    Even if he could use as many skills as he wanted for as long as he wanted, none of them would affect the lion.


    "Boss? Boss, what are you doing?"


    Things had changed so much so fast.


    Cynthia was on the ground, with the lion looming over her. The only reason it hadn''t ripped anything out of her yet was that she was holding his jaws open and away from her with her hands.


    She wouldn''t last much longer in such an unfavorable position, where the lion barely had to exert any force, while she had to give her all just to keep him at bay, let alone get him off her, that would be quite impossible.


    "Boss, this thing is going to tear my head off, damn it!


    She was exaggerating, but he would let it go. With that thing on her, even three or four seconds had to feel like an eternity. Real or not.


    He was real enough to kill them if they got careless, after all.


    Sylvester rushed over. He grabbed the tail with both hands and pulled back. His monstrous strength allowed him to get that creature off his partner''s back. At last, she would be thinking, surely.


    Cynthia hurried away. She didn''t stand up, didn''t even waste time on that. She just crawled backwards.


    "You could have hurried more, but thanks, boss."


    "You''re welcome."


    Sylvester planted his feet firmly on the ground. The ground filled with cracks. He didn''t even arch an eyebrow, as something like this could have happened in the real world as well. He looked for grip on the creature''s torso, not just its tail.


    Leaning on those points, he threw strength and managed to suplex the damn creature. He felt a rush as he realized what he had just done. It was definitely a story worth telling. Well, this was all confidential, but....


    But nothing.


    He ran a hand across his forehead. The suplex, of course, had accomplished nothing beyond returning the animal to the ground. Giving them a few seconds of time to regroup and prepare. If only it had been that easy, but even his monstrous strength, apparently, hadn''t been enough to leave him incapacitated with that alone.


    The lion charged again.


    Instinctively, Sylvester unsheathed the katana in a tenth of a second and used it to parry the attack. Or so he thought would happen for a moment. Of course, in reality the claws went through the blade as if it wasn''t there and sank into his chest.


    "Boss!"


    The katana slipped through his fingers. He hadn''t thrown it, though he would have done that anyway because it was useless, but rather he had dropped it.


    Because of the pain and the sudden weakness. Sudden? The animal had torn his chest, he had the cause clear and in front of him.


    What a stupid mistake.


    2


    Outside, in reality, Sylvester''s body moved slightly as he coughed several times.


    On the third and last time, he coughed up blood.


    What was happening in there was real, in a way. You could pour water on a blindfolded person''s wrists, telling them it was their own blood, that their veins had been cut and they were running out of time, and they would die. Something didn''t have to be real to kill you.


    3


    In the world inside Ryan''s mind, Sylvester was still fighting, naturally.


    It wouldn''t have mattered if he dropped his katana, even if it hadn''t been useless to him. His entire body was a weapon. It had nothing to do with his cybernetic enhancements or his mysterious powers, he had simply been born a warrior. He would fight until the world was in ruins and even then he would continue on the ruins of the world until a monster finally managed to kill him.


    The thumbs. Sylvester placed his thumbs over the beast''s eyes and pressed inward. With claws sunk into his chest, churning his insides, he couldn''t escape so easily. But he didn''t even try.


    He wasn''t a real animal and didn''t have anything resembling a survival instinct. Rather, he seemed to enjoy his pain. Even blind, or at least it should be, he did nothing but stir the claws in his gut. Not a thought of trying to escape despite his approaching death. He had never been alive, but...


    What difference did it make? Sylvester pushed his thumbs deeper and deeper. Digging into that creature, returning the favor. He felt the blood and eye fluids spilling between his fingers. And he felt powerful. More so than when he''d broken the last Lunar Remnant, that bastard Andrew.


    Of course. This he had done with his own hands. For the first time. It surprised him, but he realized it was true. He always kept his enemies at the same distance as the length of his katana. But this was him and him alone.


    Up close and personal. Primal? Whatever it was.


    In any case, when the beast stopped writhing and fell limp, Sylvester was even a little disappointed.


    Sylvester ripped the claws from his chest. Before he could release the defeated prey, it began to disappear. However, the ghostly crowd, which had never quite been there, did not. They still had to comment.


    "That''s better!"


    Laughing. They spat that shit out, laughing as if any of this was funny.


    "Do you think he''s going to die? Those wounds look serious."


    "I don''t know and I don''t care. We paid to watch the fight and it''s already over."


    Like he had no other purpose in the world, like he was a throwaway. They weren''t talking about him, he knew. They were things Ryan had heard, or at least a summary of the feeling, things he''d been through. Still, how could he not be angry that he was treating him as less than human? It was especially hard to rationalize with the high of victory coursing through his veins.


    "Shut the fuck up!"


    Maybe it was like a signal, maybe it was nothing more than a coincidence. In any case, the voices disappeared along with the ring and everything else. They ended up in a blank space, like an unused canvas. It turned out to be a screen.


    A screen where more memories of the target were projected. This time clearer and more direct, even though they were happening so fast and jumbled together. They didn''t have to play any role, just watch and absorb it all. Sylvester saw nothing he hadn''t already imagined.


    There wasn''t many reasons why someone would end up in an underground wrestling ring, staking their life against a lion for a few hundred dollars. He felt no sympathy for the target at all. Life had not dealt him a good hand, but it had been his decision to lead that life in the end. Excuses like that didn''t work on him.


    Sylvester just thought it was a shame how easily essentially decent human beings succumbed to evil and madness. A few bad months had been enough to turn him into a criminal, digging a hole so deep he couldn''t escape.


    It was impossible now. Maybe not before, but now that he had ended up in the sights of the syndicate, it was definitely hopeless.


    From that flood of memories he drew only one useful thing. He didn''t know the nature of Andrew''s work. That was something he could use. Andrew was dead, the job was over, but the cleanup crews needed information.


    "What now?" Cynthia asked. You could see it in her eyes that she really wanted to ask a different question. Like why wasn''t he panicking about what that thing had done to him.


    "Now nothing. I''ve seen everything I need to see. See you on the other side."


    Sylvester put an end to this trip. He grabbed the helmet with both hands and pulled it off his head. He could feel the aftertaste of blood. Not that he had any internal injuries, he had probably just bitten his tongue when that happened.


    He dropped the helmet on the table. Neither the prisoner nor Cynthia woke up, not yet. He reached over to his partner and pulled her out of it, removing the helmet.


    "How can I do that?"


    "It doesn''t matter. You''re not going to be allowed to do this without me. Not so soon, at least."


    "I''d like to know anyway."


    "You just have to focus. It takes practice."


    "Yeah." She stood up. "That didn''t clear anything up for me, but thanks, boss."


    Finally, Sylvester disconnected Ryan from the machine.


    "I didn''t think I''d open my eyes again. What have you been doing to me?"


    "It doesn''t matter. What matters is that we need to talk."


    "About what?"


    "A lot of things. That will determine if you still have a future."


    Ryan looked back at him suspiciously. Naturally, he would think he was using the hope of survival as a bait. In a way, he was. He didn''t really care if he lived or died, but the final decision was out of his hands.


    "Okay. Shoot," Ryan said, clearly with a double meaning, taunting him.


    It wasn''t a great start. For him. Sylvester already had what he needed, more or less.


    As he''d said, he wouldn''t mind letting him live, but that was it. He wasn''t going to go out of his way to accomplish it or anything.


    4


    "I didn''t know, I swear I didn''t know!"


    He broke down very quickly.


    It was even easier than he had expected.


    Ryan had killed and stolen plenty. He had shown himself willing to do whatever it took to get ahead. But, like most, he seemed to believe that hurting children was a special kind of crime. A line that should never be crossed.


    Those who killed or raped children didn''t usually last long in prison. Not without solitary confinement measures, as the prisoners themselves would dole out justice.


    If only he had killed or raped them, however. The truth was much more horrible.


    "My God, what have I done?"


    He could understand the prisoner''s reaction. Also because his partner looked like she was holding back the urge to vomit by sheer miracle. Even he, who had been forced to fight those abominations when his power awakened, had never seen anything like it. But ignorance was no excuse. What was done was done. That was the only reality.


    "This isn''t about begging for your life," Sylvester said.


    "My life? My life?" Ryan laughed. "I don''t deserve to live. Nor do I want to, after this. Not with this on my conscience. But I can fix it. You have to let me do it. And then do whatever you want to me, but kill me."


    Ryan and Sylvester looked at each other intently for a while, in silence. He was exactly the man he thought he would be. Which meant someone easy to manipulate. He was already completely trapped.


    "Welcome to the team," Sylvester said at last. "Though your stay will be brief."

 6. Glass Ocean, Part 1

    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    1


    They were in the air, now.


    There were only five people inside, but it wasn''t a helicopter, it was a whole plane. The five were Sylvester, Cynthia and Ryan. And the pilot and his co-pilot, of course. None of them knew how to fly a plane.


    Sylvester could perhaps manage in an emergency, but he hoped things wouldn''t get to that point. He had hoped to be able to leave things in the hands of the syndicate''s clean-up crews. However, the remaining work had turned out to be bigger than expected. But nothing needed to happen while they were going from point A to point B.


    He was paranoid, though. As usual. As he had to be, with the job he had and the life he led.


    If he got any sleep at all in all the hours of travel, he''d do it with one eye open.


    "I hope you know how lucky you are. You are only here, on this plane and in this world, because I said so." Sylvester had a lot of influence with the syndicate. Naturally, since it had formed around him and not the other way around.


    "I got it, yes. I''ll be sure to thank you too when you send me to hell with your bare hands."


    Like the mad scientist he was, it turned out that Andrew hadn''t just been counting on warehouses and subterranean bases. The heart of his operation was an island in the Pacific. His favourite victims were children. Orphans and homeless, that is, the most vulnerable of the most vulnerable.


    That horrible monster was dead, but that didn''t mean there were no people to continue his work. The whole operation was bigger than they had first thought. The syndicate had really made some serious mistakes with this, but oh well. They had their hands full with the disease coming from the moon, the Remnants and saving the world.


    Kids, well, they disappeared all the time.


    And this seemed like more work for the police at first. In short, he couldn''t complain too much, angry as he was. He understood. That the mind understood wasn''t the same as his heart accepting it, but that was all he could offer at the moment.


    "Do you trust him?" Cynthia asked him that, not for the first time. It was the first time she had asked it in front of Ryan himself, though.


    "You saw the same thing I did."


    "That''s not what I''m asking you. Boss, we should just kill him, period. You know I respect you, but this is a mistake."


    "Maybe it will turn out to be, but I''m prepared to correct it if I have to."


    Ryan shook his head.


    "It''s my fault, I know. But it''s a little frustrating that you guys talk as if I''m not here."


    "You said yourself that you don''t deserve to live after being complicit in this monstrosity," Sylvester said. "Why should you have any other rights?"


    "Like I said, it''s my fault. Fuck, I''ll shut up."


    Peace and quiet returned to the plane. It wasn''t likely to last long, but Sylvester would enjoy it while he could. They still had many hours ahead of them. At least he could be sure that the island existed and he had told them the right place. He didn''t have to doubt the basic premise of the trip. Then he would be uneasy as well as tired.


    A few hours passed without the peace being broken, much to his surprise.


    Ryan had started out meditating in his seat, but by the end he seemed to have fallen asleep. So much anguish and regret had not been able to overcome exhaustion. Or the natural result, rather, of spending so much time with his eyes closed doing nothing.


    Sylvester and Cynthia had talked occasionally, but about unimportant things. Everything was fine. Too good, so of course things had to get fucked up.


    They went through some turbulence. The plane shook quite a bit and for a few seconds Sylvester felt as if his stomach had turned into a lead ball. But this was normal, nothing to worry about. The first sign of the shit that was coming was the appearance of a flying beetle.


    "How did it...?"


    How, indeed. There was no way such a thing could have snuck onto the plane. At the very least if it had been there before, he would have heard it at least once in all the hours of travel. It hadn''t snuck in before the plane took off, but it couldn''t have come in mid-air either. So...


    "Cynthia, get ready."


    She drew her pistols. He reached for his katana as usual. He knew how to shoot, naturally, but he had his preferences. He didn''t need bullets for this anyway.


    There was only one possible explanation for an unnatural, seemingly impossible event. Something that was not of this world in the first place.


    "What''s wrong?" Ryan asked, rudely awakened.


    They ignored him and followed the flying beetle into the bathroom. There it landed on the ceramic sink and died. It couldn''t be that simple, of course. The bug''s back opened and not to let its wings out.


    A hand. Purple and transparent, like the hand of a ghost. The hand emerged violently from its pupa, a corpse, and lunged for its neck. No. He didn''t even have to dodge it.


    The ghostly hand, clenched into a fist, shattered the bathroom mirror. And then it kept coming out. A hand, an arm, a shoulder. It was a humanoid creature, but its head was all wrong. The mouth where the eyes should be, all in the wrong place, except for the ears. That''s because it didn''t even have ears.


    Again, it didn''t have a neck twisted to the point that its head had ended up upside down. It was simply that the features weren''t in the right place. It was vaguely disturbing, but far from the worst thing he''d ever seen.


    Far from the worst thing he''d ever fought either.


    Before it emerged from its, shall we say, shell, Sylvester stepped up, dodged an attack and thrust the katana between its eyebrows. That creature fell limp and disappeared without a trace. Even the flying beetle had disappeared, now that he looked.


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    It couldn''t be that easy.


    There were two possibilities. That wasn''t the Lunar Remnant, but an extension of itself. An ability of sorts. Or it was, but it had moved elsewhere.


    Now he didn''t need the scarab? Where and how? So many unanswered questions.


    Ryan made it to the door just in time for Cynthia''s attention to focus on him. The only thing deadlier than her gaze were the barrels of her pistols.


    "What if he set us up?"


    "Come on. Please. How could I have warned anyone? You''ve been watching me the whole time."


    "He''s right," Sylvester said.


    "But..."


    "He didn''t even have any idea of Andrew''s real job. We know that. We''ve seen it in his mind. Do you think he had the connections to do this, even if we''d taken our eye off him for a second? And even if it were otherwise, he''s not interested in us being defeated. Not now. Because he''d go down with us and the plane."


    "That''s it. That''s right. Listen to him."


    "Shut your mouth."


    Ryan shut his mouth. For the time being.


    Sylvester walked down the corridor, with the other two behind him. Cynthia made sure to go last, of course. She would never turn her back on the prisoner, even if he wasn''t her enemy right now. And even if she could easily handle him even if he became one, as she had done before, in the first place.


    A hole opened up in the ceiling. It was purple, the same color as the being''s energy, not that it could be otherwise. Two Lunar Remnants wouldn''t go after them at the same time, it would be too much of a coincidence.


    He''d said hole, but then it began to ripple as if it were the surface of some strange waters. Giving way to the thing that crawled out of there, floating upside down. Was it the same creature he had stabbed in the forehead or another, though in either case they could only be part of something bigger, an extension of the Lunar Remnant above them?


    It was hard to tell. He saw that the thing had tentacles protruding from its back, but it might have gotten an upgrade when he had made it move.


    In any case, the monstrosity lunged for them. Spinning in the air, fists clenched and mouth wide open, like someone with their jaw unhinged, nay, almost ripped out. Even though the monster had no teeth. Surely it had a different way of devouring him, but it wouldn''t get that far.


    And it didn''t get there, but Cynthia interrupted the fun. Using the rope launcher to snag him, stopping and dragging it over to her. Close enough to get the pistols under its jaw and pull the trigger. Several times.


    The first bullets hit the Remnant point-blank, the rest as it flew through the air again, but this time backwards. It never touched the ground. The creature disappeared before it could do that.


    Again. After he''d stabbed him between the eyebrows, it had come back without a problem, so now it would come back as well, just like that.


    "I doubt I did it," Cynthia said.


    "Maybe there''s only one way to hurt it, I''ve encountered a few like that. Or maybe it''s just some kind of projection."


    "And we need to find the real one. Okay. Where do we start?"


    "I''m working on it."


    No, maybe there was no need to find them, maybe they could just wait for them to come to them. They entered the cockpit. The pilot and co-pilot were nervous, sweating, but they hadn''t moved from their seats. As soon as he entered, they locked eyes with him, desperate for a reassuring explanation to what they had heard.


    Like maybe Cynthia had gotten bored and started firing shots for no apparent reason. If only he could tell them something like that.


    "We have a Lunar Remnant on board," Sylvester said.


    "Roger that, sir. What should we do?" the pilot asked. The co-pilot, who looked quite young now that he noticed, remained silent, shrinking in on himself.


    "Stay the course. We''ll handle it."


    "Why are you still here, sir?" The pilot asked, slowly, and after a while.


    "You know."


    Just killing the pilots and watching them crash could be more effective than a straight fight. So, in a way, they were the main targets. Bad luck that they had run into a Lunar Remnant that could attack them at so many kilometres above with no problem. If they had only encountered problems after landing, they wouldn''t have had to deal with any of this.


    Sylvester waited, tense as a bow, for the slightest sign of the Lunar Remnant''s appearance. The first time it had appeared from inside the carcass of the flying beetle. The second had been different, a hole in the plane rippling like the surface of water.


    They seemed unrelated, but there had to be a connection. He just had to find it. He could do it.


    Could he before it was too late?


    That was the point. The reality was that the creature didn''t even give him time to react.


    It came out of the co-pilot¡¯s chest, the poor bastard''s ribs opening in its wake like a heavy iron fence. It wasn''t the only thing that came out explosively. Blood and other fluids sprayed at them. Sylvester sprang into action without wasting a single millisecond, not even blinking as the victim''s blood hit him in the face, nearly blinding him.


    Too late.


    Too late even for Cynthia, who opened fire with one of her revolvers while with the other hand she used the rope launcher to try to catch the pilot and pull him away.


    It all happened too fast, but it wasn''t as if they had reacted too late or made a mistake. They had risen to the occasion. They just hadn''t been able to stop the disaster from the beginning. Perhaps, if they had known that the enemy could hide inside human bodies as well, biding its time, things might have turned out differently. But they hadn''t known. And it was already too late.


    The ghost punched the pilot in the neck, causing a chunk of it to explode.


    Screaming, he fell backwards, his head hitting the ground hard. And he continued to scream as he writhed, out of his mind. He hadn''t been remotely prepared for this. But he hadn''t had to be, that was their job. They had failed him, and they had simply been unlucky. They, he and the co-pilot.


    Cynthia''s exploding bullets pushed the Lunar Remnant against the cockpit, preventing it from finishing off the pilot, though there was nothing they could do for him anyway. Not anymore. It charged again, and Cynthia pushed it back the same way. When its back hit the wall, the spirit went through it, fleeing again, rather than continuing to attack.


    Rather, its attack was already over. Both men were dead. The only reason the plane wasn''t going down was that the autopilot was still engaged. However, that wasn''t going to help them land.


    Or stay in the air. Not with that thing still out there.


    "What do we do?"


    "I know I said I wanted to die, but not like this," Ryan said. "Not with the job unfinished."


    Sylvester ignored the prisoner completely.


    "I wish I knew."


    He didn''t have time to think about that either.


    The ghostly hand grabbed him by one shoulder, slamming him against the wall... And through it. When it threw him, he went toward the night sky.


    Sylvester was propelled by a wind with a pressure like thousands of tons of steel away from the plane. He had bigger worries, but all he could think of was the image of the plane getting smaller at blinding speed. Before he knew it, it would disappear and then he would be lost.


    He hadn''t exactly expected this, but he had the tools to deal with it. He hoped. Sylvester manifested a hook of darkness in his hand. Fortunately, he didn''t have to waste time spinning it to make it go far. With a thought, the hook shot out and stuck into the side of the plane.


    It probably wouldn''t hold long, but he hoped it would be enough to get close. He would do the rest on his own.


    Sylvester grabbed the rope and climbed up it, against the wind that seemed to be alive, seemed to want to crush him and reduce him to nothing. The climb was taking forever, but he was making progress and that was what mattered at the end of the day. Slowly, but surely (as fast as he could, but slowly after all).


    Nothing could be that easy, or at least not a complete disaster for long. So, as he approached one of the wings, he saw several circles appear on the surface. Naturally, not different parts of the same creature emerged from the circle, but several complete copies.


    Only, during his absence, they had improved again.


    These didn''t have tentacles on their backs, but on their open chests in a way that was vaguely grotesque even though they were hollow like dolls.


    On their backs they had dark wings that blended with the night sky and grey clouds.


    Wings appeared on Sylvester''s back as well. Large and grotesque, separated into pieces by membrane, like the wings of a giant bat. He had activated one of his many abilities, [Infernal Wings]. He didn''t understand why his power was rendered like the mechanics of some role-playing game, nor why some of the names (okay, quite a few) were a bit embarrassing.


    Good thing only he could see those notifications. In any case, he had bigger problems.


    Sylvester unsheathed his katana as the winged creatures, which had him surrounded, descended upon him.

 7. Glass Ocean, Part 2

    1


    In reality only three of those creatures flew after him.


    The rest went after the most obvious target, the hook of darkness that anchored him to the plane, which helped him resist against the inclement wind and the pressure of being so many hundreds of miles up in the air.


    Normal human beings would risk their lives simply by climbing a particularly high mountain.


    If Sylvester were a normal human being, he would have lost consciousness by now, left at the mercy of the creatures, gravity and the environment. The only question would be what would finish him off first.


    The first of them to reach him, only slightly faster than the rest of those sons of bitches, threw a punch. They didn''t need anything else. The creatures'' bodies were a weapon in themselves. They possessed enough strength to tear chunks of flesh off a normal human being with a single punch.


    Of course, Sylvester had very little normal about him and could take it. But it didn''t matter. Those creatures could also get inside animals and humans. He didn''t want to share the same fate as the co"pilot.


    If he was hit, the creature might manage to get inside him and then he would be doomed.


    After all, how could he fight an enemy that was inside him?


    He didn''t just have to worry about the punch. He also had to worry about the tentacles, albeit relatively short, that were reaching out towards him.


    So Sylvester flapped his wings, propelling himself forward and upward, leaping over the creature''s head.


    And then he decapitated it.


    With a single smooth motion, as natural as breathing, he severed its head from its shoulders. Lifeless, it fell far beyond the layer of what looked like storm clouds, which was just what he needed now. The monster''s head was a little farther ahead than the body.


    The two remaining creatures near him didn''t hesitate after seeing how unlucky their companion had been.


    All humans and animals felt fear, but after all they were neither. They were simply abominations that had no place in this world. He would certainly exterminate them. Someday he would put an end to this, he had sworn.


    It was his mission and his responsibility. Who else would do it?


    The two creatures reached him as he tried to keep moving along the rope before it was ripped from the plane. If they hadn''t done it already it was because the remaining creatures seemed to be fighting to be the one to finish the job. They might not have human emotions like fear, but they knew the pleasure of the hunt, of playing with their food.


    They pounced on him.


    Sylvester swung his katana at the creature coming from the left, but the right one caught it in mid-motion with its tentacles, forcing him to stop.


    He wondered if he would have to do without his katana.


    Drop it before the creature got inside or use it as a grappling point to close in and pierce him with all its tentacles.


    He understood that he had no choice, that he couldn''t risk ending up like the co"pilot, and that anyway, even if he didn''t drop it, that thing would probably tear it apart now that it had a good grip on it.


    But then he had a better idea. Risky, but already things could hardly get any worse. He was already one step away from death, so.... He could only move forward!


    Sylvester violently pulled the anchor of darkness to the left.


    Towards the plane, against which he crashed, dragging the creatures with him. The one that had a grip on his sword, because it refused to let go, and also the other one. He didn''t hit it on the way or anything, but it wasn''t going to stop chasing him now.


    The impact against the plane made him feel like a red-hot iron had been shoved against his side.


    It could have been a lot worse, evidently.


    For example...


    The anchor finally came undone. Whether it was because of the creatures, or because of the risky maneuver he had just performed, it was the straw that broke the camel''s back. In any case, Sylvester fell to one of the wings of the plane.


    He scrambled around, struggling to find something to hold on to....


    And found nothing, of course. A flat surface. The engine was too far away. Soon he would find himself in free fall, again. He wasn''t helpless. He could fly, but the wind and pressure were simply too much. At the very least he would lose the plane.


    He wasn''t going to let his partner die.


    He had accepted the deaths of many other partners. That was how this job worked, and it wasn''t as if he couldn''t accept Cynthia''s death as well.


    But that it would be his fault?


    The burden of having failed her? Never.


    Now most of the creatures were focused on destroying the plane, of course. But the two from before were still after his ass.


    One tried to smash his head in, but it only punched a hole in the plane''s wing.


    It would be too much to say he had dodged. He had simply kept sliding along the wing, and the creature had missed.


    More importantly, it had come within reach. He''d found his foothold. He grabbed its arm, pulling it down so it couldn''t move it from the spot. Shortly afterward he managed to brace his feet and also half rise.


    One of the tentacles pierced his chest, low, closer to his stomach than his heart.


    Sylvester took a deep breath, stifling a grunt of pain, and wondered if it was all over now. Maybe, maybe not, but that didn''t give him the right to stop fighting.


    As long as he was still breathing, no, as long as he was conscious even if he couldn''t even breathe anymore, he would keep going.


    He stretched his arms out to his sides. From both palms he fired anchors of darkness, but not to attack. He hooked one into the wing before it was too late and the other into the top of the plane.


    Now it would not be so easy to get him out of here, to shoot him down.


    Sylvester could take no more. He screamed, the thing''s tentacles were digging inside him. Was it trying to get inside him, or was it just hurting him?


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    Either way, it looked like he still had a chance.


    He cut the creature''s tentacles.


    The thing recoiled back in agony, and its scream reminded him more of an anti"aircraft siren than anything human or animal. A throat shouldn''t be able to make such a sound.


    Then, quickly, he used the katana to defend himself against the other.


    Or rather, he tried to, but only received a punch directly in the face. Painful, but that was all. He didn''t want to or couldn''t get inside him? And if it was the latter, why?


    His mind was going a mile a minute.


    Figuring out the rules by which they operated was almost as important as defending himself properly. He didn''t have too many clues, though.


    Sylvester clicked his tongue and spit out some blood.


    He extracted the anchor from the wing to drive it in again, this time into the side of the plane. He had to hurry. Not to get back inside, to kill those on top of the aircraft, tearing off chunks, messing up wires and other sensitive things. Resembling hyenas preying on a corpse.


    Sylvester moved up, over the anchors of darkness, and the two flew after him. He wanted to take care of the others first, but it looked like they wouldn''t let him. His side ached as if his insides were going to leak out of his body through the wound.


    He had no time to waste in more ways than one.


    His magic points, the fuel for his skills, were running low.


    He didn''t have an exact percentage, but a blue bar that was going down. If the interface of his powers had to be in the style of a roleplaying game, it could have been a better designed one.


    "Okay, enough!" His shout contained more frustration than anger, as if this disaster of epic proportions was nothing more than a mere inconvenience.


    The reality was that the wind had robbed him of the ability to shout louder.


    Sylvester killed one by slicing it in half before it collided with him.


    He took care of the next one by reeling it in with one of the anchors of darkness, spinning it like a frisbee and tossing it away. It was probably fast enough to follow the plane anyway, but he didn''t care.


    All he needed was a little time. If it had bought him a few seconds to push away the creatures that were destroying the plane, that was enough for him.


    Sylvester jumped into their midst, wielding his katana fearlessly. He had already been hit. What good had it done him to be cautious?


    That wasn''t his style, anyway.


    There were too many of them, and the surroundings weren''t right, but at least they were going down fast. One hit, one enemy down. He could still fix this shit. They hadn''t touched him again yet. After all, the best defense was a good offense, eh?


    He skewered one with his sword like a spike, picked it up and slammed it to the ground. Before the creature''s back hit the ground he already had more than half a dozen of those bastards on top of him. With their dark wings fluttering, pushing the wind at him from various directions. Wind that hit him like a rain of steel. An added obstacle when he didn''t need any more, not a drop more, he was like a glass about to overflow.


    They descended upon him. Sylvester repelled some with kicks and punches and cut others, albeit in the shoulders or chest, perhaps near the neck, but in no case did he succeed in inflicting a mortal wound. So they quickly overwhelmed him, throwing themselves upon him and crushing him to the ground.


    Even though his face was smashed against the metal, he could still clearly see the PM bar.


    It was almost exhausted now.


    He needed those points for the rest of his skills, so.... Yes. It was time to let go.


    In more ways than one. Losing his grip on the anchors of darkness, he immediately flew backwards. The winged creatures scattered like bowling pins hit by the ball. Strike, haha.


    Sylvester caught one of those bastards in midair, spinning it around. He kicked him with both boots, sending it towards.... Well, actually he had no idea what it was called, he was no pilot and had no particular interest in airplanes. He''d say the wing at the back. The creature was skewered there by the force of the blow and it didn''t take long for it to disappear.


    He himself crashed into it shortly thereafter, intending to break his fall.


    He landed on all fours, wings outstretched behind him.


    Sylvester jumped immediately after landing, to go after the winged creatures that were falling towards him still. He had fallen a little faster.


    Now he would be faster than them too.


    His senses were heightened. The sword felt like a part of his body again, and he wielded it as naturally as he breathed.


    It was as if he had put the world in slow motion, but of course he couldn''t manipulate fundamental forces like time. It wasn''t that the creatures were slow, but that he had become too fast.


    The tentacles, which had been quick as whips before, now came trembling through the air millimeter by millimeter. Futile and powerless. He had the feeling that nothing and no one could reach him.


    He broke them. Still in the air, as he passed, delivering dozens of slashes in less than a second. Without even breathing. He destroyed them all beyond repair. The pieces flew.


    Sylvester landed, safe, on the plane again.


    Okay, safe was saying too much. He noticed that the plane was already billowing thick smoke. The surprising thing was that it was still in the air.


    "Great."


    The plane began to fall. Of course, he had tempted fate and that evil bitch was always listening.


    Sylvester continued to struggle with the surviving creatures as the plane fell through the night sky, spitting out an equally black smoke. He wondered where the real creature was, the one that projected all these or spawned them, the easiest and quickest solution was always to root out the problem. It couldn''t be miles away from here, surely, could it?


    There were too many creatures surrounding him. Even though he had wiped out almost all of them, more had just appeared to replace them. His efforts so far had been nothing more than a big waste of time, as he suspected. But still it wasn''t as if he could afford to just stop.


    Things went from bad to worse.


    The plane began not only to smoke, not only to crash, but to burn.


    The plane was covered by a layer of flames, transforming into a meteorite that was going to hit the impenetrable, bottomless sea below them, which was like a mirror of the endless night sky.


    "Okay, I''ve had enough."


    Sylvester turned his back on them and started running toward the front of the plane. When he reached the edge, he jumped. He turned around in midair, flying, and flew through the glass with his arms crossed to protect his head.


    Fortunately, Cynthia hadn''t moved far.


    He grabbed her by one wrist and lifted her up.


    "Boss? Good, I thought..."


    "No time to talk."


    Sylvester made a move to get out through the broken windows, but Ryan, of course, wasn''t too happy about the idea of being left here. He understood the situation very well from the first second, so he wasted no time in asking questions or other nonsense, jumped after them without a second thought. And he managed to grab Cynthia''s legs.


    "You wanted to get rid of me, huh?" Ryan said. "I thought we were starting to understand each other."


    "Cut the bullshit jokes and let go," Cynthia said, practically spitting. "You''re heavy, motherfucker."


    Sylvester kept silent.


    This was neither the time nor the place for this nonsense. Even with the added weight, they were out of the plane before it crashed into the sea. He wasn''t going to get very far with them latched on, not like this, so he was forced to land on the ruins of the plane, its metallic carcass. The winged creatures kept appearing out of nowhere, more and more, and going after them. Tireless, seemingly endless in number.


    Cynthia looked at him.


    It was clear she had many questions, for example, about his wings. But she focused on what mattered.


    "By the look on your face, I think there''s not only more than what I saw. More than when you started fighting, right?"


    "Yes."


    "They''re all the same, they have to be the same Lunar Remnant, or part of it. Besides, it''s impossible that so many of them have come after us. As if they were organized. But if there is a source, where is it?"


    Thinking out loud.


    Nothing Sylvester didn''t already know, but it wasn''t too bad to give things a refresher. Plus, he liked seeing that she had been able to connect the dots without him having to tell her anything. She was definitely the best partner he''d had so far.


    Besides, maybe she could offer him a different perspective. Details he had missed.


    At the very least, she had indeed been inside the plane. If there was something to see in there, then she could tell him. But if so she would have already done so, on second thought.


    So he could rule out the inside of the plane?


    And the outside too, he hadn''t seen anything, after all, and his efforts had been fruitless.


    But then what?


    The Lunar Remnant couldn''t be sending these copies from miles away, absolutely safe, could it?


    So what, where?


    "The island is there!" Ray said.


    Sylvester turned his head back to glance over his shoulder. It was true, they had been just about there, well, surely they had already landed as best they could. So that didn''t change much, in the end.


    He had to pull Cynthia back, restraining her.


    "Don''t even think about it. They''ll slaughter us if they catch us defenseless in the water." Since he was at it, Sylvester made the wings disappear, right now they were nothing more than an unnecessary waste of PM, he didn''t need them anymore.


    Or not so much?


    There were two possibilities. What he was looking for could be in the water or on the island.


    "Try to swim to the island."


    "What are you going to do?" Cynthia asked.


    "My job."


    Nothing more, nothing less. He fought to live and lived to fight.


    As the two of them headed for shore, Sylvester leapt forward, plunging into the black sea.


    Each and every one of those creatures went after him. Not a single one tried to catch the escaping ones.


    He thought he had found the answer.

 8. Glass Ocean, Part 3

    1


    Sylvester dove into the water.


    He immediately saw his target. He hadn''t known what he was looking for, but it couldn''t be anything else. Some kind of orb pulsing with energy, protected by a barrier. That had to be the source of the creatures. Because, without a doubt, it was no natural phenomenon.


    He wasn''t even that far away from it. Good. It was good to have things clear.


    A creature crashed into the water.


    It lunged at him, suddenly with some kind of trident in its hands.


    Sylvester realized it had sacrificed chunks of his flesh to reshape into a weapon. He realized as he stole the weapon and turned it on the wielder, splitting his head open.


    He hoped to put an end to the situation before the creatures had a chance to exhibit other strange abilities.


    More and more creatures crashed into the water.


    In their pursuit.


    That was why each of them had chosen to go after him once more. The Lunar Remnant had been in the water all along, this had been the answer as it struggled to stay airborne.


    What a joke, but at least it would be over soon.


    Sylvester suddenly stopped, no, was stopped.


    A tentacle wrapped around his ankle, pulling him back when he had almost brought the orb within reach of his katana.


    Typical. At least the tentacle didn''t resist a single blow from his katana.


    Of course, it had dozens more tentacles and that was just not counting the rest of the creatures. But it didn''t matter. There was no need to waste time on them when he knew it would keep coming as long as the orb was intact to spawn them.


    He propelled himself forward. He landed on the barrier, brandishing the katana. It slashed him up and down on the first try, but the thing was, it wasn''t enough. The barrier hadn''t given way and the orb was still out of reach of his katana.


    He had to knock it down first if he wanted to do anything.


    Sylvester darted to the side at the last moment, barely dodging four or five of the creatures. They simply slammed into the barrier, though without damaging it, rather than hitting him. He smiled.


    His MP bar was almost empty. He had to finish this quickly. His abilities were absurdly powerful, but at the same time that tied his hands right now. Whether they were projectile"type or continuous effect, they required a lot of resources and now he was practically exhausted.


    That''s why, for example, he couldn''t employ the skill he had used in Ryan''s mind to try to fight the lion. He had to work this out with his katana. He moved forward. Which seemed perfect to him.


    He tore the orb on the other side as he passed. Now he had to hold his breath and so he was working under a tight time limit. However, his position was better than up there in the air. The reason was very simple.


    In the water, their wet wings were of no use to them. In fact, it was just more weight they had to carry. He was faster, more agile. Able to attack from any direction, at any time.


    Water was as hostile an environment as the skies to humans, but he was thriving here.


    Three cuts on three different sides. Soon the opening would be large enough that the orb could end up rolling out of there. Not that it was going to happen, it was just a comparison.


    One of those suckers finished the job for him.


    It tried to skewer him with its fists, but Sylvester dodged at the last moment and then it was too late for him to change the course of the attack. The creature''s fists burst the barrier, leaving the throbbing orb exposed.


    Then...


    All together, they began to scream. Not that it was over yet. There was more rage in that scream than pain or fear. It was like before, a sound akin to an anti-aircraft alarm siren.


    Feeling as if his head was going to explode, he threw the katana.


    It flew through the air and cut the orb cleanly. Not in half, it didn''t shatter it. The tip of the sword simply made a hole in it. But it was enough.


    The creatures disappeared without a trace after trying to reach him with their hands and tentacles for the last time.


    Sylvester emerged to the surface. Once outside, he took a quick breath of air. He had been close.


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    "I will find you and crush you like the worm you are." He directed those meaningless words to the bottom of the ocean just in case.


    He couldn''t see Cynthia or Ryan. He doubted they had drowned or anything had happened to them. All the creatures had gone after him, and there couldn''t be two Lunar Remnants working together. They were worse than humans or animals.


    Ryan was exposed only to the danger that he had insisted on continuing to dress as a wrestler. Traversing these icy waters with practically nothing on him he could catch pneumonia and die in three days. But hey, he was probably okay for the time being and so would Cynthia.


    Sylvester headed for shore. He was tired and sore, but still swam almost as fast as a speedboat, with a push from one of his many skills.


    When he got there, he grabbed the edge and used that as his only foothold to pull his whole body upward. His soaked clothes were another weight to struggle with, but at least he was now on the island. He looked around.


    "Boss!"


    Sylvester heard the call and came over, crouching down beside them. There wasn''t much to say about the island. It was deserted, nothing but nature all around. It really looked like no one had ever lived there.


    It was to be expected for a small island that didn''t even have a name or appear on maps.


    Sylvester didn''t feel cheated. Thanks to the very invasive machine from the syndicate, he knew that what Ryan told him was true. But even if it were otherwise, the Lunar Remnant attack proved it. They wouldn''t have that thing guarding an empty or already evacuated island!


    He just had to find them. He just had to rip out all their secrets. He thought it was all over now, that he would now be relaxing in anticipation of his next job, but of course it had to turn out to be bigger than he thought.


    So much for leaving it to the cleanup crew. They were the best of the best, but that thing would have slaughtered them. And that was just the beginning. On the island would be the real trouble, for sure. So it couldn''t be helped. But it was frustrating nonetheless.


    "Follow me."


    Sylvester had no idea where to go, but he would find out sooner if he didn''t stand still and think.


    It was always better to act.


    They walked into a nearby forest. They passed through the thick undergrowth and the darkness around them grew even thicker.


    They advanced quickly, but carefully so as not to fall into a trap. They would hope that the island was secret enough not to receive visitors, but that didn''t mean they hadn''t prepared. They were doing well because they had been trained for this.


    Ryan hadn''t received the same training, he was more of a wild beast. But smart enough to follow them closely and mimic their steps. Just in case.


    Making it out of the woods, coming to a clearing without encountering traps or any other resistance. But, of course, it couldn''t last forever. Cynthia gasped in surprise. Sylvester turned around to check what was happening just in time to see her sink to the ground, her hands reaching out and grabbing at nothing.


    Ryan fell too, but of course that man didn''t worry him too much.


    Sylvester ran and jumped inside before the metal panel closed over his head. Or over his neck. There was the first trap, a little disappointing at the moment. The three of them were sliding down a steel chute.


    What would be waiting for them on the other side? A bath of acid? Poison gas?


    That was the question, but they would be prepared to face whatever it was.


    "Give me your hand!" Sylvester shouted, extending a hand forward.


    It was a quick drop. He wasn''t sure if he would have time, or if there wouldn''t be more surprises waiting for them along the way, not just after they arrived.


    It couldn''t be said that Cynthia didn''t try, but in the end it wasn''t enough. There was something he hadn''t expected, though. Another metal panel closed in the middle of the path. It wasn''t a death trap, it was designed to separate them.


    Ryan, who had fallen first, and Cynthia got through before it closed. He hit the metal, bouncing off and falling down another path.


    "Okay, fine. I''ll accept this game. Whoever wants to come after me, bring it on."


    There was no response, but someone had to be listening and watching. Cynthia had not fallen into the trap by chance. He was sure it had been manually triggered at the right time.


    The way down took forever, but there was an end to everything. He landed smoothly, rolling to soften the impact. There was no welcome committee ready to bludgeon him. Nor was there an acid bath or poison gas.


    At least for the moment, it was a normal room. As austere as a prison cell, but much more spacious, that''s for sure.


    He couldn''t waste time. Wait for trouble to come to him. As he ran, he thought only of finding her, not of finishing this job.


    Cynthia could handle herself, but that didn''t mean she had to. They were a team for a reason. The same applied to him. He hadn''t really needed her, but she had accompanied him anyway.


    All the more reason not to let anything happen to her.


    It was hard enough for him to sleep at night sometimes.


    2


    The ride was over.


    Cynthia knew it as soon as Ryan disappeared from her sight. That is, as soon as he fell. She hoped to the death. She still wasn''t sure why he hadn''t simply been executed.


    Even if that was the case, she could save herself. She had the rope launcher. As soon as she fell, she fired at the chute they had slid down here, driving the wire deep into the metal. She was left suspended and with time to examine the room.


    Which had nothing special or dangerous about it. The only thing that stood out was Ryan complaining because he''d fallen on his head, but that was just funny.


    She judged it was safe to go down, so she unplugged the wire, making it snap back into place. And if things changed, well....


    She''d figure it out.


    "Don''t look at me like that. This is unfamiliar territory for me, too."


    Cynthia clicked her tongue.


    "I''m not looking at you in any way. What makes you think I ever expected anything from you?"


    Why did she have to be stuck with this moron when if it were up to her he wouldn''t even be alive yet?


    Frustrating, but good. If she moved forward, sooner or later she would be reunited with Sylvester and then....


    Then all her worries and irritations would be forgotten, because it would be time to deal out justice. At last. Ever since she''d heard about this atrocity, she''d wanted nothing more than to get her hands on those responsible.


    Cynthia picked up the pace. Now all she needed was for the boss to beat her to the punch and take the satisfaction out of her hands.


    No, no. She wouldn''t allow it.


    3


    The wall opened.


    Thus emerged the new opponent to stand in his way.


    It was hard to describe. He was going to liken it to some sort of giant spine faded and scraped by the inclement passage of time, but then he saw the small arms, just as gray, on each vertebra. Then a face emerged from the bone at the end facing him. Nothing but three black slits and a small bump for a nose, which moved like a distorted reflection, as if it couldn''t hold shape or as if it was still making up its mind.


    Sylvester took a step back instinctively.


    What was this?


    Another Lunar Remnant?


    No, maybe something even worse. For somehow its face had reminded him of a child''s.

 9. Massacre Happy End, Part 1

    1


    The creature, Lunar Remnant or not (but what could it be, what could it be if not?), was not the strangest or most terrifying creature he had fought since he began working for the syndicate by a long shot.


    Not since his powers awakened that fateful night.


    But that face. That face like that of a small child, practically a baby. That face.


    His enemy, nothing but a spine with dozens of tiny gray arms, like a grotesque centipede, began to crawl down the hallway toward him. Only crawling didn''t seem like the right word.


    Because it was fast. Fucking fast.


    And even though it was a pile of bones, he was sure it was strong too. So he rolled out of the way, leaping into the open room right next to him, a gym or at least a room full of exercise machines.


    The monster rolled past where he''d been a few milliseconds ago. It was big enough to barely fit in the hallway, so it was tearing chunks out of the wall along the way. Just getting by. No need to put any force into it.


    That wasn''t out of the ordinary for Lunar Remnants, but....


    But what?


    But nothing. It could not be anything else. Something like it didn''t exist from nature, nor could it be born of it. Not the nature of this world, at least. Those things had come from beyond the atmosphere, an evil, an infection, from the moon. And this, this...


    This had to be the same thing.


    Probably.


    Probably.


    Sylvester heard a sound like a baby''s laughter. It was hard to process that it came from the creature that had attacked him, but he had no choice.


    It continued to laugh as it burst into the gym, tearing chunks out of the walls as it passed.


    With those decrepit little gray arms, it easily lifted some disc-laden weights and hurled it toward him.


    Of course, it was easy to avoid the blow. So was the exercise bike it threw at him next, wasting no time.


    But it was strong. Heavy, the ground under his feet was starting to creak.


    And still it kept laughing like a happy baby, that face drawn on the ground in thin, dark lines squirming as it did so.


    Sylvester clicked his tongue.


    He repressed the urge to demand that it shut up. He knew words would do no good. Even if it could still recognize human speech, which was doubtful.


    It jumped right at him directly this time. No throwing objects, though it still had plenty to try it with. Sylvester didn''t move from his spot in response. He parried the attack with his katana.


    He resisted steadily.


    The ground didn''t.


    They both fell to the floor below.


    Fuck, more delays, he thought. I don''t have time to waste with this thing. Whatever it is and however it was born into this world.


    He swung the sword at the being''s head and it simply bounced off without giving it a crack or even a small cut. Strong, in more ways than one. After transforming, Andrew hadn''t endured more than one attack before losing something, but of course, he had been a newborn.


    Sylvester swiveled his feet, tracing an arc with the katana that ended in one of those masses of small arms on the vertebrae.


    He sliced through several of them like a knife through butter, but several others grabbed the blade of the sword and pulled at it. He managed to retrieve it, but the fact that it was something he had to accomplish, an effort, was troubling.


    He was injured and tired from the fight with the other Lunar Remnant, and had barely had time to recover in many ways. His MP bar was still practically empty, too. But still...


    What was wrong with him?


    Sylvester jumped over the creature''s head, and discovered that it was stupid enough to try to reach him with such small arms, not just by moving its massive body. If he had the ability to extend those arms, he chose not to demonstrate it then, at least.


    He landed on one of the vertebrae in a crouch.


    Okay, he couldn''t use his powers to tear this thing apart, even though Cynthia wasn''t here to witness it and so he was completely free to unleash the destructive power within him.


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    But so what?


    That mysterious power wasn''t the only reason he was strong. He also had cybernetic enhancements to spare.


    He could literally and figuratively run circles around this thing a thousand times.


    Cut off all those little arms. Even then it could charge at him, it was big enough to be a siege weapon, but there was something to be gained by hurting it to that extent.


    He began to do what he had just described.


    The severed arms fell and began to melt as soon as they touched the ground, something for which he had no explanation. Nor did he care.


    Even then, it laughed and laughed, it wouldn''t stop, was it even capable of feeling pain?


    The monster jerked, using its body as a huge whip.


    Sylvester simply jumped over it again. It wasn''t difficult. The only thing he was worried about right now was not letting this fight drag on. At this rate they might fall more than a single story. He was already wasting too much time with this thing.


    He dodged, very narrowly, another cluster of those arms.


    The creature had practically dived toward him, so as short as the arms were they reached the ground, punching holes in it.


    Creaking. The ground began to crumble again.


    But this time he was ready. Sylvester jumped back, avoiding falling with it once again into the abyss.


    Could he call the fight over like this?


    Yes, he had other priorities.


    Unfortunately, the creature did not. It just wanted to rip him apart and devour him to the bone. It began to emerge from the hole, climbing up the walls, making use of its arms to open holes that served as a foothold.


    It was a persistent bastard. He had to admit that.


    He glanced at his MP bar. Even though he hadn''t rested a bit, it had recovered on its own as usual. Not by much, it was well under half. But now he did have certain things from his arsenal available to him.


    Still, fuck it.


    His body was a weapon in itself. He could take care of this wretched thing without help from anything or anyone, and leave his skills for the real threats that no doubt awaited him later.


    Sylvester dropped from the ledge, descending to violently meet the thing as it ascended.


    He intended to end it in that clash. Not a second less, not a second more.


    2


    The door at the other end of the room had been closed from the beginning, but then it closed even more. Several layers of metal emerged from the walls, blocking the way and trapping the only exit behind a prison. Cynthia unloaded her revolvers on that wall, even though she knew she wouldn''t be able to break through it. Not with her current weaponry.


    There was no danger of running out of ammunition.


    The bullets weren''t physical. They were recreated in the milliseconds after she pulled the trigger by complex technology. They had left ammunition behind a long time ago, now it was all about the gun battery. If you had the money to afford it. Fortunately for her, the syndicate had money for anything. The battery should still last a couple of days.


    "Great," Cynthia spat. "Just what I needed."


    The floor in front of her feet opened up, but not for an attack. Out of it came two vials filled with liquid on a pedestal. And a screen with a brief description, to the point.


    One opens the door, one leads only to death. That was all it said.


    Cynthia scoffed.


    "They think we''re idiots, for God''s sake. Surely they''re both poisoned. "


    She was no idiot, but her partner quickly proved to her that she couldn''t say the same for him. Even after he''d seen her shoot at that wall and that the explosive power of the bullets in her revolvers had done nothing, a power he''d tasted firsthand, Ryan struck the metal as if he thought he was capable of tearing it all down.


    "There''s no way."


    Unbelievable. No one in their right mind would have had to check that.


    "Of course not, you moron."


    Why did I have to end up with a guy like you? It was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it. Cynthia already knew the answer. Because she had taken her job as seriously as it was, watching the prisoner closely, and so they had both fallen into the trap. It was inevitable. And she had done nothing wrong.


    She didn''t mean that Sylvester had been saved by not taking his job seriously.


    Just that, well. Just that she hadn''t been able to and couldn''t be as relaxed as he was around that guy.


    "So this is what it''s all about," Ryan said, approaching the pedestal with his hands on his hips. "Any ideas?"


    "Why would they give us a chance to open a door we would otherwise never open? Both vials are poisoned."


    "You sure?"


    "How many times do I have to tell you that?"


    Ryan nodded.


    "Okay, fair enough. Well, let''s check it out." He grabbed one of the vials.


    "You''re too stupid to listen to reason, huh? If you''re in such a hurry to die, go ahead."


    Ryan said nothing, simply uncapped the jar.


    Then and only then did it occur to her that it might not be a poison they would need to drink. It could also be that the trap was a gas that would be released as soon as they uncorked one of the vials, trying to escape.


    It occurred to her too late to change anything.


    Hindsight was a bitch. Good thing she wasn''t dying for the moment. If only it stayed that way.


    That idiot Ryan drank it without a second thought.


    "What''s wrong with your head?"


    "I told you. I don''t care if I live or die."


    "You also said you''d like to end this with your own hands.


    "But if I go down here, I know a scary woman and her boss would finish the job for me. It''s not ideal, but it''s good enough for me. My life... " He wiped the corners of his mouth with one hand. "It''s never been even close to ideal, after all."


    And... She wasn''t the only one who wasn''t dying. At least not yet. Was there really a safe jar? No, but the door hadn''t moved a millimeter, he had to have made a mistake. That''s assuming the rules were of any use and it wasn''t just a crude attempt to screw intruders in the ass.


    Ryan picked up the other jar, opened it and swallowed it all in one gulp again. It shouldn''t have surprised her, but it did. The layers of metal began to pull back, returning to the inside of the walls.


    Just as that giant began to stagger.


    It didn''t take long for him to fall to the floor. Look at that, so it was true that one of the vials was poisoning and the other was safe?


    Why was that? Fights to the death had no rules. Rules were for games.


    Cynthia moved closer to him. Part of her wanted to see him suffer and die right here. She didn''t care that he hadn''t known what Andrew was doing. She had a strong sense of justice, so she couldn''t tolerate an accomplice in such atrocities.


    The other part of her, the bigger part, knew the truth.


    That dying was the easiest thing to do. It meant no more suffering, no more regrets.


    No more fighting for redemption.


    "You were all mouthy about wanting to end this with your own hands, to fix your mistake," Cynthia said. "But now you''re on the brink of death and I see you at peace. You won''t have to think about it again, huh? Good for you. If you''re even half a man, get up. Your fight is far from over."


    That said, Cynthia advanced toward the exit. She wasn''t going to wait for him to make up his mind, she had already wasted too much time on him. She was annoyed, especially since she wasn''t sure why she had done that.

 10. Massacre Happy End, Part 2

    1


    The monster laughed as if he was happy and ran to welcome his enemy with open arms. With all his arms.


    Sylvester didn''t reciprocate nor did he utter the slightest sound. If he had the oxygen for that, he should focus it on the attack. He intended to end it all in this clash. He wasn''t going to let it drag on a second longer.


    Overclocking.


    It was a state that affected the entire system called his body. If he was careless, all his components could burn out and be rendered useless. But he didn''t need much time. In the millisecond before the clash, his sword flowed like water countless times.


    He cut the arms trying to reach him. He cut even the black lines that grotesquely traced the creature''s face as it laughed and laughed. He saw pieces of bone fly like debris. They would all eventually fall, but some were even thrown upward by the force of his sword.


    He used one of those pieces of debris to leap at the creature again, attacking it from the side this time.


    Sylvester let out a grunt of pain. His arms were already burning, but he couldn''t stop so soon.


    A single spinning attack was enough to snap the creature that was all spine in half. He heard his own bones break as well. He was approaching the breaking point of the entire system. He knew it, but still he didn''t think for a second about backing out just yet.


    He landed on the top half of the spine, the one that hadn''t fallen to the ground, that is, and started running upwards. Toward the head.


    As he did so, gray arms brushed his ankles as he passed. He never gave them enough time to squeeze, though.


    The end of the road.


    Sylvester leapt upward and landed on that creature''s head, pushing the sword inward with both hands and the full weight of his body. That creature''s "skull" was filled with cracks. Its body too.


    It was about to fucking explode.


    Literally and figuratively, but he knew which of the two was more important to him.


    Andrew and his work were making him furious. They churned his guts. Even though it had been the right thing to do, a considerable part of him regretted killing him so quickly.


    He deserved to suffer.


    As he had said before executing the coup de grace, he had tasted only a fraction of the fear and pain of his victims. It was not nearly enough. It couldn''t be said that he had done justice.


    But he would put an end to this nightmare.


    Sylvester exerted more force and completed the final attack.


    The cracks spread until they disappeared with a bang. The enemy had reached the breaking point before him. That was what mattered, in the end. Not how you were at the end, but being the last one standing.


    He was great at that.


    He landed a few seconds before the creature''s massive body, joining the half he''d cut off to begin with, shaking the ground and kicking up dust. He wasn''t touched by it. It didn''t even land very close.


    And he...


    He had at least four broken ribs. His katana fell to the ground because his arms were even worse, they felt like the limbs of some straw doll, he couldn''t put even a little strength into them.


    He had overdone it and this was the result. But he could climb out of the hole he had dug himself. Fortunately, he only needed his mind to manipulate the display of his stats and distribute the points.


    Health: 14 > 15


    His regeneration accelerated considerably. The pain of his bones recovering at that speed was far worse than what he had gone through so far. His mind went blank.


    Before he knew it he was on the ground. He must have lost strength in his legs as well.


    The good thing about it being such an extreme regeneration was that it was over quickly. Sylvester took a deep breath. He didn''t know why, but when he upgraded his health he not only increased his health bar, but it filled up all over again.


    For that reason he always kept at least one skill point undistributed, for emergencies.


    This shouldn''t have been an emergency no matter how he looked at it. It was a low level creature that he should have been able to take care of easier and faster.... But he had gone too far, so that was the way things were. He would be more careful from now on.


    The case was getting to him emotionally.


    He had to be more careful before he made a mistake he couldn''t fix. Without more experience points, he lacked that safety net. Counting on gaining enough experience to have one more point to invest in his skills was unreliable, to say the least.


    He bent down to pick up his katana. He turned his back on the defeated abomination and walked out of there, he had a lot of ground to cover, even without counting the ground he had to make up, boy oh boy.


    He walked out of there trying not to think too much about that thing still being there, not dissolving into the energy that had created it like all the Lunar Remnants.


    Without transforming into butterflies that would fly to the moon, looking for the way home.


    Trying not to think about the fact that this was, without a doubt, an abomination created by human hands.


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    So, it meant that what he had just killed had to be¡­


    2


    Cynthia walked through the facility with revolvers raised, ready to stop anyone who got in her way. As she had promised herself, she hadn''t turned around to look around once.


    She only did so when she heard a loud bang behind her, and that wasn''t breaking the promise.


    She obviously had to pay attention to threats, she just hadn''t wanted to look for a very specific reason.


    And there it was, in front of her.


    Alive, albeit barely.


    Standing, albeit with help from the wall. That had been the blow. His fist hitting the wall. Ryan was breathing heavily on shaky legs, and it gave the feeling that a breeze a little too strong might knock him down.


    But he''d made it this far. No choice but to admit it.


    He may have been human trash, but he possessed great willpower.


    "I''m... not finished yet."


    "I can see that. Imagine how many kids wished the people you served were finished."


    "I only worked for Andrew for a little over six months."


    "Look, the boss seems to want to give you the benefit of the doubt for whatever reason. I don''t know. Maybe he''s getting old, softening up. But don''t give me that shit. You could have known about this long before we threw the evidence in your face. But you looked the other way, because it was easier, because you were getting paid."


    Ryan was silent, completely speechless. That was saying enough. She supposed he wasn''t a complete piece of shit, since he could at least acknowledge that he had no right or means to defend himself. That it was the truth, period.


    Cynthia turned her back on him. In that state, even if he attacked her from behind she''d be rid of him before he could blink.


    "So come on. Crawl forward until you drop dead, you disgusting piece of shit."


    3


    The thoughts dancing through his head were terrible enough.


    Then Sylvester came to a room full of cages. All of them empty... and too small. No adults would fit in there, dogs and cats would, but they''d be cramped anyway.


    And children.


    He could feel the mask of professionalism he was trying so hard to maintain slipping from his face, again. He gritted his teeth as if to keep everything in place and walked over to one of the cages. In front of it, he crouched down.


    He peered through the bars as if looking for something, even though there was evidently nothing there.


    After a while, more time wasted, he jumped up. He grabbed the cage, lifted it and threw it against a wall.


    Nothing happened, of course.


    He hadn''t expected anything to happen either. He just...


    "They were kids. They were just kids, for fuck''s sake."


    He needed to kill someone.


    He needed to get even or he was gonna go crazy.


    "Where the fuck are you? Let''s get this over with!"


    There was a camera circling overhead, in the corner of the room, probably others less obvious as well. There was someone watching their every move. Dozens of people, considering the size of this operation.


    But there was no response.


    Nor had he expected it.


    Sylvester continued at last to run through the facility, thirsting for blood.


    Each room revealed new horrors, traces of the tragedies that had befallen this hellish place, some of them, no doubt, painfully recent. Hours or days.


    If only they had been better, if only they had come faster....


    There was no use thinking about what might have been. What was would always be. He couldn''t turn back the clock.


    He didn''t know how many rooms he had left behind.


    In any case, he''d finally met someone else. Only that wasn''t the right word, of course. They were monsters in white coats, running too.


    Running away from him.


    He gritted his teeth. Thought they could do this and then escape the consequences, huh? And why shouldn''t they believe it? The fact was, they''d been escaping for far too long.


    But no more, not another second, damn it.


    Sylvester jumped.


    Like a cannonball, he struck and smashed through the glass. The screams of those human-shaped creatures were almost shriller than the glass shattering. He landed among them and his sword flew.


    It was the first thing to fly, followed by arms and legs. He tried to avoid bathing in their blood, however. Even a single drop of blood from those abominations touching him would be disgusting, it would churn his guts.


    He couldn''t tolerate existing in the same world as things like these and the fact that he breathed the same oxygen as them.


    They were normal human beings, if only physically. Without weapons, without too many cybernetic enhancements, it was almost as easy as cutting paper.


    He had the opportunity to make these guys suffer, who were just as responsible as Andrew. Or even worse. That man had set things in motion, but these guys, the workers, were what kept the operation running. The ones who made sure the atrocities were carried out day in and day out. Whereas to Andrew they were just statistics, successes and failures, related to his vague plans.


    Yes.


    Well, one way or another...


    One way or another he found himself unable to contain himself. He was finishing them off too quickly.


    He kicked one of the scientists, sending him flying spinning into a wall. The force of the impact was strong enough that he doubled over and vomited. There was blood there too.


    He jumped on top of that guy before he could recover, get back on his feet and split him in half with his katana.


    Cleanly and decisively. His insides slid out like the stuffing of a straw doll as his two halves fell to the ground.


    He felt dirty. He felt dirty in too many ways. He couldn''t wait to put an end to this for real.


    Sylvester swung the sword. A head rolled down, leaving a thick trail of blood. There wasn''t a wasted move. Every attack was effective. It was, naturally, as if they had fallen into a lion''s cage, they could do nothing but be torn apart.


    But it wasn''t satisfying at all. It was too late for that.


    He knew that whatever team they had sent probably wouldn''t have been able to overcome the Lunar Remnant that had attacked the plane.


    But still, he wished they had sent anyone else here.


    He wished he was home now, trying to put all this shit behind him.


    Sylvester punched another in the chest. His fist went clean through him, his fingers almost grazing his heart. But what he intended wasn''t to rip it out and show it to him while it was still beating in the last seconds of his life. Nothing so macabre as that. Instead...


    It exploded.


    The energy released created thousands of thorns that quickly spread down the hallway, digging into many of the survivors and growing even faster, tearing their insides apart.


    A quick death, but a very painful one.


    He turned around quickly.


    Nimble as a panther, he lunged at the last one remaining. He couldn''t add on his feet as he was lying on the ground like the trash bag he was.


    His right arm disappeared up to his elbow.


    The hallway was filled with screams again.


    They weren''t the only sounds, unfortunately, though it took him a while to realize it from those screams. Cages considerably larger than the ones he had seen in that room opened and many more, too many.


    They opened and let in organic abominations.


    For example, there was some kind of huge caterpillar. Its face was humanoid, but it had no eyes or ears. However, it was obvious that it saw in some other way, it crawled with purpose. The slime it left behind wasn''t slime at all, but some kind of poison or acid. They were already making a dent in the ground as it passed.


    For example, if he had to name it, there was also a giant bat with a maw as big as a car wide open. But not on the head, on the chest.


    No organs were visible inside, only the darkness of its maw. The wings appeared to be vestigial. It was unable to fly. It tried and barely rose a few feet before it fell back to the ground. Too heavy, too wrong. Twisted.


    All sorts of horrors created by human hands.


    With...


    He felt like throwing up.


    "Why do you look pleased? Those poor creatures can''t stop me. And even if they could, you''re not getting out of here. Not with how much you''re bleeding. You''re going to die..." Sylvester stopped suddenly, "You''re going to die exactly the way you deserve to die."


    Sylvester grabbed the last surviving scientist in the corridor by the neck and dragged him to the edge.


    Now he was screaming even louder. But it had nothing to do with pain.


    "May you eat well."


    "Please, I''ll tell you anything you want, I''ll give you¡­"


    Without listening, Sylvester threw some food into the children''s cage.

 11. Massacre Happy End (3)

    1


    The scientist fell to the ground, among the creatures he had helped to create.


    The force of the impact broke his spine. Sylvester didn''t need to use night vision mode or examine him closely to be sure of that.


    He was just thankful he hadn''t gone too far.


    This was good, so he couldn''t even try to run away. He would have no choice but to lie there, praying that it would all be over soon as he was torn to pieces. But he hadn''t thrown him down to die on impact. That was too easy, he didn''t deserve that mercy.


    "No, no, please, I can help you! Not like that!"


    At least he didn''t dare ask for help from one of his victims. If there was even a spark of conscience left inside them, and he hoped not. He hoped those poor creatures weren''t trapped in the hell of their own bodies, waiting for release.


    Instead, he pleaded with him. The scientist wanted him to get him out of there.


    He wanted Sylvester to kill him, even, but not like that. That was the point. That it was a worse way to die than anything he could do to it with his bare hands, no matter how hard he tried to be creative.


    "I''m begging you! I can give you information, don''t let me¡­"


    Of course, it was shameful enough that he dared to beg in general. To think himself entitled to value his life, when he had destroyed the lives of so many others. And why?


    Why, exactly?


    Sylvester didn''t much care. There was no explanation.


    He just wanted to see them suffer and die, and he was going to get what he wanted.


    Those poor creatures swarmed on the monster like ants on a sugar cube. And they began to prepare him for feeding time. His screams soon ceased. Not because he had already died, but because he soon lost the ability to scream. He knew from his own experience that there came a point when the pain got so bad that you couldn''t even scream.


    His pieces started flying off. They were splitting it up, but not equally. They were fighting for their food.


    He saw them nibbling at arms and legs, now separated from the body, too.


    For most people, even knowing the circumstances, this would be a grotesque spectacle, but not for Sylvester. He grinned from ear to ear, satisfied.


    The satisfaction didn''t last long, though.


    Things didn''t go wrong. It was impossible for him to escape the justice he deserved with a broken spine and him watching. The satisfaction didn''t last long because he simply still had a lot of work ahead of him.


    He set off before the attention of those poor creatures could be focused on him, now that there was no one else left.


    Sylvester had to release them from their suffering. Free them all, whether they were conscious in there or not. No, he couldn''t know that to begin with, so he had to act as if they were. Assume the worst.


    But not like that. Not in a straight fight.


    He''d destroy the whole thing.


    This hell had no place in the world of humans, so he would make sure to wipe it off the face of the earth.


    2


    She turned another corner into a hallway just as sterile and metallic as the previous dozens, maybe more so. But now something changed. Instincts alerted her to danger at just the right moment. That''s why Cynthia jumped back immediately afterwards, without wasting even a millisecond.


    Had it been otherwise, she would have been shot in the head.


    It wouldn''t have killed her even if it had hit her squarely, but it wouldn''t have been pretty either. In any case, she had managed to barely dodge the shot and was now backed up against the wall.


    Guards.


    "Good. I was starting to get bored."


    In fact, the strange thing was that it had taken them so long to show up. There were cameras all over the compound, and that was just the ones she''d seen while running at full speed, she hadn''t exactly stopped to admire the sights and smell the roses.


    Maybe they had been too busy with her boss.


    And they would still be busy. Sylvester wouldn''t be defeated in a place like this, but apparently they already had time for her, or had gathered enough courage to take turns being slaughtered.


    "How many? "Ryan''s voice behind her. She had almost forgotten not that he was there, still alive, but that he existed at all.


    Well, he was still there, but he didn''t look alive at all. He was already as pale as a corpse. Not to mention his choppy breathing and shaky legs. It said a lot about him that he had made it this far, but she didn''t think he was going to make it much further.


    No matter how much willpower he put into it, the world didn''t work that way.


    "Eight," she replied. Not really knowing why she had bothered to take a look, check it out, or answer his question.


    "Okay."


    That was all he said. Well, gee, what good had it done her to have told him and him to know?


    "Let me go first. I''m already dead."


    She hadn''t expected that request. If he wanted to die faster, that was up to him, she couldn''t care less. However...


    "I can manage on my own."


    "I know. But... let me."


    Cynthia thought about it, but not for too long. Ryan probably wasn''t going to be much help whether he came first or after her, it looked like a slight breeze might knock him to the ground, but at least it would be a distraction. Seconds, minutes? She didn''t know, but either way was good enough for her.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    So she let him do what he wanted. Cynthia stepped back, leaving him a clear path, and waved her hand for him to hurry up.


    To get out at once.


    Cynthia couldn''t see what was happening, but the sounds told him enough, told the whole story. The guards were firing on their location to keep them trapped and for the possibility of hitting them through the wall, as they carefully approached them.


    Ryan gathered strength in his body on the verge of collapse and left the cover running with the last spark still burning inside him.


    It would soon be extinguished.


    Cynthia emerged a short time later, mere seconds later, both revolvers raised and firing. Not worrying too much about the bullets reaching that asshole, but not intentionally aiming at him either. The guards would kill him. And if not, that''s what poison was for. There was no need to get her hands dirty. Although getting rid of a man like him would more likely clean his hands.


    In any case.


    The fight in the hallway went as follows. It was very quick, but when you were betting your life a second tended to feel like an eternity.


    Ryan ran toward the bullets. He couldn''t protect the rest of his body, so he at least raised his arms in a cross to protect his head. He would think that as long as he didn''t get his brains blown out, he was still in the fight.


    Like all people with such dangerous jobs, his cybernetic modifications were extensive. A few bullets didn''t sign his death warrant. But, even putting poison aside, that didn''t mean it was a good idea.


    To her surprise, Ryan didn''t collapse even before she reached the guards.


    He stayed on his feet and, when he managed to get there, grabbed one of the guards by the throat and slammed him against the wall. The wall was filled with cracks from the impact. He had monstrous strength. Still, she had handled him with ease that night. Because she was strong. And because he had a more than obvious weakness. He needed to get close before he could do anything.


    The guard''s gun even flew from his hand. In the next second, he twisted his throat. It sounded like a dry twig snapping.


    A barely suppressed scream of pain. It came not from Ryan, but from one of those who had been about to shoot him in the back. Cynthia''s bullet had hit him squarely, blowing off one of his hands and causing the weapon to fall.


    Of course, they pumped him full of bullets anyway. She couldn''t stop each and every shot.


    Ryan was shaken, staggered backwards. But to her surprise he still refused to go down. What a stubborn bastard, huh.


    With her appearance, they suddenly didn''t know who to focus on, so they didn''t fully concentrate on any of them.


    Ryan rammed another one of them to the ground. He then lifted him up, holding him by his legs only... and spun him around. The human shield took a few bullets for Ryan, but she didn''t think that was the main thing. He released him. He knocked down two other guys like bowling pins!


    Cynthia kept firing. She couldn''t keep the trigger pulled all the time or the mechanisms would heat up, but still the rate of fire of her revolvers was overwhelming.


    So was their power. Every time a bullet hit the mark, a part of their bodies exploded.


    So it was easy.


    Either kill them outright or after Ryan softened them up. Either way, it was over before any of them realized it. And he was still standing. Even though he looked so weak and frail, not even the dozen bullets inside his body had taken him down. He wasn''t even leaning against the wall to keep himself upright.


    It bothered her.


    "Why are you trying so hard? You''re not going to be rewarded in the end. You''re just going to die. No, you''re already dead."


    Something was bothering her, even though nothing would change. Even though nothing should change, even. Wasn''t he suffering as much as possible before he died as she''d wanted to?


    "You''re the one who convinced me to get up."


    That was true, too.


    "Yes, but..." Cynthia couldn''t protest, so she decided to keep her mouth shut for the moment. But in any case she had other priorities. He was here to, well, not save people. That was already impossible. But cleaning up this place would make sure it wouldn''t happen again, and that would have to be enough. "Forget it."


    Yeah. It would have to do.


    Cynthia raised a revolver and shot one of the guards in the face, to make sure he was really dead. His head popped off like a pi?ata and none of the fallen bodies flinched.


    3


    Sylvester swung the katana, splitting his head in half. He had been the last guard standing. With the blow, he was gone forever. And seconds later he couldn''t be said to be standing either.


    He had taken care of a security squad with his own hands.


    "Well, I can''t turn them all into food. Unfortunately."


    Although it was exactly what they deserved. Sylvester kept moving forward. He wiped his blood-soaked katana by brushing it against the wall.


    Leaving behind a thick, zigzagging red line that trailed away from the corpses strewn around him.


    Like footprints marked in the snow.


    He reached the control room. No, to what was surely just one of many like it. This pen was full of helpless animals as well. Since they were helpless, he finished his work quickly.


    He didn''t kill them all. Some managed to flee, but he didn''t care. They wouldn''t get very far.


    There was only one survivor inside the control room, but he had not escaped. His body was slumped against the control console. He didn''t have the strength to stand because his arm had been severed.


    Blood flowed out from under him and onto the floor. Whimpering, he cradled the stump his right arm had become.


    It looked like a serious wound and it was. But it was enough that he wasn''t going to die immediately.


    Sylvester grabbed his hair, pulling his head back. He actually wanted to grab his skull that hard. He wanted to crush it with his bare hands.


    "Open the cages."


    "What?"


    "You heard me. Don''t make me repeat myself, otherwise what I''ll do first is not to cut your neck but your other arm."


    With the only arm he had left, the animal touched some buttons and pulled some levers. Did he think he could waste time? Fool him so easily?


    "I need proof that you are really doing something."


    "The camera in the center. Please."


    Yes. In the chamber, Sylvester saw a cage open and the poor creature inside slipping out, tasting the closest thing to freedom he''d ever had.... For how long? He didn''t even want to think about that.


    In any case...


    "I said the cages. All of them."


    "I can''t. Not from here. Wait, wait, I''m telling you the truth." All it had taken was a slight movement of his sword. He hadn''t even meant to threaten him, to tell the truth, it was an unconscious movement. "Why would we design a system to open all the cages at the same time? I can''t even... I can''t even open all the ones that are there like that. I have to go one by one."


    "Well, come on. Hurry up."


    Sylvester didn''t think the prey was lying to him.


    Not on his knees in front of him, without an arm and the sword close to his neck. Nor did he think he had any reason to go out of his way to deceive him or waste his time.


    It wasn''t an excuse, but he doubted he had any sort of personal motivation to have become a part of this. Research interest, or whatever it was.


    No, he just wanted money. And he sure wanted to live more than that.


    Sylvester wouldn''t let him live, of course, but there was nothing wrong with letting him fool himself for the moment.


    Besides, what he was saying made sense. It was just that he still wasn''t thinking clearly out of anger. He watched him repeat more or less the same process to open another cage, and another, and another, and another....


    Too many.


    What kind of monster could work here day in and day out as if everything was fine?


    There were too many.


    Guards appeared through the doors at the other end of the room, weapons raised, ready to shoot. And that''s what they did. But none of the bullets hit him, as he used that animal as a shield.


    He had served his purpose.


    All he could do, in any case, though not all that he had wanted.


    Sylvester could already see and hear it through the cameras and microphones all over the compound. Those monsters being slaughtered by their own creations. And he too had a massacre ahead of him, nothing more than that. Completely one-sided. They were nothing but idiots with rifles and guns. He was used to fighting things that were monsters inside and out.


    He took care of all the guards that had burst into the control room by running at them so fast it was as if they had lined up for him.


    Nothing but chunks of meat on the chopping block.


    His initial move was to kill three with a single sword slash. He tore them apart in a tenth of a second and reached the hallway through the open doorway so fast that most of the corpses hit the ground only afterwards.


    He was vaguely aware that his priority having come in here should have been to meet up with Cynthia, as much as she could handle herself and especially with Ryan''s help.


    But, well.


    Only vaguely.


    Sylvester pushed his hair, damp with blood, back with one hand.


    He was grinning from ear to ear, and why not? The mess he was making all over the compound was filling the hole in his heart. It was the closest thing to justice left on this dark and twisted island, this reflection of hell.


    Indeed.


    If he couldn''t give those kids a happy ending, he would at least give them a massacre.

 12. Massacre Happy End (4)

    1


    Sylvester continued to wreak havoc around the complex, freeing the experiments from their cages and making sure the feast ran smoothly.


    But he wasn''t fighting any of them, he was doing everything in his power to avoid them.


    And they didn''t make it too difficult for him.


    Horribly, there must have been at least a spark of conscience still unquenched inside them, because the poor victims, once freed, turned immediately and as if by instinct to their captors, pretending that he was invisible. Almost invisible.


    That is, many times he was far away from them, in the command room in question, so they didn''t even see him.


    But many did, forcibly, as he made his way through the complex. And yet he had been attacked by rather few. Knowing that, considering the implications, he felt horrible for hurting the first of those poor people.


    He didn''t want to fight them and make them suffer even more.


    But that didn''t mean he wouldn''t release them from their suffering because of his own cowardice. He would keep his promise. He would do what he had to do. He would destroy this island, which was already a pit of corpses long before he had arrived, and make it sleep for the rest of eternity in the dark waters at the bottom of the ocean.


    Cynthia was as capable of figuring out his location as he was of figuring out hers. And they were getting closer, they could see it, but for some reason or another they had not yet been able to meet.


    He wondered if she was having more trouble than he had thought.


    For him, a mission of this level was practically nothing. The biggest danger so far had been himself, with the damage he''d done to his own body after setting the overclocking mechanisms in motion, and that was only because he''d lost control of himself. Because he hadn''t backed down when he should have, even though he knew he had to and it would have been as easy as thinking it.


    But Cynthia was a normal person.


    Skilled, many years of experience, but a normal person nonetheless.


    He wondered if that was what it was all about after all. If so, he had to hurry. He had already lost one partner by overestimating the capabilities of a normal person. He didn''t want a repeat.


    He alone should suffer and pay for his own mistakes.


    2


    Cynthia had a bad feeling.


    Under the circumstances, she had every right in the world. What''s more, anyone would say it had come too late. But once again it turned out that her instincts hadn''t been wrong.


    She jumped back a second before she saw the hallway wall start to split. Not even a full second, more like a tenth of a second, but it was enough.


    She didn''t warn Ryan. She didn''t have time or think about it. But she brushed against him as she jumped backwards and that was enough to knock him down, so she got him out of the way regardless. If he asked her if she''d done it on purpose, she''d say yes without hesitation.


    Some kind of giant bat burst violently into the hallway.


    It had its wings outstretched, but it wasn''t flying. Not that it would have done it much good inside this steel prison, either. More importantly, its chest was a huge, saw-toothed maw. An entire house could be reduced to pieces and disappear there.


    -Fuck me. I''m used to seeing weird things at this point, but....


    Screaming, the creature lunged at her. That was how real bats heard. Echolocation. With her cybernetic enhancements, she was able to hear even those frequencies, but that wasn''t what this was about. It wasn''t a scream to see. There was only pain in that creature''s voice. Every second of its existence had to be torment.


    And that...


    That didn''t matter.


    Cynthia dodged that monster again, rolling across the ground.


    The wings came within millimeters of crushing her neck. The creature was so big that it opened two large holes, one in each wall, as it brushed up against it with its wings. She didn''t even want to imagine what it could have done to her neck.


    Ryan rammed that hideous creature into the wall.


    Unbelievable that he was still up for it, physically and mentally. Unbelievable how stupid he was. Since the creature''s jaws were on its chest and not its head, there was no way to do that to it and keep away.


    It was as if he was serving himself on a platter to the creature. Ryan had said he didn''t mind dying, and that was all well and good, but if he died in such a stupid way he wouldn''t even be of any fucking help to her.


    Cynthia got close to the head of the monstrous giant bat (normal bats were monstrous enough for her taste) before it got up. Before it ate that sucker in one bite.


    She pressed the barrels of both revolvers against the monstrosity''s head and squeezed the triggers.


    Of course, there was no way to miss at that distance. No matter how fast the enemy was, it was too late to get out of the way. It was also impossible for her to miss him, no matter how strong it was, by shooting him at point-blank range.


    The explosive power of her bullets burst its skull.


    The giant bat screamed, again. No living thing could last long with a hole in its brain. But it didn''t look like it was going to collapse in the next few seconds.


    It still seemed furious and full of life.


    It flapped one of its wings, striking her on one arm. Cynthia did her best, but the revolver slipped through her fingers and hit the ground anyway. She grimaced. It was all right, she had another one, but....


    The wing hadn''t crushed her arm when it hit her.


    It hadn''t blown the gun away from her because of its strength, but because it had cut her deep from her shoulder to a little past the elbow. The blood flowed like a spring. If it were only pain, she could have kept moving her arm, biting her tongue and charging forward again.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    But now Cynthia couldn''t even feel it. The blow had taken away her ability to move her arm.


    She was sure it wasn''t the shock of the moment, a passing thing. The sharp edge of the wing had simply been lucky, cutting too deeply. Now it was as if her arm didn''t even belong to her.


    "Fuck, you nasty bastard."


    Next thing...


    It didn''t go for her. The giant bat reared up and stabbed Ryan in the chest with its claws, deep. The claws on its feet. With that as its only foothold, it flew as high as the hallway would allow. The bat flew through it at high speed.


    It released Ryan, sending him flying and crashing to the ground hard.


    There was no way he could have survived that, was there? Under normal circumstances, maybe he would have been able to get up just like that. But not after the poison and the dozens of shots he''d taken on the way here.


    Either way, he wasn''t going to be able to keep fighting. The monster focused on her again, taking flight at high speed, flying back the way it had come.


    Cynthia had already lost an arm. She didn''t want to lose any more.


    Not even one more drop of blood.


    She left the fallen revolver where it lay, she had no other choice, and prepared to meet the enemy.


    She didn''t move from the spot.


    She had to wait for her chance. Move at the right moment. Not a second before, not a second after. If he didn''t get everything right, his massive body would crush his neck or cut it off.


    She had to wait for her chance. Move at the right time. Not a second too soon, not a second too late. If she didn''t get everything right, its massive body would crush her neck or cut it right off with its wings.


    That was fine with her. She was used to living dangling between life and death.


    Looming over her. Its jaws open, black and hopeless as the gates of hell. That monster was ready to receive her too, in its own way. And who would get their way would be decided this instant.


    She dropped to the ground.


    Cynthia slid beneath its body, millimeters away from death. It would still be true even without those jaws dangerously close to closing on her head. Just grazing her while flying at that speed had a chance of ripping her throat clean off.


    But she''d be the one to rip his fucking throat out.


    Right here, right now. She put the gun against its neck.


    It exploded. The slide had been executed to perfection and even the trigger had been pulled at the right time. The bullet shattered its chin and came out the other side. Bits of skull, blood and gray matter flew through the air.


    Cynthia stopped. Without wasting a second, she spun around, getting up with the momentum of the same movement. Just in time to see the bat hit the ground.


    It would never get up again.


    That made two of them, she supposed. The woman glanced over her shoulder at Ryan.


    Well, he''d come farther than anyone had thought, himself included.


    And he hadn''t suffered as much as perhaps he deserved, but it sure hadn''t been a pleasant way to go. Cynthia should be satisfied. He too had been looking for death after all.


    In any case, he didn''t have to fight anymore. He was free.


    She wasn''t so lucky. She had definitely defeated the giant bat, but ah, if only that was the only problem she had on her hands. She could hear it now.


    Hear them roaming the complex, tearing apart everything in their path. Everything and everyone. Yes, she had no doubt that only the boss could have made such a mess.


    That guy didn''t have a shred of consideration. That''s why he wasn''t popular with women.


    Cynthia turned her back on Ryan. No, on his corpse.


    She wasn''t too happy about leaving one of her revolvers lying there on the ground, but what could she do with her arm the way it was? They''d get her a replacement. For the gun, not the arm. That is, she hoped it wouldn''t be necessary, though it was possible. She was grateful for having been born in the right era.


    An era where humanity''s only problems were the ones they created with their own hands.


    Except for the Lunar Remnants, of course, that evil that came from the moon.


    3


    Sylvester was walking through the dining room as if he had become a ghost.


    The chaos around him did not touch him.


    The air was filled with blood chilling screams, tables and body parts flying followed by spurts of blood, crushed organs, claws, tentacles and other stranger limbs lashing out like whips. But still none of it was touching him.


    He was making no special effort to dodge what was around him. He was simply advancing through the middle of the dining room, one step at a time.


    Quietly.


    Feeling as if the massacre was filling holes in his heart. But, still, it wasn''t perfect. He had to plunge this island into eternal darkness and free those poor children from their suffering.


    But he didn''t want them to die without seeing the sun for the last time.


    Or at least...


    Sylvester aimed at the metal ''sky'' and fired. The energy beam opened a hole in it and dozens of other layers until it reached the outside. That''s why some moonlight continued through the hole.


    But for the fact that it was a full moon, even that would not have been enough.


    It wasn''t by luck or coincidence. From the day the disease began to spread, ravaging humanity, from the day his powers awakened, it was always a full moon.


    And the moon was visible even during the day. It was almost as if Earth now had two suns.


    In any case, he had gotten what he wanted.


    Like the massacre, it was poor, cold comfort. But it was the best he could do for them. And it satisfied him. Even if it was a trifle, even if it was a selfish satisfaction, he felt as if the weight on his shoulders was now a little lighter.


    It would have to be enough.


    The world was going from bad to worse every day, so you had to learn to make do.


    Enjoy it while you could.


    4


    She had fucked up.


    Cynthia stared at her right arm, not understanding how she had fucked up so deeply in a matter of seconds. Her right arm, useless, caught in the creature''s maw.


    She couldn''t feel her arm. She couldn''t move it even a little.


    But when those teeth sank into her flesh, she felt it.


    The pain was unbearable.


    At this rate they were going to have to replace her arm after all.


    It wasn''t uncommon for people in her profession to lose a limb. The replacements were accurate and trouble-free. But it was still painful and unpleasant. Most painful and unpleasant was that she still hadn''t registered how things had gotten to this point.


    She had walked away, leaving the other revolver on the ground. She had moved on.... And then, what, what had ended up happening, how had her arm been caught in the jaws of that creature?


    Painful. Cynthia could feel the bones creaking and cracking. The flesh slipping.


    It was so painful.


    What? She''d been attacked in a second, caught before she knew it, and now... Now she was going to...? Now she was going to...? Her bones weren''t the only thing creaking. She felt as if a part of her brain was creaking too as she refused to accept this reality.


    Cynthia raised the revolver in her trembling hands. She placed the barrel against the creature''s temple. Unafraid, or uncaring of its twisted existence, the enemy continued to bite.


    Cynthia pulled the trigger.


    But it didn''t fall. Even with half its brain blown out, the thing was still full of energy.


    What was in store for her now? If she couldn''t handle the thing with her arm in place, after it ripped it off, what? Would she just be a piece of meat on its plate? And would things end in such a stupid way? Suddenly, without warning. Anyone would go crazy thinking about such things.


    Fortunately, Cynthia didn''t have to put up with that for long.


    Not because her arm finally gave way. ''Something'' hit the creature that had her arm trapped. Thanks to that, she had a chance to pull it out from between that monster''s teeth. Otherwise it would have been ripped off when that ''something'' slammed the monster against the wall. It was bad, anyway, but at least it was still there for the most part.


    The first thing that crossed her mind was, naturally, that the boss had finally arrived to help her. It wasn''t like the monsters had started fighting each other for some reason, either.


    Somehow, Ryan hadn''t succumbed to his injuries or the poison yet and had lent her a hand.


    How was that possible? Even if he was still alive, he shouldn''t even be able to stay on his feet. Was she hallucinating from blood loss?


    No, she wasn''t.


    He had enough gas in the tank for one last effort, but it looked like this was the end. Ryan collapsed and this time he really wouldn''t get up again. She''d have to deal with this monster and anyone else who got in her way with a single revolver, wrapped around fingers slick with blood. Enduring the pain, straining not to lose consciousness.


    But... Cynthia was wrong once again.


    She had been doubly wrong. Ryan could still go on, and she hadn''t been saved. Before her eyes, the man transformed into an inhuman beast. Twisted horns on his head, matted fur covering an emaciated and almost skeletal body. Ribs splayed out like flowers that stretched outward. There was nothing resembling who he had been.


    Cynthia should have seen it coming.


    At the end of his strength, the bastard had become a Lunar Remnant instead of dying as a human and leaving things as they were.


    As she had told the boss, they should have killed him while they had the chance.


    Unfortunately, it looked like she wouldn''t live to say "I told you so!".


    Cynthia let out a muffled laugh. Gathering strength in her legs, in her whole body.


    Well, we''ll see about that.

 13. Massacre Happy End (5)

    1


    It wasn''t a good idea to fight.


    She''d been itching to kill Ryan long before she''d arrived on the island. And now she not only could, but had to, her opinion was irrelevant. So part of her thought it was a shame to pass up this opportunity. She had easily taken care of him when she was still human, but transformed into a Lunar Remnant things could go irrevocably awry.


    Even if she killed him, there would be all the other creatures left in her path. She didn''t understand how there could be so many on this island, or maybe she didn''t want to understand. So it simply wasn''t a good idea to fight. She should run and look for Sylvester. That should have been her priority from the beginning.


    Cynthia hoped it wasn''t too late to correct her mistakes yet, that was the only thing she could do.


    So that''s what she did.


    Cynthia ran away shamelessly " why should she be ashamed? She wasn''t the kind of idiot who would chase a hopeless fight over useless things like pride. She knew her limits as well as her strengths.


    The transformed Ryan jumped behind her. He had just been born, so right now he was little more than an animal. He had no will of his own, nor was it possible to make him cooperate. Right now he just wanted to quench his bloodlust.


    Cynthia managed to dodge the attack. The monster''s claws only grazed the wall to her right, leaving deep holes in the metal.


    She kept running.


    She didn''t have to worry about Ryan alone, she was surrounded by enemies. A few hours ago she fought a lion. Now she felt like she had fallen into a cage full of wild animals.


    She could be in bigger trouble than she already was. Many of the creatures, instead of zeroing in on her, had been moving away. She didn''t really know why, but they weren''t swooping down on her, the nearest human.


    She didn''t know why, but she didn''t care. The thing was, thanks to that she had a chance.


    One foot in front of the other, a simple repetition. She had walked a long way to get here. She wasn''t going to die in a place like this after all that hardship. Then her sacrifices and aspirations would mean nothing. She was meant for something bigger than this.


    Deep down, she knew she was.


    Cynthia slid under the table, leapt over the rubble. She dodged bits of the ceiling that nearly crushed her and kept going without wasting a second. Now that she had gotten moving, the pain of her nearly ripped arm didn''t drain her. That is, it still hurt like hell, but it had transformed into a background noise. Maybe it was an adrenaline thing. In any case, she was grateful for it, it was an unnecessary distraction.


    Two creatures were blocking the entrance. That is, the only way out. She could go through one of the holes in the ceiling, but not if she wanted to quickly rejoin Sylvester. Therefore...


    She pulled out the rope launcher. She aimed between those two things and fired.


    The rope slipped between those two writhing masses of rotting flesh and made its way down the hallway. It was hard to hear anything with all this ruckus, but the rope went taut, so it must have caught on something. She had no room for doubt. Cynthia set the mechanism in motion. The rope began to retract, dragging her towards wherever it had reached at great speed.


    Dragging her through the enemies. Furious, hungry. But she wasn''t caught.


    She escaped magnificently from their claws. Metaphorical claws, because they had other things that were not so easy to name. Once on the other side...


    "Maybe I was too reckless? That could have ended badly."


    No. Cynthia could have that kind of despairing thought while those monsters were tearing her to shreds, but not before. She had succeeded, so she hadn''t made a mistake. The most important thing in the worst situations was to believe in yourself.


    It didn''t take long to find Sylvester after that. He was in the middle of a dining room so wrecked that it took her a few seconds to recognize it as such. The moon was shining down on him like a spotlight just for him as he laughed like a child, enjoying this. Maybe it was the loss of blood, the adrenaline of the situation or the sheer relief of having found him.


    In any case, that was the first time Cynthia thought her boss was attractive.


    When he saw her, his expression changed. She had done her best to not look too closely at the state of her arm, but she could tell it was barely holding on. She staggered toward him. Relief had also weakened her.


    He got there first, naturally, and caught her when she fell. She had come this far, but not a step further. Even staying conscious had been a struggle. She should be impressed with herself for having pulled this off.


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    "What happened?"


    Right. There was something he didn''t know. Breathing heavily, she tried to form the words necessary to warn him. All that came out of her throat was a cough as if she were choking.


    The dining hall was emptying out and they were being left alone for the moment. Maybe the monsters were just looking for the ones who had done this to them. But now there was one different from all the others. She heard him enter.


    "I should have known you''d end up like this," Sylvester said, somehow recognizing him instantly. "You said you wanted me to kill you, didn''t you? Then come here, we''ve both been looking forward to this."


    The thing Ryan had transformed into howled as if to try to intimidate the enemy. It sounded more like the screams of someone in agony as they suffered a violent death.


    "Stay here."


    Where did he think he was going? Seconds later, she realized what he meant. He deployed a barrier around her. It should take a few blows, though not many. So...


    Now could she close her eyes? She could stop fighting the fatigue and pain? Giving up. No, never. Never.


    If she was the type to give up, she would have died seconds after she was born. She''d had to fight even to take her first breath, but that wasn''t really so strange.


    Life was a war and she was determined to survive and win.


    2


    The Lunar Remnant howled as it clasped its hands together to crush him. It was like the blow of a giant hammer. No, much worse. Even though he leapt away, the ground filled with cracks and even sank a few inches.


    "You''re a lot stronger than your boss, huh?"


    Even though they had both been newborns.


    In any case, he didn''t just dodge the attack.


    Sylvester landed on one of its arms and dashed through it toward the beast''s neck. He swung his katana as if it were an executioner''s ax. The metal bit into the beast''s neck, he felt and smelled the blood begin to flow. But it was far from a decapitation even with all the force he had put behind the swing.


    He could do this, though. He just needed time.


    Time he didn''t get. The beast howled, with more rage than pain still, and that was enough to knock him off its back. The force of his scream sent him flying backwards. Sylvester back hit the barrier protecting Cynthia, and his whole body bounced against it.


    Good thing that didn''t count as a hit. The barrier was technology, not one of his many skills. It wouldn''t withstand more than a few hits from a Lunar Remnant, though it had been specifically crafted for that. If he had weakened it by hitting it, Cynthia would be unprotected faster. He could fight and cover her at the same time, but her chances of survival would drop significantly.


    Ryan wasted no time in pouncing on him, making a leap that left the ground beneath his feet cracking. He possessed monstrous strength despite his skeletal body. It was nothing more than a decoration. The workings of the Lunar Remnants had little to do with logic, or at least the logic of this world. They were monsters beyond that.


    Sylvester ran to collide with the enemy in the middle. In any case, he had to get it away from Cynthia and the barrier. He was its target now, but it could shatter the barrier by accident while trying to kill him. Then, like an animal smelling blood, it would pounce on her.


    Now Ryan possessed nothing like a will. He only wished to kill everyone who got in his way.


    Sylvester collided with the huge beast in midair. He wasn''t the one repelled. He drove the beast back, even though it was about four times as big as he was.


    Of course, he hadn''t gotten away with it without a hitch. His arms were shaking. They ached as if he had broken glass stuck in every millimeter of his skin. But that was all. It could be much worse.


    Subjecting your body to that pressure was the minimum price to pay if you wanted to fight monsters.


    Its claws attacked him so fast that before his eyes there were only silver flashes. He couldn''t afford to give ground, so Sylvester stepped forward to meet the attack.


    The blade sank between the creature''s fingers deeply. The claw that had attacked was stopped because of that a short distance from his eyeball. But the other claw was still free. Free to change trajectory and try to crush him.


    Sylvester''s body flew along with the debris and dust raised by the impact.


    He hadn''t been hit. He had dodged once again. As he said, he had no intention of retreating a single step. No, for his partner''s sake, he couldn''t afford to lose a millimeter of ground. So that was not what the jump was for. He hadn''t changed his mind as soon as he judged that he had no other choice.


    The leap brought him to the beast''s eye level.


    He thrust one hand forward like a jackhammer, grabbing its head. Then, he slammed the beast''s head into the ground with all his might...! It was like a real earthquake. He was surprised that the ground held.


    Sylvester slashed its stomach as it tried to stand up. A part of its guts slid out through the wound. He grabbed onto that and pulled it up with his free hand. His guts weren''t warm, but quite the opposite. It was as if that creature was already dead. Or as if it had never lived in the first place.


    "I''m not going to enjoy this. But this was meant to end this way from the beginning, I feel."


    The flesh coiled in on itself, curling into a ball. The beast howled again and lunged for him with its jaws open and claws ready to tear him apart. But it didn''t bite Sylvester, it bit the ball of flesh made of his own intestines. It had been a good throw. As soon as the monster''s teeth closed on it, biting down hard....


    It exploded.


    It fell to the ground again, but that wasn''t all. It wasn''t intact. The explosion had taken more than half of its jaw and a chunk of its face, left eye included.


    He had defeated the beast and now all that was left was to inflict the coup de grace. He wouldn''t have a chance to get up. Sylvester lifted the sword above his head with both hands, he was going to put all his strength, the weight of his body and his spirit in


    Sylvester raised the sword above his head with both hands, he was going to put all his strength, the weight of his body and his spirit into the blow.


    Yes, he wasn''t going to enjoy this. So, if it had to be done, he''d rather it be done quickly. Unlike Cynthia, she didn''t hate him anymore, although he didn''t like the man either. The important thing was that if he''d wanted him dead, he wouldn''t have made it to this island in the first place.


    Maybe it would have been best for everyone involved, though.


    But the attack didn''t connect.


    Sylvester stopped his sword blade mere millimeters from a human neck.


    "That''s not possible."


    But he had the truth right in front of his eyes. On the verge of death, Ryan had become a human being again. That shouldn''t be possible, but he couldn''t deny it, and it went without saying how important it was.


    Without exaggeration, it changed everything.


    "Well, well. Looks like you''re going to be staying with us for the rest of your life."


    Sylvester lowered the katana.


    "Whether it''s long or short."

 14. Massacre Happy End, Part 6

    1


    Sylvester was used to dealing with impossible things, things that should be impossible. Still, the human mind was capable of getting used to anything. Eventually, the most nonsensical of shit entered your common sense, becoming your new normal.


    That''s why seeing Ryan come back from what should have no way back made him feel as if the ground beneath his feet had disappeared.


    "I almost hope your circumstances are unique," he whispered so low that his voice was only audible to himself, almost as if he had uttered those words without realizing it. "Because, otherwise, how many people, how many have I killed unnecessarily?"


    He clenched his jaw.


    Naturally, he had lost count a long time ago.


    Sylvester turned his back on Ryan. He was no longer a threat to anyone, except maybe himself. He walked over to Cynthia to disable the barrier. She was still clinging to consciousness. The fight hadn''t really taken long, but it still required great willpower.


    The two halves of the arm were held together by little more than a few strands of flesh. In other words, it was no longer an arm, just a dangling piece of flesh.


    "Am I hallucinating or...?" She asked in a faint voice.


    "He transformed and somehow became human again." Sylvester shook his head, "Did something happen while I was gone? Something that could explain this?


    It wasn''t the time, and he didn''t really expect she could give him an answer. But he blurted it out anyway. Just in case. Cynthia lowered her head and remained silent long enough to make him wonder if she had lost consciousness.


    "To escape from a room, we were supposed to choose between two vials. One poisoned and the other not. He took both."


    "I see."


    He devoted his life to fighting those monsters, but he was not an expert in that sense. He was not one of the many scientists who had spent years studying the Lunar Remnants.


    So his opinion mattered rather little, but it was that what Cynthia said made sense.


    By taking those things prior to the transformation, a strange reaction had occurred. He couldn''t say for sure, but it was at least possible. And the only explanation he had at hand. They had been experimenting on those children, transforming them into monsters. Perhaps Ryan had turned out to be, unexpectedly, the only successful experiment?


    In any case, the only alternative he could think of now was that it had simply happened. Pure coincidence or for reasons unknown to him.


    He would act on that assumption, for the moment.


    What he had just witnessed was too important to be neglected.


    Anyway, back to work.


    "Can you stand up?"


    It would be hard to protect them both.


    Cynthia nodded and made an attempt. She managed it only barely, and it couldn''t be said that she was very stable, but for the moment it was good enough for him.


    More or less satisfied with that, he went for Ryan, still unconscious and lying on the floor, of course he hadn''t moved an inch more.


    Anyway, Sylvester gave him a good shake to wake him up at last.


    Ryan groaned and put his hands to his side where his boot would have left a mark if he''d been serious.


    "I... I... What the fuck has...?"


    "Don''t you remember?"


    "I remember some things, but I don''t understand..."


    "Don''t waste your time. Whatever you remember is probably real. But in any case there''s no time for explanations, get up and follow me."


    Ryan had no trouble getting up. He''d had his stomach cut open and his head exploded when he was a Lunar Remnant, but not even ten percent of that had remained when he transformed back. Now he was fine.


    Enough so that he could focus mostly on Cynthia, who was weak from blood loss and would most definitely be losing her arm.


    "Let''s move on."


    Cynthia didn''t get very far. Not on her own feet, at least. He caught her before her head hit the ground violently, got a good grip on her and lifted her up. He''d have to fight this way. Cynthia was in no condition to continue.


    If they didn''t end this and get out of here soon, she could die.


    If she had to choose between saving her or saving the man who could end the Lunar Remnants, or at least their catastrophic consequences, then the choice should be obvious. He shouldn''t even have to think about it for a second.


    But they were a team. That mattered.


    The poor creatures had begun to ignore him, leaving without attacking. That didn''t change. In fact they left the three alone as they moved through the corridors.


    It was another big surprise, something he didn''t want to believe. But apparently they had enough consciousness remaining to recognize him as the person who had released them from captivity. Maybe there was another explanation and he was simply coming to the worst possible conclusion, but he didn''t believe it, what other explanation could there be?


    Ryan and Cynthia had been attacked along the way.


    He had seen it with his own eyes, that the transformed Ryan hadn''t been the only creature chasing Cynthia. But when she approached him, that had stopped. He couldn''t be wrong.


    So...


    What was left should be simple.


    Not pleasant, not by a long shot, but simple.


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    He came upon an elevator and decided that they had gone far enough on foot. And that what he was looking for would probably be downstairs, not on the first few floors anyway.


    Sylvester hit the button. He didn''t have to wait long for the elevator to arrive and the doors to open.


    He stepped in, and Ryan followed without asking questions. However, his silence didn''t last long.


    "Are you sure we''re going in the right direction? I mean, I don''t even know what you''re up to right now, but...."


    Why did he have to say that? If he was able to give voice to those doubts, then he was also perfectly capable of realizing that he had a good reason to have them. And that maybe he should keep his mouth shut.


    "Doubts don''t do any good."


    It wasn''t a direct answer, but it said enough. Cynthia had to focus only on herself. To keep breathing, to stay conscious. She didn''t need anyone to give her reason to doubt now. She should be able to trust him and relax, focus on what was important.


    Ryan apparently got the message and fell silent.


    Or not.


    "Not a great idea to get into an elevator in hostile territory, huh?"


    He''d spoken too fast. The elevator stopped suddenly, the lights went out, and Ryan felt the need to comment as if it contributed something. Just minutes ago he had nearly killed him and maybe he should have been a few seconds faster.


    Okay. Well, not really, but well...


    "Open it."


    He would do it, but he had his hands full, and he preferred to be the one who was vigilant. Danger could appear at any moment, and with or without the power of a Lunar Remnant, Ryan was no match for him. It had been decisively proven a moment ago.


    Ryan reached his hands into the gap between the doors, pulling at the sides. It didn''t take him long to open it. They went through first.


    Down the elevator shaft, sliding quickly but safely with the aid of the many cables at hand. He couldn''t say Cynthia was okay, but she wasn''t screaming in pain, her eyes were still open and more or less focused. Enough.


    More than could be expected, at least.


    Ryan arrived shortly after and also opened the doors ahead of them, their entrance to the top floor. He hoped it would all be over soon. But naturally, more obstacles stood in his way. There were guards in the hallway.


    More than he expected, but the experiments hadn''t yet had time to get here.


    What were they protecting in the depths?


    They opened fire, and Sylvester pressed his back against the wall of the elevator shaft to dodge the bullets.


    "Don''t waste my time."


    They couldn''t do anything to him. They never stood a chance, but certainly not when things had reached this point. They couldn''t regain control of the situation. Or rather, they never had.


    So it would be better if they got out of his way at once. Indeed, they had already wasted too much time.


    Of course, they just kept firing in turn as they advanced on their position. They wouldn''t listen to the voice of reason, and it''s not as if he had any plans to spare their lives even if they moved out of the way anyway. He wouldn''t kill them outright, but he would sink this island before they had a chance to escape. He had no plans to let a single one escape. This island had to be buried in darkness for everyone''s sake.


    Anyway, what was he going to do?


    Sylvester had come here to clean up. He should do his job, not complain that it was taking longer than he had expected.


    Especially considering that he had won a priceless and unexpected prize. He was thankful he hadn''t listened to Cynthia, sparing Ryan''s life long enough for that to happen to him. Thanks to that, maybe defeating that evil that came from the moon wasn''t just a dream.


    Sylvester laid Cynthia carefully on the floor, slouched against a wall. Her eyes were half closed. Still awake, though surely with her consciousness clouded for the most part. As if she was daydreaming.


    Then she jumped through the elevator shaft and into the hail of bullets.


    Ryan stayed behind. He might have lacked manners, but he wasn''t entirely stupid. He understood that he wanted him to take care of Cynthia while he fought and stayed in the elevator shaft.


    Or maybe the man didn''t want to get anywhere near him after the ease with which he''d torn him apart even in his Lunar Remnant form, and he''d rather take a rest.


    In any case, Ryan stayed where he wanted.


    While he hunted.


    If the bullets were a rain of iron, then he was a wall of steel. Some inevitably hit him, but none penetrated even the most superficial layer of his skin before he landed in their midst.


    A guard''s head flew off before he could scream.


    Firearms had replaced bladed weapons for very good reasons, but this way he had the advantage. In their midst, so close, they would hesitate before firing so as not to hit their comrades. Even if it was only a tenth of a second. Even a tenth of a second could turn the tide of a battle.


    And if they didn''t hesitate, so much the better. They would do his job for him.


    With a single swing of his katana, he cut one''s rifle in half. And then his hands. He let him scream while looking at his stumps instead of finishing him off immediately.


    Sooner or later they wouldn''t hesitate even for a tenth, fear would take over and they would let themselves go.


    He was simply helping it happen faster.


    A few shots from behind. Sylvester staggered forward, just once. He raised his hand, suddenly shrouded in darkness, and waved his hand toward one of them. The darkness shot out like a whip, grabbing him.


    Ignoring the gunfire, Sylvester lifted the guy he had trapped with that hand of darkness and slammed him into the ceiling.


    He heard him gasp. Spitting more blood than saliva.


    Then he slammed him to the floor and then all that could be heard was the sound of his body exploding like a pi?ata. The only thing he had inside for them was his guts. His guts washed over his comrades, grossing them out, blinding them, making their hands twist slightly or not as they took aim.


    At least three guards fell to the ground from their own comrades'' bullets at that moment.


    He couldn''t say if they had all received lethal wounds, but in any case they wouldn''t be well. And if they didn''t die on their own, he would soon kill them anyway.


    Ryan still hadn''t come out of the elevator shaft. Good. He didn''t need any help.


    He shoulder tackled a guy.


    He flew across the corridor and even through the wall. Fear had already completely taken hold of them, they were already just shooting wildly, hoping to get him out of the way and survive without any consideration for their comrades.


    Although only together they had the slightest chance of defeating him. He never complained about his own enemies doing his work for him.


    Who didn''t want to do as much as possible with as little effort as they could? It was not a question of laziness, but of efficiency, no more, no less, as was to be expected of a professional.


    It didn''t mean he couldn''t speed things up, though.


    He clenched his free hand into a fist, never stopping running and moving, trying to dodge as many bullets as possible. He twisted his fist. Slowly, as if the air was presenting him with some kind of physical resistance.


    Until it cracked.


    That way he broke the neck of one of the guards without even touching him, killing him instantly.


    And the massacre continued until he cleared the last line of defense. What had they been protecting here? Sylvester broke down the door. Ryan followed him inside now that the way was clear, carrying Cynthia.


    That monster told him they didn''t have a convenient system for opening all the cages.


    But they did have a self-destruct system, naturally, they needed to be able to get rid of this island and any traces of evidence in an emergency like this. He had planned to activate the self-destruct himself, but it turned out they had already done that before he got here. The countdown was written in black on the all-red screen in warning.


    There wasn''t much left.


    Not at all.


    But the escape pods weren''t far away either. All the rows were full. So no one had escaped? He couldn''t be a hundred percent sure, but he''d make sure once they escaped. And he''d send Cynthia for medical attention.


    They got into one of the pods. Sylvester activated it, causing them to shoot outside, out into the calm sea, for the moment, just for the moment. It was still dark. The whole mess hadn''t taken too long either.


    Sylvester opened the pod''s hatch so he could stand up as he watched what had been set in motion.


    The countdown timer read only thirty seconds by the time they had arrived. It would be very lucky and coincidental if anyone else had made it in time. But the cleanup crews could certainly take care of any survivors.


    In the end, the biggest danger in all this had turned out to be the Lunar Remnant attacking the plane, not anything on the island after all.


    A big explosion. His sight became a blank canvas for long seconds.


    After that he watched as the entire island sank into the sea, becoming a pit of corpses where monsters and their victims would rest together for all eternity. The idea left a bad taste in the mouth of the man inside him, but the professional knew it was the most efficient and realistic way to deal with the situation.


    The long night was far from over in more ways than one.


    When he returned, what awaited him wasn''t rest but talk of Ryan, what had happened and other politics that exasperated him to no end.


    Sylvester sighed deeply, observing the emptiness where the island had once been. And the black smoke rising towards the heart of the heavens.

 15. In the Shadows of Trees During an Evening Shower, Part 1

    1


    After returning home, nothing more or less than what had been expected happened. Ryan was taken to a slightly more comfortable cell than the previous one, and had it not been for the fact that it was he who had asked for it, they would have put a bullet between his eyes when no one was looking.


    Cynthia was also taken away, only for medical attention. Was a hospital bed more comfortable than a cage? Maybe he''d ask that question when she opened her eyes.


    Incidentally, Sylvester couldn''t stay until she woke up.


    Of course, he knew she''d survive the procedure just fine. It was only one arm. Anyone going into this business had to be prepared to lose a limb or two.


    Still, it would have been nice to be able to stay by her side and be the first person she saw when she woke up.


    They were a team, after all.


    Instead, he was in a dark, windowless room, just a door made of several tons of steel. Surrounded by the holograms representing the organization''s top brass, whose identities even he didn''t know, perhaps for fear that he would one day bite the hand that fed him, so to speak. Because they knew they couldn''t control him.


    Maybe because they had seen too many movies.


    By the way, he said represented because you couldn''t see their whole bodies or even their faces. They were nothing but white masks floating in the void with a Roman numeral on their foreheads.


    "We have been fighting the Lunar Remnants for years, on the verge of simply destroying the moon and dealing with the consequences. It is no exaggeration at all to say that this is a world-changing event, if true.


    They were not in order of importance, or so they liked to say among themselves. They were human beings, so there were always some who felt superior and others who hated them for it and craved their position. It couldn''t be helped.


    "If true? Are you saying you don''t trust Agent Sylvester? Without him, this organization wouldn''t exist."


    Should he be glad that creepy mask was defending him? Well, in any case he was only thinking of his own interests. Insinuating that he was thinking ill of the ''hero'' and ''savior of the world'' was one of the many ways to pull at each other on their way up the pyramid.


    Even though they had much bigger concerns.


    Man, what a pain in the ass. That was all he could think about.


    "It''s not a matter of trust or not.... But he''s always been an idealist. Maybe he''s trying to buy time."


    On how good he''d be lying in bed. Not sleeping, maybe, but not thinking about anything either.


    "It''s the same as mistrusting him. Don''t start with sophistry."


    "In any case, we''ll see if it''s true or not with our own eyes soon enough. It''s not as if we were going to bomb the moon this very week. It would be a very useless lie when it could only buy him a few days."


    At last someone with a bit of sense. He had always liked number three slightly better than the others.


    "That''s right," said number one.


    "Let''s stop talking as if he weren''t right there," number four joined the party. They weren''t very talkative. It was impossible to discern whether they were men''s or women''s voices with so much modulation. Well, not that he cared either.


    "Yes... Sylvester, we''ll assume it''s the absolute truth. The idea of Lunar Remnants that can pass for humans is troubling. It''s not a big change just because we could save most of Earth''s population. If a large number were to hide among us, we could lose the war before we knew it. So can you keep him under control? Even after he matures and his powers grow, do you think you could lose?"


    Sylvester smiled. Everything about him radiated unshakable confidence.


    "Nah, I''d win."


    It wasn''t about arrogance or pride, to him it was as simple and obvious a statement as the sky is blue.


    Fortunately for their mental health, the meeting didn''t go on much longer, as if that confident declaration had robbed them of the ability to protest.


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    So Sylvester left that room drowned in darkness and returned to his own room.


    He didn''t shower, wash his face or even change his clothes. He was too tired to do anything besides lie on the bed, on the soft sheets and firm mattress, which should make him feel comfortable as usual.


    He wasn''t succeeding, though.


    "I would win. If someone or something doesn''t kill me first, of course," he muttered to himself, one arm covering his eyes as if even the light coming into the room through the windows was bothering him too much.


    Straight after, he closed his eyes, even though he didn''t think there was any way he was going to fall asleep for the whole night. Not with the shit going around in his head. Old shit, too, but mostly new shit.


    Ryan''s detransformation and what that meant for the world.


    The responsibility his superiors had talked about.


    There was definitely no way he was going to sleep like that.


    Well, it was nothing particularly new.


    He fought to live and lived to fight. His lips traced a bitter smile before he realized it.


    2


    Contrary to what he had expected, he did end up falling asleep, if only a little. In some ways, though, too little sleep was worse than no sleep at all. In his experience, it left you even more exhausted instead of the other way around.


    And he had plenty of experience with that.


    As soon as the sun came up, Sylvester dragged himself to the shower. He had to do the bare minimum to at least make himself presentable. Then he set about finding Cynthia, they had a lot to talk about, and not just about the arm she''d lost.


    Maybe the answers she sought would bother her more than the arm, actually.


    It was time to come clean. He had never liked that whole trying to keep his abilities secret from his peers as much as possible anyway.


    He found her sitting on a bench. Well, good.


    He handed her a can of soda before sitting down next to her. Of course, he had one too. He was more into this or water before alcohol. He needed a clear mind for his work, nay, his duty.


    "How are you feeling?" Sylvester asked. Yes, first things first.


    "It doesn''t hurt. Never did, I woke up when the job was done hours ago. Of course, it moves perfectly," she added, twisting her new arm as if unconsciously testing it. "But..."


    The silence stretched long enough for Sylvester to know that he would have to be the one to finish the sentence or no one would.


    "Still doesn''t feel like it''s your arm. "It was obvious and natural enough, but he felt that someone had to say it out loud. For the sake of his partner and the conversation they were trying to have, so it could continue.


    "Yes. Does it pass the time?


    That wasn''t the questions he''d been talking about before, but it was natural for her to want to know that. First things first. When they were done with this, they could talk about him.


    "I don''t think the discomfort would ever fully go away, but you''d forget about it for longer and longer."


    In other words, she''d remember it from time to time, like stab wounds. But it wouldn''t be a constant pain at least.


    "I see. You don''t think so? You''ve never lost a limb?"


    Sylvester chuckled a little. He wished that were true. He was strong, but not invulnerable.


    "My arms and legs. I was snapped in two once, too." He''d survived that.... Well, not by luck, but it had been too close.


    "What?" Cynthia opened her eyes wide, turning a little paler than she already was.


    "But they''re my arms and legs, not a replacement. They just grew back."


    "Like you''re some sort of lizard?"


    "Something like that, something like that. But faster. You saw I have all kinds of ridiculous powers." Seconds or minutes, depending. In any case, as he had said, it was time to come clean. He really had no intention of hiding anything else. He would answer any question she asked him and even the ones she didn''t.


    "Now you''re going to tell me the truth? Just like that?"


    "It''s impossible for a partner of mine not to learn the truth sooner or later." The Lunar Remnants weren''t going to play fair and adjust to whatever level of power he pretended to have, of course. "If I was discreet for so long, it''s because protocol demands it of me. Anyway, you''ve heard rumors. Well, I won''t say everything, but the important thing is true." He took another sip, more to buy time to think about how to say it than anything else. It was good. Cold and pleasant. "This organization was created around me. At the same time as the Lunar Remnants, my powers awakened. It''s not science, but something like magic."


    "It''s hard to believe, even considering the things we fight with every day."


    "I''m not lying to you."


    "I didn''t say you were. That''s not much of an explanation, though."


    Good point. He put one hand under his chin, thoughtfully. With the other, he kept drinking, raising and lowering the can. The charge of sugar wasn''t bad for him to finish waking up after such a bad night.


    "Have you ever tried a roleplaying game?"


    Cynthia blushed for some reason. Not much, but it was especially noticeable because of how pale she had been so far.


    "That''s sexual harassment, boss. Consider yourself lucky because I''m not going to sue you."


    Oh.


    "Not that. On a console or computer, woman."


    "Oh. Well, a little bit. It was never my favorite genre. What''s this got to do with anything?"


    Everything.


    Everything.


    "I see a strange interface full of levels and skill names. That''s how my powers are represented. Again, I''m not lying to you at all. But I can''t explain to you how and why. That''s something that many people have been investigating since this mess started, still without answers. I include myself among these people, of course.


    He felt like burping from so much soda, but he restrained himself.


    "Maybe your brain tried to simplify it and it came out like this."


    "It''s one of many theories, yes."


    One way or another, it was related to the Lunar Remnants, it wasn''t a coincidence that his powers had awakened the same day the first Lunar Remnant attacked. That''s why he didn''t like living with this mysterious power. He felt as if he had something dark inside him, like a tumor.


    But, at the same time, it was the only sword he had against those beasts. The only way to postpone as long as possible the governments bombing the moon and destroying like ninety percent of the world, maybe more, just to save themselves.


    No. Not postpone.


    Thanks to what had happened to Ryan, maybe he could settle this once and for all.


    He finished drinking the soda and crushed the can in his hand.

 16. In the Shadows of Trees During an Evening Shower (2)

    1


    Sylvester stood with his hands in his pockets, appearing relaxed, but ready to leap into action in a tenth of a second if forced. Ryan stood in front of him.


    It was the first time they had seen each other since the whole island situation.


    But it wasn''t a social visit, or anything remotely pleasant. They were both in a reinforced glass and metal prison. The glass existed so that the scientists could watch them as if they were their lab rats, tirelessly circling their miniature mazes, with or without reward at the end of the journey.


    Of course, Ryan was the important thing here. The subject of the experiment.


    He was only in the lion''s cage to control it if it went wild. This was a pain in the ass. Sigh, but at least he hadn''t gone from one disaster to the next. Keeping the world from destroying itself was hard work, so this could be considered a break, even if it wasn''t.


    "I don''t even know where to begin. Can I really do this just by thinking?"


    Sylvester hadn''t been too sure from the start (even though the higher-ups had assumed it right off the bat), but no less so now that he''d been watching him try and fail for about half an hour.


    "You''re a unique case. We have no fucking idea."


    So he was honest with him. Anyway, he deserved it at this point.


    "Yeah. That I can transform back is just a theory I don''t really want to test. What if I can''t go back to being human?"


    That worried him too.


    Of course.


    They would lose a very valuable sample that could help them save the world if he was forced to kill him, after all.


    "Don''t worry, I would kill you." It would be the only thing he could do for him at that point.


    "I''m not worried at all anymore," Ryan said with his face covered in sweat, from the effort he had been making so far, but not just that. "Thank you very much.... It''s not working. This is impossible." And maybe he was even right, but hey, they had insisted. "I don''t feel any different."


    Just when he started to think that maybe they''d get this over with quickly after all...


    "Agent Sylvester, maybe you need to give him some motivation.


    One of those wise guys in a white coat had to have an idea.


    "What does that mean?" He didn''t really know what he meant. He wouldn''t ask useless questions to waste time, he just wanted to get it over with quickly.


    "Attack him. Maybe it will be easier for him to transform."


    "Hey, hey, man." Ryan wasn''t feeling very enthusiastic about this development.


    The Lunar Remnants were born for many things. They weren''t even clear on that about them, but what was clear was that no human had ever birthed a Lunar Remnant while being calm and peaceful. Sure.


    So it had a certain logic to it.


    So Sylvester shrugged, as if to say "what can you do," and launched himself like a bullet at Ryan. He stepped back with his hands in front of him and a little fear on his face, he knew he wasn''t coming for him with the intention of killing him, but Sylvester figured it didn''t matter. That it was still scary.


    It was hard to see yourself from someone else''s point of view.


    There was no fight.


    Sylvester got to Ryan between one heartbeat and the next, and kicked him in the chest. Which he either couldn''t defend himself from or didn''t even try. Either way, whatever it was, it wouldn''t have changed the end result.


    Which was this, Ryan flew about ten meters backwards, crashing into the glass wall. Even that was enough to fill it with cracks. It was supposedly designed to contain Lunar Remnants, but if Ryan really lost control, then Sylvester would be the real prison. This would be nothing more than plastic wrap for him.


    Immediately, Ryan''s chest exploded and through the blood rose his ribs cracked open. For a second he thought it wasn''t the fault of the glass but that he had overdone it, but of course that was complete nonsense. For one thing, if he had overdone it, the ribs would have popped out to say hello from the very first moment, the human body didn''t have such delayed reactions.


    Second, that was just what they wanted here.


    He''d started to transform... or so Sylvester thought, but after a while Ryan remained just like that. The misshapen, overgrown ribs of that beast in a small human body that refused to change. He could imagine how painful that would be, but he didn''t want to.


    "A partial transformation? Interesting," said one of those morons in the white coats.


    "I''m just a... lab rat now." At least they agreed on something, if only that they didn''t like those scientists very much. "I don''t know if this is much better than being dead. At least it wouldn''t hurt like this, God."


    On the latter they definitely didn''t agree one bit.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "Anything is better than being dead."


    "Oh, yeah?" It sounded like a serious question, though it was a self-evident truth to anyone whose sanity wasn''t slipping.


    "Yes. Because after that there''s nothing."


    "If you''re an atheist, fine, but I believe in God."


    That or a religious person. Well, he hadn''t considered that.


    Ryan hadn''t struck him as the type. He was full of surprises. He had nothing against religion, obviously, but it was a little frustrating since he couldn''t really say anything against faith when he was trying to get somewhere with this.


    It didn''t do him any good for Ryan to give up because hoping for a heavenly reward was easier than continuing to fight.


    "Even in heaven?" Sylvester asked that more out of curiosity more than anything else.


    He supposed it would be more accurate to call him agnostic. It wasn''t so hard to believe in the existence of a divine creator, but in life after death, the greatest contradiction of contradictions? A kind of paradise among the clouds?


    That was much harder for him.


    "You can''t believe in bits and pieces. That''s not how it works. Hell, why not believe? Millions of people before me believed without miracles or strange things. But I''ve seen with my own eyes that there are things that science can''t explain. Like what is happening to me now.


    That was a good point.


    Nothing he hadn''t heard before, in fact it used to be the first recourse people would pull from in a conversation about this, and it still didn''t convince him.


    But it was a good point. Time would prove which one of them was wrong, sadly, if he was right there would be no way to get together to talk about it, he wouldn''t be able to enjoy his victory. Or anything at all.


    If Ryan didn''t scream it was because he must have been in too much pain to muster enough air, in fact, he could barely speak. Under those conditions, where it was hard to even stay conscious, Ryan continued to strive for a futile purpose that could blow up in everyone''s face.


    Save the world? Great!


    But what did this have to do with anything? Even if Ryan could transform and return to normal, what the hell did this have to do with anything?


    Off to the side, discreetly, Sylvester began to unclench and unclench a fist. With force.


    After a while, his left arm transformed. But only his left arm. Once again, the progress of the transformation stopped. Wasn''t this a bad sign? A sign that he was forcing things and it would all go wrong if they continued? Or maybe it was too late to back out now, with his chest and left arm like this.


    "Take it easy," Sylvester said.


    "But I''d rather get it over with quickly. If I have to suffer this pain day after day.... I want to satisfy them in just one day."


    Did he really think this was going to stop even if he got it done in one go? Of course he would be grateful if he was right, but he didn''t believe it.


    Sylvester didn''t feel like a lab rat. Not anymore. More like a carnival monkey. If he felt that way, Ryan would feel ten times worse. Obvious, but what mattered to him was how he felt himself.


    But it wasn''t worth the trouble and headaches over something like this. It was the only reason he hadn''t stopped them before they even started.


    Now it was too late anyway. Since Ryan had come this far, Sylvester had to see the end of it with his own eyes. He had no choice, the damage had already been done.


    Ryan kept trying. He possessed great willpower, there was no denying that.


    But he was unable to transform even one more arm, or his head, let alone complete the transformation. Faith could move mountains, but sometimes it wasn''t enough. Sometimes it took something more.


    Which he didn''t have, for now. Even the syndicate scientists eventually became convinced that there was a time for everything. In other words, they threw in the towel and asked him to try to detransform. A task that wasn''t any easier. In theory, it was nothing more than the same thing in reverse.


    "What if I am not capable?" So it was natural for Ryan to hesitate. To be afraid, the shadow of fear seemed to be about to engulf his pupils in a darkness without light like the bottom of a well.


    "Assuming the worst is not going to help you."


    That was the only thing he could offer the man as he went through this. Moral support, and the truth.


    After much effort, Ryan managed to get his left arm back to normal. His reward was to fall to his knees, groaning in pain. But normal. What was surprising was that he had continued to speak, albeit barely, with his ribs on the outside.


    No, even more so, that he had remained conscious throughout the experiment.


    And even now.


    Even now he was clinging to consciousness. He may have only had a few loose threads left, but they were there. They were strong enough to keep him fighting.


    It became apparent as the ribs began to shrink and return to his insides. The regeneration might be more painful than the wound itself, but at least he was fixing the problem, clenching his fists, biting his tongue and fighting on no matter what, savoring the metallic taste of his own blood, the bitter tears that ran down his cheeks.


    Ryan fell to the ground, but even then he remained conscious. Unable to move, surely, but it was still a feat.


    Sylvester walked over to him and crouched down beside him. Really the only thing I can offer him, he thought as he put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, is moral support...


    "Good job."


    And the truth.


    2


    People took normality for granted.


    That''s why it was called that.


    That''s why when something broke it ten out of ten people had no fucking idea what to do. Alfred was certainly no exception to this rule. He wasn''t that special.


    All he knew was that the whole world had turned upside down. Even the rain was just another obstacle as he trudged through the dense darkness of the night, buildings looked like distant islands floating in the fog and he had the feeling that he would never catch up with anyone or anyone ever again.


    The cold, black rain was pulling him down and he could almost feel the fingers of something clinging to his clothes, squeezing his skin.


    He had escaped. By the skin of his teeth, but what counted was that he had escaped. But he still couldn''t rest easy. Maybe Alfred wouldn''t be able to achieve peace of mind for the rest of his life. He had the feeling that if he valued his life he would have to run until his legs could take no more.


    It crossed his mind to pay for a cab, but he dismissed such an idea very quickly, it would be wasting too much time. As it was, Alfred couldn''t afford to waste a second. At least that was what he thought, his mind shaken by the adrenaline of having avoided sleeping with the fishes by the skin of his teeth.


    His legs reached their limit. He leaned a hand on the wall of the alley, trying to breathe properly, but he couldn''t, it was almost as if it was something more than tiredness, as if he was missing something, a fundamental piece, yes, yes, something more, something more.


    He took a deep breath, he stood up.


    He saw the shadow of a person, elongated on the wall, approaching him. Out of pure instinct, he moved forward, trying to get away from the shadow looming over him.


    But when he turned around, Alfred knew that it wouldn''t have mattered even if he had run into the street with his arms outstretched, screaming for help. That even his attempted escape hadn''t mattered at all, things had always been destined to end this way and not any other way.


    Because he saw something.


    Something.


    "Impossible. That..."


    A trembling voice. They weren''t great last words, but that was all Alfred could say in time.


    Before he was turned to mush.


    It wasn''t a metaphor or an exaggeration. All that was left of him were a few chunks of flesh stuck to the dirty alley wall with his own blood. After such destruction, anyone would have thought that he had been conscientiously run over by a truck or crushed by an elephant.


    But the only thing that emerged from the alley was the shadow of a man, dancing in the moonlight that always watched everything impassively.


    Human or beast?


    Perhaps only the winners had the right to decide that.

 17. In the Shadows of Trees During an Evening Shower (3)

    Sylvester was in the shower.


    He liked to shower twice a day, usually. Once right after waking up to fully wake up and face the day feeling refreshed, once after training or some mission, if it came up.


    It was about the second case, now. For training, just for that. Things were calm at the moment, though no doubt it wouldn''t last too long.


    He wasn''t calm. Not even taking pleasure in the moment.


    He should be thinking about nothing, letting the water run through his hair, down his body, eyes closed, mind blank. But instead he had opened the page with his stats on it as if it was going to show him something new.


    Sylvester Sunderland


    Age: 28


    Player System


    Level: 51


    Considering how long he had been active, fighting for the world, if this was a real game it would be a shitty progression. It would be like being at the starting line after all these years. Years.


    This wasn''t a game though, whatever the purpose of his powers they weren''t designed to make him level up at a certain rate, hitting his brain with dopamine and trying to create in him an addiction to seeing numbers going up.


    Each level was something to fight for. As were the abilities that went along with it.


    [Infernal Wings] [Level 3].


    [A pair of wings with which to soar through the night].


    [Anchor of darkness] [Level 2]


    [Nothing compared to the weight of the world on your shoulders]


    Yeah. The descriptions sometimes made him raise an eyebrow. If this was a product of his brain adapting as best it could to something external, something out of this world, then his inner self had a rather tasteless sense of humor. And he would have to agree with Cynthia.


    [Shadows of the night] [Level 2].


    [The power to store/transfer matter through shadows. Limited by visual range... for the time being]


    And so a long list went on. In any case, he couldn''t help but think back to the first conversation he''d had with Cynthia after the disaster on the island. That session where she had tried to extract all the answers and be satisfied, not knowing that satisfaction was beyond her reach.


    "How strong are you?" Cynthia asked.


    That was something even he didn''t know the answer to. He knew what he was, but not what he could become, and that was the important thing here. For many people potential was something vague.


    To him it appeared as statistics, progressing steadily and clearly.


    "I can do a lot more things than you saw."


    "Like what, for example? You said your abilities appear like in a role-playing video game, right? I can''t see them, but you can read them to me."


    He didn''t think too hard about it. It was pretty much what he had intended from the beginning. Well, not quite true, maybe he had wanted to get that over with a lot quicker instead of giving such a thorough explanation.


    "All right."


    But he gave it.


    2


    In a darkness without light, in an unknown place, two shadows met. The rain was coming down hard, drowning out any other sound in the surroundings. These days it seemed like the rain wouldn''t stop. They were at odds about it. One hated the rain, the other wished it would rain even harder as if it could wash away all the bad things.


    "Have you seen the target? Do you think he''ll join our side?"


    "I didn''t get a chance to talk to him, obviously, but I don''t see why not. He doesn''t exactly have great prospects for the future. As soon as he''s no longer useful they''ll execute him like a rabid dog."


    The second shadow was vaguely surprised that they hadn''t executed Ryan immediately, even though of course he understood that they saw it as an opportunity to investigate what they called Lunar Remnants.


    "Sure. But not only that. I hope, at the very least, that he realizes which side he should be on. That he can''t go back to being human, even if his outer form resembles it. Or rather, that he is already a superior kind of human. Just like us."


    The syndicate believed Ryan was an isolated incident. Better that way, they would only reveal themselves, coming out of the shadows, when the time was right. Not a second before, not a second after.


    They had to do everything right. For the sake of their future, which was the same as the future of the world.


    It had to be the same.


    "Yeah. And the world will change, like it or not. Sooner or later he will have to choose sides."


    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Yes. The world was already split in two, even if millions of people didn''t know it. The lines drawn on the map were nothing more than an illusion. There were only two sides.


    "We''ll be the ones who end up on top, naturally. Or it should be natural."


    "That man, Sylvester, is the only obstacle. An anomaly." He wasn''t one of them, but he couldn''t be called a normal human being either. He was closer to them than humans, but he still fought against them. Worse yet, although he didn''t want to admit it, he was the strongest of them all. "We can''t kill him, but we can at least get him out of the way. How is the search progressing?"


    It was one of the main reasons they were still in the shadows. They didn''t have that thing yet. Possessing the item to seal Sylvester was the only way to even dream of defeating him.


    "We just need a little more time."


    Fortunately, it was true. Both shadows knew their time would come. But neither the old humans nor the new humans were known for their patience.


    Naturally, anyone would prefer to get the reward immediately rather than wait for it.


    Patience wasn''t a virtue in things like this, it was settling. Painfully, agonizingly, at any rate, it was just that. But the time would soon come when they could stop settling and start taking everything they wanted, everything that had been theirs from the beginning.


    "We''ll seal him in for a couple of decades. When he comes out, the world will have been ours for a long time. Long live the true humans."


    "Long live the true humans."


    Yes. That''s why they were destined to inherit the world.


    3


    Kaleidoscope.


    Like most major cities, it was a mirror reflecting the face of modern society. To see this, one only had to look at the skyline. Before the appearance of the Lunar Remnants, there was nothing but skyscrapers everywhere you looked.


    Earthquakes and other natural disasters hadn''t discouraged humanity one iota. On the contrary, they had continued to pile up their tallest towers, as if in defiance of the gods.


    The original Tower of Babel had fallen (if it ever existed), but millions more had been built to replace it. Mankind''s desire to pursue progress at all costs, reflected even in its buildings, hadn''t changed in hundreds of thousands of years.


    But the Lunar Remnants had changed even that.


    That''s why Sylvester and the others could do what they were doing. Parkouring around the city, taking advantage of everything they could to get around it, jumping from building to building.


    The large skyscrapers hadn''t been completely removed, but relatively few remained, and buildings of a more conservative size were scattered all over the place despite the size of the city.


    The skyline was quite unbalanced as a result. Sudden ups and downs. It wasn''t entirely possible to traverse the city without touching the ground, from building to building, like this. Without the aid of his powers.


    But in time it would be possible. Facing the enormous threat of the Lunar Remnants, humanity had chosen to shrink in on itself rather than continue to stack its defiant towers, even flee underground. Skyscrapers made little sense when they were nothing more than a hazard that could be toppled every few months...or even weeks.


    That was the situation humanity found itself in this century. That was how bad things were.


    But they could get even worse. That was why Sylvester was fighting, though he wasn''t sure if he would ever be rewarded. He had planted his feet and stood his ground for years in which he had only lost important things, with no hope of winning.


    So, now that Ryan was here, now that he had a sense that he could touch victory with his fingertips, how could he ever throw in the towel?


    Quite the contrary, he felt more alive than ever.


    Running through the city.


    Jumping from rooftop to rooftop, feeling almost as if he were flying.


    Running along the billboards, trying not to damage them, he had a civic responsibility.


    Taking advantage of everything within reach of his hands and feet. Beams, loose wires, windows, pipes, air conditioners whirring on facades. Anything but his powers. He was doing this pretty much as a normal human being would.


    Proof of this was that Cynthia and Ryan were keeping up with him. With some difficulty, but getting there. When he finally decided he was okay and stopped, he wasn''t tired, but he couldn''t say the same for them.


    "You have wings. Why do you need to put so much effort into this?" Ryan asked him the million dollar question.


    "You have cars, what do you need to try so hard to run for?"


    "Okay. Good point... Sort of, but I don''t feel like discussing it."


    Sylvester wondered if Ryan would have said that he didn''t really have a car, let alone cars, he didn''t have the money for that much. Otherwise he wouldn''t have gotten into a ring with a lion in the first place.


    "There''s another reason, if you''re so interested."


    "Oh, is that so?"


    "A hero running around town is more human than a strange thing on black wings." You''d have to be pretty sick in the head to try to imitate him, but at least the former was something you could imagine doing. "People need hope, someone to look up to. No more reasons to be afraid. And a lot of people are afraid of me anyway."


    "No wonder, boss, no wonder."


    "Ha. You want to repeat the route?"


    It was just a joke, but Cynthia made a face like she was afraid he was going to ask her that.


    "And that''s why we''re touring the city for real, not in a virtual environment?" Ryan asked.


    "You said it."


    "Okay. I guess I understand. Anyway, it feels good to get some fresh air." He took a deep breath.


    "What do we do now?" Cynthia asked, her hands on her knees, still out of breath. It was clear that she didn''t feel like going on, but she had still asked him that question instead of enjoying the break.


    He had two very stubborn students. And very strong-willed.


    They would need that if they were to survive by his side.


    "How about you come and get me?"


    "Excuse me?"


    "Both of you, of course. Without holding back. Otherwise it wouldn''t be fun.


    They had done the warm-up, though many would say it was torture that counted as a fairly complete workout. Now the natural thing to do was to fight, right?


    That''s what their job was all about, at least.


    Cynthia and Ryan ran toward him, Cynthia a little ahead. They were far from being a team, it would take a lot of work. But they were partners cornered by a vastly superior opponent.


    Even if it was nothing more than training, they would cooperate out of the survival instinct possessed by any sane living being.


    Sylvester took a few steps back, grinning from ear to ear.


    "Let''s dance, boys."


    And truly his steps were light as a dancer''s.


    Cynthia had been the fastest from the start, so of course she was the first to reach him. And the first to take flight. He didn''t unsheathe the sword, he repelled her with a kick to the chest.


    Had it not been for a quick application of the rope launcher, burying the wire in the edge of the building, she would have fallen.


    Still, he had tried to moderate himself so as not to hurt her. This was training, not a real fight, after all.


    He then collided with Ryan in the middle in more ways than one. Face to face, knees to knees, grappling with their hands interlocked. Thankfully Ryan had cut the crap and put on a uniform, but under the fabric you could see his muscles tensing. He was putting all his strength into this struggle.


    But still Sylvester was immovable.


    Ryan was strong.


    As was to be expected from the man who had defeated a lion with his bare hands, no special powers or great cybernetic enhancements, just very human strength and courage. Or desperation, which was just as effective as fuel to drive humans to commit such feats.


    It was strong, but that''s exactly why he had to say it. He was cheating him here and now.


    "It''s just training, but that''s precisely why you have to take it seriously. This isn''t all you can do."


    Ryan frowned. He knew exactly what he meant and was considering it.

 18. In the Shadows of Trees During an Evening Shower (4)

    Cynthia climbed onto the roof and ran to join the fight again. They would attack him in two directions at once. And they would fail, of course. But the experience would teach them something. At the very least, that there was no point in getting picky about your allies when you were facing a bigger threat.


    Or at least that was what should have happened, but it stopped.


    Not Cynthia, the fight, all the training. Not by his decision. He wasn''t going to change his mind at the last second. His earpiece rang.


    So Sylvester let go of one of Ryan''s hands, and lifted it to the appropriate ear to answer the call. Seeing that something was happening, Ryan pulled back. It was a shame, but anyway, you had to have priorities. He could try again some other time.


    "This is Agent Sylvester. Yes. Yes, all right. We happen to be close."


    He cut the call.


    Cynthia had stopped too, of course, or else by now he''d have the barrel of one of her revolvers against his forehead. In any case...


    "What happened?" she asked.


    "Someone died."


    "Only one person?"


    "Yes, as far as we know. Weird, huh?"


    "Is it that weird?" Ryan asked.


    "As you know from your own experience, at birth the Lunar Remnants have no will of their own, they are like animals. And when they grow up, well, they''re not like you. They can''t go back to normal. Live in society. So even then they don''t have much choice."


    "Yeah. Right."


    "Well," Sylvester said as he turned away, "lessons for later, I''ll bore you with details if you want. Now let''s get going."


    Sylvester started running towards the edge of the roof. Without knowing it, he had accelerated the path that Cynthia was supposed to take a moment ago, although it didn''t matter because she had already retraced it with the intention of smashing his face in, anyway, such is life.


    When he reached the edge, he jumped.


    He slid down the fire escape into the damp alley. It had been raining hard until recently, so the alleys and rooftops were still pretty slick. Which they had found out dangerously just as they had started, when Cynthia had nearly fallen from a fourth floor and said goodbye to everything.


    The other two took the same path. A little slower, but they arrived safely.


    Sylvester and Cynthia pulled their cubes out of their jackets, tossing them on the ground and unfolding them. Every agent was given one of these bikes.


    ¡°What do I do?¡± Ryan protested. There was always an exception that proved the rule. Besides, more than an agent, as much as he was on his way to do one''s job, he was a prisoner.


    ¡°Let him ride with you," Sylvester said, more to mess with his partner than anything else. He did have a sense of humor.


    ¡°Huh? Not a chance. Boss. Why not with you?¡±


    For one thing, he thought it was hilarious.


    Sylvester shrugged.


    ¡°Well, come on. Mount up."


    So he did, and they shot off toward the location of the crime.


    Still, he had to admit it was frustrating. He''d been on the verge of succeeding. Not that he''d wanted to help the scientists with that particular experiment. It had seemed unnecessarily dangerous to him, with no apparent benefit, and even now he thought that.


    But what happened inside a laboratory was another thing; field work was quite another.


    There was no time to train him. If Ryan wanted to survive in this world, he had to learn to use the powers of a Lunar Remnant. Otherwise he would just end up in the stomach of some other creature even worse than him.


    And maybe he would anyway, but then at least he''d have a chance.


    ***


    In the alleyway there wasn''t even the remnants left. They had already been cleaned up. The only thing that remained as evidence of the crime was a large bloodstain.


    The greatest trace of what had happened even when the victim''s pieces had been in the alley. According to what he had been told, he had been reduced to mush to such an extent that they hadn''t yet been able to identify him.


    ¡°So, what do you think?" Cynthia asked at last.


    ¡°If it was the work of a Lunar Remnant, we would have witnesses, and he certainly wouldn''t have been the only victim. But if this was done by humans, how?"


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    ¡°Maybe it wasn''t done by humans, but it wasn''t done by those monsters either," Ryan said.


    ¡°Explain."


    ¡°We may not be completely finished with Andrew''s work. That''s what I''m talking about. I don''t want to think about it, even though I''m in deep shit, at least I was consoled by the thought that I had done one thing right. But..."


    ¡°You don''t need to make that face. I told you, there are no witnesses. There''s no way nobody saw one of those things."


    ¡°What if it was invisible?"


    It was a ridiculously simple answer, like a child pulling out a everything proof shield in an imagination-filled playground fight.


    But he couldn''t dismiss it, because it was possible. Maybe not likely, but possible.


    ¡°Okay. That... that could be it."


    He couldn''t even say Andrew''s creations weren''t intelligent. He knew they were. They had let him go, after all, once he''d released them. At least they had understood what he had done on some level, so the idea of one of them killing a single person here, unseen, and then leaving without creating more of a stir...


    The motive was also important and they didn''t know it yet, but it was possible.


    ¡°It doesn''t have to be Andrew''s operation," Sylvester said. Not to comfort Ryan. He wasn''t as openly hostile as his partner, but he wasn''t too interested in the man''s feelings either. He was thinking out loud. And mostly he was saying it for himself. It would be a pain if the mission he had thought was over had actually just started all over again. "It might be someone doing similar experiments. Or one of his experiments has escaped and is now out there, whatever it is.


    ¡°Whatever it is, it''s our thing," Cynthia said. "That''s good enough for me. I felt like blowing someone''s head off, anyway, let off some steam.


    ¡°You sound very... well adjusted," Ryan said.


    Cynthia gave him a murderous look, but, to his surprise, that''s all it amounted to. Anyway, it was better or, instead of a secret agent, he would start to feel like a teacher taking care of children who did nothing but fight for the slightest excuse.


    ¡°You''re going to have to hold your breath for the moment because we still don''t know where to start. ¡°That was all he said, in the end.


    Sylvester reached out a hand towards the huge bloodstain, but didn''t reach out to touch it. Bad idea, it would contaminate the crime scene, yes, all of it. Even though they had already cleaned up and surely collected samples. It didn''t matter. He dropped his hand.


    ¡°No secret skills that might help with this?" Cynthia asked.


    ¡°You know I don''t. I read you everything."


    ¡°Okay."


    Wisely, Ryan chose to keep his big mouth shut.


    Sylvester put a hand to the back of his head, scratching. A very casual, unprofessional gesture, but who was watching him? His subordinate and a prisoner.


    ¡°I don''t even know why I was called in. I don''t like to leave things unfinished, but everything points to this being a dead end."


    Anyway, at least he could try so they wouldn''t say later that he had given up too quickly.


    Sylvester doubted he would find anything that the cops and the syndicate investigators had missed in any way, nothing revolutionary and definitely nothing that would lead him straight to the culprit, at least.


    But as he had said, he could at least take a step forward so it couldn''t be said that he hadn''t tried.


    It was the least he could do, surely.


    So he set about it. First of all, he dragged a couple of trash cans to the side.


    ¡°Nothing."


    Well, the dumpsters closest to a crime scene was the most obvious place to take a look, despite the fact that the criminal clearly hadn''t gone out of his way to hide what he''d done. And he hadn''t expected to find anything anyway.


    Sylvester had been glad that his teammates hadn''t started fighting like children. He thought, moreover, that they would be too distracted searching. Big mistake. As soon as Ryan opened his mouth, he knew it would end in an argument before he even processed the first word.


    ¡°I don''t even know where to start. Put someone in front of me to beat up and I''m your man. But discovering things that others have overlooked? That''s a different matter.¡±


    ¡°Maybe you''re bad at it. Or maybe you act blind when you want to," Cynthia said.


    Sylvester didn''t like that too much either. Protecting Andrew, even if only for a few months, he should have seen some signs. And looked the other way.


    It wasn''t a good thing, but it wasn''t a deliberately cruel thing.


    For whatever reason he hadn''t known the truth, and he had turned against the man as soon as the truth was shoved in his face. That was good enough for Sylvester.


    Clearly not enough for his partner, but sooner or later she''d have to find a way to work it out. She should be able to understand that even if Ryan was the worst piece of garbage in the history of mankind, he was now also the person who was hiding the only chance to save it.


    Sylvester had been fighting for years, but only to prolong the inevitable. Finally, thanks to him, he had a way to stop this within reach.


    It was too valuable to throw away, whoever he was. Or however he was.


    Sylvester had faith that his partner would understand in time. He just hoped it would be soon. He wouldn''t put up with watching them bicker like children for long.


    "I don''t... Whatever."


    "Whatever?"


    "Say what you want. I deserve it all and more, I know it."


    Maybe those had been the right words, maybe Cynthia realized that this wasn''t the time. In any case, silence returned to the alley. They could continue searching in peace for the time being.


    They searched the alley for quite a while. For any clue, any small trace, even if it was a strand of fallen, wet, trampled hair. Anything to be able to say that the time hadn''t been wasted, it had been worth it.


    Unfortunately they didn''t find shit.


    "Well, I guess it''s time to throw in the towel."


    He hadn''t paid much attention to the clock, but Sylvester was sure that enough time had passed to give up hope of finding anything. He knew it instinctively. Not everything had to do with his powers.


    "We ended the training early for nothing. You must be frustrated."


    Cynthia said the most obvious thing in the world, who knows why.


    "I''ll be damned, but what can you do?" He shrugged. There was nothing more to say, duty was duty. Any adult understood that at least.


    But it didn''t mean he had to like it.


    It didn''t mean, but there was nothing to do here.


    No one had the right to complain. Some would anyway, as if he could or should figure it all out on his own, but he''d already done all he could.


    They climbed onto the motorcycles, which rested at the end of the alley, and set off back to base.


    There, perhaps, they could continue the training. Though admittedly, he wasn''t in the mood for anything right now. More importantly, an uncomfortable feeling was beginning to grow deep in his heart for no apparent reason, like a poisonous plant spreading its roots, clinging to life even though it only brought evil into the world.


    A feeling as if this had only just begun.


    A feeling as if an end was near. He wasn''t sure if it was the end of Cynthia, of the hope Ryan represented, of himself, or of humanity. It was even possible it was all of those things at once.


    In any case, "something" was coming.


    And no matter how much he told himself it was meaningless, that it was nothing more than a stupid, vague feeling, it still held a strange power over him. He trusted his instincts. Maybe it wasn''t something irrational or inexplicable, but a detail he had processed without realizing it and therefore couldn''t yet put into words.


    Something that meant the end.

 19. In the Shadows of Trees During an Evening Shower (5)

    The end had come without warning, as it usually did. Not that he had thought it would be any different for him. It was just that, like everyone else, he hadn''t thought it would be today of all days.


    His heavy breathing echoed through the dark, empty corridors.


    Jackson had never considered himself claustrophobic, but now he felt a little bit so. Because, well...


    Because it was a fact that the corridors were dark, but not empty. There was something out there. There was one of those monsters. Of all the centuries and eras he could have been born into, it had been his lot to be born into one where alien monsters plagued humanity.


    Those monsters had been attacking for some time, but not long enough for him or anyone else to have been born and raised with it being normal. Just another fact of life.


    Even if you were born into a world like that, could you get used to it?


    To not being the hunter, but the prey, for the first time in the history of mankind for hundreds of thousands of years, since almost the beginning of everything?


    No. No way.


    He could barely see a few feet ahead of him, something beyond his cold breath. There was no way he could see what was going on around him, beyond the metal walls, or up on the other side of the ceiling.


    Jackson was a normal human. He couldn''t see through walls, he didn''t have the money to afford that sort of thing.


    But, anyway...


    He "saw" it.


    He saw everything.


    For example, people running into elevators only to be torn to pieces the moment the doors opened.


    For example, a woman trying to run away and screaming as she fell overboard, only to die in mid"air.


    For example, a crowd fighting to escape, doing more to hinder the others than anything else, and soon finding themselves between a rock and a hard place. He could only "see" thanks to his mind reconstructing the massacre from the terrifying noises that reached him.


    But it was enough. More than enough, too much.


    He felt like vomiting and his legs were weak. He wasn''t sure how much more he could take. He wasn''t sure if he wanted to hold on. Dying would be a rest. There would be no more fear or pain.


    Pain?


    Yes, pain. He had a fucked up leg. But the pain was the least of it, he barely felt it because of the adrenaline. That was the only thing that allowed him to move. To keep moving forward, even though he had no idea where exactly he was going.


    All he knew was that he needed to move or he would end up like the rest. Jackson had floated through life with no particular interest in anything. Not his family, not his friends, not his career. Pipe in hand, he had fancied himself a philosopher as he contemplated the meaning of his existence and the meaning of life.


    Thanks to having a near-death experience for the first time in his life, he attained true wisdom.


    The purpose of life was to live.


    Simply living was everything and he didn''t want to die in a place like this. He didn''t want to die at all.


    He had survived the massacre in the dining room by sheer luck. He had made it through the ballroom relatively intact while others had been torn to pieces.


    That had to be a sign, right?


    Why would he have survived all that only to die now?


    It had to be a sign.


    (I can see the bone sticking out of the leg, about to snap in two)


    a signa signa signa signa sign


    No, just luck. Nothing but pure luck.


    And it ran out.


    Luck always went fast, when it came. If it came at all. A dead end. No, there was a way out, to turn around and look for another way.


    But the monster was there.


    The one that had killed everyone, and now it was his turn. Actually the first to die had been the lucky ones, hadn''t they? They hadn''t had to fight, they hadn''t had to go through so much fear, they hadn''t had to endure this pain, and maybe now they were in a better place, right? A place without fear or pain a place where he could smile in the sunlight again a place where his family was waiting for him a better place a place like home I want to go home god I want to go home.


    The monster ran towards him. Its great maw was a gateway to hell.


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    Jackson didn''t close his eyes. But not because he hadn''t accepted his fate, it was just that he couldn''t close his eyes. He couldn''t move a muscle. For that reason, he saw it.


    The wall to one side exploded.


    Debris flew through the cloud of dust, some hitting the monster that had suddenly stopped, some going over his head. He thought another monster would come out as well. But no, no, it was just a man.


    The man, blond and very tall, jumped straight at the monster''s head. He had a sword charged with electricity, or so it seemed, it sizzled, circled the blade and lit it up.


    But he didn''t use the sword. With one hand he grabbed the creature''s head and, taking advantage of the momentum of his jump, with all the strength of his body...


    He slammed it to the ground, knocking a beast twice his size to the ground like it was nothing!


    What was it?


    Just a man? Haha.


    Without realizing it, he started laughing for real. Hysterical. No control.


    There wasn''t a shred of control and normalcy in any of this, it was like a living nightmare, so why not? It was a living nightmare so he just wanted to wake up.


    (in a place without fear or pain a place where he could smile in the sunlight)


    and go back to his normal life, which maybe didn''t fulfill or satisfy him, but that was unimportant nonsense, the bottom line was that it made sense, it was sane.


    I want to go home.


    And his only hope... was that man.


    The monster was basically a giant spider. It had some differences, things that were out of place on a spider, like how human-like its eyes were, but he didn''t care about the details, no, rather he didn''t want to look at the details. In his opinion, a spider smaller than a person''s fist was scary enough. But the blond man faced that monstrosity without flinching or hesitating for an instant.


    At least, he didn''t externalize those kinds of feelings.


    He swung the sword, electrocuting the huge beast. Watching those hairy legs writhe in the darkness, the dozens of eyes widen, Jackson didn''t know how he didn''t vomit. Maybe he was beyond those things. He felt like he was floating outside his body. A kite at the mercy of the wind. The electricity didn''t seem to affect that monster too much. The giant spider brandished its forelegs, tearing....


    No, not the blond man''s chest.


    He backed off at just the right moment, so it only made a cut on his shirt. He saw no blood. Well, what was he going to see with how dark everything was? But it couldn''t have been a serious wound. The man didn''t even react, he would have at least grunted in pain if it had hit him, wouldn''t he? And he kept fighting without wasting even a second.


    Slipping between the legs, sharp as swords, with elegance. And swinging the electrified sword dozens of times, slicing the legs, cutting through its stomach, wherever he could reach, he also cut its nose in half and it was only then that Jackson realized that this arachnid monster had a fucking nose, god.


    In any case, it all seemed so unreal as if it was choreographed.


    He''d pay for things to be that simple if he could make it so. Unfortunately, this was reality. He couldn''t hide or escape it. He would live it even if he shut down.


    But he couldn''t do anything for himself. Everything depended on that blond man, fighting valiantly against a creature that escaped compression. He wished he was that strong, but.... It was already too late for everything.


    Wasn''t it?


    One of the spider''s legs dug into the ground. If it had gone just a few more inches to the left, it would have penetrated the man''s head. No matter what kind of cybernetic augmentations he had, it was impossible for him to survive a blow with force from such a giant creature, wasn''t it?


    But even then he acted as if nothing had happened. The bizarre dance continued with the next blow ripping the paw right off. Its blood was a viscous, green fluid. It made it clear that it wasn''t a living creature, human or animal.


    He noticed that the man made an effort to keep the blood from falling on him. And he understood why a few seconds later.... It was devouring the ground. It may have been blood, but it was also super-strong acid. Incredible.


    Size, reach, strength, speed. He had it all against him already, and now that. It couldn''t have been a more one-sided fight. His one weapon was barely slowing the spider with each blast.


    But still, somehow, he was winning.


    Or had he already won? The blond man, who was a normal human, brought the big beast to the ground by chopping off all the legs. Then he plunged the sword into its forehead. Very deeply. Quite naturally, as if he did things like that every day.


    Yes, he had won. The giant spider disappeared leaving no trace but a few purple butterflies that flew away from here. He may not have understood much about those monsters, but at least he knew that meant death for them. Even the butterflies would get nowhere and disappear before they could see the moonlight again.


    The man turned around and looked at him. For some reason, he hadn''t thought he would notice him, so Jackson shrank back as if he were a threat and not his savior. It turned out there was nothing to be afraid of, naturally. He just offered her a hand to help her up.


    "Thank you."


    He felt stupid. It was too small a word to express his feelings, but it was the only thing that came to his mind.


    The man looked away as if his gratitude made him uncomfortable. Maybe he had made a mistake even if it wasn''t for the reason he had thought.


    "Don''t thank me. It''s just my job. Besides..."


    "Besides?"


    He frowned.


    "There''s another one."


    There is. He hadn''t noticed. Or rather, he hadn''t wanted to notice, but the sounds of the massacre continued even now.


    The nightmare that a pleasure cruise had become continued. He couldn''t wake up yet.


    "What is your name?" Suddenly the desire to know took hold of Jackson, as if it was a way to anchor himself to his savior, to make sure he remembered him and would fight harder for him, as if all that was as easy as getting to know him better and not being just another face among those he had to save.


    The man fixed his eyes on him. For an eternity he thought he would say nothing.


    But the eternity passed.


    "Adam."


    And Jackson was relieved in the same stupid way he had wished he knew his name in the first place. Nothing assured him that he was telling him the truth. Even if he was, it meant nothing.


    But he was deeply relieved beyond what he could put into words.


    ***


    "That''s the second time you''ve asked me that. Yes, of course I''m frustrated. You should know by now that I''m not a very patient person, despite what I may appear to be. That''s always the worst part of this job. Waiting."


    Sylvester stopped Cynthia''s attack.


    He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around in the air after tossing her away.


    Her posture as she fell was funny to him, sort of like an ostrich hiding its head in the sand even though it had its ass and everything else sticking out in the air. He could have pointed it out as proof of his sense of humor, but again sadly it wasn''t the time. Besides, he wasn''t sure she''d agree with him.


    He parried Ryan''s double punch with one hand an instant later, while thinking all that nonsense.


    Pure instinct, power and skill.


    "But playing with you guys makes things a little easier for me in the meantime."


    "I''m glad to hear that," said Cynthia, still lying on the ground. With the rope launcher primed and ready. She pulled the trigger and the rope flew out toward his neck.


    Sylvester released Ryan''s fists and jumped back to dodge the rope.


    "And I''m glad we''re on the same page. It''s best for our health as a team."

 20. In the Shadows of Trees During an Evening Shower (6)

    They took a break and sat down to watch TV. But it could hardly be called a break when even that was filled with reminders about their work. Really, there was never anything remotely good on the news.


    "... the total casualty count stands at over two thousand people. Among all the passengers, only forty-five were saved from the attack."


    Only, the presenter said, but it was actually quite a favorable outcome.


    Without the intervention of a syndicate agent, they would all be dead right now after all. And things could have gone much worse for him.


    "If you had been there, a lot more people would have been saved," Cynthia said.


    "Yes. But I couldn''t have been there." So they just sent the nearest agent. Better, worse, they had done their job. They were on the side of good and they''d done their job. That''s what mattered. By the time he got there, they''d all be dead. "There''s a reason this country spends so much money just to keep me around."


    Then another good amount of money, all the time, to keep him in the area or try to bring him to theirs.


    After all, he was only one man, and America was a very big country. He had the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he couldn''t even take care of everything that was going on in his country. No matter how much power he wielded, at the end of the day he was nothing more or less than a human being.


    To the misfortune of many people.


    Like those who had died on that ship, yes. Screaming and howling. In the darkness.


    He certainly didn''t like it at all, but he couldn''t do any more than he already did. He was always on the brink of breaking down, barely allowing himself to exist as a human being. He couldn''t remember the last time he had slept more than six hours at night. Sometimes he wondered how he was still standing. But he had to, he had to make it somehow, because there was no one else. Nothing else.


    They only had him.


    He hadn''t asked for this enormous responsibility, but now that it was in his hands he couldn''t whine and complain, he couldn''t run and hide.


    It was his job. It was his duty.


    Moreover, it was his pride. It was a dark and secret feeling, but he was proud. Many people lived and died without changing anything apart from the piece of earth they were buried in.


    He could change the world.


    He would be remembered.


    How could he not be proud?


    "If I were you, I''d go crazy thinking about it. It''s more weight than any one person should have to carry."


    "Maybe. But what should be matters very little. Things are as they are."


    "What are you saying? What should be matters. If things were as they should be, the Lunar Remnants, superior beings, would kill every last one of us and take over the world. If we''re here, it''s because we believe we can change that."


    "That''s not exactly what I meant, but yes, of course. I haven''t given up."


    Sylvester turned his head to look at Cynthia straight in the eye. Yes, so far he hadn''t looked away from the screen. But he felt it was now necessary to look at her. So that she would understand him well, so that there would be no room for confusion.


    "I will never give up. Even if they did really take over the world. If the world lay in ruins I would keep killing them on the ruins of the world until it was all over, one way or another." He was willing to go that far even when he would have no world left to fight for. For trite things like revenge?


    None of that, it was simply his duty.


    Cynthia nodded slowly.


    "That''s my boss. That''s the spirit."


    ***


    "So much work just to get this thing. Will it really be enough to seal that monster?"


    "If this can''t, nothing will."


    "That''s not an answer."


    "I know. In any case, we''re not done yet. We need a distraction. But we must be very careful. It''s an advantage that they think we''re disorganized, that they think it''s not even possible for us to get organized, until it''s too late for them to prepare for what''s coming."


    "Leave it to me. I have some ideas."


    ***


    Once again, he had not been left much time to remain human. The other syndicate agent had saved that ship in Italy, reducing the death count by only about forty. Forty"something out of two thousand passengers.


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    How many people were in that building? He didn''t know, but it was time to see how he would fare. Who would do better, after all.


    Sylvester jumped. He jumped from the nearest and tallest tower. The cold night wind cut through him like a thousand swords. He stretched out his arms as he fell, like a suicidal man accepting his end, the sweet release.


    But, as he had said, he wouldn''t give up. Never. Never.


    What he did was spread his wings. Wings as black as a starless night, but now it was daytime. It didn''t matter, the moon was always in the sky, reflecting that evil upon the world. The Lunar Remnants.


    It didn''t matter at all. Sylvester flew through the skylight and landed in the middle of the crystal rain, untouchable. He made the wings disappear as soon as he hit the ground, of course. He no longer needed them.


    He raised his head towards his enemies.


    No, toward today''s obstacles.


    How many innocent people had died already? He couldn''t stop to count them. He couldn''t bear to think about it. The only thing he could do, the only thing he had come to do, was to kill.


    "My arm, my arm, where is my arm?"


    The man was desperately searching for his right arm, stumbling around and reaching out with the only hand he had left. He was leaving behind him a thick trail of blood. He was in shock, but nowadays that was survivable. If he was rescued in time. No, rather, if he could stop this in time.


    So where was the creature? The man''s wound was fresh. He couldn''t have gone far, but he couldn''t even hear it rampaging through this hotel.


    Somehow, he had come in here and taken hostages instead of going on an indiscriminate killing spree.


    And now...What was he waiting for?


    "I''m a syndicate agent.You have nothing to worry about," he lied. "I''ll save you."


    He hoped that the last one didn''t turn out to be a lie. He would do his best. That was the only thing he could promise, but it wouldn''t help put their minds at ease. Well.His words just now hadn''t helped much either. Most were looking at him with sunken eyes, covered by a shadow of suspicion.Those who didn''t were simply too busy with themselves. Like the man tirelessly searching for his arm. They distrusted him, but none came close to helping the poor man either.


    Typical.


    How many of these people had left everything behind and moved to Kaleidoscope simply because they knew he would be around to protect them? The city had experienced a very high population growth for that reason. And it was easier to relocate overnight for the kind of people who stayed in five-star hotels on a whim. Surely many of them had moved because of him.


    And yet his presence didn''t reassure them at all. Not because of the monster that was still lurking in the building. He knew it.


    He knew that he too was seen as a monster. Something "different" from them.


    He didn''t care. That too was all too typical.


    His opinions were irrelevant. He was here to do his job.


    "If anyone has anything to tell me, speak up now. Any information could be useful."


    Silence. If not for the guy whimpering about his arm still, of course. Until he would run out of energy and his head would hit the ground.


    "In any case, stay here. It''s not a safe place, but there''s no such thing in this building until the monster is dead. I''ll make sure it doesn''t come back here and then maybe it will be a safe place. Do you understand? If you try to escape on your own, you''re going to die. Your best chance is to trust me."


    Sylvester didn''t want to lie to them outright, no one would believe something that sounded too good to begin with. But he also didn''t want them to lose control, naturally. That was the best balance he found for his speech. He could get by speaking to other people, but speaking to a crowd was something different. He had a specific set of talents where that didn''t fit in.


    At least, he wasn''t getting paid for it. But he had done what he could.


    Feeling satisfied, he approached the nearest door. He opened it, turning the knob. At that moment..


    "Hey." A woman''s hesitant voice. "I don''t know if it''s really useful, but you''re talking as if there is one of those things. There''s two of them."


    Are you sure? That was the first thing that popped into his head, but she''d had to muster up the courage to tell him that. Doubting her in spite of everything would only serve to make her shut up. Besides, what did it matter?


    The point was that he knew she had at least thought she had seen two. She had no reason to lie to him. He had recently faced a Lunar Remnant capable of sending dozens of minions after them, so one thing that could split in two or something was nothing in comparison.


    And it was what he had asked for. Any information, and this would be more useful than the woman had thought. He gave the only appropriate response.


    "Thank you."


    Without waiting for an answer, he left that place in pursuit of the obstacle.


    He would be a large monster, driven by his bloodlust and rage against the world, as if they were to blame for the state he had ended up in. It shouldn''t be hard to find him.


    It wasn''t. He was only wrong about one thing. Instead of finding him, the obstacle came to him. A bulge grew in the wall to his left. ''Something'' was moving along the inside of the wall as if it were a mole underground.


    But its size wasn''t remotely comparable to that of a mole. Somehow it made no noise at all, but still the lump was too big to miss. For there to be even the slightest hope that it could make a surprise attack.


    The Lunar Remnant came out of the wall. It didn''t break it. It came out of the wall, through it like a ghost. On all fours, pale, with a one-eyed head and mostly covered by a huge mouth full of teeth that looked like a meat grinder.


    That thing lunged at him, still in complete silence. It was more disturbing than if it had been howling like a wild animal. After all, this wasn''t normal.


    "You''re the first, huh?"


    Sylvester swung his sword. The creature caught it in its teeth, but that was no advantage. With that as his only foothold, he spun the creature around and slammed it into the opposite wall with all his might.


    The wall was filled with cracks. He was being paid to do what was necessary, not something impossible like not being the reason for some repairs.


    "The first to fall."


    It was not pale like a corpse. More of a gray like the aliens in some old TV series, the kind that shoved strange things up your anus as soon as you let your guard down.


    He painted that pallor red with his blood, brandishing the sword again.


    "If you''re smart enough to take hostages, you''re smart enough to talk. Squeal for me, you fucking bastard!"


    He swung the sword once more, ripping a large chunk of flesh from the creature in one blow. More of its teeth were exposed through the hole in the side of its mouth. As if he had opened him a second mouth.


    Another blow.


    It caught the katana between its teeth, but this time it was different. It managed to rip the weapon out of his hands and throw it. So what, now it thought he was helpless? Sylvester grinned from ear to ear.


    He could easily retrieve the sword, but not at the moment.


    I could crush him barehanded just as fast, anyway!


    He wasn''t alone either, of course. He had gone ahead because he could get to the upper floors faster and easier, but it had turned out to be convenient. Under ideal circumstances, they could corner the creatures at the same time and get it over with quickly. Too many people had already been killed or injured. He''d had enough.


    Sylvester collided with the Lunar Remnant in the middle. It was the monster''s feet that rose a few inches above the ground with the impact.


    He was strong and could take anything they threw at him. He had to.

 21. The Thing (Part 1)

    Sylvester had won the struggle.


    Now that the creature had nothing to leverage with, and he had plenty to spare, he demonstrated his superiority by lifting it several inches above the floor and his own head.


    He handled it like a toy and in the same manner tossed it to the other end of the room. It crossed the hallway as if it were flying.


    But it didn''t make it to where he had thrown it. Gray tentacles emerged from its back, very thin, but they served to break its fall, hitting the floor with them.


    The tentacles hadn''t even come close to the windows, but it didn''t matter.


    All the glass exploded as soon as the tentacles hit the ground. The rain of shattered glass headed in his direction. A normal person would have been impaled by the tentacles and died almost instantly. Although it would have been a quick death, it would also have been extremely painful.


    To him it was no threat at all. He didn''t even need the overclocking.


    He fended off the shards of broken glass with his sword. Indeed, his sword, he had picked it up from the ground behind him fast enough to react that way.


    All the shards of glass were flawlessly repelled. Not a single one came close to cutting into his skin.


    But the monster hadn''t stood still. It had run towards him amidst the crystal rain it had created itself, without a second thought. Not that the beast was slow, but he had taken about two seconds to deal with the crystals.


    In the third second from the explosion of the crystals, they collided again.


    Tentacles versus katana. It wasn''t a real competition. It didn''t even take a good blow, the blade grazing past was enough to rip off those weak, thin tentacles. Soon the back was empty and Sylvester was still on top of the world. Full of energy, full of power.


    The creature emitted grunts of pain and rage as he cut it down, but refused to speak even if it was to insult him. He knew it could speak. It had to be capable of that if it was smart enough to come up with a plan, to take hostages. It just didn''t want to talk. Well, he''d make it talk. Everyone changed their minds on the verge of death.


    He ran towards the creature, leaped, dodged its furtive paws and the jaw that tried to close over his torso like a castle door in mid-air.


    He landed on its head and thrust his sword into its forehead. Straight to the point, but it was okay, something like that wasn''t going to kill it. Not too quickly, at least. As proof, the monster screamed.


    There was more rage than pain in that voice. It screamed as it twisted and jerked, trying to shake him off. Unsuccessfully, but it couldn''t be said that it hadn''t given its all.


    Unfortunately, intent was of little use to humans and monsters alike. The only thing that mattered was the result. The only thing that had a lasting effect was that.


    Sylvester split its skull in two with the katana. Exposing the blindingly white bone, exposing blood and other fluids that escaped through the wound.


    The creature jumped backwards. Sylvester didn''t react in time and was crushed between the wall and the beast''s body as a result. The impact robbed the oxygen from his lungs. The katana slipped through his fingers and he almost lost it.


    Only almost. His grip held, but not his superiority over the creature. The katana slipped out of his skull and he fell to the ground.


    He spun, his head split in two, brains and blood sliding down his forehead like water from some dark baptism.


    He spun and lashed out with his claws.


    Crack. The ground where his head had been less than a second ago exploded from the monstrous force of the creature.


    He dodged the second blow in the same manner, with identical results.


    Before the Remnant could destroy the ground, both falling to the floor below as had happened to him on that island, Sylvester thrust the sword into its belly. He had done enough to its head, he had to go for another weak spot instead of just repeating what hadn''t worked.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    "Why take hostages if you have no demands? Was it all just to lure me here?"


    The blade sank deeper, but not because of him. The beast moved in of its own volition, as if it didn''t feel the bite of steel, and grabbed his shoulders with its claws. Sylvester twisted his face in pain for the first time since the beginning of the short fight.


    Well, it might have been short in an objective sense, but anything where your life was on the line took forever.


    "Why wouldn''t I want to kill you? Your only purpose in life is to slaughter beings like me. Even when some of us don''t want to kill, the only alternative, what you call cooperating, is to be locked up in some dark place for the rest of our lives in the name of research. It''s kill or be killed. Sooner or later you would have come after me no matter what I did."


    As he spoke, he dug its claws deeper and deeper into his shoulders. Sylvester gritted his teeth, enduring the pain, enduring also that incoherent rambling and the saliva that splashed his face as he spat out each word.


    "And your way of proving you don''t deserve to die or be locked up is to start killing innocents. I get it."


    "I just told you, you leave us no choice! You think you''re superior to me, don''t you?" By now, its claws were scraping against bone. "You think you''re superior just because you''re lucky enough to live a normal life."


    What a bad joke. He didn''t even feel like laughing, more like throwing up.


    "There''s nothing normal about my life, you freak. Otherwise I wouldn''t be seeing the likes of you."


    He''d had enough in more ways than one.


    Sylvester spread his wings again. He could have called on many of his other skills to get out of this situation, but he chose that one out of all of them. He''d like to say there was no particular reason, instinct or anything like that, and it was true.


    But only to a certain extent. It wasn''t the biggest part of the reason he had decided that, but he felt free.


    There was nothing more liberating than flying through the air like a bird. With nothing that could tether him or drag him back to the ground with the others.


    That is, nothing except time, the amount of energy it took to use the skill. Well, nothing was perfect.


    He flew.


    He flew very close to the ground, almost grazing it, but he flew. Dragging the creature with him at high speed. And when he stopped... that monster flew next. Over his body, crashing to the ground and sliding across it like a mop. Well, in the end it did nothing but the opposite of cleaning, spreading its fluids all over the place.


    It would take a few hours to sterilize the room after that mess. Fortunately, the operation he was about to perform didn''t need to be "clean".


    He''d heard enough. Now he was just going to erase it from this world.


    What it had said made sense. Whether he was right or wrong, it was reason enough to set this up. Kill or be killed. A ridiculously simple principle, and so it was impossible to argue against. Not that he had any interest in it either. Just...


    He took a step forward. Really, he''d heard enough. Time to die.


    The tentacles emerged again, to attack. Sylvester struggled against that mass of tentacles and somewhere in that scramble he found himself with three tentacles buried in his chest and an arm in the beast''s jaw.


    "Goodbye."


    Which was exactly where he wanted.


    Darkness expanded and spread through the monster''s innards. After reaching the peak, it exploded violently. It wasn''t the only thing that exploded, of course. Nothing recognizable was left behind.


    Its remains reminded him of those of that victim, as yet unnamed.


    Nothing but a huge, anonymous bloodstain. Oh no, wait. He had to correct himself. Of course the tentacles had remained more or less intact and buried in his body. He grabbed them and ripped them off unceremoniously, without the slightest care. Blood was gushing out but hey, who cares, he had plenty to spare.


    Anything that didn''t kill him was no big deal. Maybe he had more in common with the Lunar Remnants than the average human being, but he knew very well whose side he was on.


    This was Agent Sylvester''s power, the weapon of humanity.


    He realized he had forgotten something, so he raised a hand to his ear.


    "I took care of a Lunar Remnant. But one of the hostages said they saw two." Communicating directly with Cynthia. Ryan also had an earpiece, but hey, habit. Besides Cynthia was his only true partner. Ryan was just a prisoner.


    "Understood. We haven''t seen anything so far. I mean, scared people, blood and guts. But we haven''t seen or heard that thing."


    "All right."


    Sylvester kept moving through the tower. Beyond the broken glass, beyond the bloody remains of the creature, across the hallway, was a kitchen. As if he had been waiting for his appearance at that very moment a shivering man emerged from the refrigerator, his eyelids frozen shut and his eyes half closed, a man who was twitching and writhing as if he were on fire, actually fire and ice weren''t so different.


    He ran toward him and Sylvester grabbed him to keep him from falling.


    There was something wrong. Very wrong. His instinct, which had never failed him in his entire life, urged him to leap backwards and that was the only thing that kept him from being impaled by bones like spikes protruding from what was no man at all, but in reality a worn corpse, a wrapper for a trap.


    As if it were a pupa...


    A creature like the one he had just killed emerged from the man''s corpse.


    Sylvester took a step back, the kitchen was a pretty tight space to fight in, but he could manage, it was more of an obstacle for the creature than for him. The real problem was what was in front of him.


    The second creature, or something more sinister?


    Namely, what if it really was a pupa, what if it had been born right now, right in front of his eyes?


    Then, quite possibly...


    The trap wasn''t the corpse, but the whole tower.


    And the hostages were not hostages but replacements.

 22. The Thing (Part 2)

    The elevators didn''t work. It must have been their doing, which made them smarter than she had thought. So they used the elevator shafts to go up, though it surely wasn''t much faster than running up the stairs.


    They came to a ballroom. Or what had once been a ballroom. Now it was nothing more than a shelter for a bunch of scared people.


    "We''re syndicate agents. We''re here to..."


    Help.


    A bit of a clich¨¦ phrase, perhaps, but it was usually reassuring. This time she couldn''t even finish it, though. She heard a cracking sound and her first thought was of a walnut being cracked open.


    Then that noise got worse and she realized it was the crunching of bones.


    In front of her eyes, without her being able to do anything, one of the hostages was ripped open. The air was filled with screams and the smell of blood. Out of the box came a creature that didn''t belong to this world, to any sane plane of existence.


    She would have to report this to the boss, though he seemed to have taken his time sharing necessary information, calling her only when he was done with his own fight.


    She contacted him.


    "I have found the second Remnant."


    "Third."


    She heard what sounded like something large falling to the ground.


    "I''m fighting, too."


    Oh. Cynthia didn''t know what was going on here.


    If there were several creatures cooperating somehow, for some reason, or was it just one like the Remnant that had attacked the plane and nearly killed them all. Copies of itself, or the ability to create dangerous servants.


    In any case, the situation had become more complicated than they had imagined.


    The nature of this job was that they could only react. Lunar Remnants could be born at any time and anywhere in the world, so there was no way to proactively eliminate them. Almost every time they would arrive when the damage was already done. Sometimes they couldn''t even save anyone.


    Just kill the monster, a hollow victory. But this tower was full of potential victims. Scared people within reach of the monster she could save, right in front of her very eyes. That was the most important thing. They were right there.


    They weren''t a vague idea of the innocents the Remnant could have slaughtered if they hadn''t stopped it in time. They were right here, counting on her. Desperately wanting to survive.


    It was a selfish wish, but not in the sense that she wanted them to be present so they could thank her. She simply wanted to see it with her own eyes. She simply wanted to save the people within her reach.


    Maybe it was selfish, but it was human.


    And there was nothing wrong with that wish being granted. Cynthia drew his revolvers and raised them, taking aim. She would defeat this creature and any others that came her way, and she would protect everyone.


    "Come and get me, you bastard."


    ¡ª¡ª


    The creature lunged at him, leaping over the kitchen counter. The same move could work twice -- why fix what wasn''t broken? But he didn''t want to get his arm bitten a second time.


    Instead, he jumped.


    Not toward the mouth of the beast, but toward the ceiling. And as he descended, Sylvester fell like a comet, splitting the creature in two as he passed. But it was too soon to claim victory.


    Though in two, the Lunar Remnant had survived. Its tentacles curled around one of his ankles. By pulling it managed to knock him down. It dragged him across the floor and slammed him against the fridge like a whip.


    It was natural.


    Even he had survived, albeit barely, being snapped in half once. It was only natural that a creature from beyond the stars would have no problem with something that had nearly killed him.


    The knives placed just above his head trembled. They had been rattled by the force of the blow, which had been transmitted even up there.


    As they trembled, they ended up falling right on top of him.


    ¡ª¡ª


    The creature that emerged didn''t attack Ryan and her first, recognizing them as the biggest threat in the room, no, as the only threat. Instead, its claws and tentacles immediately turned toward the helpless crowd.


    Cynthia clicked her tongue.


    Firing continuously, she broke into a run towards the enemy. It wasn''t as if it was using the hostages'' lives as blackmail to force them to do what it wanted. It had simply set out to slaughter them.


    Even if she had dropped her weapons, the slaughter would have continued. There didn''t seem to be a reason beyond that they were the closest humans.


    Even though that thing must have been part of this plan, it didn''t seem intelligent. It appeared to be an animal like a newborn Lunar Remnant, so.... Was it? Is that what this was all about?


    Questions for later.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    Ryan also charged at the enemy, of course. Humanity''s supposed hope.... They''d already taken samples and all, but he still didn''t understand how they''d let him stick his neck out on a cam mission.


    Ryan also charged against the enemy, of course. The supposed hope of humanity.... They''d already taken samples and all, but she still didn''t understand how they''d let him stick his neck out on a field mission. She hadn''t protested because it was none of her business, but it still struck her as odd.


    Anyway, she wouldn''t turn down any help right now.


    The bullets didn''t do much to the Lunar Remnant. Their explosive power could blow a hole in a bank vault, but they didn''t even pierce the skin of that beast.


    It was tougher than normal.


    As it got close enough, Cynthia jumped. She covered the rest of the distance feet first.


    Her boots hit the beast''s head.


    The blow didn''t do much to it, but it did disorient it, causing it to stagger, more out of surprise than anything else perhaps, and finally turning its attention to her.


    Which was where it belonged. Because she could handle it.


    Using the monster''s body for support, she leapt again.


    Towards the ceiling. Towards the chandelier that hung there.


    Cynthia brought the chandelier down on the creature''s head with one shot. The monster howled as it rolled over. Again, more rage than pain, but at least she had put an end to the slaughter.


    She was going to save them.


    It was a pity that people had died even after she had arrived, but.... She would save them, even if not all of them. She had to do it so that she could go on living with pride.


    Then, she had a more or less good idea.


    If she wanted to prevent such a thing from happening for good, she had but to change the battlefield.


    Easier said than done, but it could be done.


    "Hey, you dumbass. Push him toward the window."


    If she were fighting next to the boss, that cunning professional would understand what she was planning at a glance. It was too early to say it was a bond forged in the heat of battle, but they did understand each other better than other people.


    But since she had ended up babysitting this guy, well, she would have to settle for the time being.


    At least he didn''t protest.


    Every second counted, every second could mean the difference between a dozen more or less survivors. So, knowing that there was no time for her to explain anything to him, he ran to carry out his orders.


    He tackled the creature and dragged its massive body closer to the window. Slowly, he gained the upper hand in the grapple and caused the beast to lose ground. It had done well, but not well enough.


    Cynthia finished the job by firing point-blank. As close as possible, in fact. She pressed the barrel of both revolvers against the monster''s forehead, then the triggers.


    And then she flew.


    Against the glass and through it. The glass explosion was vaguely satisfying. This was the tenth floor, but even if it had fallen from the top of the tower it wouldn''t have died.


    For that reason, it didn''t even let him fall.


    Cynthia jumped behind the monster. She used the rope launcher twice in quick succession to perfection. First, she nailed a rope to the edge of the shattered window.


    Secondly, one to the monster''s body, preventing it from falling.


    That monster dug its claws into the facade of the building as it had given it the opportunity, strengthening its position. Even if the rope was torn off, it wouldn''t fall now.


    It was she who was in a precarious position, with only a steel rope protecting her from a fall of more than ten stories. Certain death.


    But at least she had gotten what she wanted. To get the monster away from the crowd, away from the helpless victims who could only be slaughtered.


    She could defend herself. If she died, it would only be her fault.


    She could do this.


    "Hey, what am I supposed to do?"


    And he couldn''t even figure that out on his own.


    "You... stay where you are and be ready to grab the rope if it falls."


    It was basically trusting a complete stranger with her life only if she let things get to that point. She''d get this over with quickly and get back up to the ballroom.


    The beast ran upwards towards her, leaving deep furrows in the facade with its claws. Sylvester and Ryan were also in the building, but right now she was the defense of the people in the ballroom. That was the current reality she couldn''t hide from.


    And a thin steel rope was all that separated her from death.


    She didn''t even have to shred her to kill her, just cut that rope. She''d left Ryan in charge of grabbing it in the worst case scenario, but even then the creature''s victory would be all but assured as soon as it cut that rope.


    Cynthia didn''t want to depend on that guy, in any case.


    The thought of that was as unpleasant as the thought of swallowing her own vomit. Dying here would seem a thousand times better to her than being saved by his assistance were it not for what that would mean to the people in the ballroom.


    It was almost upon her. Of course she''d kept firing on the enemy, not just thinking useless things, but her bullets weren''t doing much for her.


    She hadn''t done much good on the plane or on the island either.


    Maybe that''s why she didn''t just have to do it, she wanted to do it this way.


    She had nothing to prove, but maybe a surprisingly large part of her didn''t agree at all.


    Now. Claws flew. Silver flashes against the unfathomable darkness of night. Since bullets were doing nothing, she thought of using the revolvers in another way. Crossing her arms, she pushed them against the claws, stopping the attack.


    One of the claws came close to stabbing her in the eye, and she already had enough with having lost an arm, but she stopped in time, thank God.


    Anyway, yes, at least it had served her well for this.


    Using one revolver to keep its claws at bay, she slid the other against the being''s chin and pulled the trigger. Sending it away. Sending it down again. And, of course, it saved itself in the same way.


    Somewhere along the way it had gotten rid of the wire that she''d shot at it, so she couldn''t take advantage of that, either to attack or as a defense.


    But...


    But what?


    She let it get close. Didn''t even fire. Just because there were no visible wounds didn''t mean she wasn''t hurting it at all except when it got close enough, but even then she didn''t shoot. She waited patiently until the time was right.


    Leaning her boots on the wall, she jumped.


    Over the claws that sought her, over the closing jaw, and landed on the beast. She wasted no time. Cynthia turned and wrapped the rope around the monster''s neck.


    Tightening.


    She''d thought there was something odd about it from the start. While distance was a factor for firearms, a few feet couldn''t make the difference between some damage and none at all. That wasn''t how things worked.


    Did it have some sort of invisible defense that only had time to activate with distance? In any case, this was working.


    The wire sank deeper and deeper into the neck. It wasn''t designed as a weapon, and it was weaker than the shots from her revolvers, though it was something that shouldn''t be compared. But it was clearly working better.


    Just a little more.


    Just a little more and...


    It ripped her head off. Like a guillotine.


    It came out even better than she''d hoped.


    Much better. She''d even say that decapitating it had been too easy. With that move, of course, not only did the creature''s head fall off, but the rope snapped and Cynthia was about to accompany the enemy into the dark abyss beneath her feet.


    But Ryan was there.


    He caught the rope and pulled it upward. Just as he had instructed her, but it was a bit annoying all the same.


    Cynthia raised her head.


    Well, she''d let it go just this once.


    Irrational? Okay. Unfair? Not a chance. But that was just bullshit, fair or unfair, rational or irrational, it didn''t matter a damn. Here and now, all she was thinking about was whether it was useful.


    And it wasn''t. It was counterproductive.


    Cynthia buried that grudge for the moment as she stepped back into the ballroom.


    ¡ª¡ª


    There was no tension or danger. The rain of knives fell on him and he couldn''t avoid it. One stuck in his hand, a couple in his arm. Another in the shoulder. In any case, they were like mosquito bites. Something absolutely irrelevant.


    He got to his feet.


    Sylvester wrenched the knife that pierced his hand. He had to use it to ward off the Lunar Remnant''s attack. It didn''t give him time to let go and swing the katana.


    In the second before the creature leapt for him again, he dropped the knife and ripped another one out as fast as he could. Mosquito bites, only. Yes. He hadn''t lied, but mosquito bites were still a nuisance.


    That was what his job was all about, after all.


    To eliminate any annoyance immediately, as soon as possible.

 23. The Thing, Part 3

    "I... We have taken care of the third Remnant." Cynthia informed him.


    There was something peculiar in her tone. He didn''t think it was relevant to the mission, so he would leave it for another time. Anyway, it was probably as simple as she didn''t like having to give credit to Ryan.


    He hadn''t seen the fight, obviously.


    Seeing through walls wasn''t one of his many skills. Too bad, it would be convenient. He''d have to keep it hidden, though. People were afraid enough of him, if they knew he could invade their privacy with a thought it would be a thousand times worse.


    Behaving as if the government hadn''t taken all meaning out of the word privacy already in and of itself.


    But anyway, people were irrational.


    Anyway, getting to the point. He couldn''t be sure since he hadn''t seen it with his own eyes, but he believed Cynthia wouldn''t have used a plural if Ryan hadn''t contributed significantly to the battle.


    "I''m done too," Sylvester said.


    Against the wall lay a strange piece of modern art. The alien creature was pierced by dozens of knives. Of course, the same knives that had stabbed him first.


    It dissolved into purple energy in front of his eyes, reduced to those butterflies, which, confused, looked for a way out. But with their life, brief and fleeting as a spark on a starless night, they got nowhere. They didn''t even make it out of the kitchen, much less fly to the moon, which was where they came from.


    Where those sons of bitches should have stayed.


    "Listen, the Remnant we fought with came out of a person." He lowered his voice. Then she must have been near some hostages, she didn''t want them to hear her.


    "Yeah. This one too."


    "So, do you think this isn''t over?"


    "No." Surely not. It would be too easy. "I''m sure a lot of the people here are, like... infected. And in a five-star hotel, a tower this big, the easiest way to spread an infection would be..."


    "The water and the food."


    "Or the air, but if it were that easy something would have happened to us too."


    "Thank you. I hadn''t thought about that... Or rather, I didn''t want to think about that."


    Speaking of things that were better not to think about, transmission by food and drink was easy enough by itself. How many people had been spared, then, if it worked as he thought it would?


    Would they have to give up the idea of saving anyone?


    He grimaced.


    If this was how things worked, was it too late?


    And even if it wasn''t, what could he do? He was a fighter. As long as he had something to hit, all well and good, but he couldn''t save people from an evil that spawned inside them.


    If he could do something miraculous like that, he would have solved the Lunar Remnant crisis and saved the world years ago.


    But he couldn''t.


    He could only kill. Sylvester put a hand to his forehead, his head was going to explode, what a pain.


    "Boss?"


    Throbbing. It was as if his head had transformed into a second heart that throbbed painfully. He didn''t know if he could do this. He didn''t know, but he had to.


    Everyone was counting on him. He had no other choice. He would manage somehow.


    "It''s nothing," he said weakly. "Cynthia..."


    What? He didn''t know what to say to her either. But he had to say something or it would be too obvious. He was the pillar here.


    The boss. If his confidence wavered, so would the rest of his team''s. He couldn''t be human and have doubts.


    "It''s nothing. We''ll assume we''ve taken care of all the threats and start escorting them out. The organization''s scientists might be able to do something for them."


    Was it a mistake, and even if it was a mistake, was it a terrible one from which he could not recover even if he realized it in time? He didn''t know, but he didn''t see any other option. Seeing the future wasn''t among his incredible powers either.


    "Okay."


    The only thing they could do was to move forward with their heads held high. And accept the consequences, good or bad.


    So that''s what he set out to do.


    There were only three agents in the building. Even if each went their separate ways, it would be difficult to escort such a large number of people to the exit. They could give up on the idea of getting them all out of the building at once even if no major complications arose.


    There were simply too many guests, even discounting those who had been brutally murdered.


    At least getting them to cooperate wasn''t proving too difficult. At a time like this, where nothing was certain, they could overcome the instinctive fear they had and depend on him.


    Sylvester felt like a father with many, many children as he escorted them through the halls.


    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    And he was thinking.


    Every time he picked up a new person, he thought about whether they were still a human being or one of those things. He thought about how many infiltrating parasites there were already in the crowd.


    It couldn''t be as terrible as he had feared at first.


    Thinking logically, there was no reason for them to have held back if they had already infected so many people. They would have discarded those empty shells and come for them from the first moment.


    However, that didn''t change things too much.


    How many people were staying at the hotel? It could be ten, twenty, forty or fifty of them. Let''s say it was a maximum of fifty out of two thousand people.


    In any case, when they decided to reveal themselves the situation would get out of their control.


    It was like the sword of Damocles over his head.


    No, it wasn''t that he was going to lose control when they revealed themselves. It meant that the control he''d thought he''d had was nothing more than an illusion before he''d even set foot in this hotel. How irritating, it was too good a trap. They had thought it through.


    Sylvester wasn''t going to be defeated, no one could defeat him, but he would leave here with a bitter aftertaste in his mouth anyway.


    How much time was left until the moment when everything would get screwed up?


    If there were infected among the crowd he had been collecting, then they would attack before they left. Before they could get them into the trucks, which shouldn''t be far away now, and take them to be examined for testing by the syndicate scientists.


    Then, there shouldn''t be much left.


    They had almost reached the exit. The elevators didn''t work and it was a rather large hotel by today''s standards, but even so the ride had been frighteningly short. They would spring into action...


    As soon as they had the exit in sight.


    When he saw the man lurch forward, making noises as if he were choking, all he could think was: I knew it. Fuck, I knew it.


    But that wasn''t what this was about, at least not yet. The man didn''t open up like a cheap wrapper, like a butterfly''s pupa, he just couldn''t take it anymore so he collapsed and vomited violently between his legs, unable to stop shaking.


    Yes. He doubted he was going to transform.


    And Sylvester doubted the Lunar Remnants could act so well. Maybe they had started out human, but when you looked in the mirror and couldn''t see a trace of yourself, how much humanity could there really be left?


    Sylvester approached the man, crouched down beside him.


    "It must be hard to believe, but I understand how you feel. The fear of dying. Worse yet, the fear of not having any control over your destiny.... The horror of realizing how fragile everyday life is. I understand, but you have to take a deep breath and start putting one foot in front of the other. That''s the only way to get through anything."


    Cynthia would have been better at it, but he could manage. That he himself said so was somehow wrong, but he thought it had been a more or less inspirational speech. It helped that it wasn''t a lie even though it might sound like he was just saying what they wanted to hear, or at least what he thought they needed to hear.


    He helped that poor bastard up. There was no caution in that move. At that point, he had completely abandoned the suspicion that he might actually be a monster waiting for his moment to get out.


    They continued walking toward the exit. The rest of the group had stopped when he did, genuinely as if they were frightened children who didn''t want to go too far from their father or perhaps the teacher who was supposed to be watching them.


    Whatever it was about, things hadn''t turned into complete chaos at this point. That was enough for him. It made things easier for him, so he wouldn''t unnecesarily complicate things.


    He wasn''t wrong. The man he was helping walk to the exit had never been the one he had to worry about.


    The sound of something cutting through the air.


    Sylvester pushed the man leaning on him aside. At the same time he jumped away to avoid the attack. Gray tentacles passed where his head had been less than a second ago. Another creature just like it. It wasn''t surprising, but... he''d had enough of Lunar Remnants that could ''breed''. He had encountered too many of them lately.


    The tentacles changed trajectory. Naturally, they were a living thing, part of the beast''s body, not a projectile. It was the most natural and easiest thing in the world. Its trajectory changed and...


    It severed all the tentacles in mid-air before they could impale the civilian.


    One more had transformed. He knew that person had been dead all along, but he still felt as if he hadn''t been able to save them. This was a question of how many people had been dead before they even set foot in the hotel, not how many innocents he could save. That was how he had to think about this.


    The weight of each life. If he thought too much about people he had never had a chance to save, he would go insane.


    The creature that had emerged from its human shell was identical to the previous two, probably the same as the one Ryan and Cynthia had killed as well. That was because even though they appeared everywhere and were dormant threats that could be on any of the hotel guests, it was a single Lunar Remnant.


    That much was clear at this point. They couldn''t be that similar otherwise.


    Much about the Lunar Remnants remained a mystery, but it wasn''t as if there were species among them. Each of them was a different monster. Exactly, they were only alike in that they were all monsters.


    "Abominations that should not exist in this world," Sylvester muttered, not realizing he was uttering it out loud.


    Without even realizing that.


    Then he leapt over the tables and couches, over the crowd. He descended on the Lunar Remnant, knocking him to the floor. Of course, he ended up on the floor too, but he recovered a little faster. A little was more than enough. A tenth of a second was enough to make the difference in a fight to the death.


    Before the thing could get up, he thrust his sword into its stomach and pushed.


    With great force, he shoved the monster through the receptionist''s desk and into the wall on the other side. Just into it. The wall gave way, but didn''t break yet.


    That was fine with him, he hadn''t intended to break it even though it would have served to keep the crowd away from the monster, at least. He just cut. He swung the sword from the stomach to almost the creature''s neck as it writhed uselessly, unable to reach him.


    Red blood gushed out. It wasn''t particularly strange. Although most Lunar Remnants tended to have blood of a different color, there were some with red blood as well.


    It wasn''t strange, but it didn''t mean it couldn''t bother him.


    Red, the same color as the blood in his veins. What a joke. There was nothing human or animal about them, they didn''t even belong in this world. What a fucking joke.


    The children abandoned their father and ran away while screaming towards the exit. Good.


    He returned his attention to the fallen monster at his feet. He dismantled it into seventeen pieces with hardly any resistance. It was even easier than the fight against the creature in the kitchen. Yes, the problem was the way it spread, but individually they weren''t a threat at all.


    For them to be a threat, it would take....


    Of course.


    Sylvester should have learned by now not to push his luck. As if they''d been waiting for him to get that one thought through his head, five of those creatures emerged at the same time.


    Many had already managed to get out of the death trap this building had become, but just as many were trapped by the appearance of these creatures.


    Between a rock and a hard place.


    They couldn''t move forward since it would be throwing themselves into the clutches of these creatures, but they couldn''t move back either since there were more creatures waiting for them.


    Therefore, some chose to keep running anyway and were brutally torn to pieces. Some thought better of it, but it was too late to turn back, and they were already in the hands of the creatures.


    For that very reason, some chose to keep running anyway and were brutally torn to pieces. Some had second thoughts, but it was too late to turn back, and they inevitably suffered the same fate. It happened too fast for him to do anything about it.


    "I had expected something like this, but even so, I think I was too optimistic. I must be getting old."


    But not too old for this.


    That wasn''t allowed, since there was no one to replace him. He went on the attack.

 24. The Thing, Part 4

    The boss contacted her.


    Sylvester wasn''t one to make social calls as it was, but in a situation like this it could obviously only mean there was bad news. It wasn''t as if she couldn''t imagine the many ways in which the situation could get worse.


    She was already constantly looking back over her shoulder, convinced that a significant portion of the civilians following her could be harboring one of those things inside their bodies.


    The question was, had the situation gone awry in a way she could imagine and was he simply calling her to inform her of that?


    Or had it been screwed up in an unimaginable way and he was calling her to provide new information?


    "There''s a mess in the lobby. Five people have transformed so far."


    Nothing new, then.


    Better, but not good. Not by a long shot.


    "Got it. Situation looks bad, huh?"


    "Yeah. I don''t know... how we can fix this." He wasn''t the kind of person who would admit something like that even if he had doubts, either. It must have taken a lot of courage for him to say it out loud, even though he was supposed to be rigid and unwavering, like the leader he was.


    For the sake of inspiring confidence in his subordinates and hope in humanity.


    "Maybe it''s already too late to fix it, but... That doesn''t mean I''m going to stop fighting. I''m not giving up."


    "Yes. Yes, that''s true. Thank you."


    She wasn''t sure why he''d thanked him. She hadn''t said anything special, but he''d accept it anyway.


    "That''s what I''m here for."


    That, at least, was the truth.


    But despite her supportive words, she also had no fucking idea what was the best course to follow.


    She had no doubt that they could survive a situation like this, they had survived worse, but she didn''t want to survive bathed in the blood of innocents and surrounded by mountains of corpses. If she had joined the syndicate it was to save people, not to see them die without being able to do anything but grit her teeth and resign herself. If all she could do was resign herself like the innocents trembling behind her, then where was the difference? What had she worked so hard and trained so long for? Where was it...?


    The difference.


    Yes, the difference.


    Cynthia turned back to the crowd.


    "What''s the matter?"


    With revolvers raised, wrists crossed, as usual. Many turned around, frantically searching for danger that wasn''t there. Not yet, at least.


    "Why did we stop?"


    She didn''t know if she was making a mistake or not. If she was, she hoped she could add it to the list calmly, instead of it turning into a heavy regret that would drag her down into the depths of the abyss.


    "You already know. It''s understandable that you don''t want to think about it, but most of you already know what the problem is. And the rest of you, well, I''ve heard you talk. Sharing information. That monster appeared from inside a person. Right now, in this crowd, there are most likely others waiting for the moment to strike."


    "So... what are you going to do?" said one in particular. He had a face full of sweat already, as if he thought she was this close to pulling the triggers and mowing down the entire crowd, burning down the entire forest to wipe out a few weeds.


    Good thing Ryan was staying out of this instead of assuming she was crazy.


    "I''m not going to hurt you guys. So relax. The only ones who have anything to fear from me are the Lunar Remnants, because that''s my job. Not the humans. That''s precisely why I''m not going to sit around waiting for them to attack us. It''s in everyone''s best interest. That''s right, I only have your best interests in mind. That''s why you should cooperate with me without complaint. Please."


    Cynthia started walking towards the crowd.


    "With what? What should we do?" A new voice. But it gave the impression that the crowd was a single entity, no matter how many times a different person spoke, they all had the same questions, the same fears and the same hopes. They were united.


    "Just don''t panic." Ha, right, as if it were that simple. If only it were as easy to say as it was to do. It was practically inevitable that they would lose control, but she hoped she could put that off as long as possible. For everyone''s sake. "This speech is not for you, but for the monsters hiding in the crowd."


    Yes, that had been her goal all along.


    "I don''t care if you are a single Lunar Remnant with a more than peculiar ability or a group of freaks who have somehow managed to cooperate. In either case, I know why you put everything together. It''s not as if you were newborns carrying out a one-sided, senseless massacre...."


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    As she spoke, she went around the crowd with revolvers held high in the air, examining everyone around her. Looking for even the smallest and most uncertain clue. Looking for anything to sink her teeth into.


    "All this has a purpose. And it''s obvious what it is. It''s always the same. You''re here for Sylvester, aren''t you? If you''re smart enough to put together a plan, good or bad, you should also know that you''re basically walking into a wood chipper. It doesn''t matter if there are ten of you or a hundred of you, you can''t beat him. That''s a fact. He will slaughter you no matter what you do. If you''re counting on the hostages to make him hesitate, I''m sorry to say you''re deluded." Cynthia was aware that this would accelerate the fuse; yes, accelerate, because it had been lit from the start. The only other option she could see was just continue walking until those sons of bitches decided to finally come out and start killing everyone. For lack of better ideas, this was what she had. If they ran around like headless chickens, well, at least the innocent ones would stay away from the possible monsters, since they would stay where they were no matter what. "He won''t like it, but saving as many people as possible is the natural path for a hero. He wouldn''t let himself be defeated in any way when so much depends on him."


    "Please, what are you saying? We are all scared and can''t think."


    "Yes, please stop saying scary things."


    "We just have to get out of here, don''t we? Why have we stopped? What if we''re being infected now! Just by being here, breathing this air! What if we turn into one of those monsters?"


    The latter''s emotions were too real to be a creature acting, posing as a human being. She could definitely rule him out.


    Too bad that after that there were still a few hundred people she wasn''t sure about.


    "You still don''t get it? Very well, I''ll make it even simpler for you. If you want to even dream of defeating him, you need my help, you poor idiots," she said, smiling wildly.


    It was wrong for her to say so, but her confidence was radiant. More accurately, the confidence she appeared to have, because she wasn''t at all sure if this would end well for her.


    But that was the least of it in the end.


    All she knew was that this was the best way to save as many people as possible.


    At worst, it would be one life in exchange for the lives of hundreds of innocents. Thousands, potentially.


    It was a fair trade, wasn''t it?


    ***


    Sylvester cut another of the creatures in half, ending its life. The lobby had become a complete mess in a matter of a couple of minutes at most. The floor, the couches, the lamps, everything was stained with blood. Pulsing red blood. The blood of the creatures, the same color as any human being, mingled with that of their victims, indistinguishable.


    And there were many victims. He did his best, but it was inevitable from the moment they had failed to escape in time. For him, he had simply been caught in a bad situation. For them, the lobby had become a death trap. Arms and legs floating in huge pools of blood. Dead heads staring into nothingness, horror still written on their faces.


    A scene straight out of hell itself, wherever you looked. But at least he had made them pay. All six creatures had disappeared by now, well, the one that he''d recently split in half was only in the process of doing so. But it was almost as if he could see them still, ghostly shapes glowing under the red"tinged lights, purple like the energy they were melting into.


    For example, the one he had killed in the center of the hall, crushing its skull with the chandelier.


    For example, the one he had nailed to one of the pillars in the room with the claws of darkness, practically crucifying it, only to rip off its arms and legs, tearing it to pieces by pulling them in all directions.


    For example, the two who had ended up buried under the fallen debris of the ceiling only to be decapitated.


    A lot had happened in at most a couple of minutes, in short, but his job was done. And enough people had survived. Fewer than he would have liked, but it could have been a thousand times worse. He was satisfied.


    Sylvester stood upright, taking a deep breath, forcing himself to relax, which was not the same as letting his guard down. Then he turned around.


    In time to see Ryan and Cynthia entering the lobby, followed by a huge crowd. That is, the same way he had entered here. Good thing the crowd wasn''t like sheep being led to the slaughter, since he was done here.


    The new arrivals rushed out through the glass doors (which at this point were frames rather, there wasn''t much glass to be seen), along with the guests who had survived the massacre in the lobby.


    Those who weren''t paralyzed with fear, that is.


    Those who had recovered from their ordeal enough to move, however staggeringly, toward the exit.


    Cynthia and Ryan approached him, of course.


    "I''m glad to see you."


    Safe and sound, more or less.


    They continued to approach without saying anything, not even a greeting. Maybe that should have set off alarms inside him, but he was relieved to see that nothing had happened to them and tired from the fight that had just ended, even if physically it had been no big deal.


    Therefore, he only realized it when he felt the pain.


    A sharp pain. It wasn''t accompanied by a big rumble like thunder in a closed room, nor the smell of gunpowder. Firearms didn''t work that way nowadays.


    But he had definitely been shot.


    Ryan had shot him with one of Cynthia''s revolvers. Sylvester fell, sinking to one knee on the ground.


    Like a man waiting to be knighted. But this was nothing so good, the only thing he would do when his head came within reach would be to cut it off.


    He opened his mouth, surprised. Some blood slipped between his lips.


    He had made a mistake, clearly, but to what extent could anyone blame him? It had never crossed his mind that Ryan would stab him in the back, not when he was the only reason he was still alive and not locked away in the depths of darkness, subjected to round"the"clock testing, a hell without rest and endless experimentation.


    How could he have seen it coming?


    One of Cynthia''s revolvers - when had he taken it? Cynthia didn''t look surprised at all. Her expression hadn''t changed at any time as she watched him fall. Even now, it gave no hint of anything, like a blank canvas.


    As if she wasn''t quite there at all.


    How could he have seen this coming?


    Then Ryan''s chest exploded. A dozen identical creatures came out. It was impossible for all of them to have been in there, but one of them alone was already bigger than any human being.


    Seeing that, he understood something. It was at least half of the puzzle.


    Cynthia aimed the only revolver she now had at the emerging creatures, quickly and without missing a single shot. That was the proper reaction as her partner and a member of the syndicate, but it made the nonchalance she had shown a moment ago even more confusing.


    Sylvester stood up.


    It didn''t matter, really.


    He didn''t have to understand everything.


    The only thing he had to understand right now was that he had to kill the enemies in front of his eyes. And then get Ryan out of here. Whether he had shot him or not, he was more useful to them alive than dead. He couldn''t afford to let him die. Yes. That was all he had to understand, enough and to spare.


    Ryan was open. Not dead, not yet, but he had received his punishment immediately, so he didn''t have to worry about him.


    Sylvester moved forward to fight the twelve creatures that had appeared, with a bullet in his stomach and blood dripping hot as hell, side by side with the person who had allowed this to happen to him, for whatever reason.

 25. The Thing, Part 5

    Sylvester had been shot in the stomach at point-blank range.


    Even if it didn''t look like it, he was a human being. The pain was horrible, as if a hot iron was constantly being pressed against the bullet wound. It had caught him by surprise, and it had gone clean through him.


    It wouldn''t kill him, that was for sure. But he couldn''t avoid the effects of losing so much blood. A slight dizziness, slowing down, even if it wasn''t by much. Deep down, he was a human being. If he was cut, he bled, and if he bled he lost the most important thing to keep functioning.


    But did that mean that the twelve creatures that had emerged from within Ryan stood a chance?


    Of course not.


    Not by a long shot.


    Their only advantage and chance lay in numerical superiority. There were twelve of them now, more at a time than everyone he had killed so far in this tower. But so what, haha? They were so weak that it would take two or three times that many to pose a serious threat.


    Twelve enemies.


    Twelve desperate beasts, full of vitality.


    He tore them to shreds.


    Dismantled them with efficient lethality. The first of them flew off in four pieces before it could reach him.


    A step forward, a twist.


    The second flew out against a third, its tentacles impaling its companion and ensuring its death. It never recovered. He severed its head before it could even try.


    The fourth he cut in half.


    But not with the katana. He grabbed it with the anchors of darkness and simply pulled until it gave way. The smell of blood was so thick even after the Lunar Remnants had disappeared that in reality that bloodbath didn''t change the atmosphere one iota.


    The fifth stumbled over the blood and corpses of its companions and straight to its sword.


    Of course, Cynthia had kept shooting in the meantime. But what he was getting at was that while he appreciated her help, it hadn''t been sorely needed.


    In a matter of seconds, the fight was almost over before it really began.


    So what was the bullet wound in his stomach?


    What were these things getting in his way?


    Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing at all.


    Really his only concern wasn''t being able to finish the fight fast enough to get Ryan help.


    Which, well, was a very big worry. His survival might well be tied up with the survival of the human race. If he''d known it would end this way, he wouldn''t have brought him to this place.


    But not for that long. That was all he wanted to say.


    He''d end this quickly and save his life for the second time.


    Only seven remained standing. Only seven had a chance to even resist, but they had been dead since they came out of Ryan. They had given up the only chance of survival by not walking away.


    The sixth was split into six pieces. It wasn''t some kind of joke or done on purpose, it was pure chance, but it happened. Its pieces flew even farther than the power of his sword would have propelled them as Cynthia opened fire on it as well.


    By now she had had time to retrieve the revolver from Ryan''s hand. Weak, pale, covered in blood. So now she had twice the firepower.


    No one knew that better than he did. He had felt that firepower in his own bones just recently.


    It was a figure of speech, but also somewhat literal. The bullet had broken a couple of his ribs. He''d said Ryan shot him in the stomach, but it wasn''t like he''d looked. The pain must have confused him.


    Actually the bullet had gone high enough that it was a miracle it hadn''t penetrated one of his lungs.


    He knew that for sure even though he had spurted blood from his mouth. It hadn''t punctured one of his lungs, although it had come close.


    As for the remaining enemies... Well, what else could he say? They hadn''t been a threat from the start. He''d blown them to smithereens, that was all.


    The only relevant thing was what the last of them said before he gave them the coup de grace.


    "We never stood a chance even with two serious gunshot wounds."


    Two? Ryan had shot him twice? He hadn''t even noticed.


    "Unbelievable. Who''s the monster here?


    "You," Sylvester answered simply.


    And then he made it disappear from this world.


    "Boss."


    "You don''t need to explain anything to me. You tricked them into abandoning the bodies of the guests and getting into Ryan, in exchange for letting them shoot me."


    "I''m glad you figured it out without having to say anything. Well, if you hadn''t noticed, my head would probably be off my shoulders."


    "I only just realized. I didn''t have time to think about anything before, I just trusted you."


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "Oh. Thank you."


    "You''ll have to worry about your head if Ryan dies here, though.


    "Yeah. Yeah, it''s true... I could have let myself be possessed, but then I wouldn''t have stood a chance of surviving when the creatures emerged."


    "I know. You don''t need to explain yourself to me."


    Sylvester approached Ryan''s mangled body. Unconscious, but not dead. Not yet. He held him in his arms.


    It was proof of his transformation that he hadn''t already died, that there was even a chance of saving him after his chest had exploded and then been stretched by the creatures on the way out.


    Even though he had regained his human form, he wasn''t normal. He would never be normal again.


    They approached the exit, into the darkness of the night where the syndicate vans and ambulances waited. But Sylvester dropped Ryan before crossing the threshold. Not because he had mustered surprising strength as he scrambled, but because his right arm grew at least twice as big.


    Consciously or unconsciously, he had begun the process of transforming into a Lunar Remnant.


    Precisely now. No one should know of his existence.


    Cynthia had made the right decision as far as saving most of the innocents within reach was concerned, but this could cause major problems.


    It shouldn''t be that way, but the existence of someone like Ryan was inherently political.


    But now that he had started, he couldn''t stop, Sylvester knew. He gritted his teeth. Besides, surely this was Ryan''s best chance to save himself. Even if he was stronger than before, even in human form, the transformation should give him more strength and speed up his regeneration.


    If he had to choose between two bad situations, obviously the least worst was that his life would be saved even if the price was that his existence would be revealed to the world.


    But he didn''t want to have to choose.


    He wanted to get his way and take the best of both sides. He was that greedy.


    "Bring one of the vans to the back of the hotel," Sylvester said, contacting the other agents through the earpiece. He didn''t wait for a response.


    He grabbed Ryan again and ran off in the opposite direction so far; it was a bit difficult to handle him when he kept unconsciously scrambling and one of his arms was so huge, but he managed.


    For the good of the world, he was managing. That had been his job from the beginning.


    Cynthia accompanied him.


    He thought about telling her that she could have walked out the door, but decided to leave it at that. Not that he needed her help right now, but it wasn''t like she was a bother either.


    They reached the dank, dark alley in the back.


    He wondered which was wetter, the alley with the rain or the hallway he had left behind with the blood of humans? Good question for which he had no answer.


    In any case, by the time they arrived he had not just one arm transformed, but both.


    And the chest was transforming, the ribs breaking and falling outward. At this rate he soon wouldn''t fit in the back of the truck.


    Not in the back or anywhere, he would break the vehicle in two in the process of the transformation. But he could worry about that later. He opened the back doors of the truck, which had been a little faster than they were, and pulled Ryan inside. He climbed in with him. Cynthia did too, following close behind him once more.


    "Quickly," he said as he closed the doors.


    Not addressing Cynthia, but the driver. He really noticed him for the first time when he heard him mutter something. It was a man who was probably a decade ahead of him, not that it mattered.


    "What do you say?"


    "Nothing, sir. I just hope I don''t wind up in trouble because I had to come and pick up that monster."


    "If that''s all you''re worried about, you can rest easy. My company is a safer place than any other in the world."


    The driver said nothing in response. He didn''t need to. The silence, as usual, spoke volumes.


    They all arrived safe and sound at one of the syndicate''s subway bases, placing the van in an elevator, a system used not only by them but by all kinds of people living underground. Many desperate people ended up living in places where they couldn''t see sunlight because the cost of housing underground was much less expensive than above ground.


    The Lunar Remnants and the changes created by their appearance were too recent for anyone to have become accustomed to them.


    But sooner or later a generation would be born that was used to living most of the day without seeing sunlight. Somehow, that thought saddened Sylvester more than the thought of the moon exploding and the seas tearing everything apart, the literal end of the world.


    Maybe there was nothing strange about it. Because, deep down, he was still a human being.


    Once there, however, an unpleasant surprise awaited them. What he had feared came true. Not Ryan''s death, but that this metal cage proved incapable of withstanding his transformed form.


    But all in all it was only a minor scare.


    Everyone was unhurt, including the driver. The vehicle was an irreparable mess, of that there was no doubt, but it''s not as if it was his. It wasn''t like he would have to pay for the replacement.


    Maybe it couldn''t be said that everyone had come out a winner, but no one had lost, that was for sure.


    "He''s not going to go crazy, is he?" said the driver as soon as Sylvester let go of him. He had grabbed him, to be exact, by the hood of his jacket. And lifted him up like a child.


    "Well you know that they keep their human personality, but not their forms. Except when they are newborns."


    "Yes, well." He swallowed saliva. "Theory is just theory. Sir."


    "I understand. You can go," Sylvester added, because it seemed like he was waiting for his permission even though it should be obvious that he didn''t need it any longer. He was a driver and had driven all the way, and even if it were otherwise he had nothing to drive anymore.


    When the guy went off to find a new vehicle and left them alone...


    "I couldn''t help but notice that you went after him first," Cynthia said, wasting no time. "I mean, I can help myself, don''t get me wrong, I''m not giving you the runaround."


    Yeah, he knew that.


    Even if that''s what was going on, it was her right. Just because he was her boss didn''t mean he was incapable of making mistakes, that he couldn''t use advice and correction from time to time.


    "I know what you mean. I didn''t want to give him a reason to complain behind my back. There are enough people who do that when at the same time they entrust me with the fate of the world."


    Hypocrisy. Two-faced people.


    He was no saint either, but it made him sick when the person you thought you knew was actually so different.


    "I understand. People who say you do too much or too little, the important thing is not to get it right, just complain."


    "Exactly."


    They hated him, feared him, suspected him. A wide range of feelings, the subtleties of which he didn''t care about. In any case, they were just negative feelings and more pressure on his shoulders when he only needed help to lighten the load.


    2


    Again, it was his turn to be with Ryan in a box that would do absolutely nothing if he went crazy and went on the attack. Sylvester was the one they intended to restrain him.


    The only reason he was allowed to roam free.


    They would always be prisoner and jailer, not partners. He understood.


    "I can''t untransform." His voice sounded very different, deeper, monstrous, but there was still some humanity underneath it. He was still recognizable, though hardly.


    The day he wasn''t recognizable would be the day he truly lost his humanity. When there would be no trace. But Ryan wouldn''t agree with him, he was sure. He saw the agony in his eyes that had little to do with the physical pain he was going through.


    "All in good time."


    "It''s too easy for you to say. I don''t want to be like this. I want, no, I need to be human. I"I am" The man''s voice trembled, as if with that slip he had crossed a line from which there was no turning back. "I am human."


    "It''s easy, it''s true. But I understand you. How many people do you think look back at me and see another human being like them?"


    Ryan looked at him silently, with those beastly golden eyes. Right now he couldn''t remember what the color of his eyes were, but not golden, that''s for sure. No human being could have eyes of that color.


    He had no words. He saw in his eyes, moreover, that he thought the same of him. A small movement, but one that told a long story.


    "Yeah. I thought so."


    Maybe they could become more than prisoner and jailer after all. One of these days.

 26. The Thing, Part 6

    It was half past four in the morning and all Walter could think about was that stupid bitch still hadn''t come home. Unlike her, he had a job, which meant he had responsibilities. He had to get up at a quarter to seven and still hadn''t slept a wink.


    And all because of her.


    Because of her damn fault.


    Many times she had threatened to pick up her things and leave if "that" happened again, if he had a fit of rage. He always scoffed, didn''t take her seriously. And when he came home from work, there she was, pretending nothing had happened.


    Because nothing really happened. Walter had seen his father beat up his mother more times than he could count, while he could only stand shivering in the corner. That was real abuse, that was something to worry about.


    What was all the fuss about if every once in a while he slapped her? Couldn''t she understand that he loved her? It wasn''t like he''d ever put her in the hospital.


    And now she was out there, at night, god knows where, while the news was playing nothing but the same old bullshit. In the last decade the world had become even crazier and movie horrors were on the news every day. The news was no longer alarmist, at least not about "it", quite the contrary, and that''s precisely why he couldn''t sleep a wink.


    What if something had happened to her? What if she had been torn to pieces?


    What if she had been devoured?


    "It''s very easy to say that the bitch asked for it. Yeah, that''s right. But who''s left alive? Who has to suffer afterwards? Me, me. It''s always me who''s left."


    Just as his thoughts and words were spinning, so was he. Walter did nothing but walk in circles around the room, as if at the umpteenth or hundredth turn he would find her there. As if it would turn out that she had been hiding to surprise him as if it were his birthday.


    He remembered the last birthday suddenly.


    Pushing her face against the warmth of the candles. That had been a little... That had been close, but of course the candles had gone out easily. The worst thing that happened to her was that she had to wash her face to get the remnants of cake off her.


    He wasn''t perfect. He knew he wasn''t perfect, but what had he done to deserve to be put through this?


    His laps finally came to an end. He could have been like this for the rest of the night if no one had interfered, but someone did. The doorbell rang. He had imagined it more than once as he tossed and turned physically and mentally, gone only to find the dark and empty night on the other side of the door, but this time he was sure the sound was real.


    It had to be her - who else, at this time of night?


    It had to be her.


    More angry than worried again, he walked over to the door and opened it again. He had lost count of the number of times and even if he hadn''t he would have lost it, erased by the rage that hit him like the waves of the sea when he saw her unconcerned face while he had been dying inside.


    "What were you thinking, what the fuck were you thinking?"


    Walter grabbed her by the hair and pulled her inside.


    An inner voice told him that he was going too far, that he was about to cross a line. That, if he was careless, the worst possible thing was going to happen, the thing that had tormented him night after night even when he was just a brat. That is, to take after his father. But he didn''t listen to her.


    Deep down, he had been ignoring that voice for too long.


    He had pulled at her with all his might after grabbing her hair, but she hadn''t moved an inch. Her hair now covered most of her face, but that was all.


    Even her expression hadn''t changed.


    There''s something wrong here, the same inner voice told him perhaps, with identical result. But in any case, his fate wouldn''t have changed. He had been laying the foundation for far too long for anything to move from its place even a little.


    "Why are you resisting? You''re back here, aren''t you? You know this is your home, so what the fuck is wrong with you now? Huh? What the fuck is wrong with you? You''re always killing me. You''re always killing me. I''m trying, but..."


    "She said she''d cooperate with me without complaint if I did her a favor first."


    Walter froze.


    That was Elizabeth''s voice without a doubt. Who else would it be? He didn''t drink a drop of alcohol, it was one of the ways he had tried to escape from his father''s shadow, and he wasn''t crazy either, he could trust what was in front of his eyes.


    But those weren''t her words.


    That wasn''t her way of expressing herself.


    Nothing had been like her from the beginning.


    But, as had been said, it was already too late. Pain. It reminded him of when he''d had a tooth drilled and had spent about half an hour writhing in the dentist''s chair, trying desperately not to cry, to hold it together. To be a man.


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    Only what was now being drilled was his torso. A half-dozen... tentacles had stabbed him in the chest.


    Even as he watched it flow, he could hardly believe that this was his blood.


    "I didn''t understand it, but now I understand it perfectly. You know, it''s been a long time since I''ve felt anything when I killed a human being."


    She said it as if she wasn''t human.


    Yes, she couldn''t be his wife, and she definitely couldn''t be a human being either. Not with those tentacles coming out of her chest to stab at his.


    And, in fact, it couldn''t be true. He had to be dreaming.


    He must have fallen asleep at some point while waiting for her to come home, and this was nothing more than a bad dream.


    "But I will enjoy this. I''d do it for free."


    That was the last he heard.


    No, more accurately, they were the last words he heard. The last sounds were those of his guts being churned by the tentacles....


    Before the creature ripped him to shreds, and then set about eating.


    2


    The parasite felt tears running down what were now its cheeks. Of course, not of its own free will. It had nothing to cry about and couldn''t even remember the last time it had done so.


    The problem was that its host had nothing to cry about either.


    "It doesn''t make sense. Why are you crying? You asked me to do this and you''re better off without him. You are, which is more than you could say in... I don''t know, the thing is, sooner or later he would have killed you."


    "I know."


    "Then why?"


    "I don''t know. No... I guess I''m just stupid. That''s why I ended up stuck with him."


    "You''re not stupid."


    "Do you really believe that? Or are you just saying that?"


    "I know. YYou used whatever was at hand, now he''s dead and you''re still here. You''re the survivor. The winner. And at the end of the day, that''s all that matters."


    Silence.


    Except for the sounds of the parasite chewing on flesh and bones, of course. The sounds of chewing filled it almost as much as the food it consumed. It was a primal pleasure.


    "I guess you''re right."


    With its host''s approval, the chewing sounds continued through the night. It would take it quite a while to empty the plate, after all.


    3


    Once the job was done, the parasite left the apartment. It had changed clothes since the clothes it had before had ended up soaked with blood in the process. It needed to look presentable. Speaking of which, it adjusted the black bow on the collar of its shirt before closing the door behind it.


    Or rather, them?


    In any case, the parasite was free and with a full belly. Its eyes were still red, but it had stopped shedding tears at some point. Good. It didn''t like to see its host cry. They were a team, after all.


    -Okay, now what?


    The parasite scanned the darkness of the night with its inhuman eyes.


    It had been born with a purpose, a mission. But it was a dangerous thing. The parasite was in no hurry to die. Life was exciting, the warmth and the feeling of having a full belly was pleasant. Death was just silence and darkness.


    Although it had been born a few hours ago, thanks to its connection with the host it could understand those kinds of things in its own way.


    It still had a lot of growing up to do and learning to do. Moreover, it wanted to do so.


    4


    "I am a human being."


    A beast growled that in the darkness of his cage.


    Sylvester was gone and even the scientists watching him as if he were nothing more than a lab rat had disappeared. He had no doubt that they were watching him from somewhere. From their point of view, they couldn''t afford to let their guard down.


    But if he couldn''t sense their presence, it was the same as being truly alone. Right now he would settle for even the company of people who didn''t even think of him as a human being.


    "I am human."


    After all, how could they think otherwise? Even he had doubts. It was a good thing they had turned off the lights. He didn''t want to see this monstrous face reflected in the glass of his cage.


    Ryan didn''t want to see it, but he could see enough. Not that he could see in the dark, but his animal eyes had had plenty of time to get used to it. So he could see enough. A little too much.


    He saw that everything was different and there seemed to be no turning back. Time and again he had failed in his attempt to return to his human form.


    "But, I am human."


    He kept repeating the same thing in that empty, silent darkness. No one was listening to him. And even if they did listen, they didn''t give a shit. They wouldn''t be treating him this way if they thought he was human, after all.


    Why should they when even he had doubts? So he could do nothing but repeat that. As he grunted and cried quietly in the dark.


    That wasn''t the only thing he was doing. A scraping sound could be heard continuously. That was because he was using his claws to mark on the glass the passage of time.


    How often did he make a new mark every minute or hour? He could no longer remember. He was sure he had gotten confused a few times already, but he didn''t know one way or the other.


    It hadn''t been that long. It hadn''t even been that long, but he felt like he was going crazy here.


    Naturally. A human being couldn''t live this way.


    "But, I am a human being."


    Was that a statement or a prayer?


    In any case, it disappeared into the stillness of the darkness.


    5


    Sylvester looked down.


    There was nothing beneath his feet. Only the endless blue sky and the horizon of an unnamed city. It was a beautiful and relaxing sight. He wasn''t the kind of person who stopped to smell the roses, so to speak, but even he could recognize that.


    It allowed him to do his best to relax as the water fell over his head and trickled all over his naked body. Through his taut muscles, hard as steel wires. Across his battle scars. The traces of a decade-long struggle scarred on his body forever.


    He could regenerate from wounds that would kill any human being and even a few Lunar Remnants. However, that didn''t mean that any damage would leave scars on his body. It was impossible to live a life like his without scars. They were like proof that he had survived so far as a human being.


    Sylvester took a deep breath.


    Alive or dead. Human or inhuman. Not all the Lunar Remnants he had killed in that ten-year history had been animals without self-awareness.


    Most had been full of life. They had been angry. They had despaired. After being defeated, they had begged for their lives or accepted their fate.


    They had tried to rationalize their actions, repenting though too late, now that they had already stained their hands with the blood of other human beings.


    But wasn''t he stained too?


    He was not going to do something useless or too sentimental like blaming himself for killing beings who had murdered innocents, but it was a fact that killing them meant more than slaughtering a rabid animal. It was an inescapable truth.


    What did it mean?


    Throwing his wet hair back with both hands, he shook his head as well and closed his eyes. Perhaps there was no point in asking such questions. He was like a machine whose only function was to kill. No matter what answer he reached, he wouldn''t fail to fulfill his function, after all.


    The scenery of a nameless city that didn''t exist in this world disappeared beneath his feet. He was done with his shower.


    He stepped out of the shower and began to towel dry his hair. His body as well. He reached for his clothes and dressed methodically, thinking of nothing in particular for a change. His mind as blank as possible.


    He supposed that was what peace of mind was all about.


    New day, new battles.


    Sylvester turned his back to the mirror.

 27. The Woman Chosen by the Moon, Part 1

    1


    Elizabeth grabbed her chosen victim and dragged her into the nearest dark alley. Anyone would do, every human being in this city was potential food. But this one was better since it had more meat on its bones than most. It should fill her stomach more easily.


    The alley was as dark as everything else. Naturally, she''d waited until night to attack. The city was also active during the night, but thanks to the cover of darkness it was much easier for her to get away with it.


    Humans weren''t a threat. As she''d said, they were food. Nothing more or less than that. But she couldn''t afford to attract the attention of that man, Sylvester.


    As she had seen in that hotel, the original''s desire to finish him off was nothing more than a fantasy. Elizabeth had been smarter and had slipped away. If they met again, she would be dead before she could blink. That was why she had to be very careful and leave no trace.


    She didn''t allow the food to scream. She snapped its neck before she set about devouring its skin and flesh, even the bones. Everything should disappear inside her body. She had to be careful that her surroundings weren''t stained with blood. Any trace could be lethal.


    Therefore, having to eat so often was inconvenient. The corpulence of this food should help, it should fill her up for longer. But it wasn''t enough. To reduce the time between meals to the minimum possible, she would restructure her body and her system for ingesting nutrients.


    She could do that. The original had been a human at first, and she was like a branch of the Lunar Remnant that they had been transformed into when their heart broke.


    She wasn''t human. She never had been. She could do many things that escaped the original, even more than the other branches. Perhaps it was vanity, but she believed she had been the most successful experiment.


    In a certain sense. They had been born in that hotel for the purpose of killing Sylvester. She was the strongest of them all, but her skills were not going to be focused on an impossible target like that.


    The original would see her, if they were still alive, as too successful an experiment.


    She had become too smart to head for certain death, after all.


    And she had become... one with her host. At this point she thought of herself as Elizabeth, but the parasite was the one in control as they had agreed. Of course. Elizabeth would do none of this.


    She needed someone to survive. And by pure chance she had found the best possible host, a person who wouldn''t even resist her. And all she''d had to do to buy her cooperation had been to kill a man.


    Perfect.


    It was as if the heavens were blessing her, approving of her existence. And why not? Maybe the sun was for humans, but the moon, now always in the sky, shone for creatures like her.


    2


    It was supposed to be a normal day. A bit of a vacation.


    He was used to going from one crisis to another, but lately he didn''t even have time to rest, and that''s what he was doing when the barrier fell.


    Sylvester recognized it at first sight.


    It had been fired at his command countless times. The Syndicate satellite''s electrified barrier, designed to contain the Lunar Remnants, but mostly to reduce the number of civilian casualties. And now, what was this? One of his colleagues was hunting and had requested a barrier?


    But it covered too wide an area. He could see it stretching to the horizon. That was too dangerous. It was meant to be used to seal off a small area after cornering a Lunar Remnant, not like this. This way they risked it backfiring and causing more chaos, more deaths.


    He didn''t understand.


    It couldn''t be a simple mistake, but....


    What was going on?


    He would have to forget about a day off and contact those assholes. He knew he was the glue that held the organization together, but really? He couldn''t look away for a while without things going to shit? Really, what was going on lately?


    "I''m in the center of town, why did you fire such a wide barrier?"


    "Agent Sylvester, uh..." He was almost always answered by a different person, whoever was available, which added to his frustration in this case. He''d like to know where he stood. And he would like a person who would get to the point, without wasting his time pausing or stuttering, searching for the right words. Something had gone very wrong, no matter how you put it, shit was shit. "No. It wasn''t us. We''re trying to figure out what happened, sir.


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    Wow. That was even worse than simple human error.


    Something had gone wrong? Or were they talking about sabotage? Either way, it wasn''t good. He hoped no one had been killed, it would be easy for some cars to have crashed since the barrier had suddenly appeared.


    "Okay."


    If it was a trap, sabotage, then what was the target? Sylvester thought about these things as he wove through the terrified crowd, frozen or running back and forth, looking for a place to hide. Assuming that there was a Lunar Remnant lurking, that the most commonplace disaster of everyday life was going to repeat itself and it had fallen precisely to them to suffer it.


    And maybe they were even right. Maybe that was what was happening.


    That parasite had taken over the hotel, spreading among the guests, giving everything to murder him. And now this. It seemed silly, but if a Lunar Remnant was behind this, didn''t it suggest that they weren''t as scattered as they thought? That some, at least, were cooperating?


    He didn''t think it was a coincidence or anything like that.


    Nothing was a real coincidence. Everything happened for a good reason, even if you didn''t know it.


    He approached the barrier.


    At the very least, this barrier definitely existed to keep him inside. He didn''t know if enemies would come for him or take advantage of it to wreak havoc in other parts of the city while he was trapped.


    In any case, it was worth a try. Sylvester unsheathed the katana.


    He swung it. As soon as the blade touched the barrier, he received a great shock and went flying at least ten meters backwards. He landed on one of the cars parked on the side, that was the only thing that stopped his fall. He was more or less unharmed, but the car wasn''t. His body crushed the roof of the car, sinking it until it was almost completely flattened.


    Fuck.


    He probably wasn''t going to manage to punch a hole in the barrier, even if he used his skills and not just the katana.


    He shouldn''t stay here long anyway. The syndicate workers should find a way to work it out and undo the barrier soon, how hard could it be?


    But if they did their job right this should never have happened in the first place. Depending on them was a bit too optimistic for his liking.


    "In any case, I need information," Sylvester spoke to himself as he rose from the ruins of the car. The voices of the frightened citizens mingled, but he thought he heard the owner of the car lamenting his fate very loudly, "I''m not getting anywhere blind."


    Right now he didn''t even know if it was better to go through the barrier or stay inside. What a mess had formed in such a short time.


    "Hey, isn''t that guy...?"


    "Yeah, yeah, that''s him. It''s got to be him."


    "We''ll be all right now, won''t we?"


    "I just want to go home."


    More and more people noticed him, and their voices joined the chaos. The pressure of the expectations of billions of people just suffocated you and sapped your energy. Even the expectations of just the people in your immediate line of sight were overwhelming.


    He wished they would shut up for a while.


    For once. A little bit, even if it was just a little bit.


    Sylvester shook his head.


    He took off running through the streets, looking for whoever was responsible for this. Or those responsible. He wanted to deny the idea that they were cooperating, but something on such a grand scale surely wasn''t the work of a single Lunar Remnant no matter how much he wanted to think otherwise.


    Rather, what he wanted to think didn''t matter a damn. Just what it was, reality.


    Sylvester noticed two people in the crowd and stopped abruptly. There was no particular reason. They were ordinary people who didn''t stand out in any way. But, for some reason, his instincts kicked in as soon as he saw them.


    So he stood up, and walked towards them.


    He wasn''t ready to kill, he couldn''t just set about wielding the katana in the crowd because of something as vague as instinct. But he was prepared for a fight anyway.


    In his mind, there was no doubt. There was not even the possibility that his instinct had been wrong.


    And it hadn''t.


    They turned, sensing him... and changed. They became beasts that came to take his life, pushing their way through the crowd. Tearing deep into the sides, at the very least breaking many ribs.


    Sylvester picked up speed, reached them in a tenth of a second and went on the attack.


    Which he failed.


    Not his fault, too much haste for fear of the disaster that could befall this place if he didn''t stop them soon, but because the enemy had dodged. If it could be called that.


    One of them changed again in front of his eyes. No doubt about it.


    And then he buried a dagger in his chest, but that didn''t even matter. That had given him too much information, overshadowing the pain.


    So Ryan wasn''t the miracle he seemed, there were others like him. He was simply the first one they had heard about.


    So those beasts were cooperating and surely many more.


    So his vague sense of unease had been accurate.


    This was no ordinary attack, crisis or incident, but an operation. And even what happened at the hotel had been planned by ''these people''.


    As one pushed the dagger further in, the other, still in his monstrous form, lunged at him.


    Sylvester slashed across his face. His open palm sent him flying like a sack of garbage.


    Even if this operation was meant to end his life, the place was full of people. Innocents. Inevitably many would die in the process.


    "I don''t understand," Sylvester said, in the midst of the chaos, feeling as if the world was crushing him to the ground. As he clutched the dagger stuck in his chest, wet with his own blood, "I just don''t get it. If you can regain your human form, you can pass for a normal person."


    He began to push the dagger out. He''d never had the chance to beat her in strength, but now that he was back in his human form the struggle was effortless. He pulled the dagger out as if no one was forcing it to the opposite side.


    "You can go on with your life. So... you''ve chosen this. I don''t understand."


    Sylvester pulled the dagger from between his fingers, snapping them as easily as if they were sausages.


    They hung like that, twisted, stretched out.


    Then he plunged the dagger into his chest. But he didn''t miss, he accurately plunged the dagger just above the heart. The enemy staggered backwards, spurting blood from his mouth every time he coughed, staring at the dagger, stupefied. As if he hadn''t signed on for this.


    As if it was a great surprise to receive what he gave.


    How many human beings had this piece of shit killed with impunity?


    "I really don''t understand."


    The other, who hadn''t returned to his human form for a second, was running towards him. Before he could reach him, the air twisted as if the world itself intended to protect him and that abomination was repelled again. It wasn''t an invisible attack, but one they couldn''t see, yet the distinction would matter little to them.


    "But I don''t need to. I will slaughter you."


    The first man drew the dagger from his chest and looked at him, laughing with lips stained with blood like lipstick.


    "Someone will die, that''s for sure."

 28. The Woman Chosen by the Moon, Part 2

    1


    Two enemies.


    One was like a huge tumor with arms and legs, more disgusting impossible. The other still retained its human form, but as Lunar Remnant it had been a creature made of what looked like tightly coiled steel wire, barely containing the moist, pulsating organs inside, roughly corresponding to those of a human being, though nothing was in place.


    And who knew how many more were around, ready to transform and jump on him, or on the innocents caught in this death trap. Who counted only on him and could do nothing to escape.


    How many would there be? How many members did the organization of... the hybrids? It was the first name that popped into his head, that would come to anyone''s mind. The hybrids, neither human nor Lunar Remnant, but something in between. Good.


    How many would there be?


    Sylvester had to reckon that there would be enough of them to be a problem, many more than in that hotel, which after all he had gotten out of without a problem.


    With no more problems than even more innocent blood staining his hands, at any rate.


    The hybrid in human form took two steps forward, brandishing the dagger stained with a mixture of his and Sylvester''s blood. Trying the same thing again, as if the outcome would change.


    Well.


    It definitely changed, though not in his favor.


    Sylvester slashed the arm he was holding the gun with, and both went flying, followed by a thick stream of blood. Like a geyser. The hybrid didn''t react to the pain, or at least not in a sane way. If he could feel pain, it was linked to pleasure in his mind, as he burst out laughing.


    As he transformed back into that monster of wire and throbbing organs.


    The two hybrids threw themselves on top of him.


    Sylvester leapt upward before they collided with him, grabbing onto the lamppost to keep himself in the air long enough. They weren''t stupid animals, his enemies didn''t collide, they reacted fast enough to change trajectory.


    Instead of going down after them, he climbed up the lamppost, standing on it. The flickering light reminded him of the blood-stained bulbs in the hotel, casting a macabre light over the lobby, turning it even more into a scene straight out of hell.


    He couldn''t allow a scene to repeat itself here, in the rational light of day it would be even more macabre, not less.


    That shouldn''t happen. They shouldn''t exist in this world.


    The wire monster crashed into the lamppost, making it shake, but Sylvester kept his balance effortlessly.


    Then its companion did the same, and then the lamppost, which had already withstood quite a bit more than was expected of it, buckled. The wire creature climbed onto the lamppost, starting to crawl up it, throwing it further off balance. He wasn''t sure how it hadn''t touched the ground yet, actually.


    Sylvester didn''t move.


    He stayed where he was, waiting for the creature to reach him.


    Only to step aside when it did, somersaulting over the creature, propelling himself towards the other enemy. Sylvester plunged the katana up to the handle, thrusting with both hands, into that mass of tumorous flesh.


    He swung the sword up and down, left and right.


    He achieved little.


    The creature bled green. It looked more like swamp water than blood.


    Inhuman being, inhuman blood. That was how it was supposed to be.


    Sylvester pulled back before his sword could get stuck in the enemy''s flesh, before it could turn around and crush him like a bug.


    Behind, those wires closing in. They might only be two enemies at the moment, but they were coordinating well.


    They didn''t allow him a moment''s hesitation, ready to punish any waste of time. Sylvester dodged it and although it didn''t crash into his companion, it did fall down the stairs.


    The stairs? Yes, the ones at the entrance to the subway.


    Sylvester came down after it, chasing after it, and pushed it further down, sending it rolling. There were people in the subway too, even if he couldn''t see them from his position yet. But there would be fewer people than out there, and the terrain would be more favorable to him than one so open and full of obstacles.


    The Remnant of the wires dropped all the way down, Sylvester went down with him, and the other monster followed them.


    So the three of them ended up in the subway.


    A simple change in the battlefield. Actually there was nothing simple about it, it could change everything.


    "I realized that my question was silly," Sylvester said. "You were both monsters before you transformed. That''s why this was inevitable, huh? Let me..."


    Sylvester dodged the charge of the two Remnants once again.


    They were big, strong.


    But, by the same token, easy targets. And fast, but not fast enough to be worthy opponents.


    "Release you from your suffering."


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    Sylvester brandished the katana, taking with him a bundle of wires. He cut through the flesh hiding underneath easily as well. It wasn''t any armor, it left everything exposed.


    But this one didn''t bleed. Peculiar.


    Its organs opened up before the katana blade, but not a drop of blood or other fluid escaped the wound.


    The tumorous mass rose up to crush him even before he completed the turn he had made when attacking the other enemy. That said, they coordinated well, they were used to fighting together.


    But they were a little too slow.


    He fired the claw of darkness.


    It buried itself in the enemy and, with the force of the impact, sent him flying into the train stopped at the station. Had it not been there, it would surely have gone through the wall on the other side.


    Using the enemy as a chain, as his own weapon, he swung the claw of darkness and hurled it at its companion.


    The enemy took the blow, crossing its arms, catching it. But it didn''t stop shit. It slammed them into the wall, breaking the glass and a good chunk out of the booth where you had to take your ticket.


    He¡¯d be lucky if that was all the damage today.


    The wall caved in and collapsed. A slab of rubble buried them, followed by a dense cloud of smoke. They didn''t stay down there for long. They hurried to get out, out of there and out of each other''s way.


    They were nothing more than beasts that bore little resemblance to any human being, but he saw them nervous. Embarrassed, even.


    -Not so much fun now, eh? You can''t do as you please when encountering a monster bigger and better than you.


    Sylvester grinned from ear to ear. The people in the subway had hastily hid, but well enough, he hadn''t seen or heard anyone yet. That didn''t mean he could strike without reservations, but compared to what he could do upstairs, surrounded by such a dense crowd, here he was free and wild.


    He''d been screwed out of his day off, but he''d do his best to enjoy it anyway.


    He went back to the fight.


    Instead of crashing into him, the tumor destroyed one of the pillars in the room. Sylvester flew skillfully through the rain of debris, heading towards the other enemy. And this one rushed to meet him as well. With open arms, and mouths.


    They didn''t even collide.


    Sylvester fired a bolt of energy from his open palm.


    The beam enveloped that mass of entrails barely held in place by the wires. It pushed it against the wall and beyond, opening a gaping hole. Again and again, he couldn''t say when the destruction stopped. Not even if it had taken an innocent human being with it.


    He heard no screams, not even of surprise. But, that energy beam would have swallowed them even before they had a chance to scream.


    In any case, it had finished one of them off. There was no way it would have survived that, even if he couldn''t see its mangled and scorched body from here.


    So, he focused all his attention on the other enemy.


    They were weak. The outcome had been decided from the beginning. It didn''t matter how big and strong they were if they couldn''t reach their prey and had no way to attack from a distance.


    They weren''t just weak. Punching bags. They were like punching bags prepared just for him. That''s how helpless they were.


    They should never have come here.


    -Fucking bastard! -His first and last words to Sylvester, as if they had the right to take offense when all he was doing was defending himself against things that had attacked him.


    Just things. They had stopped being human beings a long time ago.


    It pounced on him. Stretching out all its arms, spilling fluids. Not blood, but other bodily fluids from the tumor its twisted existence had reduced it to. It was disgusting. It spread disease wherever it went, and it was disgusting.


    So, he cut it off.


    Definitely beyond repair, he cut it into more than forty chunks of flesh.


    Now it looked like a massacre had happened here, not that he had killed a single being. It was completely unrecognizable as a living being, human or otherwise. But somehow it was still alive.


    Its head looked up at him. From that pool of anonymous flesh, a small arm reached out to him as if trying to take him with it in the last seconds of its life.


    -We''re not the only ones. You will see. Even if it was our fate to fall here, the true humans will emerge victorious.


    -True humans? You''re even less than the shit under my shoe.


    And that''s what he turned it into. Shit under his shoe. He crushed his head, finally erasing him from this world.


    Sylvester walked out of the train station and emerged into the cold, rational daylight. The chaos hadn''t died down one iota. That was because it had already begun.


    Simply put, the others had already arrived. The main square already reeked of blood. In fact, the water in the fountain was painted completely red. Too many people had already died. Too many people were in agony now.


    And all this because they wanted to finish him off.


    He was used to the Lunar Remnants causing atrocities. But this was different, this was even more horrible. Monsters rampaging through the crowd.


    If they were all hybrids, then they had chosen this. They had turned their backs on a normal life for, for what, for what exactly, damn it?


    We''re the real humans.


    Oh. That''s right. Pure arrogance.


    I see, he thought. I see.


    Before he knew it, he was among them, sowing death.


    There was a giant ant chewing on the torso of a dead woman. He grabbed its disgusting head with one hand and crushed it as if it were a watermelon.


    There was a spider woman, catching all kinds of ''flies'' in her web, preparing to eat. He set her on fire. Then, with the energy beam, he sent her skyward to be reduced to ashes before she could harm anyone else.


    Of course, he also made sure to put out the fire before it could reach those trapped in the net. He would not forget something so important.


    There was something that could only be described as a human centipede. It might seem to fit the animal theme of the monsters he had most recently killed, but nothing could be further from the truth. Unfortunately, it wasn''t a humanoid centipede, that would have been more bearable.


    It was a centipede made of ordinary human beings. He was used to fighting things that didn''t belong in this world, but this was a bit much. He never wanted to see anything like it again. He made sure to reduce it to ashes as well.


    No, that not even the ashes were left. What heart had given birth to such a monstrosity?


    He didn''t want to know, but he couldn''t help but wonder. Not for the first or last time, he wondered what he would look like if he fell. He didn''t want to know that either.


    Besides, it didn''t matter. He would continue to fight on the side of humanity. That was all that mattered.


    There was a humanoid one, but one that in no way could be mistaken for anyone else in the crowd. And not just because it wasn''t scared. It was wearing what looked like a robe, but in reality it was its skin, just another part of its body. It had no eyes or nose, only a mouth sewn shut.


    Worst of all was its head. It was constantly vibrating and twisting, making three hundred and eighty degree turns. If it weren''t for the fact that he was special, he wouldn''t have noticed that his mouth was sewn shut. Probably not even that its eyes and nose were missing. He moved too fast and wouldn''t stop.


    But its head was the only thing that was fast. He caught it and tore it to pieces.


    There were...


    There were too many. Just too many. Sylvester was just one man trying to defend the lives of thousands of people. Whatever he did, wherever he went, countless people were paying for his decision even if he managed to save the people he had chosen to save.


    The civilians were completely trapped. Wherever they went, they only hit the impenetrable barrier at the end. He had to stay there because otherwise this chaos would seep into the rest of the city, but that didn''t make it a good thing. Caught between a rock and a hard place, they were being mercilessly crushed.


    They all depended on him.


    They all called out to him for help, even if they could only wring wordless cries, a voiceless voice, from their throats. And he...


    He was only a man.


    He felt the weight of the world every waking moment, but now it was so strong that his legs trembled. And he began to hallucinate. Or so it seemed, because a mirror manifested in front of his eyes. It was a surreal image even in the midst of this complete chaos.


    What was it?


    He didn''t have time to find the answer.


    Then, he saw the grotesque grin of a shark-toothed man.


    More mirrors appeared, surrounding him. He was caught between their reflections. Before Sylvester could do anything, he was lost among them and swallowed up.

 29. The Woman Chosen by the Moon, Part 3

    The room was full of other agents.


    It was the first time Cynthia had seen so many gathered together in a long time. Since being made Sylvester''s partner (which hadn''t really been that long, but it sure felt different), she''d gotten used to fighting in pairs, but normal people needed more support usually.


    She''d say she was glad, but they hadn''t gotten together for a good reason.


    Well. There was no chance they would get together for a good reason. They weren''t friends, so they only had one reason to meet.


    In this case, it was for a recording before jumping into the lion''s den.


    They saw Sylvester being surrounded by more than a dozen mirrors and disappearing. They saw the mirrors then disappear as well. You know, there was no trace left of whatever the hell had happened.


    It was creepy.


    "Is he dead? "Those words were out of her throat before she knew it.


    Cynthia knew it might have been best to keep her mouth shut, not to give voice to the fear they all harbored. But she couldn''t help it. She had to know. Not because of what it meant for humanity, but because they had fought together for so long, after all. She simply had to know.


    "We don''t know for sure," the informant replied. "We think the mirrors are a way to seal him in. They didn''t think they could defeat him, so they managed to build or maybe find that. How it works, how we can get him out of there, whatever it is? We don''t know. But we don''t think he''s dead.


    We believe. The syndicate didn''t believe, or didn''t want to believe, just like the rest of them. What was that belief based on? If they had managed to contact Sylvester after his disappearance, they would have said so, clearing everyone''s doubts instantly.


    So... there was no basis for it.


    Now that she couldn''t say out loud. She''d said enough already.


    "In any case, humanity needs us. This is why we exist. With or without Sylvester, we must put this situation to rest. The higherups have even contacted other countries for help. We have to give it our all. We have to stop this, no matter what."


    Yes. He didn''t need to say it. Even if this was an isolated accident, the future of humanity depended on the outcome.


    Sylvester dead or alive. They would only know when they looked at the cat inside the box. Whether it was a terrible answer or a hope that would light up the night, they had to go find out and tear those creatures apart with their bare hands.


    Sylvester, without a doubt, was the most important member. The glue that held together not only the syndicate, but the entire world. The world was destined to fall apart without him.


    "Yes, sir."


    A chorus of voices. Hearts beating in unison. Human beings united for a single purpose.


    They too were warriors. They could do without him for a while... and rescue him, even at the cost of their lives.


    They wouldn''t be here if they weren''t willing to sacrifice everything.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Cold.


    This place was dark and cold.


    Where was he? How had he gotten here? He couldn''t remember things that should be so simple, his head was exploding just trying.


    Was he dreaming? It was just a cold, dark place. When he dreamed, or at least when he managed to remember his dreams, they were as blurry as this nothingness. Disjointed sensations and flashes of what seemed like memories.


    So it fit. In that sense it fit. But not once had he realized he was dreaming before he woke up, and it really was too cold.


    The wind was blowing through him, biting at his bones. Shaking his whole body. It seemed too real. That''s right, it couldn''t be a dream.


    Then what? Then what the hell was it?


    He wanted to get the hell out of here as soon as possible, but how could he do that if he wasn''t even able to remember how he''d gotten here? There were no steps to retrace. There was nothing...


    Not in front, not behind, not around.


    Neither future nor past. Nothing but cold darkness.


    He couldn''t stand this. Rather, he could, but he didn''t want to do it for another second.


    There had to be someone. An enemy to fight, a friend to shake hands with, a complete stranger. He didn''t care what. SOMEONE was enough for him.


    Sylvester stepped into the darkness. It would be more correct to say that he floated or swam through it rather than walked. The feeling of being as light as if he didn''t have a body was nauseating, or as close as possible when you didn''t even have guts that could churn.


    Cold. When it was that cold, it was like pure pain. The cold would dig into you all over your body.


    After a few seconds, or after several hours, he finally found something. He stepped on something, more precisely. The glass of a mirror.


    He was glad simply because it was something apart from him.


    Sylvester''s footstep had cracked the glass. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? He couldn''t think clearly under these conditions.


    Lifting his head, he saw that the darkness was still the same, but now there were mirrors everywhere, not just under his feet. Mirrors that, of course, only reflected him. That was all there was in this place, was it really?


    He kept moving forward through the darkness. He decided to approach one of the mirrors when he noticed something even stranger than all this. Sylvester put a hand on the glass. The ''reflection'' did not follow his movement.


    It wasn''t that it was doing the opposite of what he was doing. If he moved his arm to the left, the reflection didn''t move it to the right. He did whatever he wanted, he was independent.


    Worst of all was that withering look. His scowl and the darkness that bubbled up in there like cancer. It was like an evil spirit came to life. He was sure that if he could, he would....


    He didn''t complete the thought. Before he knew it, Sylvester slammed a closed fist into the mirror, shattering the glass. When the mirror frame became empty, he realized he had been wrong all along. They weren''t mirrors.


    They were doors.


    Sylvester stepped through to the other side.


    He wasn''t back where he had been before all this. He still didn''t remember what had happened, but for some reason he was sure of that. Once again his intuition was proven right. He saw a Lunar Remnant that looked like a praying mantis chasing a kid that looked younger than he was.


    He remembered this. How could he not?


    There was no mystery to it. The Lunar Remnants had appeared one day, as had his powers. He hardly ever thought about it, but how could he forget this? His first time.


    The first time he had killed another living being with his bare hands.


    The thing inevitably backed him into a corner. He couldn''t run far, not with that cut on one leg. There was no one who could defend him. If not for fate, Sylvester would have been nothing more than the first meal of that incomprehensible monster.


    It looked like any other animal, but it was still incomprehensible.


    When his first ability, and perhaps the most important of all, was activated, Sylvester thought he was simply seeing things due to the loss of blood.


    [Mind of steel, body of steel] [Level 1].


    [Your body will do its best to adapt to whatever is thrown at you].


    His steel body and mind. That was what he had been doing all this long decade, with or without the aid of that skill.


    In any case, Sylvester didn''t intervene. This was a memory, and he knew it was going to end well anyway.


    Bottom line, any piece of flesh the creature ripped off of him regenerated very quickly. Little Sylvester realized this and got the most important thing: a little bit of the light of hope in such a dark, dark world.


    He fought back.


    He attacked it with his bare hands as it tried to devour him and in the end the stronger one emerged victorious.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    Because I am strong.


    I am strong.


    I am strong, stronger than anyone else, strongstrongstrongstrongstrongstrongstrong"


    The memory disappeared.


    Everything disappeared, and Sylvester returned to the cold darkness populated by mirrors. No, no. Of doors. One had led to his memories. One had to hold the exit, that seemed logical to him.


    Anything was better than sitting around, as if someone was going to rescue him. He could only depend on himself.


    Sylvester tried another of the doors, breaking the mirror that was in his way, not giving the thing inside time to look like him to try something.


    It sounded crazy, but his life was crazy, and, well....


    And it gave him the feeling that his reflection was now closer than before. Closer and closer.


    In any case, he walked through the door. Would it take him back to the past again or into the future?


    He wanted to believe in his future, in the future of humanity, but just because he believed it wasn''t going to come true. The world wasn''t that simple. Like a fairy tale where evil was defeated and the good guys live happily ever after.


    If only.


    ¡ª¡ª


    The back door of the plane opened, giving them a glimpse of the massacre going on inside, of the sheer hell those poor people were going through. Desperately trying to survive, but with no chance to flee or hide.


    And also of the holes in the barrier.


    The engineers had not been able to deactivate it.


    Somehow, the enemy had taken control of the satellite. But they had been able to open holes in the barrier for them. That would have to be enough.


    As for what they would do when they were done to get out, well, time would tell.


    In any case, if they failed Cynthia wouldn''t be able to live with her head held high. Too many people had died already, but anyone they could save was a treasure. Each person was a world.


    At the signal, Cynthia jumped.


    They all jumped. The syndicate forces, the agents who were fighting to prevent the end of the world. Not at the hands of these monsters, but at the hands of humans themselves. The nuclear option.


    They jumped and spread their wings. Nothing like what their boss had, it was a simple gliding machine. It should take them all the way inside the barrier but not much more.


    It was the first time she''d ever done anything like this and....


    It wasn''t that she didn''t like heights. She didn''t have that kind of phobia, or at least she thought she didn''t. What was so phobic about being aware that if she fell from a certain height she would die?


    Cynthia went through one of the holes. They were all big enough for several people to glide through at once, so they did just that.


    They landed on the other side. In the middle of that living nightmare.


    In the middle of a hellish horror, a glimpse of the end of the world. Cynthia drew her revolvers. Maybe that was the only thing the self-proclaimed protectors of humanity could do.


    Choose the way they wanted the world to end.


    Maybe this wasn''t a war they could win, but....


    She would fight.


    Yes, she did.


    There were too many innocents in danger. Protecting one specific person would be useless, even though she was accompanied by so many agents. While saving one person or a group together, a dozen more would die violently.


    The only way to protect them was to kill the creatures faster than they killed the civilians.


    She didn''t like that idea, but it was the truth. It was the only thing they could do.


    There was no sign of Sylvester anywhere. Was he really dead? Or rather, if he was dead, what chance did they have of getting out of here, unless that mirror thing could only be used once?


    What chance did humanity have in the near future?


    What would be the point of saving these people if they would die soon when the governments decided that now that Sylvester was dead, there was no hope, and finally blew the moon to smithereens?


    It was a terrible thought. She wanted to punish herself just for allowing it to cross her mind, but she couldn''t help it.


    Worst of all, perhaps, it was only a hypothesis.


    To be sure, it had to do with the moon, obviously, considering the strange changes. But nothing assured that this nightmare would stop even if they destroyed the moon.


    A world destroyed by floods and rising waters. A broken world still besieged by these nightmarish creatures. In an attempt to fix it, they could end up creating the worst possible situation.


    That''s why Sylvester had to be alive.


    Too much depended on it.


    Cynthia did everything she could. She fired as fast as she could with the extra effort of not accidentally hitting a civilian, in the middle of this chaos full of innocent people. She jumped, dodged and even flew, taking advantage of the glider to cover some distance faster.


    No matter what she did, nothing seemed to be enough.


    It was like swimming against the current.


    Nature itself was against her, and she felt as if she was continually sinking. Drowning. As if she''d never see the surface again.


    Ah, when would she be allowed to stick her head above the surface? Breathe fresh air?


    Pour water into her lungs and fill them with oxygen?


    She really was drowning. This was too much.


    Hadn''t she been doing that all her life?


    Swimming against the current.


    How many people had told her she was crazy, that she couldn''t do this? Many, but most importantly her mother, of course. In their last conversation, she had yelled at her while crying that if she insisted on doing this, she should never come back home.


    Cynthia understood her. Of course she understood her, no mother would appreciate her daughter putting her life in danger like this.


    Everyone told her that someone else would risk their life for her, for all of them. But if everyone thought that way, who exactly would?


    It wasn''t revenge or anything like that. She hadn''t lost anyone important to the Lunar Remnants. She had no special, tragic reason, just a strong sense of justice. A belief that someone had to do it.


    She had swum against the tide of so-called common sense.


    If she fell here, she would have nothing to be ashamed of. She had fought proudly for humanity. But...


    Would her efforts really end in this? Here?


    ¡ª¡ª


    What was on the other side of the door?


    Neither the past nor the future. The only thing he knew, the only thing that had changed, was that he was no longer alone in this cold darkness. It was by no means a change for the better, of course.


    Sylvester felt a chill.


    No one with good intentions would remain hidden in the dark without coming forward. Ha, would it be whoever or whomever had led him into this void? Or a trap?


    In any case, he knew he had to get rid of it. But something froze him. Something deep inside him told him that seeing him would be a mistake.


    His instinct hadn''t failed him yet. How to fight an enemy he couldn''t look at was a good question, but it could wait.


    "What are you?"


    There was no answer. There was no attack either, but.... He felt breathing on the back of his neck.


    "I don''t care what kind of Skill you have. Worse monsters than you have tried to kill me. You think I can''t kill you with my eyes closed?"


    Even after those provocations, he didn''t attack. He was still behind him, his breath icy cold as the dead on the back of his neck. The coldness of this darkness... Was it natural or did it come from the creature behind him?


    What was he saying? Nothing about this situation was natural. The cold, the mirrors, the darkness of the void. All of that had to be flowing from the Lunar Remnant.


    Was this the way out he had been looking for? If he killed him, would all this madness stop? He supposed it would. Rather, it had to be so.


    "Okay. If you don''t want to take the initiative, I''ll do it."


    Sylvester closed his eyes. He wasn''t going to disobey his instincts and risk instant defeat. There were many ways to see even with his eyes closed. His other senses, as keen as sight, would make up for that lack.


    He turned away, wielding the katana as if it were a part of his body. Just as naturally. And he knew it without opening his eyes.


    The monster lurking in the darkness had dodged the attack with no trouble. He certainly hadn''t felt the blade cutting into his body, the resistance of the flesh. That was the most obvious thing. It couldn''t have hit him without noticing, unless it was made of something else.


    If it was nothing but smoke...or darkness.


    What was it? What the hell was it? The only proof of its existence was that damn cold breath, he hadn''t even heard it move to dodge.


    The creature attacked.


    He didn''t hear it, but he did feel something, and he dropped to the ground to dodge it. That something went over his head. He had the feeling that his head would have exploded if he had been even a tenth of a second slower. Once again, his instinct had pulled his head out of the fire.


    How long could he go on?


    He launched another attack that went nowhere. He didn''t have time to execute a second attack before he was forced to dodge. That exchange was repeated more than a dozen times.


    Writers liked to say flowery nonsense like a fight was like a dance, but in this case it was pretty close to the truth. It was like it was choreographed and they were taking turns doing what they were supposed to do. It was a very strange feeling.


    "Are you playing with me? Is that it? You think this is a game? Okay, if I can''t see you...


    His head was hurting more and more, but that wasn''t going to stop him from thinking of the simplest solution. The lack of vision was only a problem if he needed to be accurate. But an area of effect attack, to follow the video game terminology of his powers, would solve that problem.


    He punched the ground.


    [Mountain of Needles] [Level 3].


    The energy filling his body sailed across the ground and exploded under the creature''s feet, creating a mountain of spike"like branches. Or shall we say, needles, according to the name. It didn''t look much like and had nothing to do with Buddhist hell, but come on. If he could decide the names, they wouldn''t be much better probably or they wouldn''t have names but just numbers.


    In any case, an attack so fast that no one should be able to dodge it. It should shatter anything in an area that stretched more than ten meters.


    But he knew with the same certainty as all the other times. It hadn''t hit him.


    It hadn''t been fast enough or destructive enough.


    How? How the hell was that possible?


    For a moment, he thought about checking it out with his own eyes. Fortunately, the moment passed.


    Impossible. He would die as soon as he opened his eyes. He couldn''t explain how he was so sure of that, but he also couldn''t explain how he had gotten here in the first place.


    Since that day ten years ago, his life had been one inexplicable thing after another. Was he going to start questioning it now?


    The headache. It was impossible to think clearly when his head hurt like this. It was as unnatural as anything in this place, somehow it hurt more than some of the injuries that had threatened his life.


    Could that be what it was about?


    Was he hurt, unknowingly? Was he dying?


    Not here, in the dark, but in the real world. He couldn''t rule out that possibility, but it didn''t matter much either. The only way out, as always, was to crush his enemies. He would smash that shadow creature or whatever it was made of before its life was snuffed out.


    "Do you think you can take me? No matter what tricks you use, I haven''t leveled up in years because you are nothing to me, nothing but insects. And you thought bringing me into this void where it''s just the two of us was a good idea? With no innocents to hurt, I don''t even have to restrain myself.


    Maybe because of that terrible headache, he said things he shouldn''t have. Things he hadn''t told anyone for ten long years. But that didn''t matter either.


    After all, ''it'' wouldn''t live to tell anyone shit.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Cynthia hadn''t drowned yet.


    She was still fighting, but also in the process of drowning. The two went hand in hand. Inseparable. The water pressure was getting stronger and stronger, in fact.


    Because, despite their efforts, the number of innocents dying violently by the minute was only increasing.


    The syndicate had pulled all the agents toward the problem. The cavalry hadn''t yet arrived from other countries and states, but by the time they finally arrived, what would be left of them?


    What would be left of Kaleidoscope City?


    She saw another plane approaching the barrier, the gate opening. It wasn''t the cavalry he''d just been thinking about. Not so soon, but he realized he had been wrong.


    Not all the agents were here. One was missing.


    They slid the cage over the edge, knocking it over. It fell through the hole and into the middle of the battlefield, or torture field in hell. It didn''t break when it hit the ground, but it was shattered a little later.


    By Ryan, still in his Lunar Remnant form.


    Imposing, bigger than most of the enemies here. Counting the dead and those still standing.


    Cynthia laughed. She couldn''t help it, for some reason.


    She was drowning. But at least she wasn''t fighting ''alone'' anymore. Cynthia dropped what she was doing to approach Ryan, who hadn''t bolted, springing into action, yet.


    Perhaps because he had spotted her.


    "Yes. Let''s show them what we''re made of..."


    Before she finished the sentence, she climbed up his back and mounted on his shoulders, as if Ryan was a beast to ride onto the battlefield.


    "Partner."


    But she made it clear that her mindset was changing, albeit slowly.

 30. The Woman Chosen by the Moon, Part 4

    This thing, whatever it was, was the most irritating enemy he had faced so far.


    Not the strongest not by a long shot. While Sylvester hadn''t managed to hit it once, the same went for his enemy. They were still maintaining a perfect choreography where neither of them got hurt at any point.


    Instant defeat by looking at him sounded powerful until you realized that he could overcome that power just by closing his eyes.


    But it was irritating as hell.


    Precisely because of that. Because no matter what he did, he always missed the fucker.


    He couldn''t see it, smell it. Fuck, couldn''t even hear it. The only thing he could hear was that damn breathing, but not how the enemy''s body moved to dodge his attacks.


    The best thing he had to predict the enemy''s movements was his own sword.


    He meant, when he attacked the ways it could dodge his attacks were limited, after all. He could try to push it where he wanted it that way.


    And he could feel it, too, in a way. In a way that escaped common sense, like his conviction that he would be lost as soon as he opened his eyes, or his whole life in general.


    It wasn''t doing him much good, either one or the other, anyway.


    He could understand that he hadn''t defeated it yet, but really? Not a single successful attack? Something weird was going on here, aside from the obvious. This couldn''t be normal, merely a matter of the enemy''s skill.


    It made sense.


    It made sense, but then what the hell was he supposed to do?


    Sylvester got a flash of inspiration. But that was a very pretentious way of putting it, as the idea was quite simple. The first thing that should have occurred to him, really.


    Better.


    The more complicated a plan was, the more likely it was to fail. Sylvester didn''t think this was going.... Or rather, could fail. And if it did, well, he''d cross that bridge when he came to it.


    He executed another attack with identical results to the several dozen attacks he had launched since encountering the thing, his breath like cold death on the back of his neck.


    That is, absolutely nothing. The thing evaded it with no trouble and launched the counterattack.


    Sylvester could have dodged it like all the other times, but he didn''t. He braced himself to receive it, gritting his teeth. He felt something other than the being''s breath for the first time. What had buried itself in his chest, digging in, was a human hand. Humanoid, at least.


    "I got you, motherfucker," Sylvester spat between blood-stained teeth.


    And then he delivered what should have been the final attack. He had already wasted too much time with this farce. He still still couldn''t remember what he''d been doing before this, but he knew the world needed him and he had to get out of here.


    Quickly.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Cynthia no longer felt like she was drowning.


    Riding on the huge shoulders of the transformed Ryan helped, so she had pulled her head out of the water, after all. But mostly it was because the tables were turning.


    This was a terrible day that she would remember for the rest of her life, short or long.


    They had suffered too many losses, and too many people would die before this whole mess was over. Especially considering they still hadn''t found Sylvester. Understandably, they hadn''t had time to look for him either.


    But the tables were turning. The monsters were losing ground, and everything didn''t seem as hopeless as before.


    It was morbid and almost cruel to be so happy about something that boiled down to fewer people dying per minute, even if it was still too many. But Cynthia couldn''t worry about it now.


    They were winning. They were making the monsters lose ground and crushing them. That was what mattered.


    Cynthia was shot.


    From what, no idea, if she had seen it coming, it wouldn''t have hit her. At the very least, she would have had time to drop to Ryan''s back, using him as cover.


    But she hadn''t seen it coming, so it hit her squarely in the shoulder and she fell to the ground without even a chance to scream. Hurt, but too much for her to get more than a few meager coughs out of her throat, as if she had something stuck.


    As if that was all it was.


    She wished, but she''d definitely been shot. Her shoulder was shattered"whose arm had been replaced, her left or her right? Because of the chaos, at that moment she wasn''t able to even remember something so simple. To be fair, she hadn''t noticed the difference. Everything had been perfect. Too perfect, as if the loss of one of her arms had been a dream. But she remembered. She remembered how she had...


    A Lunar Remnant approached her, baring all its teeth, drooling.


    The first word that came to her mind was wolf, but nothing like that, it was covered in spikes like a porcupine to boot. Cynthia bit her tongue and gathered her strength to raise the revolvers. Pain was just that. Pain. She had to let it pass through her, and sooner or later it would go away.


    Her head was spinning. She was able to handle the revolvers, so the wound in her shoulder couldn''t be as bad as it looked, but she wasn''t sure she could get up before the monster was on her.


    She did manage to get up. Cynthia stood facing the beast, wielding her revolvers, blood flowing from the hole in her shoulder gushing and her head aching as if someone was crushing it.


    The Remnant lunged at her.


    Cynthia fired both revolvers as that beast crossed the air, but not a single bullet came out of either of them. They hadn''t jammed in the most inopportune moment.


    She had said that no bullet came out, not that they hadn''t fired.


    What came out, somehow, were gusts of wind that blew the monster to pieces before it had a chance to touch the ground, much less reach her. Cynthia stared at the result, dumbfounded, feeling for a few moments as if all the other monsters and also the humans desperately fighting for their lives had disappeared. Leaving her alone with the remains of that thing.


    "What the hell? That''s new." Useful, no doubt.


    But things like that didn''t happen for no reason. It wasn''t normal, and that was bad by definition. It''s not like someone had given her a hand and she''d been confused, she knew very well what she''d seen. The wind had come out of her revolvers.


    But they couldn''t do something like that. They shouldn''t.


    What had happened?


    Cynthia shot several monsters, but she wasn''t able to repeat that again. Actually she should be afraid of that happening again. She had seen what that wind could do to a Lunar Remnant, if it had hit a civilian by accident....


    Then today''s losses wouldn''t be pitiful deaths she could have prevented. She would have become a murderer.


    It really was like a scene from hell. The water in the fountain was dyed red. It gave the feeling that there were more chunks of ground covered in blood and gore than clean and empty. It didn''t inspire much hope, but she had to remember that they could do it. They could fix this, and the tables had indeed turned....


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    Though it was inevitable that this day would be remembered as a terrible tragedy and nothing close to a victory.


    She turned back to Ryan.


    "I''m glad you''re okay," he said, albeit haltingly. That was how she discovered he could speak in his Lunar Remnant form. She should have known that before.


    Whether she liked it or not, they were a team now. They would have to fight together in the future, not just today. Assuming they survived this shit, of course.


    It didn''t cost her anything to cooperate, that was the point.


    There was no need to forgive, especially when Ryan himself didn''t forgive himself.


    "Yeah. Same here."


    What else could she say?


    They went back to the fray. They gave everything to end this before things could get even worse.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Sylvester struck the enemy for the first and last time.


    He felt it. His sword piercing the body, whatever it was made of, and tearing his insides to shreds.


    He also felt that the enemy couldn''t fight anymore, that it was the end for him. For several reasons, but mostly because he stopped feeling the need to keep his eyes closed.


    He opened them at last, and there was nothing.


    The corpse of that thing had disappeared without a trace. So he had won, but killing it wasn''t a way out? Had the creature just been another obstacle? No, he had simply jumped to conclusions.


    This void began to collapse.


    The mirrors exploded, one by one, deafening, the shattered pieces disappearing like the being he had just killed. Everything had been plunged into darkness from the beginning, but at least the mirrors had provided a point of reference beyond his body. A lifeline in this sea of darkness.


    The darkness cleared.


    That wasn''t a good thing. Sometimes the darkness only hid what you didn''t want to see. Sylvester was back in that square. His memories had returned too, every piece in its place.


    He had been gone for a long time. Too long.


    But the cavalry had arrived, they had been fighting the Lunar Remnants in the square instead. He could even see Cynthia, riding on Ryan''s shoulders, who was transformed. Not that he wasn''t big enough to support her weight even in human form, of course, but in that case there wouldn''t have been much point in doing that.


    They had done all they could, he was sure, but the square was a hellish place tinged with red.


    Not only did it not look like the same place as before, it didn''t look like a place built or inhabited by human beings. The blood, the guts, all the stains that remained were of human beings who had been cruelly slaughtered. The Remnants left no trace.


    He felt like vomiting, almost.


    Just almost. He had no time to waste on trifles like that.


    The katana was still in his hand. He gripped it tighter.


    So many had died, but so many others were still alive. He still had time to fix this.


    Sylvester stopped at the fourth step, before jumping, before actually resuming the battle. A large number of the survivors, even those behind the agents who had come to save them, began to collapse.


    What was going on, an invisible Remnant wreaking havoc in the crowd?


    There was no trace of blood. That wasn''t what it was about.


    Sylvester had no idea what it was, but it was clearly something else even when it was confirmed beyond doubt as he saw some kind of white energy coming out of their bodies.


    Was the energy going to the moon?


    No, only to the tallest building in the square.


    The energy was going directly to a kind of egg there, covered with veins standing out on its crystalline surface, veins that acted like branches, digging deep into the building and helping it to stay there.


    And, inside it...


    He could see the vague shape of a human being, balled up. Only it couldn''t be human, could it?


    Sylvester felt a shiver.


    No matter what it was, he couldn''t allow it to be born into this world. He spread the dark wings again and took flight. That was the priority in every possible way. For starters, the harvesting of souls was to feed that egg, he wouldn''t stop until he shattered it.


    Souls. He had thought that so matter-of-factly as if they were more than a concept, as if it were proven, but he didn''t know how else to say it.


    However he said it, that egg was taking their lives. He could see them lying on the ground, writhing.


    Dying.


    They were counting on him. Everyone was counting on him.


    Sylvester heard a splash.


    He thought it was just blood. He thought surely it had nothing to do with him, or his target, unless it was fluids emanating from the sinister egg that would soon (surely soon) hatch.


    He was wrong. He was starting to get used to it, to the fact that life could surprise him, even after fighting nightmarish monsters from outer space had become routine.


    A humanoid great white shark appeared above him.


    No, it had pounced on him after emerging from his shadow. That had been the splash. The creature emerging from his shadow as if it were a lake. Was this the thing he hadn''t been able to see in the mirror world? Hadn''t it died, after all, and now it was back for revenge?


    It didn''t matter. Nothing mattered compared to that egg.


    He had wings, which meant he could dodge even in mid-air, changing his trajectory in a second. Sylvester was fast.


    But not fast enough.


    The shark''s teeth bit into his torso hard. That was the last thing he had seen before he was transported into that void; a shark-toothed grin, quite literally.  These didn''t penetrate his skin, not yet at least, but it didn''t matter. The added weight dragged him to the ground. More importantly, it was putting the egg further and further out of his reach.


    He couldn''t allow the thing to hatch in this world.


    He simply couldn''t.


    He wasn''t worried about how many people would have to die to breathe life into that egg and make it hatch, but what would happen next.


    "So long to find the mirror world and it didn''t even hold you for an hour. Very disappointing. But enough all the same. It''s too late. We''ve won."


    The hybrid gloated as if everything was already done.


    Sylvester feared he was right.


    Sylvester tried to physically disengage from the shark, but it was a bit difficult when he couldn''t move his arms properly, trapped in its jaw. He would have to use his many skills. He didn''t need help.


    But he would get it anyway.


    Ryan charged at the humanoid shark, hitting it squarely and dragging it away from him. Everything changed very quickly, as was to be expected on a battlefield as chaotic as this one, and for a second he allowed himself to think that this might be the end of the shark.


    That Ryan would grab him and rip him to shreds. But it slipped away easily, elusive.


    Swimming across the asphalt. It was no metaphor. The area the shark touched became like water (to be clear, it wasn''t that water had appeared out of nowhere, but that the asphalt behaved like water, impossibly) and swam through it.


    From there it went to the building. To the glass of the windows, to intercept them, because of course Sylvester hadn''t wasted any time. As soon as Ryan got the thing off him, he took flight again, the only thing that mattered now was the egg itself, to keep it from hatching, that and nothing else. He wasn''t even that desperate to save the lives of the innocents being sucked into the egg. He simply could not let THAT hatch. He couldn''t allow it under any circumstances.


    The shark couldn''t just use its power on objects, it had worked on his shadow as well. Hence the splash.


    The same thing wasn''t going to work twice.


    The enemy took a big leap out of the water towards him, but this time he was more than prepared and dodged it with great ease. Now he would fall to the ground and Sylvester would have a free hand. He would open the egg before it hatched, dooming it to die before it took its first breath.


    Hopefully.


    The human shark, the damned son of a bitch who had smiled at him before trapping him in that mirror world, could also move in the air. It jumped back at him and Sylvester knew he couldn''t dodge. But that didn''t mean he had to take the attack, standing there like a fool.  Sylvester met the shark''s charge with his whole body, but, above all, with his katana.


    The shark dragged him a few meters forward. Against the building.


    They fell inside, through the windows. Sylvester glared at the shark that had no problem living on dry land. This was the right place. Worst case scenario, he could take it down, accepting the deaths that came with it. Not just in the building because he doubted everyone would have had time to evacuate, also those it would crush when it fell.


    But the ideal would be to get out...


    The windows were sealed by a continuous torrent of water. It was as if there was now a waterfall through the window. That was all that filled the window frames, no glass in sight.


    "You haven''t noticed, human, but you''ve been on my turf from the beginning."


    "I''m afraid you''re on planet earth, which is the territory of the human race," He wiped a hand over his mouth, wiping the blood away, "you little piece of shit."


    "It used to belong to the dinosaurs, didn''t it? Things can change. No, life demands it, it''s constantly changing. That which doesn''t change is dead."


    Very pretentious for such a monster.


    He smiled wryly.


    Sylvester practically flew towards the humanoid shark, as the shark swam at blinding speed across the ground towards him. Since it could dive into his shadow, he had to assume it could make use of any shadow to attack. The shadow of, say, a pencil wouldn''t hide a humanoid shark, but his shouldn''t have been that big either. It should work similarly to his skill.


    Therefore...


    He climbed onto one of the office desks (yes, that''s what he''d fallen into, an office that would soon not be in any condition for the employees to return to the next morning, even if they survived this) and leapt.


    Towards the enemy, of course, who also jumped out of the water to meet him.


    Sylvester gritted his teeth, raised the katana in mock readiness to strike him a blow with all his might.


    Deceiving.


    Yes, the katana was his weapon of choice, but that didn''t mean he didn''t have other tricks. With his free hand, he fired an anchor of darkness at the fire extinguisher on a wall. He ripped it from its spot and threw it, already smoking, against the shark in the middle of its jump.


    It exploded as soon as the enemy touched it, covering it in a curtain of smoke. Sylvester couldn''t see through the smoke either, but he didn''t need to.


    He had only one target. If he kept running forward, he would end up going through one of the waterfalls. That was enough for him to know.


    He didn''t get very far.


    He sank into the ground beneath his feet, which had suddenly turned to water... and fell to the floor below, no doubt. Sylvester landed on his knees, one hand resting on the ground to stop himself before his head hit the ground.


    "I see. So you can use your power that way too."


    He wasn''t talking to the air. Of course, the shark hadn''t wasted a tenth of a second in following him downstairs.


    He wasn''t the only agent in the area of the massacre.


    Anyone would know just by looking at him that the egg only portended bad news, all agents should have focused on destroying it immediately, if only to save the civilians whose souls were being harvested for its hatching.


    Even if he didn''t get to the egg in time, someone else might destroy it.


    He knew that. He knew it, but it was no excuse. He had to get out of here and crush it with his own hands. Quickly.


    Because he couldn''t know.


    How much time was left for its birth. How much time humanity had left.

 31. The Woman Chosen by the Moon, Part 5

    The fight never resumed.


    Rather, it had never been a fight in the first place. This Lunar Remnant hadn''t intended to defeat him, only to waste his time, like a particularly irritating fly buzzing in his ear.


    And that was what it had done. It had succeeded in wasting his time.


    For all he knew, the egg could be about to hatch already, even though it hadn''t been that long since it had appeared and started harvesting souls. Every second counted.


    That''s why Sylvester ran for the windows.


    Before he arrived, they were covered by the water generated by the shark''s powers, forming miniature waterfalls. But not only that.


    A jet of water shot out, hitting him in the center of the chest like a rocket. He could have said like a gunshot, or a heavy staff, but that would have been an understatement. For, though he braced himself and defended against the blow, the pressure of the water knocked his feet off the floor and sent him flying to the other end of the room as easily as a leaf in the wind.


    Sylvester held his breath as the jet of water continued to press him against the wall. He could drown, but he wouldn''t make it that easy for the enemy.


    The water, which was like a pillar, was powerful. He felt that it wouldn''t take long for the wall to collapse under that pressure.


    The humanoid shark didn''t waste a second. It jumped into that pillar of water, that spear stuck in his chest, and began swimming toward him at a staggering speed. It was as if with every passing second it was speeding up, instead of the other way around.


    Opening its mouth wide open, showing its huge gleaming teeth, which looked like a meat grinder. It shouldn''t be able to open its mouth that wide, because of the muscles and shape of its body, but it found a way anyway.


    As he had predicted, the wall collapsed. Sylvester landed on top of the rubble, but was covered by the cloud of dust that rose up. He coughed loudly. At least the water pressure had left him, and now he could breathe.


    Not for anything he had done himself, but he would take it anyway. He had to do something before the dust cleared. It was more dangerous than he had thought, seeing the various ways its power could be used.


    "Where are you?" the human shark said that as it swam after him, its voice filled with a pleasure and excitement that bordered on insanity. Okay, maybe it did want to do more than waste his time. Maybe it wanted to sink its teeth into him.


    He felt it coming closer. Sylvester rolled to the side, over more debris of course. They were digging into his back. He could think of his comfort when he was back home.


    The shark crashed into and almost through a wall.


    More importantly, close. Close enough.


    "Where are you?"


    To give it the answer. A silver flash cut through the air... and also the enemy''s leg at the knee. It was more human than shark. It had two arms and two legs, now one shorter than the other.


    His enemy fell to the ground. It writhed, screamed, as it clutched the stump of its leg. Strange. It wasn''t bleeding. What was flying everywhere was water.


    "I''m going to kill you, you hear me? I''m going to kill you, you fucking bastard."


    Not so much fun anymore, huh? Just like the first Lunar Remnants he had crushed when this mess started, the fun soon ran out for them as soon as they realized that their victims weren''t victims at all. They weren''t helpless.


    He heard it, but didn''t listen to it.


    Sylvester went out through the hole he had created on his way in. He headed back toward the windows. He crossed the waterfall and jumped into the sea of night, spreading his wings. It hadn''t had time to interfere. To stagger without a leg behind him. Good.


    The egg hadn''t hatched yet. He didn''t know how many other people had died while he''d been wasting his time with the shark, but it would be nothing compared to the lives that would be lost if that hatched.


    "There''s no place for you in this world!"


    With no one to interrupt him, Sylvester ran the egg through.


    Or that was what should have happened. But instead, some kind of black crystal materialized in the air and stopped the blade. So it had its own defense system. Inconvenient.


    It was doing nothing but causing trouble and it hadn''t even been born yet.


    Another attack.


    The black crystal, or whatever it really was, didn''t even flinch. He wished he could simply go around it, but it had spread quickly, covering the egg completely and a significant chunk of the building''s roof.


    Sylvester swallowed hard. That was okay, he should be able to break it.


    In time. But how much time did he have?


    How much time did they all have left?


    Sylvester moved back, still flying, of course. Not to pick up speed, so to speak. The katana wouldn''t be enough even if he did that.


    Fortunately, he had plenty of other weapons at his disposal.


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    He returned the sword to its sheath. He would need both hands free for this. He fired anchors of darkness from both open hands, burying them deep into the black crystal, the last obstacle between him and the salvation of the world.


    He pulled on them. A crackling sound. Looked like black glass, but it sounded more like huge mental doors as he slowly forced them open. There was nothing to tell him that the egg couldn''t simply generate more of that black crystal to defend itself, or fix what he was breaking, but it didn''t matter.


    At this distance it seemed fine to him. He should have enough time to sneak through the gap he was now opening before it closed.


    He''d have to bet too many things that he''d be able to do that, he had no choice, anyway.


    Yes. It was a big gamble. Because something told him that if he failed, he wouldn''t be able to try again. The egg would crack open before he could even think about trying a second time.


    Crunch. Creak. The black glass doors gave way before his power.


    He judged he had done enough and shot off like a bullet, wrapped in his own black wings. All he had to do was get there before the gap closed. Then he would have a clear path. Then he could do nothing more to defend himself.


    Like a black bullet, he flew over ten meters and through the gap in the black glass wall an instant before it closed as he had predicted.


    He had won, he had won, he had won, he had won, he had...!


    No.


    He was repelled as soon as his sword touched the egg. He didn''t even see how, but what mattered was the result.


    He fell at great speed, like a meteorite. The windows passed in front of his eyes blending into a blur. Sylvester should be able to soar, but his wings had disappeared even before the egg repelled him.


    And now, impossibly, for the first time in a decade, the skill wasn''t responding to him even though he had points to spare.


    His soul fell at his feet. He wasn''t worried about falling, of course. He wouldn''t die even if he fell to the hot magma in the earth''s core. He could crawl his way out of even such a situation.


    What worried him was that his worst fears had been confirmed.


    If it could do something like this to him even before it was born, what would happen when it walked among them? Would it really be the end? An enemy he couldn''t touch, much less defeat?


    "Sylvester!"


    He recognized her voice even in the midst of the chaos. It was one of the few times Cynthia had called his name.


    He hit the ground.


    His fall created a crater instantly. Like ants devouring a sugar cube, a dozen Lunar Remnants surrounded him.


    His body swung the katana for him. The feeling of defeat didn''t allow him to focus on defending himself properly, and he was operating on pure instinct alone.


    Still, he killed almost everyone and rose from a pool of their blood and guts.


    He only had eyes for the egg, despite the wounds it had sustained.


    The black crystal had disappeared, but he had no doubt that it could reappear in less than a second to protect him. The egg moved as if it were alive.


    Shrinking, widening, shrinking again. It was like the heart of some terrible beast, pounding. He felt each beat like a hammer in his chest. He felt as if their heartbeats had synchronized.


    The cavalry had arrived. More. Not agents from other countries, but the army of this country in helicopter gunships. Equipped with the most advanced weaponry of this century.


    But it was too late. Simply too late.


    The egg was beating louder and louder, faster and faster. The time had come. Sylvester had missed the chance to stop this.


    It hatched. Its fluids fell into the sea of night''s darkness.


    The creature inside rose on raven"black wings, moving with total naturalness. No one would say it had been born only seconds ago.


    She had no clothes on, but you couldn''t say she was naked. Her body wasn''t skin and flesh. It was made of the same black crystal with which she had stopped him from destroying the egg before this could happen. He hadn''t been able to stop this and anything that happened from now on would be his fault, all the blood spilled would stain his hands.


    He was the only one who had had a chance to make it happen.


    For the first time in ten years, he had failed.


    The soldiers didn''t even have a chance to lay down their lives for their country. Even if they had, their courageous sacrifice would have made no difference.


    The thing that had hatched from the egg raised a hand, clenched a fist, and that was it.


    The helicopter gunships came down burning in the night like shooting stars. Now that she had a clear path, she descended all the way to him. As if in silent agreement, the pandemonium that had reigned in the square since the incident began came to a complete halt. It was as if everyone was holding their breath, waiting and watching for whatever had to happen.


    "What are you?" It didn''t matter. It didn''t change anything, but he felt the need to ask anyway.


    This wasn''t a Lunar Remnant. He''d fought enough of those things to know that. She wasn''t human, she wasn''t a hybrid, but she wasn''t a Lunar Remnant either.


    She was something else.


    Her? Her, yes her. Though she had no sexual organs and he hadn''t heard her speak yet, he knew she was a woman.


    She grabbed his chin and pulled him in as if to give him a kiss.


    Face to face. Sylvester''s shadowed eyes against the slitted eyes of an inhuman creature, a creature that didn''t even belong in this world. A creature unlike any other he had faced in the war his life had become, since that day ten years ago.


    "Humanity''s time has come to an end. That is all that matters."


    He now had the feeling that it had been a very, very short time.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Cynthia had seen enough.


    She didn''t understand... Well, actually she understood perfectly well why she had been paralyzed, as if what had happened had nothing to do with her. It wasn''t something you saw every day, come on. But enough. She had to do something about it before it became too much.


    So she did the only thing she could always do. Point and shoot.


    Once again, what came out wasn''t bullets, but blasts of air. The attack had ripped a Lunar Remnant to shreds, killing it so quickly that it surely hadn''t even realized it.


    Shots with the force of a gale....


    They did nothing to that thing.


    The wind blew through that thing like it was nothing. And then, those inhuman eyes fixed on her.


    Cynthia stopped breathing at that very moment. She had never seen such terrible eyes. Too much time passed between one heartbeat and the next, as if she was about to have a heart attack.


    Pain. But it had nothing to do with that.


    One of the revolvers fell from her hand. Twisting, breaking. Exploding, even, leaving as a trace only a little black smoke.


    She felt as if ''something'' had crushed her hand, not just the gun. But it was intact. The fingers still moved just fine.


    Still.


    But now it was her turn to pay for what she had done. Attack, counterattack, it was painfully simple. But Sylvester interfered before that evil creature had a chance to retaliate for an attack that hadn''t even tickled it, grabbing the thing by the arm and squeezing.


    "I am your opponent," he said confidently.


    And he took a punch that sent him flying high, burying him in the wall of one of the many buildings surrounding them. Cynthia was surprised that he hadn''t been able to dodge the attack, and imagined what a similar punch would have done if it had hit her.


    It didn''t take much imagination. It was obvious that she would now be here, there, everywhere.


    Completely unrecognizable.


    Sylvester had told the creature that it was his opponent and he was right. The only one of them capable of facing it, at least. If it hadn''t been clear to her after her newly discovered wind shots had done nothing to it, that punch would have convinced her.


    Only Sylvester had any chance of defeating it.


    So, if he fell in combat, they wouldn''t have to worry only about the lives brutally taken in this park.


    At the very least, they would have to say goodbye to the city, right?


    And then governments would bomb the moon in an attempt to stop this madness for good, after seeing that what they considered, not unfairly, the last line of defense had fallen.


    For better or worse, Sylvester was its opponent.


    Cynthia could only watch from the ground, helplessly, as two gods among men fought.

 32. The Woman Chosen by the Moon, Part 6

    Emerald, one of the many normal agents of the syndicate, one more in the midst of the chaos that had formed in the main square, was desperately fighting for her life.


    For her own life, not to protect the lives of others, unlike just a few minutes ago.


    When that egg had appeared and the civilians had collapsed, their lives seemingly being sucked up to feed that thing, the monsters had stopped coming after them.


    So, for the moment now she only had to worry about her life.


    Which didn''t make things much easier for her.


    The Lunar Remnant she was fighting was a writhing mass of darkness, full of white spikes that twisted as well, as the creature changed shape. No, it wasn''t exactly like that.


    The darkness and the white parts moved all the time, but its shape didn''t change drastically, everything went back to its initial configuration.


    Still, it was a seriously dangerous nuisance.


    She could move just enough to dodge an attack only to find that suddenly the beast''s arm, along with its sharp claws, was much closer than it should be. In fact, she''d paid for that mistake several times in the beginning.


    That''s why she couldn''t move her left leg very well.


    That''s why her hair was stuck to her forehead not from sweat, but from her own blood.


    Now, when dodging Emerald wasn''t just taking into account what she could see right now. She was trying to predict its changes, though it gave the impression that the Remnant didn''t control them, but that its body was unstable.


    And it was shooting at it. Continuously firing at it while backing up and dodging, of course.


    But the bullets didn''t seem to do much to it. It was like a big wall. The son of a bitch refused to go down. Emerald was giving it her all and with each passing second, the more she feared it wouldn''t be nearly enough.


    The beast roared. The attack, which would have made her head explode like a melon, split one of the pillars in the room. The fight had started in the main square, but this monster had ended up driving her back toward a department store. They had plenty of money to pay for the damage, and she could only afford to worry about her life right now anyway.


    Emerald disappeared from sight.


    Yes, she had an invisibility device. Had it not been for that, she would surely have been torn to shreds by that thing by now. She had been lucky. Many Lunar Remnants had other ways of tracking their prey, but this spike"covered mass of darkness depended on sight.


    Invisibility didn''t last long, forcing her to expose herself again and wait for it to recharge, but it served her well enough to escape death and put as much distance between herself and the creature as possible. That was enough for her.


    For the time being.


    In a situation like this, Emerald couldn''t expect anyone to arrive to save her. But if she continued this way, only death awaited her. I don''t like to think about it, she told herself, but it''s true. At this rate I can consider myself dead.


    Emerald had her rifle, she had her invisibility device.


    She had one more tool, a grappling hook. Something most agents had, nothing special. She could shoot it at the Remnant... And deliver herself faster into the maw of that monster on a silver platter?


    Ha, no.


    But she had another idea. A more or less good idea.


    It was enough for her.


    Emerald stopped losing ground. For the first time since the fight with this thing had started, she ran towards the creature instead of backwards. The monster tried to tear her apart with both claws, but they only slashed the ground as she threw herself, slipping between the Remnant''s legs.


    Scrambling to her feet again, she ran.


    Not toward the exit. She turned around just as fast. Taking aim and firing. Emerald''s aim was impeccable, even if it hadn''t done her much good so far. The monster ran towards her, its claws ripping chunks out of the ground and kicking up dust in its wake. At this rate the stores would be as unrecognizable as the main square, which no longer looked like a place built with human hands.


    At this rate, indeed. But the fight would be over soon enough. That would have no chance of happening.


    Emerald fired the grappling hook at the ceiling.


    She didn''t propel herself into the ceiling, of course.


    Instead, she pulled on it. Caused it to come crashing down as the monster passed underneath. The loose piece created a collapse big enough that she didn''t have to calculate the exact timing.


    Good, because she wasn''t sure how she could do that.


    The trap worked. The Lunar Remnant was buried under a mountain of rubble. It wouldn''t take long to get out from under there. Those monsters could only be contained in a facility designed specifically for that purpose.


    But Emerald wouldn''t allow it. That mountain of rubble would become its tomb.


    The monster tried to break free. Emerald approached with her heart in her fist, put the rifle to its forehead and fired. She held the trigger down for a long time, risking the gun overheating.


    The monster''s head hit the ground. It was a small victory, but still she celebrated. The high of victory coursed through her veins as if she was going to walk out of here and see that outside they were done with their own battles too, that nothing was happening anymore.


    Nothing could be further from the truth. What she saw as soon as she stepped outside was two gods fighting.


    They were in the air. Both had wings and could fly freely.


    Emerald understood immediately even though he didn''t want to. The thing that had been growing in the egg had finally hatched and Sylvester was fighting it.


    "Unbelievable."


    She was at a loss for words and breath. Without realizing it, she began to hold her breath as she completed that spectacle.


    There was no one who didn''t know about Sylvester and his strange powers, about how much humanity owed him. She''d always known he was strong, but this was on a whole different level.


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    They were two flashes cutting through the night, dancing in the night sky. The human eye could barely follow them. Every attack they launched would have shaken the foundations of any building, so thank goodness they had taken their battle to the skies. Otherwise Sylvester might have wrecked the city before saving it.


    The woman who was his opponent was either unaware of that because she had just been born or she didn''t care because she only had eyes for Sylvester. Because she recognized him as the only threat to her survival and supremacy.


    In any case, their battlefield was the sea of stars. It seemed that was not going to change. For everyone''s sake, she hoped that wouldn''t change.


    Emerald didn''t even think of getting in their way. She would be a nuisance, she couldn''t even serve as a distraction for a few seconds. All she could do, all any of them could do....


    Was raise their eyes to the sky and pray.


    Gods. That was what had come to her mind the first time she had seen them. That they were two gods fighting.


    Yes, then praying was appropriate. Humans had been at the mercy of the gods since the beginning of time, she was no different. Interfering in that fight would be like dreaming of stopping a tsunami with her hands.


    If they weren''t gods, they were at the very least natural disasters in human form. All she could do was...


    Pray that someone would be left alive when the waves crashing over them, poor bastards, calmed down.


    Emerald felt like throwing up.


    ¡ª¡ª


    They were evenly matched. Sylvester was giving it his all and was barely hurt, but that thing was matching his every move and attack even though it had just been born a few minutes ago.


    Every time it parried one of his attacks, the force of the impact shook his whole body anyway. What was it using to attack? A sword. At the beginning of the fight, she reached into her chest and pulled out a sword from the ''black crystal'' her body was made of.


    Had she shaped it like a katana because that was his weapon or had it been a coincidence? In any case, she moved as if she had a lot of practice fighting and using a sword. It wasn''t just that she was being a problem because of her monstrously innate strength and speed.


    And why not?


    After all, she had also spoken English to him as soon as she was born. And she had protected herself from him even before she was born. No one but she had ensured her own birth. It made no sense to measure her by human standards when she wasn''t and with all he knew about her.


    That was why Sylvester was terrified. For the first time in years, he didn''t know the outcome of the fight before it even began. That was because he didn''t know where he stood. The woman was growing at blinding speed.


    Minutes after her birth, they were evenly matched. What would happen half an hour later, or days? It was obvious no matter how much he didn''t want to think about it. If he didn''t defeat her here and now, he wouldn''t have another chance.


    She would become too strong even for him. Could he do it? If they were evenly matched, all it took was one small mistake for everything to go to shit.


    Sylvester was terrified, yes. It was as if he had forgotten the fear of fighting with his life on the line and was remembering it only now. As? It was exactly like that.


    He had relaxed too much.


    Another exchange of blows. He thought it would be exactly like the others, but this time the black crystal sword exploded into a thousand pieces. So Sylvester lunged at her like a shark after smelling blood in the water.


    The woman intercepted the attack with her sword. Another sword. She had extracted another one exactly like it from the black crystal on her body and moved fast enough to intercept his attack.


    Sylvester clicked his tongue. Okay, he should have expected that outcome, but it didn''t make it any less irritating. Quite the contrary. He''d like to be wrong for a change when assuming the worst. It really would be nice once in a while.


    The series of evenly matched attacks and defenses ended abruptly as he flew off. His world spun around several times. He crashed into the front of a building, making it quite a bit less flat. It sank inward.


    She''d throw him around so easily that he''d end up vomiting if he got careless. An exaggeration, no doubt, but that was how it felt.


    The stats screen appeared in front of his eyes without him opening it. An obstacle to his field of vision. A fatal distraction, even if it wouldn''t take more than a second to make it disappear. But neither was the worst of it.


    Level: 53


    He should be happy to level up, to get stronger. But he hadn''t leveled up for years precisely because he hadn''t encountered worthy opponents. That this thing had made him go up two levels in such a short time only increased his concern.


    He had to do something.


    "Don''t think you''re going to defeat me with that alone," said the creature that had hatched from the egg, grinning like the devil himself.


    What was she...? It couldn''t be. It couldn''t be, but what other option was there? She''d seen it.


    And he saw it too. That woman''s status screen. He saw enough, anyway. Level five.


    Regardless of whether she''d started from level zero or level one, she''d gone up a few levels since the fight started. Since her life had started. It hadn''t even been a quarter of an hour since her birth, surely.


    It was hard not to lose track of time in a situation like this. But in any case he would feel that more time had passed than had actually passed, not less.


    "You''re like me," Sylvester said. Things were going from bad to worse. Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined such a possibility, but now his ominous foreboding made all the sense in the world.


    She could become strong in the same way he could, so in no time she would be unstoppable.


    "That''s right." She felt a shudder. It was almost as if she''d answered his thoughts. "If this is the sick game of the gods, then you''re player one... and I''m player two."


    She had chosen an interesting metaphor. But, more importantly...


    "If? Don''t you know exactly what''s going on in this world?" Wasn''t she responsible for this?


    "Well, I was just born.... Sylvester." Hearing that abomination utter his name was as if his spine had been transformed into a centipede. Painful, disgusting, terrifying. It made him feel violated.


    And the smile did not leave that abomination''s face. Openly mocking him.


    "Yeah. I''m several dozen levels above you."


    "And what good has it done you? It seems that the quality of my base material is simply superior. After all, you''re only... human." She said it with a calm tone, but it was more dismissive than if she had spat it out with hatred.


    The thing was right, of course.


    Sylvester grimaced. She might be a newborn, but she wouldn''t be fooled so easily.


    If he had to, he should have tried it after putting her on the ropes at least once, not right after losing an exchange of blows.


    Sylvester straightened up, wings too. Player one against player two. He had to seize the advantage while he still had the upper hand here.


    He fired an anchor of darkness.


    Anchor, claw. He liked to think of that thing both ways, despite the name of the skill it sometimes served both purposes. In this case, it served no purpose. That woman shattered the anchor with a single swing of her black crystal sword.


    She didn''t dodge, she didn''t even look to hit it, showing utter contempt. She did it in the same casual way a normal person might shoo away a fly.


    "Who are you?"


    "I suppose you can call me the Lunar Princess."


    That was a title, not a name. But it was somewhat interesting. New information about his enemy, even if he couldn''t get anything out of it because she was being vague. Or not so much, but he didn''t have enough context for it to mean much to him.


    In any case...


    He lunged for her. If the anchor didn''t work, he''d try a more direct approach. What good has it done you so far?, he thought. More than talking.


    They collided again.


    He could keep flying for a long time. When they attacked the plane, his PM bar was depleted rather quickly because he had been thousands of miles up in the air. His body and wings had to withstand that pressure and so it had been depleted quickly, but now they were only flying a few feet off the ground.


    Above the buildings, but it wasn''t anything that could be called high, knowing what they were both capable of. Everything about his enemy was new to him, but there was no way she was even close to her limit.


    She wasn''t human, after all.


    He wondered why she wasn''t coming down, forcing him to fight at ground level. To hold back, for fear of doing too much damage or killing innocent people. Perhaps her inexperience. As much power as she had, she had just been born.


    She could fix that in time. She could fix it all...and surpass him. He couldn''t give her that time. It had to end here.


    "Tonight!" Sylvester didn''t even realize he had shouted that as he wielded the katana with both hands.


    A powerful blow executed above his head, with the full weight of his body. It failed to penetrate his enemy''s guard, even though he had chosen the perfect moment. The swords intertwined once again, locked in a fight that seemed to have no end.


    "Tonight what, huh?" Her smile was serene, almost beautiful, even though she was only mocking him. Even though she was the ultimate enemy. "You''re adorable. You should know by now that I am the end.


    The barrier...


    The technicians weren''t able to open it to let the cavalry through. They fired a second barrier, trapping the biggest monsters in an electric sphere in the air. A gladiatorial area created with electricity.


    The woman, the self-proclaimed Lunar Princess, didn''t seem impressed at all.


    "This will only make it impossible for you to run away."


    "I don''t intend to."


    One way or another, things would end...


    Tonight.

 33. The Woman Chosen by the Moon, Part 7

    Tonight.


    The Lunar Princess landed on him like a meteorite, it shook him like the waves of the sea. The katana narrowly missed escaping from between his fingers. It wouldn''t have fallen very far, the barrier was rather small, but the time it would take him to retrieve it would be too much.


    A fatal mistake. After all, not everyone could pull swords out of their body and recover just like that from a situation where you had been disarmed.


    An advantage she had. One of many others.


    Sylvester shouted as if to shake that insecurity away from him and swung the sword. She could have simply dodged the blow, he knew it, saw it, but she chose to clash her weapon against his.


    The sound of metal against metal didn''t rise in the air.


    That was not metal, after all.


    In ancient times, swordsmen didn''t clash their weapons. It looked good in the movies, but in real life that only caused the blade to deteriorate much faster. In half a dozen blows the idiot knight might find himself with only a handle in his hand and the blade in pieces on the ground.


    But modern progress had solved that problem.


    So he broke the Lunar Princess''s sword for the third time, while his own was still as good as new.


    He fired two claws of darkness, one on each side, intending to crush her in the middle.


    Intending but not expecting it.


    She dodged the claws effortlessly and then kicked him in the teeth. Literally.


    Sylvester went flying backwards and because of his bad luck, something that showed no signs of changing any time soon, his back brushed against the electric barrier shot by the satellite.


    It was only an instant. A small graze.


    But it was enough to make him feel as if he had been set on fire. He wasn''t and wouldn''t be on fire, he pulled away immediately, by instinct, as soon as he felt the pain. Like a child bringing a hand close to the flames just to see for himself if it was really that hot and paying for it.


    He didn''t even burn a small piece of his jacket, but fuck if he didn''t momentarily doubt.


    The pain loosened the fingers of the hand with which he held the katana. No, he said to himself. And he squeezed before it slipped away.


    If Sylvester let go of his weapon, he would lose before he could retrieve it. He had skills to spare, but he was convinced that would be a death sentence anyway. Even if it wasn''t directly a death sentence, it wouldn''t do him any good, so he''d better make an effort to keep it where it belonged.


    They were both inhumanly fast. In the midst of a series of dizzyingly fast attacks and defenses, Sylvester realized that she hadn''t just copied the shape of his sword. She was also mimicking his fighting style. She was taking everything the first person she had seen after birth had to offer her. As if he were a father, only she was learning without his consent or help.


    Sylvester clicked his tongue.


    If she kept learning so fast, they would soon be equal in every way. If she kept growing so fast, she would soon be strong enough to squash him like a bug. He couldn''t see a way out of this situation now. Since they had been locked in the barrier, there was no way for him to get assistance either.


    None of the people down there had attacks powerful enough to break through the barrier. The barriers, rather. That someone would have to break through not one but two barriers to get to him, even assuming they could somehow help him against this monster.


    Sylvester could tear down the barrier if he wanted to, naturally. But that would require turning his back on the enemy.


    He would die right then and there. He couldn''t even take it into consideration, he would die without a doubt.


    The truth was that he was already doing everything he could. The truth was that it didn''t matter if it wasn''t enough. Things were as they were.


    They crossed paths once again and all they managed to do once again was exchange positions. It wasn''t like in a samurai movie, one of them realizing seconds later that they''d been wounded and collapsing. They were simply evenly matched (for the moment, just for the moment) and couldn''t reach each other.


    Sylvester quickly turned around. The Lunar Princess was already coming for him, like a meteor.


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    He fired the claw of darkness and missed.


    Or so it must have seemed to his enemy, but he hadn''t been aiming at her from the start. No, his target had been the barrier. Before all the energy was transmitted through the claw to him, he pushed, pulling the barrier towards him.


    Towards them, and that bitch was the first to touch it. She didn''t even notice. It was electricity after all, it didn''t make any more noise than that constant buzzing. How was she supposed to hear it coming?


    She could have put two and two together watching him pull, but even though she wasn''t normal deep down she was a newborn.


    "You still have a lot to learn!"


    Now he was a shark smelling blood in the water.


    He released the claw and struck her before she could recover from the shock of the electricity. Sending her against the barrier a second time. His heart was totally out of control now. Because this could be the last chance to finish her off.


    Because if she survived, getting up and learning from it, how would he catch her by surprise the next time?


    He couldn''t think about such things at a time like this. All his effort and conscious thought had to be directed to ensure her absolute death.


    A blow executed with both hands.


    The Lunar Princess brushed it off and launched her own barrage of blows. Each one was aimed at a vital point. Sylvester didn''t back down, he had had enough of losing ground. Instead he advanced, savage, even though he knew he couldn''t dodge all the blows under any circumstances.


    He had to accept every bit of flesh that was ripped from him and press on.


    That was his only method, his only hope, of winning. He couldn''t allow anything to make him hesitate or distract him. His life wasn''t what was important here. It never had been.


    His katana pierced the enemy''s guard for the first time, plunging deep into her stomach. He felt it come out the other side, saw it. Her blood was as red as his own.


    Even though he had told himself he couldn''t be distracted by anything, he allowed himself to grin like an animal baring his teeth.


    But, of course, it turned out to be too soon to declare victory.


    The black crystal expanded. It swallowed his katana and the arm with which he held it up to his elbow. They were still where they should be, but he couldn''t move them an inch. Trapped. Not only had he not won, but this mistake could spell his defeat.


    He wasn''t smiling anymore. But the Lunar Princess was, a very big smile.


    His mind went blank. There was no pain, there was nothing. When he regained consciousness, he found himself without half his arm, in free fall. The katana, intact, was also falling through the air. Twisting and turning. Out of his reach. No matter how far he stretched out his hand, he couldn''t reach it.


    His hand? His hand? His hand and most of his arm were missing.


    He knew he had the other one available, but still the thought made him laugh as if he had said something incredibly stupid and contradictory.


    Neither his sword nor he should have fallen very far, but the barrier opened for them. So those in the syndicate had beheld their defeat. Those who were watching the situation from afar, coordinating everything behind the scenes.


    Soon the people who were still fighting would see it too.


    He was something of a symbol. He meant a lot to a lot of people, even those who had never seen him. Even those who recoiled in fear when he approached. He knew that. That was one of the reasons he couldn''t afford to lose.


    Humanity needed hope, to keep morale high. That was what Sylvester symbolized. And, tonight...


    The symbol crashed into the asphalt, forming a large crater. Lying right in the center like a garbage bag. Without an arm. Without his weapon. In other words, defeated.


    Sylvester opened his mouth as if he was going to say something. All he did was spit blood all over himself and the cracks in the floor. He had given it his all, but she had decisively defeated him. A part of him was enraged because it wasn''t fair, there was no way he could have predicted what happened.


    But so what? Life wasn''t fair. In life and death fights there was no room for fairness, only survival. He had lost, so he would die. That was it. It was painfully simple.


    No. No!


    He couldn''t die yet and he hadn''t actually been defeated. He had one ace up his sleeve left, one sure way to escape death. He had no choice but to use it. She was coming for him, to finish the job. She wasn''t going to fool around or monologue for the cavalry to get there in time. He would die as soon as she caught up with him.


    He had no choice but to use that, and there was nothing wrong with using it in the first place.


    However...


    Health: 15


    He hadn''t leveled up in years. He could use experience points to improve his stats, but his overall level was what determined the limit of his stats.


    He had gone up two levels in a very short time, but it hadn''t happened again. He could only raise his Health once more, if this kept up. He could recover a second time, but not a third.


    Besides, he would reach the level limit soon, even if it were otherwise. He had to worry about that detail as well.


    Whereas The Lunar Princess had just been born. Everything was new to her, anything could make her level up. She had the same power as him. Which meant that even if he managed to bring her to the brink of defeat, she had but to raise her Health stat to fully regenerate.


    This was a hopeless battle.


    No matter what he did, she would crush him. God... He didn''t want to die like this.


    He gritted his teeth. Unacceptable. Since that fateful day, he had dedicated his entire life to this. So to fail was unacceptable. Unacceptable, completely unacceptable, unacceptableinacceptableinacceptableinacceptableinacceptableinacceptableinacceptableinacceptableinacceptable.


    Heaven and earth. Sun and moon. Human and monster collided in the middle of the crater, instantly making it more than ten meters deeper.


    Their swords clashed, of course. The missing arm took only a second to grow after he leveled up his Health. He was also very quick at retrieving the sword. The clash happened before he realized it.


    Yes... It was as if his body had moved under someone else''s command. Pure instinct, like flowing water.


    "Imitate this," Sylvester spat, first out of his mouth.


    Then out of his free hand, a beam of energy that hit her squarely and sent the little princess against and through the front of one of the buildings. He should have cared about the damage to the property and the danger to the people possibly still inside, but he couldn''t think about that right now, he couldn''t think about anything.


    First, because his head was exploding.


    Second, because if he didn''t win this fight at all costs, there wouldn''t be a city left to worry about.


    He advanced towards his fallen enemy.


    He would decide when this was over, when things were truly hopeless. Only he could decide that, so he would press on, whatever it took. And he would crush her.

 34. The Woman Chosen by the Moon, Part 8

    The Moon Princess came out of the building. Out of the dust cloud and through the mountain of rubble. She didn''t look any worse for wear. Of course, he hadn''t expected anything else. If only the energy blast had been enough to kill her, but of course things couldn''t be that simple.


    Sylvester kept his distance, didn''t immediately jump on her. There was something he didn''t like. Not at all.


    Call it instinct or something else, he knew that approaching her was a bad idea. It was okay, he could do a lot even at this distance. Like what he had just done, again. Fire the energy beam.


    As expected, she dodged it without batting an eye. The fight had dragged on, but he''d only managed to hit her a good few times. Twice because of the barrier, and the third time with the beam thanks to the element of surprise.


    Now that she knew he could do that, it most likely wouldn''t work even once, no matter the distance.


    She was growing. She was adapting, just like any living thing.


    Survival of the fittest. Adaptability, that was the true meaning of strength. After all, humans hadn''t ended up at the top of the food chain by being the best at everything. Physically speaking, they were no match for many animals. But they had adapted and shaped the world to suit themselves. By force.


    And now... Why was he thinking about this?


    Humanity''s time has come to an end. Sylvester grimaced.


    Not if he could stop it, damn it.


    She didn''t attack. Not from where she was or up close, closing the distance.


    Instead, she grabbed an innocent human being. He hadn''t seen the poor bastard until now because of the dust, but it was too late to do anything.


    She touched him. That was all.


    "No..."


    The Moon Princess had turned the civilian into a Remnant with a single touch. A skeleton with a rotating chainsaw at every joint, constantly turning. The end of humanity''s time, eh? Yes, she was the harbinger of the end.


    "Go, dog."


    The monster, without a sound, quickly went after his enemy. But not her. The woman who had hatched from the egg headed for the barrier.


    "Stop," he shouted such nonsense as if he thought she would stop just like that. "You said this was between us!"


    He hadn''t expected an answer, but he got one.


    "Indeed, but we have been granted certain tools. Your side of the board has more pieces. You have no right to complain now."


    Her mocking laughter danced in the air.


    The biggest mistake Sylvester had made so far was letting himself be knocked down. At least while the fight took place only in the air no one else had been hurt.


    The Moon Princess somehow broke the electric barrier after touching it with her free hand, exposing the syndicate agents still fighting inside. Them and any civilians who would have survived the massacre and soul harvesting. Not many, but some.


    Shit. Shit.


    Ryan either had great courage or he still cared rather little for his own life. He supposed it made no difference. Seeing an enemy approaching that even he was losing to, Ryan lunged after the strange woman without hesitation, jumped.... And was stopped in mid-air.


    That woman had raised her hand, suspending him in mid-air. Just like that.


    "Actually, I don''t like dogs."


    She twisted her hand, clenched into a fist, beginning to twist Ryan''s neck as well. Just like that, in fact.


    He needed him alive. It didn''t matter that there were more hybrids, he still needed him.


    Besides, that she was trying to kill him was reason enough to stop her. Nothing that thing wanted could be good for humanity. She''d made her intentions very clear.


    Sylvester screamed, grabbing her and taking off. He spun her around several times and flung her upward. She stopped in mid-air, avoiding at the last moment crashing into the very building where the egg she had hatched from was. She flew after him without wasting any time.


    He had barely slowed her down.


    "Wow, wow. Are you that desperate to keep this high up? It''s already too late to change their fates. It''s just as you felt, destroying the egg before it hatched was your last chance.


    What? Somehow, she knew. She knew what his instinct had been screaming at him back then.


    "Of course. I''ve already told you, we''re a pair. We''re connected, like it or not."


    The song of metal against metal. Or rather, metal against some out-of-this world material. The second closest thing to that, in any case sparks were flying between them.


    He didn''t think she''d read his mind, or maybe he just didn''t want to believe it. In any case, she could have seen it in his face. It wasn''t as if he had been able to hide his surprise.


    Sylvester used overclocking. He attacked more than a dozen times, from all directions, in an attempt to make it impossible for her to dodge completely, so that she would have to accept some damage to escape.


    But she dodged, all the same.


    Spinning in the air, ending up behind him. But she didn''t seize the opportunity to attack from behind. That monster shot out like a bullet into the crowd, towards the agents on the ground. Again.


    She''d changed her strategy. I wish he could say it was a good thing, that at least she wasn''t directly pushing him so hard, but it wasn''t. Not at all.


    And he wasn''t going to be able to stop her.


    Even as he chased after her, he knew he wasn''t going to be able to stop her. There were simply too many people here and it was too easy to do what she wanted. One touch, that was all it took. And with each transformation, everything would become more difficult.


    Until they reached his inevitable defeat?


    The surviving citizens ran.


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    Many of the agents did too, knowing they couldn''t stand up to this enemy.


    It didn''t matter.


    The Moon Princess ripped off a manhole cover and threw it with enough force to break a poor bastard in half. He thought she was going to kill him before she could transform him, but he was wrong.


    Apparently the ''touch'' of the cover splitting him in half counted.


    The two halves of his body each transformed into a different Lunar Remnant. A three-headed black dog, drooling blood. A creature that was all tentacles.


    There were two surprises here.


    That she could transform people without the need to touch them directly, of course, but mostly that. Lunar Remnants were supposed to be born from a single person. Even though their appearance would change drastically, they still had their original personality and memories. People didn''t die, they transformed.


    So how did this work?


    Would those monsters share that man''s consciousness? Was one of them, or both of them, nothing more than a wild monster?


    It meant she was even more dangerous than he thought, and he had thought she was dangerous enough to make him despair for the first time since he had stopped being a normal person. That was all that mattered right now. The Moon Princess transformed three more into Remnants, which, of course, immediately attacked the nearest humans before he arrived.


    Before he collided with her, before their blades crossed again.


    Uselessly. He wasn''t making any kind of progress. This is my fault. I allowed this to happen. But most of all...


    It''s your fault!


    They collided again and again it was the same as before, the same as always. She wasn''t overwhelming him, she was far from defeating him yet, though she had every chance of winning.


    But he wasn''t making any damn progress. Which meant that sooner or later he would lose miserably.


    Sylvester would fail everyone, as she had always feared.


    Suddenly she stopped transforming people, stopped defending herself. In fact she threw aside the sword and hugged him as tightly as if trying to crush his ribs, only to take off upward, tearing through the clouds.


    Carrying him up to where the air was thin, at a similar altitude to where the fight in the plane had taken place, or rather around the plane.


    Like then, his wings didn''t last long.


    And then she let go of him.


    Fuck.


    The PM bar had dropped too low.


    Fuck.


    It hadn''t emptied, just dropped enough for the wings to disappear on their own, unable to maintain their shape without the necessary energy.


    But that was enough. All of his abilities were powerful and required quite a few of those points.


    Fuck.


    So what did he have at his disposal? How could he avoid ending up looking like roadkill in the middle of the main square, nothing but a huge blob of blood and guts, unrecognizable, when he''d hit the ground? When he''d crash and his body would explode?


    Fuck.


    He launched a claw of darkness at a building when he saw it at the right distance. It was a good shot, the claw buried deep into the facade, but as inhuman as he had become he couldn''t ignore the rules of physics.


    His fall didn''t stop instantly, ignoring the momentum provided by the thousands of feet he had spent falling.


    In other words, it felt as if his arms were being ripped off as his body was pulled towards the claw by the momentum of the fall, which couldn''t stop just like that but had to find a place to go and something to do with him.


    He hit the front of the building hard. He bounced backwards, accidentally released the claw and kept falling. An image that would have been somewhat comical except that it was real and he was experiencing it firsthand.


    Next thing he knew, he was on the ground. He had no memory of the landing, he must have lost consciousness on impact. His head was cocked to one side over a pool of blood, he guessed his own. He noticed blood on his lips, too. Oh. He must have vomited up blood.


    In itself it was a miracle he had survived the fall. He said that, when this started, that woman had hugged him as if she wanted to crush his ribs.


    Now they felt well crushed. Shredded.


    Like shards of glass stuck in his chest, sliding further in each time he took a labored breath. As if he was slowly killing himself with the act, but it wasn''t as if he could stop breathing in any case.


    Sylvester struggled to turn around. He vaguely processed the chaos that still continued around him. The howling, the blood flying, the victors and the defeated.


    I have been defeated.


    The Moon Princess landed unhurriedly in front of him. And she walked closer. There was no longer anything or anyone who could stop her.


    She bent down so that she could look into his eyes. There was something strange there.


    Something akin to fondness.


    ¡°Don''t get up now. And sleep. We have plenty of time left.¡±


    It wasn''t like he wanted to follow her orders, but he had no choice in the matter.


    He had done all he could, hit his limit.


    The darkness and silence brought him peace... for the moment.


    ¡ª¡ª


    He dreamed of the times when he was still a child.


    With his friends and him throwing stones into the lake, competing to see who would get the furthest. Imagining that maybe the surface of the water wasn''t just churning from the impact of the stones, but from a monster lurking in the depths, waiting for just the right moment to strike.


    Imagining strange monsters and fantastic adventures. A purpose to life beyond eating, shitting and sleeping, and getting up the next day to repeat it all over again.


    He dreamed of the moment when he held his mother''s hand as she died and she screamed at him that he wasn''t her son and he silently wondered if she might not be right after all, if he hadn''t basically been replaced when his powers awakened and he began to live by different rules.


    He dreamed of the first moment when he had felt alive, real.


    That is, when he had acquired his powers and survived the first attack of a Lunar Remnant, wounded but victoriously bathed in the blood of the monster that had dared to challenge him.


    He dreamed of many things, but every dream had to end and the dreamer awaken.


    That was what happened.


    Sylvester took a deep breath.


    He was in a hospital bed. It wasn''t as if they could do anything that his innate regeneration wasn''t capable of, but he understood that they didn''t want to just sit around, waiting, doing nothing. He understood the impatience, frustration and desperation.


    Sylvester unceremoniously ripped off the instruments attached to his chest and stood up.


    Nurses soon entered the room.


    They all looked nervous, half-frightened, as usual. He was so tired and sore, despite the length of time he had been unconscious (which could generously be described as a rest), that he almost raised his voice. That he almost shouted at them what was the problem with him, when the responsibility of saving humanity was all in his hands.


    Almost, but he bit his tongue. And moved on to what really mattered.


    "How long have I been unconscious?" He didn''t need to hear useless things. That was all.


    "Four days," a nurse said, slowly and after a while. Somehow that was longer than he had expected and too short a time, in his head.


    His broken body, being at the mercy of someone else. He never wanted to feel any of that again.


    Had she let him live?


    He doubted she had taken him to safety, so the syndicate agents deserved credit for rescuing him. But they wouldn''t have had the chance if the self-proclaimed Moon Princess hadn''t passed up the perfect opportunity to give him the coup de grace.


    And why was that, what was the point?


    He shook his head.


    Point number two, this wasn''t one of the bases in Kaleidoscope City. They all served the same purpose and followed the same design, but he knew anyway. No doubt about it. Over time, people made the places they lived in their own, no matter how identical they were to hundreds of thousands of other installations. To him, accustomed to that city, the differences jumped out even if he couldn''t express them out loud in concrete terms.


    "Where am I? What happened to my city?"


    Four days with that thing running wild, with no one who could stand in her way, and the world hadn''t come to an end. That was a good sign, but only up to a point.


    The end of all things may not have come, but they had to be in deep shit.


    How many millions of people had died while he was recovering?


    He grimaced.


    "We''d better show you."


    Sylvester didn''t argue. He escorted them into another room where they projected a video against the wall.


    It showed the Lunar Princess amidst the ruins of Kaleidoscope City, its population in turn reduced to strange, bloodthirsty monsters, like a twisted reflection of the real city. It gave the impression that many years had passed, for the skeletons of the buildings were consumed by an abundance of vegetation. Had she caused that too? Who else?


    Oh. And, of course, the moon was illuminating her as if it were a spotlight just for her.


    ¡°First of all, humans, I am aware of the idea, or rather naive hope, that you can end all this just by blowing up the moon. And accepting the death of millions of people who would surely have died anyway, eh? Me and mine would still be here. You would put yourselves in a worse position with nothing to make up for the sacrifice. You have no reason to believe me and I have no way of proving that I am telling the truth. But as far as I care, go ahead and do it, you''ll only be hurting yourselves.¡±


    Sylvester believed her.


    If the solution were as easy as blowing up the moon, she wouldn''t have wasted time making a speech, that''s for sure. But fear had little to do with rationality. Since he had been indisposed for several days, he wondered if they hadn''t already tested the woman''s claim. With catastrophic results. He felt a chill.


    ¡°It doesn''t matter what you do as long as you don''t interfere with what needs to happen. Sylvester, come to me as soon as you recover. I''ll be waiting for you.¡± She smiled and the video faded out, coming to an end.


    A challenge.


    No, a declaration of war.

 35. The Dead City Of Kaleidoscope, Part 1

    He was informed of more details about the situation. Millions of people had died, but the damage hadn''t spread outside Kaleidoscope City.


    So what? Millions. The entire population dead or transformed into monsters, which was basically the same thing.


    To make matters worse, they couldn''t even be sure they would face an army of monsters at a ratio of one to every citizen.


    After all, he had seen one man transform into two with his own eyes.


    He would say he didn''t see how the situation could get any worse except that it would be tempting fate. And because he really did see it, it was simple enough for governments to get fed up and pull the trigger, blowing up the moon and killing almost the entire planet.


    Which wouldn''t even do any good, according to that monster, and he believed her.


    Now humanity''s only chance was for him to walk into the death trap that his former city had become, that is, to do exactly what the Moon Princess expected. Something so obvious that she had made a worldwide broadcast to extend an invitation to him.


    But what choice did he have? This game had to come to an end one way or another.


    Sylvester took a deep breath, exhaled. He repeated this several times and it did absolutely nothing to help him. Not to calm down, not even to think a little less about things he couldn''t change anyway.


    Good news was in short supply, so it was especially welcome when he was allowed to reunite with his old team, to know that they had somehow or other survived that disaster. Although many other agents and the rest of the population hadn''t been so lucky.


    He even shared a warm hug with Ryan. Not that he wanted to kill him, but he couldn''t say he liked him either, so it was another surprise. Maybe not pleasant, but not unpleasant either, so it was close enough to count in his opinion. He wasn''t going to ask for a second one.


    "I''m so glad you''re alive," Sylvester said, after giving them both a hug.


    Cynthia took it strangely. Looking at him with wide eyes, as if she didn''t know what to think. She opened her mouth to say something, but apparently thought better of it, closing it again, pursing her lips into a thin line.


    If he''d said or done something wrong, he was grateful she''d saved it for later. Or for good.


    It meant they agreed that this was a time to celebrate, not to quarrel, even if she had every reason to do so. Which he didn''t believe. That is, he''d just said he was happy, hadn''t he? What could be so strange or offensive about that? Surely it was mostly his imagination.


    A couple of hours passed and the only thing he learned, in essence, was that the syndicate''s plan was to throw him in the general direction of the problem. None of the informants stooped to saying: we have no idea what to do. Figure it out on your own, please. But it went without saying, alas.


    He wasn''t the only one they would send.


    So would all the agents they could spare, which were all of them with the end of the world at stake. Naturally.


    But ultimately this was up to him.


    They were now in the back of another plane, hoping that this time they wouldn''t be attacked on the way.


    Their destination was, of course, the ruins of Kaleidoscope City, which now belonged to that woman and the monsters who knelt before her. For she was their princess.


    A dead city, nature devouring its bones bit by bit.


    It wasn''t a peaceful journey. They couldn''t have peace with all that was at stake, but precisely for that reason at least it was silent.


    "Boss..." Until Cynthia decided to open her mouth. Judging by her hesitant tone, it wasn''t going to be a pleasant topic. But that didn''t mean it all had to go to shit. They had enough to deal with. It really wasn''t the time, so he would do his best not to get angry and fuck it up.


    "Yes?"


    "I want to tell you something. But I don''t mean to pick a fight, so promise me you won''t get mad."


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    She''d asked him and everything. Okay, maybe it would be harder than he''d thought, great.


    "Say whatever." But that was all that came out of his mouth. Though perhaps it had sounded more blunt than he had intended, a simple invitation for him to continue, because she didn''t have or at least shouldn''t have reason to be silent, fearing his reaction.


    "I have a strong sense of justice. You know that. Otherwise I wouldn''t be here. I would have left it in the hands of others, as my mother wanted." So she got along well with her mother. She had begged her, like any sensible mother, not to choose that life, not to put herself in useless danger. Whereas his own hadn''t even recognized him as her son at the end of her life. It wasn''t fair and had nothing to do with anything, but he couldn''t help but make the comparison anyway. "I worked hard. Then I got promoted to your partner. Everyone was talking about you, gossiping" Oh, yeah. Typical "and they warned me, but I was proud to have been chosen as your partner. I still am. More so every day, actually."


    Okay, so much preamble, and suddenly she was sucking up to him, too. Or so it seemed to him. That she was exaggerating. What was the bombshell she was about to drop?


    "But?"


    There was always a but.


    "You''ve always been good to me. Probably the best boss I''ve ever had. Patient, understanding, fair." More preamble, more pleasantries. He was starting to get seriously worried. "But they were right about you. I knew it from the first time I saw you."


    "What do you mean?"


    It wasn''t as bad as expected. Or rather, it was hard to be offended when he had no idea what the fuck she was talking about.


    "It was like you were looking right through me. Maybe because you didn''t expect me to survive, like the others. Maybe because you can only bury so many of your partners before you decide to stop making such a big deal out of it or go crazy." Had he done that, looking through her? He wasn''t sure, but that also meant he couldn''t deny it. He supposed the answer didn''t matter, that the mere fact that he had made her feel that way meant something and was a problem. "I don''t know, but I''ve always felt that way.... Until today. You were sincerely happy to see me survive."


    Had she ever doubted it? Sylvester felt even worse.


    "Maybe the taste of defeat made me more human." With some much-needed humility on his plate, too. "But I''m not the only one who''s changed."


    "Hmm?"


    "You and Ryan seem to be getting along better." At the very least they''d been breathing the same air for quite a while without Cynthia finding excuses to pick a fight, knowing she had to restrain herself for the sake of humanity so leaving it at just threats and other passive aggressive talk.


    "Something like that." Cynthia shrugged, looked away. "We fought together, bled together, survived together. He was basically complicit in the most horrible thing I''ve ever seen.... But I think it''s time to admit that his attempt to redeem himself is sincere."


    "Thank you." Ryan''s first contribution to the conversation, he couldn''t help but notice. Well, if it were him he wouldn''t have been able to keep quiet either. Coming from Cynthia, that counted as effusive praise, after all.


    "You don''t have to thank me for telling the truth."


    She sure was nice today. Anyway, they''d had four days alone to get to know each other better and talk to overcome their differences. Four days of that while the world was going to shit around them and they only had each other for support. It made sense, in a pragmatic and emotional way. And it was a good thing. He wasn''t going to complain or make things difficult for no reason.


    They were informed that they had arrived at their destination and the door of the plane opened before them. A short walk that led to a long, long drop. They stood on the edge, the others equipped with parachutes, to observe what was left of the city.


    Sylvester rested a hand on the wall, holding on tightly to the first thing he caught, hard, as if he wanted to tear it off.


    Seeing it in person, even at this distance, was somehow different from watching it on video. More real. He had been fighting for ten years to protect the whole world. But most of those ten years had been spent in that city, the city he''d been born and raised in, save for a few trips out (to other cities or countries) when the situation was simultaneously too fucked up for normal agents to handle and controlled enough that it wouldn''t all be over before he had time to get wherever he was going.


    It was home, in a nutshell. It was what he had fought for, and it had all had to end this way.


    He knew things worked this way. It was just like watering a plant. For it to bloom properly you had to water it carefully, take care of it, take into account the weather, the soil in the pot and a lot of tips that you could find on the internet. But it was enough to forget about it for a couple of days for it to start to wither. Life wasn''t designed, there was no grand plan. Life was a cosmic accident that you had to hold on to with all your might.


    Sylvester was the first to jump, spreading his wings and flying toward the broken city consumed by vegetation. He simply hadn''t been able to stand another second of just seeing it, wallowing in his misery. Nothing could be done about it anymore, but he could make that bitch pay. And he would.


    He landed in the middle of a shattered street, making his wings disappear, looking around trying to make sure there were no enemies nearby. Though he could never be one hundred percent sure. At first that was what he did, but it wasn''t long before he was distracted. Life in this city had come to a sudden and violent halt.


    As proof of that, there were still quite a few cars strewn along the road. Sylvester was distracted as he waited for his companions to land with the help of parachutes, observing the open or torn doors, the broken glass, the dried blood. Traces of the tragedy.


    Of the massacres.


    Everything that had happened in the last four days was his fault, the blood of millions of people stained his hands. Millions. There was no turning back now, no possibility of repair.


    But he could avenge them.


    Sylvester stood there, watching, as if in a trance until his companions landed nearby, tossing the parachutes aside.


    Then, together, they entered the dead city ruled by a being beyond the stars.


    Into the huge gladiatorial area where the fate of the world would be decided.

 36. The Dead City Of Kaleidoscope, Part 2

    They weren''t the only ones who had been sent to die on this island, he just had the privilege of having a plane just for him and his team.


    He could see the others, agents from other cities or countries, parachuting from their respective planes all over the island. He didn''t feel like they were in this together, though. And not just because Ryan and Cynthia were the only ones running alongside him, while those agents were nothing more than specks in the endless blue sky. Mostly because even if they did end up coming together, not much would change. That was the sad truth.


    Even Ryan and Cynthia couldn''t do much here, perhaps they would be better off holed up in a bunker, waiting to see who would win, him or the Lunar Princess. But the fate of the world was at stake.


    They had to throw everything they could at the problem or they would end up feeling they hadn''t done enough, if they lost.


    Would it be a comfort to most of the agents, once they died knowing that, whether humanity won or lost, their presence and sacrifice had most likely made no difference?


    No, of course not.


    But there was a reason they were here. There was a reason they hadn''t backed down.


    Sylvester supposed that alone made it worth it. They''d struggle to do what they could and even if that turned out to be nothing, at least they''d know they''d died with their boots on. He supposed that should be enough for them.


    But not for him. Not at all.


    He had to win this, he had to end this nightmare once and for all.


    Maybe the real nightmare had only just begun. His vision was tinged with blue and for a moment he thought that the Moon Princess had arrived, announcing her arrival only with an earth-shaking blue attack that covered his vision, that the end had come so suddenly and decisively, like the fall of a guillotine.


    But he rubbed his eyes and when he reopened them fully the only thing that had changed was that he was now alone.


    "Guys?"


    No one answered him. But they couldn''t have just disappeared off the face of the earth, could they? Who was he kidding? He had no idea. That woman had crushed him mere minutes after she''d been born, now that she''d had four days to roam free god only knew what kind of abilities she''d unlocked and how much her stats had grown. He''d gained eight experience points and three levels in total, and it had ended in defeat! He didn''t even want to imagine it.


    The spectral blue glow clung to all his surroundings. It crossed Sylvester''s mind that perhaps his teammates weren''t the ones who had disappeared, but he himself.


    A white wolf appeared out of literally nowhere. He didn''t look away for a second, it wasn''t there and then suddenly it was. With its back to him, facing forward, it seemed, tongue out and breathing heavy.


    He turned his head back, pinning him with eyes like gold coins, and then looked away.


    No aggression. Without even showing intent to attack.


    He walked forward calmly. Sylvester decided to follow him, suddenly convinced that he would show him the way.


    He was heading somewhere, but the path was anything but clear. As they went on his vision was tinged blue again. He knew he was undergoing a transition, so there was nothing to fear.


    When the light cleared, the white wolf had disappeared. He also discovered that everything had changed, although everything remained the same at the same time. His surroundings were an inverted version of the place he had been a moment ago. Of the entire city, which the Lunar Princess had transformed into an island, separating it from the rest of the landmass, isolating it.


    Sylvester took a step forward and everything changed again. It was still an inverted version of Kaleidoscope City, but also suddenly everything was made of glass floating in the middle of a cold, indifferent void, as if it could shatter at any moment.


    As if something could shatter it at any moment.


    So nothing has really changed, huh?


    Sylvester bit his tongue to hold back the urge to laugh. There were truths so bitter they made you cry and truths so bitter you could only laugh to keep from going mad, from losing heart.


    The white wolf, his guide into this strange and twisted version of the world, something like that void of mirrors but somewhat less sudden and without manipulating his memories, had abandoned his duty. He was nowhere to be found and it didn''t look like he was going to change his mind, come back and take pity on him to show him the way out.


    This had to be Princess Lunar''s doing.


    Who else? It was, whether this was one of the alien woman''s abilities or one of the Lunar Remnants at her command.


    Sylvester moved forward, hoping to be reunited with Ryan and Cynthia, hoping they hadn''t died yet. Hoping in turn that they hadn''t because he wasn''t sure if they were dead.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    Sylvester moved forward, hoping to be able to meet Ryan and Cynthia again, hoping that they had not died yet. Hoping at the same time it didn''t happen because he wasn''t sure he could protect them and accomplish his mission at the same time and he didn''t need distractions.


    He couldn''t even afford to be distracted, taking down some low level enemies in preparation for fighting the big boss.


    At this point she was the only one who could make him level up.


    Postponing the fight only made sense to the Lunar Princess, who still anything made her grow, since she hadn''t even been in this world for a week.


    He supposed that was why she had trapped him in this place. The how was unimportant.


    The look could and had been a bit unsettling at first, but once he calmed down it was actually quite beautiful, like a magnificent crystal sculpture that even a team of hundreds of sculptors would have to devote their lives to build. And even then they wouldn''t have gotten half of it done. In other words, he had a privileged view of something that couldn''t be made by human hands.


    But the tranquility went to shit when one of the trees transformed into the Lunar Princess, just as he was passing by, practically grazing it, and Sylvester jumped backwards as if propelled by a jet engine. He was lucky he didn''t fall into the indifferent bottomless void, in fact.


    "Shit!"


    Not the best opening line for the fight that would decide the fate of the world, but it was what he had.


    ¡ª¡ª


    "He disappeared. Suddenly, yes. I don''t think he''s dead. No, that''s not a good way to start this, but what can I say," Cynthia was saying. She had never acted in such an unprofessional manner before, but she felt that the current circumstances warranted it and that everyone had bigger problems to worry about. "Yes, you do that. We''ll do... We''ll do what we can."


    The person on the other end of the line, surely in some organization bunker billions of miles away from the action, wished her good luck. Wished for her to survive.


    Cynthia felt like criticizing them for no reason, as if they were to blame for what was happening. As if that person had an obligation to go to the island to fight, even though they could not contribute anything, because they weren''t equipped to fight, those weren''t the skills they had been refining.


    But in the end she overcame that petty desire for revenge, she sighed.


    And thanked them.


    One small gesture in return for another. Words repeated so often that they should mean very little, but they made her feel as if the weight on her shoulders was a little lighter anyway.


    Just a little, but when the weight of the world threatened to crush her like a gnat on a cosmic windshield wiper, any reduction was worth it.


    She cut the comms. Or the other agent did, it had happened seconds ago and she no longer remembered. Cynthia shook her head; she had to focus, it didn''t matter that Sylvester had disappeared. That humanity''s greatest weapon had disappeared was catastrophic, but she couldn''t let it matter to her if she wanted to retain the strength she needed to keep going.


    "At least we''re in this together," Ryan said.


    That wouldn''t have comforted her at all just a few days ago (more likely it would have made her watch her back carefully), but a lot could change in a few days.


    "Yes. I''m worried about Sylvester, but I doubt he''s gone down that easily."


    "And if he has, we''re screwed and there''s no point in worrying about anything anyway."


    "Yeah. That''s right."


    They advanced through the forest carefully. That spawn, the self-proclaimed Lunar Princess, had defeated Sylvester decisively, so none of the agents on the island dreamed that they could succeed where he had not. They were here, above all, to serve as a distraction and to take care of that monster''s army while the two of them fought.


    Now with Sylvester god knows where, the plan had a huge and very obvious hole in it, but they couldn''t just sit around either.


    So they went looking for trouble and that''s what they found.


    A Lunar Remnant came out of the undergrowth. A creature like the parasites that had attacked the hotel. She thought they had taken care of those bastards, but apparently she had suffered a rare bout of optimism. Cynthia raised her revolvers, ready to not pay for it.


    She stopped suddenly.


    The parasite had changed, regaining its human form. A woman.


    "She''s like me," Ryan muttered, his voice barely audible.


    "I don''t want trouble," the woman, that is, the thing said. "I want to help."


    "Why should we trust you?" Cynthia asked.


    "You have no reason and I can''t give you one, but it''s the truth. I just want to help. What I definitely don''t want is to die. That crazy bitch doesn''t want to take humanity''s place in the food chain, she wants to destroy the planet. I don''t like the planet, but I live on it and I''d like to remain alive."


    That sounded like a great motive, the problem was whether she was telling the truth, but she didn''t have to convince her right now, she realized. If she was telling the truth, they potentially had a lot to gain. If it was a trap, well, they could take care of a single Lunar Remnant, especially knowing that it was one of the parasites that had escaped them that day. Like any parasite, they weren''t very strong.


    Besides, she didn''t think they needed traps when they had every possible advantage.


    "Are we going to listen to her?"


    "Yes. But be prepared." Cynthia lowered her guns. For the moment. "How do you think you can help us? That monster, the Lunar Princess, seems invincible."


    "And she is. At least for insects like us, but if she could do it all on her own she wouldn''t need an army of monsters."


    Cynthia thought about it, but not too much.


    "Okay. Explain yourself. Directly, no beating around the bush or I''ll blow your head off."


    "I''d better show you," said the little monster.


    "Haven''t I made myself clear?"


    "Okay. All over town that crazy bitch had them... built altars, I guess, because there''s always other Remnants praying in front of them. I told you, I''d rather have just shown it, this shit is hard to explain. Anyway, it has something to do with her plan to destroy the world. I know. They give off an energy that... I don''t know, I think they''re drawing it directly from the planet."


    Okay. She probably hadn''t made all that shit up just now and was telling the truth. Probably.


    She wasn''t as sure as she should be, maybe, but at least Cynthia was willing to go along with that creature to see if she was telling the truth and they could cooperate on this instead of ripping her head off and burying her in the woods.


    Metaphorically, not literally. They weren''t going to waste their time on shit like that.


    ¡ª¡ª


    His sword pierced through the Lunar Princess as if she wasn''t there.


    Not in the same sense that his sword hadn''t done much to that monster even when he''d managed to hit, but as if she were a ghost.


    "Relax. I''ve made sure that you can''t hurt me in this place. Of course..."


    She ran a hand across his chest cleanly, without him feeling even a tingle.


    "The same is true the other way around."


    "Why?"


    "It''s the only way we could talk."


    "What do we have to talk about? We''re natural enemies, destined to fight until one of us is dead. Completely irreconcilable."


    "Are we, or don''t you know enough about me? About us? About this game that started that day ten years ago?"


    Sylvester frowned.


    She was tacitly offering him answers to the questions he''d been asking himself for what he felt was his whole life. How could he resist?


    "Okay. Let''s talk."

 37. The Dead City Of Kaleidoscope, Part 3

    So Sylvester set out to walk alongside the Lunar Princess through the ruined city called Kaleidoscope, in an alternate dimension where it was inverted and as if made of glass.


    He had many questions.


    For example, if he knew how to get out, would he get out as far as he would have gotten on his own two feet or where she had brought him into this place? In other words, did this walk make any sense or were they just doing it to have something to do while they talked?


    He didn''t know, but that didn''t matter as much as the juicy promise of answers about both of their powers and the ''game'' they were involved in, of course.


    It didn''t...


    But he was curious nonetheless.


    "Are you trying to waste my time or is what you said true?" Sylvester asked.


    The inverted city took a step further away from the real city. They had to pass over a bridge that hung over the void, but it broke down and came back together piece by piece as they passed by.


    He wondered if the Lunar Princess was doing all this in an attempt to impress him, sending some sort of message, or had simply happened because she couldn''t control all aspects of this alternate dimension. To call it something.


    Speaking of which...


    "First of all, how do you want me to trust you if I don''t even have a name to call you by?"


    "I''m the Lunar Princess."


    "That''s not a name, it''s a title. I know you''ve just arrived in this world, but you''re not so ignorant that you don''t know that."


    No matter how much he provoked her, she couldn''t hurt him yet. Not here. In theory.


    But he didn''t provoke her, she simply smiled in response.


    "True, but I''ve never needed a real name," she said. "Give me one."


    "Excuse me?"


    "Choose my name. You are my only equal in this world and the person who saw me being born. I suppose you''re something like a father."


    Sylvester grimaced, but he couldn''t deny that the metaphor made a certain amount of sense. Except for the part where he hadn''t contributed anything at all to bring her into the world, quite the contrary.


    It was the souls (again, just for lack of a better word, he didn''t believe in such things) of that crowd of poor bastards that had given her life.


    The people he was here to avenge. Them and all her other victims.


    He knew it, he remembered it very well. That she wasn''t a human being, as much as she resembled them in what mattered. She was farther from human than any Lunar Remnant, because she was something worse than that. She had never had a human foundation.


    He knew that. And he wouldn''t forget it. He had no reason to.


    "Heather."


    He supposed there was nothing wrong with giving her a name.


    "You''d already thought of that, hadn''t you? Not for me, though."


    Had it been that obvious? He looked away, clicked his tongue.


    "Yeah, what can I say? I dream of retiring with some nice woman and starting a family. With the life I lead, that''s all I can do, of course. Dream."


    "You say that, but what if it didn''t have to be that way? What if you could live it? What if your struggle had an end?


    Sylvester looked sideways at her.


    "You''re saying you''re going to stop the transformation of people into Lunar Remnants?"


    "I would if I could, but I''m not the one causing that. It''s just another element of this game, Sylvester."


    "Well, get to the point already. What game? What are you talking about?"


    He was incapable of provoking her no matter how angry he got, and that made him even angrier. But it wouldn''t do any good even if he succeeded. Quite the opposite. He was walking with her, through the ruins of the city he had protected, for the promise of answers. If he succeeded in angering her, she''d just shut her mouth and the answers would remain forever out of his reach.


    But he couldn''t help it.


    This creature had killed millions of people, after all. The entire population he had bled to protect countless times.


    It was a miracle in itself that he was talking to her as if she were a civilized person.


    ""It must be hard to believe, considering how your life has changed," Heather said (more comfortable than Princess Lunar, and she had no other name to call her by), "but you getting powers was a complete accident. So was the appearance of what you call Lunar Remnants. This planet wasn''t supposed to be involved in the game."


    "This?"


    "Indeed. The game involves dozens of planets... even in different dimensions. And, in short, there can only be one left. The rest of them would be... Well, like a gardener mowing the lawn to keep it short and neat. It''s nothing more and nothing less than that. A cosmic cleanup job. That''s what I''ve learned in these four days. That and other things."


    A cosmic cleanup job.


    All the suffering humanity had gone through during the last decade, nothing more than an accident. And on top of that, alternate dimensions existed and the participants involved were supposed to fight each other, staking nothing more and nothing less than the existence of their planets. Or rather their dimensions?


    Yes. It was definitely hard to believe.


    Too hard for it to be a lie designed to fool him, he had to admit. If she wanted to fool him, there were easier ways.


    What''s more, she''d already proven that she didn''t need such trickery to crush him.


    Why would she lie to him?


    He didn''t want to accept any of it, but why would she lie to him? Unfortunately there was no reason that he could see.


    Sylvester stopped suddenly, ducked his head.


    Heather stopped too, of course.


    "Sylvester?"


    Good thing she''s not going to start calling me father, he thought.


    "Okay. I believe that. I believe you. What''s the next step? What do you think the point of telling me all this is? I mean, what is it you''re looking for?"


    Heather blinked.


    "I thought it would be obvious. I want us to join forces, to fight the invaders together. The fate of the world is the fate of all of us, after all. Nothing else makes sense."


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    ¡ª¡ª


    The Lunar Remnant, named Elizabeth, led them through the forest to exactly what she had described. In that, at least, she hadn''t lied to them. Cynthia watched the strange ritual crouched in the undergrowth.


    Lunar Remnants of all shapes and sizes praying to a golden idol. Not because of the material, it was ordinary stone, but it glowed with a strange ethereal light. Also blinding and quite annoying.


    "And what exactly does she intend to do with this?" Cynthia asked in whispers.


    She got the answer soon after, when she noticed that the surrounding flowers, all the vegetation, was dying. Okay, that thing was bad news.


    It could never have been anything else, but now it was more than clear.


    She glanced sideways at Ryan. At her partner.


    He looked back at her and nodded, telling her that the decision was hers, that he would follow her wherever it took and he trusted her. The truth was that it was nice, that feeling of companionship.


    Nice and necessary, when you were on hostile ground and you only had each other, with nothing but monsters for miles around. Monsters and also other syndicate agents, and their boss somewhere, but they didn''t count as long as you couldn''t see them.


    The only real thing was the danger.


    The feeling that anything could come out of the darkness at any moment to bite their faces off.


    "Elizabeth," it felt odd to call a Lunar Remnant by a human name, but she had no choice, and she''d done her part. She wasn''t going to start calling her "thing" or "monster" now. It would be a bit ungrateful ", your willingness to help is limited to showing us the way?


    "I get the hint. Yes, I''ll help you fight. But I warn you, I''m not very strong. Don''t expect much from me.


    Don''t worry, I wasn''t, she thought. She was asking more to find out how easy it would be to keep an eye on her as the fight progressed.


    Cynthia reached for her revolvers and stepped out of the undergrowth. The monsters, all of them (except Elizabeth) were on their backs. Since they had no superiority in numbers or strength, they might as well take advantage of what they could while they could.


    She''d always liked the element of surprise. The best fights were the ones that ended before they even began. Decisively and brutally.


    "Come on, let''s go then," she said, giving the starting signal.


    Ryan stepped back as the dying vegetation reached where he stood, and he lowered his head to watch the flowers and grass wither.


    He shook his head.


    He then ran with them, transforming in mid"run.


    ¡ª¡ª


    "But you''re not human," Sylvester said, "You''re not from this planet, only in the sense that you''re trying to occupy it. If you''re telling the truth, then all the more reason for us not to cooperate. If there can only be one left, it has to be us. Humans."


    "Oh, right." Heather sighed. "You''re misunderstanding things. I''ll explain it again, don''t worry. You getting your powers was an accident, just like the appearance of the Lunar Remnants in this place. And, consequently, mine. So we''re all in the same boat. We''re not from another planet, competing for the only chair."


    Sylvester nodded.


    He wasn''t sure how far he could believe her, but it made sense.


    "All right."


    "All right, meaning you will cooperate with me?"


    "All right, meaning I believe what you''re saying, but... I need time before I make any decisions. It''s a lot of information. You understand that, don''t you?"


    "Yes, but I''m afraid we don''t have much time. I''m afraid you''re going to choose only after they break down the doors and come in to kill us all."


    ¡ª¡ª


    They rushed at them without fear. Cynthia had always been willing to sacrifice her life, otherwise she would have chosen anything else as a career, but now others had new tricks.


    One, actually.


    Just one new trick, but it was enough to balance the scales. To make her feel a little like her boss must feel.


    More than human, throwing things around that no other human could employ.


    In this case, gusts of wind.


    Thus began the ambush. She blasted four or five of the bastards, interrupting their prayers, far away. One of them landed against a tree with enough force to tear it off the ground. It was too fast, she didn''t see it, but somehow the Lunar Remnant in question ended up under the tree instead of on top of it.


    Anyway, she had bigger questions. Like how she could do this in the first place. Her revolvers weren''t designed for this.


    The syndicate scientists hadn''t been of much use in this regard, although to be fair it was hard to do anything in four days with the end of the world hanging over their heads like a guillotine. Everyone was scurrying around like headless chickens on fire, not knowing what to do. Cynthia included, of course. She was nothing special.


    Ryan took the opportunity to take care of the other three quickly, before they could get up off the ground and charge back. He bit the heads off all of them with frightening ease.


    It would prove very intimidating were it not for the fact that he was on their side.


    Since he was, it was just a little intimidating. Especially when she saw him swallow the heads without a second thought.


    Damn.


    Elizabeth had joined the fight as well, using the gray tentacles protruding from the human wrapper. But, as she had found out in the mess at the hotel and had told her herself less than a minute ago, they weren''t very strong. Especially if you knew their weak spot. The crack in their defenses.


    Cynthia wouldn''t mind if she got ripped apart, it would just be Lunar Remnants, monsters that had turned their backs on their humanity, killing each other.


    The most natural thing in the world.


    But they needed their guide alive, so she gave her a hand. A gust of wind, that is. There was no need to fix what was broken and how was that saying? Ah yes. When all you have is a hammer, everything looks like nails.


    Both were very true, but it was just that it was so useful.


    In the four days that the boss had been indisposed, she had discovered that she could not only throw them away, but pull them to her. So the Lunar Remnant that had been about to tear her guide in two flew off at great speed toward her.


    It would have been on top of her, except that she dodged it by the skin of her teeth.


    Yes, just by the skin of her teeth, even though she had known exactly what would happen. She still didn''t control it very well, what could she say? But she had to give it her all and not hold back because of minutiae like that. It was all minutiae, compared to what was at stake.


    Compared to the danger of dying at every turn. What did it matter if she died crushed by a Remnant she''d pulled in herself or some other way? The point was that she would be dead.


    After she was dead she wouldn''t care about anything at all, so she would give it her all while she was still alive. Case in point, she approached the downed Remnant, which had landed rather poorly, put the barrels against its skull and fired.


    But not the usual bullets, no sir, but the wind again.


    The wind blew its head off his shoulders and sent it flying into the treetops on the other side of the meadow in pieces, as if what she had brought near its head had been a sword.


    She loved this. It was a real improvement.


    Cynthia lured another Lunar Remnant, wrenching it from its fight against Ryan, with a revolver shot. This time she didn''t bother to dodge. With the shot from the other revolver she ripped it to shreds before it could crash into her.


    It was a great tactic and could speed this whole thing up quite a bit, something the remaining enemies seemed to have noticed, as a couple of them turned and tried to escape.


    Unsuccessfully.


    Oh, they came close, but this wasn''t the kind of activity where they got points for trying. Ryan plucked one of the trees from the ground and wielded it with all the force of his massive body, as if it were a sword or a battering ram, anything you wanted to compare it to. In any case with the liberal application of that improvised weapon he managed to keep the sheep in the encirclement, forcing them back.


    The next thing he did was to smash the trunk against the head of one. He was left with nothing but a few pieces slipping through his fingers and clattering to the ground, but he had never needed more of a weapon than his own body.


    Ryan howled. His howl shook the ground, but not as much as the enemy in front of him. Good one, partner, she thought. Good one.


    Well, she could celebrate her partner''s successes too, couldn''t she?


    But first things first. Get it over with, she''d have time to high"five him later. She couldn''t do that now unless she wanted to risk losing an arm again, of course, he''d have to transform into a human being again.


    They were dispatched quickly and with relative ease. None of them even managed to escape to alert the others and bring the entire city down on their heads like the wrath of god.


    Still, it struck her as odd that they hadn''t found them en masse.


    Just because, there were millions of people transformed into monsters after all, not necessarily because they had screwed something up. Anyway, there were hundreds of agents who could screw up too, and maybe they were busy with them.


    Or in the final battle. For all she knew, maybe the boss was fighting tooth and nail already against that abomination.


    In any case, she wouldn''t question the good fortune too much, she would accept it because it was pretty scarce lately.


    When they were done, Cynthia didn''t return the revolvers to their respective holsters. More of those monsters could come at any time. The energy given off by the creatures as they unraveled into purple moon-seeking butterflies could be seen from far away, too. So they had better hurry.


    In doing what they had come to do in the first place.


    Now, the stone.


    The praying ones had left, but it still gave off that retina-burning glow. What a fucking nuisance, she rubbed her eyes.


    "What do we do now?" Ryan asked before she could do it herself.


    "Break it? "Elizabeth shrugged. "I don''t know, man. You think that monster told me all her plans, that I''m her confidant? I only know that these altars are bad news. For us and for the world."


    Ryan shrugged his shoulders too and walked over to the stone.


    "Stop," she asked him, and Ryan stopped, though he didn''t seem to understand why she was asking him to do that. "I''ll do it first, I can try it from a distance. It''s silly and I can''t be sure, but what if touching it hurts you? What if it has some kind of defense system? Or who knows what, it could be anything. It''s an alien artifact, after all."


    Ryan stepped back, smiling to himself. Pleased.


    Well, she was just being a good companion. Nothing more or less than that. For a change.


    Cynthia fired and there was nothing to it, it was very easy to smash it to pieces. The glow eventually disappeared, but she knew it had worked before because she saw that the vegetation had stopped dying.


    Who knows what other harmful effects that artifact had?


    But they couldn''t breathe easy yet, they had a lot of work to do.

 38. The Dead City Of Kaleidoscope (4)

    1


    Sylvester was at a crossroads.


    He didn''t know what any of the decisions he could make would lead to. Otherwise it wouldn''t be a crossroads, the decision to make would be the most obvious thing in the world. So far, he had believed everything the Lunar Princess... Heather had told him.


    Her words made sense and, above all, it would take no trickery or stratagem for her to triumph against him if that was all she wanted.


    All she would have had to do would have been to fly to meet him, instead of setting up this elaborate alternate dimension and her endless speech. He knew that. He was well aware of that.


    But...


    That didn''t mean she was his ally, that he could trust her fully. And even if she was, should he?


    "I believe you, but you''ve murdered millions of human beings. Why should I set you free to try again? Why shouldn''t I... punish you for that?"


    Heather smiled an incredibly sweet, incredibly fragile smile.


    Incredibly human.


    "I haven''t killed anyone. Except for the humans who died to give me life, but that had nothing to do with me. Not really. I wasn''t born yet."


    "The population of this city...!"


    "Still alive. It''s perfectly fine, it''s just that you need to think of them as dead because I turned them into Lunar Remnants. Without that trick of perception, you wouldn''t be able to go on with your daily work. It would mean admitting that you''re in the business of killing people to save other people. More than that, killing victims of chance and circumstances beyond their control, above all else."


    Sylvester grimaced ugly, full of rage, as if he was going to attack right now, even though he knew he couldn''t hurt her. That he couldn''t touch her because she wasn''t really there.


    But he didn''t do that. Nor did he say anything.


    He had no words with which to refute any of it. Not a single thing.


    2


    "Another altar," Cynthia said.


    It was considerably better defended than the last one.


    There were only half a dozen monsters praying like saints, but here there were more than a dozen. All sorts of shapes and sizes, again, because no two Lunar Remnants were alike. She would say because of the spirit and human individuality, but she knew (as did everyone else) that wasn''t true. There were people to spare who seemed photocopied.


    Magic was magic.


    There was no point in wasting time wondering how that sort of thing worked. There were no answers, at least not any that she could find from her perspective as a human being. The only answer to all the questions she had to worry about right now was: Use gun on monsters.


    And, like last time, she emerged from the woods to do just that. Now the city was less of an urban jungle and more of a straight-up jungle. There were plenty of places to hide and set up an ambush.


    It wasn''t easy to see the city she''d almost died to protect countless times (in all honesty, for the sake of her sanity she''d never even tried to keep count) reduced to this, and the monsters slithering through its bones, desecrating its corpse.


    It was time to vent all her rage, just as she gathered her strength before sticking her head underwater and charging forward again, that moment of release was important to keep going when the most likely end to this whole enterprise was that she would wind up exactly like the city.


    A mutilated, discarded corpse in the meadow.


    But I''m not going down here, she thought, by my balls I''m not. By my fucking balls.


    The Lunar Remnants who had been praying at the altar rushed to meet her, to meet her little team, fearlessly and without a moment''s hesitation. And they had been normal citizens mere days ago.


    Not even a full week had passed since the fateful events that had transformed the city of Kaleidoscope into these ruins.


    It was easy to talk when you hadn''t been through something like this, she knew, especially after talking to Ryan and reconciling. Not everyone was as lucky as Ryan. Or like Elizabeth.


    But in any case, Cynthia didn''t think she''d turn her back on humanity so easily.


    What had happened to them?


    Had they decided to accept being as monstrous as they looked? Or had they succumbed to despair, thinking it best to go over to the winning side?


    She didn''t know.


    She couldn''t know. Everyone had their own circumstances. How was that, every person was an island?


    But that''s why, for nothing in the world, her trigger finger could tremble.


    "Come on, you fucking bastards. I''m going to show you what''s good. I''m going to teach you a lesson..."


    That they would forget as soon as she blew their brains out, but hey, it was the thought that counted.


    Cynthia slipped between them, gliding with agility and grace. She had guns, unlike her boss she didn''t need to get within range of those monsters and their assorted limbs, but she wasn''t thinking with her head, she was thinking with her heart. Following her fighting instinct.


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    Besides, she no longer needed to fear closing the distance.


    With these pistols, he could push away or bring closer whoever she wanted whenever she wanted. They fit her like a glove. She couldn''t have thought of a more perfect power even if she had been given the chance. Maybe she should be afraid to rely on a strange power that she hadn''t had until four days ago, a power that came from God knows where, but she wasn''t. She felt it as if it were part of her body, as natural as moving an arm.


    Cynthia grimaced, remembering her shattered and wrenched arm floating in a pool of her own blood. Her original arm. It hadn''t been the most appropriate metaphor.


    She wasn''t good at that sort of thing, what she was good at was killing.


    Like this.


    Blowing one of those monsters up so that it was impaled on a bed of sharp tentacles Elizabeth had prepared beforehand, a great display of teamwork for two people who had met less than half an hour ago, all things considered.


    And like this.


    Finishing off the ones Ryan tore apart, not even letting them bleed out on their own. Those carnivorous plants had to be pulled up by the roots without hesitation, for everyone''s sake.


    If you weren''t being cruel and ruthless, you weren''t trying hard enough.


    These didn''t run away, even though they should have soon realized that they were at a disadvantage no matter how much they outnumbered them. Desperate to protect the altar. Cynthia didn''t know the ultimate purpose of the altars, only one of their effects on the ground, but it couldn''t be anything good, that much was obvious. Even less so if they were protecting it so fervently.


    She didn''t know what the Lunar Princess had done to these poor people, but she had them willing to lay down their lives for a piece of stone when she had so recently removed them from their normal lives.


    It was horrible. And sad.


    Cynthia lowered the revolver, aiming it at the head of a defeated Remnant, who was clinging to life in spite of everything. The cruelest thing would be to let them exist like this. To let them suffer like this. There was nothing cruel about her efficient tactics. On second thought, they were mercy.


    Even if they didn''t see it that way, she was the angel that at least allowed them to stop suffering since she couldn''t save them.


    The Remnant''s eyes bore into her. Burning and accusing, even though its life was a flame about to be extinguished. Like a candle going out as soon as a door opened, with only that small current, a candle almost burned out and what was left behind?


    "You were supposed to protect us," it said, full of humanity, with that inhuman throat and that unrecognizable body, monstrous, twisted by an evil that came from beyond the stars.


    Cynthia''s lower lip trembled, causing her to bite it.


    But by no means her trigger finger.


    ¡°Sorry.¡±


    There was a bang! and then nothing.


    (silence and darkness)


    3


    "One last thing."


    "I''ll answer whatever you want," Heather said, "I have nothing to hide. But whatever you decide, you''d better do it quickly. I don''t know when they''ll get here, but they will. With the intention of leaving not even stones behind."


    "As I said, just one last thing. One last question. What have you been doing these last four days? Apart from getting ready to receive me and set up this sort of alternate dimension, very nice, by the way. Have you done anything to prepare to receive... our enemies?" It took longer than he thought to get the word "our" out of his throat.


    It wasn''t as if it was some sort of verbal contract and by saying it instantly he couldn''t back out of working with her. It wasn''t admitting and accepting that they were on the same side, just that he would play along until he had a reason to turn his back on her.


    "Yes, indeed. I''m not sure how effective the measures will be, but I''ve done all I could with the time I had. At least that much I can say. Even if it''s no comfort if we''re all wiped out."


    "You didn''t answer my question."


    "That''s what I was getting at. For example, there are stones all over the island. Almost like altars, gathering energy."


    4


    "One down!" declared Cynthia triumphantly.


    It wasn''t the second altar they were dealing with, but the third.


    They were working quickly and efficiently.


    Elizabeth had proven to be reliable, for not only had she not stabbed them in the back on the many occasions they had given her, but she had proved essential in getting through the city without biting off more than they could chew and finding half the monstrous population after their heads.


    Cynthia wasn''t content just to announce her victory as if anyone cared or as if no one evil could hear her, she also trampled what was left of the altar, a handful of stones, under her boots. Crushing them.


    Unnecessary, she couldn''t do anything that the wind shots from her pistols, Ryan''s strong body or Elizabeth''s tentacles hadn''t already done, but it felt good.


    It was like she was rubbing her victory in that damn monster''s face.


    Cynthia would thwart whatever plans she had for the world and then kill her. For the sake of all the people who had fallen that day.


    For the sake of all the people who had died in this eternal last decade, dark and full of tragedy, where humanity for the first time in its history had shrunk in on itself instead of moving forward for better or worse.


    The self-proclaimed Moon Princess had to be the one to blame for all that suffering. She couldn''t undo what she had broken, erase the tragedies and bring light back into the world, but she could at least give them a break.


    Humanity deserved a fucking break.


    5


    The sky began to fall apart, the whole world to tremble, and Sylvester experienced firsthand how an ant must feel when its nest was trampled by a human who was just passing by and probably hadn''t even seen it. He clung to one of the trees to keep his balance, an unconscious act, pure reflex. His mind was occupied with other things. Above all...


    "What the hell is going on?"


    But she didn''t know either, of course not. It showed in her eyes, but he should have guessed it from the beginning.


    Sylvester activated [Infernal Wings], deciding to save the questions for later for a change. If they had time, that is. It was obvious that they would soon find themselves in deep shit. And with no choice but to trust each other. He was now convinced of that.


    He had inadvertently received an answer to one of his many questions, anyway. He wasn''t going to get out at the point where she''d brought him here, it did matter how far they''d get.


    He was in a hurry. Very much in a hurry.


    Would they die if they weren''t able to get out in time? Now that would be a sick joke. So long fighting to hold on to his humanity and bleeding for the place his species deserved in the cosmos, for the planet that belonged to them, only to die in a place that wasn''t even real? Fuck it.


    Heather landed in a building that looked like it was about to collapse, and Sylvester followed her without asking questions. At no point had the world stopped falling apart and shaking, so it was hard to keep his balance, fortunately the wings, which he hadn''t made disappear yet, helped him more than they hindered his efforts.


    He realized.


    It was in this state and, like everything else, it seemed to be made of glass.


    But this was the building in which the creature who had turned her back on him without a second thought had been born only four days ago, as if they weren''t sworn enemies. As if she was already fully convinced that she could trust him.


    "What are we doing here?" Sylvester had to ask.


    "Leaving."


    She snapped her fingers, the blue light returned and when it dissipated they were back in the real world.


    Only it didn''t look very real.


    There were two... holes in space. One orange and one blue.


    He thought: They have to be portals, right?


    He thought: They''re already here, aren''t they?


    And so they were. From the portals emerged the enemies that were coming to destroy them. From the orange portal came rolling out on eight wheels a metal monstrosity, like a strange futuristic tank, surrounded by men about two meters tall with bizarre armor that didn''t leave even a millimeter of skin exposed, an army from another world.


    Out of the blue portal emerged Remn-....


    No, nothing like that, it was simply the word that came closest to what he was seeing. But that was just a very small box of one more planet in a huge universe, in the middle of an endless multiverse.


    They were alien life forms. And they were hungry.


    The Dead City Of Kaleidoscope (4): END

 39. The Defense of Kaleidoscope (1)

    1


    ¡°I guess you''re convinced now," Heather said.


    "Yes. Can you round them all up? Your army?"


    "Of course, I am their princess, after all."


    That kind of absolute power sounded more like a queen, but if she wanted to call herself a princess, fine. Why argue about it? Sylvester put a hand to his ear to spread the message.


    "I don''t have time to explain everything, so listen very carefully," he said, addressing all the agents on the island. Leave alone any Lunar Remnants you encounter, unless they attack you first, obviously. Forget about the target, too, the Lunar Princess. "We have bigger problems. Enemies have appeared in the center of the city through portals. Their goal is to kill us all, humans and Remnants alike. To leave no trace of our beautiful planet. So now we have to unite and fight."


    2


    "What the hell did he say? Did I hear right?" Cynthia asked, not entirely sure if she was referring to the appearance of new enemies through portals, a science fiction artifact or a fantasy spell, or if what had her so surprised was that of not fighting against the Lunar Princess and her army of monsters.


    One or the other, she wouldn''t be the only agent to share those feelings.


    Right now, all the agents on the island (except Sylvester, of course, who in theory knew what he was doing and had no reason to doubt or worry) would be thinking as one.


    3


    The message had been longer than expected even though he had skipped, as he clearly stated, any explanation, asking them to trust him blindly simply because of who he was.


    He hoped they wouldn''t do anything foolish. He hoped he wasn''t doing anything foolish.


    But while he waited, he would have to lead by example.


    Anyway, if he was making a mistake, there was nothing stopping him from turning around and taking care of Heather once the matter of greater importance was currently resolved.


    You mean, betray her?


    That there''s nothing stopping you from sticking a knife in her back, is that what you mean?


    He shook his head.


    What nonsense, for God''s sake.


    They took off again. Speaking of nonsense, he got a notification.


    Luck: 7 (-3)


    Yes. His luck stat had dropped by no less than three levels; good thing it was the only stat that could drop just like that or gathering experience points and leveling up would be a big waste of time. It didn''t make his heart sink or anything, he could only think: I figured that one out. In fact, I''m not sure how it''s so high still.


    The heavily armored giants and the alien creatures (although, in the truest sense of the word, said giants were also alien creatures) had started fighting each other.


    They weren''t allies.


    Of course, they couldn''t be, if they were really staking the existence of their universes. If there really could only be one left.


    As Heather had said, within the rules of that twisted game they were the only sides with the advantage of not losing anything by cooperating.


    He just hoped that would be enough.


    Heather landed explosively, forming a crater in the ground and attracting the attention of those fighting. The portals were still vibrating in the air. He hoped not too many more of those bastards would come out of there to say hello, they had their hands full enough with these guys.


    Especially if they thought to temporarily join forces against them.


    Sylvester didn''t land, he stood in mid-air, watching.


    -You''re in my territory," Heather said, drawing the black crystal sword from her body as usual and tapping the ground with it.


    That was the signal, apparently.


    Dozens and dozens of Lunar Remnants came out of the trees, out of the darkness or just appeared out of nowhere, rushing towards the enemies.


    There was going to be quite some shit going down. Fuck.


    He just hoped this planet would still be standing by the time it was all over.


    Sylvester''s scream joined the hundreds of howls from the Lunar Remnants as he also threw himself into the fray. Who would have told him that he would live long enough to fight side by side with his most hated enemy? That in reality the actual situation was quite a bit more complex than he had ever imagined and in fact they weren''t his greatest enemy at all?


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    It was crazy, but at this point he lived and breathed crazy.


    He could handle it.


    Those giants with weapons even bigger than themselves, rifles of sorts. On the chest of their armor they bore the symbol of what was clearly a phoenix rising from the ashes. They were humanoid, clearly, two arms, two legs, and so on, but they also shared certain cultural ideas. At the very least that bit of mythology.


    Curious.


    Did they come from a similar world, where humanity had simply developed differently?


    In any case he''d send them to hell. And, unlike the phoenix, they would not rise from the ashes. He would make sure of it.


    Half a dozen fired in his direction. Most were distracted by the Lunar Remnants that had fallen upon them, surely they believed them to be the greater threat. Big mistake.


    Sylvester dodged the fired energy (plasma, were they plasma rifles?) in midair with ease and fell on one of them, cutting off his head?


    No.


    He would have, but he raised the rifle above his head, using it to block his katana at the last moment. He thought fast and reacted twice as fast. Size wasn''t the only advantage he had.


    He heard him laugh.


    Maybe he was wondering what Sylvester was doing bringing a sword to a gun fight.


    He''d show him.


    Sylvester pulled the katana back.


    Leaving the big guy free reign to sling the rifle over his shoulder and try to shoot him again.


    Before that could happen, however, he slid the katana into the barrel of the gun.


    The peerless blade reflected the plasma before it could come out. He was going to call it plasma until he had a reason to think otherwise.


    As a result, the giant''s head disappeared without a trace.


    It exploded like a pi?ata, letting out dark gifts.


    Sylvester turned to deal with the rest. Deal with the other giants, too embroiled in their own fights to have saved their companion, and the stranger creatures. He was worried to some extent about getting confused between the Lunar Remnants and the other bizarre, not remotely humanoid alien creatures that had emerged from the other portal.


    There was no easy way to tell them apart. He could only safely rule out the monsters that lounged upon the other monsters, the ones that were clearly not on the same side.


    That was something. He shook his head.


    Sylvester took a step forward.


    And he didn''t get much further. A black sea. He was swept away like a piece of wood by the current of a black sea that suddenly manifested itself in this place, desecrating even more what was left of this city, which wasn''t much but everything was worth preserving.


    The pressure was unbearable. It felt like being under the sea too many meters deep. He imagined this was like being down there, unable to see even the light coming from outside. So far from dry land. So far from oxygen and the world of humans.


    And he was still managing, albeit barely, to keep his head above the black sea. He didn''t want to drown, he didn''t want to....


    Suddenly he felt fingers on his skin and looked down, with the feeling that his heart had turned into a block of ice.


    Hands. Little hands that were trying to drag him to the bottom.


    They weren''t Remnants or some other kind of monster that had suffered the same fate as he had. He knew it with the first glance. Those small, skeletal hands belonged to the black sea itself.


    "Let go of me," he shouted as best he could with barely a breath, spitting out black like an octopus his ink.


    He scrambled, trying to shake them off. But they kept pulling at him. Harder and harder, digging into his skin, rubbing against his flesh. Although they looked fragile and skeletal enough to break without knowing they were there, they possessed incredible strength.


    If they managed to drag him down there, what would happen?


    What would happen other than, obviously, he would eventually drown?


    What was it that was crawling, what was sleeping down below, in the depths of that dark sea?


    He didn''t want to find out, damn it.


    Sylvester thrust the katana into the trunk of a tree that came floating up to him. He plunged it hard, almost to the hilt.


    His lifeline.


    His fucking lifeline.


    With his weapon as his only foothold, he dragged his body upwards. Up, up, up, he had to save himself from their clutches, from the darkness of the black sea. Just a little longer.


    He looked around briefly, wet hair sticking to his forehead, and laughed seeing that the others were having as hard a time as he was.


    That included his allies, except Heather, he couldn''t see her anywhere.


    But he laughed anyway.


    The hands left him alone once he managed to stand up on the tree. Instead they set to work, trying to tear it apart to get his life preserver out of the way and make him dive into those dark bottomless waters (how did he know, how did he know they were bottomless?) again.


    Stupid. Sylvester simply took flight.


    And soon after he began to fall, spinning. Like a shooting star. No one''s fault. He hadn''t been hit by an attack. The only thing was that his wings were dirty with the black sea, since its waters had almost covered even his head, and they were too heavy and stiff to fly properly.


    That was all.


    In short, it was he who had made a mistake, not the hands of death. No, now they had him going where they wanted him to go. Falling headlong. An easy prey.


    He tried to fly back, of course.


    But he knew he wouldn''t be able to. He was acutely aware of what awaited him.


    Then Heather arrived, catching him in mid-air and clearing the black goop on his wings.


    She had saved his ass.


    She had surely saved something more important than his life.


    "Thank you."


    "You don''t have to thank me. This is what it means to be partners."


    It was.


    It was, but...


    He''d never imagined he''d have this with an inhuman creature.


    "That thing..."


    "That thing that looks like nothing but tentacles?" Sylvester added.


    "Yes. If we kill it, the black substance should stop."


    "Should?"


    "I''m no expert, I just know they''re not from around here."


    Neither are you, Sylvester thought.


    "All right. We have to kill it anyway, whether it works that way or not is another matter."


    "Right."


    Sylvester used an energy shot. One of his many Skills, not technology. On the list its name literally appeared as [Energy Shot], but it was too unimaginative for his taste, not to mention it barely counted as a name, it was a damn description.


    But to get to the point.


    The shot hit that tangle of tentacles and apparently did nothing besides piss that thing off.


    "Great."


    It opened its mouth (which, of course, was full of tentacles instead of teeth) and catapulting itself over the black sea leapt towards them.


    Luck: 5 (-2)


    "Really great."


    Sylvester moved out of the way in time and Heather was also able to dodge. That mass of tentacles fell hard back into the black sea, causing the tide to rise, the waters to churn. He heard people screaming and more trees being ripped from the ground and placed at the mercy of the dark current.


    He realized he hadn''t dodged. Not really.


    He had black spots on one shoulder.


    Which morphed into those skeletal hands.


    Pulling at him, tugging at his wings.


    Until they damaged them enough that they stopped working, and Sylvester fell like a shooting star. This time Heather wouldn''t save him.


    He knew because he saw her fall with him.


    The Defense of Kaleidoscope (1): END

 40. The Defense of Kaleidoscope (2)

    Sylvester crashed into the black sea.


    This time he didn''t manage to resist, the first thing to go inside was his head. At least he managed to gather air before the crash. He could hold his breath for a while, though not too long.


    Darkness.


    He didn''t know what he had expected to find down there, but he couldn''t see anything, couldn''t feel anything. Except for the cold (cold, even though he was bleeding and struggling to survive) and the claws tearing at his skin.


    He was already here, in his territory, but those skeletal hands still wanted to drag him lower.


    What was lower than...?


    He didn''t want to die in a place like this, and he didn''t want to find out what slept in the depths, if this black sea had an end, if it wasn''t like the sea of stars, ever expanding as the universe slowly died.


    He had to get out.


    He had to get out, but where was the surface? Without light, without a reference point, what was up, down, left and right? Where was the difference? It was all just part of the darkness that was choking him.


    Consequently, the presence of the skeletal hands clawing at him was almost comforting. Something apart from himself.


    How long had it been since he had fallen into the black sea? For some reason it gave him the feeling that it had been longer than he thought. Sylvester felt a shiver as he struggled to reach the surface, only able to trust that he really was heading in the right direction. If he asked himself too many questions, indecision would paralyze him and that wouldn''t help him in the least either.


    He had to move forward without allowing his heavy doubts to drag him down as well.


    He was already carrying enough weight on his shoulders.


    As he tried to climb to the surface with all his might, painfully aware that he wasn''t going to be able to hold his breath much longer (god, how his chest burned), he bumped into something hard.


    Too hard.


    It had to be armor. It had to be one of those giants, poor bastard had suffered the same fate as him.


    Only, while Sylvester was already busy enough trying to save his life, the shiny"armored giant still had breathing room to react to the presence of an enemy. He fired his rifle and Sylvester dodged it, in all honesty, more by chance than anything else. It was such absolute darkness that it couldn''t have been more than that: chance. No one could have seen the shot coming and it didn''t make a sound.


    But it didn''t matter. Luck was also a skill, even if his was plummeting recently.


    The point was that he had survived and now he had the perfect opportunity to strike back. Since the shot had illuminated the darkness. He repressed the urge to grin like a shark as his katana sliced through his armor, slipped between his ribs (or whatever the hell was in between) and plunged into his heart.


    Of that last thing he was very sure. His last palpitations reached his hand through the blade of the katana.


    Sylvester pulled out the katana, victorious, but his celebration was interrupted only a few seconds later. As if that wasn''t enough, apart from his shoulder and back, he now had a hand to his neck as well. Much bigger. Squeezing like a bear trap.


    Impossible. I went through his heart, I''m sure of it.


    He couldn''t take it anymore.


    His only option at this point was to open his mouth or pass out from lack of oxygen, so he opened it. That wouldn''t buy him much time though, he would quickly drown as the black sea entered his lungs. And that fucking bastard was strangling him.


    He got a flash of inspiration, what if he has more than one heart? Of course, moron, you hadn''t thought of that? Or maybe it wasn''t his heart at all, just an organ in the same place as the human heart. He came not only from another world but possibly even from another universe, anything was possible.


    What did it matter that he had realized it now? The mistake was already made and it was too late to regret it.


    He would soon die by drowning and serve as food to creatures for which humans had no name.


    No, no, no!


    Sylvester gathered his strength, swinging the katana at the arm that struck him. The blade bounced off the armor, sending sparks flying that briefly illuminated his surroundings and his enemy''s face. That is, the helmet of the armor. Emotionless and featureless. Like etched in stone, what emotion was it supposed to have? It was nothing more than an invading alien.


    He should try to save himself before killing him, but maybe he had already accepted that that wasn''t going to happen and had the suicidal determination to at least take one enemy with him.


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    No!


    He swung the katana again.


    His vision was filling with a darkness that had nothing to do with the absence of light. Slightly his head was spinning.


    Another blow. With identical results.


    The next blow...


    At last! At last, damn it! He hadn''t cut it clean off, but he''d heard the man scream. He''d done just enough damage to soften his grip so he could escape.


    Toward the surface, which had to be close. Just a little more, just a little more.


    He had never been so desperate for a single breath of air.


    Against all odds, Sylvester rose to the surface, the water of that damned sea pouring down through his hair like a black crown. He gulped the air greedily as he slowly opened his eyes.


    The first thing he saw was a semi-transparent screen floating in front of his eyes, on which there was too much writing.


    He wished it was an elaborate hallucination.


    It wasn''t, of course. Just an aspect of his strange powers. A new aspect, on top of it. Just now.


    [Mission: Call me Ishmael]


    [Objective: Kill your great white whale or die trying. Yes, that thing made of tentacles].


    [Reward: Five experience points and a level up].


    [Consequences of failure: Eternal suffering.]


    "Don''t fuck with me." Not even dying, eternal suffering "Come on, don''t fuck with me."


    Just when he thought his life couldn''t get any crazier this happened. But he didn''t even have time to lament his fate, the hands still insisted on dragging him to hell. He clicked his tongue. He''d had enough of all this. More than enough.


    Sylvester emerged from the sea of black, propelling himself upward with another shot of energy. In midair he made the [Infernal Wings] disappear and re"activated the skill, deeming the cost worth it because of the result: clean wings, free from the weight of the black sea.


    He looked around.


    It was a mess. The black sea had carried everything away. The Lunar Remnants, the agents of the syndicate, he saw more than one struggling to survive. The otherworldly giants, the trees in the way and even buildings, and it was still spreading endlessly. That mass of tentacles, the white whale and he its Ahab, was like a natural disaster all on its own.


    At least his power had had the decency to explain what the mission was about or he would be looking for a whale-shaped alien creature right now, though of course the biggest threat and the enemy that had to be destroyed first of all was that damn thing.


    Cynthia. Ryan. Maybe he should have priorities, but they were his team and surely they needed his help now.


    If they weren''t dead already.


    Heather was fighting that mass of tentacles, getting too close with her sword, slashing at it and then pulling back again, dodging its tentacles by the skin of her teeth. Her efforts didn''t seem to be doing much. He wasn''t too surprised to see that she''d gotten out already, without help or at least that he knew of. Since he''d been able to, the truly strange thing would have been to discover that she was still down there.


    He approached her, taking a chance, and surprised her by placing a hand on her shoulder and wordlessly asking her to step back to a safe distance.


    "Can you set up that alternate dimension again and put whoever I want?"


    "I''ve been thinking the same thing myself, but it wouldn''t work with this thing."


    "I don''t mean that. So you can? Well, follow me."


    "What are you...?"


    "I don''t have time! Just follow me. Please."


    Heather fell silent and heeded him. They flew away from the center of the battlefield, if you could call the kilometer engulfed by the black sea that way. Away from their white whale.


    Fortunately it wasn''t hard to find those two. Ryan leapt into view, thanks to his size. Like two castaways, they floated at the mercy of an inclement sea on a life preserver.


    Few castaways used the corpses of the enemies they had killed as life preservers, although, well, when the need arose....


    "Ah, I see. You seem harsh, but at the end of the day you care about your friends."


    He didn''t deny it. Why should he?


    They came down. They should have heard his message, but after seeing the Lunar Princess approaching them at high speed it was inevitable that they would react as they did. Tensing up even more, they pulled back so fast they almost fell out of the life preserver.


    "Relax," Sylvester said. "We''re really cooperating."


    "Boss, I don''t know what you''re thinking," said Cynthia.


    "I don''t have time to explain anything to you, just let her do her thing. You''ll be safe."


    Cynthia arched an eyebrow.


    "What are you talking about? Ah, no. Wait, you son of a bitch, don''t even think about..."


    Too late. The air swallowed her words, as well as the two of them. They disappeared in front of his eyes as if they had never been there.


    "Will it last?" Sylvester asked.


    "For a while. It depends on how quickly we can resolve this."


    "Then let''s get to work."


    ***


    Gone was his boss and the monster that accompanied him like the demon on his shoulder.


    Gone was the death and destruction: the trees uprooted as if a whirlwind had passed by, the corpses and the people who desperately struggled not to drown.


    Gone was the terrible black sea and the creature that produced it, which did nothing but spit out that substance.


    The only one who didn''t disappear was Ryan.


    Of course, because they were the only two who had been benched. A strange place where everything was the same as it had been before this madness began, not that of the Lunar Remnants but that of the black sea. It was the ruined city, without a drop of that sea, but made of glass.


    They were safe, if you could call it that when what was at stake in this fight was the entire planet.


    It was no comfort at all. The guillotine still hung over their heads and if that wasn''t enough now they couldn''t even do anything to change their destinies. They could only stand here trembling with helplessness, waiting for the verdict. Waiting for their fate to be declared, along with the fate of the entire human race.


    She would be lying if she said she didn''t know why Sylvester had done this, but she didn''t have to like it.


    Cynthia felt like throwing up.


    It wouldn''t be forever, she told herself.


    When they were done with the giant, monstrous tangle of tentacles, riding the black sea that stretched out in its wake, they would get them out of here. They would be allowed to fight and risk their lives, because they were here for a reason. There was a reason they had trained so hard.


    If the end came with her on the sidelines, then why had she taken the step to join the syndicate?


    How would she be any different from the civilians who could only hope their heroes succeeded?


    "It''s for the best," Ryan said. He was learning to read her mind, though she supposed it wasn''t too difficult in this case. "You know as well as I do that we were about to fuck up. If they''d taken a little longer, we would have ended up in that sea. We were running out of time. Out of options."


    "I know. But it just really pisses me off."


    "Me too. I mean, this is my life now, right? Whatever I do, I''ll never be safe."


    Ryan was doing what he could, but that''s precisely why he didn''t understand. He hadn''t had a choice, fate had fallen on his head like the wrath of God.


    But she had chosen this.


    The Defense of Kaleidoscope (2): END

 41. The Defense of Kaleidoscope (3)

    1


    Cynthia had chosen this.


    She''d had that same thought in the last few minutes more times than she could count, but how could she stop thinking when it was the only thing she could do here? He''d left her alone with her thoughts. And with Ryan, but well, it''s not like they had much to talk about either. This situation is fucking bullshit and we survived by the skin of our teeth had lasted them about two minutes. No, not two minutes each, two in total. And then the silence returned to strangle them.


    Or at least that''s how she felt.


    She had chosen this life and now she couldn''t even choose to fight and die whenever and wherever it took.


    "You know?"Cynthia said. "It might be like a scorpion that could decide at any moment to inject me with its venom, but I was happy with this power. It helped me convince myself that the next time we went out on the battlefield, I would be more useful. I would feel like my presence would matter, beyond being someone to clean up after Sylvester and keep an eye on him. Because he doesn''t need anyone''s help, you know that, right?"


    It was a rhetorical question, so Ryan just nodded, staring at her. He was a good listener. She liked to feel he cared about what she thought, even if he couldn''t understand her or help her with her problems.


    Who couldn''t? Seriously, who wouldn''t like that?


    "I consider myself cynical, realistic, whatever you want to call it. But I seem to have a tendency to be overly optimistic. This power... it''s not bad. But Sylvester is in the big leagues where there is no room for mere mortals. That''s why that abomination is the one flying alongside him now."


    Surely it was a temporary alliance. It wasn''t that she distrusted her boss, nothing like that. She wanted to be there. She wanted to matter.


    She wanted to be strong.


    That was all.


    "If you asked him," Ryan said, "he''d tell you he''d want to be just like you."


    "Excuse me?"


    "A normal person giving his all even though he could die at any moment. He can survive being ripped in half, Cynthia, like a fucking starfish or something. He''s long since forgotten what it means to risk his life."


    "And that''s what you think he wants? To be weak, vulnerable?"


    "To be normal. And have the courage to fight anyway. Someone so powerful doesn''t need courage. I haven''t talked to him about it, but I''m sure that''s what he''d think."


    It was an attractive idea.


    For that very reason she felt the need to challenge it.


    "So how come you''re so sure? Huh, tell me?"


    "They see him as a monster too. He told me so directly."


    Cynthia couldn''t protest at that, although she wanted to. After all, he had confessed those kinds of feelings to her, too. The distrust other people had for him, the strange paradox that those who depended on him most were also his biggest detractors, taking every opportunity to whisper behind his back.


    So she didn''t protest.


    She lowered her head, thoughtfully.


    "But if he''d been someone normal, by now the Earth would be drowned by the seas and only those too rich to die would have survived, escaping to who knows what planet."


    "Yeah. That''s life. I like to think that things happen for a reason, that everything has its place. Maybe I need to think about it."


    Maybe he was right. For better or worse.


    And now... the dice of fate were turning in a place they couldn''t see.


    That was the realm of the gods, after all.


    2


    Sylvester changed his trajectory.


    "What''s going on?" Heather asked.


    Not that he had chickened out after seeing the creature up close again, obviously. But her tone sounded like she thought it was something like that.


    "I had an idea."


    Maybe it was bad, maybe it was good. But it was definitely an idea. Heather had already tried getting up close and slashing at that beast with her sword, which was kind of like trying to contain the ocean in a bucket. Very clever, but he wasn''t about to repeat something he''d seen fail miserably.


    A new idea was better than that, no matter where it took him.


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    That sort of tank the armored giants had brought with them. He intended to take possession of that weapon or die trying.


    Sylvester saw it floating above the black water, the only remaining chance of half a dozen of those giants, of the invaders. Plus whoever was inside operating the tank, firing at the creature that was the root of this black sea. They didn''t seem to be having much success, but each hit caused an explosion that tore away chunks of the blackness that covered its body and tentacles. That was something, more than they had achieved so far.


    Besides, his plan wasn''t to shoot.


    Sylvester landed on that thing''s roof. The shockwave from the impact ripped the giants'' feet out of the ground and sent them flying backwards, plunging them into the black sea.


    Yes, he could very well have taken them out one by one, but that didn''t mean he had to. It was better and safer to act efficiently.


    It would be a different story with those inside.


    Struggling to keep his balance as the war vehicle continued to be swept along by the current, occasionally bumping into rocks and trees, Sylvester approached the hatch.


    He opened it, sliding inside.


    Quickly. In the blink of an eye, he severed the head of the one closest to him, sitting in one of the front seats. His head, along with a spray of blood, went flying. It bounced off the metal of the interior and ended up between the seats.


    He couldn''t do the same with the second one.


    Sylvester wasn''t as fast, giving him time to fire. What he did have time for was to deflect the rifle, pushing it aside with the blade.


    So instead of opening his head, the plasma shot opened a hole in the wall above the control console.


    He thought he would have a clear path to give him the first and last blow after that.


    And Sylvester did, but it cost him. He was able to pull the trigger before it killed him and thus opened a hole in his stomach. A sizeable hole. He didn''t want to look down, but the feeling was, shall we say, as if he had suddenly lost twenty kilos.


    In short, the seats became dark and not only with the blood of those he had killed and the black shit that had managed to seep inside the vehicle.


    In short, it was a wound that would be enough to kill even someone like him in time.


    But it wouldn''t give them time.


    He had some experience points in reserve and only one thing to spend them on.


    Health: 16


    As usual, the wound healed almost instantly. As usual, the remedy was practically worse than the disease. The pain seared his mind, leaving it blank, and for a moment he lost consciousness and the next thing he remembered was being in mid-fall, his head about to hit the controls.


    He had no idea what they did. There were too many levers and buttons. So better not to touch it.


    At least the essentials were easy. A steering wheel and pedals. Great, why fix what isn''t broken? The problem was, of course, that the black sea kept them too far off the ground. There was no way to get traction.


    He''d left the hatch open in his haste.


    "Heather! Heather! Help me push this! No, wait, never mind."


    He had his energy shot still available...and it was still a pretty crappy name. What if he picked it himself? How about [Die Hard Buster]?


    Stupid. Very stupid.


    But at least it was his, a combination of his favorite Christmas movie and one of the few video games he''d had time to play before he got too busy saving the world. Besides, his life was completely insane, through and through, from head to toe.


    He figured the only thing he could do was embrace the madness and laugh.


    So he fired his [Die Hard Buster] backwards, steering (it was a more appropriate word than driving, in these circumstances) the tank as it crossed the black sea powered by that energy.


    Straight towards the monster and its mouth full of tentacles like the rest of its body.


    Straight towards the source of that black sea.


    There was still time to back out and suddenly it didn''t seem like such a good idea, but well....


    What else could he do?


    But it was still difficult because he knew that the worst case scenario wasn''t dying. The mission description had made it clear to him that, one way or another, he would live to regret it if this turned out to be a mistake.


    He didn''t know how he would live and he didn''t feel like finding out, but....


    I will do it. I will.


    The black sea tentacled demon swallowed it in one bite, naturally, he was like an ant next to it.


    3


    Heather witnessed it all.


    "Mother of God. This man is out of his fucking mind."


    That was all she could say.


    She couldn''t do much else either, except wish him good luck. For what it was worth.


    4


    Luck: 4 (-1)


    "Fuck. I''m out of fucking my mind."


    But ah, ah, it was too late to back out.


    Now...


    It was going down the creature''s throat at a speed like a water park slide. He could feel the "water" hitting the tank, slowly devouring it, starting at the front windows. The cabin, sooner or later, would be filled with that black water. And the darkness was absolute, it had already closed its mouth after all.


    "I''m really out of my mind."


    Sylvester fumbled at the control console, that excessive amount of buttons and levers, hoping he wouldn''t screw up even deeper and trigger the self-destruct sequence or something. He wouldn''t even notice until it was too late because the warning wouldn''t be in a language he understood.


    Fortunately he found what he was looking for, though he couldn''t be sure he hadn''t activated something like that along the way as well.


    Let there be light, he thought.


    And the light was made. More specifically, the headlights on this thing came on, providing some illumination at last. He gritted his teeth.


    He drove this huge thing as it kept going down, faster and faster, or so it felt, dodging obstacles. Strange protrusions like tumors in the monster''s entrails.


    And, of course. More tentacles.


    Fortunately, the tentacles were blind. The monster sensed his presence in its guts somehow, the tentacles lashing out like whips, hitting the tank and generally getting too close.


    But if they could see, they would have already caught him and ripped the tank to shreds, sending it hurtling into the darkness unprotected. This vehicle wasn''t going so fast that they couldn''t catch him if they could see him without trouble.


    The large tunnel in his monstrous throat, apparently composed of most of his body, finally ended. For a moment Sylvester thought he could fly, and he could, but he meant the vehicle.


    Then he kept falling. And it crashed in the middle of his guts, of what were perhaps gastric juices or maybe just more of that black sea. Who knows, maybe it had been the former from the start.


    He had been very careful dodging the obstacles not only to save his own skin, but for the lights. The last thing he needed was to have his headlights fucked up, leaving him in absolute darkness in the belly of the beast. That''s exactly why his heart stopped when he saw the light flicker and go out. And, immediately afterwards, that''s why he took a deep breath when he realized that it had only been one.


    It was cold comfort, though.


    Though not as cold as the innards of this beast. Light or no light, he was still neck-deep in shit. As if it were a living thing, black water slid down the hood of the car and inside through the holes in the glass with painful slowness.


    The Defense of Kaleidoscope (3): END

 42. The Defense of Kaleidoscope (4)

    1


    Now that Cynthia had finished expressing her frustration like a child who had been put in the naughty corner, she could turn her attention to more important matters. For example, on how the hell she could get out of here.


    "Help me find a way out. Please," Cynthia said.


    "All right, though... I don''t even know where to start."


    That makes two of us, man. That makes two of us.


    Actually, she wasn''t looking forward to going back to that mess. In the middle of the black sea and those alien monstrosities that, somehow, she was convinced weren''t Lunar Remnants; maybe they had something to do with the fucking portals.


    But that was what her job was all about. Doing what the rest wouldn''t or couldn''t do.


    Facing a nightmare for the sake of others, for the sake of the whole world. Not that Cynthia expected that her contribution to the battle would prove indispensable. It didn''t have to be that way, she didn''t think she was some kind of heroine, nor did she feel she had something to prove.


    It was enough for her to be just another body in the middle of the battle. Someone else fighting... and falling, if necessary.


    It was as simple as that.


    She had to be there. Because she had chosen this life.


    And no one was going to choose for her.


    "You know," said Cyntha, as she looked around, "I''ve been thinking that, since this... space," she didn''t want to say nonsense like alternate dimension, but that was precisely the first thing that came to her mind, "is like a copy of the city, maybe this way we''ll find our way out. Looking for something that doesn''t fit."


    "What do you mean?"


    "No fucking idea." And she laughed half-heartedly.


    Perhaps there was a hint of hysteria in her voice, but only a hint. Not too much. It wasn''t surprising, either. No matter how huge and open this space was, it was still a damn prison, anyone would feel a little hysterical. And even claustrophobic, even if it seemed to make no sense.


    Cynthia stopped her search abruptly. Perhaps she''d been too distracted, so she''d been about to bump into something that she''d swear had appeared out of nowhere...


    No, no swear.


    It had appeared out of nowhere. Now that she could look at it properly, it was obvious.


    Her heart constricted.


    With excitement.


    Name: Cynthia [Last name]


    Player System


    Level: 1


    Health Bar: 100/100


    Strength: 10


    Stamina: 10


    Dexterity: 10


    Agility: 10


    Speed: 10


    Spirit: 10


    Luck: 10


    Health: 1


    "What''s wrong?" Ryan had realized something was up, but he sounded worried, and he was dead wrong about that. This was nothing to worry about, quite the contrary.


    Cynthia smiled. This would put her in the same world as Sylvester.


    Skills


    She tapped that word, and a very short list appeared. There was only one skill.


    [Boreas, the north wind] [Level: I].


    [The ability to shoot gusts of wind through your revolvers. Just that, for the time being]


    So after all, it had been a precursor to receiving the same power as Sylvester, or at least the potential to attain it, to reach the same heights. Her smile grew wider and wider. She was beside herself with joy.


    She had never asked Sylvester how he had gotten his powers since she had never believed that getting them herself was even a remote possibility. So she didn''t know if this was a normal way to develop it, if there was anything normal about something so out of this world, or rules.


    It didn''t matter. That was the least of it.


    What mattered was that she was now at the starting line.


    "Cynthia?" Ryan insisted again, pulling her out of her thoughts, out of her reverie.


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    "I''m fine. I''m fine, don''t worry."


    "Really?"


    "Yes. In fact, I''m better than ever."


    2


    The black sea slowly slid into the tank, his only protection. Not only from the broken windows, but also from behind, and it was no wonder since he had propelled himself here with his energy shot, that is, using [Die Hard Buster]. So the back was nothing but a gaping hole, the only thing left hanging back there was burnt, and twisted like the wings of a bat.


    But that was actually the least of his problems, unlike on the outside.


    What really worried Sylvester was the fact that he wasn''t alone.


    He had come too far to tell himself that it was his imagination and forget about it. It was real. He knew it was real.


    Sylvester was in no hurry to discover what further horrors awaited him in the bowels of this beast, but what he wished for didn''t matter in the slightest, it never had.


    He took a deep breath and stepped on the pedal.


    He intended to use the tank, not the wings (which he had already made disappear) until he had no choice but to abandon it. Either to escape the black sea or because it would finally break down.


    After that, well, he''d just keep improvising. He could hardly call this madness a plan. It depended on too many assumptions.


    As a living thing, it was only natural that he could do more damage to it from the inside. But the question was how, and he had realized even before he had passed through the monster''s gaping throat that things like it having a heart were just that: assumptions.


    Maybe it didn''t have a fucking heart, or lungs. Maybe it didn''t need oxygen to live.


    It wasn''t just another enemy. It was a creature from another planet or dimension, a life form completely unlike any he had seen in his short but long life.


    Sylvester got a little farther along and heard what he was pretty sure wasn''t the beating of his own heart running amok. So the creature did have a heart. Well, even a small needle was almost certainly the end of you if it got stuck in your heart. He would reach the heart and rip it to shreds with his sword and with his powers. He would leave nothing behind.


    A heavy impact. The roof of the tank shook. Sylvester frowned. Whatever the things were that prowled in this fetid darkness, where only the tank''s headlights provided some illumination, they had found him.


    They were already here.


    Sylvester didn''t take his foot off the gas. There was no need to make things easier for those creatures and he was still nowhere near his target. Well, actually he had no idea if he was near or far, from the way the heartbeat reverberated through the body of that tentacled monster there was no way to intuit which direction the sound was coming from.


    Improvise and hope for the best, again.


    Not that he was exactly guilty of optimism, though.


    Another loud crash. Now it was right there, on the hood of the car, one of the many things that had been following him. And it was... Jesus!


    The creatures of the deep sea had always unsettled him.


    After all, the sea was the closest thing to a different world he had known as a child.


    A bottomless darkness filled with living things that were simply different.


    The gills, the scales, the tentacles. Their strange shapes. Different, like aliens, he remembered thinking more than once.


    He had left that childish fear behind him long ago.


    But as if this was his personal hell, the creature clinging with its nails to the hood of the tank was a cross between a fish and a man.


    It should be drowning since it was out of the water ( he could see the gills on its neck, opening and closing in rhythm with its breathing), but apparently the creature hadn''t gotten the message.


    "Get out of the way, you bastard!"


    He couldn''t afford to stop or even slow down, it was too dangerous, but with that thing in the way now he could see even less. Fuck.


    Another hard impact.


    Another one of those creatures landed. Behind? The sound had come from behind? The monster was crawling around the back, getting closer to his seat? Getting its teeth close to his neck? He could hear the beating of the huge heart of the gigantic beast he was inside. He could also hear... water falling. Yes, behind, behind!


    It was really, really too late for these foolish thoughts, but he wished he had left the defeat of this monster in the hands of Heather and her preparations. Now that he thought about it, he hadn''t even seen those so-called altars she''d been talking about in action, whatever, if he wanted something done right he''d have to do it himself. Ah, whatever!


    He felt the cold breath of the second fish-man on the back of his neck.


    And then he struck him dead, the katana piercing first the headrest of the seat and then his damned head. Without even looking back once.


    The blood and more that spilled onto the seat as a result splashed onto him as well.


    It felt like the guts of a fish.


    A shudder shook his back. God, how disgusting!


    The first of the fish men was still climbing over the hood. His nails were black and thin, they didn''t seem able to provide him with enough grip no matter how much force he applied, but he was still there, so what did he know?


    It was a wonder he hadn''t crashed already, with that thing blocking his view the whole time.


    The fish man opened his mouth, howling.


    And out of the mouth came, writhing, a tentacle shooting toward his head. Sylvester dealt with it smoothly. He cut it off in mid-air. He had fired a single tentacle, and it wouldn''t have been difficult if it had been a dozen either. For someone like him, even an enemy that had come as close as this one was too far away to hope to hit him with a projectile.


    The fish-man screamed.


    Since he''d maimed him, it was only natural... or should be. But there was no pain there. Nor anger, but rather irritation and some disbelief, in the same way he would feel if a fly attacked him.


    Or perhaps better said, if the food on his plate, already prepared, turned against him.


    The third (yes, the third) was more subtle. The first notice he got of his arrival was a cold hand closing over his ankle. His heart almost stopped. It wasn''t a metaphor or an exaggeration. It skipped several beats and for a small eternity he thought it would never start again. But it did start and Sylvester, like a statue being breathed with life, moved his heavy neck down.


    Only a third of the third fish man had arrived.


    That small percentage of his body had emerged from the black water beside his seat, and that was how it had caught him completely by surprise.


    That bastard bit his ankle.


    A second later it cut off his head, but fuck, it had bitten him!


    Vroooooooooooooooooooooooooooom.


    A sound that reminded him of a chainsaw. In any case, it was the sound of the tank being transformed into a convertible slowly but surely.


    As if that wasn''t enough, that fish man finally lunged into the tank for him with his arms wide open and his mouth too, still gushing blood from the tentacle stump. He was on top of him, and now Sylvester really couldn''t see shit, but he didn''t care either, he stopped thinking about it as soon as he felt the monster on top of him. It was as if his entire body was being transformed into a statue of ice. Wet and cold.


    He was going to crash, but he was so cold he didn''t care.


    It can''t be alive, Sylvester thought as he wrestled with the creature at close quarters. It either refused to go down so easily or he wasn''t using all the strength he could under the circumstances. In any case, there it was still, trying to claw and bite and rip its throat out. Such a cold creature cannot be alive.


    He only managed to shake it off the moment he finally crashed.


    He saw the fish man fly away.


    He saw pieces of wood flying away as well. The vehicle hit a wall. Fortunately it stayed there, not going through it, continuing to skid out of control. Where the hell was he? This looked like the lower decks of a wooden ship.


    A classic, ripped straight from the pages of an old pirate story.


    "Mother of God, what the fuck is going on here?"


    The Defense of Kaleidoscope (4): END

 43. The Defense of Kaleidoscope (5)

    1


    Sylvester tried to get the tank going again with a lot of determination and optimism, and found, of course, that it had reached its limit. It wasn''t going to take him a millimeter further.


    "Great. I know it had to break, and I know it''s my fault for crashing it, but come on, it''s a real bummer." Sylvester was talking as if it was a slight inconvenience instead of the major problem it really was.


    Why was that?


    No fucking idea, maybe he''d lost a screw, long since loosened.


    Maybe he''d never been too sane.


    In any case, now he had to face the consequences.


    "The biggest reason to complain, though, is that I haven''t developed some kind of ability to see in the dark yet. After ten years of constant fighting. Seriously, this would be so much easier if I could see in the dark just by thinking about it. Ah, maybe Ryan is right and God not only exists but cares about his creations, but he particularly hates me. He''s really sick of me. Ah, anyway."


    Even though he kept complaining, his tone was loud, light and carefree, as if he was in a completely different place and really had nothing to worry about. He supposed he had indeed lost his mind.


    But it wasn''t a bad feeling. More like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.


    A big weight.


    If your life was becoming crazy and you were drowning no matter how hard you tried to fight it, maybe the right thing to do, the sensible thing to do, was to stop trying.


    Maybe what he should have done a long time ago was to just go with the flow.


    Sylvester didn''t know for sure, and he didn''t much care either. All he knew was that he felt light instead of worried and scared, so what was wrong with that? It was cool. It was the fucking best, fuck it.


    He was aware that with his complaints he would also be attracting the creatures that lived in the bowels of the monster, those damned fish men, but he didn''t mind too much either, and not only because he was sure that they would find him anyway.


    In any case, this lightness was pleasant. He would try to enjoy it while it lasted.


    He abandoned the wrecked tank, flying out of the ship which wasn''t much better off. That is, his only source of light.


    Sylvester thought the lightness would disappear at that very moment, surrounded by absolute darkness, the weight of the situation falling on him again. But nothing of the sort. He smiled. Yes, he didn''t understand it, but it wasn''t bad at all.


    He could get used to it, of course he could.


    One of the fish men landed on him. He was flying high, so it had to have been agile enough to climb up this creature''s stomach walls and jump on him.


    Or it had grown wings too, which he couldn''t completely rule out, but he didn''t think that was what it was all about.


    The fish man tried to bite him.


    It only bit the metal of his katana, when he interposed it, not that he had given it the coup de grace. He did it right after, extending his open hand towards his head and opening fire.


    Even in here, the sound of the creature screaming as the [Die Hard Buster] pierced through many layers of flesh reached his ears.


    His grin widened.


    He pushed the fish man''s corpse away, hitting it with both boots.


    Three more arrived to replace their fallen companion, their combined weight dragging him down, no matter how hard he tried to flap his wings. He felt the creatures'' teeth landing near his neck and claws tearing all over his body.


    Sylvester let them do it.


    He fired the [Die Hard Buster] again, this time at the ground beyond the black waters. Everything was black, blacker impossible, like the darkness before he was born. Sylvester went through the roof alone, losing the creatures along the way. He reached the other side after a bad landing, rolled awkwardly on the ground.


    He felt a little dizzy and had to rest his hands on the ground to help him sit up. His hands sank into that stinking mountain of flesh as if he was trying to leave his handprints.


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    The sound of the beast''s heartbeat had grown louder the very moment he broke through the ceiling. Soon it would be the only thing he could hear.


    If the monster was so huge, how big would its heart be? He hoped to see the answer with his own eyes soon.


    He couldn''t trust his ears, as the beating of that heart was so loud, and he couldn''t trust his eyes as they saw nothing at all. So it was no wonder that they successfully ambushed him. Pulling him off his trajectory, pushing him against one of the flesh walls. The sensation of sinking inside one of those walls of flesh was almost as sickening as the cold and the skin of one of those fish men.


    One of those, not this one, because the one who had attacked him was another kind of creature.


    Although he was blind, he could tell immediately by the difference in the feel of its skin.


    How many different kinds of vermin can live in here, no matter how big it is, Sylvester thought as he bit into the monster that had attacked him like a wild dog, before it could do the same, and tearing a large chunk of flesh from its neck. Of course, he spat it out immediately, he wasn''t going to dedicate himself to eating monster meat. It wouldn''t be very healthy. Or hygienic.


    The monster writhed on him, squealing as if outraged. It reminded him of the reaction of one of those fish men. It reminded him of a lot of other things, actually.


    "You''re all the same," Sylvester said with a smile painted in blood, "Nothing but thugs on a high like you''re on drugs, until someone gives you a taste of reality. Now you don''t feel on top of the world anymore, do you? You''re scared now, aren''t you? You should never have come near me. You should never have laid a hand on me."


    He attacked, but not with the katana.


    He reached out for its neck and snapped it like a dry twig, so easily that he only had to try once.


    But he didn''t kill him. He had no trouble trying again even with his neck turned one hundred and eighty degrees.


    Sylvester dodged its charge with no trouble, though.


    Laughing.


    He couldn''t remember the last time he''d laughed like that. So deeply, from the belly, with his whole body-how could he remember? Not just having fun.


    Was this fun?


    Fuck yes, he thought shamelessly in response.


    Completely blindly, but acting with an immediacy and certainty as if he saw everything clearly, he grabbed the monster around the waist from behind his back.


    And when he suplexed him, he felt its back break as well.


    He had never had a compelling reason to learn to fight without his weapons, so it wasn''t a well-practiced move, but the techniques were something invented by humans to compensate for his weaknesses.


    He could break anyone no matter what moves he made or where he hit thanks to his monstrous strength.


    Even that wasn''t enough to kill it. It was a persistent bastard. But, dead or alive, the point is that he couldn''t move anymore. Or at least he stopped hearing anything besides that beast''s breathing. It was just a guess, but he thought it was a good guess, so that was good enough for him.


    Sylvester simply walked away.


    Moving deeper and deeper into the darkness, with its heartbeat, each one of them like a bell, as his only guide. He did his best not to think of the various ways this loose plan could fail and how little he could do if any of those possibilities materialized, since he had already stepped into the lion''s den.


    He discovered the answer to how big the heart of a monster like a skyscraper was sooner than he had thought. It was very casual, he didn''t even realize it at first. The only thing that caught his attention at first was the light.


    It was incredible... Well, it was as literally incredible as everything else, but the creature''s heart was glowing.


    It illuminated the meat chamber with a blood red light. It felt like he was in a butcher shop, but on the wrong side. Nothing but exposed flesh.


    But that wasn''t the end of the surprises.


    A few pieces of metal. Yes. Bits of strange metal floated around the heart, like some kind of shield. Even the metal was shrinking and expanding to the rhythm of the breathing, of the heartbeat. There were gaps to spare between the metals, leaving the heart exposed (otherwise he wouldn''t have recognized it as such) and letting the light escape in the first place.


    It didn''t seem like it, but it would be there for a reason.


    He couldn''t let his guard down or take anything lightly. But he couldn''t take a single step back either.


    Sylvester gritted his teeth and advanced toward the heart of his great white whale.


    Other than my mother-in-law, he thought. Very typical, but it almost would have been funny...if he had a mother-in-law.


    How could he have a mother-in-law if he didn''t even have time for a girlfriend?


    He only had time for prostitutes, which in any case he could only go to after the syndicate had thoroughly investigated them to make sure they were not spies sent to influence or even assassinate him. There was a conspiracy theory that he was the cause of the appearance of the monsters. Who knows, they might even be right, but he doubted very much that they would stop appearing just because he was killed, so it was irrelevant.


    In short, he used to end up with women who wouldn''t hurt him for anything in the world.


    Almost breathlessly asking him countless questions about him and his work, and proclaiming their admiration. Any man would feel lucky, would lower the shame of having to resort to paying for sex with the sweet liqor of their admiration, which suggested they would do it for free.


    And for him it had been enough too. At first.


    Then, unsurprisingly, he had grown tired of it. It had become normal and quite naturally he had come to desire something more. Like any human being, he had pursued that something more, with the success that was to be expected considering that he wouldn''t know how to express what he was looking for even if they put a gun to his head.


    Most of them had told him that being an indecisive prick was typical of a man and he hadn''t been able to argue with that.


    Of course he hadn''t been able to. He told himself he''d answer them firmly when he had an answer and his feet firmly on the ground, but the time had never come, and maybe....


    Maybe he would die here before he found an answer.


    Buried in this mountain of flesh, along with the creatures that roamed the darkness of its entrails looking for food. The mission description had made that clear, after all. So perhaps he''d already had a glimpse of what awaited him if he failed here.


    Anything but death.


    Anything but death.


    The Defense of Kaleidoscope (5): END

 44. The Defense of Kaleidoscope (6)

    Sylvester continued to approach the heart with the katana in front of him. The illumination it provided had been more of a relief than he was willing to admit. The worst would begin when he managed to kill it, plunging this into its heart, and he didn''t want to think too much about that either.


    A shot of electricity.


    Concentrated energy shot out of the heart, slipped through the metal shards as they expanded in rhythm with the heartbeat, and came for him. He tried to deflect it with the katana and it turned out not to be a good idea.


    His katana was designed to, among other things, withstand the energy charge of one of the satellite barriers and shape it any way he wanted.


    So it never crossed his mind that it wouldn''t be enough for this, but he should have thought better of it. Sylvester flew off, his flight coming to an abrupt halt only when he hit a pillar of flesh, wet and red.


    The impact knocked the air from his lungs.


    Okay, so he could defend himself.


    He gritted his teeth, he practically had to rip his body from the wall of flesh, the shock had hit him harder than he thought it would. And he had no experience points to spend on the Health stat. If he fucked up, he''d be finished.


    Another energy shot to intercept him.


    This one he managed to dodge...


    At first, but after missing it moved into the air and came back like a boomerang to hit him in the back. Sylvester stifled a scream and fell to the ground, writhing like a fucking worm.


    Shit. He hadn''t expected that.


    Electricity didn''t work like that... But hearts didn''t work like that either.


    Sylvester clawed at the ground, taking a deep breath, and did his best to get up before the third shot came. And he did. That is, get to his feet, but it was too close. The electricity, crackling, was right on top of him. It would soon reach him.


    He hadn''t used it for so long it was almost as if he''d forgotten about it, but he activated the overclocking.


    The color drained out of the world, as if it were nothing more than a painting that had had a bucket of water poured over it, revealing the blank canvas behind it.


    All his senses were heightened.


    And, like a panther, Sylvester lunged for the enemy. Dodging the third shot of electricity was child''s play, as was slipping between the metal through the small gap that had remained since it didn''t end up contracting. If he had been any slower, the metal would have closed in on him, perhaps even splitting him in half, but he didn''t hesitate for a second.


    At first it was his eyes that had failed him. He had been forced to wander in utter darkness, relying only on the sound of the great beast''s heartbeat.


    Now it was his ears that failed him, while the heart provided illumination.


    He had realized it only now, as he prepared to give it what he hoped would be the coup de grace, but he couldn''t hear the heartbeat even though he was so close already. Not anymore.


    He could feel the blood sliding out of his ears. Being so close to such a catastrophe had ruptured his eardrums. His legs were shaking because of it too, he vaguely remembered something about the ears being related to the sense of balance, but it didn''t matter. It didn''t matter as long as he had enough strength to stab this beast through the heart with his sword. Then he could...


    What?


    Be satisfied, rest?


    Nonsense. Nonsense. There were more enemies out there.


    The battle had only just begun.


    He felt himself scream, though he couldn''t even hear his own scream, and he plunged the katana up to the handle into that beating heart.


    The creature began to tremble, the light in the heart to flicker. Sylvester barely had time to escape before he was crushed between the mortally wounded heart and the constantly moving metal, even with the overclocking still on. He had learned the lesson of not getting carried away, one of several lessons he had had to learn more than once.


    The metal stopped moving for a second before his heart completely shut down.


    I''ve won, he thought, but the thought didn''t fill him with elation or relieve him in the least. Hard to do, when it meant a return to this monster-infested darkness with no food but himself.... or each other. He supposed if they had survived here long enough to meet him they had to have eaten each other more than once.


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    Shit that''s even creepier, why did I have to think of that? Shit.


    The ground became unbalanced. He was already pretty unbalanced as it was, so he was sure the sudden unbalance was because of the ground. It had suddenly turned into a wall and then the ceiling, as he tried to stick the sword there to at least delay the inevitable a bit. He couldn''t and fell sliding down into the unfathomable darkness where the fish men awaited him, more like the last thing that had attacked him, which refused to die no matter how much he broke it, and god only knows what else.


    He needed to recover and take flight again. Soon, before he was caught, before several devoured him and fought over his bones.


    He did it, he did it, and now....


    Now what?


    How was he going to get out of here? Calm down. The really complicated part was finding the heart. But to get out, you just have to follow a straight line. As long as you''re moving in any direction, you''re always heading for an exit. So calm down.


    It didn''t work.


    Simply telling someone to calm down or yourself never worked, but that didn''t mean it wasn''t true.


    He used the [Die Hard Buster] one last time, firing it towards what he hoped was above (he was now a bit quite disoriented), to open a hole in the "ceiling".


    Yes, it was the last time, he couldn''t use it again by any means. He''d simply been fighting for too long and didn''t have enough MP.


    By the way, Sylvester was supposed to receive five experience points and level up if he completed the mission to kill the monster, but so far nothing. For a moment he panicked at the possibility that he might not have killed it after all, but then he considered that maybe the mission wouldn''t really be complete until he escaped from here alive.


    Inconvenient, but the reward wouldn''t have helped him anyway.


    MPs would only recover over time.


    If he failed here, he would have all the time in the world and it still wouldn''t matter.


    Sylvester shot off towards the ceiling. It was as if he had no eyes (the glow from the energy shot had provided illumination, but very briefly) or ears, so the only thing concrete was the physical sensation of his own body. It was almost like daydreaming.


    He went through several holes made by his skill.


    He only knew, of course, because he didn''t hit the ceiling. He had no other way of knowing. He would keep going until he could go no further..... Anyway, that summed up life itself.


    For anyone, not just him and his peculiar war.


    The moment when he could go no further came more quickly than he expected. The sensation he already considered familiar of black goo on his wings, and then the inevitable fall into darkness.


    But it wasn''t a problem for too long.


    It wasn''t because the wings were gone.


    He had run out of MP. He could no longer do anything about it. He could no longer access any of his extensive repertoire of skills, not a single thing.... Except brace for impact. He gritted his teeth, raised his arms, trying to protect at least his head.


    And then what?


    Then nothing. Nothing.


    Blind, deaf, alone in the darkness on the other side.


    This was not how he wanted to die.


    He had always imagined some noble sacrifice, if it had to happen, a proper punctuation mark for his decade-long battle. Something that would make sense of all he''d lost along the way, not just suddenly stop writing.


    But it looked like that was what was to become of his life.


    Blank spaces, a page torn out. Nothing else.


    I don''t have my powers, but I have many other skills, he thought. I can still do this.


    Why shouldn''t he be able to break through to the other side, to freedom, just with sheer determination and his katana?


    He had to try.


    He had to try while he was still alive, while it still meant something.


    With renewed determination, he picked a random direction. After so many shakes, which, by the way, hadn''t stopped, he had no hope of figuring out what was up, down, left and right. The last use of the energy shot had been useful, but it clearly hadn''t gone as far as he would have liked since no light from outside had entered this corpse.


    He tried to make his way with the katana, cutting through the flesh. Enduring the fluids that splattered his face and hair with a grimace.


    An explosion of pain in one leg. Sylvester grimaced. Of course he hadn''t dodged the attack, fuck, hell no, when he couldn''t see or hear it coming. But... Fuck. He gritted his teeth harder and harder. It seemed like an unforgivable mistake.


    What was this?


    A tentacle.


    One of those fish men, surely, had shot a tentacle at him, piercing his knee from behind. Shattering it.


    With the tentacle stuck there, he wouldn''t even be able to continue crawling forward. He swung the katana behind him, and somehow it didn''t hit anything. At least that much he could feel, it was a sure thing, but how had it dodged from so close? How had it been faster than him?


    But the tentacle being stuck in his leg also meant it couldn''t get very far.


    His injured leg had moved a little further to the left without his consent. That way he knew in which direction to attack to cut the tentacle off.


    Stupidly he felt as if he had accomplished something important ( for example, to begin with, killing the enemy) until another creature came out of the shadows and dug its claws into his chest. Sylvester didn''t scream only because he didn''t have enough air in his lungs for that.


    Fuck.


    Fuck.


    Was he really going to... Was he really going to fall here?


    Was this really it? He didn''t have another...?


    He spat blood, the creature ripped at his chest again, with the other claw. But the important thing was that he now had an idea. In the darkness, he reached for the earpiece before it was ripped off along with the ear. And he activated it, putting it on the right channel. He wanted his message to reach the bases, not the teams of agents who were in Kaleidoscope. They could do nothing for him.


    "Can you hear me? I am... Sylvester Sunderland. I need you to fire on my location..." The claws dug deep into the hand against his ear. "A barrier. Quickly. Quick... or I''m going to die here."


    He could barely speak.


    Every word was an effort, and for all the pain it took, it was like mustering the determination to stab oneself.


    If the device had malfunctioned and the monsters who wanted to feast on his body were the only ears his message had reached, then he was well and truly screwed.


    If, on the other hand, they had gotten the message, maybe he''d be screwed anyway.


    He wasn''t sure to what extent being inside the beast''s corpse would protect him from the massive amount of energy that was about to fall on them. Nor if it would matter, seeing how easily he could die afterwards with the monsters tearing him apart.


    But he had to try something.


    Life was a war and he was a soldier.


    The Defense of Kaleidoscope (6): END

 45. The Defense of Kaleidoscope (7)

    1


    Cynthia wasn''t sure if the last thing she had tried was what had worked, another of the hundreds of things with a delayed effect, or something completely unrelated. In any case, the strange space they had been trapped in, the mirror image of the ruins of Kaleidoscope, disappeared at last.


    First the same bluish light they saw when that creature led them here, following Sylvester''s orders (which he hadn''t quite processed yet), then she discovered they were back where they were supposed to be.


    Back to the real world.


    Full of blood, guts and corpses.


    Only the seemingly endless sea of black had been reduced to black blobs. A bunch of black spots, everywhere, but only spots, after all. It had turned out to be not a sea but a river that had dried up. And at the center of that devastation was its source: the tentacled creature had died.


    He supposed that was why they were out now.


    "I knew Sylvester would make it," Ryan said, relieved.


    They hadn''t seen what had happened, but he had still assumed Sylvester had taken care of that monster. Well, it made sense. It was only fair.


    "Yeah. But did he make it? I mean, where the hell is he?"


    "Good question."


    Cynthia couldn''t see him anywhere and she had a bad feeling, but she did see the Lunar Princess, who at least for the moment was fighting on the side of humanity. On their side. It was hard to accept, but she''d have to swallow the urge to blow her brains out. Cynthia approached her, and Ryan followed close behind. Still transformed, of course. The fight wasn''t even close to being over yet with that thing dead.


    "What happened to Sylvester?"


    The inhuman creature turned its head slowly and looked at him with those slitted, feline-like eyes long enough to make her nervous. To make her wonder what she would do instead of answering her question.


    Fortunately, the moment passed without further ado.


    "It occurred to him that the best idea to end this was to propel himself into that beast''s mouth. To wound it from the inside. He didn''t give me time to protest, but I can''t even tell him it was fucking crazy, seeing the results. And that he might not get out."


    "Don''t talk like that."


    The creature shrugged, as if it didn''t give a damn.


    As if? Of course it didn''t give a damn, and she''d never thought anything different, so she wasn''t sure why she was so angry.


    "I hope he doesn''t die, but I''m not sure if I could have survived in there myself. And I''m not human. He''s nothing but a human, deep down. So it''s a possibility."


    She said it so calmly. Analytical.


    She supposed she didn''t need any more reason for that to make her fists and teeth clench.


    But she wasn''t going to let her anger get the better of her. That wouldn''t do anyone any good. Not her, not Sylvester.


    And it was he who was in the most danger, now, even though the battle inside had ended with the death of this thing and the one outside was still going on. Shots flying everywhere, from all sorts of weapons that were not of this world, alien limbs slicing through the air. Mostly tentacles. A little bit of everything. Real chaos.


    "It''s not. I know it isn''t."


    "Are you in love with him?"


    Cynthia was surprised that an inhuman creature believed it knew anything about love. Believed was the key word, for to suggest that she felt that way about Sylvester was utter folly. So the surprise didn''t last long and she laughed quite naturally, as if she wasn''t on the verge of death on the strangest battlefield in the long history of planet Earth.


    Well, it didn''t hurt to laugh once in a while. Lately she didn''t have much reason to, after all.


    "That would be like falling in love with my brother." Not that it mattered, but she was an only child. "I know it''s weird to say that about someone I haven''t even known for half a year, but friend doesn''t seem like a good enough word. It''s just, how do I explain it? It''s like you''re telling me that the sun won''t rise in the morning."


    She was pleased that she had hit the nail on the head. She, at least, couldn''t have put it better.


    "I hope you''re right." But the creature said it in the same empty voice with which it had expressed doubts about his chances of survival. If it couldn''t even empathize with the only person in this world who was its equal in power (at least for the moment), then how would it view the rest of them?


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    Like ants. As nothing more than insects to crush under her metaphorical boots.


    Of course.


    Had she ever thought the so-called Princess would feel any other way?


    ¡°While you wait, I''ll act," Cynthia replied.


    "It was a figure of speech. Or so I think. I''m but four days old."vv


    Cynthia ignored her, but inwardly wondered if that had been a joke or something that had just come out of her relative innocence. As much as it disgusted her to use that word to refer to a monster like that, she had indeed only been born four days ago.


    Anyway, it had been funny to her. A little.


    But it didn''t matter.


    Cynthia and Ryan broke into a run at the same time, without needing to communicate verbally. That was further proof that they really had become closer. That kind of rapport couldn''t be practiced, only cultivated naturally, in and out of battlefields over and over again. And this time, she promised herself, it would be no different. They would both go out.


    They demonstrated their rapport in more ways than one as they traversed the field, heading, of course, for the carcass of the beast made of nothing but tentacles. To where Sylvester awaited them.


    The enemies should still be too busy killing each other, but they caught the attention of some who shot at them or threw themselves at them, producing from inhuman throats sounds no human had heard to this day.


    Creatures out of the shadows behind nightmares, too terrible to even dream of.


    And they tore them apart.


    They destroyed them along the way as if it was nothing. Returning the blows, the shots from the alien weapons, ensuring total destruction with no way back. Nor any possibility of repair. Many of those armored giants left nothing more than that: empty armor, scorched, smoking like a chimney. As if the person who had been inside had become a ghost and disappeared like the morning mist.


    That way, at any rate, they opened a bloody path to the corpse at the top of the hill. The source of the black sea and even worse nightmares than the ones they had left scattered in pieces over the field, which had little green left, but rather red and black. Especially red and black.


    "You have to be alive, asshole. You have to be," she muttered to herself, barely aware that she was saying it out loud.


    She let Ryan get to work.


    She could also help by using her revolvers, but it was dangerous, she could accidentally reach Sylvester. Under normal circumstances that wouldn''t be enough to kill him by a long shot, it would be like being tickled, but she had no idea how he was like in there. For all he knew he could be on the verge of death and her bullets (or gusts of wind) could be what pushed him over the cliff.


    Plus, Ryan could cut through the corpse faster with his huge claws. A more efficient and safer job.


    Cynthia wanted to help, certainly, but there was no reason not to step back and to the side. And just wait. Crossing her fingers that everything would work out.


    That wasn''t her style and in fact no one liked it, who was going to like that? But since she had no other choice, she could accept it.


    Since she was doing nothing, couldn''t do anything, it seemed longer than it really was, of course. But in the end they got results. Sylvester came sliding out of the corpse, accompanied by more of that black water, which flowed out of the wound like blood.


    For a moment she thought the worst.


    But only for a moment.


    "He''s just unconscious. Good. Good."


    Cynthia took a deep breath. Okay, she, like all agents, had received some first aid training. Nothing that could have prepared her to help a man survive after he had the genius idea to jump down the throat of a monster from outer space and kill it from the inside, but something. It would have to be enough.


    Assuming he would have swallowed quite a bit of that black water along the way, Cynthia crouched down beside him and tried to revive him mouth-to-mouth.


    A simple cycle of rhythmically pressing on his chest and blowing air through his mouth. But having his life in her hands, or at least the feeling that she had it, was a terrible weight that made it difficult and prolonged everything. Being involved wasn''t easier than watching and hoping for the best, but it wasn''t any harder either. She had discovered that it was just as terrible and she supposed that was the only truth. Whatever you did, everything was terrible in a situation like this, with shit up to your neck.


    Sylvester turned his head, coughed, and spit out several black gobs like mud or tar. And finally, finally, he opened his eyes.


    The man smiled.


    "Happy to see you guys again. So I was closer to the exit than I thought. I''m glad I followed the objective marker."


    "I beg your pardon?" She hadn''t heard that last one right. Or at least hadn''t understood it.


    "It''s nothing."


    It was. Sure it was, but she''d let it go for the moment. They had bigger problems.


    They were under attack. Or maybe they didn''t intend to, but either way the plasma shots from those giants'' weapons flew too close, so Cynthia and the rest were quick to dodge, leaping over the tentacles and using the corpse as a shield. It was so big that Ryan didn''t even have to get down on his knees to use it as cover.


    "This has only just begun," Ryan said, raising his voice just to make himself heard over the nearby gunfire.


    "True, but we will win. It''s as if I can see it written on the tablets of destiny. We will win."


    It was an odd response, and not just because it was unlike him to talk that way-he didn''t have the stick up his ass that deep-but because of that metaphor. Sylvester wasn''t a big fan of fate. Or at least of the idea that it was something inevitable, something to submit to.


    But then again, they had bigger problems. That and other issues could wait until the battle was over.


    It would probably be nothing, anyway.


    He had every right in the world to act a little weird after surviving that shit.


    2


    Sylvester had been born again.


    In that fetid darkness filled with crawling legions, he had been born again. He had crawled through the birth canal and come out clean on the other side. He really felt like a new man. And maybe he really was.


    Strength: 35 (+3)


    Stamina: 31 (+2)


    Health: 17 (+1)


    He had received more experience points than the mission reward had promised him. He wasn''t sure why, but you can''t look a gift horse in the mouth. The objective marker had disappeared, but now that he had managed to get out he really didn''t need it. Besides, he was almost relieved to have seen it disappear. In the rational light of day, it had only made him uncomfortable for reasons he couldn''t explain. Or perhaps reasons he didn''t even want to explain to himself.


    Nor was a new mission unlocked, but that was of even less importance.


    He knew very well what he had to do.


    He knew very well what his mission was.


    Kill all those sons of bitches. This world is ours.

 46. The Defense of Kaleidoscope (8)

    At one point, while desperately searching for the exit, he had had to rest one boot on the wall behind him and the other on the one in front of him, starting to climb as if he were clawing his way up from the depths of a well. And, of course, the creatures that lived inside it hadn''t left him alone at any point.


    He took practically every attack they threw at him for obvious reasons. But Sylvester tried to return each and every one of them with double the fury, and most of the time he succeeded. The only thing that illuminated his lonely climb up the tunnel of throbbing flesh, even though the monster was already dead, was the clash of his sword against the monsters claws.


    Because yes, they had claws. And tentacles.


    And limbs for which human language had no name, things he saw writhing for a few moments as sparks flew and had to tell himself they were his imaginings, things that tore inside him without needing to reach him. A wound deeper than any other, a wound in the soul.


    He thought he wouldn''t make it, naturally, but he fought on anyway because he couldn''t do anything else. Driven not by courage, but by fear of the pain, the cold and the consequences of stopping. Scared shitless at the thought that this hell could go on forever. Nothing more than that.


    And things got worse, not better, when he realized that his message had gotten through to the syndicate after all.


    His mind was dyed white.


    His limbs stopped responding. He lost his balance, lost his grip, fell about ten meters before catching himself again with the help of his hands. The creatures stalking him hadn¡¯t been so lucky.


    He wasn''t breathing. He could feel it in his chest... his heart had stopped because of all the electricity. It felt like he had an ice dagger stuck in his heart.


    His breathing resumed.


    A sweet relief ran through his body. His arms and legs were trembling. He didn''t know how he had been able to hold on. And, in the midst of it...


    "What..."


    He saw a floating green circle.


    It took him several seconds to realize what it could be, and several seconds to put aside the idea that it was a mere hallucination.


    He moved his head to one side and the circle moved in turn, showing him the way still.


    "Fuck."


    He had crawled as far as he could, following the floating icon. The rest was history.


    His friends had taken him out of there and now he was wild and free. Not from the shadow of war, but at least from that terrible darkness and the things that inhabited it. Free from the promised eternity of pain. Now he could return to the familiar.


    He caught one of the giants by surprise, since the guy had been too busy fighting a strange creature with arms where it should have legs and vice versa, which, to top it off, drooled acid and crawled around like a spider.


    He caught it by surprise. And skewered it on his sword before it had time to react. Sylvester had gotten too close to the enemy, forcing him to use the rifle not to shoot, but to defend himself as if it were a sword. So he hadn''t had the slightest chance against Sylvester, who had appeared fast as the wind. The enemy didn¡¯t even have the chance to react in time, but, like anyone else, he had tried anyway. No, rather he hadn''t had time to realize before his life was taken.


    He was going to dispatch the strange creature as well, of course. They were all his enemies.


    But Cynthia beat him to it.


    She did something with her revolvers, transforming the creature, which was in the middle of launching an attack against him, into an ice sculpture. Sylvester blinked. That wasn''t halfway normal, but there would be time for explanations once the fight was over.


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    He could have been the one to deliver the coup de grace, blowing the ice sculpture into a thousand pieces.


    However, Ryan did it in one fell swoop.


    A very quick reaction. He hadn''t wasted a second in surprise that Cynthia could do that. Which couldn''t mean anything other than that he already knew. So Ryan knew something he didn''t, something Cynthia had kept secret, or at least had felt it wasn''t the time to talk about it amidst all the fuss.


    In any case, my, my, my. How things changed.


    But it didn''t really surprise him too much.


    The bonds forged in the heat of battle were fine, but he wasn''t too good at being a person. So it was no wonder that after four days of absence someone like Ryan had gained more of her favor, even if she had started out hating him.


    Sylvester clicked his tongue.


    They kept fighting. Fighting alongside Heather and her army of Lunar Remnants (meaning the population of the city, the people they were supposed to protect) against alien invaders. What a crazy day, and it had only just begun. Speaking of which, what a crazy week. It was amazing to think that the first stone in this whole mess had been thrown less than a full week ago.


    The giants in armor must have been more or less human, reacting to their presence as if they feared death, and as if they had the same limitations as them in terms of sight and hearing. Backing away and putting priority on them, the newcomers.


    While the other alien creatures, more bizarre and far from human or humanoid, often didn¡¯t even fail to attack these giants as they reacted to their presence.


    Most had plenty of extra limbs to attack four or more people at once.


    Nothing compared to what he had faced in the entrails of that beast, something he preferred not to remember. What really worried him was that another creature like that one would come out of the portal; he wouldn''t repeat what he had done before, not even if he was crazy.


    But among what was here and now, among what he could be sure of, his biggest concern was those giants.


    After all, they were carrying firearms.


    Sylvester used a katana because his job was to fight against Lunar Remnants, monsters that had turned their backs on humanity and used only their monstrous transformed bodies to fight, along with the skills they had developed. It was the most efficient against them.


    But these were neither human or humanoid.


    As good as he was, it was obvious that he was at a disadvantage. It was a matter of speed and range. They could kill him from many hundreds of meters with that thing, while the length of the blade of his sword was only one hundred and ten centimeters.


    And, try as I might, overclocked or not, he couldn''t swing the sword faster than a bullet flew, let alone an energy shot.


    That was the way things were.


    For that very reason, in the end he stole the weapon from one of his fallen enemies and sheathed the katana. He didn''t like it, he had grown accustomed to it over the course of a decade (there was little that humans couldn''t get used to, let alone in that amount of time). But he would do what he had to do.


    The disadvantage had been corrected and he had the upper hand.


    He always had, but even more so now.


    Heather, however, didn''t seem to have any problem with continuing to fight using only her usual black crystal sword. Proving once again that she was superior to him.


    For the moment, he thought. Just for the moment.


    At least it looked like no reinforcements were coming through the portals, otherwise the situation would quickly become untenable and even dropping a nuclear bomb on Kaleidoscope wouldn¡¯t be enough.


    First things first. Clear the place of the enemies that had arrived. Then...


    They would find some way to deal with the portals.


    They always found a way, sooner or later.


    (sooner or later luck runs out because she is a bad bitch)


    Yes, sooner or later. But not yet.


    They got rid of the aliens (by which he meant the creatures that were more obviously from out of this world, not the six-foot giants, although they would stand out anywhere else too) and also with almost all the rest of the invaders.


    Sylvester left only one alive, hoping to get something besides the answers he already knew.


    "Why are you looking at me like that?" asked Heather.


    "I was hoping you knew what this thing was saying." Probably empty threats or equally hollow patriotism about him being one of many, they could defeat him but not stop the tsunami of shit coming their way. Just surely in different words.


    But, in any case, if they could communicate at least there would be a chance to get something out of the alien.


    "I''m sorry to disappoint you. I don''t even know how to speak all the languages of this Earth, much less another planet. Or dimension. When would I have had the time?"


    "Yeah, but I thought you''d have an Skill for that."


    "Oh. Well, I wish. But I don''t."


    "Can¡¯t be helped."


    Shrugging, he pushed the sword further in, giving it the coup de grace.


    He then stood up.


    "What do we do with the portals?" Heather asked him as if he were in charge.


    "I was also hoping you had some thoughts on the matter.


    "Aha. And, while we''re at it, are you sure we''ve killed them all? That none of those space soldiers escaped?" In fact, that question hadn''t even crossed his mind.


    It was no wonder since he had been lost in the middle of the battle. It was easier to get a broad perspective on things with, well, a broad perspective. For example, flying in the air. Not with boots in the mud.


    "Good question. I have no fucking idea."


    So, that was the only thing he could answer.


    And there was silence.


    The Defense of Kaleidoscope (8): END

 47. "A God Made of Steel (1)"

    1


    There was silence, not peace.


    Cynthia began to make suspicious movements even before she reached them. She hadn''t holstered the revolvers and why should she? She still saw enemies ahead, ready to keep fighting. She had to make things clear to him.


    "What are you doing?"


    Cynthia looked at him as if surprised. Yes, very clear, or else she''d do something stupid even if she agreed to back down for the moment.


    "The fight isn''t over yet."


    "No, it''s not over yet. That''s why we can''t afford to fight among ourselves. More will come. We need her, whether you like it or not. Besides... Besides, do you think I''m in any state to try?" He hated to admit it out loud, in front of her on top of it, but even though he had gotten stronger, the same went for the Lunar Princess. Would he ever be able to reach her? Would there even be a way to bridge that gap?


    Cynthia thought about it.


    "Okay. But I don''t have to like it." And at last, at last, she returned the pistols to their holsters.


    "That''s not what I''m asking."


    Problem solved, though he wasn''t sure if for good, definitely, or if she''d just wait for them both to turn around so she could shoot Heather in the back. As if that would do anything.


    Anyway, all in good time. One step at a time.


    That was the question.


    What should the next step be?


    2


    Julius''s eyes flew open, his heart in a fist, and for a moment he thought the tremors were a remnant of the nightmare he had been suffering silently all night. But then the moment passed, he had to acknowledge that he was fully awake and in danger.


    The building was trembling down to its very foundations. What was happening, a large scale earthquake?


    As he got out of bed he lost his balance and fell head first to the floor. Fuck, not that it was a bad fall, but it hurt pretty bad and made it hard to get back on his feet.


    He had to get out of here. Whatever it was, he had to get out of here before the house fell on top of him. He staggered out of the bedroom, feeling like one of those fucking lunatics who crossed from building to building on a tightrope, with or without a harness.


    Yes, the tightrope, Julius thought. My whole life is on a tightrope. And the fall is very big. Endless, to the center of the earth. If I screw up, if I fuck it up, the fall awaiting me is too big.


    Living under the threat of the Lunar Remnants, people were used to thinking about things like what they would rescue from their house if something happened. They were just another natural disaster, only they came much more frequently than any earthquake or hurricane.


    (Is that it? Are they here, are they here now, is that it?)


    He had been no exception, he believed


    (is that it? is that it?)


    that he had it all figured out. But at the moment of truth he could think of nothing, absolutely nothing. The only thing he wanted to rescue from the tightrope was his life itself. Everything else was just stuff. He had to live. He had to survive, even if he was left with nothing in the process. Whatever it took, he would survive, he would survive!


    Julius walked out of his house, out of his apartment, into the hallway.


    As if they had been waiting for him...


    At that very moment, a piece of the wall in front of his eyes broke away from the building.


    No, it was torn away.


    By a gigantic hand.


    And metallic. He watched those huge metal fingers flex, transforming the chunk of wall into a shower of debris that would crush like ants whatever was below. Cars and people alike. The road, the lampposts, everything, everything.


    Everything and everyone is on a tightrope.


    Not since now, since ten years ago. We''re all fucked. Fucked up the ass.


    Julius wanted to run away, but his legs were kind of pinned to the ground. It wasn''t an earthquake and it wasn''t a Lunar Remnant either, he was pretty sure that wasn''t how they worked. This was, well, a giant robot.


    A giant freaking robot, like something out of an anime.


    Am I dreaming, am I still dreaming?


    Nothing and no one answered him and the awakening didn''t come. Of course it didn''t.


    Finally he managed to break his paralysis. Julius ran for the stairs, ignoring the screams, the other people running around like headless chickens. He had never been too fond of his neighbors, but even otherwise he had to survive at all costs.


    So he took a shortcut.


    He jumped over the staircase railing, landing on his knees on the floor below, ahead of the people who had rushed down the stairs.


    "You retarded fucker!"


    "You pushed me down on purpose, you pushed me!"


    "Don''t step on me, don''t you see that you''re stepping on me, ah, don''t you see that...!"


    "Why are you running? We''re all going to die. We''re already dead."


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    Useless voices.


    Even more useless feelings. He didn''t know what was wrong with the last idiot who spoke, but Julius felt very much alive. He had no intention of throwing in the towel while he could still feel the wild beating of his heart, begging him to live.


    The elevator was the fastest way.


    Julius was the first to get to the elevator, naturally, and he didn''t wait for anyone else before pressing the button for the second floor. He wondered if it was a good idea to squeeze into this narrow metal box under the current circumstances, and maybe it really wasn''t a good idea, but neither was it a good idea to keep running down ten floors. No matter how fast he ran, he wouldn''t go faster than the elevator. The elevator was his only chance of survival.


    He would survive. He would survive!


    It was a fact, not a chance. He would survive at all costs!


    The elevator reached the second floor, the doors began to open albeit too slowly, so Julius threw himself through the opening without even waiting until they were all the way open. It crossed his mind that they might close on him. Complete nonsense, of course, nothing happened, he made it to the other side without a problem. But he vividly imagined his body being split in two by the elevator doors.


    No problem.


    No problem.


    He walked to the entrance with no problems, but.... What now?


    That thing was out there.


    What now?


    He couldn''t go out there, he''d be squashed like a bug. Like an animal run over in the middle of the road, he would be completely unrecognizable and would have no chance of escape.


    So what? Was he going to have any chance of saving himself by standing still? Gathering more courage than he had ever needed for anything in his life, more courage than he had ever thought he had, Julius ran again.


    But not toward the exit.


    His car. He needed his car, he wouldn''t get very far on foot.


    The exits of the city would be crowded with people with the same idea, among those who had managed to survive and make it this far, so sooner or later he would be forced to leave the car behind and then....


    Well, then it would be a matter of luck.


    As usual.


    Because humanity was hanging on a very tight rope.


    3


    "Hold on, mom. I''m here, I''m here. I''m here, I won''t leave you."


    Of course he wouldn''t.


    What kind of son would? But he didn''t know what he was saying to begin with, he was saying the first thing that popped into his head in a low tone with the intention (or rather the hope) of being reassuring.


    What nonsense. What nonsense you are saying. The debris... How is she going to calm down, no matter what you say, even if you''re there? How is she going to calm down when...?


    "Just a little bit more. It''s almost there, mom. We''ll get out of here together."


    He didn''t understand how he hadn''t burst into tears yet, but his voice didn''t inspire any confidence. He sounded as if he had suddenly become ten years younger, maybe more.


    A sickening crunch, a crunch that turned his guts. He did his best to hold back the urge to vomit.


    He had to be strong.


    Mom was trapped under the rubble, so he had to be strong for her. Mom had been strong for him all her life, it was time to return the favor, now, when she needed him the most, right now. It had to be now or they would soon be dead even if the iron giant didn''t come back to kill them all. The building wasn''t looking so good.


    But just a little more, just a little more and he''d get her out of there.


    The rubble would have crushed his legs, but he would carry her on his back if he had to. He would do anything.


    Why isn''t she talking?


    Well, that''s because...


    He finished pulling her up, finally pulling her out from under the rubble. Pulling her out of the darkness into the light. Yes, the light coming through the open crack in the building allowed her to see more than she wanted to.


    Because she is already dead.


    The rubble hadn''t crushed her legs.


    They had split her in half.


    The boy, back to the moment of his birth, could do nothing but cry inconsolably with a force as if it really was the first time his lungs had tasted the air of the hostile outside world.


    No one would come to soothe his cry.


    The umbilical cord had already been severed for good.


    4


    "What is it now?" Sylvester answered the call immediately. A giant robot? In San Francisco?


    If you asked him, he''d say he''d repeated it out loud to save himself having to explain it. And it was true, but only fifty percent, maybe less. Mostly it was out of sheer disbelief.


    "Great."


    He listened some more and then hung up, resigned. Out of the frying pan and into the fire, as usual. He sighed heavily.


    "A giant robot?" Cynthia asked.


    "In San Francisco?" Ryan repeated.


    "Yes, I said that already. What the hell do we do now?"


    Heather made the black crystal sword disappear, and only then he realized that she hadn''t done it yet. He understood her motives, not that she''d have been at a disadvantage without it even if Cynthia had been stupid enough to attack her.


    "I''ll leave the survivors of my army here, guarding the portals." It wasn''t exactly what worried him, what caused him the most uncertainty, but it was also important. "I don''t think they could be of much use against a giant robot anyway. As for what to do about it, don''t you have one of those too? Fight fire with fire, or something."


    "I''m afraid not," Sylvester replied, deadpan.


    "Pity. I would have liked to have seen you ride one of those."


    "Why?"


    "You don''t have to think so hard." What? It was a very simple and straightforward question. "Because it would be cool, I think." Then, turning to Ryan and Cynthia, maybe everyone in the clearing, "Don''t you think?"


    "I guess," said Cynthia, who had probably only been half-listening.


    "I don''t know," said Ryan, "I think he''s more the lone hero type, with the unnecessarily long trench coat and katana, when he could have chosen a European sword or literally anything else. It''s an impractical shape for a sword and they used to break like they were made of paper, folded a thousand times or not."


    His first instinct was, of course, to tell them to shut up. To point out that right now, in San Francisco, a giant robot was brutally murdering thousands of people. Not just with intent to kill, but also simply for walking by, sure. Depending on how giant they meant by giant, a thing like that could cause major catastrophes just by taking a stroll.


    But Sylvester bit his tongue.


    If now wasn''t the time for joking, when would it be? Wasn''t this the kind of time when they needed to laugh the most? If they took everything as seriously as it was they''d end up going crazy from the pressure.


    Just like him.


    Well, Cynthia and Ryan were kidding.


    He wasn''t so sure about Heather.


    "So all we can do is wait for the helicopters to arrive?" Cynthia asked.


    "You guys, and any agents left alive on this damn island, have to wait for that. I..."


    "Have wings?"


    "No. Well, yes, but I wouldn''t get very far." Not with the PM bar still less than half full. "I''m waiting for... an experiment. Don''t ask."


    Cynthia nodded and nothing else, much to his surprise.


    Fortunately, he didn''t have to wait long. About ten minutes later a capsule of sorts landed in the middle of the field, barely tall and wide enough to hold a human being. Yes, it would be a bit cramped and uncomfortable.


    "I''ll go with you," Heather said, grabbing the side of the capsule. Apparently, she didn''t need any explanations. None of his other comrades asked for explanations either. They just looked at him.


    ¡°Good luck," Cynthia and Ryan said, almost in sync.


    He nodded.


    " Same to you."


    He closed the capsule, pushed the button.


    And just like that he shot off two or three times faster than his top speed as he flew toward San Francisco.


    Toward a giant fucking robot.


    From fucking outer space.


    A God Made of Steel (1): END

 48. "A God Made of Steel (2)"

    1


    It turned out that flying at that speed wasn''t very pleasant. Perhaps he would have coped better if he was flying under his own power, that is, if he had some control at least. But he didn''t. He was flying at fuck knows how many miles an hour, in a claustrophobic death trap of coffin-like metal. Hopefully it wouldn''t end up being a real fucking coffin.


    He''d known about experiments like this for a long time.


    Of course, ideally, he would be able to respond to any emergency that arose, no matter where in the world it happened. Unfortunately he was only one man, he couldn''t be everywhere at once or travel anywhere so fast.


    Even if he tried, it would often be over before he even got close to the area.


    That was the nature of the Lunar Remnant plague, after all. It was a messy, disastrous and quick business.


    But many had wanted to fix that shortcoming of his, and strange devices like the capsule he was travelling in at he really didn''t want to know how many fucking miles per hour. But it had only been prototypes, dreams and hopes.


    Until that giant robot showed up. Now they had a compelling reason, never better said, to put this fucking madness to the test.


    He couldn''t say it wasn''t working, but he couldn''t say it was pleasant either.


    Even if it flew all the way, what about the landing? Sylvester wasn''t in a hurry to answer that question.


    But he would have the answer sooner rather than later, at this rate. He heard some banging against the capsule and for a few seconds he thought one of the invading sons of bitches from other worlds or dimensions had somehow found out he was there, attacking him. But no. It wasn''t like that, it was just his partner on this, of course. Like they lived nearby and she was knocking on his door. Just that.


    "Comfortable?" Heather, the Lunar Princess, asked.


    He slowly raised his middle finger.


    He didn''t even know if she had enough of a sense of humour to say things like that ironically, but it didn''t matter. Heather looked confused at the gesture, despite the many things she had learned in her short life of less than a week.


    Sylvester closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and decided to think about literally anything else as he let himself be swept along by the current. Deep down it was no big deal. He''d been through a lot worse all his life, even today, hell, even like five minutes ago.


    The only thing that bothered him was that. The total and complete lack of control.


    Even in the worst moments of his life, he''d had some control.


    But no matter how powerful he was, no matter how inhuman, he couldn''t always be in control. Sooner or later he would have to come to terms with it. And learn to let go, no matter how much it scared him.


    He felt it when they were about to land and his eyes snapped open, his heart pounding, even though he couldn''t really do anything to improve the landing or anything like that. Despite all that had been said, he had once again failed to learn his lesson. Perhaps it was the last lesson any human being learned, only once their time had come. When they would have no choice but to let go.


    The capsule was buried in the new roof of a building, that is to say what had been one of the interior floors before it was destroyed, as if some giant thing had taken a bite out of it, leaving it exposed to the wind and the cold and the long drop. Maybe the bite part was true, who knew what the giant robot could do.


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    Sylvester tried the door and found it was stuck, either that or he had no fucking idea how to open it now because he was so nervous, so unnecessarily nervous. Either way, it was clear what he had to do.


    He kicked at the door until he ripped it off and sent it flying. Heather dodged it by the skin of her teeth. Not that it would have done her any harm even if it had hit her squarely. Mostly she wouldn''t have been amused.


    Sylvester staggered out of the pod, momentarily unable to tell whether it was his head or the world that was moving, when in fact the answer was both, of course. He couldn''t see the giant robot from here, but he could feel it. The footsteps of destruction. It was like a human earthquake, advancing step by step.


    And Sylvester...


    Sylvester doubled over and threw up what little was in his stomach onto the new roof of the destroyed building, exposed to the cold wind that blew, the wind that carried the voices of people in agony, screaming, dying, full of fear.


    "I didn''t know you were dizzy," said Heather.


    "Next time you go in and I''ll stay out, we''ll see how well you do," he said, rubbing the corners of his mouth to remove the vomit. He hoped she wouldn''t take him up on his offer when the time came, he wasn''t sure it was a good idea. At that speed his grip probably wouldn''t have lasted.


    Nothing would happen to him, but he would be embarrassed. Again.


    He shook his head.


    Priorities.


    Lifting his head, Sylvester discovered that the giant robot could be seen perfectly well from here. From here and from anywhere in the city. For it was indeed a true giant. Next to it, even the few remaining skyscrapers (city redevelopment was a slow and difficult process) looked like toys.


    "Well, any ideas?¡± Sylvester asked. ¡°And before you say anything, I mean, if you have a real plan. I don''t want to get in the middle and just hope for the best. It worked out well with that tentacle monster, but I almost got killed. I don''t want to do something crazy like that twice in the same day. That''s my limit."


    "You''re more talkative since you threw up."


    "No, not since I threw up, I just haven''t had a reason to talk so much until now. Or time. You know, I think something snapped inside that monster''s guts, or at least it bent and now I''m kind of high. I don''t even know what I''m saying, but I want to at least know what I''m doing."


    He was aware that every second they wasted on this would be worse for the city. Yes, it couldn''t be more obvious.


    But the really bad thing for the city would be if he was defeated, because then who would take out the giant fucking robot? Not to mention the rest of the invaders, eager to win the interdimensional death match.


    "I don''t know what to tell you," Heather admitted, "I told you I don''t know anything about these invaders or their weapons, I''ve never seen anything like this before. The only thing I know for sure is that it''s humanoid. So ripping off its arms and legs would be a big inconvenience."


    Sylvester thought about it. But not too much.


    "Something is something, damn it. Something''s something."


    "I''m glad. Shall we?"


    "Yeah. But you first."


    ¡°You say that like I pushed you into that monster''s mouth. It was your idea. In fact, I don''t think you heard me, but I shouted things like ¡®are you out of your mind?¡¯ and ¡®come the fuck back!¡¯."


    "Whatever you say, but you go first."


    Heather shrugged and took flight again. Her PM bar seemed inexhaustible. Even though they theoretically had the same powers, the difference between them was as if they were each on a different side of the Grand Canyon.


    They flew together, side by side almost literally, like bullets towards the giant robot that continued on its path of destruction. If the ultimate goal of this deathmatch was the destruction of the enemy planets, he didn''t know what he thought he was doing destroying it city by city, which is to say, it would take ages.


    As promised, more or less, Heather was the first to arrive.


    And the giant robot from outer space swatted her away as if she were just an annoying mosquito. She flew back hundreds of feet as Sylvester watched her with wide eyes. Until, of course, he inevitably lost sight of her.


    Oh, right.


    Okay, she probably hadn''t died from that. No, she probably hadn''t. There was no way she could have died so easily after giving him so much trouble.


    The giant robot turned its head and its huge yellow eyes, from corner to corner and pupil-less, towards him. Its gigantic head loomed over him like the shadow of the future that awaited him.


    Now it''s my turn, he thought.


    A God Made of Steel (2): END

 49. "A God Made of Steel (3)"

    1


    "That''s right, I am your enemy. Me and no one else. Let''s see how you deal with an enemy of your..."


    Size? Hahaha.


    "Power. Your power."


    The giant robot threw a punch.


    He saw it coming. Of course, how could he not see it coming when it was the biggest thing he''d ever seen? "Telegraphing" didn''t do it justice. It was announcing it with a fucking bullhorn.


    Sylvester didn¡¯t dodge, but neither was he swatted like Heather.


    He raised his arms, crossed in front of his head, and stopped the attack.


    He should have flown away the moment the giant robot''s hand made contact with him, even a slight graze would have done it with the speed and power of the punch. But that wasn''t all he had done to prepare. He had thrown two claws of darkness downward, causing them to sink into the ground. That was how he managed to stay on his feet.


    He couldn''t add well.


    His arms felt like they were about to be ripped off.


    He couldn''t repeat it a second time, even with the help of the claws of darkness (or anchors, hell, it didn''t matter). It had been foolish to try. Sylvester thought it¡¯d be surprised and he would have the perfect opportunity to attack, but it had left him too fucked up to do anything besides feel his arms practically beaten to a pulp.


    He dodged the next attack, turning in the air, wings pressed against his back but spread as wide as possible. It was what he should have done from the start.


    As Heather had said, he could try to tear off its limbs.


    Easier said than done, of course, but you had to start somewhere.


    Sylvester flew low, at one of its legs, which it lifted up to try to crush him. He made about a dozen cuts in about the same place and retreated before it could crush him. Sylvester admired his handiwork from a safe distance.


    That is, nothing at all. His katana hadn¡¯t even torn through whatever metal that giant robot was made of.


    It was to be expected, but... Come on man, he should have at least done some damage, no matter how insignificant! He reminded himself that it might be true, though not enough to be visible to the naked eye.


    The giant robot swatted him.


    Like a bloody fly. Exactly like Heather, and he flew off in the same way. The only thing that prevented him from ending up the same way was that Heather, on her return flight, managed to catch him.


    "I don''t like the look of this," she said.


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    The situation or his body? Sylveter grimaced, feeling as if all his ribs were broken, as if the ribs were shards of glass or knives digging into his skin.


    He supposed it didn''t matter what she meant. Because they were both going about equally well.


    Sylvester broke away from her. Perhaps he was in no condition to stand up under his own power, but, fortunately, he didn''t need to. The wings did most of the work and his feet were well off the ground.


    He coughed several times, spitting up a little blood.


    He clicked his tongue, aimed his arm and fired at the same spot. The steady fall of a single drop of water could destroy rocks, break diamonds. So, if he wanted to succeed, he had to concentrate all his attacks on a single point. Better to go limb by limb than to spread himself too thin and achieve nothing.


    At least they had already achieved something. Drawing the attention of the damn thing away from the citizens, not that it would help much. Just attacking them or reacting to their attacks could cause a lot of innocent casualties without even meaning to. Normal human beings, along with their carefully constructed cities, were like ants to the damned thing.


    San Francisco wasn''t the metropolis it once was, nor did it look much like the settlement when it was still called Yerba Buena. It had been stuck in the middle of those two things because of the changes brought about by the threat of the Remnants, the regression they were all going through. It was now a burning inferno. There wasn''t a single intact building within sight. The air reeked of blood, guts and worse.


    There were flames to spare. A piece of shit made of cardboard with sunglasses, jacket and hat, also on fire, caught his eye. He didn''t understand what that was about, blinked rapidly as if the smoke had made him hallucinate and of course nothing changed, but it probably deserved to burn. Shame about everything else, though.


    Heather went on the attack, slashing not only at the same leg he had repeatedly attacked but at the same spot. It didn''t take a genius to attack the knee to disable someone, but he wondered if she could sense (or see, somehow) the damage he might have done to it. Or at least his attempt.


    He wouldn''t put it past her to have more ways to see than an ordinary human. She was anything but ordinary.


    More importantly, she succeeded.


    Namely, the giant robot bent that knee, making the ground shake even more. She''d just started, hadn''t even put much effort into that blow, and already she had it down on one knee. Unbelievable! And frustrating. He told himself that his previous attacks had helped, if only a little.


    What pleased him most, though it was neither the time nor the place, was that the giant robot caught her again, bringing its hands together in a fist that it wielded like a hammer against her back.


    Heather fell to the ground, barely avoiding falling into a group of people and vehicles passing by in search of salvation, hit the asphalt and bounced off as if it hadn''t been asphalt but an inflatable mattress.


    Yes, it was neither the time nor the place, but haha! Now she''d see that it wasn''t that easy. In fact, she seemed a bit dizzy with so much bouncing and shaking, maybe she would even end up throwing up like him. That would even the scales. That would be fucking great.


    I''m going crazy. I''m thinking about this kind of stuff while innocent people are dying. Something''s really broken in there... No, I hope it''s temporary, but I''m losing my fucking mind.


    Hysteria? Was this hysteria?


    Maybe the answer was just that simple and he wasn''t losing anything, but recovering.


    Regaining normality, the feelings that any human being would suffer in a situation like this... But he wasn''t just any human being. He had the responsibility, the weight of the world on his shoulders. A terribly overwhelming weight.


    So he had to control himself.


    He had an idea. He threw an anchor of darkness (fuck, okay, sometime he had to make up his mind about what name he liked best) at the fist that was reaching out to crush him. It dug in deep, disappearing inside, the robot''s hand expelled a white smoke as if it were its blood, almost covering the anchor.


    Sylvester propelled himself sideways, dragging the anchor with him.


    That''s how he got the robot to punch itself. Now that was fucking effective, a big chunk of its face fell off and was buried in the ground like the half-wing of some great fossilised beast.


    A God Made of Steel (3): END

 50. A God Made of Steel (4)

    "Well done," Heather said without a second thought. Well, it wasn''t her who stupidly thought she had something to prove.


    Feeling strangely pleased, Sylvester tried to repeat the same trick, that is, to make it hit himself like that child''s game. But, of course, the same trick didn''t work twice in a row, unfortunately. He was rather of the opinion that you didn''t have to fix something that wasn''t broken (the most obvious thing in the world, but he hadn''t made up the expression), but since it was....


    What the hell would he do now?


    Good question.


    The robot raised an arm. The hand attached to that arm disappeared inside, then the stump, so to speak, opened up. An energy began to gather there, preparing to fire. But it was okay, the attack couldn''t have been more telegraphed. He could simply dodge it...


    And let it explode somewhere behind him, killing hundreds more people?


    "Fuck."


    Sylvester couldn''t afford to. He was here and had come this far to save people, not to let them die. Otherwise he would have stopped fighting a long time ago, because his own life, well. His own life didn''t have much meaning, he wasn''t doing anything with it, good or bad, it was empty.


    He had no other choice.


    Sylvester flew towards the energy shot, hoping he was strong enough to not be reduced to ashes.


    "What the hell are you doing?" Heather didn''t understand, of course.


    She looked human, but she wasn''t really.


    She was his ally, at least for the moment, but not his friend. He had to remember those things well before he found himself becoming attached to her. It would be a fatal mistake. She was a monster that had to be exterminated like all the others.


    Sylvester swung the katana towards the energy shot and managed to parry it, albeit mere inches from his face. Things shouldn''t work like that. Under normal circumstances, the energy shot would have swallowed his sword and then him hopelessly, giving him no chance to flee.


    But his sword was special in many ways.


    It had been designed to contain and shape energy from satellite barriers, and it turned out to be sufficient for this alien technology, too. It turned out that fixing what was broken was very simple: not changing the method, but the tool.


    In other words, he redirected the shot toward the robot.


    He could almost smell the surprise of whoever or whatever was operating the machine.


    But, for such a big thing, it dodged fast and the result was the very thing he had feared and risked his neck to attempt to avoid. That is, the energy shot exploded in the middle of the city, reducing hundreds of lives to ashes in the blink of an eye.


    The robot was off-balance from its dodge.


    Heather lunged against its side, plunging the black crystal sword there, and flying off before it could even think of swatting her like a fly.


    He, on the other hand, went for the leg.


    The same one that he had been attacking from the beginning. Everything would be easier if at least they managed to cut off one leg.


    Destroying the robot seemed practically impossible, but they didn''t have to. Once it was immobilized, it would be trivial to take out the pilot & the team that was handling the machine and kill them, then it would be useless even if it was intact.


    He attacked it several times in the same area. Meanwhile, the robot aimed the arm cannon at him, charging the next shot.


    He wouldn¡¯t be able to dodge it at this distance.


    Sylvester made sure to fly low; an explosive of such power could do a lot of damage by shooting at the ground as well, but it was easier for the citizens to be saved that way than if he let him fire it at the city. Of course, he intended to redirect the shots with his katana as much as possible. But good intentions weren¡¯t enough, something more was needed.


    The robot fired again.


    The shot penetrated the ground. He wondered, too late, if the shot would be able to reach the core of the earth and end it all.


    He concluded that if that were the case, they wouldn¡¯t have bothered to attack in this way.


    They would have tried to deliver the coup de grace to the planet before they even knew they were here on this world. The worst hadn¡¯t happened, so he had to be correct.


    He swallowed saliva.


    Still, the destruction was terrible. The discharge had wiped out progress, returning an area of about twenty meters to before industrialization. It was more than that, in fact. Not a blade of grass was left growing, just a wasteland.


    He could do nothing to counteract something like that. Sylvester would die slowly, floating in the infinite darkness of space. Alone with his thoughts and regrets. He couldn¡¯t imagine anything worse.


    A death before dying. An essentially eternal suffering, since it would be the only thing he would experience before he would be extinguished forever.


    The robot jumped. Its gigantic shadow engulfed him.


    Sylvester hit the ground, using [Mountain of Needles]. The mountain grew right where it should have been its landing point. However, thrusters on the soles of its feet allowed the big robot to change trajectory quickly and pursue him relentlessly.


    "Wow, wow."


    Sylvester clicked his tongue.


    It seemed to have an answer for everything he could throw at it. Well, Sylvester hadn''t tried everything he could do. Not yet. The robot didn''t shoot him a third time, but tried to punch him, and went back to its attempts to crush him.


    He didn¡¯t like to do this, but he dodged the attack by melting into the shadow of his enemy.


    It was very similar to what he had experienced in the belly of that beast, only even worse. Although Sylvester had lost his sight and hearing, he had at least retained the sensation of his own body. But now, since he was a shadow, he naturally had no such thing.


    He had only his conscience left. But only vaguely.


    It was as if he had become a real shadow, except that he was aware of the last order sent by his brain. Of the purpose that had led him to use this ability. It was like daydreaming, in a way.


    So, in any case, he went up the robot''s leg.


    That was his exit point. As he emerged, he caused some damage, but not as much as he had hoped and expected. He just sent it staggering backwards, more from surprise than structural damage, he''d wager.


    Sylvester landed well.


    Heather attacked the same leg, finishing his job. Half of the leg rolled across the floor and the robot fell, but not head first. it broke its fall with one hand. With the other, it caught Sylvester¡¯s partner in this battle and proceeded to smash her into the ground again and again, like a child playing at pulling the wings off a butterfly, he didn''t know why he thought of that but he did, and not content with that it aimed the arm cannon at her. It had to pull its hand out again to stop her fall, of course, sealing the inevitable cannon, but the change took less than a second.


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    She was going to die.


    And if she went down, he would go soon after. He couldn''t do this alone.


    He wasn''t sure about a lot of things, but at least that much he was sure about. It was probably a bad idea, but he walked over to the opening of the cannon and took a deep breath, while Heather scrambled, trying to free herself. To no avail.


    "What are you thinking?"


    Thinking? If I allowed myself to think I wouldn''t be doing shit.


    Laughing, Sylvester raised his own arm and did the same as the enemy. He was the first to fire even though he had started earlier. The giant robot, for obvious reasons, had much more energy to muster. But he managed to fire, and the shots collided in the middle, inside of the arm.


    He felt pain and then nothing. The resulting explosion had painted his mind white. He regained consciousness surrounded by the pieces of the robot, like an elephant graveyard where only the bones remained, melting day after day under the merciless sunlight.


    He had said the pieces of the robot, but that did not mean that he had torn it to pieces completely, that he had already won. No, only its arm had ended up shattered like that. Only.


    He and Heather had survived the explosion after the energy shot by pure chance.


    Especially him, even though she was the one who had been beaten. He saw her struggling to get to her feet, legs shaking, almost falling over and doubling over to vomit blood. That son of a bitch had hurt her more than he had in their only fight so far.


    (fuck, fuck!)


    He was no better as he had already established, but at least he was able to swallow the blood (without choking by a miracle) instead of vomiting it up. That was something.


    He took flight. Even if his legs could not support his own weight, at least he could fly.


    He had to act. Hurry.


    It would be really stupid if the robot only had that cannon on one of the arms. If he gave it a chance to fire again, now, they would be screwed. As he suspected, the robot was already preparing to fire again, this time with the only arm it was missing. It had one leg and one arm ripped off, enough was enough.


    It would have to be enough, he would have to make it somehow.


    Get the pilot out of there. Kill the son of a bitch and probably the crew, considering the size of that thing.


    Sylvester landed on the robot''s head. It wasn''t much of a landing, he went back to the ground and kept rolling, almost sliding over the edge. It felt like he was climbing a big mountain, reaching the place where the oxygen was so thin that the human body began to shut down.


    There was nothing as obvious as a hatch, but he could only think of two places where the pilot could be. The head, to get a wide view of everything. But it could also be a hoax and would actually be in the chest.


    Sylvester doubted it was anywhere else. But if he was wrong, Heather would have to save herself. He didn''t have time to look in more than two places.


    He took a deep breath.


    Using [Shadows of the Night] was very unpleasant, but he had no choice. He melted into the shadow cast by the robot''s arms (it  had chosen, instead of finishing shooting Heather, to try to get it off him, so they were very close).


    He could go out...


    But also inside.


    That''s why Sylvester landed on all fours in the cockpit. The second prediction turned out to be true, it was a crew, not a single pilot. Six people. Six of those giants in the same armor.


    It would all be over very quickly.


    The one right in front of him abandoned the controls of that god made of steel to raise one of those rifles to his chin. Sylvester managed to dodge even in the cramped cockpit and attack another, hurling the katana at his head. It slipped between his eyes and killed him without trouble. None of them were wearing helmets, they hadn¡¯t expected his visit.


    The closest one tried to shoot him again.


    Sylvester kicked the rifle away and the shot just bounced off a wall and ended up on the ground.


    He then struck the control console, activating the [Needle Mountain].


    The only one who was saved by sheer miracle was, again, the one in the seat directly in front of him.


    He wasn¡¯t unharmed, not even well, he had a needle in his stomach, another in his chest and the last a  few millimeters from grazing his neck and cutting him open like a pig. But the important thing was that the enemy was still alive. There was no room for doubt. Without the helmet, it was visible to the naked eye, Sylvester didn''t even have to check his breathing. He was alive. And furious.


    Sylvester stepped back... and his back hit the wall of this damn robot. Of course.


    He also had no chance to escape.


    The last surviving giant punched him in the chin, so hard that it sent him flying up and through the ceiling, opening a hole in the robot''s head. He fell and kept rolling on the floor, like a soccer ball. He could have tried to stand up with his wings, but he didn''t have them.


    They had disappeared in the same instant that he used the [Mountain of Needles], it had been the last straw that broke the camel''s back.


    Aside from not liking to use [Shadows of the Night], worst of all was its high PM cost. Now he was dry. He stopped himself with his hands, clawing at the ground. And good, and good, because otherwise he would have ended up plunging into a sea of flames. Something in the robot had caught fire, so now the head was decorated by a crown of flames.


    He saw the giant rise up in the midst of the flames, chasing him.


    Heather swooped down on him from behind, barely making a sound despite her wings. Any noise she had made in the process should have been drowned out by the roar of the flames.


    But one way or another the enemy had felt it. He was prepared and reacted with blinding speed.


    Before they had time to process it, Heather found herself on the ground, screaming as the giant drove a boot into her back and tugged at her wings. Not only that, he was ripping them off. Fuck!


    The enemy managed it and Heather let out a horrible shriek.


    If it was like his ability, the wings felt like part of your own body, making flying as natural as moving an arm. So it must have been as if the enemy had ripped off both her arms.


    Wait, she wasn''t even human and from the beginning he had seen her with those wings. Was it a skill or were they really part of her body?


    In any case, Sylvester understood that agony. He had lost parts of his body to spare. It was a pain that went beyond the wound itself, the incapacitation, or the realization that you may have bitten off more than you could chew and now you were in distress.


    Sylvester understood this intuitively, perhaps because he had lived most of his life (in terms of the weight of each half''s memories, weight and space allotted) watching people lose their bodies and consequently lose everything at a staggering speed without a second''s hesitation.


    In any case, he would have helped her, but he managed to get up only afterwards. His legs were still shaking a bit from the punch to the chin, the bad landing and, of course, fatigue. That no doubt was a factor as well. The only rest he had was the short trip here and to call it rest was being very generous.


    It was hard not to see her as a human despite what she was and what she had done, especially now.


    Suffering.


    He assumed that everyone was more human when they were suffering... and that¡¯s why the world got worse every day.


    "You are better than I thought, I admit," said the giant in perfect English. "But this is the end of the line."


    "So you speak our language."


    For some reason, Syvlester was not too surprised. Maybe because he could see his face and it was a human face, even though he was taller than any human being on Planet Earth (or at least this Planet Earth).


    "Now I do.. It took a while for the software to decipher the languages of this planet. Our worlds are not that far apart, but the language developed differently."


    "Why are you telling me all this?"


    Good question.


    And why was he listening to him and even asking him questions? Well, for the same reason they had developed such a program. It was always important to know what the enemy was thinking. And what they could do.


    "So that if you kill me, you can take the device from inside my helmet. It will be useful in future battles. And at least there will be something left of me."


    What?


    That didn''t make sense. The least Sylvester would want, anyone would want, after being defeated and killed was for his opponent to make good use of his remains.


    It would be like spitting on his grave.


    "You don''t seem to understand," the giant continued, and yes, even Heather looked quizzical in the midst of her pain, trying to focus, to understand. "That''s how this death match works. Although the rest of the world is free to intervene, this is a fight between champions with special abilities. I am one of those champions, as are you. If you kill me and my companions, our universe will disappear without a trace immediately. What you take from me will be the only thing that will last. Besides, I have no reason to hate or fear you. It''s nothing personal, it''s just that I have no choice."


    A single punch of the enemy was capable of sending Sylvester flying through the robot''s head, leaving him with his legs shaking, struggling to get up. And he didn''t have the katana within reach.


    He''d left it on the head of one of those sons of bitches of the crew. He didn''t even have his Skills, nothing like that. He was dry. At the moment he was dry.


    But...


    ¡°Okay. You said it. I don''t have... We have no choice.¡±


    It didn''t matter. Sylvester prepared to fight anyway, raising his fists to his eye level, a basic stance and unrefined by training because he had never needed it. Until now, he thought. Too late to rectify anything, in any case.


    Heather was still on the ground, suffering from her torn wings, blood flowing down her back like a waterfall.


    And, around and above them, the flames.


    Roaring and churning as if they were alive, like the flames of hell itself.


    One way or another this would end here, but they had no chance of winning.


    A God Made of Steel (4): END

 51. A God Made of Steel, Part 5

    Chapter 51: A God Made of Steel, Part 5


    <hr>


    Should try to recover the katana.


    If Sylvester fought the giant hand-to-hand (that is, in his specialty, even if not by training but by virtue of his size, reach, and natural strength), he would lose.


    Well, maybe he would have a chance with Heather''s help, but the risk wasn''t worth it.


    It was much less risky to get into the narrow cockpit where he wouldn''t have space to dodge than to try his luck hand-to-hand. He had no doubt about that, at least.


    So, he gathered his courage and approached the giant with fists raised. He had no choice; he was in the middle of his real goal. He dodged the first four punches the giant threw as smoothly as if it were a single movement.


    On the other hand, that''s all he could do.


    With all his effort, he could only dodge. Instinctively, he knew that if he tried something else (despite what might seem like openings), the next thing to fly off would be his head from his shoulders.


    There was no need to say how bad it was to get stuck in defense. The best defense was a good offense.


    Fortunately, after the first four punches, he had his chance.


    Sylvester punched him in the face, and it hurt.


    It hurt him.


    He pulled his hand away as quickly as if he had put it in the fire, but what he felt was as if the bones in his hand had been turned to mush. Okay, he didn''t need the helmet to protect his head. Damn.


    The giant punched him in the throat, and instead, he collapsed.


    Maybe he would have finished him right there, but Heather sprang into action, finally stepping up and throwing herself at him. She wrapped her arms around his neck, squeezing with all her might. The giant growled, but it didn''t seem to hurt him; rather, he just seemed annoyed.


    Sylvester crawled towards the hole that bastard had opened with his body.


    Panting, struggling for every breath he took. He hadn''t broken his throat with the punch, but he was sure he had come close. It was like suffocating on dry land, with not even a drop of water visible for miles around.


    He got pretty close.


    Then the giant grabbed Heather, lifted her off his back, and held her above his head. Was he going to throw her? In any case, what caught his attention was that before that happened, Heather pulled another black crystal sword from her body and threw it in his direction.


    Oh. Right.


    He didn''t need to recover his katana, not for now. He would have to do it in the end; relying on a weapon that only Heather could provide would be dangerous, but for now, he could manage.


    He grabbed the sword, getting up from the ground, still coughing, panting heavily.


    He wasn''t going to throw Heather but try to break her back over his raised knee. He saw her descending rapidly towards his raised knee. But at the last moment, he changed his mind and threw her towards him. Sylvester caught her with his free hand and barely avoided both of them ending up on the ground by stabbing the sword there, using it as support.


    He didn''t thank her, but there was no time for that. Neither did he want nor expect that.


    They advanced toward the giant from another planet, whether from this universe or a completely different one.


    They exchanged a look. It wasn''t enough to set aside their differences. If they wanted to get out of this, they would have to work together. One thing he had said was true, at least: he was like them. He had proven it. He had definitely proven to be different from all his companions he had massacred in Kaleidoscope, from the crew he had easily disposed of.


    They attacked him again, doing their best to coordinate and maximize their chances of victory. They weren''t a team; they had never been. They couldn''t leverage their full potential, but even if it was just forty percent, it was much more than going each on their own. Forty percent or less, in any case, it would have to be enough.


    Even the most basic thing, attacking the enemy while he was busy with the other, helped. Especially now that both were armed. Before, he would have said his whole body was a weapon; he didn''t need the katana to destroy someone. But against this man, it was different.


    He had to adapt to the current circumstances. He had to overcome him.


    Because...


    Sylvester swung the sword at the giant''s head once again, and he caught it with a bare hand. With the other, he punched him, and that was the straw that broke the camel''s back; he saw it shatter into a thousand pieces of black "crystal." He had destroyed Heather''s swords several times during their only battle so far. That is, he should have seen it coming.


    The giant took a step forward and roared triumphantly, lunging at him.


    Sylvester dodged the attack by jumping over him.


    He caught the object that came at him, seeing it only from the corner of his eye until it landed.


    A black crystal sword. Another one.


    It didn''t seem to tire Heather; she could supply him as many times as needed until the end. Until that son of a bitch''s head rolled.


    Everything was at stake now. If they were defeated here, humanity wouldn''t have a second chance. The world wouldn''t end; it would be worse than that, as if it had never started.


    He couldn''t let this thing erase the slate.


    He didn''t care that life would continue on other worlds and realities; this was his Earth, his story, his life.


    Can you bear that weight?


    Can you bear the weight of destroying those other planets, those other stories and lives?


    Well, he didn''t know. He couldn''t know. But he would find out.


    Soon. Very soon.


    Sylvester''s sword sank into the giant''s side, piercing the armor for the first time. Heather was about to do the same, but in his neck, no need to pierce the armor. However, that bastard caught the weapon (probably letting it hit him because he couldn''t react well to attacks) and effortlessly made it spin, throwing it towards him. Sylvester caught it with his free hand and barely prevented both of them from ending up on the ground by stabbing the sword there, using it as support.


    He didn''t thank her, but there was no time for that. Neither did he want nor expect that.


    They advanced toward the giant from another planet, whether from this universe or a completely different one.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    They exchanged a look. It wasn''t enough to set aside their differences. If they wanted to get out of this, they would have to work together. One thing he had said was true, at least: he was like them. He had proven it. He had definitely proven to be different from all his companions he had massacred in Kaleidoscope, from the crew he had easily disposed of.


    They attacked him again, doing their best to coordinate and maximize their chances of victory. They weren''t a team; they had never been. They couldn''t leverage their full potential, but even if it was just forty percent, it was much more than going each on their own. Forty percent or less, in any case, it would have to be enough.


    In any case, even the most basic of basics, attacking the enemy while he was busy with the other, helped. Especially now that both were armed. Before, he would have said that his entire body was a weapon, that he didn''t need the katana to tear someone apart, but against this man, it was different. He had to adapt to the current circumstances. He had to surpass him. Because...


    Sylvester swung the sword towards the giant''s head once again, the giant catching it with a bare hand. With the other hand, he delivered a punch, and that was the last straw, Sylvester saw it shatter into a thousand pieces of black "glass." The man himself had destroyed Heather''s swords several times during their only battle so far. That is, he should have seen it coming.


    The giant took a step forward, triumphantly roaring as he lunged at him. Sylvester dodged the attack by jumping over it. He caught the object that came at him, seeing it only from the corner of his eye until it landed. A sword of black crystal. Another one.


    It didn''t seem to tire Heather; she could supply him as many swords as needed until the end. Until that son of a bitch''s head rolled. Everything was at stake now. If they were defeated here, humanity wouldn''t have a second chance. The world wouldn''t end; it would be worse, as if it had never begun.


    He couldn''t let this thing erase the slate. He didn''t care that life would continue in other worlds and realities; this was his Planet Earth, his story, his life. Can you bear that weight? Can you bear the weight of destroying those other planets, those other stories and lives? Well, he didn''t know. He couldn''t know. But he would find out. Soon. Very soon.


    Sylvester''s sword plunged into the giant''s side, piercing the armor for the first time. Heather was about to do the same, but at his neck; no need to pierce the armor there. However, the bastard caught the weapon (probably letting it hit him because he couldn''t react well to attacks) and effortlessly made it spin, throwing it high. With the wings torn off, he couldn''t stop the inevitable. It fell on him, knocking him to the ground.


    Not that it weighed much, but still, Sylvester gasped at the impact. He tried to get it off him. The giant lifted a leg to crush them. The robot''s head tilted to the side, like the Leaning Tower. Everything was in flames; it had always been a matter of time before it started to collapse. In any case, that''s what saved them. The giant withdrew the leg and also stepped back to maintain balance. Just that, a stroke of luck prevented him from trampling Heather and trapping him against the ground as well.


    It''s not like he could kill them with a stomp, but with the strength he had, it would have been very difficult to escape. Sylvester remained dry, unable to use his repertoire of skills.


    That stroke of luck gave Heather time to get out from under him, crawling on the floor, and him to stand up. Which meant they were back to square one. Nothing more and nothing less than that. No, there was no need to look at it in such a pessimistic way. They had wounded the nameless giant while they were more or less intact. That was something. Little by little. Together, they had the upper hand.


    Heather reached the enemy first this time. She managed to hook him with the sword, but even though he reacted in time and didn''t touch her, it didn''t matter. The force of the blow lifted her feet off the ground. Now it was his turn. He didn''t do much better. The enemy stopped the blow that should have split his head in half just millimeters from the skin, but he did it. With one hand.


    It wasn''t even the first time it happened. The ease with which he broke the sword by squeezing it wasn''t new either.


    But Sylvester didn''t dodge by jumping over the giant this time; he didn''t make that dangerous mistake. It could have caught his legs and then beat him up like an angry child with a toy. Instead, he dodged backward, doing a few somersaults, and then...


    Nothing.


    It had been too fast, much faster than he had expected. He punched him in the face, knocking him down. He slid on the floor, sparks flying; he was about to fall off the edge into the flames. Sylvester recovered, massaging his chin. When he did the first somersault, he had narrowly avoided a hook to the chin, but this time, he wasn''t so lucky.


    The sword was broken, but it didn''t disappear without a trace; it was just the size of a knife now.


    Growling, he turned on his heels and threw what was left of the sword at the approaching enemy.


    He hit it in the air with a forearm, sending it spinning far away like a metallic top, now just a blurry spot among the flames.


    He dodged a series of blows, looking for the opportunity to counterattack every second, but he had to catch the last one. He used both hands to stop a single punch. But he succeeded; that was what counted. The enemy didn''t withdraw his fist to attack again, nor did he use his free hand. He pushed, applying more force, as if breaking his defenses this way was particularly significant. But Sylvester didn''t move an inch.


    He was more than tired of losing ground to the whims of the unreasonable world and the monsters that fed on its bones.


    So not only did he not give ground, he managed to gain strength for the first time, pushing him backward. He felt filled with a mysterious power, as if he had discovered a spring. But it was nothing strange or special. It was willpower. The simplest thing in the world. The most powerful and fundamental.


    He came at him again, and not only did he stop the blow, he hit him twice as hard in the face. For the first time, he threw a kick, but as if he had seen the future, he rejected it perfectly with a kick of his own.


    Then he turned and kicked him in the stomach, making that steel giant bend even through the armor.


    I feel like I can do anything. Untouchable.


    Although he stopped one of his attacks, and it could have turned into a setback, it immediately revealed itself as an opportunity. Sylvester flew, grabbed his head, and slammed it against his knee, unbalancing him. He wasn''t sure what that move was called, if it even had a name, it probably did.


    Immediately after landing, he swept his legs, making him slide on the metallic floor as he had done, roles reversed.


    "Get ready to disappear!" Sylvester practically roared. "You better introduce yourself while you can because at this rate, I won''t even remember your name."


    The giant slowly got up. He coughed, spitting blood, and then ran a hand over his mouth to wipe the corners.


    "Roman," he said simply.


    He walked toward him.


    In the midst of the exchange of blows and dodges, Heather threw another black crystal sword and joined the fight. Although he rode that surge as if it were a wave, Sylvester recognized that continuing to fight hand-to-hand would be a bad idea. Despite having better results than any of his attempts with the sword, he couldn''t stop much.


    So he caught the sword handle in the air.


    The giant Roman caught his neck.


    God, his grip was like a bear trap. He returned the favor while choking.


    Roman pulled, forcing him to let go. But more importantly, it gave him the chance to break free from his grip.


    Heather came from behind, stabbing him so deeply that it came out the other side, the blade wet and shiny with the blood that dripped. Sylvester tried to stab him again, but this time...


    That bastard caught the sword between his teeth!


    He couldn''t believe it; he just stared.


    Then everything changed, maybe for the last time, maybe this was the final one. Heather ended up in the flames, a rippling shadow dancing and screaming; first, she had cut off his wings, but she had taken her time to throw her into the fire. Only Roman hadn''t moved; the robot had caused that with a swipe.


    Can he still move, so damaged, without a crew? he thought, panicked, but soon realized it was probably just the arm.


    He had saved that trick as an ace up his sleeve, and it had been very useful. Heather''s sword had remained stuck in his body; he moved a hand to his back to pull it out without making a single sound, as if it were less than a loose tooth. As if he did it all the time.


    Total naturalness and not a single sign of pain, even though they were so close that he would have noticed the slightest change in his expression instantly.


    He didn''t discard Heather''s sword; instead, he attacked with it.


    Sylvester hurried to stab him as well, and he succeeded, it was a mutual stabbing, but Roman did much more. When his enemy removed the sword, he lost the last thing keeping him on his feet. He staggered backward, looking at his hands. Looking at the large piece of his side that had disappeared without a trace. It was as if he had been shot with a shotgun instead of stabbed.


    He collapsed, fell to the ground like a garbage bag.


    Damn. Damn. He had touched victory with the tips of his fingers, so how had everything twisted so easily? Heather''s screams rose in the air, echoing in his ears. Still. That meant she was still alive, but...


    Damn.


    Roman prepared to finish him off with Heather''s sword.


    Damn.


    It seemed he was the one who had lost... who was going to be erased from the face of the universe. Wiped, but no clean slate, he thought. Wiped, and that''s it.


    However, the arm holding the sword suddenly exploded. Ice spikes blossomed on the stump, almost as if an ice arm were growing.


    But he hadn''t done anything.


    Heather even less. He couldn''t see her anywhere, so she must have fallen from the robot. What he could do was smell her. The nauseatingly sweet smell of burning human flesh.


    So...


    Roman lifted his head, and Sylvester followed his gaze. Cynthia, who had finally arrived with the other agents, but she had taken the express route. That is, she had jumped from the helicopter with her revolvers ahead, without a landing plan.


    She''s crazy, he thought.


    I could kiss her right now, he thought.


    And he laughed, hysterical, as he struggled to get up. Someone had to help her land.


    A God Made of Steel, Part 5: END

 52. A God Made of Steel, Part 6

    Chapter 52: A God Made of Steel, Part 6


    Sylvester finally stood up. He had to help her land, but everything in life was easier said than done. He couldn''t think of anything, but he didn''t have time to think either. He was still practically dry. He didn''t have enough skill points to use [Infernal Wings] or any of his skills, but maybe he could...


    Well, it was worth a try. And if he couldn''t, he could jump after her or something.


    Sylvester hit the ground, activating [Needle Mountain]... or the needles he could manifest before the ability drained him of energy. Instead of a mountain, the needles barely reached above his ankles. This was only step one of two in his hypothetical plan, but he thought he could give up now and regret wasting time trying that.


    He ran to try to catch her before she crashed, but then she provided the simplest answer to why the hell she had jumped from a moving plane without a parachute. Not that she had a parachute and it had malfunctioned, or that she had stupidly forgotten it, but she didn''t need one.


    A few meters before impact, she pulled the triggers, but only gusts of wind came out. Right, as he had seen on the island. Fire and ice. That way, she could land smoothly on the battlefield surrounded by flames.


    "I see. So, she''s the last," Roman said. "Well, good. That way, I can kill three birds with one stone."


    The last one.


    So, she was one of them, a Champion of this world.


    No, of this universe.


    She was like him, like them, now.


    Cynthia had received the power of the wind the same night the Lunar Princess had come into the world. Heather might have accelerated this disaster, but she wasn''t responsible for the important things. The invasion, this cruel game. What would happen when Sylvester killed Roman and the other Champions, wherever they were. Because he had to be the one to deliver the finishing blow, no matter how much help he received to defeat them. He couldn''t make someone else bear that burden.


    He wasn''t even sure if he could handle it himself, but well...


    Forgetting wasn¡¯t an option. And someone had to do it.


    (someone has to do it, and it''s always you, always you)


    "I am what I am," Cynthia said. "You''re a dead man."


    For a moment, he wondered if the gun had jammed. Roman punched the air with the only arm he had left. Or at least, it seemed like he only hit the air. However, Cynthia grimaced.


    "Or not," she simply said.


    Sylvester understood everything very quickly. The ice had come quickly and without warning, not just because he had been too engrossed in the fight to notice the details. The ice must have been nothing more than invisible energy before hitting Roman and exploding. After all, it wasn''t that he had lost his arm due to the violent growth of ice, but it had started to grow after he lost it.


    In any case, it wasn''t so invisible.


    Roman had somehow seen and intercepted the shot.


    He refused to fall, to stop fighting. How could he with everything at stake? He understood that, but he couldn''t feel compassion for him.


    Do you even have a heart that can feel compassion?


    Cynthia shot that bastard several times, but he intercepted each shot with a punch. Sylvester supposed that it wasn''t energy if it could break so easily, if it didn''t take effect just by touching him, whether after a punch or by surprise. But the problem was that, even with only one arm and bleeding profusely, he was a dangerous bastard.


    ***


    When the flames engulfed her, her mind went blank.


    Heather was only pain as she screamed, tried to crawl out of the flames only driven by the impulse to escape the pain, and fell from the giant robot. Hitting the ground after such a long fall didn''t help much.


    Moreover, she hadn''t escaped the flames. They kept devouring her, and she couldn''t bear it.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Maybe she should be able to endure this and move on, but it was her first experience with this level of pain. Not even Sylvester had hurt her so much in the fight. She didn''t have the tools to handle it, the experience.


    And she didn''t want to have experience with this; she could smell her own burning flesh!


    Heather crawled on the ground blindly. She didn''t scream now. She couldn''t even, her throat was sealed by pain. Anyway, there wasn''t enough air in her lungs to scream as she did at the beginning when she felt the flames'' kiss for the first time. Now, all that came out of her throat were silent gasps, like... yes, like a flat tire, she had seen that plenty of times in the last few days (meaning, ninety-nine percent of her life).


    It was that. A flat tire.


    In flames, wings torn off, was she going to die here? How absurd.


    It was so absurd that it was impossible to accept.


    She had been born for a ''reason,'' not just because two people had fucked. What sense would it make for her to die without accomplishing anything?


    The fate that had laid the groundwork for her birth had not abandoned her yet. Weak and agonizing, she managed to crawl to the source. To extinguish herself. Her whole body hurt, even breathing was painful, but she was alive. And she would recover. That monster hadn''t followed her to finish her off; he must be busy with Sylvester.


    She saw it with Sylvester and that woman. The name escaped her right now, as it usually did. Sylvester was an exception in many ways. Not only was he her equal, but he was the one who gave her a name.


    She couldn''t forget someone so important, but there were literally millions of people like that woman.


    She took a deep breath, trying to control her breathing, waiting for her lungs to heal. Could anyone blame her for her indifference? The opposite would make as much sense as a human bending down to ask the names of the ants that had settled in their backyard.


    When she recovered, she would join the fight again. And she would be the one to win, fighting side by side with Sylvester.


    She would be his companion, his equal.


    Not that woman.


    That intruder.


    ***


    Roman closed the distance after repelling the shots and grabbed Cynthia by the throat, squeezing, lifting her effortlessly. As if he were handling a doll. Maybe they were Champions with the same powers (or rather the same power), but there were still clear differences between them. Heather had called it a difference in the quality of the base material. He supposed she was right.


    Sylvester lunged at the enemy; at this rate, he wouldn''t drown her; he would crush her throat, and she would suffocate herself.


    Roman shattered his sword into a thousand pieces without even turning to look at him. Maybe he should have gone for my katana after all, he couldn''t help but think as the fist aimed to crush his skull like a hammer.


    But it didn''t happen. What happened was that Ryan landed, transformed into Lunar Remnant and ready for the fight.


    Ryan hit the enemy with both arms, with all his might. First, making him release Cynthia. And second, sending him to embrace the warm hug of the flames. He should have counted on reinforcements, but as usual, he had the arrogance that only he could make a difference in the end, and Ryan hadn''t even crossed his mind.


    Heather managed to climb to the top of the robot. She had serious burns all over her body, and it could be said that she was staggering forward rather than walking. There she was, alive and ready to join the fight again.


    Furious, more than hurt. Furious enough not to even wait to fully recover, just enough to get moving again. Human or not, she possessed incredible willpower. In that state, Roman would crush her even more easily, but it was still admirable.


    Well. She would if it weren''t for the fact that she was now being grilled.


    It was satisfying even for him to see that she had taken the place of Heather just a minute ago. Sylvester got into the robot just in time to pull the katana out before losing it forever to the flames. Or when something exploded.


    He saw Cynthia shoot at him twice as soon as he emerged. Not with wind or ice, but with real bullets. One of them came quite close to killing him, hitting his left cheek, passing through his dentures, flying through half a dozen teeth, and coming out the other side. If the bullet had flown a little more to the right, it would have shattered his chin and reached his brain.


    "No," Sylvester said. "Not yet."


    Sylvester approached the flames and dragged the giant out, or what was left of it. Shattered just like the ruins of his robot in an equally bad state. The armor was charred, but mostly his face. The left eye grotesquely hung from its socket, only a miracle (a miracle and some last shreds of flesh) kept it in place.


    "Where are the others?"


    "I''m like you. You know I''m not going to tell you. And..."


    "What? And what?"


    "I''m not dead. That means I''m not defeated."


    He could say whatever he wanted. The truth was that he was burned and defeated, surrounded by the strongest people on this planet. The truth was that the helicopters had landed, and the agents had broken the broken god made of steel. Even if he escaped them, reinforcements wouldn''t let them leave here; they would stop him.


    Still, he sounded too confident.


    And that smile. That damn smile.


    "What have you done?"


    "I still had another card up my sleeve. Don''t bother; it''s already too late."


    Heather hugged him and threw him to the ground, lying on top of him. Maybe in her state, she wouldn''t have been able to, but Sylvester went with it, thinking that there was probably a good reason for that. Thinking that maybe she knew exactly what she was talking about in that lunatic state.


    A hug was no protection.


    Heather manifested a black dome-shaped barrier around them. It spread, covering Cynthia and even Ryan when he crouched. On purpose, as if he cared, or by accident? He didn''t know; actually, only the result mattered, and he didn''t have time to think about that. Or anything.


    Because the ruins of the robot, that god made of steel, twisted, broke, and melted.


    Exploding, turning into a nuclear bomb.


    At that moment, he didn''t know that, of course.


    He only knew that Roman had seen the opportunity to kill three birds with one stone and had seized it. He only knew about the great force that hit the shield and the tremor that shook him to the bones.


    He only knew that his mind and vision were left tinted white.


    A God Made of Steel, Part 6: FIN

 53. A God Made of Steel, Part 7

    Chapter 53: A God Made of Steel, Part 7


    Many people died without realizing what was happening. In one moment, they existed, and the next, they didn''t. No prior warning, no pain, but also no time for goodbyes. No time to make amends with their gods, for anything. There was no better display of the arbitrary cruelty of existence.


    Others witnessed the nuclear mushroom rise in the midst of hell and knew that they would likely die too, but it would be a slow death. They were the lucky ones, although soon they wouldn''t feel that way, at least for having a chance at survival. The opportunity to fight for their lives.


    A nuclear bomb detonated in the middle of San Francisco. Humanity had spent so much time worrying about threats from beyond the stars that it seemed there were no other dangers. But even before the appearance of those monsters, the fact that the world had come close to ending in a nuclear hell had become a thing of the past. Now it was the present, the reality for hundreds of thousands of people.


    Evacuation had started long before the explosion due to the giant robot, but it wasn''t easy to escape the consequences of a nuclear bomb detonation. That was the key word, consequences. The detonation was the least of it, but it was hell in itself.


    For example, Joseph Gage crawled out of the ruins of his vehicle. The vehicle had rolled over several times, and he miraculously survived. He could feel the wound on his head, blood flowing, sticking his hair to his forehead and obstructing his vision. But miraculously or not, he was alive, and that''s what counted. Thank God, he thought. He also thought, better thank Him after getting out of here, just in case thanking Him was for a job well done.


    He had God as a co-pilot; fortunately, he only had to worry about his own neck. No family or friends. Not in this city, anyway. It no longer looked like the city where he had spent the last five years for a crappy job that paid too well to ignore. The sky was a dark red, tainted by the black smoke of hundreds of fires and dust clouds carried by the wind, the largest of them forming a mushroom shape in the center of the devastation.


    Joseph knew perfectly well what this was about, but he didn''t want to admit it, as if denying it would make it less real. As if the world didn''t give a damn about what he believed or didn''t believe and would simply keep rolling on when he was no longer there.


    (It seems that will be very soon, want to bet?)


    It seemed like a city, no, a completely different world. I must have ended up here by some mistake, he thought. I''ve never been a saint, but I''ve always tried to be good. He admitted that he had hurt other people, but you couldn''t go through life without hurting anyone.


    Maybe celestial rules were inflexible, and that''s why he had ended up here. Lost and alone. His head throbbing like a second heart. His vision tinted red. Adrift like a leaf in the wind.


    He saw one of the buildings that now passed for skyscrapers collapse, and he saw the dust it had become being swept away by the winds. He could almost feel the radioactive poison spreading through his body. With something between a sob and a laugh escaping his throat repeatedly like a repeated recording, he turned around and ran along the shattered highway. He turned his back on hell and everything he had known, but deep down, he accepted that the distance his feet covered was merely symbolic. Sooner or later, he would be dead, and in those depths, he begged God to make it soon because he couldn''t bear the torture lasting so long. He had seen enough photos and reports, he knew very well what awaited him, knew very well that he wouldn''t have time to find shelter in less than half an hour. And he couldn''t bear it. Plain and simple. He couldn''t.


    For example, Julia Mybeck watched from the ground as the mushroom cloud grew and felt neither terror nor despair, only relief because the screams had stopped. Now she was the only living being in the park. The adult woman had lasted longer than the children, which was somewhat expected in a way and a greater tragedy in another. Children shouldn''t die, and certainly not like this, but now she didn''t care. She couldn''t care. Breathing in the black smoke, dust, and radiation.


    Dissolving.


    Her last thoughts were towards her mother. Perhaps it was too much to call it a thought. Rather a condensed impression of her feelings, an image.


    Fleeting as her own existence.


    For example, George Baker drove himself and his family just far enough away in the car to feel the pain before being abruptly erased from the face of the earth. Only a flaming shell remained of the car, and of them, not even dust. The dense black smoke continued to rise towards the heart of the heavens.


    For example, many more. Hundreds of thousands of small tragedies that meant nothing and would not be written in any history book. Entire worlds summarized and reduced to a single sentence. A nuclear bomb was detonated, and there were hundreds of thousands of casualties.


    ***


    Sylvester opened his eyes, vaguely aware that he must have lost consciousness, even if only for a few seconds. Yes, how and why? He scratched the fog of memory until he found the answer. The explosion. The giant robot had exploded. Roman had chosen to take them all down since their survival was no longer possible in any case.


    But he had failed. Heather had deployed a black barrier, saving even Ryan and Cynthia. Although he doubted she cared a damn about what happened to them. The barrier wasn''t made of the crystal that Heather and her weapons were, it was a transparent blackness, through which he could perfectly see what San Francisco had turned into.


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    The black smoke and dust clouds did nothing to hide the horror, nothing at all.


    I''ve failed to protect not one but two cities already, he thought. What kind of hero am I?


    They had defeated one of the Champions of the invading universe, and his last ace in the hole had not worked because it hadn''t killed a single one of the main targets, but it was impossible to see any of this as a victory. The life-and-death combat between universes was distant and unreal compared to the devastation spread before their eyes.


    There were no words for it, so he wouldn''t even try to choose any. He took a deep breath, exhaled, and felt as if a piece of his soul had flown away with the cold air.


    "It''s not your fault," Heather said, still holding him tightly. Refusing to let go, even though she had seen that he was already conscious.


    He appreciated the attempt to console him; he hadn''t expected it from her. However...


    "Of course, it''s my fault."


    He wasn''t going to give up or do anything stupid, knowing that the entire universe depended on his life in the most literal sense possible; Heather, Cynthia, and he were the only ones holding it together. So hiding from the truth was pointless.


    It was his fault.


    He could have done better, but he hadn''t. He had screwed up.


    That was all.


    "Be reasonable," Heather insisted. "When you pulled him out of the flames, he felt the need to boast in his last moments. Just because of that, I realized what was going to happen. If not for you, all of us would be dead."


    "It might be. But it''s not about that." A pause, more to avoid sounding too harsh than anything else. "Let me go."


    She did.


    "Shut up for once," Cynthia said, pale. "We have to get out of here. Quickly. And get help."


    "No one would overlook a damn nuclear bomb," he whispered. "And we, we''re already here. The radiation would probably affect even extraordinary humans like you or Sylvester, but right now, I''m not human. I think nothing would happen to me. I can go help. I want to go help, and I imagine... How was it, Heather? I imagine she has to stay here to maintain this barrier."


    "Me too," Sylvester said, "but if you bring them in here, then..."


    "Can''t she split the barrier in half? That way, there''ll be space for some people. We can''t save everyone, but..." He swallowed. It was a peculiar gesture in such a large creature that barely fit into the barrier.


    "I can do it," Heather said, and she demonstrated it immediately, splitting it perfectly in half.


    "Thank you."


    The Lunar Remnants were their enemies, and Heather, the Lunar Princess, was the ultimate Remnant. But the harbingers of the end of the world had turned out to be others; they hadn''t even existed in this world. So there were other priorities. Not just now, while saving everyone they could, but even afterwards. The nature of war had changed forever. They would never be enemies again because they were on the same boat.


    Ryan left the barrier without fear. Or at least without expressing his fear. He had said that the radiation shouldn''t affect him, but, of course, that was an unfounded assumption. They hadn''t had the chance to subject any Remnant to nuclear radiation, but each one of them was different, so nothing could be guaranteed.


    Anyway, Ryan wasn''t aware of that line of research at all; he was going blind.


    The target marker appeared again as he watched Ryan explore the ruins of San Francisco for people he could save.


    Not just one marker. Dozens.


    Mission: What''s Left


    Description: Save the survivors near you.


    Reward: A fleeting feeling of satisfaction.


    Consequences of failure: Strengthen the conviction that you are also a plague on this world.


    Well.


    The reward was crap, and the consequences of failure...


    Well, they were correct. That was all he could say.


    Anyway, this was another newly discovered aspect of his powers. The icon had helped him find the way out of that nightmare monster''s innards, so he wasn''t just going crazy. He had to take advantage of it.


    "Ryan, listen to me. Look under that car. There''s a person under it."


    Ryan flipped it over easily, of course, as if it were a toy. His eyes widened.


    "How did you know?"


    "Does it matter? But I''ll explain later."


    "It''s true, it doesn''t matter."


    Survivors saved: 1/50


    Saved? Had that woman been saved just because they had found her? Was his still mysterious power in a position to know who would live and die so easily? How could he be sure of that?


    He hoped he was right, that everything would be so easy.


    Of course, he did.


    He just wanted to save people. He had no special desires or hidden impulses. That was the only thing he had intended to do from the beginning. So, if his power was right, so be it. He was desperate for good news.


    However, it worried him.


    It not only pleased him, it sent a shiver down his spine. How could he know he would survive? How could he know?


    "There are fifty in total around here. Fifty people we can save."


    "Fifty?" Heather repeated. "Well, I don''t know how long I can hold this barrier. If it doesn''t last until you get us out of the city..."


    "I''ll test my luck."


    "Sylvester, if you insist, I won''t argue. But think for a moment. With what we know, if you die here, you will significantly reduce the chances of this universe. Saving fifty people won''t matter if that way, you condemn billions. Every blade of grass."


    She wasn''t wrong.


    He didn''t have to like what he heard, but she wasn''t wrong.


    "I can''t look away."


    "What are you talking about exactly?" Cynthia asked.


    Heather explained what they had heard from Roman.


    "I see. And that''s why I have these powers, I''m the third. I almost regret asking. What a responsibility."


    Yes.


    They didn''t have the luxury of looking away, of hoping others would fight and resolve this for them. Sylvester never had it. But he admired Cynthia because she did. She could have lived a perfectly normal life and still took the step forward.


    Each and every agent of the Syndicate, normal people who had gotten into this hell unnecessarily, were braver than him.


    Courage wasn''t needed when you were practically untouchable.


    Ryan saved everyone he could.


    Everyone he could but not everyone.


    Heather warned that the barrier was weakening. That they were running out of time, and they had no choice but to leave. It wasn''t just a matter of their lives now. If they messed up, the people they had saved so far would have no chance. The barrier had to hold until they left the area, and that''s why they had no other option.


    Sylvester couldn''t look away.


    But he had to.


    Heather set things in motion. The barrier moved with them, in the midst of the irradiated hell that San Francisco had been reduced to.


    Sylvester regretted saying the exact number of survivors. That way, everyone but Ryan had an exact idea of how many people they could have saved but let die, no matter how much sense the decision made, how inevitable it was.


    The notification appeared on the screen.


    Mission failed.


    Yes, you don''t need to tell me.


    A God Made of Steel, Part 7: FIN

 54. The Two Remaining Champions, Part 1

    Chapter 54: The Two Remaining Champions, Part 1


    Heather came for him with a black crystal sword in one hand. She was a creature of habit, just like him, but today she had made a change. In the other hand, she also carried a sword. Sylvester wasn''t sure if using two swords was really more effective than using one, but oh well. It''s not like it was a fight to the death. Just training, so it didn''t really matter one way or another. He prepared to face her attack. He only wielded his usual katana. He already had enough disadvantages as it is, and if he fought in a way that wasn''t familiar to him, he would be lost before it even began.


    The training area was as large as a soccer stadium, a vast rectangle illuminated by green LED lights and nothing else. That was the only source of light in the room, but it was more than enough. It was a large room free of obstacles, so they could fly through it carelessly. That''s what Heather was doing. That''s what she used to do, he knew after living a daily life with her by his side. Although it was an unnecessary waste of energy, she preferred flying anywhere rather than walking. He had seen her on a treadmill once and she had looked at him as if wondering who on earth would do that voluntarily.


    Oops, he was getting too distracted. She was already on top of him. Sylvester dodged the initial attack by deflecting her sword with his katana. Heather''s second sword flew towards his stomach, spinning like a drill. He raised an eyebrow. She had been saving that trick, huh? Through the hundreds of fights they had had in the past few weeks, she had been waiting for the most opportune moment to surprise him. Didn''t know you were so patient, he thought.


    It was a decisive strike, with the intention to kill. Normal people wouldn''t call something so brutal training. For the few spectators, it probably looked like a fight to the death. He was aware that he was closer to being like Heather than being human. With each fight, he drifted further away, but he had no other choice. He had to get stronger. He had to win. He would worry about what would happen after the end when the time came. Assuming he survived the final battle, whatever it was. Assuming he made it that far. He could fall at any moment, and there would be two more people, two Champions, to take his place. Heather... and Cynthia. To replace him. He was no longer unique, special. He could be replaced. In fact, he was fighting against a better version of himself right now.


    Trapped in the swamp of his own thoughts, Sylvester couldn''t react in time. Consequently, the drill pierced his stomach. Blood sprayed like confetti. He didn''t lower his gaze to check it with his own eyes, but he was sure that his entrails became visible in a matter of seconds. Instead of easing up because this was just training, Heather pushed the drill even further.


    "Well, I didn''t expect any less," he grumbled through gritted teeth. Something like this was a superficial wound. Why would he expect her to stop?


    They had been fighting for quite a while. He had lost count, couldn''t say how much time had passed, but quite a while. Still, this had only just begun. He wouldn''t tell her to stop as if asking for mercy so soon.


    Heather had caught him in the stomach.


    Sylvester went straight for her neck. He cut from side to side, drawing a skewed smile. It would be painted in blood if it bled. Which was a bit inconvenient for this kind of training; it was harder to know his limits without a visual indication. He had to trust that Heather knew them.


    And she did, but well, doubting was human.


    Heather returned the blow, hitting him with her elbow. Sylvester staggered backward; she did the same, but more confidently, moving out of the reach of his katana with a push from her wings. He was also using the [Infernal Wings] ability, of course, but not as liberally as she was. They looked similar, but they were two different people.


    They looked similar, but she was better.


    Faster.


    The three swords clashed at once, sparking many sparks. Heather was laughing even with her throat slashed. Not mocking him, excited. No matter how many times they trained this way, they never got tired. She loved the fights, lived for this in a way he could never imitate. It wasn''t something that could be imitated. You were born like that or not.


    Faster.


    She unleashed a flurry of attacks, each faster than the previous one, so Sylvester ran out of space to attack. He had to invest all his power in evasion. Twisting like a snake, crouching, jumping, at one point even putting his boots on the katana and using it as a trampoline to escape the reach of that beast. Briefly, as she followed him without losing a second on black wings like a starless night, of course.


    Better.


    She was simply better than him.


    In every possible way.


    Sylvester was getting stronger with each fight, but so was she. He would never catch up. That wasn''t the point. The important thing was to save the world; who did it was secondary, but...


    It has been my life for so long, he thought.


    Sylvester raised the katana above his head in time to stop a double blow that contained the force of a hurricane. His knees bent, but he didn''t fall. However, the ground under his feet cracked like a spider''s web.


    No, this is my life, my purpose, and my relationship with the world. I am the one...


    Sylvester shouted, wild and hoarse.


    Yes. This had never been just training for him. From the very beginning, from the moment he had decided... It was as if he were betting his entire existence in each fight.


    No matter how many attempts it took, he couldn''t lose to her. The final result was what mattered. Everything else wasn''t defeats but mere setbacks he could overcome.


    He had never allowed himself to lose, and he wouldn''t start now.


    Heather was strong, but what did she know about the weight, the pressure? For an entire decade, he was prepared to fight for another decade.


    The three swords clashed, interweaving and separating again and again. Apparently, there was some advantage to using two swords. He wasn''t used to that style, but nevertheless...


    He took advantage of a moment of vulnerability to headbutt her. Whether it was due to strength or surprise, Heather loosened her grip so that he had time to steal one of her swords. Of course, she replaced it quickly, simply plunging her now-free hand back into her body and extracting a weapon as always. Without being affected, without even leaving, so to speak, an exit wound.


    Now they both had two swords. They turned without taking their eyes off the enemy, sizing each other up. One would say that at this point, there was nothing they didn''t know about each other, but he had surprised her with a new trick less than a minute ago.


    Sylvester was the first to break the deadlock, taking a step forward. The best defense was a good offense. It had been like that the first time they fought when Kaleidoscope was still a human city, and nothing had changed.


    Against an opponent of his level, evading and defending wouldn''t buy him time; it would only decrease his chances of victory. Normal humans had to defend themselves because a single attack in the right place could end them in seconds, but he didn''t have that weakness.


    For him, every moment he defended meant he was just enduring his opponent''s attacks without doing anything to win the fight. Without gaining anything in return.


    Sylvester finally realized.


    It was time to stop fooling around and fight for what he was.


    A monster.


    At some point in the exchange of blows, his right arm went flying, meaning he was left with a single sword again. And he continued as if nothing had happened.


    "I''ll manage with my left hand. Something is something," he said.


    Heather made a disgusted face for a moment.


    Oh, so he didn''t have, you know, the necessary parts, but he knew what he was talking about. Well, why not? She didn''t know why it had surprised her.


    Even that moment of surprise could turn into an advantage. Sylvester attacked with his katana and even used the stump of his right arm to block an attack, since it couldn''t get much worse. Giving it his all, like a monster that didn''t have to worry about the state of its body, he managed to return the favor.


    One arm, one sword. It turned out it wasn''t very sound logic. Definitely not practical, but Heather pulled out another sword of black crystal, holding the hilt between her teeth. In response, Sylvester''s smile widened considerably.


    "You don''t know when to give up, huh?"


    The green LED lights were now tinged with the red of his blood. It reminded him of the stomach of that tentacled beast, a red, moist, undulating cave of flesh. That''s what it had been until it went completely dark, of course. Then it had been the nighttime world any child sees before overcoming the fear of darkness. Just that, the absolute darkness.


    They raised their swords at the same time, in the same way, as synchronized as if they had practiced it hundreds of times.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    "What a show," Ryan muttered, barely audible, but Sylvester heard him perfectly even as he exchanged blows with Heather and the song of steel filled the blood-drenched air.


    He had been present, observing many of their training fights. One would think that by now he would have gotten used to it.


    But maybe it wasn''t possible.


    Sylvester kept attacking, and Heather kept giving ground, which might create the illusion that he had the advantage. If he opened the door, she would tear him apart.


    Both were superhuman, but there were obvious differences in the quality of the base material (as he had expressed so perfectly on the day they met) that forced him to remember every time they fought.


    Fights were not just about who was more powerful, even under the strange system the Champions had to operate. The second most important thing was how to use that power. And the first, perhaps, luck. Plain and simple.


    Heather made a mistake, a small, tiny mistake. Something that might have been overlooked on another day. Something that might have been overlooked thousands of times. But today it didn''t, and he knew how to take advantage of it.


    What was it?


    A bad shift in weight, an opening in her stance. That was all.


    But it was enough to decide the victory. She ended up on the ground, with Sylvester''s katana buried in her chest, and both silently decided that it was enough for today.


    He had won, barely.


    That was what mattered. What mattered?


    "Well done," Heather said, still on the ground, breathing unevenly. She didn''t seem upset at all or even competitive. What did she think she had done?


    "You too," he replied, his irrational insecurities surfacing.


    This was a victory, not the victory. Similarly, he had suffered countless defeats in these weeks. It didn''t mean anything, really.


    Nothing had changed yet. He hadn''t beaten her yet.


    But he would lie if he said he didn''t feel as satisfied as if he had. Maybe something had changed, his way of thinking, approaching battles.


    And maybe that would prove to be enough in the future.


    But not today.


    "You fight like wild animals," Cynthia said as she approached, blunt as usual.


    "That''s what we are," Heather replied, sounding proud.


    Sylvester was watching them from the corner of his eye. Most of his attention was focused on his status screen. There was no doubt that the repeated fights with Heather had helped him grow. In fact, it had been at an astronomical speed.


    He had evenly distributed the points, and now almost all his stats were at level fifty, no more, no less.


    Except, of course, the overall level.


    It had risen to level fifty-six. There was one more exception, the health stat. He had improved it a few more levels instead of saving all the remaining points as a reserve to regenerate in an emergency, but he could see that the level was capped at twenty-five.


    Heather''s stats were lower, but as her base material was better, she was still stronger than him.


    As her base material was better, she couldn''t grow at the same speed as him. Yes. That growth, instead of being something to be happy about, a triumph, was a reminder that he was inferior to her. Otherwise, it wouldn''t have been so easy.


    He took a deep breath.


    Nonsense. Childish nonsense. But had he ever had time to mature, thrown into a fight for the fate of the world as soon as his powers awakened, with no turning back, no remedy?


    Maybe not. Maybe that had to start now.


    Maybe? Haha.


    "What''s wrong?" Ryan asked. That guy was sensitive and attentive to everything around him, so it wasn''t surprising that he had noticed something, even if he couldn''t express it in words.


    But precisely because of that, he couldn''t tell him the truth.


    How brazen it would be to talk about his inferiority complex when that man, although not exactly normal, was surrounded by three superhuman beings to whom he could never compare, no matter how hard he tried for the rest of his life.


    "I feel like hitting someone other than Heather," he finally said. "A real enemy. The damn robot is dead, although it took a good part of San Francisco with it and made it inevitable for who knows how long. But the others must still be out there. And I can''t stand thinking about that. I''m climbing the damn walls."


    Sylvester went to get a glass of water and only remembered that his right arm was a stump when he tried to reach for the faucet with his right hand. Ryan silently helped him and thanked him the same way, nodding, and that was it.


    He drank the water in one go. It didn''t seem enough.


    "They''re out there, somewhere," he repeated.


    If Sylvester had known he was being watched, he would have started climbing the walls literally. But since he didn''t know, he just sighed and sat down to wait for his arm to grow back.


    ***


    Kurt reached out before the camera flew back to him. They had already seen and heard everything they needed; they didn''t have to review it now, just to leave no evidence. They hadn''t discovered the camera through the long and macabre training session, but sooner or later, they would. It wasn''t worth the risk.


    That''s what both of them believed.


    "What do you think?"


    "The same as you," Roger said, echoing what had just been said, proving it. "We lost the robot, we lost Rom¨¢n, and now he''s stronger than ever. The time we spent looking for him may have cost us everything."


    "It''s true that we don''t have any chance in a direct fight. But that was never the plan. Not after losing the robot."


    "The problem is, I don''t think we have many more chances being stealthy."


    "No. That''s true, but we have to try anyway. Everyone is counting on us. Or have you forgotten, Roger?"


    His companion made a face.


    "How could I forget? It''s just that... Never mind. You''re right; I shouldn''t talk as if I''ve already given up." He took a deep breath, straightening up. "Do you want to act before the cavalry arrives? Just to be clear."


    "No matter how many soldiers come, they won''t be able to stop him. Especially seeing how strong he has become. But since the high command doesn''t listen to me, yes, of course. I want to act now to avoid a lot of unnecessary deaths. It''s just that... I still don''t know how we should proceed."


    Roger fell silent for a while. Then he put a hand on Kurt''s shoulder, squeezing.


    "One way or another, I''ll be with you to the end, brother."


    Yes. That was what he feared.


    To the end.


    The end of everything they had known and loved might be very close. That''s precisely why Kurt couldn''t help but look back, to his struggle for survival on his home planet. To the day all this had started.


    ***


    The snow was a deadly layer that reached up to his ankles; he had to wade through it as if trapped and lost in an endless swamp. Well, the snow on the ground reached his ankles; in reality, there was snow everywhere. His hair was so covered that it looked white.


    Kurt wore three layers of clothing, and yet it didn''t seem enough. He hugged himself, trembling, and continued more because he had no other choice than for any other reason. He had no strength left, but if he stopped here, he could consider himself dead.


    He would be buried under the snow, and only months or years later would his corpse be discovered.


    Perhaps when only bones remained under the snow, worn and anonymous. "What did you stumble upon? Oh, just the bones of some animal." He could imagine that scene more clearly than the snowy world he was traversing right now.


    Which was a bad sign, he knew, but there was little he could do to avoid it. He just had to find shelter, a safe place.


    If he could sleep, even just for four hours, then...


    He would be much more present. It would be more real.


    But, of course, it couldn''t be.


    Something came out from under the snow. Something wet, cold, and dark that grabbed his ankle. Kurt shuddered from head to toe. Its touch was cold, yes, like death, a cold sensation so sharp it burned, that could and had left its mark.


    More hands joined, pulling him, dragging him down. Into the depths of hell.


    The snow was already making it a constant struggle to move. Many would give up, accepting their fate. Many had already done so. But Kurt refused to. Because then all he had suffered until now would have been for nothing. If he wanted to give meaning to his suffering, he had to survive at all costs.


    He resisted them, struggling with all his might. Corruption advanced behind him, staining the snow a dense black like tar, and claws grew on the hands because suddenly he felt them scratching through the skin and reaching the flesh.


    I can''t die here.


    I can''t.


    Lost in his struggle, Kurt didn''t look where he was going and fell off a cliff. But all he felt was relief, as the hands let go, and the corruption stayed far away, at least for now. He had earned one more day of life.


    Assuming he survived the fall, but it was definitely more likely than surviving that thing.


    He hit the ground, and everything went dark.


    ***


    "Kurt?"


    Kurt shook his head.


    The past was past. It made no sense to get lost in things he had left behind a long time ago. The only thing that hadn''t changed was his will to survive.


    If anything, it had only become stronger.


    He had given everything without having anything to live for. Now that the world was fine again, now that he was a hero, now that he could be happy...


    Nothing and no one would stop him.


    ***


    Kurt woke up abruptly, panting, and despite the fact that just waking up was a good sign, his heart immediately shrank with fear of being close to death for whatever reason. Another survivor in this frozen wasteland, the black corruption, wild animals. Everything was a danger.


    But he was alone.


    On the edge of a worse fall, he had been lucky, stopping on this ledge instead of continuing to fall. Also, of course, lucky that he hadn''t moved too much while unconscious.


    Because he wouldn''t have survived that fall.


    Kurt raised his head.


    He thought it was an hallucination, how could it not be? There was a screen floating in front of him, and it had nothing to do with the technology that helped him survive.


    KURT CORNWELL LEVEL 1 Below that:


    SURVIVOR Exactly, damn, he thought, although shortly after he rolled his eyes and fainted again. If he had known the change it would mean for his life and for the world, both literally and metaphorically on the brink of the abyss, he would have fainted long enough for the snow to suffocate him into the afterlife.


    Fortunately, among his many talents, foreseeing the future was not one, so shortly after he woke up again, and this time he stayed conscious, telling himself that it had been an illusion since there was no trace of that screen left.


    And he set off.


    ***


    "You''re like a damn lizard," said Cynthia, shaking her head and coming over to sit beside him. She said that because his right arm had already fully regenerated.


    "Lizards are like me."


    "That doesn''t make any sense."


    "I know. By the way, you must be one at this point. Or you will be soon."


    "I still haven''t gotten used to it. I mean, don''t get me wrong, it made me very happy. It''s easy to feel insecure working with you."


    "But a few weeks aren''t enough to get used to something like that. I understand perfectly."


    "When did you do it?"


    "Well..." He opened his mouth, closed it, pressing his lips into a thin line. "The truth is, it was so long ago that it seems like another life. I don''t even remember."


    "Don''t worry. I figured it was just out of curiosity."


    Sylvester lowered his head, looking at his hands clasped together awkwardly. His knuckles were white from tension. He didn''t usually pay attention to these details, but his veins were too noticeable.


    "There''s something I can tell you, though. I was happy too." Although he hadn''t had anyone to compare himself to or feel inferior, he had made a decision that most people couldn''t. Certainly, he wouldn''t be fighting without this.


    Cynthia fell silent.


    "I guess that helped me get used to it. Not only did I wish for it with all my soul, but it was the support of my developing self-image. Without that, I would have collapsed. I never would have imagined that people would see me as a monster, not a hero, but I can''t imagine my life without this. Maybe you''ll never get used to it."


    "Why do you say that?"


    "You were already a hero before getting this power. Although you were as fragile as any human being, you made a decision that most people can''t. I definitely wouldn''t be fighting without this."


    Cynthia looked deeply uncomfortable. She wanted to say something, wanted to encourage him, but didn''t know where to start. Sylvester himself was the most uncomfortable, however. He shouldn''t have said this, although clumsily and convolutedly, he had revealed too much about himself. And for what exactly? She couldn''t help him; his problems wouldn''t magically resolve just because she knew about his insecurities.


    It was supposed to be better than this.


    Things almost never go the way they''re supposed to.


    Cynthia placed a hand on his.


    "Thank you."


    "Why?"


    "For trusting me."


    Now, he didn''t know what to say.


    It wasn''t an unpleasant feeling, though.


    Sylvester smiled. It was good to have a friend.


    The Two Remaining Champions, Part 1: FIN

 55. The Two Remaining Champions, Part 2

    Chapter 55: The Two Remaining Champions, Part 2


    Sylvester jerked awake. He had fallen asleep while showering, and as a result, he slipped and almost fell as long as he was. He managed to stop the fall by leaning against the wall with one hand and the glass with the other, but it wasn''t a pleasant awakening, that''s for sure.


    It would be ironic if someone like him died slipping in the shower, which was a depressingly common cause of death. Of course, it was impossible for him to die that way due to his inhuman body, but the idea was amusing nonetheless. In a macabre way.


    He shook his head, water droplets flying everywhere. He couldn''t dry off completely like wringing out a mop, but the water would be replaced by more falling from the showerhead.


    The near-fall, the pressure of the water, the warmth. Yes, it had definitely not been a pleasant awakening. But the thing was, he had woken up... Well, he had no idea how long he had been asleep, but it wasn''t night or anything. He had woken up at eight-thirty in the morning, longer than he usually slept, and immediately went for a shower.


    Why had he fallen asleep so easily? He had slept well for a change. He felt rested for a change.


    "Not everything has a convoluted explanation." Talking to himself could be productive, and he believed that everyone did it when they were alone; the truly crazy thing would be doing it surrounded by others. Crazy or sad. Being alone, feeling alone, might seem the same, but... "Tonight was the exception that proves the rule. I''m always training, tired. It''s not strange that I fell asleep."


    That was probably the truth. And saying it out loud helped, as if it made it more real.


    The reason didn''t matter either. Anything that helped, helped. Well, it was time to finish the shower, wake up for real... and what? Another day of training with Heather, struggling to break down the wall of his inferiority complex, knowing he wouldn''t be able to, only ending up more frustrated, more inferior?


    Another day of just waiting for news from the other two Champions of Roman¡¯s world, out there somewhere, scheming and plotting to destroy them all?


    Perhaps that''s why he had become numb in the shower and ended up sleeping.


    Because things were on pause, and he didn''t handle it well.


    Sylvester stepped out of the shower. Drying off and then putting on anything other than pajamas, obviously. But he couldn''t even complete the first step. He felt pain that he first registered throughout his leg. By the time he realized it was located in his ankle, he had already fallen to the floor.


    His left ankle was brutally slashed, to the point that he wouldn''t be able to put weight on that foot until it regenerated.


    Was he under attack? There was no trace of an enemy or the weapon used. He hadn''t seen or heard anything, but what else could he have cut himself on? And so easily. Clearly, someone had attacked him.


    An enemy? That wouldn''t explain why he hadn''t heard or felt anything, considering how sharp all his senses were. But he couldn''t have accidentally cut himself on something; he had been cut. Right now.


    The enemy was here, even if he couldn''t smell it.


    Sylvester crawled on the floor toward the door, reaching for the handle. There were no cameras in the damn bathroom or his room. In other words, the cavalry wasn''t on the way. He had to alert them that this was happening.


    Sylvester opened his mouth, but he couldn''t scream either. At that moment, "something" sliced his throat with the same ease and speed as his ankle.


    Of course, somehow, it was just as impossible to detect.


    He brought his other hand to the wound, pressing. What the hell was happening? He couldn''t even let his guard down while showering in a secret base, surrounded by allies. And this, what the hell was happening?


    How could he fight or defend against an enemy impossible to track?


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    He had no idea, but damn it, it couldn''t end like this. Naked and defenseless, murdered in his own room. The enemy had to be here, somewhere, so he just had to attack indiscriminately.


    He used [Mountain of Needles], filling the bathroom in the blink of an eye with those spikes, harder and sharper than ever. The bathroom was unrecognizable. He heard the mirror in front of the sink shatter, its pieces scattering everywhere.


    Did he catch it?


    Optimism wasn''t his thing, but he didn''t see (haha) how it could have dodged that. Too fast, too numerous, practically instantaneous, and in a closed room. He wasn''t saying he had killed it for sure, but at least he must have injured it.


    If he was, however, he couldn''t even see it bleed.


    He frowned.


    Sylvester was practically trapped against the door because of the mountain of needles.


    Not really trapped, of course. What he meant was that if, somehow, it had escaped those spikes... he could catch it without room to maneuver, between the wall of spikes and the door, before it had time to get up, before it could leave the room.


    But he hadn''t even felt the attacks, not once! Only the pain. Only the blood.


    So, he wouldn''t know until it was too late.


    Damn, there has to be some way, he thought. Think. Think.


    ***


    Ryan was on his way to the training area reserved for them. Well, usually Heather and Sylvester monopolized it. On the way, he encountered many agents and other union workers.


    His comrades, or at least in theory. At least on the battlefield. At this moment of peace, so to speak, they might leave him alone, but they weren''t as subtle as they thought. How quickly they moved away from him in the hallways. The whispers.


    "I don''t understand how he''s allowed to walk freely, as if he were one of us."


    Exactly, that''s what all the insults behind his back were about. That he wasn''t one of them. That he never would be. The worst part was that he couldn''t even get too angry; deep down, he knew he would act the same way if the roles were reversed.


    Oh, he wished he could be better, wished he could be one of those who would reach out a hand to someone in need.


    But deep down, he knew how hard it would be to see another like him as anything more than a Lunar Remnant disguised as a human for now, if he hadn''t been through this.


    That''s why Cynthia''s hatred had been almost comforting.


    She had hated him for quite some time for what he had done when he was still a normal human, not just for what he had become. Something he had had no control over.


    The door to the training room opened by itself as soon as he approached, sliding out of his way. It wasn''t like a supermarket door, of course; it only opened for those who could use it. He didn''t know the system used for it to distinguish him, and he didn''t care too much. He just needed to know that it would open for him.


    Inside was the Lunar Princess... That is, Heather. Cynthia too.


    But no Sylvester.


    "Weird. He''s always the first to arrive."


    Heather nodded.


    "Yeah. We both said the same thing."


    "He must have fallen asleep." Cynthia shrugged. "We''re just waiting for the next battle, and he still doesn''t stop, it''s like he''s hungry. If I were him, I''d have crashed out too. Maybe he could sleep for days."


    "Could be," Ryan simply said.


    "Could be, but you don''t believe it?"


    "As you said yourself, he''s so serious... But I also don''t think something could have happened to him in this base without anyone noticing. It''s probably nothing."


    "People from that world are too big," Heather said. "There''s no way they could go unnoticed in the base, even if they got rid of the armor and disguised themselves somehow. Good luck finding clothes that size!"


    Yeah, those were all good points, but Ryan didn''t fully believe even in what he himself had said. Anyway, he felt uneasy.


    Well, there was nothing wrong with taking a look, just to be sure. He would feel stupid once he saw that it was nothing, but he wanted it to be nothing.


    ***


    Sylvester tried to get up slowly and as best he could, the spikes significantly restricted his movement. In fact, he didn''t even manage to stand up; he found that his limit was crouching.


    That was what he had intended, intending not to give the intruder the chance to escape the mountain of needles.


    But if he hadn''t died, and he probably hadn''t, then he was just an inconvenience. Sylvester didn''t even turn around. He opened the bathroom door with his back, with enough force to tear it off its hinges, he would have fallen on his ass on the floor, but instead, it fell onto the door.


    He hadn''t attacked him again, but it didn''t mean he had won in one blow.


    It didn''t even necessarily mean he had been seriously injured, or not. It could be, but it seemed too optimistic an idea. In reality, he was convinced that somehow the intruder had slipped away, and the only thing that had prevented him from reaching him before he left the narrow bathroom was the obstacles in the way.


    Sylvester grabbed the katana, resting next to the bed. Luckily, he never left it too far from him. He couldn''t fall asleep without it.


    But it was useless against an enemy he couldn''t cut. If he couldn''t even smell it, it wasn''t merely invisible, it wasn''t entirely there. Or here, in this world. In any case, one thing was clear. The powers of the Lunar Remnants could be very esoteric, but this was not a Lunar Remnant.


    One of the two remaining champions that the union had been looking for had come to him.


    "Better men than you have tried." The cut in his throat was healing. Not enough to shout, not yet; his voice lacked power. But he was sure the intruder heard every word clearly. "And I win, I always win. Because I''m a survivor."


    ***


    I am too, Kurt thought. Let me prove it to you.


    The Two Remaining Champions, Part 2: FIN

 56. The Two Remaining Champions, Part 3

    Chapter 56: The Two Remaining Champions, Part 3


    The enemy stabbed Sylvester in the knee.


    Once again, he was completely unable to feel or see it coming, for whatever reason. It was maddening. Sylvester clenched his teeth tightly, grinding them.


    But at least now he knew where he should be.


    He brandished the sword and cut through nothing but the air. At least he should be able to feel the resistance of his enemy''s body when delivering a direct blow, so he was sure of that.


    What had he expected differently?


    That man had dodged the instant release of his [Needle Mountain]. In comparison, a single sword slash, no matter how fast, was child''s play.


    He had to think fast or he would die without even being able to resist. What a bad joke!


    Sylvester tensed his entire body, trying to anticipate the moment when the attack would come. Because maybe that was the key, maybe he could only harm him when he got close enough "here" to attack.


    In a way, his hypothesis was that the enemy was using some kind of astral projection. When he attacked, he was almost here, but the rest of the time, he pulled back for the sake of his safety.


    He had never faced such an ability and was just assuming things, he was aware of that, but he had to assume certain parameters or be paralyzed by indecision.


    He had to assume and give it his all following that path as if there were no doubt. That was his only chance of victory.


    He would be ready and react even before the enemy''s weapon plunged through his skin and flesh.


    It sounded like madness. It sounded not superhuman, downright impossible.


    But he had to do it, so he would. That must be why he was leaving so much space between the attacks. He had hit the mark, and the enemy feared being caught at the worst possible moment.


    Sylvester took a step forward and brandished the sword.


    Two or three seconds later, a hole opened in his free hand as if he had been crucified. He clenched his teeth even harder. He had reacted quickly, yes. Too quickly.


    Two or three seconds. If he had attacked one or two seconds later, maybe he would have torn his head off, maybe this would have ended already.


    It was really frustrating. But he couldn''t let his emotions control him.


    Sylvester took a deep breath. He was the one in control.


    Again.


    His sword flew twice as fast as any attack before. He didn''t use overclocking because it wouldn''t help him in this situation. It was all thanks to his reaction time, his strength, and speed.


    At that very moment, the left side of his vision went dark.


    The enemy''s weapon had penetrated his left eye, plunging it into darkness. If he wasn''t careful, it would push it deeper, reaching the brain, and that would be a more substantial wound.


    But the superhuman effort had its reward.


    A hand flew away, crashing into a chair, making it spin quickly. No blood, at least none he could see, but it was clear. He had cut the enemy''s hand. It was a small victory, but he rejoiced anyway.


    "The next one will be your neck," Sylvester promised with a wild smile.


    He should be tense, not even knowing if the enemy''s weapon was still in the shattered socket of his left eye. If it was, it could push it to the brain. But he didn''t care.


    He felt victorious, as if he had cut off an entire arm and not just a hand.


    He felt almost as if his victory had become inevitable. For a hunter, the greatest pleasure was not bringing down the prey and skinning it but the moments before victory crystallized.


    "I''m not going to let you escape."


    Sylvester stepped back, opening the door to his room and stepping into the hallway. More than one saw him, well, everyone. He wondered if they first noticed his wounds or the fact that he was naked.


    "There''s an enemy in the base. Initiate isolation protocols. Come on, come on! Sound the damn alarm!" His voice was like a lash, urging them on, even though many had already started running, getting to work.


    Yes. He wouldn''t let that son of a bitch escape, no matter what.


    He could think about how many people had seen and would see his dick when all this was over, and if shame served any purpose, if it ever did.


    Sylvester prepared to do it again. If he had done it once, he could do it again. It was just a matter of who would fall first, him or the enemy, and maybe next time, he would get a juicier prize than just a hand. Maybe next time, he would cut his neck and crush his head.


    The opportunity to take a life in exchange for risking his own. It was the most natural thing in the world, an equivalent exchange.


    The lights would be turning red, and the metal doors descending quickly, separating sectors throughout the complex. The last time they had to use these protocols was when one of them unexpectedly transformed into a Lunar Remnant, and at least they took him (that is, he took him) out of his suffering before he realized what he had become and what he had done. Now the nature of the threat was very different, but they could handle it the same way.


    "Sylvester, what the hell are you doing naked?" Ryan said. For his part, he wondered why he was here and the others weren''t. If he hadn''t received the alert when they sounded the alarm, then he must have started moving earlier. Then Ryan noticed his wounds and the blood. "Oh, I''m too late. Where''s the enemy?"


    "Somewhere, it''s impossible to trace. I don''t hear him, I don''t see him, I don''t smell him. I think it''s some kind of astral projection..."


    He choked on the word as he saw Ryan fall to his knees, with a hole in his chest. He had stabbed him in the heart. But it wasn''t that easy to kill him.


    "I see," Ryan replied, lips stained with blood.


    And he transformed.


    His monstrous werewolf form filled the metallic hallway in the blink of an eye.


    "Oh, it''s one of those gigantic bastards," Ryan said.


    "Can you see him?"


    "Yes. Perfectly. He''s semi-transparent, but I see him."


    Sylvester hadn''t counted on that trump card. Ryan''s biggest crime had always been ignorance, and the truth was he liked him as a person, but now he felt especially grateful for not having listened to everyone and spared his life.


    This way was much easier than his method so far.


    Ryan attacked the intruder. Although he couldn''t see it himself, following Ryan''s attacks, he would know exactly where it was. While he had been isolating and with a very limited way to defend himself or return the blows, the enemy had naturally had the advantage. But now that he had been exposed, he was doomed...


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    As long as Ryan stayed alive. Now his priority would be to get him out of the playing field. Well, he wouldn''t allow that son of a bitch to escape, whatever happened.


    Sylvester ran towards the enemy. He couldn''t help but think about the feeling of his penis swinging in the air. He couldn''t help but think that he had lost arms, legs, had been on the verge of being decapitated more times than he cared to count, and had even been split in half once, but he had never lost his penis. Fighting naked, he risked too much for that to happen again. It would grow back like any other part of his body, but somehow it would be different and particularly traumatic.


    He couldn''t justify taking the time to get dressed while others fought and died, however. "I''ll do what I must," he thought.


    He reached the enemy and attacked in the same direction as Ryan. No reward. It hadn''t attacked him yet; it would be focused on Ryan because no one else could see it. Or at least that''s what he believed. If it took the inhuman senses of a Lunar Remnant to see it, then Heather also...


    "My attacks pass through him!" Ryan exclaimed.


    Oh, of course.


    "He only becomes tangible when he has to attack you," Sylvester said. He didn''t like saying it right in front of the enemy, but what other choice did he have? Not Sylvester, but the enemy. Yes, now he knew that he knew, but what was he going to do in response, not attack? "That''s how I managed to cut off his hand."


    "Understood."


    The enemy was thrown against a wall. It wasn''t that Sylvester suddenly saw that giant, but he saw the wall caving in and cracking.


    Then...


    White smoke spread through the hallway rapidly. As soon as it encountered an enemy that could see it, that could resist properly, it ran away with its tail between its legs.


    In a life-or-death fight (meaning the only real fight), there was no cowardice. Honor was for fools, and a strategic retreat was perfectly valid. Still, Sylvester had to admit he felt disdain realizing what it was doing, wondering how that rat had given him so much trouble. Well, it had been despicable from the beginning, attacking him only when he was naked and unarmed, just out of the shower, not satisfied with being practically untouchable.


    It would come back, of course, it would come back soon, but it was as if Ryan had ripped out its fangs.


    ***


    The lights turned red, and the piercing alarm began to sound. Cynthia grimaced.


    "So, Ryan was probably right. Something happened to Sylvester. Heather?"


    It was strange to call this creature by a human name. She was aware that it was on their side, at least as long as the interdimensional deathmatch didn''t end, but she didn''t think she could get used to her as she had to Ryan. She didn''t think she could ever forgive her for what she had done.


    Nor for what she had forced her to do.


    She had killed so many Lunar Remnants on the ruins of Kaleidoscope to defend herself and destroy those altars, not knowing that they were not something to destroy the world or humanity but defense measures against invaders. She didn''t think Elizabeth had deceived them, but she had disappeared from the map, so she had no way to punish her. Assuming she had drowned in that black sea, which seemed likely, then she didn''t believe she could give her a worse fate anyway.


    The important thing was that every Lunar Remnant that fell was a person, deep down. Someone who could have been saved like Ryan.


    And that blood stained her hands.


    Unnecessary deaths because she had come to this world, because she had corrupted its inhabitants, pushing Cynthia to fight without all the information. How could she blame herself? She could only blame that monster.


    So, yes, she wasn''t sure if she could ever forgive her.


    And she...


    "What''s wrong?"


    Her face was a mask of anger.


    But as soon as she asked that question, it disappeared, replaced by an empty expression. That is, forcibly relaxed. Heather blinked.


    "Nothing," she lied, obviously. "Let''s go."


    "Yes."


    They ran together. As some sort of team. No, now they were a team, whether she liked it or not. The four of them.


    For a moment, she wondered if she hadn''t read her mind. Not literally, she didn''t think even she had such an ability or that it was possible, but close enough.


    Then she dismissed it.


    Even if that were true, it wouldn''t explain the face she had made. She doubted Heather cared a shit about what she thought.


    ***


    "At least put on some pants or something, for God''s sake. I''ll go stop him."


    He figured he could take the time to put on some pants. No shirt, no shoes, but yes, pants. Otherwise, he''d be minced meat for what he didn''t say.


    So he retreated to the room to do just that. Putting on sneakers and a shirt wouldn''t take much longer, but he ran out as soon as he finished. He''ll feel much more comfortable. He had tried to ignore his discomfort for the sake of the mission, but the truth was he didn''t like being seen naked. Even undressing for sex felt deeply out of place. Distractions at hand allowed him to forget that feeling for the moment, but that was another story.


    Once they took care of the intruder, they would move to another base, as they had been doing for the past few weeks in an attempt to make themselves harder to trace.


    And then he wouldn''t have to face those who had seen him, well, in all his glory.


    What would he hear? What did he think they would say about him? Sylvester shook his head. Nonsense. He continued following Ryan''s trail and quickly caught up with him. Unfortunately, Ryan hadn''t been able to do the same with his prey. To be fair, his werewolf form was a bit too tall and wide for the base corridors, so his trail had been very obvious and easy to follow.


    "Now he could be anywhere."


    Their target was the Champions, that is, Heather, Cynthia, and him. So he hoped they wouldn''t have to follow the trail of corpses he left behind.


    "The best we can do now is regroup with the others. Present a united front," he said. He was tall enough that the air he exhaled while talking ruffled his hair. He had always been big enough for the air he exhaled while talking to sway his hair. Now more than ever, but how could that fact not attract attention from such a close distance?


    "Yes, I agree."


    So he contacted Heather. He contacted Heather first, not Cynthia.


    "Where are you? Yes. We''re on our way."


    ***


    "Shit, that was close," Kurt thought.


    It had never occurred to him that one of them might perceive him even in this state. Nothing and no one else had before, not even the things that had almost ended his world.


    It had never occurred to him that that man, Sylvester, would guess his only weakness so quickly.


    But if he weren''t so capable, he would have been defeated by Rom¨¢n, the strongest among them, or would have died with the explosion of the robot releasing a nuclear warhead. He still wasn''t clear on how all of them had survived the explosion and radiation. He had worried about that and many other things, but he had set this plan in motion because he had no other option. In the end, it had surprisingly been easy to hurt him.


    If that dog hadn''t arrived at the worst possible moment, maybe he would have succeeded in killing the strongest. The biggest obstacle. But maybe that had been his mistake, trying to eliminate the most dangerous one first. Maybe what he should have done was kill his companions so that he would be isolated in the end, without help.


    So that there would be no one who could come to his aid, sooner or later. Yes, it had definitely been a mistake. He was on his way to rectify it. Everyone depends on me; I cannot fail. He had already saved the world once. He would do it again even if he had to die trying.


    The next door opened for them as well. On the other side was a corpse with its throat wide open and eyes blank, staring at the ceiling.


    "Damn. Another one down," Ryan said. It was recent. At least, he wasn''t far away.


    "Agent Sylvester, I repeat, this is Agent Sylvester. Is anyone monitoring the cameras? Someone answer. Right now, it''s the safest place in the base; the intruder won''t bother going there to destroy all the equipment..."


    He didn''t have time to finish the sentence.


    "Agent," he finally received a response, "sorry for the delay. We''re barricading ourselves. What do you need?"


    "What do I want? I need to know where the enemy is. Every time I kill someone, at least we''ll know their general location. You have to keep me informed!"


    "We weren''t prepared, not..."


    "Did I ask for excuses? The bastard ambushed me as soon as I got out of the shower. I know damn well he attacked at a bad time! Cut the crap and tell me the current sector; that''s all I want to know."


    "Fine. Ryan, with me."


    They were approaching Heather and Christina. After contacting them, they had agreed to wait where they were. And the intruder, whatever his name was, was also closing in on them.


    "How do you know the layout of the base so well? How is it possible?"


    "I..."


    "It was a rhetorical question. No, I''m not telling you, man, but the idiot I''m talking to on the earpiece. This happened because many people failed in their jobs, screwed up big time. I already know that. I know it very well. I just need you to tell me what''s necessary. I need you to be professional, understand?"


    "Yes," the man on the other end of the connection said slowly, as if afraid he might be harmed even at the distance they were. It was somewhat natural.


    But it was also natural that he had lost his temper. How the hell had they allowed this to happen? The intruder should never have gotten this far. He knew the enemy was practically untraceable in that form, but for the love of...!


    How long?


    How long had he been wandering these halls, spying on them? Breathing down their necks like the breath of death?


    How long had that fucker been preparing for this?


    Sylvester had to make sure it wouldn''t do him any good. To feel secure again, he had to erase every atom of his body from the face of the earth. Soon, very soon.


    ***


    He had to kill more people than he had planned (for the sake of being practical and getting straight to the point, not because he cared; anyway, this whole world would die if he won), but he was here. The targets were in sight.


    The target, to be more precise.


    Cynthia, since they had discovered that her power had recently awakened. She was the most human of the champions in this universe.


    The most vulnerable.


    She was with the inhuman creature that was one of the Champions, somehow, the things they called Lunar Remnants. It was like the meddler a moment ago, only while Ryan could shift between his monstrous form and his human form, the woman (if he could even call her that, considering) always maintained that form. That''s why he had thought it would be a problem, but he hadn''t seen it.


    So he would take the opportunity, kill Cynthia before she realized it.


    He could do it.


    He could, and he would.


    The Two Remaining Champions, Part 3: FIN

 57. The Two Remaining Champions, Part 4

    Chapter 57: The Two Remaining Champions, Part 4


    Heather felt it.


    She saw or heard nothing, but she felt it vividly, allowing her to react in time to the threat. Not against her. Nothing and no one could threaten her, except Sylvester, and now they were a team.


    She had felt with the same clarity that the threat was directed at Cynthia, not her, so she didn''t waste time, didn''t hesitate for a second.


    She stopped "it," closing her fingers around what must have been an invisible knife. She couldn''t see or hear anything, so Cynthia didn''t even feel it. What she did feel was her elbow swiftly brushing against her face. The woman opened her eyes wide, looking at her surprised, tense. Alert.


    She didn''t trust her.


    It had only been half a month since they realized they were on the same team, so Heather guessed she couldn''t blame her, but it was irritating nonetheless. If she wanted to harm her, she would be dead already.


    Even more irritating when she had just saved her life.


    "What are you...?"


    "Well, defending you from the enemy, what else? At least trust me a little."


    Maybe she would change her mind over time, maybe she wouldn''t. It was her business. If she stabbed her in the back, Heather would stab her in the face, but until that happened (if it happened), she would leave her alone. Killing her served no purpose; her only goal was survival, and while she could survive the destruction of the universe, floating alone in space for thousands of years wouldn''t be pleasant. Harming her or letting others kill her would only decrease the chances of survival.


    She should be aware of that, at least, no matter how much she wanted to hate and distrust her.


    Heather shook her head.


    Heather bent the intruder''s wrist and threw him against the wall, hitting him with an open hand. A very energetic slap. Of course, his invisibility power extended to hide the sounds he made, but the damage his landing did to the steel wall was visible to everyone. He was invisible, but he wasn''t a ghost; he couldn''t pass through walls like nothing. Good to know.


    Although, he was going to die very soon anyway.


    Heather extended her hand again, but not to hit him with an open hand and make him go through the steel wall. The others couldn''t see him, but a dark blue light came out of her hand, bathing the intruder who could still be felt moving around the room after the bad landing, although not seen or heard yet.


    However, it didn''t take long.


    He became visible. Or rather, she made him visible, and suddenly the intruder had hundreds of weapons pointed at him.


    Checkmate.


    What came out of his lips was a bit different, though.


    "This farce is over."


    The intruder''s only chance of survival, the only way he had managed to harm Sylvester, was his strange state as if he were only half in the base. An astral projection, Sylvester had called it. She understood the term the same way she understood the language. That is, she didn''t know how.


    As for the Ability he had used to achieve that?


    Unlike Sylvester and Cynthia, her Abilities had no names, only numbers. She had just used number [5]. It wasn''t new, but for now, she hadn''t unlocked any abilities to start with; she had had everything from the beginning. She was just strong enough to make any fight easy, even with just her sword, wings, and determination.


    Not surprising.


    There was a fundamental difference between Sylvester and her.


    Sylvester hadn''t been born with his powers; she could almost hear the lower case when he spoke of his Skills, and he seemed to have some fear or reluctance to think in terms he saw as ''game terms.''


    But she had been born with this (in fact, the ability [0] was the only thing that had allowed her to be born, defending her from Sylvester''s assault). They were part of her, and games were what seemed abstract to her. She knew what they were, but she had never touched one, and they didn''t really mean anything to her.


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    She didn''t like to think about what made her different from Sylvester, the only person she identified with, but well, not thinking about it wouldn''t make it untrue.


    The truth was always inescapable.


    The intruder swallowed nervously in front of his firing squad.


    "I''m a hero," he declared with false confidence. He had run out of cards to play. Otherwise, he wouldn''t be standing there, he would be acting, not waiting to see what they would do.


    "Maybe you are, but why do you think I would give a damn?"


    To her universe, he was a hero and one of their few hopes. For this planet, this universe, he was nothing more than an intruder in every possible sense. Public enemy number one.


    Well, not literally. The Lunar Remnants crisis had been impossible to hide, but this could be kept secret, and there was no need to make it public. It served no purpose, quite the opposite, it would only harm them.


    The firing squad opened fire. Hundreds of weapons, thousands of bullets being fired. Such an assault could riddle even a Champion''s body with holes if they kept it up long enough. But the bullets never reached the target. The intruder raised a red barrier, it actually looked like blood, and maybe it was, around him, stopping each and every shot. He saw the bullets crush against the barrier and fall to the ground, smoking.


    "What I''m saying is... I can do this all day. I''m not that easy to defeat."


    Heather shrugged.


    She hadn''t expected that ability, but it didn''t change anything.


    "You think so? Let''s put it to the test."


    Heather reached into her chest to draw one of her swords. She could do it from any part of her body, really, but she had gotten into the habit because it made a certain impression and instilled visceral fear to see someone plunge their hand into their chest, so close to the heart. Of course, she didn''t have a heart, but she looked human enough for them to assume.


    She thrust the sword into the blood barrier.


    She damaged it but didn''t manage to break it. Well, she had never expected to bring it down in one blow. But it wasn''t just one blow; the other agents of the syndicate (she supposed she was one of them now, temporarily or not) hadn''t stopped firing. While others reloaded, the rest took over. The iron curtain never stopped for a second. There were more than enough agents to sustain the assault.


    Heather withdrew the sword and attacked again.


    Nothing.


    "Irritating."


    "Let me give you a hand."


    "Go ahead."


    Cynthia raised her revolvers, adding her firepower. But she wasn''t just another agent trying to shoot the intruder. All her powers were concentrated around her revolvers, and in these two weeks, with constant and hard training, her repertoire had expanded.


    Cynthia didn''t shoot fire, but ice.


    She quickly froze the blood barrier. And then she made the ice explode, exposing the intruder.


    With a wild smile, Heather lunged at the enemy.


    "Now you have nowhere to run, insect!"


    She reached for his neck, her nails lengthening until they looked more like claws. In the other hand, in front of her, the sword still remained, of course.


    It was too late; he couldn''t even dream of reacting. Heather splendidly opened the enemy''s neck wide. That dirty rat staggered backward, put a hand to the wound, squeezing, which didn''t do much; the blood continued to flow like a waterfall.


    "What''s wrong, hero? Is that all you can do?" She mocked, reveling in her victory.


    But she wouldn''t make the mistake of wasting time and providing him with an opening to turn the tables. As she did so, she brandished the sword for what she hoped would be the last time, straight into his heart.


    The intruder just laughed; he didn''t even move out of the way.


    He didn''t need to.


    In an instant, the entire hallway filled with a blinding red light, forcing her to even squint her eyes. It burned, but that was the least of her concerns. A mere prelude to the real problem.


    She didn''t know what the enemy had done, but the place began to unravel, like a puzzle in reverse, returning piece by piece to the box. In this case, it was what lay on the other side of the void, visible through the open ceiling. Certain death?


    A strong, icy wind began to blow, and the enemy was the first to be dragged or sucked in, as if by a vacuum. Okay, so she could rule out the possibility of certain death. Unless the intruder wasn''t responsible, which she highly doubted, it was practically impossible. But there wouldn''t be anything good on the other side, anyway.


    Heather saved herself by plunging the sword into a piece of the floor. And she also saved Cynthia, at least for the moment, catching her in mid-air. The woman expelled all the air from her lungs during the ''landing,'' her eyes widening.


    "Don''t panic. He has fallen too. Whatever happens, whatever is on the other side, it''s not certain death."


    "True. You''re right."


    But one thing was to know it, and another was to keep fear under control, it was quite clear, looking into her eyes.


    It didn''t take long for the inevitable to happen.


    The sword could hold in the ground for years, if necessary, her grip on it too. But the piece of floor couldn''t. It flew away, another piece dragged by the vortex towards the dark void...


    And beyond.


    ***


    Sylvester regained consciousness with his face pressed against the hard ground. Rock. His neck hurt like hell. He got up slowly, with effort, first leaning on his hands on the ground, then on...


    Nothing, and he almost fell back to the ground, losing his balance, because there was nothing to support him. It had been chaos, and it still wasn''t entirely right, composed.


    Ryan wasn''t with him anymore. He hoped he had survived.


    He hoped most had survived; he had the impression that it had gone through a good part of the base, if not all of it. Too powerful an ability, although in the end, it hadn''t done anything to him, it had an incredible range.


    But he wasn''t inside, among the ruins, or outside the base.


    He looked around, his neck still crunching. He stood there with his mouth open. Everything had changed.


    "Where the hell am I?"


    The Two Remaining Champions, Part 4: FIN

 58. The Two Remaining Champions, Part 5

    Chapter 58: The Two Remaining Champions, Part 5


    <hr>


    The place where he had ended up was not a void. It couldn''t be called that because it was filled with pieces of the base, floating in space slowly, from left to right or from top to bottom, depending. And when things were connected, they weren''t connected well.


    For example, the ceiling where the floor should be.


    For example, the wiring hanging out of the wall. The wall wasn''t broken, letting the cables out, but it was as if they had been mounted outside. Or as if the cables had passed through the wall as if it were nothing.


    In short, I was in a space where nothing was intact and nothing made sense.


    Had they been transported to another universe, perhaps? Although I was aware that using the plural was being optimistic, when the state of things meant that my field of vision wasn''t obstructed for miles and miles, and I didn''t see anyone.


    Or maybe it was a temporal space, created by someone''s power, like the crystalline kaleidoscopic reflection that Heather had brought him to talk, to try to convince him?


    In any case, it was a problem. I wondered how difficult it would be to find the way out.


    I wondered if I was the only one left alive.


    Silvestre outside the edge of the floor or ground he was on, falling, manifesting wings in the midst of the fall and rising again.


    He had to explore, and he had to find something or someone. Anything would do.


    "Is this the work of the enemy?" he wondered once again, this time aloud. Doing it sometimes helped him organize his thoughts. Sometimes it had the opposite effect. But he couldn''t paralyze himself; he had to try something. No, it wouldn''t make sense. It''s a more powerful ability than the one he used to attack.


    If the intruder could do something like this, he would have started with this, instead of attacking him like a coward in the shower. As far as he knew, there was no reason to hold back, not to want to use this.


    Sylvester flew.


    Nothing and no one, no matter how far. Could he really be the only survivor of this, whatever it was? He was frustrated. Because Cynthia had gained powers too, because she was getting stronger, and someday she would catch up with him, inevitably. Because Heather was more everything than him, and he could never catch up to her.


    But he had never wanted them to disappear.


    They were his friends. Even Heather, though it was hard for him to believe, was more than an ally, even though he couldn''t call her a friend yet. The fights had helped. He wanted her to live. Sincerely.


    Sylvester landed on a stone platform, mostly because it caught his attention, as it didn''t seem like something that could have been in the base. At least, he didn''t know anything about a place like that.


    The ground was made of stone, he hadn''t been mistaken, he couldn''t mistake the solidity under the soles of his boots. But things crawled out of the ground, and what slithered over their heads, arms, and chest as they made their way outside was sand. Lack of connection, once again. The solidity of the ground was not connected to what it really was.


    In any case, what came out of the sand was not anyone he had been looking for. None of the union agents, guarding the base, nor his comrades.


    They were undead, their bodies clearly marked by lethal wounds, or wounds that should be lethal. Clearly, they didn''t prevent them from moving towards him. They didn''t even move with the slowness and clumsiness characteristic of zombies in movies, although they didn''t run towards him either.


    They just walked towards him, and even before they got close enough, he recognized many of those faces.


    Again, they were not union agents. He wasn''t particularly close to those who should be his comrades; he knew they shared the same fight, he knew many died every day, that was all.


    He recognized the faces from autopsy reports, from old case files.


    They were his victims.


    Lunar Remnants, only with the monster layer stripped away, leaving only what they had been. What they should have remained.


    Leaving what had been done to them.


    Those wounds were sword wounds. Made with the edge of his katana. There were even those he had cut in half and shredded, their wounds hadn''t just healed, they were stitched, that was the only thing that kept them intact.


    Sylvester felt the urge to vomit.


    "It can''t be real."


    But it was real, even if they weren''t. This was an attack, from the intruder or whoever. They were perfectly capable of killing him. He couldn''t doubt that he was in danger. Letting his guard down.


    Sylvester unsheathed the katana. He didn''t feel like repeating what he had done over the years, his ''greatest hits,'' so to speak, but it was clear that they wouldn''t give him a choice.


    Well, actually, he did have another option.


    Take flight, run with his tail between his legs, but would that do him any good? They were the first presence of life, or death, that he had encountered in this space. They were progress, one way or another.


    Perhaps he needed to defeat them to find the way out or at least take a step forward. He wasn''t sure, but it made sense to him, and that was enough.


    The dead started running towards him, as if sensing his determination, and Sylvester defended himself with all his might. Then the dead began to speak.


    "You are a monster in human skin."


    It was amusing that a zombie would say that. How audacious.


    "All that whining about your powers, your destiny, the weight on your shoulders when deep down you enjoy it. You need it."


    That was nothing new. Those were his feelings, and he had dared to admit them to Cynthia, one of the few people he trusted. The concerning part was that they knew his feelings. Whoever orchestrated this had managed to put them into the mouths of these monstrosities, and for what? To mess with his head, make him slip up?


    "Feeling superior to others."


    Yes, he wanted to feel superior. He wanted to be important. Was that a crime? Throughout history, many men had sent thousands to their deaths just to be someone, to matter, to leave their mark on the history books. And for better or worse, many had succeeded.


    Was it so bad?


    Wasn''t it a desire that, deep down, every human being had?


    As long as he did things right, as long as he was a hero, then everything was justified, right? He wasn''t a Genghis Khan, he wasn''t a Hitler. He was more like a Gandhi, without the racism or pedophilia, and taking a more direct part in the events.


    Okay, maybe he didn''t resemble Gandhi too much.


    "Feeling that someone needs you."


    That was also a basic desire. Everyone wanted to be loved.


    "But it''s a bottomless cup. No matter how much others admire you when you know you''re a useless piece of shit."


    A bottomless cup...


    "You''ll always be that kid crying for his mommy. Seeking approval she''ll never give."


    Sylvester was so surprised that he let an attack pass through his defenses. Consequently, the claws of one of those zombies tore into his shoulder, near the neck, very close.


    That wasn''t true.


    He didn''t blame or hate his mother for the things she had said before dying. She had been sick, that was all, and the events surrounding his strange powers hadn''t helped her return to reality. Overnight, her son had turned into some kind of superhero straight out of the pages of a comic, after all.


    He didn''t blame her, and he didn''t want to make up for that time, although it had certainly been unpleasant. His mother had nothing to do with this.


    "Face it, God did a lousy job with you. You''re defective, a disaster."


    Oh, really? Everyone was. It had taken him time to realize, but he wasn''t any different from others. If he could peek into the heads of the people around him, into the heads of those who seemed to have it all together, he would see the same shit as inside him.


    Life was what happened while people tried to get by.


    "How can you lament the injustice of your fate when you''re the worst mass murderer in human history? And yet, you''ll be remembered as a hero."


    Sylvester gritted his teeth.


    He executed a spinning attack, pushing back more zombies with the wind that rose, the wind and the sand, along with the blade of the katana itself. The point was that he had achieved what he intended, the necessary space to breathe.


    "But they will never shut up. Not really. Because I know it''s all true."


    At least most of it. The dead were an echo of his own thoughts, his mind wielding a knife, or rather a scalpel, against itself. Nothing more and nothing less. That''s why he couldn''t deny a single word with force. That''s why he had felt cornered in the end. Not physically, but mentally.


    He shook his head.


    "I need to regroup, see if anyone has survived. Then... I''ll cross that bridge when I come to it."


    He hoped there would be an afterward, not just realizing that they were all dead.


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    That he was the last one standing, the only one left.


    Again.


    ***


    Heather was flying, while Cynthia made her way through the strange space using her grappling hook, a tool that any union agent had but rarely proved as useful as now.


    She had offered to carry her, but the woman insisted on doing things her way, so Heather let her be. She understood, too. The insistence on doing things on one''s own. That pride, that determination.


    She could understand and respect it. If it had slowed them down too much, she would have picked her up and lifted her anyway, ignoring her protests, as it was a very serious situation. But that didn''t happen.


    There were enough pieces of the base scattered everywhere for her to move quickly through space, shooting the hook, retracting it, dropping and shooting it again.


    As much ground as they covered, they saw nothing and no one, and Heather was starting to worry seriously about Sylvester. If Cynthia had survived and she herself, then surely Sylvester would have too, but that didn''t prevent her from worrying anyway. Besides, simple bad luck was always a factor, so it didn''t matter how things should or could be.


    Sometimes things just happened, without logic.


    The first person she saw, in the end, did nothing to calm her concerns. Rather the opposite.


    The intruder, the self-proclaimed hero. Heather leaped onto the platform where that guy was, landing like a meteorite, making the whole platform shake as if it were about to collapse. Which would have been fine. As far as she knew, at least, the enemy had no way to save himself if that happened. Nothing like the rope hook or her wings.


    There was no exchange of words. Words were entirely unnecessary.


    The enemy prepared to fight, assuming a fighting stance, and Heather waited for Cynthia to land by her side. Not much, and it wasn''t necessary, probably, but she appreciated having support anyway.


    It was a strange feeling, but not unpleasant at all.


    The enemy had had plenty of time to act while Cynthia caught up with them, a few seconds could and did decide the outcome of a battle all the time, but he didn''t. It was they who made the first move, running towards him, who simply raised a blood barrier again.


    Cynthia shot again and again, freezing the barrier. Why fix what wasn''t broken? The subsequent explosion cleared the barrier, leaving the enemy exposed.


    That damn guy dodged most projectiles, but one came dangerously close to his neck, drawing blood. He caught it in his right hand, wet and slippery with blood, and stabbed Cynthia when she got close enough in the side.


    He twisted the knife in the wound, then spun the girl around, swapping positions.


    Releasing the shard of ice and pushing her forward, into the void. An endless fall. Cynthia threw one of her revolvers away to be able to firmly grasp the platform''s edges, at least with one hand.


    Cynthia was aggressive, with a curious inclination to get close to her enemies, despite having good aim and choosing a pair of revolvers as her weapon. It was quite interesting that Cynthia might have been better with a sword, especially now that she wasn''t as soft, and Sylvester just the opposite. He was too cold and calculating, although he could afford to be much more aggressive and reckless, considering what his body and mind could endure. It was interesting, but nothing more. Things were as they were, and she doubted they would change soon.


    With Cynthia almost out of action, it was up to Heather to take the lead. Compensate for the absence. Cynthia still held one of the revolvers, but she couldn''t let go of the platform to lift the gun, aim, and shoot. Otherwise, she would fall, and she wasn''t sure she could save herself with the grappling hook. Cynthia didn''t either, or she would have done it already without hesitation.


    Heather brandished the sword, and the enemy caught it, stopping it just millimeters from her chest. Barely avoiding being stabbed in the heart. Perhaps she should have noticed earlier, but only now did she realize that the neck wound had disappeared.


    A consequence of this, whatever it was, a side effect of their power? Or simple regeneration, like any of the Champions? She wasn''t sure how long it had been since this started, oddly enough. Occupied as she was with her sword, however, the enemy had no chance to dodge Cynthia. Even Heather only perceived the attack when she saw, strangely, two pieces of ice growing from his shoulders outward. Like malformed wings, and on the wrong side.


    That guy collapsed, falling to his knees. Heather, quickly and efficiently, made sure he wouldn''t get up again. More specifically, she cut off a leg and an arm, cauterizing the wounds, ensuring he wouldn''t die, at least not too soon.


    Words had been useless before because the fight had been inevitable from the beginning. Now? She needed answers.


    Cynthia slid the other revolver across the floor, freeing her hand, and landed back on the ground without needing help. She retrieved her weapons and approached the fallen enemy.


    There was blood everywhere. Perhaps it was strange coming from a rare, otherworldly creature whose mere birth foretold death and destruction, but she didn''t like blood.


    "Turn off this shit, or my friend will open you up like a pig," she said. That was still very true, however.


    "Oh. So you think I did this," he laughed openly, but he wasn''t mocking anyone. It just sounded like he was. Tired, defeated. Resigned. "Yes, of course. If I could do something on this scale, I wouldn''t have attacked invisibly, inaudibly, and ambushed Sylvester in the shower. I wouldn''t have needed to. What madness."


    "What he says makes sense," Heather said, although feeling like she shouldn''t have to say it, after glancing at Cynthia out of the corner of her eye and noting her expression. It was part of human nature to believe in easy solutions, shortcuts, in times of greater stress, especially.


    "It does, but then what is this?" Heather opened her mouth to say that she had no fucking idea, but that was beside the point.


    "I think... I''m not sure, but I think..." The intruder preempted her, however, with something slightly more substantial. Maybe.


    "Spit it out."


    "I think we are in the middle," he laughed again. It was a bit irritating, but he sounded just as he was. Tired, defeated. Resigned. "Of all things."


    "What are you talking about?" Cynthia, again, asking. No, demanding. She didn''t care that she took the lead in this interrogation. Anyway, people weren''t her strong suit, not even breaking them, making them confess.


    She never would, of course, if she didn''t get practice, if she didn''t seize opportunities like this. But well, all in due time.


    "Something set all this up, this game," he spat. In that, at least, they could agree. "In which different universes face each other. That something may reside here. A void between universes. The connective tissue, yes, perhaps. What? I can''t prove it, obviously, but... Do you have a better idea, huh? Do you have a better idea?"


    He seemed a bit more aggressive and energetic when he looked at Cynthia, as if offended that she considered him a madman, that she didn''t believe him. Once, Heather didn''t agree with what was now her companion, for better or for worse.


    "That doesn''t mean what you''re saying makes sense. But I agree."


    "Really?"


    "This is... different." She wouldn''t know how to express it in words, even if asked. The good thing is that she didn''t. For a change, she seemed willing to listen, at least consider the possibility, so it was a shame that she couldn''t come up with something.


    But she felt it in her bones. She couldn''t be more sure.


    Without anyone asking, that little rat started telling the story of his life.


    "Before I got my powers, my world was drowning in darkness. An infection like tar, spreading everywhere, trapping people and animals, pulling them with skeletal hands. Yes, like the substance that the creature on the island expelled, only without the creature. Appearing out of nowhere.


    Yes, she had made the connection without him having to tell her anything. She wasn''t stupid.


    "What the hell are you getting at?" Cynthia asked.


    It was becoming increasingly clear that this man didn''t want to get anywhere in particular. His end had come, and he was just talking, without rhyme or reason, no greater purpose. As if he were in a hurry to leave some kind of mark, now that he was going to fail. Now that his world was going to be wiped off the map, his world, his loved ones, and all his effort over the years.


    The only trace that would remain of all that would be his presence in the memories of his enemies.


    It was disgustingly ironic.


    "I rose to the challenge. I stopped it, healed the world. Only to be dragged into the game. Only for my eyes to open. Maybe it''s all just a bad joke. Maybe... But I have to have hope. Hope is the last thing you lose, isn''t that what they say? Tell me, do you have anything left to lose?"


    Because he didn''t. Anymore.


    "Kill him already," Heather ordered.


    Cynthia did it easily. The enemy, whose name they still didn''t know, had no way to resist at this point.


    At that very moment, Heather''s soul separated from her body and flew to some distant place. Above this space, the city, the clouds.


    From one space to true space, perhaps, a blackness in which only distant planets and even more distant stars floated.


    Heather suddenly understood.


    Roman had been the first Champion of his universe. After his death, supposedly there were two left.


    But after killing this one, they had managed to get front-row seats to witness the end of a universe.


    ***


    Sylvester felt a strange sensation, his body failing him, shutting down, for no reason. That, of course, also applied to his wings, which were as much a part of his body as anything else.


    Never before had he felt so violated, to the point that while describing circles in the air, falling, he only thought of that sensation. Like losing consciousness but still being able to observe what was happening to you. Eyes open, able to think, feel fear, but unable to do anything to prevent it. Some would say the word he was looking for was coma, but he could still move his limbs, to some extent, though it was futile.


    But he stopped thinking about that, in any case, and stopped seeing what he was seeing. His soul took flight to a very different place.


    Toward the precipice on which a universe teetered.


    4 Sylvester, Heather, and Cynthia. The three remaining Champions, still undefeated. What the three beheld was the following:


    There was an explosion.


    There was fire among the stars, being born or dying. Maybe there wasn''t much difference.


    Galaxies spinning and abruptly stopping, but with a strange naturalness, like a clock ceasing to function for no particular reason. Time took everything, nothing was eternal, no more, no less.


    Planets exploding in unison, as if it were vengeful, pushing many important things out of place.


    Black holes going crazy, swallowing everything nearby and far away without a trace.


    One disaster after another.


    A cosmic-scale disaster.


    It started with that and then continued with things for which humans had no words. They couldn''t, because it was like witnessing the reverse beginning of the universe. When that unimaginable horror ended, the three were expelled back into their bodies.


    Back to their reality.


    5 Sylvester found himself at the base, not in that strange space. Ryan was beside him too. Apparently, everyone had returned to the moment and place from which they had been dragged into that dark void and beyond, as if it had all been nothing more than a dream.


    But it had been real.


    Everything he had heard and witnessed. He didn''t know how, maybe the enemy had killed itself, maybe it had encountered Cynthia, Heather, or both and received its due.


    The point was that someone or something had finished the job for him, and had witnessed the death of the universe to which Roman and the others belonged. They had assumed that at least two would remain, but had only one really remained?


    What does it matter? The point is, they had won.


    Ryan got up, growling, beside him.


    "What did you see?" Sylvester asked, having to raise his voice to be heard above the noise, despite how close they were. They weren''t the only ones who had returned, after all; the union agents filled the hallway and were scared, talking loudly, complaining, trying to understand.


    "People I failed. My parents, my... I don''t want to talk about it."


    "I understand. I had the same experience, only I failed a lot more people."


    "Is it over?"


    "Didn''t you see that, in the end?"


    "I was wandering, trying to find you, and then I came back here. I don''t know how, I don''t know when. That''s it."


    "I saw a universe die. Those from that world, at least, won''t be a problem anymore."


    Ryan reacted as if he had been slapped. He lowered his head.


    "I know it was necessary, but... My God."


    It was a hard pill to swallow.


    Everyone knew what was at stake, what would happen to the loser, but... Knowing it was very different from seeing it with your own eyes. And Ryan hadn''t even seen it. Probably because he wasn''t a Champion, but still.


    If he had... Well, better this way. That man had already suffered enough.


    "What about me?" wondered an inner voice, dark and selfish. "To hell with me, as usual," it answered.


    Cynthia reached them, making her way through the crowd. She had something in her hand. A rolled-up paper. Heather wasn''t far, she didn''t seem disturbed, even though she should have seen that horrible spectacle too. Sylvester didn''t know why it surprised him.


    "Was it you?" Ryan asked.


    "The one who killed him, you mean? Yes, but that''s not what matters now," Cynthia added. "Look."


    She unrolled the paper, showing it to them. Sylvester didn''t understand a damn thing, except that they seemed to be plans.


    "What is this?"


    "We think these are plans for a machine, probably what they used to open portals to our world," Heather said. "We killed their champions, ended a universe, and here is our reward."


    The Two Remaining Champions, Part 5: FIN

 59. High on Life, Part 1

    Chapter 59: High on Life, Part 1


    <hr>


    The city of Kaleidoscope was in ruins. It had been like this for almost two months, and it would continue for a long time, if it ever recovered. Where restoration efforts could be seen, it was not to make it habitable again for humans. The skeletons of buildings had been reclaimed by vegetation, darkness, humidity, and rats. But also by creatures that didn''t have two or four legs.


    Yes, Kaleidoscope, once a stronghold in the fight against the threat from beyond the stars, was now a city of Lunar Remnants. Most people hadn''t figured out how to transform back, which Sylvester almost appreciated. If it were that simple, considering the number of avoidable deaths throughout his career, it would have been too much for him.


    Things could change overnight. Life kept spinning. Sylvester had been doing more or less the same for ten years, but suddenly he had become a perfect example of how much paradigms could shift. He could hardly believe everything that had happened recently, how much the perspective of things had changed.


    He was observing the city from one of the highest points. Not flying, although he had plenty of energy. He had reached the top of a building, still standing, although bent. Before the catastrophe, it had been average. Now it was among the tallest, technically.


    After reaching the top, flying, he had folded his wings and remained there, observing.


    Until now. Sylvester ran forward, jumped. His hands closed around the zip line, gripping tightly. He slid down the zip line quickly. There were many of these things in the city, for his benefit and others like him. A fast way to get anywhere, avoiding traffic.


    Now there were more than ever, not the other way around. The teams didn''t even have to install them manually. They dropped them from planes, and then the machine followed its program. Seeking the best configuration, connecting with those nearby. Clinging to the strongest grip points they could find. It was a great invention.


    As he slid down the zip line, Sylvester glanced below.


    He could see the Lunar Remnants scurrying around. They, naturally, didn''t look at him with friendly eyes either. He was the greatest killer of their kind in history, after all. But they wouldn''t do anything. They knew he could face the entire city and win, so they couldn''t do anything. Besides, Kaleidoscope remained their city, against all odds.


    Not everyone was happy with that, however, but the people who really made the decisions were aware of what was at stake now. They would never pass the necessary laws and regulations. They would never press the button, launching a nuclear bomb or ten over the ruins of Kaleidoscope. Such efforts would get nowhere.


    Politicians were nothing more than puppets. Even the presidents. They always had been, and that wouldn''t change. The parliament was nothing more than the stage where they acted.


    One would think that the anger of the city''s inhabitants would be mainly directed at Heather, the person who had transformed them in the first place.


    It wasn''t. Quite the opposite, they not only tolerated her, they adored her. It was so strange that she had asked Heather about it once.


    "Have you brainwashed them?"


    "Something like that."


    She had admitted it so casually. Impassive as always. Was she, or was it just that she felt things differently? Because, after all, she wasn''t a human being. She wasn''t even used to wearing clothes yet.


    "That goes against our agreement. I told you we would fight together as long as you were an ally of humanity. I know it would harm our chances of survival, but if you try..."


    "Relax, man. I said something like that, not that I had literally brainwashed them. I transformed them, so I''m like their mother, I guess. They instinctively understand me. They need me, I suppose. I don''t know how to explain it. In any case, it''s not something I can change or turn off. They''re not so different from any human in that respect."


    "Not so different?"


    "Of course. You need someone to watch over and take care of you so much that you''ve invented a Heavenly Father and Mother, always present."


    He could almost hear the capital letter in the way she emphasized those words.


    "I guess," was all he said then.


    Sylvester reached the end of the zip line. From there, he took another one, and another. Until he reached his destination. The last zip line he took pointed to the ground. Sylvester landed on his knees on the grass.


    There was a portal in front of him, encapsulated in a bubble. He could see things moving on the other side. Strange, alien things, but they hadn''t tried anything yet. There should have been two portals, but when Rom¨¢n''s universe and the others had died, the portal had disappeared without a trace as a consequence. There really was nothing left.


    In fact, Sylvester remembered his recent battles. What he had suffered against that giant robot and the ambush from the invisible, imperceptible enemy. But with each passing day, it became harder for him to remember their faces, their names, the specific details.


    It seemed an unnatural effort to remember them. So it seemed that soon there would really be nothing left, not even memories. The enemy had expressed that wish before dying, at least to remain in the memories of their enemies. Cynthia had told him. But life was cruel. He wasn''t even going to fulfill such a simple wish.


    Something came out of the bushes. No, someone. She had a human appearance, but clearly, she was not a syndicate agent. You could tell just by watching how she moved.


    The woman approached him. Oh, from the description he had been given, this was Elizabeth who had tried to help Cynthia and Ryan when they all assaulted the island. That day seemed distant, as if years had passed since then and not just months. So she had survived the disaster, the invasion of two worlds. Huh.


    "What do you want?" Sylvester asked.


    "Getting straight to the point, huh? I like it. I just want to make sure you''re not here to chop off my head. I did try to help. I was just working with information."


    "Yeah. Mysterious huge, shiny stones, making the vegetation around them die and the environment change. I perfectly understand why you thought they were for a sinister purpose instead of the truth."


    "The truth?"


    "A defense system. If it had been so easy to realize that Heather was not necessarily against humanity, I would be more angry with myself for not seeing it. She had been against humanity. The first thing she had told him was that the time of humanity had come to an end. He remembered it like it was yesterday. It still echoed in his ears. She had simply changed her mind after seeing that both had bigger problems. It would be foolish to fight among themselves when there were already hundreds of worlds wanting to exterminate them to ensure their survival."


    "Is that all?" Sylvester asked.


    "Yes. I''m not a complicated girl. I just want to eat and live in peace."


    Sylvester frowned.


    "Supplies will continue to arrive regularly. Peace, I can''t promise you. Neither can anyone. As long as you don''t become an enemy of humanity, I won''t have to chop off your head, as you said."


    "I know I don''t stand a chance against you. I barely escaped from that hotel alive."


    "So you''re one of those Parasites. You''re not the woman; you have control of her body. Why would you tell me that, giving me a reason to kill you? Stupid."


    "Hey, hey, calm down." The thing raised its arms from its head in submission. "It''s not that. It''s not what you think. She, Elizabeth, agrees with this. And we actually share control of the body. If she''s not in control more often, it''s because I don''t want her to be."


    Sylvester took a step forward.


    "I told you to calm down."


    "Give me a reason to believe you, quickly."


    That''s what she did. The behavior and body language of the person in front of him changed in the blink of an eye. She had been scared before, but now she couldn''t even look him in the eyes, shrinking into herself. Acting like a civilian, not like a monster that fed on other human beings.


    "Mr. Sylvester, please..."


    It wasn''t an act. It wasn''t possible for her to perform such a perfect act to deceive him. Now she was talking to a different person. That is, to the person.


    "Why would you do that? Give her control of your body, coexist with...?" He furrowed his brow even more. The words to finish that sentence had been choking him. He didn''t want to finish it. Or rather, he couldn''t? "I don''t understand."


    "I feel... safe."


    "Before she entered my life, I was just a... victim. A victim of my parents, first. Then of my husband."


    "Oh."


    He couldn''t understand, couldn''t even imagine what it would be like to live that way. But those four words had told him enough. She was simply traumatized, that''s all. The Parasite was like a security blanket to cling to.


    It seemed absurdly twisted, insane, but in reality, it was very simple.


    "I''m sorry."


    Elizabeth shook her head.


    "I brought it on myself."


    "No, that''s not true."


    "You can''t tell me what''s true or not. I''m saying I brought it on myself, not that I deserved it. I''m not that bad. I brought it on myself, with my bad decisions. There were so many times when I chose to stay, give him another chance, or make excuses for him. I didn''t deserve it, but I brought it on myself. That''s the problem with life. The biggest obstacle. You get what you look for, not what you wish for, all the time."


    Sylvester looked away. The pain in her eyes made him uncomfortable.


    The emptiness in her dark eyes seemed capable of engulfing him and leaving nothing behind.


    "And now, are you happy? Is that how you are?"


    "I don''t know if I''ll ever be able to be happy again," Elizabeth replied without hesitation. "But I''m sure, at least. At peace. Maybe that''s all anyone can ask for."


    "Maybe." He didn''t know what to say. Not anymore.


    "Do you understand now? Am I no longer a mistake to correct in your eyes?"


    "I... I''ll leave you alone, I promise. As long as..."


    "I have her under control. We only killed a monster."


    Her husband? Yes, surely her husband. There was no need to check the records.


    "Okay."


    "It''s been... good seeing a hero up close. You''re not like I imagined."


    He looked at her eyes again.


    "How did you imagine me?"


    "Bigger than life and ten times tougher."


    Sylvester smiled ironically.


    "Maybe I was like that, once, but now I have a better perspective."


    "Of what?"


    "People just trying to do the best they can. That''s all we can do and all we can ask of anyone."


    "True. It''s been a pleasure meeting you."


    "The same goes for me." Surprisingly.


    The woman disappeared back into the forest, among the bushes. To live her life and do the best she could. Like everyone else. For his part, Sylvester returned his gaze to the portal in front of him. Floating ominously in the air.


    Considering their very bad luck, it was surprising that there had been no other invasion with the door still open. Thank God for small miracles. Or whoever the hell was watching. There was a higher existence, clearly; only something like that could orchestrate this death game. But it wasn''t the benevolent deity that Ryan still believed in.


    The most terrifying thought was that all of this was their version of benevolence. Some kind of universal clearing, a necessary process. Something that might have repeated a thousand times before this and would repeat many times after. Yeah. He tried not to think about that at all.


    Better to focus on things he could do something about, the enemies he could actually hit. Otherwise, he would go crazy. Or crazier than he already was, what the hell did he know? He wasn''t a good judge of anything.


    Sylvester was the first to arrive, but not the last. Heather arrived approximately twenty minutes later, flying, of course. She landed beside him without saying anything. There was nothing to say.


    They waited. Not long after, a helicopter arrived. The doors opened, revealing the machine inside. The portal machine. It was as good a name as any. The real question was whether it would work.


    They lifted the bubble. Among three dozen people, they dragged the machine, placing it in position. Sylvester or Heather could have done it without help, but neither of them moved from where they were. Of course, Cynthia and Ryan had arrived in that helicopter. They didn''t exchange words, just looks. This was a decisive moment in human history.


    If they failed, in the end, they wouldn''t have a history. They wouldn''t have a damn thing. At best, they would be a footnote in the survivor''s history. At best. The universe that would eventually end them didn''t have to be the ultimate winner.


    And even then, they might not even become a footnote in the history books if they were forgotten before anyone could write it down. Would even the written material, the photos last? Sylvester thought unnecessarily. Or would it be erased like everything else?


    He shook his head. He had to focus. He hadn''t slept much, as usual, but all the more reason.


    They started the machine. Sylvester waited with bated breath. A white energy shot out of the cannon, so bright it could blind. Sylvester had to squint, but he saw enough even before the energy disappeared. The portal had been successfully closed. One less thing to worry about.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    After receiving the "prize," this was the first thing everyone had thought about ¨C not opening a portal to another universe to attack, but to take proactive action, for a change.


    "Something had to go right," Ryan said. At this point, he should have learned not to tempt fate. Nothing happened, though. Not yet.


    "I wouldn''t sing victory so quickly," Cynthia said. That. Exactly that.


    The machine worked. They had managed to close the last portal, at least slowing down a second attack from those monsters, but it was only the first step. The idea was to mount an offensive. To attack, not just react. If they got caught up in the enemies'' rhythm, they would wear them down slowly. The only possible outcome would be defeat and annihilation.


    That''s why the best defense was a good offense.


    They would test step two right here and right now. There was no time to celebrate. They started the machine again, but this time to do just the opposite. It worked. It opened a portal to a world, and that was what mattered. There probably wasn''t any chance to go wrong; all worlds would be involved in this.


    What could be seen on the other side of the portal? Not much, to be honest. Clouds. Mountain peaks that looked like giants. Since they could only see a portion, Sylvester had no sense of scale.


    But, one way or another, it was a success. The engineers had managed to assemble it, and it worked. He knew, in theory, it was just following the plans. In theory. But they didn''t have anything like that available in their world; it was something they feared they weren''t prepared for yet.


    So it was a relief to see that the effort had paid off.


    How many worlds would be involved in this war? Hundreds, thousands? Attacking the worlds one by one was not much better than waiting to be attacked and dealing with the attackers. It was a war of attrition anyway, on an unimaginable scale. But... It was the best they could do. It would have to be enough, for now.


    Of course, he thought, this is only step two. Gradually, they could achieve anything. Wasn''t that a summary of human history? The hairless monkeys that came down from the trees. Who would have imagined they would reshape the world in their image?


    The portal machine wasn''t the only thing that had to arrive. The last "gift" was an aircraft for traveling through the strange and hostile world, modeled like one of the ancient ships. Sails and all, although only decorative. In the back, they installed the portal machine, in case they needed to make a quick escape, and passing through the previously opened portal wasn''t enough. Of course, the machine here was not the only one. They were striving to produce many of them, just in case.


    It always paid to be cautious.


    And they weren''t going to do this alone.


    Groups of agents approached them, already aboard the ship-shaped aircraft. Among them, two stood out. Adam, the man they had seen in the news, the one who saved people from that ship. The second person made herself known, practically throwing herself at him.


    "My name is Emerald. It''s an honor to work with you."


    "I see. Thank you," he replied, feeling a bit stupid. Admiration was unpleasant, but it was also challenging to handle. He was well aware that he wasn''t someone to admire. Even if he wanted to be. Even if he pretended to be.


    As Elizabeth said, he thought, we get what we seek. Not what we want. I''ve sought both.


    Emerald didn''t seem to think he had said anything stupid. Her smile widened, and she blushed a bit, shaking his hand vigorously. Well, at least she had spirit; that couldn''t be denied. It was important for doing her job well and for surviving. Having spirit.


    Do I have it?


    He supposed he did. Not a pure one, but he wouldn''t be frustrated because Heather surpassed him in every way if he had lost even his spirit.


    They finally set off. A single aircraft, not a fleet. They were on a reconnaissance mission, not at war. Not yet. In theory, it should be as simple as exploring the planet, looking for large population centers, and quickly fleeing with the machine if necessary. Something simple, with little risk, where ideally, he wouldn''t have to do much.


    In ideal circumstances, but when were they ideal? In theory, but when did plans survive contact with the enemy? Sylvester leaned forward, resting his hands on the railing. He felt the wind on his face.


    The biggest problem was the Champions. Maybe they could kill regular residents easily, but the Champions would be another story. They had to assume they were as strong as them, probably stronger. Plus, they couldn''t kill everyone on the planet. It was neither practical nor feasible. But they still lacked a way to find the Champions before acting. It would be easier if they could act as assassins instead of sounding the drums of war.


    "What are you thinking, sir?" Emerald had decided to join him on the deck. Eager, as if she believed that every word coming out of his mouth would be a pearl of wisdom that would leave her in awe. It would make him feel stupid again, but he had no good answer.


    Or at least a response beyond the obvious.


    "I hope nothing happens," Sylvester said.


    "That makes sense. After all, you''re so... noble," she replied.


    Sylvester tried not to grimace. Noble? If only she could see me through your eyes. Life would be easier.


    "Noble?" he questioned.


    "Yes. I''m sure you didn''t see me, but I was in the square on the day that thing was born. And I saw you. I saw you fight."


    "Sorry, I don''t see how that''s relevant."


    "It became obvious that you''ve been holding back all this time. You wouldn''t go so far as to endanger innocents just for that, but I saw that you were holding back. Even that katana is a way to do it. You could do so much more by throwing it away, using your body as a weapon, your powers from the rumors. It must feel like living in a world made of glass. Always having to be careful because with a slight deviation, you could kill dozens of people at once and cause great destruction."


    Had she paused to take a breath? He wasn''t really sure.


    "Does that make me noble?" he asked.


    "Of course. You don''t care about what they whisper behind your back, the hatred. You allow them to feel bigger than they are. Everyone knows you''re powerful, but if they saw what you''re truly capable of, they wouldn''t be able to say a word."


    He wished he could say she was right. It would be a good thing, though exaggerating to call it noble. But she wasn''t right. In most situations, he restrained himself for fear of collateral damage. When he didn''t, it was more for public relations than altruistic reasons. People had to look up and see a savior, a hero. Not a monster who could wipe them off the map. Not a being who could hardly be called human.


    That was it.


    He wished things were different, but that was it. She was wrong, but she said it with such certainty, as if she knew him. This was the first time they spoke. But what could or should he say now? "You''re completely wrong? I''m not someone to admire?"


    Sylvester hated this. He didn''t know what to say or when to say it. Lack of practice, and when circumstances pushed him to practice, it was always easier to stay silent. A vicious circle.


    "Oh, sorry. I got sidetracked," she quickly interjected, saving him from having to respond.


    "It''s okay. It''s nice to know someone sees me in a positive light," she continued.


    "I don''t want anything bad to happen, of course."


    "But?"


    "But I partly want to see you in action." There it was. "I want to fight by your side, even though you don''t need me. Even though you don''t need anyone. That''s why I volunteered for the mission."


    "Did you do that?"


    "Yes. I wouldn''t lie to you, never, about anything. Seriously."


    "It''s not that. I just didn''t think they had to ask for volunteers."


    "Oh, I understand. I understand. I''m sorry." She blushed even more. It would be easy to misinterpret and think she was in love with him or something, but that wasn''t the case. He believed she would act the same way even if Sylvester had been a woman. He supposed she had just made a strong impression on her.


    "Don''t worry. I was just saying, you know."


    "I think," she replied, very serious.


    Maybe that hadn''t been the best thing to say. He felt more and more uncomfortable, in any case. Even more so because she seemed not to notice it at all, strangely, instead of the other way around. Did it matter that he was messing up even if she didn''t realize it? Clearly, it did to him, as he couldn''t relax. Ironic that I¡¯m asking her to do that, he thought.


    What should he do now? Tell her the truth, shatter her hopes? And for what? Would it change anything for the better? The woman would still be on a dangerous mission for which she had volunteered based on premature conclusions about him.


    He decided to leave her be. She would learn the truth on her own, that he wasn''t as good as she thought, if she stayed by his side long enough anyway.


    Sylvester put a hand on Emerald''s shoulder, squeezing.


    "What I meant to say is that I''m glad to have met you," he said. The same phrase he had used with Elizabeth, more or less. He felt stupid again, although she hadn''t been present for that conversation. Even worse, he felt insincere. That was nonsense too. He was being sincere, he knew. "So you don''t have to worry..."


    "I understand. Thank you."


    Did she understand? Well, good for her, because he wasn''t sure he did. He had been unable to finish the sentence, futilely searching for the right words, although she had probably interpreted it differently. Despite everything, maybe she did understand. Maybe this was one of those things that didn''t need words. That, in any case, were so small. So prone to misunderstandings. He didn''t like them.


    "You''re welcome," he replied.


    Immediately afterward, Sylvester left the deck, entering the aircraft. It didn''t take long to find Heather. As expected, she was alone. The others had accepted her presence, but they still avoided her whenever possible. She didn''t seem to give a damn. He wondered if she had ever seemed to care about anything, however small.


    Maybe during their fight in the blood-soaked square, crossing the night with the help of dark wings. Maybe when he baptized her as Heather. Maybe... Well, it didn''t matter.


    Heather wasn''t naked. She wore knee-high stockings, a black pleated skirt, and a white dress shirt with two convenient holes in the back for her wings. It felt a bit out of place, like something a teenager would wear, but she had chosen it herself. Who was he to argue?


    Technically, Heather was a few months old, but it didn''t matter. First, because she didn''t act like a baby. She wasn''t human, not remotely normal. Second, because humans perceived the world mainly through sight. It was impossible to connect what he knew about her and the time of her birth with what his eyes told him.


    She appeared to be his age, if not older. To the point where comparing the age of someone made of ''black glass'' with a human seemed irrelevant. It was as if she was mocking him. But what could he do, lie to himself, pretend she was human where it mattered? The fact was, they didn''t belong to the same species.


    Anyway, Heather was looking out one of the windows. But he had no doubt she had sensed his arrival.


    "I see you have a groupie now."


    That was the only thing that surprised her.


    "How did you find out?" It''s not that it bothered him. Well, it was a bit embarrassing, but Emerald wasn''t exactly subtle. The whole ship would find out sooner or later. But this quickly? Seriously, how?


    Heather shrugged, almost as if she had heard his thoughts.


    "I have good ears."


    "It shows. Damn."


    "Does it bother you?"


    "Not really, but I''m not proud either."


    "What''s wrong with being adored? Still, she''s right. She believes you''re powerful, a god among men. Thinks you''re kind and patient. Where is she wrong?"


    "First off, I''m not a god, I''m an unlucky bastard who won the lottery for a ticket to an interdimensional death battle. And I''m not as good or patient as she thinks."


    "It doesn''t matter because you are. So, not that good? Do you think it''s a matter of degrees? How good and patient do you have to be before she''s allowed to worship you for it?"


    Sylvester frowned, lips pursed. The conversation had shifted from uncomfortable to perhaps even worse.


    "You skipped a point."


    "Do you want me to argue about why you don''t like it? I think your actions speak for themselves in that. You could have told her what you see as the truth. Crushed her hopes and expectations."


    "I... It''s not like I enjoy it. It''s just that, what would I gain from that? It would only hurt her. No benefit. I can endure some discomfort if having a too-good opinion of me helps her cope with all this."


    "So it''s true? You don''t like it? She''s an attractive girl, I think."


    "You thought...? No!" He raised his voice a bit too much, maybe. He didn''t want to draw attention.


    "You talk as if she''s ten or twenty years younger."


    Emerald was of legal age. She had to be to become a Union agent. And she didn''t seem younger than Cynthia, who was almost her age. But...


    "Still, it would feel like I''m taking advantage of her, considering how she sees me."


    "Pity."


    "Pity?"


    "I wouldn''t mind if you wanted to take her. I can''t give you that, after all. Nothing between the legs. I guess I could improvise, but it doesn''t seem very feasible."


    What?


    "It''s not that I want to ''take'' Emerald, but I''m not sure why you''re talking as if I need your permission. As if we''re in a relationship, talking about opening her up."


    Had Heather misunderstood something he had said or done?


    "We''re not, but I guess I see it as inevitable, sooner or later."


    "Inevitable."


    "Yes." She turned her head to look him in the eyes for the first time since the beginning of the conversation. "Are you that surprised? We''re alone in the universe. All universes, maybe. There''s no one like us, and living beings aren''t good at being alone. Not really, even though they want to pretend."


    "That might have been true when we met. Being alone in the universe. But Cynthia is like us."


    This conversation was surreal. He couldn''t believe it was happening.


    Heather shook her head.


    "No. She may have powers, but she''s not like us. She''s a human. Plus, I''m not into women."


    Was that a joke? True, but was it also her way of adding a bit of humor to the situation? Difficult. All of this was damn difficult. He wished he had stayed asleep in his cabin.


    He examined her closely. Given the tone of the conversation, she might misinterpret things, but it seemed like she had been doing it for a while anyway.


    He thought of her as a woman, but that was mostly because of the way she saw herself. At first, she had called herself a princess, not a prince, after all. And she had accepted the name Heather without protesting. But she had nothing between her legs. She had no breasts. Not that she had many curves either. Many women didn''t, of course.


    The point was that he had always taken her at her word, basically. There was something feminine about her eyelashes, her facial features, and the shape of her face, but it could have been the face of a young, slightly effeminate man.


    Heather was a woman because that''s how she considered herself, and he had always thought of her as a woman, but there weren''t many traces of it. To put it in a way.


    He didn''t know where he was going with this. Maybe he was considering if he could be attracted to her? Seriously considering her for a relationship? Maybe. Maybe not.


    Today was turning out to be a very confusing day.


    "Heather..."


    After Cynthia, he could mention the Lunar Remnants, but that would be unfair on many levels.


    Yes, he had initially known her as Lunar Princess.


    But she had been a newborn, as peculiar as it might be, and had simply clung to the first thing she found.


    A role, albeit a false one.


    She could transform people into Lunar Remnants, and her creations were inclined to believe and obey her, but at the same time, they couldn''t be more different and separate. Heather wasn''t a Lunar Remnant, and there was no special reason for the existence of those creatures. They were an accident for which they still had no details. Maybe they would never have them, but Sylvester was satisfied with his hypothesis. Well, it was more Heather''s hypothesis than his.


    She approached.


    Suddenly she came so close that her shoes brushed his. From that position, she brought her face even closer, without looking away. Sylvester remained frozen. Was she really going to...?


    Nothing happened. After a while, she pulled back, intertwining her hands behind her back.


    "Maybe I did misinterpret some things."


    Having said that, she turned around and went back to her spot to look out. He gained nothing from this conversation. He was more nervous than before, more confused. One thing was clear, Heather had declared the conversation over. It was a relief, but also disappointing, nonetheless.


    What a mess, he thought, shaking his head. What a damn mess.


    He should have ended a personal conversation as soon as he saw signs, given the circumstances. It was too easy for things to go wrong, to end up hurting feelings or agitating people. Probably both. But of course, hindsight was always too easy.


    He didn''t know what to think about Emerald now, and he didn''t know what to think about Heather, whom he thought he knew.


    Sylvester walked away, sighing to himself.


    People were complicated. A married couple could spend a lifetime together and not know everything about each other. The submerged part of the iceberg was always larger. But knowing this didn''t make it any easier.


    Now... Now, he needed a distraction.


    No one would offer to train with him given the circumstances, and regular agents wouldn''t provide much of a workout. He could rule out the more physical ways of burning off stress. He briefly thought about Emerald, about what Heather had suggested. I don''t want that. And she doesn''t either, she doesn''t see me that way.


    That''s exactly what he should have told Heather. In his defense, he had been caught off guard. He still felt off balance. Well, hindsight, again.


    Emerald wasn''t an option he wanted to pursue, even if she was willing.


    After the bombs Heather had dropped, he wasn''t sure he could have a safe conversation with Cynthia or Ryan. So, what was left?


    Well, it was clear.


    "Story of my life."


    Sylvester went back to the deck as if escaping from Heather. Well, he could erase the how, who would he be fooling? He had half expected to run into Cynthia or Ryan, as if he had to go through all his teammates. The close ones, at least.


    Empty. What a relief, seriously.


    Of course, they could be watching him from the cockpit, but as long as they didn''t bother him, it was as if they weren''t there.


    After a while, the ship stopped. They had spotted a population center at last. The buildings were as tall as the old skyscrapers, if not taller. It seemed to be a humanoid city, though not necessarily human. What kind of being would inhabit there?


    Like Roman and the others, basically human but larger? Star Trek-type aliens, who were basically only different from humans in the color of their makeup, or stranger things? In any case, they were all his enemies. It was good to have spotted such an advanced population center.


    It meant, among other things, that they were dealing with a civilization, not scattered tribes in caves and makeshift tents. In a sense, it was better this way because if they weren''t organized, it would be practically impossible to find the chosen Champions. They would have to exterminate the planet, one by one, and hope to get lucky. Which would take too long, even if it were easy. And it wouldn''t be. No matter how much they were his enemies, it wouldn''t be.


    Because no one could handle a massacre on that scale without breaking down.


    No, genocide, he thought as he looked down from the clouds at that city whose name he didn''t know, full of lives unknown to him too. It would be genocide. Let''s call things by their names, without softening it.


    We did one already, though not directly. We saw it through to the end.


    It almost tore me apart, but it was only the beginning. What we''ll do here won''t be the end. Far from it.


    High on Life, Part 1: FIN

 60. High on Life, Part 2

    Chapter 60: High on Life, Part 2


    I wouldn''t mind if you wanted to take her. I can''t give you that, after all.


    The last thing he wanted was to think about that conversation.Sylvester wanted to pretend it never happened, even though he knew Heather would never allow it. Not for long, in any case. But he couldn''t help it. If people could just not think about things they didn''t want to think about, there would be more mentally stable people, and the world would be a better place, perhaps.


    Except for external problems. Like the Lunar Remnants, like this damn game.


    Caught in a dilemma, embarrassed, he hadn''t thought much about it then. But thinking about it now, it was quite sad. He wanted a relationship with his only equal, but he felt incomplete, defective. Sex, of course, wasn''t the most important thing in a relationship. Although too often it kept shitty couples afloat, who then inflicted their shit on the children they shouldn''t have had. But it was important. There were very few people who didn''t care. It was a biological imperative, so to speak.


    And he could never give that to him. There were asexuals, but he wasn''t sexual, and Heather wasn''t interested in finding a partner among the masses of normal human beings. Even those who were a bit more different, diverse.


    So, yes, it was sad. No one wanted to be alone, but their differences ensured that he would always be alone. Being different wasn''t bad. No matter how different you were, you could find people like you nowadays. But being different from everyone, not having anyone to identify with?


    That must be a crushing loneliness.


    Sylvester couldn''t imagine it, in any case. The pain. He had felt alone for a long time, but when it came down to it, he had never been alone. His mother. One companion after another. Cynthia, Ryan.


    But Heather, she... She killed people, I know. Innocents. But still, she turned thousands into monsters, but damn. Is it so bad that I feel pity for her, that I can imagine...?


    What? Imagine what? Sylvester frowned and stopped that train of thought. He wasn''t sure he liked where it was heading.


    There was one more thing to think about, a bit safer. Heather didn''t have many options, but he did. He was privileged. Why was he thinking about it as if it were a great revelation? For ten years, while the world changed and humanity trembled in fear, he had been an invincible, superhuman protector. Fearless.


    For ten years, he thought. But not anymore.


    At that moment... The world, destiny, whatever, provided him with a distraction from his terrible thoughts, all with sharp edges. The worst possible distraction.


    A face appeared in the sky.


    Among the clouds. No, made of clouds.


    "But what the hell?"


    He held his breath. This was a different world, after all. Could it be something normal? No, of course not. The face in the clouds twisted its ''mouth'' into a smile. Stretched that way, he realized it looked like a baby''s face, however poorly defined with only the clouds outlining its shape. A very large baby. And full of malice.


    Dizziness overcame him. Sylvester staggered to the side, and for a moment, he thought he was going to fall overboard. The wings, the wings. But he didn''t have time to activate the ability, nor did he need to.


    Suddenly, he found himself in a completely different place. A narrow, dark hallway. Claustrophobic, almost. The stairs on the side only led to more darkness. Deep, impenetrable.


    "Where am I?" He said it out loud, but it sounded more like a thought. Weightless. Without even an echo in these narrow walls like a cave...


    That was coming down.


    He took a step forward. The hallway shook. As if it were made of jelly, it jumped, shrank, twisted. This isn''t real, he thought. But he couldn''t remember what was real, what he had been doing until now. What is real? What does real mean? My life has been an unreal disaster for a long, long time.


    Another step. Everything returned to its original place, calmed for a moment. But it twisted again when Sylvester reached out and pulled out a knife embedded in the wall. What is this here for? Why am I here?


    He continued down the hallway, knife in hand. Into the darkness. He didn''t get lost in the darkness. He wasn''t swallowed by the shadows. He passed through them, and on the other side...


    An ordinary room. A room he knew well. A room that smelled like a hospital. I feel like vomiting, he thought.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    I don''t want to live in a place like this. I don''t want to die in a place like this. Everything is wrong.


    Sylvester raised the knife with two trembling hands.


    There was a bed. On the bed, the remains of a person who had surely been there for a long time but was still breathing.


    "Oh, I see, that''s what it''s about." A completely unknown voice that seemed to come from nowhere. "Typical. If the body fails first, it''s sad, but at least it ends. If the mind does, it''s like dying before dying, huh? What was your mother''s name again? Ah, Isabela."


    Sylvester shivered. What is happening here? I don''t understand.


    "Isabela was your mother, but this shell is nothing, right? Not even her shadow. You should feel free to hate her as she hates you. There''s nothing wrong with that."


    Even if she doesn''t remember me, she''s my mother, he thought.


    "But she does remember you. Just think that you''re not yourself, right? Why are you trying to deceive yourself? What exactly are you hiding? I can''t wait to find out. There''s nothing more interesting in this world than people."


    He could almost see him licking his lips in anticipation. That unknown voice, that ghost haunting him. The knife trembled over the remains of his mother.


    "Kill her. You know you want to. Push the knife and kill her. No, stake, because she''s just a vampire, right? She''s sucking your blood, stealing life, slowly. She was already dead, deep down, but you can still live. Do it. Follow your heart and do it."


    That''s not true. I don''t... It''s not true.


    "You don''t sound like you trust even your own thoughts. Of course, it''s true. For starters, I know you better than you know yourself. People are like icebergs. Ninety percent or more is underwater, and people can live quietly without looking, without exploring those waters. But I''m inside you. All your doors are open to me. I know exactly who you are, how you are. You can''t hide from me, from your pain and..."


    Don''t say it.


    "Your hatred. We are enemies, and I''m not doing this because I want to help you, no sir. But you shouldn''t be ashamed of that. It''s normal. It''s very easy to love someone who loves you and hate someone who hates you. It''s the most natural, the simplest thing in the world. What you should be ashamed of is that you were the first to step away. Maybe you were still a child, but that''s not an excuse. You were old enough to know what you were doing. You let it get to your head and poisoned your relationship with your mother. Ah, now I understand, the pieces fit. Deep down, that''s what you''re ashamed of. You think she wouldn''t have lost her mind if you hadn''t lost yours first.¡±


    A cruel laugh.


    "What a bad son. She wasn''t a perfect mother, but she didn''t deserve an ungrateful piece of shit like you as a son. No wonder you can''t stand it. It''s one of the worst mistakes one can make, and you have no way to fix it. The opportunity slipped through your fingers with the illness. So, lower the knife. Kill her before things get worse."


    The wretch opened her eyes. She fixed her dead gaze on him. There was nothing there, really, not even hatred. But he... He hated her. He shouldn''t. I''m a good person, I''m a good son. He shouldn''t. But he did. Lowered the knife. Stabbed the stake into her heart, and the vampire regained her strength on the brink of death. The strength given by blind desperation, the fear of dying.


    She twisted and spat blood from her mouth as she showed her long, shiny teeth and extended her trembling, flabby-skinned arms towards his neck. But her hands didn''t reach anywhere. She died miserably, and with that... Sylvester returned to the aircraft. Back to the reality where only a tenth of a second had passed. He knew that before fully ''waking up'' by feeling his hips hit the railing.


    He reacted quickly, out of pure instinct, and grabbed the railing. Secured his posture. Made sure not to fall overboard. He could have easily saved himself even if he had fallen, but that didn''t mean it was okay to be careless. This was a very important mission, after all, and... What had happened here? The vision. The strange voice. What he had done, with his own hands... That wasn''t real.


    Mom had died in front of his eyes, but she simply passed away. He hadn''t murdered her, and he hadn''t wished to. What the hell had happened? The face in the clouds was still there. Twisting, laughing sinisterly, soundless. The face of a baby that couldn''t be more sinister. For some reason, the aircraft began to fall.


    Sylvester had to stab his sword into a wall to avoid falling overboard for the second time in less than a minute. His luck was still as great as ever. He quickly concluded that whatever had happened to him had spread throughout the entire crew. Hence the fall. But if it was just that, they should be able to regain control quickly, and the aircraft showed no signs of stopping the descent. Something else, sabotage?


    Good thing I''m the only person out here anyway, he thought. Inside, they had a better chance of surviving the forced landing. Sylvester climbed the wall as fast as he could, clinging with his nails where he could and thrusting and tearing away the sword.


    He headed towards the cockpit with hope, but not expectation, of stopping this. He wasn''t the type to throw in the towel, waving the white flag, even when it seemed there was no hope, though. If he were, he wouldn''t have come this far. He opened a hole in the window with his katana and slid through. The broken glass grazed him, but Sylvester ignored it. Everyone in the cockpit was unconscious.


    "Well. That explains a lot." He tried to wake them up, and was unsuccessful. They were probably trapped the same way he was. Different illusions for each, however, and different whispered words, pretending to make them destroy themselves. He tried to control this thing, prevent the fall, and had even less success. But he didn''t have to worry about that for long.


    Once, he found himself in a different place, and this time he painfully remembered that he shouldn''t be here, anywhere but here, but he couldn''t do anything about it. What was here? Good question. A too colorful, fantastic, and strange carnival. A carnival floating among the clouds. He saw the roller coaster moving, with a skull drawn on the front, and all the passengers were humans, but different. Like rubber men, legs and arms stretched too long.


    "I feel like I''m high. Could it be? Have these bastards drugged me?" He advanced, and the rubber people disappeared from the roller coaster. No, not exactly. In the ride, only their skeletons remained.


    "Damn." How long would it take for him to be the next?


    High on Life, Part 2: FIN

 61. High on Life, Part 3

    Chapter 61: High on Life, Part 3


    <hr>


    They were under attack, and the enemy was perhaps worse than any of the others because there seemed to be nothing they could do to defend themselves, let alone counterattack. The only comfort Sylvester had was that the time in these hallucinations or whatever they were wasn''t very long. He had held a long conversation with the voice, but in the real world, only seconds had passed. He knew it for sure; otherwise, he would have fallen overboard and had to fly back to the aircraft.


    It was a consolation, yes. But not very effective. It changed nothing. When he returned to reality, the aircraft would still be falling, and he would have little time to do anything about it. This gave him time to think, at least, but he couldn''t come up with anything. And it was very possible that he would have less time each time. That it would become increasingly difficult to resist. It was a chilling thought. That''s precisely why he couldn''t easily dismiss it. He was a pessimist by nature. To be fair, the world didn''t give him reasons to think otherwise.


    A carnival of death, of madness. Sylvester moved forward with the vague hope of finding an exit or the enemy, hidden somewhere. Even if he was doing this from a distance, out of reach, this was a point of contact. So, maybe he was vulnerable here? It felt too convenient, but it made some sense.


    The carnival twisted as they advanced through it, like the dark hallway he had traversed with a knife in hand. All of this was as unstable as a dream. Was it entirely a product of the enemy''s imagination?


    He would see in due time, he supposed. Step by step. At one point, all the attractions changed without apparent reason. They turned into flesh, wet and pulsating. A twisted carnival of flesh and death. What a place to die.


    Sylvester was drawn to the light of one of the attractions. Inside, he found mirrors. Mirrors from the house of laughter, distorting his image. No. His image was completely different. He when he was younger, weaker, and weighed down by the pressure of living with his mother. With something dark in his eyes. And a knife in his hands, bathed in blood.


    Sylvester destroyed several mirrors with a single blow. They shattered into a thousand pieces, but there were still... many more. Too many.


    "Why this, over and over again? I didn''t do anything to her. She died in front of me from natural causes, she just died!"


    He knew that this is what the enemy or enemies wanted, but he couldn''t help it. He hoped it was a united effort because if one of those bastards could do this to dozens of people, they didn''t stand a chance. Was he losing control of himself, or was he being manipulated, defenseless against a sinister power that could manipulate the minds of others? If they could make him perceive whatever they wanted, then feeling what they desired wasn''t a great leap. Or difference. What were feelings if not a reaction to what you see, hear, touch?


    He found himself back on the aircraft. That is, in free fall. He was also falling, and members of the crew with him. Some would just hit the control panel or the windows, bouncing off, but there was also the hole he had opened to get in.


    Sylvester acted quickly, closing it. Using the [Mountain of Needles], concentrating power, he managed to seal the hole. But not just that, of course. If it were just that, he would have created a deadly trap. He crushed the spikes, ensuring no edge protruded. All in a matter of seconds.


    And he succeeded. For all intents and purposes, it was a slightly less safe cushion than usual.


    Sylvester crashed against the control panel, too, and...


    Back to the house of laughter, lying on the floor.


    "Again. Great. Is it so much fun, you bastard? Sure, it is, but not as much as talking, right? Don''t you feel like mocking me, representing some atrocity?"


    Sylvester stood up slowly, leaning on the floor first and then on the mirrors. The ones nearest to him were the broken ones, of course. They shouldn''t be able to cut him, but they did anyway, and he should have seen that coming. He watched as his blood slid down the glass and flowed between the cracks as if mesmerized.


    "I''m not your toy. I''ll catch you, and I''ll kill you."


    He used [Infernal Wings] and took flight, intending to pierce the roof. It just got bigger, moving away. No, it was a response, a conscious action of the bastard who had set this up. He wanted him here. He probably couldn''t even get out the way he came in.


    Sylvester shook his head and landed. Okay, he was willing to play along, at least for now. Anyway, he had no other choice.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    A curtain, another corridor. More mirrors. He looked at his reflections out of the corner of his eye. They were different in this corridor. Not that distorted version of his younger self, representing something that had never happened. Just a distorted version of him here and now, limbs elongated like those rubber men on the roller coaster.


    Was this a wordless conversation? What did he want to tell him?


    He moved quickly, going through one corridor after another. This house of laughter had no end. It was more like a house of horrors. How much time had passed outside? A few seconds, like the other times, or maybe more? Maybe they were about to make a crash landing.


    Seconds later, he checked it with his own eyes. The ground was still far away, but what did it matter? The crew was still unconscious. He assumed that Cynthia and Heather weren''t, that what made them less vulnerable to the effect of this power was that they were the Champions of their planet. But none of them could do anything to change the outcome.


    They were going to crash and burn, it was already too late to do anything. The things the enemy or enemies were forcing them to see only served to prolong the inevitable. An eternal fall into damnation. How many would survive the landing? And the machine, would the machine remain intact? This was exactly the situation they had waited for until they had at least two of these machines to test, doing nothing.


    Maybe they couldn''t win this fight, but they could flee. If it failed during the fall...


    What does it matter? It''s too late already; I made a mistake trying to regain control of the vehicle instead of going for the machine. Pressing a button would have crashed us back to Kaleidoscope, we would have been safe. Damn.


    He was dragged into the illusion again, but he was no longer in the house of laughter. But that was the least of his concerns; he barely noticed. What was truly important was that he had an enemy in front of him. The enemy? Probably not, but he was eager to hit someone.


    He launched an attack. He barely registered the appearance of his opponent. He was the opposite of the rubber men he had seen so far. By the standards of humanity on his planet, at least, he looked like a child. Aviator glasses and eyes too large for his face, as if he had stepped out of a cartoon. But he wasn''t going to let that stop him. Even if he was really a child and not an adult of his species, he was an enemy who had come to kill him. He couldn''t afford to think otherwise about him. Moreover, at this point, compassion would be ridiculous. He had killed countless millions of people. Cynthia delivered the final blow, but it didn''t matter. They all shared that burden. They were all responsible.


    What good would it do now to have compassion? Act as if he were a good person? He just wanted to survive. He just wanted to save everyone.


    And that''s what he would do. By God. He swore by God!


    He reached the enemy in less than a second, but his attack didn''t get anywhere. Sylvester collapsed without apparent explanation. Only after coughing and feeling blood flowing out did he realize that his body had been pierced by many knives. What? Hadn''t he heard anything, hadn''t he seen them coming? Impossible...


    Sure, maybe it was impossible. But none of this was real. They weren''t playing by the rules of reality. It was that ''child'' who dictated the rules.


    He was the strongest of all... or almost, but could he be victorious in a mental struggle? Could he defeat a god? As melodramatic as it sounded, the child was the creator of this world, what else to call him if not a god?


    "That''s exaggerating a bit," said the child. "But yes, more or less. Here, I am the power. I have control."


    A shiver ran down his spine. Digging into his memories, reading his mind, even now. What a son of a bitch.


    "You''re very touchy for an invader. You feel like your privacy has been violated. I understand, although it''s hard for me. In my culture, everyone can do this. There''s no such thing. We''re very different. Even organizing these thoughts into words, sentences, is a greater effort than I''m used to."


    ...Of course. Language was very limited, especially compared to direct mind-to-mind communication.


    "I wish I could understand you, understand you all, and convince you to leave, but I understand that you have no choice. Accepting annihilation, forgetting, is not a decision for any living being. It''s not any consolation..." A dagger appeared in his hands, long and twisted. "But I don''t enjoy it."


    What do I care?


    "You''re to blame. We decided to defend ourselves, and you had to come after us, precisely. Tough luck. You''ll fall like the others... Although I don''t want to see that destruction again."


    The mind-reading monster raised the knife above his head and brought it down with force, holding it with both hands. He believed himself to be Sylvester''s executioner. Sylvester returned to reality before the knife made contact. That was mainly what saved him. He had tried, but he couldn''t move a muscle. The knives embedded throughout his body had immobilized him too effectively. To the point that even after returning to reality, he felt them stuck, felt the pain.


    He had to push him aside. He wouldn''t have much time to act, like all the other times. Probably less time each time. The machine. The portal machine, if only he could activate it... He couldn''t maintain that ''connection'' across worlds. It simply couldn''t be possible. That was his salvation. If he couldn''t defeat a god in his realm, that was his only salvation.


    Sylvester spread his wings.


    He didn''t head towards the window, but forward.


    Violently piercing through wall after wall on his way to the machine. The fastest way was always a straight line. With the limited time he was working under, going out the window and taking a long detour wouldn''t do him any favors. So he took the most direct route, as was natural.


    But it still wasn''t enough. It could never have been enough.


    The aircraft finally completed its eternal fall, and everything went dark.


    High on Life, Part 3: FIN

 62. High on Life, Part 4

    Chapter 62: High on Life, Part 4


    Darkness. The darkness was oppressive as if it were physical. Sylvester slowly realized that there was something very physical pressing against his chest. Piercing through it, penetrating it.


    He opened his mouth. A stream of blood flowed between his lips. It was like a macabre lipstick.


    Although not without effort, he reconstructed what had happened to bring him here. The aircraft had crashed. The portal machine may not have survived the impact. And now, he was under the rubble. Buried in darkness, with a piece of wood impaled in his chest like a stake.


    He coughed, spitting out more blood in the process.


    No, that wasn''t important. What mattered was that the enemy this time had no need to get close to kill him. He remembered it perfectly. The enemy had pulled out a knife. The world it dragged him into might be nothing more than an illusion, but he could die in it; otherwise, it wouldn''t have bothered preparing to deliver the finishing blow.


    He could die there; he had no doubt. It was real enough for that.


    And, although his nature as a Champion allowed him to resist, he kept returning to that place more quickly. If he didn''t hurry, tearing apart the debris, searching for the machine, he would be lost. In the real world, he was sore, but he could keep fighting all day. Pain was just pain, and even if he spat blood, it''s not like he was dying; nothing essential was broken or lost. Even if it were, it would regenerate anyway.


    But inside there? In the alien illusion?


    There, he was genuinely weakened, unable to move, at the mercy of the enemy. If he didn''t hurry, he thought as he blindly pushed the debris away, he was going to die.


    He hadn''t hurried enough.


    Suddenly, he was back in that place. Back under the executioner''s ''axe.''


    "Wait..."


    The enemy didn''t waste time with nonsense, but Sylvester saved himself anyway. At the last moment, he grabbed the knife by the blade, stopping it just millimeters from his left eye. The blade was long enough to reach his brain, of course, and he would simply die. He wasn''t as strong as he should be in this place.


    If he were, his wounds would have already healed. Thanks to this power, the enemy could easily kill him, ignoring his incredible strength and regenerative abilities. In the real world, he might be able to split him in half like nothing, but they weren''t in the real world. This thing was the most dangerous enemy he had faced in reality.


    And Sylvester wasn''t even sure yet if this being in front of him was one of the Champions or if anyone in their species could do these things. If it was the latter, did they have even the slightest chance of victory?


    He knew it was his mistake; strange creatures of all shapes and sizes had appeared through one of the now-closed portals in Kaleidoscope, but he hadn''t expected something as inhuman as this!


    An attack for which there was no defense. A being that perhaps didn''t even need to use its special abilities to crush him.


    "You''re going to die anyway. If not now, the next time you return, then I''ll stab this into your brain before you realize it. Before you''re entirely here. I know it goes against the natural survival instinct of any living being, but it''s better if you give up. Only suffering awaits you if you fight."


    His hand trembled as he struggled with him. It didn''t matter; Sylvester''s hand, wet and slippery with his own blood, trembled the most. He didn''t have the upper hand.


    That was very true. Sylvester closed his eyes.


    However...


    "I understand. I''ve been resisting all this time, but..."


    "Are you going to give up? Then let it go already."


    "It was useless. So I understand." Sylvester opened his eyes behind the dark curtain of his hair. His pupils were perhaps too dilated, as if he were drugged. "My life is a game in the hands of some mad god, a meaningless game. I understand!"


    His painful declaration changed the world.


    A target icon appeared above the enemy''s head. In the corner of his vision floated the objective''s description: Kill the enemy.


    There was something that was probably the creature''s name, but he couldn''t read it. It''s not that it was vital information, but for him, it only appeared as four question marks.


    He suspected that if he tried to concentrate, understand, and read it, his head would explode, so he didn''t even try.


    Stolen story; please report.


    All he needed to do was kill his enemy, anyway.


    His life was a game.


    Okay, he would accept it and play it. As long as he was the winner in the end, surviving to see the credits, he could accept anything.


    "How is this possible?"


    Despite his condition and the unfavorable position, Sylvester mysteriously began to gain the upper hand in the struggle. So from the beginning, he had only needed to let go, relinquish control. But... When had he had control of his miserable life?


    He started to laugh, bordering on hysteria.


    If he took one more step, it would inevitably collapse. Unraveling. Unraveling irremediably.


    Sylvester didn''t wrench the weapon from the enemy''s hands, but he didn''t lose the struggle either; it simply came to an abrupt end when the knife broke. He stood up, and, for the first time, the enemy recoiled.


    He could win. He would win.


    He had never had another option.


    Now, he saw things he had never seen before. For example, a bar blinking above the enemy''s head. It didn''t have numbers, percentages, just a green color. It was full.


    Of course, it was full. Even as someone who hadn''t touched a video game for a long time, it was obvious that it was a health bar. How could it not be full if he hadn''t touched the enemy even once? That would change soon, however, he thought.


    "It doesn''t make sense," the enemy insisted.


    Sylvester smiled sweetly at him, as if they were old friends.


    "Poor fool. Nothing about this madness makes sense."


    He took a step forward.


    At that very moment, the funhouse mirrors appeared out of nowhere, showing his twisted reflection, and rushed towards him at great speed to crush him.


    That''s what they did. Crushing him between them as if trying to make him burst. But it didn''t hurt him at all, how could it hurt if it wasn''t real, and he didn''t even have a moment of panic. Because now he saw a way.


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    Alright, he thought, and the mirrors flew instantly as if Sylvester had become the center of an explosion. The glass disappeared after violently shattering.


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    <td style="width: 32.4127%">Destroy the mirrors: 10/10. Objective accomplished.</td>


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    "Impossible. You''re not even one of us."


    Sylvester laughed again.


    "Maybe you''re not the favorite."


    The enemy, no, the prey turned around and started running. Strategic retreats were one thing, but he felt like he was doing it just to buy time to think. That he was driven by fear, not a rational decision.


    They left the circus tent, even though they hadn''t been there a moment ago.


    Only then did the enemy turn around, recognizing that fleeing was useless. Now they were in an open field. They had nowhere to hide, no way to disappear... At least following the logic of reality, which wasn''t true. It was dangerous to assume anything.


    But the enemy felt like they couldn''t escape or had decided they could try something. Otherwise, they wouldn''t be standing there with determination. With that, at least, he could count.


    Dozens of ghostly weapons appeared behind the enemy, shining like freshly spilled blood, an angry red.


    Sylvester mimicked his action almost instinctively, only his were a different color. Almost transparent blue. From the corner of his eye, he saw that his objective hadn''t changed. And that he was still standing, he could still win. If he were defeated, it would say "OBJECTIVE FAILED" after all. There was something relaxing about taking a deep breath and letting go of the reins of his life and his own destiny. Or rather, finally admitting that that''s how things were and had been for a long time.


    He felt like his feet weren''t touching the ground.


    "I''ll drag you from wherever you hide and tear you apart."


    Ghost bullets were fired as they ran to collide in the middle of the illusory space.


    No. They didn''t run; instead, they flew towards the other. And they didn''t exactly collide; only their ghostly weapons clashed, shattering with a single impact as if made of glass. But each one lost was quickly replaced. The wall of weapons behind them didn''t seem to diminish for a moment; rather the opposite.


    They refused to collide in another sense. When it seemed they were about to, they recoiled backward and upward as if they had agreed upon it. Rising above the roller coaster, above the merry-go-round. Rising above the skeletons now populating the fleshy circus of death. They seemed like toys, but at the same time, very real burnt flesh hung from their bones. The contrast itself was as nauseating as the smell.


    One could imagine one of those skeletons standing in some poor kids'' science classroom. Were they entirely fake? Were they lost souls, victims of their enemy? He couldn''t know, and it didn''t really matter. They shouldn''t be able to reach him, and anyway, they moved purposelessly and staggered from side to side. He didn''t believe they posed a threat even in the worst situations.


    Isn''t it obvious? They''re the customers of this circus; they''re just passing through.


    In the air, Sylvester and the unknown alien clashed their arsenals over and over. The air filled with the sound not of metal against metal but of breaking glass.


    "I''m not the favorite, huh? I''m sure, this is unfair. You shouldn''t be able to do even half of what you do. This is your first contact with space ***; even if you were a *****, it shouldn''t be that easy."


    Maybe it was because there were no words for those things in any human language, but he didn''t understand the two most crucial words. Each one felt like a knife in his forehead. He grimaced, squinting.


    "Maybe it is that easy, monster, have you thought about that? Maybe our species is simply superior and deserves to survive more."


    Bathed in the red light of hellish flames, the enemy responded mockingly laughing.


    "You wish. No, something changed. You must have unlocked a new Ability or something; otherwise, I wouldn''t have gotten you on the ropes so easily. What changed?"


    "You said you refused to attack, that you decided only to defend and wait."


    "Huh? Yeah, what about it?"


    Yeah, for him, it must have seemed like a change of subject. He didn''t see what he had to see.


    "Perhaps the difference is that I''m not swimming against the current; I''ve finally accepted my role."


    High on Life, Part 4: END

 63. High on Life, Part 5

    Sylvester and the alien fought atop the ferris wheel just as they had been doing. It was becoming repetitive, now that the initial surprise of their powers had faded. A barrage of various weapons clashed against each other, each slightly different but ultimately similar enough to cancel each other out, destroying one another.


    He wasn''t losing the battle, but he wasn''t winning it either. He wasn''t even close to the victory he so desperately desired. "Something has changed," the aviator-goggled alien had said. And he was right, something had changed, but it seemed it wasn''t enough. To win, he had to go even further beyond this.


    The alien was a small target, like a child. It didn''t have much reach with those stick-like arms and legs. It didn''t need to, considering its various abilities (it had suggested that it was something its entire species could do, something natural for this planet and its people, not part of the Game, after all). Sylvester... didn''t necessarily need it. But it was something his enemy didn''t have, and maybe he could exploit that. That''s what he was thinking.


    His usual katana was also in his hands. It was a stronger, more real weapon than any of the ones being fired from behind him like arrows or bullets. Sylvester slipped inside the enemy''s guard and slashed him from the neck to the groin, if he had one. The blood flowed like a waterfall. It splattered all over his face, blinding him, and he lost control over his flight. Sylvester ended up crashing in the middle of the roller coaster. He knew it before he saw it, before rubbing his eyes with one hand to get rid of the blood, by the spaces between the metal beams.


    The cart was coming toward him, howling even over the voiceless voices of the skeletons, who raised their arms and waved them in the air as they advanced as if genuinely enjoying it, as if this were just...


    Well, a game. Yes.


    That''s what it was, nothing more, nothing less. Yet they could have a voiceless voice, but it was undoubtedly a scream full of agony. They could seem to enjoy it and scream like that at the same time. Even though they had no throat, tongue, lungs, what did it matter? All of this was unreal. The strange and contradictory would be to find things that made sense from one moment to the next.


    Sylvester stood up, stumbled, and almost fell. What did it matter? He could fly, for God''s sake, he always had been able to, but here he didn''t even need the wings. Besides, a fall from this level couldn''t even twist his ankle.


    He had plenty of time to get out of the way. He jumped off the roller coaster and flew toward the enemy instead of waiting there until it arrived, because of course he hadn''t lost a second, he had positioned himself behind his ass even before his knees touched the metal bars.


    The skeletons, by the way, didn''t even bother to do anything to stop him. Extending their bony hand, grabbing his ankle, and pulling him could have worked, but they didn''t. They just kept doing their thing, they were neither friends nor allies, well, good to know, to have things clear.


    Sylvester widened his eyes.


    A moment ago he had opened the enemy from neck to groin. He had seen it with his own eyes before the blood blinded him. It hadn''t been a mistake. But he was perfectly fine now. Not even such a serious wound had been enough to kill him.


    Could that guy, whatever his name was, kill him in space *** (God, what a headache) but he couldn''t? Could he do incredible things, but that was his limit, was there something holding him back, holding him off?


    He shook his head.


    There was no sense in doubting. He had decided, to let go of the reins, to go with the flow. To accept that everything was part of the great Game.


    Those doubts went against his resolution, and he had only started to turn the tide since then.


    Speaking of which, he hadn''t returned to the real world since then, and he didn''t think it was a coincidence. When he had been at the mercy of the bastard alien, his power had struggled to suppress the effects and get him out of here, give him as much time as possible. But now that they were equals, now that he could kill him, not anymore.


    He had to believe it to make it real, right?


    He could kill him.


    "Die once and for all, monster."


    "I am, but what do you think you are? All this talk about you deciding to defend yourselves, pretending you''re better than us. But I see no reason to show myself to my mother, to try to manipulate me, instead of going straight to killing me. You''re just like the rest: a bully, too confident that you won''t get what you deserve. Because you''re the worst kind of bastard. One so convinced he''s the hero of the story that he thinks he can do no wrong."


    He should have realized that sooner, but he hadn''t had time to think about it. It was true, there was no reason for the illusion of his mother, pushing him to kill her.


    That had been nothing but cruelty, and yet he believed himself above this?


    To be better than him? What a bad joke.


    The conversation that shouldn''t have started finally ended. He shouldn''t have let himself be carried away by the impulse to shut him up, he couldn''t even say he had provoked him, with how little he had said.


    He knew that in a life-or-death fight, a second could decide the outcome.


    He knew that if he still had oxygen in a situation like this, he should reserve it for his efforts to stay alive, not to decide things that wouldn''t change anything.


    But it was easy to forget those things in the heat of the moment.


    He directed his mind to more productive things.


    To strategy. The battle returned to its usual rhythm, each arsenal breaking against the other, futilely. A very simple strategy. In a situation like this, what he needed to do was change the rhythm.


    That''s why he didn''t fire all his weapons.


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Instead, he saved some and flew toward the enemy''s ''bullets'', risking being torn to shreds.


    He skillfully dodged most of the bullets.


    He had never expected to avoid them all. The important thing was that he didn''t receive serious injuries. On his shoulders, chest, all over his body, but nothing serious. He wasn''t sure if he could recover as quickly as the owner of this space.


    His strategy, if it could be called that, was simply this. Create an opportunity to exploit the time between weapons breaking and the enemy manifesting others. So far he hadn''t been able to exploit it because they were both equally fast, but now he could.


    The weapons he had saved shot out and hit the enemy effortlessly, who was left without a way to defend himself. Who hadn''t realized his simple strategy until it was too late.


    Each and every bullet hit him. The force of the impact sent him flying.


    The alien crashed into a lamppost.


    Strong, but he was still surprised at how easily the lamppost bent. Only when it started to melt did he realize it was made of candy. Or it was now, a moment ago it surely hadn''t been like that.


    "I don''t delude myself like that, so I''ll tell you straight.," he spoke again, but he didn''t waste time. He flew with the intention of finishing off the enemy before he could get up from the ground.


    "No nonsense. No beating around the bush. If it weren''t because you''re too dangerous to let you live one more second, I would cut off your arms and legs or whatever you have in the real world, bastard, and then I would take you to see your family." The bastard finally reacted, opening his eyes wide, as if surprised. He had gone just as far. No matter that his mother had been dead for many years, now he remembered with horrifying clarity driving a knife into her heart like a stake. That false memory and associated sensations would always mark him like a burn. "To be able to kill you in front of them. Only then would I take you out of your suffering. Like putting down a rabid animal. Because that''s what you are. An animal! And you''re going to pay for it!"


    Sylvester lunged at him, sword in hand, unleashed a blow with blinding speed...


    And nothing, he suddenly found himself back in the real world. This time he hadn''t resisted because of his special nature or his great willpower; he realized he had been expelled to save his neck.


    He gritted his teeth, irritated.


    So close.


    The real world was pain.


    The real world was the darkness of a tomb.


    Slowly he remembered what had happened last "here." He hadn''t been able to prevent the aircraft from crashing, and this had been the result.


    He didn''t stay alone in the darkness for long. A woman''s hands brought light, removing the debris, and tried to pull him out of that hole. Emerald. She smiled when she saw him.


    "Finally found you, sir. I don''t understand what''s happening, except that we''re under attack."


    "What are the others doing?" His voice sounded weak. His throat was dry.


    "It''s over. They''re going to try to use the machine to get back home."


    Like that, with that son of a bitch still alive? He wouldn''t allow it.


    "Leave me here, come with them and make them stop."


    "Huh?"


    "Don''t let them use the machine." He felt her hesitation. "You wanted me to tell you what to do, right? Well, that''s what I''m doing. Just trust me."


    Emerald nodded, got up, and ran back where she had come from. He saw her run across the roof, which was now the floor, before closing his eyes and concentrating. He had pushed him to the limit and had been able to do all those incredible things.


    In comparison, simply coming back should be the easiest thing in the world. Sylvester was a vengeful ghost who still had many scores to settle, oh yes, he did.


    Somehow, Sylvester did it.


    He found himself back in that space before he realized it. About to finish off the enemy, the damn alien. His katana sank into his neck.


    "Wait, I''m the last one." He raised his hands in surrender, as if the gesture had any weight now that he had been definitively defeated and had no other choice.


    The last one?


    Not of his species. Of the Champions, of course. That''s why they had "decided" to stay behind and wait for the enemies to reach them. With their lives depending on a single being, they had been too scared to risk their necks.


    Sylvester smiled cruelly, mockingly.


    He wanted to play the hero, but he hadn''t had a good reason even for his supposed pacifism. He had revealed his true self on the brink of death, as people often did.


    He supposed it was proven that humans and aliens had that in common.


    "You''re not good at negotiating," Sylvester said.


    "Wait, you don''t have to kill me now. I can help you, finding your enemies and killing them from a safe distance."


    He didn''t have to think about it at all.


    "While you wait for the perfect moment to stab me in the back. Tempting, but I''ll pass."


    Sylvester put an end to this.


    By tearing off his head.


    That brought him back to reality, to what was left of the aircraft. In theory, others of his species could find them and attack them, but they didn''t have anything to worry about anymore. It was done.


    It was finally done. Sylvester crawled out of the darkness and joined the others on the deck. By others, he meant the survivors, of course. He doubted that everyone had survived the crash, but he didn''t know ninety-nine percent of the crew, so he couldn''t really feel their losses.


    Just in a vague, disconnected way, like when you see a tragedy on TV and think, "Wow, that''s a shame."


    Just that.


    He was always rather... disconnected.


    He saw that Emerald had kept her promise, although that was also obvious by just looking outside and seeing they weren''t in Kaleidoscope or what was left of it. Cynthia, Heather, and indeed most of them didn''t seem very happy about it, but she had fulfilled it.


    They fell silent as he approached.


    "Ah, you''re here. Thank goodness. This woman has very little patience."


    Yes, and it was obvious that many people''s patience had been on the verge of running out, of snapping like a frayed rope. He couldn''t blame them. They were all soldiers who knew what they were getting into, who had chosen to risk their lives rather than live as comfortably as possible.


    But one thing was to face a damn danger, to attack and defend, and another thing was to have the world collapse on you without being able to do a damn thing about it.


    "Just enough and necessary," Cynthia said, the aforementioned woman.


    "Are you done with this?" Ryan asked.


    "With everything. He was the last of his Champions."


    Someone else had done their dirty work. Since they were there, they could have finished it all, but why look a gift horse in the mouth?


    "Which means we have to get moving, pronto, because we''re stranded in a world that''s about to disappear."


    "I don''t think anything will happen to us, but yes. Let''s go."


    He didn''t feel like seeing that horrible spectacle for a second time; he wanted to look away from the gravity of what he had done, even though he hadn''t hesitated for a second. Even though he didn''t have a choice.


    The machine started up, opening a hole in reality. They may have lost a few poor bastards, but the machine worked.


    The aircraft didn''t, however. It was in shambles; they would have to stay in this universe, whose remaining life was measured in minutes or seconds. Heather pushed the machine toward the portal; he didn''t help her, he didn''t need to. The whole crew disassembled to return home.


    Mission accomplished.


    It never felt like a victory, but mission accomplished.

 64. The Big Boner, Part 1

    Chapter 64: The Big Boner, Part 1


    1


    Sylvester was dancing.


    No, it wasn''t the end of the world, or at least not of this world, as he had earned a few days off by ending a world. Today he had chosen the club with the stupidest name in the nearest city to the base. This was The Big Boner, as the sign hanging above the door attested in more than one sense, they hadn''t thought much about it when designing it and surely hadn''t spent much on commissioning it from whoever. But at least it made things clear, yes, it was a Great Erection, for sure, no one could say they were lying.


    Everything was a bother.


    The lights of the ball spinning above their heads, a constantly changing rainbow, the unnecessarily loud volume of the music pounding his temples, the crowd around him, making the space so narrow that he could barely extend his arms without hitting someone.


    The noise, the claustrophobic lack of personal space. And the sweat.


    The sweat wasn''t very pleasant either.


    At first, he had thought he would wish to be anywhere but here, that for the few days of vacation he had, he had messed up big time, he had ruined it.


    But now...


    Well. To say he was enjoying it would be too much, but Sylvester believed he was starting to understand it, more or less.


    All of that was annoying, no doubt, but it was a bother they all shared. Perhaps that was a necessary part of the experience. Perhaps it would dissolve, transform into background noise, and then he could let loose (metaphorically and literally, his hair was growing and he hadn''t bothered to cut it, so he had just tied it up in a bun) and have real fun.


    Since he was starting to think positively, of course something had to happen.


    Among the crowd of people so drunk they thought they could dance emerged as if nothing, without anyone noticing in any way, a man with a strange sword.


    Wrapped in a dark aura of power.


    Yes, he knew it was different as soon as he saw it. That almost distracted him from the fact that the enemy this time was more of a boy than a man. Although that wouldn''t make his hand tremble, of course.


    "Wait," Sylvester told him.


    He would do what he had to do.


    In this case, it was to whisper, to try to make him listen to reason before people found out and chaos ensued and the opportunity was lost forever. For starters, he had no idea how he had managed to sneak in here without anyone seeing him with a sword like that, but he could leave that for later.


    "There are too many people here. Let''s go somewhere else. The surprise attack has failed and you only need to kill the Champions, so what does it matter to you?"


    Yes.


    The boy must see him as he saw him. Nothing more than an enemy, there was too much at stake to indulge in sentimentality or moral stupidity.


    But it didn''t have to be like that with all the people gathered in this stupid club.


    That boy didn''t respond. Sylvester had spoken the truth, but that didn''t make it any easier to accept, quite the opposite. People didn''t care about the truth, only what they wanted to believe. Or worse, needed.


    In fact, he wasn''t even looking at him. His head was bowed and his hair covered his forehead and eyes. There was something strange, in short, and not just with the sword he carried.


    "Hey. Stop. It doesn''t make sense to start a massacre when, if you win, everyone will die anyway." Yes. There was no need to spread more suffering. Couldn''t they just let the civilians be nothing more than collateral damage, if the worst happened? That destruction was already too horrible as it was.


    Although maybe it would be better.


    It wouldn''t be convenient to say it now, let alone work under that premise, but maybe it would be better if everyone was dead by the time the end came, if he failed.


    He didn''t know.


    He didn''t want to know.


    The boy didn''t want to know anything either. He knew he couldn''t reason with him. It was expected, since they were enemies, but he had to try, he didn''t want another massacre because of him, because of his damn fault.


    Damn. How unpleasant.


    He took a deep breath.


    But it wasn''t over, he could still try to save as many innocent lives as possible... Only now the highest possible number was considerably lower.


    Well, he had no choice but to...


    He didn''t even have time to finish the thought. Sylvester had to dodge a slash by jumping back. If he didn''t hit one of the civilians in his place, it was by luck, pure chance more than anything else. Unless he was holding back. But he didn''t believe so.


    Still, it didn''t matter.


    Many people would die here today. There was no way he could end this without anyone noticing, which was the only way no one would get hurt.


    The presence of a criminal with a sword would sow chaos, they would run like headless chickens, looking for the exits.


    And then many would die.


    If not at the hands of the enemy of humanity, trampled by their own companions with whom they had been dancing so joyfully until then. Thrown to the ground and trampled by a human stampede, unable to scream. Too much happened with less reasons. He remembered an incident in which thirty-four people had died just because some idiot had decided to activate the fire alarm.


    There wasn''t even a fire.


    That joke cost him several years in the shadows.


    In short, bloodshed was inevitable. As usual, no matter how hard he tried, it was. He frowned.


    Another blow.


    He dodged it again without problems, jumping to the side. Anyone who can see me, but not my attacker, must think I''m still dancing. He didn''t know why he was thinking such nonsense at a time like this. And he hadn''t even had a drop of alcohol, as usual.


    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The boy''s blade grazed the ground, he must have intended to split him in half, sparks flew high.


    And it was over.


    "But what the hell?"


    It had lasted long enough, but it was over now. There was no way to control this anymore.


    So, the only thing that could happen in a situation like this.


    Total chaos. Wordless screams.


    For the most part, humanity had grown accustomed to feeling safe after centuries of slaughter, people lived their lives without really thinking they could die until life kicked them in the mouth and forced them to look death in the eyes.


    But the Lunar Remnants crisis, which now didn''t even rank among their top ten problems, had changed even that.


    Now everyone was painfully aware of the fragility of life, living with the sword of Damocles over their heads, ready to cut their necks. This hadn''t led to a more united humanity, but quite the opposite, more division, more anger and hatred. And more drugs and alcohol in places like this, with equally picturesque names. In the past, people died in stampedes like this by accident, driven by panic, simply not realizing what they were doing to another human being. But now? Now they wouldn''t stop even if they realized.


    The spirit of humanity was irreparably stained.


    Not everyone had run, some had simply been paralyzed by fear. And the enemy lunged at one who had screamed but nothing more, there he was standing, waiting for his death. Although not if Sylvester could help it. He didn''t have his katana, but he did have a gun hidden in his coat, yet he didn''t draw it, quickly assuming that the enemy could at least dodge bullets and that therefore he would be faster, this was the only way to stop the bastard before he did something not only horrible but completely unnecessary.


    It didn''t turn out to be a mistake.


    Sylvester positioned himself between the enemy and the stupid but innocent civilian. He punched him in the chest and his fist cleanly pierced him, he clearly felt it shatter his ribs to make its way to the heart, which exploded like a pi?ata. Feeling the viscous blood slide between his fingers, Sylvester didn''t feel the rush of victory or anything like it. Not even when he heard the enemy exhale what was undoubtedly his last breath against his ear, he had plenty of experience in that regard, it wasn''t hard to distinguish and completely impossible to imitate well enough to deceive it.


    There was no doubt the enemy was dead. However...


    "Is it that easy? Seriously?"


    Perhaps it wasn''t the most appropriate reaction, but who could blame him? Life wasn''t like that. Life was full of dark surprises, but not gifts, nothing was given, everything was paid for in some way.


    With sweat, blood.


    Tears.


    2


    Sylvester buried his face in his hands in the only place he had something close to privacy, the only place he felt safe enough to fall apart. There were no tears, at least not yet, but his eyes stung and his vision was already clouding. He saw no reason to hold back those tears, back in what was now his room, not his home, he had no such thing, but something was something.


    He hadn''t done anything he had to regret.


    He knew perfectly well that he had fulfilled his duty, doing only what was necessary.


    However, he had killed millions of innocent people more than he had saved. That was an irrefutable fact. No, that had been true since the first universe died before his eyes, it was just that he had tried not to think about it. Now it wasn''t millions of times more, but an unthinkable massacre for which there were no words or adequate numbers.


    "I''m suffocating," he thought. "Holy God, I''m suffocating."


    Someone burst into the fragile security of his room. He knew it was Heather before raising his head, who else could have torn the door down with such ease? At least she made sure to fix it afterward, generating more of that black ''crystal'' to hold it against the frame.


    "Here you are, feeling sorry for yourself. I suspected it," were the first words out of the woman''s mouth.


    ("woman? that''s no woman")


    "I''m not in the mood for your games."


    Against everything he should listen to, morality, common sense, he liked Heather and now it was hard for him to consider the possibility of them facing each other again when all this was over, as coexistence between the Lunar Remnants and humanity seemed to be nothing more than a fever dream. But it wasn''t the time.


    "I''m not here to play. I''m here to..."


    "What?" he snapped, unless she had the decency to get to the point.


    "Do whatever you want."


    "What?"


    "You heard me. Tell me to leave, and I''ll go."


    That was precisely what he should do, but what had it served him to do what he had to do? He didn''t see that it had taken him very far. The world kept turning, yes, no more, no less. That was all he had achieved with his efforts. That and empty praises to feed his ego and his deficiencies from people he didn''t even like.


    I''m disgusting.


    Suddenly he couldn''t do that.


    Suddenly he couldn''t say anything, so he just pushed his lips against hers without any warmth. But that wasn''t to say they weren¡¯t inviting, just like the rest of her because... At first she tensed as if she hadn''t expected this, but she relaxed or forced himself to relax and closed her eyes. That submission excited him more than any human woman had. Perhaps because he knew Heather had the power to destroy this world, and yet she desired him.


    Perhaps because something had broken in his head.


    In any case, he dragged her to the bed, pushed her down, and climbed on top of her. They writhed on the bed wildly like a snake biting its tail, kissing without separating for a second to breathe, undressing without hesitation, now Heather had taken to wearing clothes although the first few weeks she had spent naked because she had nothing to show anyway.


    And so what? She is here with me. She desires me, no, she needs me.


    That is more than enough.


    In fact, it is everything.


    And despite what Sylvester had been thinking, he grabbed her thighs, spread her legs, and lowered his head only to stop when he saw what he already knew: there was nothing there. Neither one nor the other. When he raised his head, he saw what he should have protected her from. Pain, shame.


    To the core. I messed up big time.


    He had no answers to the questions swirling inside him. Silence, to stop asking, was something akin to peace, something he was willing to settle for.


    They plunged into clumsy, hurried, trembling passion. Would Heather even be capable of feeling pleasure doing this? Or at least like humans. No sound escaped her lips, she seemed more surprised and inhibited than anything else, and her skin, her black crystal skin, didn''t warm up. There was no hint of color in her cheeks.


    However, he didn''t take long to dispel any doubts about that.


    3


    "It''s Sylvester, he saved us, fuck, fuck, but it was so close, fucking hell."


    They knew him.


    Much more than their bosses would have wished, that was clear. It had been an impossible dream from the start, however. He still wasn''t sure how they had managed to keep all this shit a secret for a few weeks.


    Someone put an arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a half embrace. That someone was very lucky. Sylvester managed to restrain himself and not react by tearing him in half, waiting for another enemy to appear. He maintained that people''s attitude toward death had changed, but they still took certain things lightly. Like the danger of approaching someone like him by surprise.


    Speaking of which, this guy surprised me and so did the enemy. What the hell is wrong with me?


    "Let me buy you a beer."


    "Maybe later. I need to get rid of this."


    Sylvester slipped into the bathroom amid cheers, disappearing from view as quickly as he could. It couldn''t be that easy, that idea persisted in his mind, spinning endlessly. He could feel the dark power of the sword vibrating in his hands. Yes, his hands. He had been forced to hold it with both hands shortly after entering the bathroom. It was a heavy weapon, but not in a physical sense, if it were in a physical sense it wouldn''t be a problem thanks to his monstrous strength.


    He hadn''t witnessed for the third time (God, he had already done it twice and had had more than enough since the first) that horrible destruction.


    So that man must be nothing more than the first of the Champions of his respective universe.


    It wasn''t like the previous one, where some had done most of the work for him and there had only been one left. A slippery and super powerful bastard, but only one after all, who had only fallen because he had basically given him the tools to defeat him, unknowingly. Of course unknowingly. Who would be stupid enough to do it knowing it?


    Ahem, but that wasn''t the point. The point was that this one was weak.


    He resisted believing it, no matter how fucked up life was, someday they would have to be the ones with the upper hand for a change. Someday they had to be in the position of the powerful universe against which the other seemed primitive, underdeveloped, weak.


    As much as his heart screamed, "so easy? Can it really be that easy? For example..."


    Someone stumbled into the bathroom.


    At first glance, he seemed like another innocent in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Sylvester understood that he was the next obstacle. That he was here to retrieve the sword and kill him. He was his enemy and, more importantly, he was the enemy of all humanity.


    Therefore...


    "Hey, thanks for..."


    He raised an open hand, waving it.


    Surely he would attack him, either with his bare hand or with some weapon he would try to grab right now.


    So Sylvester split him in half with a single stroke. It was strangely easy once again. But even when he saw his two halves touch the ground and the blood spreading outward almost as if it were something alive, he didn''t feel calm. Quite the opposite. The anxiety pressing on his chest was so strong that he could barely breathe.


    The darkness enveloping the blade, invisible to the naked eye, roared.


    In a human language.


    AT LAST, I FEED!


    The Big Boner, Part 1: FIN

 65. The Big Boner, Part 2

    Chapter 65: The Big Boner, Part 2


    "Could you repeat that?" Heather phrased it as if it were a question, but in reality, she was demanding it, naturally.


    "It seems Sylvester started killing civilians," Ryan repeated, slowly and after a while, "at a club called The Big Boner."


    Heather was speechless.


    "I can''t leave him alone. At least this time the trouble took three days to find us. It can''t be Sylvester, but someone pretending to be him, cloning, disguise, whatever, the case is the same. And entirely possible. It wouldn''t be the craziest thing we''ve seen."


    Heather was stating the obvious one after another. But neither Cynthia nor Ryan commented on it. They weren''t so foolish as to not know she was just thinking out loud, she supposed. Or they knew that, one way or another, this wasn''t the time. They were unaware of what had happened between Sylvester and her, but anyway, it really wasn''t the time. Heather had never tried to hide how much Sylvester meant to her.


    "If it''s just a clone," Ryan said, "it''ll be easy to deal with this, for sure. Especially if Sylvester comes back to help us. But if he''s being controlled or something like that, if it''s his body, even if it''s not his will that''s in control... Then what the hell do we do?"


    "You? You and Cynthia?" She added, stepping closer to him, nudging him with her shoulder. "Get out of my way."


    One way or another, Heather would resolve this.


    If it was a clone, then she, with her own hands, would destroy that insult to his image, to his efforts, and to his legacy. If he was being controlled, she swore she would bring him back no matter what.


    Even if it cost her life.


    Life was already too hard.


    It wasn''t worth living alone, without an equal.


    Without a mirror to look at. Selfish humans, craving power, took that for granted. But apart from Sylvester, there were only the Lunar Remnants who were his kind. And what did they have in common, for God''s sake?


    Twisted monsters. Most of whom didn''t even have a human form.


    There was only him.


    It had always been like that. She felt it in her bones.


    It had been predestined, and predestination was enough, wasn''t it? If that''s not enough, then I have no fucking idea what would be, I guess nothing then, so it has to be.


    Predestination.


    Two people destined to be together, coming together and staying together.


    Could there be anything more beautiful than that?


    ¡ª¡ª


    The disco ball spun and spun without stopping.


    Even the light it projected was stained with blood. Since the floor was in the same condition, it was hard to discern what was bloody light projected onto the floor and what were actual bloodstains.


    Sylvester had killed countless enemies of humanity.


    Their corpses were scattered in the club, among the blood and guts. But no matter how many he killed, more appeared.


    They were so cowardly that they didn''t dare to face him after seeing what he could do, so they ran looking for any way out like headless chickens. But it didn''t matter. Enemies were enemies and they had to die. For the sake of everyone, he couldn''t let a single one of them escape. He couldn''t.


    He couldn''t


    He couldn''t.


    If he failed after the atrocity he had committed several times, it couldn''t be said that it had been worth it. He couldn''t look the dead in the face when he went to the other side¡ªthe people he had killed and the people who had died because of him, a big pile of poison going down his throat, in any case.


    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Sylvester staggered forward. He almost lost his balance, but he recovered by plunging the sword into the ground. Still, he bent over even more and vomited.


    For some reason.


    Why was even his body rebelling against him now?


    For some reason.


    Sylvester focused on one of the random enemies. He wasn''t even the only one lying on the ground.


    Not that he had cut off a leg to wait for him to bleed out or anything like that, it''s just that apparently fear had gotten to him to such an extent that he had lost feeling in his legs, fallen. Forced to crawl on the ground. Toward the fleeting light of the exit.


    He grabbed one of his cowardly legs and dragged him backward, back into the darkness, as he writhed and screamed like a lamb in the slaughterhouse. Is that what I''m doing?


    What is it that


    Why am I


    What is it that


    I''M DOING


    The desperate inner voice died, leaving him quiet. At least for now. They were stupid questions anyway. What was he doing? Well, his duty, obviously. His duty.


    To protect humanity at all costs.


    That''s why he was born.


    That''s why he had these powers.


    That''s why he was still alive.


    "No, please!" The guy raised his arms to protect his face. What was he doing? The material his sword was made of would pass through his arms as if they weren''t there. Even if it was hard, it wouldn''t last long. "Why are you doing this?"


    He asked, crying.


    Whimpering.


    Wasn''t it obvious? He came to attack him, to kill him and everything he loved, his whole damn universe. Just because the tables had turned didn''t mean that suddenly that man was the victim here.


    This was nothing more than the expected outcome.


    What had been sought.


    He silenced his screams and his annoying questions with a single stroke. The head rolled across the dance floor, surrounded by blood and gore. Now that there was a ball above and one below, the ceiling and the floor were a perfect reflection.


    No, what was he saying. That would require sticking corpses to the ceiling.


    What nonsense, haha.


    Well, it wasn''t perfect, but it was a pretty close reflection.


    Close enough was what people had to settle for. Despite his powers, he was no exception in that respect.


    I can settle for everything except letting a single one of those bastards escape.


    He would. He would because he alone couldn''t contain so many. But he wouldn''t settle. He would bite his tongue, vomit blood.


    Out of sheer rage, because no matter how hard he tried, he was never enough to cover everything needed. After all, he was just a man.


    He didn''t follow the ones who had escaped through one of the doors. Instead, Sylvester turned around, positioned himself backstage, knocking down any door in his way, and quickly climbed the stairs to the roof as soon as he found them.


    The cold night air passed through his body like the fingers of Death.


    It was refreshing.


    The huge white eye of the night sky was fixed on him. It was a spotlight shining just for him.


    Sylvester took a deep breath, exhaled.


    It hadn''t been perfect, but what was? He had done a good job today. Spilled a river of his enemies'' blood. So he could pat himself on the back and say, good job, keep it up. Why beat himself up so much? What the fuck was the point?


    None.


    Nothing, but...


    He grinned from ear to ear. A strange, wild grin.


    Today''s work wasn''t over yet.


    Some sort of winged demons approached. Vaguely humanoid, but without skin, only pulsating flesh. They also had their backs reversed, as well as their heads hanging grotesquely. There wasn''t a single tooth in their mouths, only a yellowish light.


    Like a beacon, he thought.


    Their wings, well, they weren''t wings proper, actually. The twisted demons seemed to be mounted on machines he had never seen before.


    In any case, this must be the cavalry. The real obstacles.


    Deep down in his heart, Sylvester appreciated it. The only difficulty the massacre inside the club had presented to him was the numbers. Between killing four or five, eight got away from him, and it was a disaster.


    But he wasn''t a hero, he couldn''t just clean up other people''s messes. He was a warrior, and he lived for this.


    For the rush of battle.


    He wondered how they had evacuated all the civilians from the club so quickly, so easily, but that was beside the point. The point was they had done it, they had disappeared suddenly, and Sylvester had found himself surrounded by enemies, alone. And he had dealt with it.


    With the sword he had stolen from the first enemy, not his usual katana.


    Anyway, that didn''t matter either.


    Sylvester laughed with his whole body, from head to toe, arching his back backward.


    "Come on, come on. And don''t bore me!"


    Sylvester placed the sword between his legs holding it, yes, the handle with both hands, firmly.


    What can I say, he had felt inspired suddenly.


    "Taste my big boner!"


    The dark energy of the sword (Dark? I feel great) spread with that shout, and as if it had a mind of its own, it knocked down three of the winged demons in the air as it passed, severely injuring a fourth.


    And Sylvester kept laughing, laughed like he had never thought he would be able to.


    The Big Boner, Part 2: FIN

 66. The Big Boner, Part 3

    Chapter 66: The Big Boner, Part 3


    The black sword dealt with two more of those winged demons in the air. It not only tore their skin and flesh, it went a step further. He had always been skeptical about the existence of the soul, but he supposed that if they had devoured something else, it was that. Wait, those inhuman demons possessed souls.


    Sylvester laughed.


    So, they weren''t of much use in the first place.


    Well, it wasn''t worth overthinking things. Wasn''t it enough to trust what his own eyes saw? After all, that energy twisted in the corpses of those monsters even after inflicting the mortal wound. And although nothing had changed physically, he had the unmistakable feeling that something was missing.


    So why overthink it? Somehow or other the winged demons were also worthy of possessing a soul. Well, in the first place, humanity wasn''t worthy of much.


    They had screwed up the world even before the Lunar Remnants arrived, that was the damn truth.


    Moreover...


    His head already hurt enough. He really didn''t need more headaches.


    He contemplated the idea of dropping the sword and reaching for his usual katana, but he quickly forgot about it. It was natural. For starters, he didn''t know why it had occurred to him. This was a sword, but it had a long-range attack. With his katana, it would be incredibly annoying to deal with the winged demons.


    Why would he metaphorically tie his hands behind his back?


    Indeed. He wasn''t playing. He was fighting to defend the Earth, the fate of humanity!


    However...


    "Test my great erection!"


    Moving his hips, he sent another wave of dark energy into the skies. And he laughed. He attacked while laughing. He couldn''t stop. He wouldn''t have air to talk, even if he had something to decide, from so much laughing.


    However?


    However what?


    What was strange about this?


    He was in a bad situation and using the best tool at his disposal to fix things. That was all. Wasn''t that how the sword worked?


    And the laughter? What about the laughter?


    Well...


    "What''s wrong with enjoying your job!"


    Contradicting even his own thoughts, Sylvester gathered enough air to shout wildly.


    The demons didn''t respond. They kept coming at him in silence. What did those inhuman creatures know of pleasure? Or duty, for that matter. What were they going to say?


    Of course, they couldn''t say anything, and he didn''t need them to.


    One of the winged demons got too close. He managed to grab him from the shoulder to the elbow. Deep, bleeding scratches... Too easy. He had hurt him too easily, hadn''t he?


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    What are you talking about? It''s the same as always. A desperate fight. A fight against the ropes. Of course, the next enemy is more powerful than the last.


    Of course, there''s nothing but trouble, corner after corner after corner after corner.


    That''s how life works.


    Counterattack.


    He struck the demon with the hilt of the sword, and its head exploded like a ripe melon. The light kept shining brightly even after it touched the ground, of that there was no doubt that it was dead, however. An ethereal light. A light from another world.


    The light of the flames of hell?


    Sylvester shouted wildly as he stomped on the demon''s chest, smashing it. It was unnecessary. The creature was already dead. But he absolutely didn''t care.


    The important thing was that it was within his reach. The important thing was that... he enjoyed it, and since it was for the sake of saving the world, everything was allowed. He could be the worst trash on the face of the earth, but his acts would always be applauded as long as they were against the enemies.


    It was natural. It was the most obvious thing in the world.


    Everything could be forgiven since everything was at stake.


    He smiled. He had never drawn such a wide smile. Like that of a wild animal, showing all his teeth.


    One of the demons set fire to the trench coat with its mouth, with that damn light that also burned his retinas. Sylvester clenched his teeth. He threw himself to the ground, writhing, trying to put it out. Nothing.


    He gave up quickly, removing the trench coat, throwing it off the rooftop.


    I am the hero who will save the world. And you... you are nothing but animals.


    That was the truth. He could shout it from the fucking rooftops! Despite this thing having a long-range attack, Sylvester bent his knees and jumped, covering ten meters in an instant. As if he had been shot from a cannon. He landed on one of the winged demons.


    He planted his boots on its twisted wings and plunged the sword into its back. Then, he pushed toward it. He dragged the sword across its back, splitting it in half.


    Strange guts and a multicolored fluid that must be its blood spilled copiously.


    Confetti, he thought, delirious. It''s like it''s confetti.


    And he was bathing in it. A big party just for him. The supposed demons were the hired clowns. He couldn''t help but think about those little cars from which somehow or another an army of clowns emerged.


    Sylvester laughed again. His laughter had something less wild, however. It was a normal laugh simply because something had amused him, and that seemed the strangest thing of all amid this chaos.


    As the dead demon fell from the sky, Sylvester propelled himself back, did a full turn in the air, and landed back on the rooftop.


    Without problems.


    They pounced on him immediately.


    The light from the demons burned. Their claws were sharper than anything. Combined with their numerical advantage, they were dangerous opponents. And what? a cold voice replied within him.


    Sylvester was untouchable.


    He would survive as he always had. He had always been destined to survive, no matter what. He was the central piece. The protagonist of this sad senseless madness.


    The show must go on!


    And without him, the show couldn''t go on.


    It''s not that he couldn''t die due to his incredible regenerative capabilities. That was just the excuse that allowed what had to happen to happen. It had taken him years, but he finally understood it.


    So he threw himself among the winged demons, opening his mouth as wide as they did, matching their screams, and attacking. Nothing more than attacking. He didn''t use even one percent of his being to defend himself.


    Anyway, they fell quickly.


    In the blink of an eye, he stood in a sea of blood and guts.


    As usual.


    But beyond the red curtain, something changed. Something drastic, nothing would ever be the same. Ryan and the others arrived at the scene, but not to support. He knew with the first glance. For someone like him, accustomed to this kind of thing, it was simple.


    "Betrayed. You''ve betrayed me. Even you, Heather. Even you." A tear welled up in his eyes, but he kept laughing incessantly. "Even though I gave myself to you. Even though I... revealed myself. Betrayed. Fine, alone again, I accept it! Don''t think my hand will tremble! What''s more, I''ll enjoy it!"


    Sylvester finally left the rooftop. He jumped, landing in the middle of the road. The shockwave cracked the ground and displaced the cars, some more slowly than others. Cars of¡ª (police?) what kind? It doesn''t matter. Sylvester directed his sword towards his former allies.


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    The Big Boner, Part 3: FIN

 67. Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 1

    Chapter 67: Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 1


    Heather was the first to approach him, taking flight. It wasn¡¯t surprising. Sylvester could tear Ryan apart as if he were made of clay, and although Cynthia had joined their ranks as another Champion, she was still a novice compared to him. She wouldn¡¯t be able to stand against him.


    Only Heather, his equal, could.


    Perhaps that was the one thing that hadn¡¯t changed since their first encounter under the moonlight.


    No, it had changed; they had become companions. True companions, even if initially under the guise of a tense and temporary alliance.


    That¡¯s why he couldn¡¯t help but cry.


    He couldn¡¯t fathom what he had done to deserve being stabbed in the back.


    Or why it had happened precisely at this moment, while he was busy cleaning the streets. The same went doubly for Cynthia and Ryan. They weren¡¯t just betraying him; they were betraying humanity.


    Why? For what purpose?


    One could ask a billion questions and get nowhere. What mattered was what he saw with his own eyes, the situation he had to resolve. That was all that counted.


    ¡°You have to let go of that sword,¡± Heather said.


    He hadn¡¯t expected an apology, but those were quite the first words. Sylvester forced a strained smile at that tasteless joke and tightened his grip on the sword¡¯s hilt, his knuckles turning white.


    ¡°What does it matter which weapon I used to kill you?¡± he retorted.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t you. You have to get rid of it.¡±


    Sylvester furrowed his brow.


    His head hurt. Suddenly, it was throbbing.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re seeing, but it¡¯s not real. You¡¯ve been killing innocents.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s a lie! You¡¯re just trying to manipulate me, confuse me! I¡¯m not crazy. I know perfectly well what I see and hear.¡±


    First stage: denial, whispered a dark voice deep within his soul. Nothing new or worth paying attention to. His inner voice had always been his greatest enemy, trying to sabotage him at every turn.


    Every day of his life, every year, from the beginning. He might win some battles, but not the war. And he wouldn¡¯t win today. He wouldn¡¯t win today. He wouldn¡¯t.


    Heather sighed.


    ¡°Of course it couldn¡¯t be that easy; otherwise, they wouldn¡¯t have forced you to do this. Okay, Sylvester, let¡¯s do it. I¡¯ll bring you back even if it costs me my life.¡±


    She wasted no time; her wings flapped, and she launched herself at him with the force of a tidal wave. But Sylvester had ceased to be a mere human long ago. He could stop those relentless waves with his own hands.


    ¡°Stop spouting nonsense! How could you? After I gave you my body and opened my soul to you¡­ How could you?¡±


    ¡°Women don''t like clingy men."


    In an instant, they soared above police cars, above buildings, above the train tracks that crossed that part of the city like a great metallic serpent.


    It was as if he had gone back in time. If only he could go back. If only he could rid himself of this crushing feeling of betrayal and never feel anything for her, no, for them, ever again.


    He had allowed himself to get close to only a few people in ten long years.


    And that triviality had now cost him so much. If he had known, he would never have done it. He would never have taken that step, opening his heart, because the risks weren¡¯t worth it. You gained very little or nothing, and in return, you put everything on the line.


    It was a bet that no sane person would take. He should have kept his cards close and walked away from the table long ago.


    If only he could rest for years after this fight¡­ Close his eyes and not wake up. He didn¡¯t know how it was possible to feel so tired, mentally and spiritually.


    But even after killing them for this, countless battles awaited him; he didn¡¯t even have the privilege of knowing when he could stop. With so many universes out there, damn it, an infinity of possibilities, perhaps he would be fighting for the rest of his miserable life, until he either won or some bastard got lucky.


    And because so much was at stake (everything, literally), he couldn¡¯t be selfish; he couldn¡¯t decide to abandon it. He couldn¡¯t condemn billions of lives to oblivion.


    No, worse yet, he had already done that. That¡¯s precisely why he wasn¡¯t allowed to quit.


    Why had he come so far, committing genocide multiple times, if he was going to let himself be defeated? What could he say to his victims when he died and was dragged to hell?


    That he had earned a chance by crushing their lives, but then hadn¡¯t even tried to seize it?


    Being a hero, saving the world, wasn''t worth it. He should never have wished for such a thing. It was just a heavy burden. He mechanically wielded the sword to counter the assault of the alien that was lunging at him.


    And after all he had sacrificed, did that thing think he would go mad and kill innocents? That would be the same as giving up.


    That would trample on the decision around which he had based his life, making all sacrifices meaningless. He would never, ever do that.


    But how was he to understand that it wouldn''t succeed in deceiving him?


    Sylvester was no longer human, but at least he had been once. Heather had been born as she was, and in fact, had been vaguely aware even before being born. She hadn¡¯t experienced a life, a normal development. She felt, certainly, but in a way different from other people...


    Other, other, he said? As if she were human?


    Alien.


    It was just that, and although he had allowed himself to dream of more, today she had proven to him that it was just that. She had struck the first blow. She had brought this upon herself.


    So, apart from the pain of that stab in the back, from those cheap excuses... Why did he even feel guilty?


    Why did he feel as if his heart was shattering? He was supposed to be untouchable, invincible! The unstoppable savior of humanity! And he had let a non-human creature poison his heart! From the beginning, this world had been as small as a handkerchief, a world that seemed only to move when he was on the scene!


    The sets were made of cardboard and the characters were nothing more than shadows waiting for him to do something.


    He couldn''t reach anyone and no one could reach him, because they lived on... on different levels. So why had he descended? Or why had he pulled them up with him?


    Why did this have to happen?


    Distracted by his own thoughts, the usual foolishness, Heather almost ripped his neck off with a sword strike. Typical. She talked about saving him, about bringing him back, but behind her blows there was a clear murderous intent.


    This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Why did she speak as if she was trying to deceive him when she didn¡¯t even bother to hide her intentions at the same time? Maybe her mouth could lie, but not her body... Not now, at least, that night she had lied enough.


    Hahahaha!


    After all, deep down he deserved it for having been deceived. It was his fault. He had let his guard down too quickly. He felt lonely and had been weak.


    The night sky trembled with the force of their clashes. Both had plenty of skills, but as if they had agreed beforehand, as if this were some sort of competition and not a fight to the death, they were merely clashing swords against each other.


    The air between them filled with sparks, and anything that ended up in the middle would be shredded in a tenth of a second. It was a destructive force much greater than a giant drill.


    "Damn it, why won''t you drop it?" Heather sounded agitated, but she couldn''t be tired, they had just started. In fact, it couldn''t even be said that they had begun. They hadn¡¯t used their most powerful attacks and hadn¡¯t suffered any damage (since they had trained together so many times, they knew each other''s techniques too well). The thing in her voice must have been fear. She had finally made her move, but she understood what it meant to betray him. Fine. "Sylvester, think about it! It''s a sword you just took from the enemy, not even your usual katana. Why do you refuse to let it go?"


    But what did she think he would do, for God''s sake? Stand there empty-handed and give her the perfect chance to finish him off? He couldn''t let go now even if he wanted to, and he didn''t want to, but that wasn''t strange at all.


    But what did he think he would do, for God''s sake? Stand there empty-handed and give her the perfect chance to finish him off? He couldn''t let go now even if he wanted to, and he didn''t want to, but that wasn''t strange at all.


    It was nothing but twisted logic, like the crude lie that he had been murdering innocent people.


    They were enemies, each and every one of them had tried to kill him first. Well, maybe not. Maybe some had died even before, but was it a sin to end a fight without giving the opponent a chance to screw him over?


    It had obviously been self-defense. He was just doing his duty, nothing more, nothing less.


    As always.


    That was all he was good for.


    So it was unthinkable that he had deviated from that path. The path of righteousness, of the hero. There was no human being named Sylvester. He was just a tool for a purpose.


    He would fulfill his mission.


    Sylvester grabbed the sword with both hands and executed a strike above his head. It was like the blow of a hammer on an anvil. But it didn''t temper the "steel"; instead, it shattered it in Heather''s hands. It had been about to break for a while. His swords had always been fragile.


    He gave her no respite, of course, he had no reason to. But he didn''t use the sword either. He lunged forward with an open hand, grabbing her neck. He dragged her through a building, forming a "tunnel" between the broken glass of the windows of some empty office, lights off, a lot of junk and papers scattered everywhere. Not empty. Evacuated and in a hurry.


    Sylvester spun Heather in his hand several times as if trying to dizzy her before throwing her upward.


    She crashed into a lightning rod, ripping it from the ground, and fell to the roof.


    Sylvester landed on the roof shortly after, his black wings folding. Several feathers detached and floated forward like a velvet curtain being drawn.


    Had that happened before?


    He didn''t believe it.


    He didn''t remember some things well, but he didn''t believe it. Then, was it a sign that something was wrong? That no, damn it. That she was not right.


    It made no sense, to begin with, and considering the contrary was to consider that he had done something irreversible, that he had not only crossed a line but shattered it.


    So it couldn''t be true.


    It simply couldn''t be true.


    "Why didn''t you use the sword? You grabbed me by the neck instead of taking advantage of your position, stabbing me, trying to kill me."


    She was right. She was too dangerous an enemy to play with her; he wouldn''t be so stupid, but then why? Why had he just spun her around and thrown her, something that wouldn''t harm her, he knew?


    It was such a strange decision that he couldn''t even justify it to himself.


    Was he that angry, perhaps? Had he thrown aside sense, thinking only of revenge?


    "Come on, Sylvester. Fight! Fight!"


    Sylvester...


    He frowned. He growled, baring his teeth.


    As if he hadn''t been doing it already. All he knew was the fight.


    But her, Heather¡­


    She wasn''t taking advantage of her position either, even though she was asking him for the same thing, exposing a terrible contradiction. And he had to admit it was true. But then, it was doubly strange coming from her. So why was she doing this?


    What was it that he couldn''t see, that he didn''t understand?


    He had the feeling it was something important, that he couldn''t get out of this if he didn''t figure it out.


    What could be so important? He just had to smash the enemy in front of him as always. That''s what he was made for, and that''s what he did. What he had always done, what he would always do. He used to say that even if the world came to an end, he would continue killing monsters on the ruins of the world until one finally managed to kill him.


    But now he could no longer say such a thing, not anymore. Now defeat was the end of everything.


    "Sylvester, I''m here, I''m here. Don''t worry, I won''t abandon you."


    Ah, but what was she saying? If he wasn''t in control, then who was? The damn sword? Hahaha


    "Sylvester, I refuse to believe that you''ve gone beyond my reach. Nothing will end until I say so. I refuse!"


    Couldn''t she shut up already?


    God, his head hurt. It would be a blessing if someone blew his fucking brains out with a shotgun.


    "You know you can''t beat me in a real fight, so you have no choice but to resort to these tricks. But it''s my fault, still letting you get into my head. That you affect me!"


    "No, Sylvester, you were so close¡­ We were!"


    Not every day¡­ she sounded so anguished. And she had no fucking right, he was the wounded one here.


    Enough, enough. How long have I gone without attacking?


    It was time to remedy that.


    He wielded the sword with both hands, above his head, moving faster with the help of his wing beats. Yet, of course, Heather dodged it. Rolling on the ground like the common mortals. Like the poor bastards he had wanted to exterminate. Yes, now he had regained his sanity. How could he have allied with a monster like this, a mass murderer. And if only he had allied. There was no way to sugarcoat it, he had betrayed his species.


    Good thing it ended here and now.


    "When I find who did this to you, I''ll tear out their guts and eat them," she said even as she returned the blows furiously. "Do you hear me? Whoever you are? Do you hear me, you fucking bastards?"


    What a pathetic spectacle. Crossing swords over and over, they talked like madmen, not even with each other. It seemed like they weren''t speaking the same language.


    And yes, Heather had managed to summon another sword to defend herself in time, of course. He had never expected anything else.


    This time he had gone straight for her heart. There was no contradiction. He couldn''t remember why he had been so worried, so divided, just a moment ago.


    Better. Useless baggage.


    Sylvester was the first to break that impasse in which they usually ended up stuck and, as usual, their roles would soon be swapped often. But, for the moment, he was the one with the upper hand.


    He breached her defenses and sent her flying against the faithful companion of modern man: an advertising sign. The screen shattered into a thousand pieces, each crack fine as the strands of a spider''s web, sparks of all colors flew high, it was quite a scandal, if the area hadn''t been already evacuated there would have been many screams and people running. He thought it would fall, but there it stood. A small wonder of modern design. However, tragically it couldn''t survive Heather taking off. But it couldn''t be said that it fell, but rather flew out. Which should have made the damn thing fall sooner or later, but instead, intended up embedded in the facade of a building and from there, who would move it?


    Sylvester and Heather met again in the air.


    They performed the same dance as always.


    With so much training, it was as if they had truly rehearsed it.


    A fight to the death shouldn''t feel nostalgic.


    It shouldn''t, but he was fucked up in the head.


    There were thousands of things he shouldn''t do. If he had just done what he was supposed to, he wouldn''t be in this situation in the first place.


    Each of their attacks carried the weight of lost time and worry, when he should have been looking elsewhere. And she responded with animal fierceness. There was not a trace of humanity in her, if there ever was more than a mirage, a convenient illusion.


    Under the night sky of a city whose name he no longer even remembered, they were going to decide the fight they had postponed for months. Damn, it was about time.


    There was still a huge difference between them, but Sylvester believed he could make up for it.


    He better, in any case.


    ¡ª¡ª


    ¡°There''s no way to get in the middle of that.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, you don''t have to swear it to me.¡±


    As obvious as something might be, someone had to say it. Or rather, admit it. Although people tended to not be very kind to their messengers.


    In theory, she was at the same level as them. She had trained hard, she had risen. But in the end, they simply had lived that way longer. Therefore, the gap between them only widened, that would never change. That is, she would never have what she wanted.


    It was somewhat like the parable of Sisyphus.


    No matter how much she pushed the damn stone up the hill, it would always end up rolling down to crush her.


    However, she also wasn''t allowed to give up and go home, to leave the stupid stone where it was forever.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Sylvester was not lost.


    She had been about to reach him with a very simple logic. If she kept trying, she could drag him back to the surface and into the light from the deep darkness in which he was lost.


    If she said she loved him, wasn''t that her job?


    She was in no hurry to see how he would react when he knew the truth, but she would accompany him in that agony too.


    In joy and in sorrow, in health and in sickness¡­


    Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 1: FIN

 68. Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 2

    Chapter 68: Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 2


    1


    It was as if the night sky had transformed into the inside of a pinball machine. An outside observer would only see two planned flashes, streaking through the seemingly endless darkness, colliding with each other, sparking, bouncing away only to charge again.


    A cycle repeating incessantly, a deadlock they couldn''t break, just like before. None of the factors that made fighting each other so difficult had changed. With one exception: now Sylvester had a unique advantage.


    Heather kept talking, trying to get through to him, that is, deceive him, make him let his guard down.


    But Sylvester wasn¡¯t listening.


    He had managed to ignore her. Now he didn¡¯t hear words, only sounds that slipped over him and got lost in the night sky.


    Her viper tongue was the only reason she had almost managed to defeat him. Sylvester wouldn''t make the mistake of paying attention to her again. In fact, he had gone a bit further.


    He hadn''t just disconnected her; all other sounds seemed muffled, as if he had put his head underwater.


    As if they were now swimming through the midnight sea instead of flying.


    Perhaps the tables would turn in Heather''s favor again, but if such a terrible thing happened, it wouldn''t be because he had made the mistake of listening to the person who had betrayed him even after he had given her his heart for the second time.


    Yes, exactly. It was said that man was the only animal that stumbled twice over the same stone.


    But he was not a man. He was... something more.


    That''s why what he had felt, what he had attempted, would have been a mistake with Heather and with anyone, whether they had betrayed him afterward or not. Feelings only served as a distraction. They made you lose the objectivity and iron will necessary to be the hero who triumphed over evil. If he hadn¡¯t realized this before, he certainly did now, as it had nearly cost him his life.


    Sylvester finally broke through Heather''s guard once more and lunged without wasting a millisecond to seize the opportunity. He felt like a wild animal, starving. Practically drooling at the sign of his prey''s weakness.


    Sylvester wielded the sword and struck Heather in the chest as if it were a bat. She crashed into a satellite dish, bounced off as if it were a trampoline, and fell to one side until she could regain control of herself. Unfortunately, before he could reach her. So, they crossed swords and the cycle began again.


    It didn¡¯t matter.


    He could be patient.


    Sylvester was the one with all the advantages in this battle. He had managed to break her guard twice, and Heather not even once. She resisted, but just defending herself wasn¡¯t going to beat him, and she had lost her greatest weapon now that her words couldn''t reach him.


    But, aware that she had no other chance of winning, she acted as if she hadn¡¯t realized it.


    She talked nonstop.


    She talked almost more than she used her sword.


    Part of him resisted using the long-distance attack of this sword, but it was foolish. If he was willing to use any of his many Skills, what difference did it make?


    So, the next time they bounced back after a clash, Sylvester shot darkness at that bitch''s neck. Six quick slashes, six "shots" of darkness that moved and twisted as if they were alive.


    Heather had no trouble dodging those slashes, rising, falling, and spinning. It almost looked like a choreographed dance.


    He almost wanted to know what the hell she was talking about, why she was wasting so much time, effort, and saliva, when it should be more than obvious that those tricks no longer worked on him, that he wasn¡¯t even listening to her!


    Was she so far gone that she believed her own lies? Or was she just desperate to make him believe she was the wounded, betrayed one, rewriting history? In any case, he couldn¡¯t stand her arrogance. He had to end this, and soon. She had already wasted too much of his time. He had enemies to kill and innocent people to protect.


    ¡°I¡¯m the hero, so get out of my way!¡±


    Sylvester lost his temper without hearing a single word she said, but that wasn¡¯t a mistake at all. He had already said that techniques were something humans invented to compensate for their weaknesses. He didn¡¯t need anything like that when he had so much power and speed.


    If he tried to fight like usual, tempered, thinking about his actions, he wouldn¡¯t stand a chance against Heather. The only reason he had never lost his edge was that from the beginning he fought like a wild animal, mad with rage over the betrayal.


    So it wasn¡¯t a mistake, but he paid for it anyway.


    Heather broke his guard for the first time. She made him drop his sword, which spun through the night sky.


    Sylvester didn¡¯t even notice the follow-up attack out of the corner of his eye.


    Panic seized his heart as he saw the sword fall.


    He knew it.


    He knew it.


    He knew he needed that sword!


    Somehow, he knew.


    Even as he chased after it, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder why. His katana, which had accompanied him in countless battles, hung at his waist. He could have unsheathed it and continued the fight without any problem instead of turning his back on his enemy.


    But did that stop him?


    Not at all.


    That was definitely a mistake, and he paid for it twice over, deservedly. A moment after his fingers closed around the hilt, he was struck from behind.


    The black crystal sword cut his skin easily, he felt the blade even graze his bones, but the worst part was that it cut his right wing. Sylvester lost control of his trajectory as well and ended up crashing through the windows of some office that was still populated at this hour, though not in operation. Fortunately


    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.


    (he hadn¡¯t dropped the sword)


    , the people around him were more enemies. Hurt, with shards of glass embedded all over his body, he got up as quickly as he could, adopting a tense defensive stance.


    Which was not what he wanted to do. He wanted to launch himself, savage, to destroy his enemies. But a bit of prudence was natural when you didn¡¯t understand what was happening.


    That is, how had they mounted a large-scale invasion and carried it out so quickly? In the blink of an eye, the nightclub had been filled with enemies. Then those winged demons. And now this.


    Normally, he would worry about having to fight Heather and so many other bastards at once, when things between them were so balanced, but they weren¡¯t exactly intimidating enemies.


    They growled and made threatening gestures, but they didn¡¯t come close. Even those from the nightclub had fallen and fled with their tails between their legs immediately, offering only symbolic resistance, begging for their lives. Of course, that didn¡¯t mean they were harmless.


    If they didn¡¯t have something hidden, some ace up their sleeve, they wouldn¡¯t have bothered to bring so many into this world.


    Like that Rasputin, of whatever species he was. So weak in a direct fight that it hadn¡¯t even happened. But instead, he had dragged everyone on the ship into a world of imagination that he shaped like a god. If he hadn¡¯t been able to use their own weapons against them, he would have been defeated without being able to do anything about it.


    For all he knew, their secret weapon could be something as devastating as killing him with just a touch. In any case, they must have something, and it would always be worth sacrificing hundreds to save billions of people.


    The calculation was very easy.


    Only someone monstrously selfish wouldn¡¯t volunteer to sacrifice themselves if they had the chance.


    Heather arrived immediately, landing, putting an end to his useless speculations. It might have seemed like a long time because of the turns his thoughts had taken, but in reality, it had been less than a second.


    She was here to kill him. She had no reason to give him a break. The shockwave from their weapons'' clash sent office tables and chairs flying, shattered glass, the floor beneath their feet creaked, filled with fine cracks like spider webs, but it stood. At least for now.


    As a consequence, it took out a few of the enemies Heather had prevented him from killing while they were fleeing in a panic. He hadn¡¯t done it on purpose, but if anyone asked, he would never admit it.


    He had an image to maintain, and that helped.


    ¡°You have to fight, regain control,¡± Heather said, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn¡¯t drown out her voice. She was too close (to what?), and he was too... broken. ¡°Sylvester, I¡¯m not sure you can take this anymore. If you keep going like this¡­ Don¡¯t look at me like that. They are people, you understand? People! They can¡¯t be enemies, they¡¯re not even trying to attack you, right? He can¡¯t have manipulated you to this extent or you wouldn¡¯t hear my voice. Or... there wouldn¡¯t be any hope.¡±


    It was true that the office enemies hadn¡¯t even tried to attack him, they had fled as soon as they saw him, except for those who had been paralyzed by panic.


    But it could have another explanation. For example, they could be non-combatants, instead helping the main forces with a communication system... He didn¡¯t have to explain how that system would work and what they had been doing in that office, it didn¡¯t matter, it could have been any other place, he supposed it was a position from which to observe the incident as good as any other.


    It made sense! Of course, it did.


    Inside the nightclub, the truth is that only the first of the enemies had fought him, but that made sense too. You just had to think about it a bit... They were weaker than him, scared because he had easily killed the strongest of them and taken his weapon...


    Besides, his theory, so to speak, couldn¡¯t explain the winged demons that had attacked him on the roof.


    So don¡¯t listen to that damn bitch


    maybe you are in pieces, a broken man, but she isn¡¯t even a person


    she has no identity


    if you were a woman she would call herself a man, she¡¯s alone in the world and looks for something to fill that void no matter how many holes her ship has, do you understand? It¡¯s just that, need, not love and because you confused the two things you are here now


    you haven¡¯t killed anyone you haven¡¯t ruined that something you¡¯ve been working for since you can remember since you really started to live


    as always you¡¯ve only killed enemies and enemies don¡¯t deserve to live


    Sylvester stabbed her.


    The blade sank into her flesh and came out the other side. As usual, there was nothing even resembling blood, so it was hard to judge the severity of the wound. Still, fragments of black crystals fell and shattered against the floor, and it sounded as if something was coming to an end.


    It had been too easy. As if she hadn¡¯t even tried to defend herself.


    Heather opened her mouth as if to say something, one last thing. But then Sylvester withdrew the sword, and her weakened body, with no support, collapsed.


    She lay there, arms and legs spread out, like a snow angel. For some reason, that was the first image that came to mind, even though it had never snowed much where he lived, so of course, he had never seen that or had the opportunity to do it himself.


    Only in movies, he had only seen it there.


    Yes, this was unreal like a movie. How had things gotten to this point? He had taken a vacation and entered the nightclub with the stupidest name he could find, trying to have fun. A strange guy with an even stranger sword had attacked him, but he had easily defeated him, and then¡­


    All this.


    There was no problem with his memories. He remembered the journey he had made from point A to point B, but he didn¡¯t understand it. He simply couldn¡¯t understand how things had gotten to this point.


    Sylvester put a hand to his head. Pressing hard, as if he wanted to crush his skull.


    He had won, proving his superiority over Heather, who had always made him feel inferior. That was the fundamental difference between Heather and him. Heather desperately sought an equal, while equals frightened him. Because he had been forced to see that the only extraordinary thing about him was his uniqueness. When someone was at his level, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn¡¯t win.


    Until now. So he should be happy.


    But somehow this didn¡¯t feel like a victory at all.


    Rather, he felt like vomiting.


    He looked into her eyes. She looked back.


    She might be mortally wounded, but she wasn¡¯t dead yet. He should finish the job. It wasn¡¯t that easy to kill her. If he gave her the chance, she would recover.


    you said it come on wield the sword silence her voice and the doubts will disappear forever


    IN THE DARKNESS


    Sylvester raised the sword, using both hands, over his head.


    Heather¡¯s eyes didn¡¯t move to the blade hanging over her like the executioner¡¯s axe. They remained fixed on him, as if searching for something that might no longer be there, that might have disappeared forever.


    Sylvester took a deep breath, preparing to lower the sword, to cut off her head.


    But in the end, all he did was look away.


    Move the blade away... and jump through the large ¡°hole¡± that were the now glass-free windows. With only one wing, he wasn''t going to get very far. It was good that he didn''t intend to. From above, he saw Ryan, transformed into the Lunar Remnant, making his way towards him. Cynthia wouldn¡¯t be far behind...


    Oh, there she was.


    On his back.


    Good, he had defeated an enemy, a traitor.


    But there were two more, and they were right there, within reach.


    ¡°Damn, he won?¡± Ryan said, his voice trembling. He said it, didn¡¯t ask. Even in that monstrous form, the fear in his eyes was evident. He was climbing the fa?ade of a building, digging his claws in deeply and causing countless damage to innocent people¡¯s property, but that wouldn¡¯t matter much when he had decided to betray humanity. Betraying him was the same as betraying all of humanity, since Sylvester was its eternal champion.


    Yes, I won, he thought as he fell.


    As he tore him apart.


    I always win.


    Ryan was defeated in an instant.


    The great beast fell with dozens of cuts all over his body, and the blood gushed out like water from a sprinkler.


    Cynthia, of course, tried to shoot him, fully employing her new tricks.


    But he didn¡¯t even let her pull the trigger once.


    He destroyed her guns and then destroyed her, slicing her open from the waist to under one arm. He saw her glistening organs threatening to spill all over the pavement.


    Just like with Heather, he didn¡¯t bother finishing them off.


    Sylvester raised his head towards the moon that had always been watching him, pressing, burning him with its light. He had been walking the same dark corridor since then.


    It was time for everything to end.


    Sylvester howled at the moon.


    Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 2: END

 69. Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 3

    Chapter 69: Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 3


    1


    Once again, Cynthia thought, lying in a pool of her own blood, we go back into the fray. If one could only be brave when they were scared, then one could only be strong when they stood up knowing they would fall again. Be prepared for that.


    Sylvester... Or rather, what was controlling him, had done a good job. He had taken care of Ryan. Then he had slit his guts open, which he barely kept inside, pushing with a hand so drenched in blood that sometimes he couldn¡¯t see it through his blurry, blinking vision. On the brink of unconsciousness. On the brink of death. And then, as if that wasn''t enough, he had destroyed the weapons.


    But one of them still worked. She lifted it. By now, Cynthia had perfect control over the four elements. So, when she pulled the trigger, she used fire to cauterize the wound and then... ice to seal it. The spikes pierced deeply, and they would have elicited a scream had she enough air in her lungs to do more than gasp pathetically. It would have been a stupid act that would have killed her... if she were still a human being. Since she wasn¡¯t, it would give her time, and she would regenerate.


    Cynthia began to crawl on the ground, leaving a trail of her own blood, out of the pool and towards Ryan, just like her. She touched his shoulder. He had been decisively defeated. Crushed, but he still maintained his Lunar Remnant form. She touched his shoulder.


    ¡°Are you okay, big guy?¡±


    ¡°Alive,¡± he spat, breathing heavily.


    Yeah. Alive, though not exactly well. How the hell could he be? Cynthia sighed with relief. It was a miracle that he was okay. Sylvester was dangerous because he didn¡¯t just see them as enemies; he was wild, but that was a double-edged sword. He hadn¡¯t realized he hadn¡¯t finished the job... Or maybe part of him had resisted doing it, fighting against the mind control. In any case, they were very lucky to be alive.


    ¡°What the hell happened to the sky?¡± Ryan muttered.


    Cynthia took a look. At first, she thought¡ªwished¡ªthat she was seeing things due to blood loss and lack of oxygen. That they were both seeing different things for the same reasons, but in any case, something that couldn¡¯t be true.


    Then some... things started crawling out of the holes in the sky.


    2


    Despite looking at the moon, it took Sylvester quite a while to realize what was happening to the sky. Once he did, he rubbed his eyes as if it would be just an illusion from exhaustion, a trick his mind had played on him.


    Of course, it was very real. And very fucked up. The night sky was full of holes, and from those holes, creatures began to crawl. Mountains of flesh, blind eyes, thin, discolored hands like those of a corpse, tentacles, golden wings, and many other things, but that¡¯s where the limits of human language, sanity, and intelligence ended.


    Those terrifying creatures opened holes in the vast sea of the night, making reality tremble. And if it were just one of those things, but there were more and more holes and more creatures. And they shot out... something, he couldn¡¯t quite see it. The point was that this something hit various points in the city that had the bad luck of being chosen by him for a little vacation.


    As a result, buildings bent, sank as if pulled by quicksand, and... changed, forming a kind of tree of steel and glass and wood unlike anything in this world, wet and pulsing like the heart of some great beast, emitting a flash of a color that burned the eyes. What color? He couldn¡¯t say.


    Sylvester realized he was just pretending. He was a stronger-than-average human, but a human nonetheless. Just as limited. Just as small. Feeling he was about to go blind, Sylvester managed to tear his gaze away from that tree of another world and lowered it. Because there were many others growing right now, equally dangerous, all over the city. He could hear it. The collapse and the restructuring. The howls of reality as those creatures forced their way through.


    Feeling extremely vulnerable, the first thing he did was open the statistics page. He had become too strong and only evolved when fighting Heather, his equal. Even in training fights without the slightest risk, it had worked. So, now that he had finally defeated her, he should have many points waiting to be spent. He should be able to become much, much stronger. He had to, to repel the invasion of those... creatures.


    Only deep down in his heart did he know that wasn¡¯t the right word. They weren¡¯t mere creatures; they couldn¡¯t simply be another participant in this multi-universal game of death. And if they couldn¡¯t be that, nor Lunar Remnants for that matter, then there was only one other explanation. Anyone would realize the only possibility left on the table after simple elimination.


    The numbers were erased, and the screen disappeared before he could do anything. His hands only touched air; there was no way to put everything back in its place.


    Yes. It was very simple. The beings behind the curtain had come out to play.


    3


    With trembling hands, the man loaded the rifle. It wasn¡¯t the first time he had thought about ¡°it,¡± far from it. The first time, he vividly remembered, had been in his adolescence. Before he had hair on his balls. At the edge of the train tracks, he had wondered what would happen if he stepped forward when the train arrived at the station, as if it wasn¡¯t obvious. He had toyed with the idea. Only later would he realize he had been serious from the beginning.


    Back then, he had no real reasons. The reasons had come later, one after another, in an avalanche. Before he could recover from one kick, the next was ready to kick him in the balls and leave him gasping. But he had carried on because that¡¯s what you were supposed to do, the right thing. Despite God¡¯s, life¡¯s, destiny¡¯s, or whatever the hell¡¯s best efforts, he hadn¡¯t taken himself out of the picture. He hadn¡¯t found anyone to support him, but that was okay. He had a decent salary and could afford to do what he more or less liked. It wasn¡¯t a special lifestyle, but he had never wanted to be special. He had just wanted to be happy. That was special enough for him.


    An entire life fighting against the curse he was born with ended in an instant when the man took a look at what was beyond the windows, at what was tearing apart the night sky, at the beings twisting and bearing a darkness deeper than the space between the stars, and the green lights of strange trees that seemed to call him home.


    So that¡¯s what he did. He put the rifle in his mouth and pulled the trigger.


    4


    The city had been transformed into an alien landscape in the blink of an eye. Not that Sylvester was familiar with the city; this was literally his first day in it, an infernal day that hadn¡¯t ended yet. And he didn¡¯t even know the name of the city. But it was such a drastic change that even if it had been Kaleidoscope City, another disaster ravaging the ruins still standing and the newly reconstructed buildings and roads, it would have been unrecognizable. He couldn¡¯t look directly at anything for long due to the light burning his retinas and pounding his head. That didn¡¯t help, of course.


    Were they weapons? Those twisted trees and the strange lights of colors that drove human perception to the brink of total destruction? It was like living in black and white and seeing a touch of color for the first time. No matter how beautiful that color was, you couldn¡¯t help but go mad, as it changed everything you thought you knew.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    No living being liked the unknown, surprises, especially not humans. That¡¯s why they desperately tried to name everything, to put it in a little box. That¡¯s why, before understanding why storms happened, they had to be Poseidon¡¯s wrath. Sitting and fearing the wrath of a temperamental god and trying to appease him was much better than admitting you didn¡¯t know why it happened. That it would happen again and you couldn¡¯t do anything to prevent it.


    The same here. His sense of reality was being shattered. To compare again, his entire existence so far had been revealed as a triviality on a sheet of paper, which those things had taken and were now tearing apart, bit by bit. Based on that logic, there was no way to resist. The ¡°character¡± drawn by some artist couldn¡¯t resist having their sheet filled with holes. His creator and he were simply in different dimensions; there was no comparison.


    But he would find one. He would find some way to compare himself to those beings and resist. Just because it didn¡¯t seem possible didn¡¯t mean it wasn¡¯t. The only problem was exhaustion. Just after one fight ended, another tremendous one began. But at least this was simpler. No complicated feelings against traitors. No doubting himself. It was like chess. Black and white and everything perfectly squared.


    Sylvester regenerated his right wing, gritting his teeth to endure the pain. As usual, the remedy was worse than the disease. That is, Heather had cut off his wing, but he had barely noticed it. While it grew back, however, oh, it was like his back was being torn open. Once finished, he took flight. A wave of dizziness overcame him, but he managed to keep his trajectory steady. Pain, dizziness. Passing sensations that shouldn¡¯t distract him from his mission.


    He didn¡¯t know what to do against those enormous beings, more real than reality.


    He didn''t know what the hell he could do.


    But he couldn¡¯t let those trees keep spreading their otherworldly light and who knows what else. So, he dashed towards the nearest one. Once he got there, well, he¡¯d improvise on the fly. So far, it had worked for him...


    Hahaha!


    Around that tree swarmed creatures that, if he had to compare them to something from his sane and logical reality, he¡¯d say they resembled ants. But they didn¡¯t really resemble ants all that much.


    For starters, they weren¡¯t small.


    And just looking at them caused a headache similar to looking at one of those demonic trees, because their proportions made no sense.


    It felt like they should collapse under their own weight, but they crawled forward, occasionally scratching the ground, cars, or the guts of some poor devil with their claws.


    Their mouths were just as disproportionate.


    Their bodies were large, especially compared to ants or any other insect, but not so large that they could have a mouth, split in two, that seemed capable of swallowing a bus. Nothing made sense, but the pieces remained in place no matter how much he looked, no matter how much he refused to accept it.


    They were from another world in the strictest sense of the word, those things, the trees, the colors, and those god-like beings.


    They had brought another common sense with them and were painting over his fragile reality carelessly.


    Maybe this isn¡¯t a fight that can be won, thought Sylvester.


    Grounding himself, engaging in another fight before he realized it.


    Losing control had helped him against Heather, but here it would be different. He had to be cautious, assuming that one hit was the same as death, whether long or short, dead was dead.


    If they could stain him, infect him, degrade him the same way they were degrading reality, he really couldn¡¯t afford to be hit even once.


    Then move away, what are you doing so close? he thought, and he was right.


    Sylvester took off, up and back. The air lifted by the beating of his wings scattered the swarm of monsters, sending them flying against buildings, shards of glass, and right back at the tree that had spawned them.


    Yes, he had the means to fight those monsters from a distance without losing any effectiveness, even before he had stolen a sword that for some reason also allowed him to attack from afar.


    So... it was common sense to keep his distance.


    It wasn¡¯t some profound revelation that he should take the path of least effort and risk if he could.


    But, nonetheless, it felt like a great breakthrough.


    He was clearing his head.


    Coming up for air.


    From what? Coming up for air from what? To the surface, but from where?


    Well, he didn¡¯t know. But if he didn¡¯t concentrate, he wouldn¡¯t pull his head and the rest of his body out of those mouths, that was clear.


    He killed many of those bugs, shooting darkness from the sword, creating mountains of spikes, using his entire arsenal without holding back, almost as if this were the last fight he would face tonight.


    And he killed them quickly, but not quickly enough.


    They kept coming out of the tree and those he killed were quickly replaced. It wasn¡¯t useless, they would have doubled in number if he had stood idly by.


    But his effort to keep that plague under control would be very unproductive if he didn¡¯t uproot the problem.


    He looked at the Color for too long and Sylvester felt something break.


    But it had already become clear to him how limited human understanding was about anything. What did he know about breaking? Had he ever been whole, to begin with?


    In any case, upon realizing he was reflected in that Color, he ended up inside it.


    For no apparent reason. Without a transition, it was more like he had been there from the beginning. It had just taken him a while to realize it, that¡¯s all.


    The beginning. Of what, when, and how?


    Sylvester shuddered.


    Because the space seemed to vibrate in response to the voiceless voice of his thoughts.


    Because he wasn¡¯t alone.


    There was nothing but monsters around him, and their shadows that extended over him like a prison weren¡¯t shadows, but another type of monster that came attached.


    After everything he had seen today, the fact that shadows were alive and separate from their sources, from the creatures that projected them, wasn¡¯t even close to the strangest thing he had seen. But that didn¡¯t make it any less disturbing, of course not.


    Because, his own shadow¡­


    There was something alive there, swimming. No, like the surroundings, his shadow had been replaced in an instant by something inhuman.


    Sylvester gathered strength and struck the ground, trying to use the Skill [Mountain of Needles]. It alluded to the mountain of the Buddhist hell, so it was most appropriate now that he suddenly found himself in a true hell.


    But it didn¡¯t work.


    He had been frightened when, after the appearance of those beings and the trees they planted, the screen had shattered and the numbers had been erased. But then he had been able to continue using his Skills without problems, so he had set it aside.


    That was over. He tried and failed a second time, but it wasn¡¯t that his energy had run out.


    He had lost access to his Skills, the power he had always depended on, which had become a part of him over the past ten years.


    So, for the first time since he was a child, Sylvester felt fear. Not for others, not for what might happen if he failed, but for himself.


    Because now he was weak. Vulnerable. And he found himself in the deepest entrails of hell.


    5


    Robert woke up with the feeling that an elephant had run over him. His eyes were open, but he couldn¡¯t see a damn thing. Nothing physical was preventing him, but he was unable to breathe.


    Anyone would say it was perfectly normal after a car accident, but Robert knew that had already happened, that it had nothing to do with it, even as important things like his own name slipped away like grains of sand through his fingers.


    Deep down he wasn¡¯t hurt. So, if it had only been the accident, he would have already managed to drag himself out and now be cursing the bastards who had suddenly remodeled the road or rather, getting the hell out of there and maybe calling the tow truck later, if he didn¡¯t completely forget. He wasn¡¯t exactly very brave.


    He was sensitive, rational.


    Come on, a more or less normal guy. That¡¯s why he could recognize what was abnormal at first glance.


    First, the bastards who had suddenly remodeled the road were nothing more than trees of concrete, glass, and mostly steel.


    Second, that color.


    The color fallen from the sky was the most abnormal thing of all.


    He couldn¡¯t breathe while looking at it, but he couldn¡¯t tear his gaze away either, and each time his symptoms, for lack of a better word, got worse.


    That is, it became increasingly difficult for him to breathe and the last remnants of his vision, like points of light in the infinite darkness of outer space, threatened to disappear and that was forever.


    He was dying and Robert didn¡¯t want to die like this, he didn¡¯t want to die in any way.


    But he was unable to tear his gaze away in every sense of the word. It was difficult, inside the car that had overturned during the accident, but he should be able to do it if he tried a little, changing position. It wasn¡¯t like something was pressing him down, pinning him to the ground, forcing him to stay there looking in that direction. It was something inside him... or inside that Nameless Color.


    Robert smiled when he found the solution. What drug could be more potent than a little hope in the midst of despair? The solution was very simple. If the problem was the Color invading his vision, he simply had to get rid of it. What did he need it for?


    Nowadays you could replace your eyes if you had enough money to pay for synthetic ones, anyway. A mechanical replacement not only perfectly functional, but better than your real eyes.


    And yet, of course, it was easier said than done. It was a great sacrifice.


    But Robert did it.


    He did it with a big smile on his lips. Raising his thumbs, placing them on his eyelids, which trembled as they closed, knowing what awaited them.


    Then he pressed.


    He didn¡¯t stop until everything went dark and he began to feel blood and other fluids sliding between his fingers.


    But he had made a grave mistake.


    Now the only thing he could see was that Color.


    Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 3: END

 70. Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 4

    <div>


    Chapter 70: Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 4


    1


    This was the worst possible situation. One that Sylvester hadn''t dreamed of even in his worst nightmares. He had always relied on his mysterious powers. And it was too late to realize that it was a gross mistake and try to fix it.


    He had to swim or drown. In the depths of hell.


    There were countless monsters around him, waiting for their next meal. Their shadows were alive, and even his own shadow had turned against him. If there was a way the situation could get worse, it escaped his imagination. But...


    "Come at me, you bastards!"


    That didn''t mean he was going to give up so easily. If he had to die, at least he wouldn''t make it easy for them. Besides, he had been fighting for so long that he didn''t know any other way to live. That''s why, deep down... He had always thought he would like to die saving the world. He had no idea what he would do when there were no enemies left to fight.


    But this end? Practically defenseless, while the dogs of hell bit at his heels. A meaningless death. A pathetic death.


    No. No! He couldn''t allow this.


    The howl of a crazed beast emerged from the depths of his throat. Berserk. He was used to fighting without worrying about defending himself, but before it was different. Before, he could afford that because hardly anyone could really hurt him. But now, soon... If he continued like this, soon...


    The claws of a beast sank into his side. They hadn''t been there a moment ago, but it didn''t matter. The rules of this place were different. Or perhaps better said, there were no rules. No, if there weren''t any, he was already dead, and this was just an execution. But if he couldn''t see them, it was as if there were no rules. In other words, he couldn''t defend himself even if he tried.


    More screams. As the claws sank deeply into his side, leaving red marks. Soon his organs were spilling out of the wound. The image gave him the push he needed.


    "I''m better than all of you. I''m a fucking human being! I''m not going to die like an animal!"


    He didn''t even know what he was saying at this point, but it was important to say it anyway. To express his defiance with every fiber of his being. He would reproach himself for wasting oxygen in a critical situation. But if he couldn''t waste it, it would be worse. Then he would have lost even the will to resist.


    He decapitated the beast that had trapped him with its claws. It split in two. The shadows of its pieces also split in two, transforming into something else. That reminded him. Sylvester''s shadow, which was no longer his shadow, continued to dance under his body. Like a shark waiting for the moment to pounce on its prey. Waiting to smell blood in the water.


    Hasn''t it had enough yet? he thought, gritting his teeth, mocking despite everything. It was one of the few things he had left.


    Despite his fierceness, he knew it wasn''t a fight he could win. The monsters were endless. For every one he cut down, it felt like ten more had been there all along, even if he hadn''t seen them. Yes. He couldn''t hold out, he couldn''t kill them all.


    So his victory conditions were to escape. But how? Was it possible?


    When he didn''t even know how he had gotten here in the first place.


    His legs were trembling. Of course. They were full of blood. Most of it wasn''t his, but that didn''t matter. There were also holes through which you could see the bone.


    He had lost his powers, but it couldn''t have been completely. A normal human being couldn''t stand in that state. He didn''t want to look too closely at his wounds, but he had seen enough to assure that. It was too optimistic a way to think about it.


    Surely the strange thing wasn''t his body, but this place.


    The colors. Even the density in the air. A space where things that shouldn''t be alive were, and the living were closer to death than ever. He had dealt with different worlds, alternative dimensions. But this strange space couldn''t even be in the same universe. It was surely a step beyond.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Humans didn''t have a word for that. At least he didn''t know it. But he was sure of it.


    Sylvester suddenly felt small. It was a sensation like being crushed by an industrial compactor. He knew it from experience.


    Of course, the monsters didn''t shrink with him. They grew in size. And their shadows... stayed in the middle instead of matching them. They had been something independent from the beginning after all.


    At all times he had to remain aware of his own shadow too, which for some reason or another had chosen not to attack yet. It only moved around him, like a shark swimming under the water. He had to remember that detail at all times or he would pay for it. If he let his guard down for even a tenth of a second, he could consider himself dead. And he didn''t want to die. He couldn''t die.


    With or without his powers, I''m the fucking hero of this fucking story!


    Despite the sudden change in size, he managed to split a huge bastard, all teeth, literally. Sylvester flew between the two huge halves and the rain of spilling organs, that mountain of flesh could have buried him, but he managed to slip away.


    He landed on his knees, graceful as a panther, his body still full of power, of energy.


    Ready to shoot off like a bullet.


    Which he did immediately, of course. Because hundreds of beasts landed at the point where he had been a tenth of a second ago. He couldn''t rest for even a second and couldn''t afford to give in to the pain, let it affect him, he had to pass through it, as if it were nothing, not even a ghostly sensation.


    This place was hell.


    But it wasn''t so different from his world deep down.


    But he couldn''t get comfortable anyway. Soon he received a real surprise. His back suddenly hit something that he was quite sure hadn''t been there a moment ago. Suddenly he found himself back to back with another human being, surrounded by hundreds of thousands of hungry beasts. They should cooperate if they wanted to survive. But that didn''t necessarily mean anything.


    They turned around at the same time.


    "Who the hell are you?"


    And they asked the same question, naturally.


    The stranger looked like a king. That was the first word that came to his mind, and it was no wonder, dressed all in black except for the touches of what could only be pure gold, there was no doubt. A gold chain that tied his short cape to his shoulders, probably had a longer and more pretentious name and, that is, appropriately royal, but it escaped him. The buttons on the jacket were also pure gold.


    Sylvester dealt with four creatures that suddenly pounced on him with a single slash and without looking back. The stranger did more or less the same, though not with his sword. He snapped his fingers and more than a dozen monsters died in the air before touching him.


    He didn''t understand how or why they had died, but that was the least of it.


    The fact was that it made it clear that the stranger was a Champion like him. And that his Abilities hadn''t vanished.


    "Look, we don''t have time to talk," Sylvester said, turning his back and hoping it wasn''t the last mistake of his life to defend against another attack. The teeth of a shadow half snake, half shark almost closed around his neck, instead biting his sword¡ª. First, let''s not die. Then I''ll tell you whatever you want."


    The stranger considered it for a moment.


    Without any concern.


    As if in these circumstances one could stop to think about anything. Was he out of his mind? But he was the only help he could depend on, apparently.


    "I accept the deal," said that guy, nodding slowly. He shattered the monster that was biting Sylvester''s sword in an instant¡ª. Stay behind me. I can''t die."


    "Do you think you''re invincible?"


    "I said what I said. No matter how many times I die, I come back to life."


    Was he immortal?


    If he was telling the truth, it wouldn''t be a remotely fair fight if they ever had to face each other. He had plenty of reasons to lie to him. But for some reason, Sylvester was convinced he was telling the truth, plain and simple.


    Not because of the goodness of his heart.


    Humans were liars and scoundrels, willing to do anything to get ahead. If this man wasn''t lying, it was only because he didn''t need to. A monarch in title and spirit, used to getting his way regardless of the situation.


    He would try to discover the conditions to break his immortality, but later. Now he was busy, with water up to his fucking neck.


    He repelled a monster that flew towards him curled up, spinning so quickly its body full of spikes could have shredded him if it had touched him. Instead, it flew away like a baseball, very far, though it wasn''t as if the concept of distance mattered in this place.


    One less, he hoped, and how many more were left?


    Impossible to count.


    Maybe endless.


    Even an immortal being couldn''t kill an endless army. Although at the same time he couldn''t be defeated, that wouldn''t do him any good. Sooner or later Sylvester would be torn apart in the eternal fight. He had to find a way to get out of this fucking place and back to reality. Because there had to be a way. If he didn''t believe at least that, he wouldn''t be able to take a single step forward.


    Hundreds of ghostly weapons appeared around his new ally. Swords, spears, axes, maces. All kinds, of all shapes and sizes possible, except for firearms, of course. But what did it matter? Those weapons were his projectiles.


    With a casual gesture, a lethal rain of steel descended on the practically endless army of monsters that had cornered him, sowing death.


    The resulting devastation was like the explosion of a bomb. Not a single creature in the blast radius survived, and even the terrain was left with a deep scar. Knowing this place, the next second it could disappear, but it was still impressive.


    "Who the hell are you?" Sylvester couldn''t help but ask that, but he didn''t expect to get an answer.


    The man fixed his cold eyes on him. The eyes of a dead man.


    "It''s strange that there exists someone who doesn''t know me. I am Jonathan Harker, the immortal Emperor of humanity."


    Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 4: END

 71. Earth, Wind, and Fire (5)

    Chapter 71: Earth, Wind, and Fire (5)


    1


    Jonathan Harker.


    If it was true that he was immortal, it was an extremely unfair Ability. They might as well stop fooling around, the being or beings who had set up this cosmic disaster, and declare their universe the winner of this war. Maybe that was precisely what those creatures from the sky had come to do.


    Sylvester hoped he had some weakness, but he had no proof. It wouldn''t be easy even if it existed. Otherwise, he would already be dead.


    Moreover, his chances of surviving to find out were insignificant even with Harker''s help.


    With or without some secret Achilles'' heel, his immortality left no room to doubt his claim. Of course, he would be the Emperor of humanity, of his humanity. How could they resist?


    Whether they liked it or not, that man would control them. So they might as well give him power to avoid unnecessary tragedies.


    For a being like him, the world would be a toy. There was only one word for that kind of being, and it wasn''t immortal or Emperor.


    God.


    In his world, Jonathan Harker was like a God.


    And he intended to kill him? As soon as they got out of here, as soon as they had a chance?


    No...


    He had no choice but to kill him. For the sake of the world as he knew it.


    He watched Jonathan deal with the monsters around him without barely lifting a finger. Even if he retained his powers, he wasn''t sure he could do the same so casually. He would give the monsters a good fight, but it would also be a good fight for him.


    Jonathan didn''t even seem to be sweating...


    Why would he?


    They couldn''t kill him. Supposedly, no one could kill him. That nonchalance was the most natural thing in the world, seen that way.


    Many died without him having to lift a finger, literally.


    How did it work? If the Ability was just a matter of proximity, Sylvester would already be scattered on the ground in dozens of pieces, he had gotten much closer than any of the monsters.


    In any case, dozens of them died without him having to do anything.


    It didn''t dent the number of monsters, it seemed nothing could, but it was still impressive and terrifying. A field of death surrounding him. Him, that man with cold eyes, who claimed he could come back to life no matter how many times he was killed.


    While he couldn''t die, he was the eye of a storm of death.


    And that without talking about his sword, which moved with the fluidity of water. He couldn''t say if he killed all the creatures with a single blow. That was because Sylvester could barely follow his movements with his eyes. He vaguely understood that if he had completely lost his powers, he wouldn''t even be able to do that.


    He had found a great ally, for once luck was on his side. Of course, sooner or later he would be his most dangerous enemy, but at least everything pointed to him getting out of this.


    And he did.


    Suddenly he found himself trapped inside a crystal prison with a honeycomb structure. He punched and slashed it several times, to no effect. He knew something strange was happening here, stranger than usual, when Jonathan tried and failed too.


    "Did you do this? Reneging on our deal so soon?"


    Anyone would doubt a guy they had met like five minutes ago, regardless of the circumstances. But it was irritating. What did he think this would achieve? He had agreed to stay close to him, for more than one reason this was just an inconvenience.


    "No! Get me out of here!"


    Whatever this was, it couldn''t be good.


    If it was just a prison, then it would protect him from the creatures out there until Jonathan finished them all or found a way out somehow.


    His life would be in danger soon, even more than before bumping into Jonathan, as he had no way to escape from whatever it was in here.


    The space, dimension, or whatever it was changed again. In everything. Colors, shapes, sizes. Everything undulated and twisted into new configurations.


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    While Jonathan lunged towards him, extending his free hand.


    2


    "Where is Sylvester?"


    The Lunar Princess, as usual, didn''t waste time. The question left her lips before landing softly next to both of them.


    Cynthia had never expected her to care about them in the slightest, so it made no sense to get angry. In any case, seeing her as brutalized as they were or more, she lost the desire. She just swallowed hard. She had a lump in her throat. None of this was fair.


    "I don''t know. He went that way, but I don''t know."


    Heather looked her up and down. She didn''t know what she was thinking, she never did. Maybe she was assessing her wounds, still covered by ice, slowing the bleeding in an unconventional and quite painful way. Or maybe she was thinking about something completely different. Maybe she didn''t even see them.


    She forced herself to stand up. Ryan was breathing heavily, Sylvester had torn him apart, but he was still alive. And he would recover. He had to recover. He hadn''t returned to his human form, that was a good sign.


    "I hope he doesn''t remember anything when I save him. The world will always remind him of the innocents he has killed, but he doesn''t need to know he hurt the people who really matter to him."


    Not knowing why she was telling her this in the first place, Cynthia squirmed under her gaze, uncomfortable though she couldn''t say why. Or rather, she didn''t want to?


    "Aren''t you going to tell him what he did to you?"


    "That''s what I said."


    "Why?"


    Both had other priorities, but she felt the need to ask her that question anyway. And Heather felt the need to answer for the same reason, whatever it was.


    "I love him, isn''t it obvious?"


    Cynthia didn''t know how to respond to that.


    "You must be thinking what does an inhuman monster like me know about love."


    "Maybe you are, but I guess it only takes a spark."


    "For both things."


    "Both things?"


    Cynthia thought for a moment.


    "I understand."


    She returned her gaze to the ice covering the wound. When she lifted it, she was gone. Her wings hadn''t even made a sound. And, of course, she left no trace.


    3


    The crystal broke and everything changed again.


    Finally, he could surface. He felt it from the first moment, that the air density was as it should be, that everything was in place again. At least for Sylvester, if not for the newcomer. With whom he found himself in free fall a second later through the night sky.


    They had fallen from a hole at the top of that monstrous tree. Was it, let''s say, a coincidence? If there was such an army of monsters on the other side, pulsating close in an adjacent dimension, why hadn''t they crossed yet? Either they couldn''t or they were in it, and if they managed, then...


    He forgot everything else upon realizing the most important detail. In the alternate dimension, he had been defenseless, without his powers, but returning hadn''t restored them. They had started to fade right here, at the beginning of this disaster.


    Which meant he couldn''t summon his black wings.


    It was a long fall.


    Before, he wouldn''t have even twisted his ankle, now he would easily break his damn neck.


    But Jonathan was falling with him, and he made sure to protect his repository of answers. Acting as if by instinct, he would say, he caught him in the air, turned him, and threw him onto one of the branches without much care. He broke some ribs with the impact, he was sure before feeling the blood rising in his throat. But better that than the damn neck.


    He could do this alone. The branch he had thrown him onto like a sack of garbage wasn''t even that far from the ground.


    Sylvester took a deep breath.


    He drove the sword into the trunk and slid down, landing on the ground not far from Jonathan. Well, he had nowhere to hide or distance to save him. He could cross that distance in less than a second.


    As he did now. He appeared looming over him so quickly that he almost jumped back.


    Jonathan wasn''t paying much attention to him.


    He was looking around, that is, at the city violated by alien beings, its trees and the monsters they spat out, with wide eyes. But for a very different reason than a normal person. He was anything but normal, that was clear.


    "What is all this?"


    When their eyes met, the stranger''s face hardened, and he visibly made an effort to put that topic aside. In a way, the shock that penetrated his cold, dead, impassive mask satisfied him, even if it hadn''t lasted long.


    The man approached him step by step, gracefully like a panther.


    "I want my answers."


    "We''re in the middle of a fucking war zone, man!" He was playing with fire. But the truth was the truth, damn it.


    Those creatures, demonic insects, kept emerging from the tree en masse to massacre the population. To overwhelm and engulf all of humanity.


    "Then give me the short version. And quickly. A deal is a deal."


    The blade of the immortal''s sword caressed his very, very mortal neck.


    "Fuck, okay. There are many different worlds. That''s why I don''t know you, uh, your Imperial Majesty. And I don''t know how, but now you''re involved in a war between all those worlds."


    If he had finished the sentence as he thought, that is, saying to see who is the last one standing, his head would have rolled on the ground the next instant. He had said practically the same thing, but this way it was more open to interpretation.


    Sylvester wasn''t good with words.


    He was good at beating problems until they disappeared because that was the only thing he had done for a decade and because his powers had always allowed him to be far enough above those problems not to bother looking for another solution.


    But now he had no power.


    Now he was even sweating. He was cannon fodder, practically like any other human in this city.


    What would he decide?


    Slowly and gradually, Jonathan Harker moved the sword away from his neck, letting it fall. His expression hadn''t changed a bit since the momentary surprise of, he imagined, seeing a civilization more advanced than his own.


    "See? It wasn''t that hard."


    Jonathan turned his back on him carelessly again. Maybe it wasn''t that hard, but Sylvester wasn''t satisfied.


    "I''ll take care of this trash, and then you''ll tell me the long version. I want to know what I''m up against."


    His anger quickly replaced any trace of fear, sinking into the red rage, a familiar and comforting sensation, even in the middle of this hell on earth. Or especially, rather.


    Sylvester gripped the sword handle until his knuckles turned white.


    Until his hand began to tremble with barely repressed rage.


    And then...


    DO IT YOU CAN''T LET HIM GET AWAY WITH IT WE ARE THE HERO OF THIS STORY


    Ah, yes.


    Something had been missing. That voice, pushing him forward. That voice...


    What voice?


    Nothing.


    Nothing.


    Sylvester gripped the sword with both hands and stabbed Jonathan in the back. A precise and swift cut, hardly improvable, that pierced the heart and shattered it.


    He died, of course.


    But he didn''t stay that way for long.


    As blood dripped from the hole in his chest and slid between his teeth, Jonathan slowly and methodically turned his head to fix him with a gaze from a frozen hell.


    "I already told you. I am Immortal."


    Earth, Wind, and Fire (5): FIN

 72. Earth, Wind, and Fire (6)

    Chapter 72: Earth, Wind, and Fire (6)


    1


    As previously mentioned, Jonathan Harker was like a god in his world. An authority literally impossible to challenge. Thanks to his immortality, he had reached that position. It was natural for someone outside the natural cycle of life and death to be revered and feared.


    So his fist hitting him was the long arm of the law from another universe. Which was a more stupid way of saying he punched him with all his might, lifting him off the ground and making him fly like a ragdoll caught in a strong wind.


    The impact knocked the air out of his lungs. His sword, of course, remained buried in Jonathan Harker''s body, though it was useless. Sylvester breathed heavily on the ground, writhing in pain. Something didn''t add up. His mind was like covered by a fog.


    He had wanted to cooperate with Harker while at the same time investigating a way to end him, finding the weakness of his supposed immortality (hoping there was one in the first place) or at least a way to get rid of him forever. Lock him up and bury him at the bottom of the ocean, where he wouldn''t bother anyone ever again, or launch him into space, who knew, he couldn''t think right now.


    The point is, he had never wanted this.


    Why had he attacked him now? Had he let his anger get the best of him and made the stupidest mistake of his life? He knew it wouldn''t work, that he was immortal, for God''s sake!


    Something didn''t add up.


    That''s what he thought as Harker approached him casually with the sword still buried in his chest. Damn, it seemed like he couldn''t even feel pain.


    I''m going to die, he thought.


    Jonathan pulled the sword out of his body and let it fall beside him, almost on his right hand.


    What was this?


    "Pick it up already." Those cold eyes looked through him, touching his soul. He vaguely registered that the hole in his chest had already regenerated. Immortality, practically instant regeneration, and overwhelming power. Completely unfair. This being was truly like a god. "Next time you try, I''ll break your arm."


    Only the arm.


    Of course.


    Why would he kill him directly? He posed no threat to him. He could afford to simply punish him for trying to kill him.


    He almost felt like laughing.


    This was too fucked up.


    Sylvester picked up the sword and stood on trembling legs. Well, the hands holding the sword were also trembling. And not out of anger. Not anymore.


    So this is what it feels like to be afraid, he thought.


    "Can you send me back to my world? I have responsibilities, a war to end, for starters."


    "Yes. In theory. We have a portal machine. It won''t be easy to find the right universe, but, in theory..."


    Jonathan Harker''s expression didn''t change one bit. As usual.


    "Very well. Take me there."


    Sylvester tensed.


    "I also have a war to fight. I have to defend my people."


    Jonathan stared at him for too long. Sylvester was tense, wondering if he would break his arm as he had threatened before or had a worse punishment in mind for his disobedience. Being immortal, did he even know how fragile normal humans were?


    It was ironic coming from him, who barely remembered when he was normal, but it was still true.


    Besides, now he was normal. Basically. Not entirely, not yet at least, but he was fragile enough not to even think about fighting him. Those demonic insects would be a big problem now too, even.


    Shit.


    "Alright," he said finally. He did take his time. "Let''s get to work, then."


    With that said, he launched himself at the nearest horde of creatures without further delay. There were screams. Crunches and explosions. Jonathan didn''t even make a slight crunch. He worked, as he had said, in complete silence. It was no effort for him. He was crushing them like the insects they resembled.


    He had found a powerful ally, there was no denying it.


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    But he was only his ally for now.


    And when that changed, what the hell could he do about it?


    KILL HIM YOU CAN''T STOP NOW


    The sword''s blade was covered in darkness. It vibrated in his hand, filled with a mysterious power.


    FEAR IS THE FIRST DEATH GET RID OF ALL THOSE OBSTACLES AND FINISH HIM


    I WILL DEVOUR HIM


    He didn''t understand why, but Sylvester was no longer afraid. So he approached Jonathan from behind while he was taking out the trash, killing the horde of demons by the dozens with each move he made.


    This time he saw him coming.


    Jonathan turned and stopped the sword with one hand. The blade sank, cutting his skin. Blood flowed freely. Didn''t he feel pain? It wasn''t a serious wound, of course, but once again his expression didn''t change one bit. Was it possible that he didn''t even feel pain?


    "Again, so soon?"


    There was a certain incredulity in his tone.


    "Okay, it seems you''re not a tame animal. I''ll find my answers elsewhere." He pulled the sword from his hands and threw it far, far away, over the rooftops that scraped the sky.


    Then, he put both hands on his neck and started to squeeze.


    "Blame me in hell if you want, you wouldn''t be the first, but I gave you many chances. Didn''t I? I think I''ve been very fair."


    It almost seemed like he was genuinely asking instead of mocking him now that he literally had his life in his hands.


    I fucked up, he thought.


    It was nice while it lasted, more or less, but this is the end.


    Now to die. To rest. Deep down, it''s not so bad. I''ve been waiting for this for a long time. And I''m not alone anymore, there are people at my level, even better than me, ready to continue the fight.


    So why can''t I rest?


    What was selfish about it? And even if it was selfish, to hell with it.


    Sylvester closed his eyes and stopped fighting.


    2


    Heather finally found Sylvester.


    She should be scared, but the first emotion was surprise. She couldn''t believe what she was seeing. Sylvester broken, defeated. At the mercy of some stranger who was strangling him.


    But everything could be fixed, she thought as she landed explosively, attracting the stranger''s attention and very likely preventing him from simply twisting his neck or crushing his head.


    This could still be fixed. Especially now that Sylvester didn''t have that sword.


    "Who are you?"


    That man was not a human being.


    Heather understood it instinctively as soon as his eyes locked onto her.


    She took a step forward, with one hand on the wound, which was still bleeding. Leaving a clear trail behind her, on the shattered ground.


    "Let him go."


    "Give me a good reason."


    "There''s no need to fight among ourselves for now. We have bigger problems. Besides, if you don''t obey me, I''ll kill you."


    Sylvester had crushed her, but only because he loved her too much to hurt her. The stranger had easily defeated Sylvester, so it wouldn''t be that easy, but she could do it. She had to do it if he refused to listen to reason. For Sylvester. For both of them.


    "Not even I can kill myself."


    Heather accepted it easily. It was something she had never seen before, something that should be impossible, but she had been forced to accept a lot of things since she was born. Starting with her own strange existence. She had sought an explanation, giving herself a title, a mission. Now she no longer wanted to be the Lunar Princess. She wanted to be a human being.


    Heather took another step forward.


    She wasn''t afraid. Despite that, despite her state. Why should she be?


    "Better for me. I can grab you by the neck and throw you to the bottom of the ocean."


    The newcomer grimaced, relaxed his grip. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, Heather smiled. Right there was the weakness of his immortality, making him wish he could die.


    "Or I could take you beyond the clouds, to the darkness of space. In any case, you would spend the rest of eternity suffocating, reviving, and dying again. So let him go. Now."


    Sylvester should be able to do any of those things, so it wouldn''t be that easy. But anyway, she had penetrated his facade of coldness. She had hit him where it hurt the most, clearly, with that about sinking him to the bottom of the ocean. Maybe he came from a primitive civilization with no concept of space. In any case...


    The stranger obeyed, and Heather forgot about everything else, running to Sylvester''s side to hold him, to support him, to...


    Cry. Cry with relief. It was the first time she had cried in her life. She hadn''t been sure she could do it until now.


    It was a pleasant feeling, actually. As if she were connected to a part of herself that wasn''t supposed to exist in the first place. Sylvester had lost that damn sword in the fight. He should be free. They could still fix this. Fighting together, they would stop this crisis, as impossible as it seemed at first, like all the times before.


    And then they would earn some time together.


    Maybe a few weeks. Maybe a few days.


    She would even accept a few hours.


    She just wanted to spend as much time with him as she could, discovering more things about herself along the way.


    "How are you feeling?"


    2


    The fog that had been covering his mind lifted.


    It disappeared in Heather''s arms. It wasn''t a relief, quite the opposite. He looked at the woman with wide eyes.


    "What have I done?"


    "You haven''t done anything."


    It was easy to say that. Heather loved him (he had already accepted it, just as he felt the same for her, despite everything). What else was she going to say?


    But it had been his hands, his body, his voice.


    His mistake.


    Because none of this would have happened if he had thought things through better. Defeating an enemy so easily wasn''t realistic. He should have realized that the sword was the real trap. Paradoxically, although he had practically no evidence, it was logical to think so.


    He could also have resisted its influence or something.


    The point is, one way or another, yes.


    It had been him.


    "Heather..." He took a deep breath. His throat hurt. Everything hurt, but especially his throat. He didn''t know what to say, so he just shut the hell up.


    Heather nodded, who knows what she thought she was nodding to, and simply hugged him tighter. While the world around them burned and crumbled by the work of nightmare creatures from a place where all human knowledge and achievements were like ants proud of how well their anthill was built looking at the world of giants on the surface from their dark and damp hole trying to glimpse and connect the dots although they weren''t equipped for it from birth because they were small and utterly insignificant creatures around which nothing revolved waiting for the boot that would scatter everything into the air and erase any trace of them from the universe itself.


    They were leaving them alone for now. The army of demonic insects marched in a line.


    Whether out of fear of Jonathan Harker or to grow stronger with the entrails of easier prey, they marched from the alien trees with their color out of space and spread through the city sowing death.


    In short, the boot had arrived for the ants.


    Earth, Wind, and Fire (6): FIN

 73. Earth, Wind and Fire (7)

    Chapter 73: Earth, Wind and Fire (7)


    Sylvester sat up. Every cell in his body screamed, and he felt like vomiting. But he sat up.


    "What the hell do we do now?"


    His head was clear, though in a way he wished it wasn''t, but that didn''t help him find the way.


    "What were you doing before?" Jonathan asked.


    At first, he thought it was a bad joke, the kind only an immortal being could waste time on in a situation like this. For him, there was no danger, so he didn''t give a damn about anything. But when he turned to look at him as if he had the power to make him stop, he realized it was a serious question.


    Which, precisely for that reason, perhaps, they weren''t the kind to joke around.


    And how to answer that?


    Nothing.


    They hadn''t been doing anything. He had gone mad, controlled by that evil sword, and the others had been busy dealing with the consequences of his actions.


    Like the massacre he had perpetrated in that wretched place, while they fled from him and begged for mercy. Now that he could look back, it was so obvious. They hadn''t even tried to defend themselves. They were just scared and confused because their hero had turned against them after saving them.


    People had learned to depend on him, so when he went mad, they had no one to turn to.


    He couldn''t imagine that desperation.


    His blood would always stain his hands.


    Yes, he had fallen under the effects of a power. He couldn''t have realized it, but telling himself that wouldn''t cleanse the guilt. Not when he could see their faces twisted in fear. Not when he could hear their screams of pain.


    The least he could do was carry that pain as a curse until the day he finally died. Probably soon, he thought.


    "Nothing that worked. That''s why you had to save my life" Sylvester finally replied.


    For the first time in many years, his fate had been and still was in the hands of others.


    It was frustrating. Humiliating.


    He had to find a way to regain his powers soon. He was nothing without them. It was already too late to even think about living a normal life, but without his powers, he wouldn''t even survive this night.


    The mere idea that he might have lost them forever was unbearable.


    There had to be a way.


    Even if it was childish, for now, he had to cling to the idea that there was hope, as long as he didn''t stop trying.


    In response, Jonathan shrugged.


    "Alright. I''ll manage as always."


    And he set off, leaving them behind in the blink of an eye.


    There was no contempt in his gaze. Sylvester understood the most humiliating part of all. Jonathan couldn''t realize that he was weak, used to crushing his enemies like ants, it had seemed natural to him that he fell so easily before him.


    He didn''t even suspect that there was something wrong or different about him.


    He saw him land in the middle of the demonic army. He saw him sow death and chaos again.


    Clenching his teeth.


    Clenching them out of pure frustration.


    Yes, when Heather had joined him and Cynthia received powers like his, he hadn''t felt happy at all, though he should have been. This was a thousand times worse. Because he had to worry about him. Because that man would be an enemy sooner or later, and he didn''t see him as a threat. He was nothing to him.


    The feeling of humiliation could drive him mad.


    Heather put a hand on his shoulder as if she understood what he was thinking. He hoped not, but despite his best efforts, that woman knew him too well. He would say better than himself. He didn''t know how she had managed it, but in the end, what mattered was that there was no turning back.


    And he didn''t want to. He didn''t want to turn back.


    First of all, he had to survive this terrible night, however.


    A hellish midnight illuminated by the moonlight and colors from another planet.


    "Heather?"


    "Yes?"


    "I''m sorry." She seemed confused. "For what I did to you."


    "Oh. You really didn''t do anything to me. Besides, it''s us. The first time we met, we tried to kill each other. It was like receiving your affection."


    Sylvester smiled despite himself. So she could joke like that. Heather wasn''t the only one discovering new things about herself. Accompanying her on that exploration, hand in hand, felt nice.


    "I should take you back to the base" Heather said.


    With her, it was just the opposite. She thought she was stronger than anyone, so he hadn''t had to tell her anything. Seeing him defeated had been enough for her to correctly assume that something was wrong with him. It was nice to have her by his side. It had reached the point where he didn''t know what he would do without her.


    The person who understands me best isn''t even a human being.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    What did that say about him?


    He didn''t know. Not long ago, the mere idea that a relationship like this could be possible would have made him angry. But now he refused to think it was a mistake. It wasn''t perfect, of course. Nothing was perfect, but it was, he believed, what they both needed.


    Wasn''t that enough?


    "After what... What I did..." Heather took his hand, it should be him comforting her. Obviously not because of gender roles, but because he was the one who almost gutted her like a pig. However, it was nice. Holding hands even in the middle of this flaming hell. A strange normality. "I started to lose my powers. Not completely, not yet, but I''m afraid it won''t last long."


    "That''s why that man defeated you. More reason to get you out of here."


    Sylvester shook his head gently. She wasn''t wrong, but...


    "But..."


    "I''m not going to die, but this isn''t something I can run away from, Heather." He squeezed her hand and after a few seconds let go, taking a step forward. "It has always been my destiny. To be in the middle of disasters like this. Besides, I don''t think my powers will come back because I run away with my tail between my legs. Also, I understand how you feel, but I''m already a target. I can''t just stop fighting even if I run away."


    "Okay" Heather said slowly after a while. "But if you die, I''ll never forgive you."


    Sylvester smiled.


    "I wouldn''t forgive myself either." He raised a hand to his ear, establishing contact. "I need you to prepare a satellite quickly. No, I don''t think the barrier will hold for long, but something is something. So move your damn asses."


    It was a lie. Sylvester had no intention of enclosing this city whose name he still didn''t know within a barrier. Because it wouldn''t hold anything. He was sure those beings would break it as if it were made of paper. The same would happen even if they made an electric barrier with countless layers. They simply existed on a different plane of existence.


    No matter what he had drawn on a piece of paper, as real as it seemed, any pen could poke holes in it. The night sky was full of such holes.


    It was that simple.


    For that very reason, he had decided to lie. It was easier to lie about the reason he wanted the satellite''s energy than to waste time explaining it. Every second counted. Even if it didn''t seem like it. The alien colors were a constant assault on his senses, but the monsters had been leaving them alone for a while, as if they couldn''t see them. Or as if time had frozen.


    Maybe because they had their hands full with the Emperor.


    In any case, that was how it was, and they had been able to talk in something resembling peace.


    Heather stayed close to him at all times. She wanted to protect him and the truth was he wanted to be protected to some extent.


    A roar. The energy fired from space cut through the night sky like nothing and struck the edge of his sword. Sylvester directed all that energy towards the nearest tree. It was a clean cut. Split in half, it fell to the ground. The earth trembled and a cloud of dust rose so high as to challenge the skyscrapers that still stubbornly remained in the urban skyline like the footprints of the previous generation.


    The question was, had it worked?


    In a way.


    The colors from another world or dimension died. It took him a while to realize that as they had been burned into his retinas. Besides, the army of demons like giant insects stopped flowing from that point.


    The problem was that it wasn''t enough to change the situation.


    How long would it take him to do the same with the rest of the trees in the city, to begin with? Too long.


    And that wouldn''t stop the army already in the city, in any case. It''s not like they would die as soon as they ran out of those trees.


    It was time to admit it. He had tried to think of a way he could still be useful and had failed.


    A bitter pill. Sylvester swallowed.


    He could jump into the middle of that army of monsters, but being honest with himself, even in the best-case scenario, he would be a hindrance. The wounds he had suffered in that other dimension hadn''t affected him. But now he was back in the real world, if he got gutted, it would be over. His power was generously at ten percent of his strength.


    He had no place here.


    It was that simple.


    "You better take me back" Sylvester said, lowering his sword, and his head too. It was humiliating. Especially because he had tried to act strong like a couple of minutes ago and was already changing his mind. But it was also true. He gained nothing by running from the truth. He was a priority target even without his powers, but as long as he didn''t recover them, he had no place on the battlefield. He had to let himself be protected.


    As much as he hated it.


    As unbearable as the idea was to him.


    Heather said nothing, there was nothing she could say. She just put a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, showing her solidarity.


    Good.


    If she had shown pity, or turned her back on him now that they were no longer so similar, he wouldn''t know what he would have done.


    Heather wrapped him in her arms before taking flight over the ruined city violated by an alien presence. Just like him. They had taken away the most important thing. They had given it to him one day, changing his life forever, and as if by whim, they had taken it away in the end.


    What meaning could it have?


    Maybe it was just a cosmic accident.


    Ants could strive to give meaning to the boot that had crushed their anthill, while the human simply hadn''t seen it. Sylvester bit his tongue to keep from laughing, even though it wasn''t funny at all.


    "Do you think I''ve done well?" he asked. "Have I done more good than harm in the world?"


    "What kind of question is that? Of course, you have. This world would have died a long time ago if you weren''t here."


    She said it as if it were common sense. Looking at the corpse of the city being devoured by those monsters and the trees stuck everywhere like huge spears, emitting colors that burned the retinas and seemed to pass through him to dirty his soul, he couldn''t believe it was that simple.


    Then Heather, as if she had read his mind...


    "Even if we fail, every extra day has meaning. Even if it''s just one more day to live, to feel. To love."


    She pierced his defenses with a perfect thrust.


    She said naturally that everything had meaning even if there was no trace left. An end without any kind of continuation or possible observation.


    Sylvester swallowed.


    He couldn''t say anything. Nothing at all.


    Ryan and Cynthia are fighting down there, and I can''t.


    Heather should be fighting, but she''s not because of me.


    He should stop feeling sorry for himself. He couldn''t do anything about it anymore.


    Something hit them. The air was ripped from his lungs violently even though it only grazed him. He didn''t even see what hit them, but he knew. Sylvester tried to grab Heather''s hand. She also extended hers, but their fingers didn''t even touch.


    The free fall continued, spinning towards the depths of hell.


    He wasn''t worried about the ground getting closer, but about Heather getting farther away. Twisting in the air, just like him, struggling to regain control of her flight. He could no longer fly. He was at the mercy of gravity. Forced to crawl on the ground like ordinary mortals.


    He couldn''t even bear something brushing against him without tasting his own blood in his throat.


    Broken ribs. A punctured lung.


    And a fall towards certain death. He hadn''t even seen the thing that hit them. It moved too fast for him. It blended into the living, tar-like darkness of the night sky.


    He only saw it half a second before the next impact, and seeing was too generous a word. A fleeting flash of which he didn''t really capture anything. And any shred, any mental image he might have started to build, was scattered to the four winds when the monster struck him. Throwing him against the wall of one of the buildings. The concrete caved in, and Sylvester lay in the crater.


    The creature, a shadow among shadows, came for him a third time.


    There wouldn''t be a fourth.


    It hurt too much to move his limbs, much less dodge.


    Then...


    I died.


    But that''s not right. Something like this can''t kill me and I refuse to die.


    Earth, Wind and Fire (7): FIN

 74. Earth, Wind, and Fire (8)

    Chapter 74: Earth, Wind, and Fire (8)


    1


    I simply refuse to die here.


    I haven¡¯t come this far to die now.


    That¡¯s what I always tell myself when I''m at death¡¯s door, yes, but just like every other time, it¡¯s true. There¡¯s no meaning in dying here, like this. I can¡¯t accept an ending like this. The world doesn''t care about anyone''s feelings, of course, but I¡¯m different. I have the power to change things.


    I can push destiny in any direction I please.


    With my powers, though I can¡¯t have completely lost them. Otherwise, I¡¯d already be dead, I wouldn¡¯t even be able to think.


    Much less move, and I am moving.


    I grip the horns that pierce me, pulling on them. The creature¡¯s enraged roars soon blend with pain. The horns yield to my superhuman strength.


    So do I.


    I know my will can move this fragile world. My will itself is a superpower, and I don¡¯t need any damn number to quantify it.


    I am this strong now because I refuse to die, that¡¯s enough.


    Even before that day, that fire was always with me.


    That¡¯s the truth, isn¡¯t it?


    I tear off one of the horns. Black blood gushes out. It splashes on my face and clothes, but I welcome it with a smile.


    For a moment, I consider drinking it as if it would make me stronger. In a way, I¡¯m not far from the truth. Strength comes from crushing your enemies. The more enemies you crush, the stronger you get. With or without ridiculous numbers to represent growth, that remains true.


    The winged and horned demon now writhing in pain under my hands is just the next enemy in a long, possibly endless list.


    I rip off the last horn and stab it back into its head, from the wrong side, that is, from the perspective of that little bastard. I don¡¯t stop until I feel something like bone, who knows what these things are made of, or what they¡¯ll be made of in five minutes, for that matter. The composition of alien bastards doesn¡¯t have to make any sense.


    In any case, this is certain.


    It¡¯s not enough to kill it.


    However, it does release me and falls, spiraling in the air, with bat-like wings wrapped around its body, stained with black blood from head to toe. Its own damn blood.


    Along with me.


    Of course. The only thing I¡¯ve been holding onto until now has been the momentum of the bastard, as if trying to push me through the entire building.


    With the horns broken and worn out, the beast far away, all that¡¯s left for me is a free fall. The colors of another world and the army of demons engulfing the city are the only things waiting for me below.


    Where the hell are you, Heather?, I think.


    It doesn¡¯t matter. I try to summon my wings.


    No luck, somehow or another I¡¯ve managed to regain my strength, but the wings are still out of my reach. What a fucking mess. Even if I reach the bottom, I simply refuse to die like this. I laugh sincerely as if I¡¯ve already passed the danger. Yes, I¡¯m a slippery and stubborn bastard, why not? Why the hell wouldn¡¯t I survive the impact?


    Even if only for long enough for someone to pull my chestnuts out of the fire.


    Yes, damn it, why not?


    But that doesn¡¯t have to happen. Heather catches me in the air.


    ¡°I¡¯m never letting you go,¡± she says.


    She hugs me to her chest, flying slowly and with difficulty, but flying. Usually, I¡¯d even feel angry because she had to save me. Even inferior. Now I just breathe a sigh of relief and return the smile.


    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    It didn¡¯t feel like a victory. I¡¯d only won the chance to go home while others dealt with the problem. An unceremonious exit, not fitting for the hero of this world.


    But I told myself that the important thing in the end was to live to fight another day. No matter how bad it tasted, it was true.


    ¡°Heather. I¡¯ll forget what I did here today. You¡¯re right, in the end, it doesn¡¯t matter. What happened to me could have happened to anyone. No, sorry. It happened to me because I¡¯m in the fucking center of everything. The good and the bad. Like the eye of the storm, I¡­ I¡¯m not explaining myself well, am I? My head hurts and I¡¯m half-dizzy.¡±


    Heather returned the look.


    ¡°Maybe, but I understand what you mean anyway. You¡¯re starting to see the truth. You have great regrets like that only because you step up, take responsibility, do something. A person who locks themselves away, hides from the world or goes to meditate on the meaning of life on some rocky mountain isn¡¯t any more virtuous than someone who tries.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure that was exactly what I wanted to say, but it also made sense, so I nodded.


    ¡°I need you by my side, Heather. You¡¯re the only one who understands me, who can support me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not going anywhere.¡±


    Heather kisses me, and I awkwardly return the kiss, no wonder, the last time I kissed someone who truly felt something for me was a few days ago and the same person. I had no practice, but well, time could fix that. Few things, but that yes.


    2


    They went further.


    With the first glance, Caim instinctively understood that he was no longer in his world, though he refused to believe it with all his might. The buildings. All the lights. Overwhelming. It almost made him forget that they were falling from the sky.


    The three of them.


    Yes, the three.


    Because he had won, but that hadn¡¯t been the end, as usual. He thought they would leave the Tower with the answers he had risked so much to obtain and forget everything, trying to forge a normal life. And they had left, with the Tower collapsing, but the ¡®door¡¯ had taken them to another world.


    To die miserably?


    No, the distance to the ground was too great. They should have time to do something. Well, Victoria should have time, he couldn¡¯t do a damn thing.


    ¡°Give me your hand!¡±


    There she was.


    The wind howled, making them have to shout to hear each other well even at that distance. Well, they had been lucky (or maybe it had been on purpose) to fall together. If they had been scattered to the four winds, Yonah and he would have ended up as big, completely unrecognizable red stains.


    Their hands clasped again.


    The important thing was if they were together, not where they found themselves.


    The buildings down there looked like real towers, unlike the infernal place they had left behind. They seemed to want to touch the sky, entering God¡¯s territory. Not that he was afraid of heights, but he looked away. He preferred not to see how close they were to the ground. That was fear, that was common sense. Humans weren¡¯t made to fly.


    After an eternity, the fall slowed down, only then did Caim look down and allow himself to breathe easy.


    They had fallen from too great a distance to notice at first, but their only problem wasn¡¯t that they were in a different world, in fact, it wasn¡¯t even the biggest problem. It wasn¡¯t the ruins of a long-abandoned city; it was the corpse of a strange, futuristic city in which an army of beings was scavenging. They were everywhere and looked like insects. The night air was full of poor bastards screaming and dying.


    Everything pointed to them being dragged into another fight, whether they liked it or not.


    They landed on the roof of one of the buildings. Not all were the same height; from this one, they could jump to the ground without problems.


    If only because it had collapsed.


    ¡°I wish I knew what the fuck we¡¯ve gotten into now,¡± said Yonah, breathing heavily on her knees.


    Well, at least he wasn¡¯t the only one who had shit his pants.


    The last fight in which they hadn¡¯t thrown a single punch had already been intense enough to make it make sense to react like that. They hadn¡¯t had the privilege of even a couple of minutes of rest to enjoy the victory.


    Anyway, the story of...


    No, of our life.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think this is our world,¡± said Caim, looking around, observing the chaos.


    It was obvious, but sometimes someone had to state the obvious for the group to move forward. He didn¡¯t like the idea personally, but there was nothing he was leaving behind, no kind of affection for his old world. So it was something he could accept easily.


    Victoria had had family and friends before he came to ruin it all, and as for Yonah...


    Well, surely she had had good memories with people who were no longer there.


    At least, he thought that¡¯s why he could accept it more easily than they could.


    That something had existed, even if they had been forced to cut their ties and burn everything on that fateful day, choosing him.


    He might be wrong, but in any case, he didn¡¯t think there was any going back. Nor any possibility of repair. No, more than not caring, Caim felt...


    Excited.


    ¡°Maybe it¡¯s the best thing that could have happened to us. Maybe here there¡¯s a place for people like me¡­ and you two, who don¡¯t want to turn your backs on me.¡±


    They looked at him.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± said Yonah, ¡°but first let¡¯s try to see how the hell we get out of this hellhole.¡±


    Yes. Of all the places in this new world where they could have ended up, it had to be in the heart of a conflict with strange creatures. The same luck as always.


    ¡°We¡¯ll manage as always.¡± He put a hand on each of their shoulders, squeezing.


    He truly believed that. No matter what.


    Earth, Wind, and Fire (8): END

 75. Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 9

    Chapter 75: Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 9


    Jonathan Harker kept fighting tirelessly against the hordes of monsters.


    Of course, he wouldn''t get tired.


    For him, this was an easy and routine task, something like spring cleaning. Many of the monsters didn''t even die by his hand; they perished before even reaching him, thanks to his diverse abilities.


    A field of death surrounded him, making it difficult for low-level creatures like these to pass easily. For every five that got through, ten more died, and the remaining five were quickly killed by his collection of swords that floated behind him and shot out like projectiles.


    It was very easy; he was crushing them.


    But he wasn''t winning, not at all.


    It was frustrating. Now that he had grown accustomed to crushing his enemies without them being able to resist, to solving any problem easily and violently, it was true. He couldn''t help but notice that. No matter how many he killed, more came from the trees. No matter how many trees he cut down, they still found a way to reproduce.


    Some could reproduce by taking a human corpse and turning it into a bed.


    Others reproduced in a more traditional but incredibly rapid manner.


    Overall, it seemed this demon army was a tide that not even the Immortal Emperor of Humanity could stop. Irritating. Jonathan clicked his tongue, and dozens of swords descended upon his enemies like a high-grade explosive. The ground trembled, cracking, and a dense cloud of dust rose.


    But nothing changed because of that, of course.


    Even if he intensified his attacks, even if he started putting in real effort, nothing would change. It would just be repeating what he had been doing so far on a larger scale, and it was the method itself that wasn''t working, not his level of effort.


    There had to be some way to change things. Jonathan wanted to return to his world, to his throne, to the responsibilities he had toward his people. Moreover, he didn''t want to let these people die miserably. His human heart hadn''t completely frozen over the years and the weight of immortality. There was still, in the very center, a flame that he carefully tended, cultivating it.


    He couldn''t think of what the hell to do, though.


    Had his time as Emperor made him take too many things for granted, causing his pirate-worthy creativity to rust? Or was the situation simply too strange, even for someone with a life like his?


    In any case, the result was the same.


    He had empty hands, didn''t know what to do.


    "Irritating," Jonathan clicked his tongue again. "You''re nothing but insects, literally and figuratively, yet you''re still stopping me. Me. ME! What a bad joke."


    He laughed as the massacre continued.


    He laughed at himself in a low voice, almost inaudible.


    It really was a bad joke. He had to rectify this error of the universe with his own hands.


    A monster four or five times larger than all the ants so far appeared, dragging along the crushed corpses of other infernal spawn and a crushed metal box with no idea what the hell was on top of it.


    Leaving aside the eccentricities of a different world,


    the important thing was that it was a rather large son of a bitch. It had a strange bulging, veined protrusion on its back, with holes from which strange liquids oozed, or its blood randomly chose the color it should take with each wound.


    Was it important, a point through which he could deal significant damage? He had no way of knowing, but one way or another, he had to dispatch it.


    So he would.


    Jonathan flew.


    He swung his sword before the unnecessarily large monster could react. The result was evident. The small, fast, and slippery ones had been nothing but cannon fodder against his incredible power. Such a large, slow, and clumsy target would die before it could blink.


    There was a moment when it seemed his attack had done nothing, but then the monster staggered forward and disintegrated into a thousand pieces. Its vile blood of multiple colors (now he could confirm that beyond any doubt, whether he liked it or not) created a tide that swept through the shattered street behind him, dragging everything in its path.


    Killing a few of the small bastards, drowning them, apparently, smashing them against the walls, the glass, shattering them, and also against things whose names he didn''t know at all or at least didn''t dare to guess for fear of looking like an idiot.


    But that''s it, that was all, oh well.


    "I have work to do," Jonathan said, shaking the blood off his sword.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Caim was running through the ruined city of another world along with the people most important to him.


    A few minutes ago, he had been bleeding on the ground after stabbing himself in the heart, determined to die. Now he was in a place like this, something had happened that he hadn''t been crazy enough to even dream of, and he found himself perfectly fine.


    No wounds, holes that had been so deep he could pass his hand through to the other side without much interruption, nothing. He felt like a new man.


    So frankly, he didn''t care that they were in another world, surrounded by death and destruction as usual, in danger once again. He was free from the chains of his lineage. The answer he had obtained after coming so far and sacrificing so much had almost destroyed him, but shortly after, a divine act, perhaps, had set him free.


    This was his ''happy ending''.


    Once they escaped from here and found a place to live, of course.


    Yonah stabbed one of those insect monsters with both daggers, driving them deep, and kicked it, sending it into the air. As if they had practiced it, Caim was already there, ready to split it in half.


    And since he had done that, Yonah had time to respond to the attack from behind, pushing Victoria out of the way at the same time.


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    Perfectly synchronized.


    They had almost lost everything due to their selfishness, and now they had even been forced to leave behind the world they were born in, in the literal sense, but they were still one person divided into three parts.


    They were born to be together.


    Fight together, live together. Die together, if necessary.


    But they wouldn''t die.


    Not today.


    Victoria was tired. Well, everyone was tired, but it was especially noticeable with her.


    Victoria had pulled him from the jaws of death, not to mention everything else. It was natural for her to feel exhausted, even ignoring that she had the least stamina among them.


    Come on, if they wanted to survive beyond tonight, they had to find the exit soon. The good thing was that the wave of monsters wasn''t concentrated on them. They had to force their way through, naturally, that''s how the world worked, but otherwise, it was fine. They didn''t bother chasing them; they kept moving forward, looking for other victims.


    He didn''t like surviving at the expense of others, all this suffering, but he could worry about the innocent, the ones he didn''t even know, once they got out of this hell and had a moment to take a deep breath.


    Besides, this world was clearly more advanced than the dark and superstitious wasteland they had left behind. Surely its inhabitants were better equipped than them to repel this plague.


    Surely.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Sylvester was on the verge of fainting.


    In Heather''s arms, safe, there was no real reason not to let go, but he fought to hold onto consciousness as if he were still in the fight. As if he weren''t drifting further and further away with each second, leaving the responsibility and dangers in the hands of others.


    Better equipped than him to face those dangers, in his state, surely.


    But still, he was supposed to be the one to handle these things. It drove him crazy to think about it, and precisely because of that, he couldn''t stop dwelling on it.


    As always.


    That was the problem, that he did nothing but the same as always. He had become stagnant, perhaps due to his powers, which had influenced him to think that growth was measured in clear numbers and not in more abstract things. Because it was easier. And when the numbers had practically stopped growing, no one being able to give him a good fight, he himself had stopped.


    He recognized that.


    Okay, so what then?


    He didn''t know how to fix his problems, and lately, he didn''t even know how to defeat his enemies. So, had he become completely useless?


    Maybe the person holding him in her arms was the only one who saw any value in him, who loved him. Even if she wasn''t a person at all, what did it matter? He gave her a surprise kiss. Heather blinked, surprised, but didn''t pull away. On the contrary.


    Good.


    She wasn''t human, but he wasn''t a great example of a human being either, even leaving his powers aside. It was time to stop fooling around and hold onto whatever he could for as long as he could, and there were many worse things to hold onto than love.


    Yes, it was that simple.


    "I love you," Sylvester said.


    Heather smiled.


    "I love you too."


    Everything was fine in the world, no matter how much it was collapsing and crumbling around them.


    Though it didn''t last long.


    A strong wind blew, dragging them back where they had come from. A completely unnatural wind. Sylvester held onto Heather tightly, doing what he could not to fall, not to be an even bigger burden.


    Something didn''t want him to leave.


    Maybe not anyone, but Sylvester believed it was especially him.


    Naturally.


    Nothing good can last, he thought, but¡­


    We¡¯ll see about that.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Something suddenly appeared, emerging from the flames. A monster unlike any Jonathan had faced in this world.


    He had only recently arrived, so that wasn¡¯t saying much. The point was that its form was humanoid, not an insect, royal purple from head to toe. Along with its shield and sword, it presented the image of a knight.


    Jonathan snorted.


    Such arrogance for, in the end, a monster that was no more than an insect. Long, long ago, Jonathan had sailed the seven seas as a pirate, ending the lives of many pretentious lords who believed their faith and money were some kind of shield, greater than the edge of their sword they didn¡¯t know how to use or the excessively decorated armor they wore.


    A long time ago, yes, but he supposed he still had a bit of resentment left.


    Jonathan watched as the enemy approached impassively. He wasn¡¯t worried in the slightest.


    No matter how strong the enemy was, and he didn¡¯t feel it was particularly strong, it didn¡¯t matter. Neither it nor anyone could kill him, so in the end, he was destined to win any fight sooner or later.


    Since time was on his side.


    He didn¡¯t even blink when the knight started to run with a speed as if it could teleport.


    The enemy¡¯s sword pierced his heart, pinning his corpse against a wall.


    Jonathan came back immediately. The enemy looked surprised somehow, although it had no eyes or features to express that. Its face was something like a helmet, completely empty, as if it had been erased. But somehow, yes, it was quite expressionless.


    "You may be used to winning, but you¡¯ve never encountered someone like me. I am eternal and almighty."


    All of you are nothing but ants beneath my feet.


    He extended a hand toward the creature¡¯s face.


    The hand, not even his sword.


    By touching it with the slightest of his strength, the helmet began to crack. The enemy quickly recoiled, withdrawing its sword. The hole in Jonathan¡¯s heart closed in the blink of an eye and the blood began to pump again.


    No, his legs didn¡¯t even give way. He acted as if nothing had happened, though the exits of a bladed weapon were as painful or worse than its entries.


    "I¡¯m going to show you the difference between us, insect."


    It was faster than he had thought, he had to admit, but in the end it would fall like all the others.


    Against him, any kind of resistance was futile.


    The enemy wielded its sword, aiming at Jonathan¡¯s neck. Its focus was appropriate for a fragile existence like his. There was no need to waste time and oxygen talking, and all attacks should be lethal at least in intention.


    Too bad for him that a good approach didn¡¯t guarantee good results.


    Jonathan grabbed the sword with his free hand and squeezed, making it shatter into a thousand pieces.


    "You look impressive, but that¡¯s all, huh? Pathetic."


    It wasn¡¯t worthy of finishing him off with his own sword. Jonathan clenched his fist, shook it towards his face, and before the blow could connect, the enemy tore his arm off. His expression didn¡¯t twist in pain in response. He didn¡¯t even raise an eyebrow.


    Jonathan just laughed.


    ¡ª¡ª


    The wind didn¡¯t cease, rather the opposite.


    Heather wasn¡¯t able to regain control, and he didn¡¯t blame her. She had tried with all her might, but it had been impossible from the beginning. ¡®Something¡¯ wanted them here and so it would be. It had always been like this¡­


    No, he had at least had a few years of freedom, but Heather had been suffering under that yoke even before she was born.


    Even her birth had been for a ¡®purpose,¡¯ not just because.


    In any case, they landed as gently as possible (not very) in the ruins of a building, one ruin among hundreds throughout the city. How many buildings had turned, in the blink of an eye, into mass graves when those things had fallen from the sky, tearing apart reality itself?


    "Someone has to do something." Sylvester clenched his fists.


    He knew that once again he was backing down, reneging on his decision, listening to the voice of reason. But did it matter at this point? After this, making it clear they wouldn¡¯t let them leave?


    No.


    It mattered anyway, because it was his decision, external factors like that he hadn¡¯t taken into account. He would accept responsibility for that. However¡­


    Sylvester slowly got to his feet, with effort.


    "I want to kill them all."


    Heather stood up, standing beside him.


    She touched his shoulder with her hand, squeezing.


    "I¡¯m tired of being someone¡¯s toy, wherever I go. I¡¯m tired of playing. This is a damn war. I¡¯ll kill them. I¡¯ll kill them."


    "We¡¯ll kill them," she said decisively.


    Sylvester nodded, clenching his teeth and fists.


    Thanks to the rage, his body was filling with power again. Rage was a lifeline in the dark and stormy ocean that was life.


    Earth, Wind, and Fire, Part 9: END

 76. Earth, Wind and Fire, Part 10

    Chapter 76: Earth, Wind and Fire, Part 10


    Jonathan laughed.


    The most normal reaction after an enemy tore off the arm you were going to use to smash their head. Why wouldn''t he laugh? The only kind of resistance he had faced in this world was numerical. The feeling that no matter how many enemies he easily killed, scattering them like specks of dust, more would come out from somewhere and nothing would change.


    That is, something boring, tedious.


    At least this enemy, this "knight", was starting to show that it had claws.


    The outcome of all his fights, with the exception of the time he fought the Count so many years ago that he didn''t even remember, was fixed due to his immortality. He couldn''t die, he couldn''t get tired. Time was on his side.


    So he had to learn to enjoy what little fun he could get.


    Despite having somehow ended up in a completely different world from his own, something he would have sworn was impossible about an hour ago maybe, he hadn''t found anything particularly interesting.


    Until now.


    Jonathan dropped the sword. He didn''t need it, it would only make his fun end sooner. Besides, this way it could be said they were on equal terms. He had broken that fragile sword of his and then discarded his own. Still laughing, he grabbed an arm of the enemy, squeezing. The son of a bitch had torn off his right arm, so he would tear off his left.


    The knight''s mask ended up shattering, revealing absolutely nothing. Just darkness that writhed, that vibrated, that seemed to be alive. Then it truly came to life with familiar and strange colors, which stabbed like blades into his skull, which he could almost feel pushing to make their way inside.


    A person from this world might find another comparison, but it made Jonathan think of the great and unexplored bottom of the sea. Despite having lived most of his human life at sea, he had always done so on the surface, captaining a ship. The real sea was below the surface. It was like a different world. More different than this one, surely, which after all was like his own. Just more advanced, maybe a few hundred years in the future, maybe more.


    Well, it was interesting to think about that, but he couldn''t let it distract him from important things. That is, the dismemberment battle.


    The insect knight tore off his left leg. Jonathan didn''t react to the pain, he had the same perception of pain as any living being, but his endurance was on another level. No one knew pain like him, so he knew it was just another sensation he could let pass through him and disappear like bubbles on the surface of the water.


    In fact, Jonathan didn''t even fall.


    He jumped on the leg he had left, his stumps dripping blood, punched the enemy in the chest where his heart should be if he was like a human.


    He''d bet he wasn''t.


    There was no reason for the configuration of his organs to be like that of a human being.


    But as he pulled his hand back, he saw that he was wrong. He saw a black heart, as big as his head, full of purple lines.


    He doubted it would be as easy as crushing it (or rather he hoped), but just in case he would avoid it. It wouldn''t be fun. Yeah, yeah, he had his responsibilities to his kingdom and his subjects, wars to fight, territory to reconquer. But it wouldn''t be fun. Boredom was the only poison that could kill an immortal.


    Jonathan went for the insect knight''s legs, not bothering for a second to defend his own body. Defense made no sense when you couldn''t die.


    Besides, lately he was used to his opponents dying even before getting close to him, for the most part. He was out of practice anyway. Obviously better to focus on his strengths and that''s what he did. He tackled the insect knight, throwing him against the cracked ground.


    It became a large depression in an instant. Several posts and metal boxes were dragged into the hole with them. Jonathan might not be familiar with this world, but he was more than smart enough to understand that they were probably vehicles. Obstacles, in any case, as they fell together.


    Of course, and with the help of the fall, Jonathan managed to tear off the enemy''s legs. Yes. With the force of the impact they broke and almost stopped, so it didn''t even require a special effort.


    And, of course, he paid for it. They also tore off his last leg. The bottom of the depression was full of red and black blood. Two separate rivers.


    Jonathan? He laughed even harder. This was very fun.


    Yes, the last time he faced an opponent like this, who could take a real beating, was the Count. And he hadn''t enjoyed that precisely. The Count was the only being in the world who could have killed him after all. It had been a real fight to the death, with everything at stake, not something to enjoy.


    The insect knight pulled out another sword from a tear in space itself.


    "That''s cheating," Jonathan said, playfully.


    In the next instant, he lost his head.


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    Once again, he didn''t even feel pain, just the gust of wind when the steel sliced his throat and his head went flying.


    The bleeding that followed was barely noticeable because he was already bleeding everywhere.


    Being decapitated naturally didn''t stop him for long. His head didn''t fly far enough to end up outside the large depression, so in the end it ended up rolling towards the skeleton knight, lying on the ground, without him having to do anything.


    He sank his teeth into his neck.


    He didn''t achieve much, but that had never been his goal. The fight would have already ended if he had wanted to.


    The insect knight shook, trying to get him off. He saw how his headless body quickly grew arms and legs, and even restored the damage to his clothes, as usual.


    He directed his body to attack independently of his head.


    One of the many Skills to beat the Count, not to mention the Skill that was the only reason he wasn''t dead yet. It wasn''t a significant impact, since it took almost no time to recover from his deaths, but it was interesting for plays like this.


    He opened his throat. His mouth filled with the enemy''s black blood a second before it was crushed. He came back to life immediately, in the middle of an attack, his body had continued following his last orders even after the brief cessation of brain activity.


    There was no doubt that Jonathan was an unstoppable monster.


    Since the insect knight had gotten another sword, Jonathan called his back. Since the insect knight had acquired another sword, Jonathan called back his own. It was only fair. There was no gap in his attacks, no adjustment time, not even for a millisecond. None of that. It was as if he hadn''t died at all. The swords clashed. The darkness of the enemy''s face twisted as if it wanted to devour him.


    A part of the monster army that was devouring the bones of the city separated from the wave and came for him, throwing themselves into the depression.


    A large part of these died long before they even had a chance to touch him, due to the death field surrounding him.


    Jonathan ignored them, exchanging blows with the knight. Both were so fast that the movement of their weapons couldn''t be seen. That is, obviously they could follow the movements without problems, but for anyone else there wouldn''t be even a silver flash. His enemy was surely giving it his all, but he still had more, much more.


    "This has been fun, but unfortunately I have responsibilities, a kingdom to rule. An animal like you couldn''t understand it. Anyway, game over, friend."


    His eyes burned with power.


    He casually doubled his attack speed.


    "Oh, what''s wrong? Can''t keep up? Hahaha."


    It was obvious. There was nothing to celebrate about the obvious result, but he laughed anyway.


    Jonathan jumped to dodge, and didn''t dodge at all. The enemy''s sword cut him in half. And that was the end.


    A dozen black tentacles emerged from the wound, rushing towards his enemy and impaling him before he could escape. He tried, you couldn''t say he didn''t, but his ability to react was irrelevant. He had lost since he launched the attack.


    He had lost the chance to escape from the moment the blade sank into his skin to split him in half.


    The monsters that had rushed towards the hole suddenly found themselves without their greatest backup. But, as they were mindless beasts, they didn''t retreat.


    Quite the contrary.


    It would be obvious desperation if they could feel such a thing.


    Jonathan hit the ground, and an explosion shook the world.


    When the aftershocks faded, he was the only living being in the area.


    He shot towards one of the trees that were spewing out the monster army.


    It probably wouldn''t change the situation, but he wanted to try. He tore the giant tree from the ground, dragging with it the rubble of several buildings, raising a large cloud of dust and earth.


    He spun the tree several times, threw it away.


    Against another.


    Which, with the force of the impact, split in half. They fell almost at the same time, crushing the enemies below. Crushing people too, no doubt, but he didn''t care. They weren''t his people. They weren''t his responsibility.


    He might have caught some allies too, but he didn''t need allies.


    He was his own army.


    One of the monsters reigning over the night sky spat out another of its trees, which quickly got to work. No, that wouldn''t change anything. He should go directly to the source of the problem.


    What did he have to lose?


    It wasn''t like he could die.


    "Arise."


    He instantly resurrected three hundred people within a one-kilometer radius, raising an army of undead. Of course, they weren''t just normal unkillable people. Their abilities had improved greatly since their human days, obsessed with avenging a family he could now barely remember. Each and every one of them were elite soldiers who should be able to handle these cockroaches, especially working together, without too many problems. The question was, as for him, the numerical advantage.


    But well, it would be enough.


    All they had to do was buy time while he tore this farce to pieces.


    Jonathan headed towards the beings that controlled all this.


    Unfortunately, he couldn''t manifest a pair of wings and soar the skies like a free bird. The conquest of the skies was one of the few things his power hadn''t allowed him.


    But that didn''t mean he couldn''t fly.


    He propelled himself towards the skies with a series of small explosions generated in the right place. And they couldn''t harm him. Of course, otherwise it would be very inefficient. It was a flight difficult to control with precision, but it did the job.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Sylvester felt like new.


    It probably wasn''t true that he had recovered everything he had lost just like that, without disadvantages, but perhaps feeling untouchable again was more important than reality. Naturally, he and Heather made their way through the ruined city without problems. Everything had happened too quickly, but reinforcements had already arrived. A small part of the syndicate''s normal agents.


    Cannon fodder, normally, but these monsters were nothing compared to the average Lunar Remnants. The problem was that they kept coming, but even a normal agent was trained to survive in this hell.


    Which didn''t mean that most or even any would survive, of course. Everything was different on paper than in reality.


    Heather and he helped a few survive, at least for the moment, but they didn''t stop too much.


    They were heading towards Jonathan, or at least where they had left him, they had to start somewhere.


    However, they encountered a group of three with strange clothes.


    Antiquated.


    Two women, one with daggers, another with some kind of staff.


    And the third, a man with horns.


    Earth, Wind and Fire, Part 10: END

 77. Earth, Wind and Fire, Part 11

    Chapter 77: Earth, Wind and Fire, Part 11


    Sylvester opened his mouth to ask where the hell they had come from. Any human being should have an interest in cooperating even with their most hated enemy even in a situation like this, but the trio he had run into unexpectedly didn''t even wait for a single syllable to leave his lips.


    In the blink of an eye, he found his right arm frozen against a car, pinning the sword against the metal.


    The woman with the staff... No, it wasn''t a staff, rather a fucking magical staff. She was the one who had done this to him. She hadn''t disabled him at all, in his current condition he should be able to break the ice with hardly any effort, but it was still annoying.


    The one with the daggers lunged at Heather. She was fast, you had to admit, but it didn''t do her any good because she was also weak. Heather deflected her blows and sent her flying easily. Too easily, even.


    Had she even survived...?


    "Yonah!" the other woman shouted.


    Yonah, huh? Had she even survived the first blow? They were not a threat, in any case. That''s why they probably wouldn''t be of much help either, but the fight between them was just a waste of time and effort. It shouldn''t take more than a glance at the sky to know that they had bigger problems to worry about in every sense of the word.


    "Heather, stop!"


    She halted in the middle of the attack without asking questions, which allowed the horned boy to cleanly impale her with his sword. He glanced at her sideways, he couldn''t believe it, lowering her guard. Understandable. To a certain extent.


    "We''re not enemies," said Sylvester. "And before you say something stupid, you attacked first."


    He broke the ice, freeing his arm and weapon with it, effortlessly.


    The horned boy slowly withdrew the sword from Heather''s body, then looked at the woman who was accompanying him, there a silent conversation took place. The woman ran towards where Heather had sent the other one. She would have to look for her among the rubble of a wall. Alive or dead.


    It was subtle, but they didn''t seem worried that she had died or could die, only that she was injured. For some reason, he had that clear feeling.


    In any case, at least they were willing to talk. Even if the woman had died, this didn''t have to end in blood, when they were drowning in a million other problems.


    Their clothes were probably so different, old, because they came from another world. So their universes were competing for survival. But that didn''t matter. Now they were here, and they would die with the rest if they didn''t cooperate. Anyone should understand something so simple.


    The magic staff woman found the other, dragging her out of the rubble. She was unconscious, bleeding, panting in pain. Very weak. It had only taken one blow to achieve that, so he doubted she was a Champion, even one just starting her development.


    Sylvester hesitated only seconds later when he saw how Yonah was healed by the other woman, as she waved the staff and set some kind of energy in motion. Healing. It wasn''t as great a skill as it might seem. If you needed to be healed, you couldn''t regenerate.


    It was obvious that he would choose any if they had the opportunity, but they were not as weak as he had initially thought, that was the case.


    There was something special about them.


    Or maybe anyone could learn to do something like that in their world. How was he to know?


    The horned boy (perhaps he was a man, but his appearance made him seem younger than he was) sheathed his sword, but took a step back, still cautious.


    "We can cooperate," said Sylvester.


    "Of what use will we be when you have defeated us in seconds?" asked the horned boy. "But I''ll do whatever you want if you get them out of the city. We tried to escape, but a strong wind dragged us back."


    Like them.


    Seeing that the cavalry had entered the city so easily, he had wondered if the wind would only affect the Champions or something like that. But the boy''s companions clearly were not Champions, perhaps he hadn''t seen him fight enough to know.


    Maybe the wind barrier only existed to keep people inside, not to prevent entry.


    Be that as it may...


    "Caim!" Yonah and the other woman shouted, almost in unison.


    "You''ve already seen the difference in power. I''m not even sure I can survive here, so..."


    "But..." The woman gripped the staff until her hands trembled.


    "No buts! Victoria, Yonah. I know it''s my fault. I know I''ve only made you suffer, but this is a new world where we can be free... There''s only a little more. You have to let me do this."


    Yonah and Victoria fell silent. Yonah could barely lift her head, despite the healing magic, but if she could, she supposed she would have looked away like Victoria. She knew the boy was telling them the truth. That it was better for them to stay out of it. That didn''t mean they had to like it, but they were willing to go along with it.


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    Sylvester contacted his people.


    "I need an extraction vehicle. No, not for me. The nearest ship will do."


    "Have you really contacted someone?" asked Victoria. Still kneeling, hugging Yonah. "How is that possible? There''s no one here..."


    "I have an artifact in my ear that allows me to communicate over long distances. If you don''t believe me, wait a couple of minutes and you''ll see."


    "What kind of vehicle?" Caim asked.


    "A flying one."


    Caim fell silent. It was clear from his face that he didn''t believe that was possible. But also that in the midst of fear and confusion, he clung to hope. Yes, thought Caim, they are not our enemies. They are just kids, after all. Frightened kids, looking for a place to belong. And they arrive right now, with the world falling apart. Oh well, a matter of bad luck.


    The ship didn''t take long to arrive. The three newcomers watched its descent in awe, even trembling.


    He tried to imagine how it would feel to see something like that for the first time, living in a world so primitive that there were no aircraft, maybe not even cars, judging by their medieval-style clothing. He couldn''t imagine it. Not even close.


    He supposed the closest thing was when he saw the strange colors those trees projected, which violated the common sense of his world and burned the retinas.


    Only the closest thing. A previously unsuspected new dimension assaulting your senses. The ship''s hatch opened. Where there should have been Agents, there was nothing at all, all the seats empty, they had already unloaded the cargo. Well, it made sense. They had sent him an empty ship in every sense.


    "Get on there," said Sylvester. "It''s not dangerous at all."


    He blatantly lied. He wasn''t sure they would be able to leave the city, but even if he had told them the truth, they wouldn''t have believed him. Human beings believe what they want to believe. No more, no less. And hope is the last thing to be lost, so most people cling to what suits them until the world kicks them in the mouth, forcing them to face the truth.


    Anyway, he sincerely hoped they would be able to get out of this... Otherwise, Caim would become another problem to deal with, probably.


    "Come on," Caim said, or rather ordered. "I like it as little as you do, but... on foot you won''t get out of here. We''ve already tried. And the worst that can happen to you is that it falls."


    "Yeah, it''s not that bad," Victoria replied, rolling her eyes.


    But she obeyed, walking next to Yonah, letting her lean on her shoulder. Yonah looked at Caim with glassy eyes. It probably had little to do with the physical.


    In any case.


    "Take care, okay? Once is enough."


    Sylvester had no idea what she was referring to, but Caim nodded solemnly. Well, at least he understood the essentials. Caim had not really been dangerous not because he lacked the ability, but because he was tired of running, fighting, and being on the brink of death.


    For obvious reasons, it was something easy for him to understand.


    The door closed and the ship took off, he hoped it would reach its destination. He hoped it mattered, if it succeeded, whether there was an Earth planet left when this day ended. Because from these enemies there was no place to hide, no sir.


    "What are you capable of?" Heather asked.


    Instantly, more than a dozen tentacles like those of a mysterious deep-sea beast appeared all over her body. He wasn''t going to bother counting them.


    "I''ll show you. Just tell me what I need to do, how we can put an end to... whatever this is."


    The situation was already strange and overwhelming enough knowing the context. Caim and his group had stumbled into the chaos without more, they had no idea, they probably also didn''t know the death match between the universes. They didn''t seem at all sad to have left behind the world they had known, despite the current circumstances, but it was still difficult to digest.


    Not to mention explaining it. He would have to explain it, guide them through this chaos.


    He should start with the truth.


    That he had no idea how to put an end to this shit.


    ***


    Jonathan reached one of those things. They seemed to get bigger as he approached, no, in fact they were. The creature''s mouth loomed over him. It was a bottomless abyss. It reminded him of the time he had almost been swallowed by a whale. He had come close to losing not just a leg, but everything below the neck.


    He wasn''t going to back down now that he had come so far.


    He propelled himself into the bottomless abyss with another explosion. Maybe he would lose. Maybe, but in an instant he could get up and try again. That was the basis of his unwavering confidence. Even in a different world, he was convinced that the same rules applied. Only an immortal could kill another immortal. He didn''t doubt it for a second.


    Jonathan did not die.


    But his consciousness expanded as if abandoning his body, and he wondered if he would be able to get up again after all.


    His mind went blank.


    His consciousness would not have survived everything that had forced its way through by other means. Those beings were not great. It was absurd to talk about size on the scale they were operating on.


    The concept of different worlds was new to Jonathan, and even more so the concept of universes, but he understood it because he was forced to.


    However large it may have seemed, the part he could see was insignificant. Those beings existed simultaneously in countless adjacent worlds.


    They existed on a different plane. He could not simply approach and beat the problem until it disappeared. He had been naive to think it would be so simple.


    It kept expanding. His consciousness expanded to infinity, just as his insignificant life had done from the moment he found that island.


    Eternity. A story without an end. But the eternity he spent in that state, absorbing information that a human brain was not designed to receive, came to an abrupt and violent end.


    Jonathan fell.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Something fell from the skies like a black star. A human figure that was undoubtedly...


    "There," Sylvester said. "That''s where we need to go."


    He sounded calm, but was anything but that. Jonathan had seemed invincible. What could have made him fall? Would he even still be alive? He could certainly survive the fall without a problem, but he couldn''t say the same for whatever had thrown him in the first place.


    There was nothing he could do about it anyway. Not anymore. Sylvester continued forward with his group without voicing his anxiety. Such feelings were nothing more than anchors that would drag him to the bottom of the sea and ensure he drowned. He had to get rid of useless things like that.


    Jonathan could be alive, he could be dead. It didn''t matter. He had never needed anyone else to triumph.


    He had protected the planet alone for a decade.


    Nothing had changed. Except that he had become even stronger.


    If he couldn''t do it, no one could. That was the truly worrying thing, not Jonathan''s condition.


    He didn''t know where Ryan and Cynthia were, but he would have to trust that they were managing. Even though both of them could fly, he was keeping up with them relatively easily, propelling himself up to twenty meters with a single leap using his tentacles. He wasn''t far behind them, even though they could both fly.


    He was certainly a powerful Champion. A first-class monster.


    Of course, nothing compared to Jonathan, but that wasn''t a fair comparison. He was glad to have him as an ally. Another ally who had fallen from the sky when he needed it most.


    He was grateful, but Heather had been the first. He would not depend on Caim, on Jonathan, or on anyone.


    He didn''t know how the hell they would do it, but they would win together.


    And one day, the endless tragedies would be nothing more than a distant memory. Sylvester had something to fight for. To give Heather a normal life, a human life.


    To grant her most desperate wish, to fill her deepest void.


    That they shared.


    Sylvester just wanted to be human again. Not even those beings could interfere with his path. He would not allow it.


    Earth, Wind and Fire, Part 11: END

 78. Earth, Wind and Fire, Part 12

    Chapter 78: Earth, Wind and Fire, Part 12


    The information overload nearly destroyed Jonathan''s consciousness, but immortality went hand in hand with adaptability. He was probably the only one capable of assimilating information not designed for a human brain and surfacing. Jonathan stood up at the bottom of the crater created by the impact of his fall. He climbed to the top, almost crawling, slowly and clumsily. Still... Disoriented.


    He still didn''t understand everything, but he knew this wasn''t a fight he could win.


    Not here, not like this.


    As much as it pained him, he would have to flee with his tail between his legs. No. No. A damn strategic retreat, that''s what it was.


    He never ran. He was like a god among men.


    So what?


    These aren''t men.


    Jonathan shuddered.


    Being weak, being... possible to defeat. It was one of the few things he had lost and didn''t miss in the slightest. There was nothing beautiful about the fragility of human beings.


    It was just painful and terrifying.


    He was in this position because he had already lost everything. That had precipitated his search for the island, for the secret weapon that turned out to be immortality, along with a strange System of Statistics and Skills. He literally had nothing else to lose, but still didn''t want to become human again.


    That''s why there was only one solution, Jonathan thought as he emerged from the crater, while the army of monsters surrounded him and tried to reach him, unsuccessfully, as he had directed all his energy to the wall of death surrounding him.


    Kill the creatures in the sky, writhing, changing shape, size, mass.


    No.


    It was actually a single creature.


    That wasn''t even in this universe, but extended to several adjacent universes at the same time. For what purpose, he preferred not to know, but that''s why it was impossible to defeat under these circumstances. It was like trying to kill someone by stabbing their reflection on the surface of water.


    The monsters kept dying before they could even get close, and Jonathan staggered forward, traversing the ruined city once again.


    Looking for the guy he had saved in that strange parallel dimension, before falling into this place.


    He didn''t find him.


    The guy, Sylvester, found him.


    He came flying, accompanied by the vaguely feminine inhuman creature that seemed to follow him everywhere, along with one more. A kid with horns. If Sylvester and the woman''s (for lack of a better term) style was modern, then the boy''s style was even older than his own.


    It could be from another culture or a more underdeveloped region, he supposed, it wasn''t impossible. But Jonathan believed he was a human being from another world, just like him.


    "There''s no chance of winning," Jonathan didn''t waste time. There was no reason not to get to the point. "We have to get out of here."


    "If we don''t try..." Sylvester protested. Something must have changed. Suddenly he had some guts, some fighting spirit. Before he had just hidden behind him.


    "I already tried and obviously didn''t succeed. I don''t think you''ll do any better. The thing we''re fighting isn''t even here, not entirely, to begin with." Before anyone else could protest, he quickly added: "I''ll explain everything to you. But in due time, not in the middle of this hellish war zone."


    "It''s not going to be easy," the woman protested, anyway.


    He wasn''t used to people challenging him, let alone women. In his world, the three would have already turned around, running. Eager to follow each and every one of his orders.


    That''s what being an emperor was like.


    Damn, he hadn''t even been gone a day and he already missed it. It wasn''t such a terrible position after all.


    "Are you not listening to me? It will be difficult, but defeating that creature here is impossible. Do whatever you want, but I''m leaving. And when you die miserably, you can''t even say I didn''t warn you."


    Jonathan set off, his head still exploding. If they didn''t want to listen, he didn''t have to waste time convincing them to do what was best for them.


    It would be convenient to lose his first point of contact with this world, but nothing more. It wouldn''t kill him, but if he died, all the better. Then everyone left in this world on the brink of ruin would do anything to get his help.


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    So it was up to them, that was their decision.


    "Wait," Sylvester stopped him, grabbing his shoulder. "We''ll go."


    He thought that would be enough, but apparently not for the woman. Women.


    "Why? You don''t know him."


    "I know enough. And he''s scared, I can''t wait to get out of here. That''s enough for me."


    For a few seconds, Jonathan vividly visualized running Sylvester through with his sword, tearing out his entrails, looking him in the eye as his life faded away.


    Just a few seconds. Controlling that impulse, above all because he knew that if he did, he would only prove him right.


    And so it was.


    He was afraid.


    Gods, what a strange feeling. Fear, again.


    Trying to pretend it hadn''t bothered him at all, Jonathan embarked on the journey...


    Wherever, but far from here.


    What scared him most was that the only thing he knew was that insisting on fighting under these circumstances would be a sure defeat.


    But he had no idea what he could do to change it.


    A strategic retreat without strategy... Come on, yes. It was just that he was afraid. Leading to survive, not because he had a plan. It was shameful, but it was time to admit it. At least no one but him had to know.


    He hoped something would occur to him by the time they reached a safe place.


    The situation was even worse than he had thought. They weren''t just devouring the city, they were erasing it. There were pieces where nothing existed. A void, like a tear in the air. Everywhere, and more and more.


    Sylvester apparently realized.


    "Yes, we saw it on the way here. It didn''t start long ago, but soon..."


    The man fell silent.


    Jonathan didn''t understand. They knew that, but still took so long to make the decision to leave? Well, it was their world. And these people were living beings. They had things they loved, things they wanted to protect. That it wasn''t the same for Jonathan didn''t mean he couldn''t understand it.


    He had sworn it the day he killed the Count.


    Gaining true immortality, eliminating the only person who could kill him.


    That he wouldn''t lose his humanity, that he would be better than him.


    So at least he had to try to understand it.


    Sylvester gave the retreat orders with a device in his ear that allowed him to talk to other people miles and miles away. It was hard to believe, but apparently there wasn''t a hint of magic involved.


    He had to be someone important, if he could give such an order and expect to be obeyed. Jonathan had been lucky. The first person from this world he had encountered, whom he had saved, was more important than he had thought.


    Fate was smiling on him, as always, even if it didn''t seem so at first.


    In the end he always found a way, so he would manage now as well.


    It wasn''t difficult for them to avoid the army of monsters. They went across the rooftops, and the collapsed buildings, fallen in the middle of the streets, serve as bridges to other taller ones. The woman, whose name was Heather, and Sylvester flew. Caim kept up with them with a multitude of tentacles he could summon and dismiss at will, making him look like a monster from the depths of the sea, cold and wet.


    As for him, he simply took advantage of his superhuman strength and speed.


    He could propel himself with a series of explosions, as he had done towards that being, but it was a difficult flight to control.


    Besides, his head hurt terribly. He wasn''t in the mood to use that method, and this one worked without problems. Running on the ground and walls, taking big leaps, making the most of the environment.


    Not as good as a pair of wings, of course, he was always behind. But he had no trouble keeping up the pace.


    This is how they reached the outskirts of the city. Being about to cross the threshold, a strong wind howled, pushing them back. It was evidently something unnatural. Although it was the least of their worries right now, Sylvester and Heather didn''t seem very surprised, but hadn''t felt the need to share this detail. Why?


    Jonathan smiled.


    There were only two possible reasons, and one of them was easy to rule out.


    He wasn''t just a war machine, he was intelligent.


    But it was none of his business, as long as they didn''t get in his way.


    "This is nothing," Jonathan said. "Come here."


    The three gathered around him. Jonathan stabbed the ground with his sword and activated one of his various Skills, creating a yellowish-green defensive field, transparent, although only on the side of the people it defended.


    He didn''t use it much since, no matter how good a defense was, it wasn''t very useful against an immortal being.


    So he wasn''t very familiar with its use and on top of that he usually used it only to protect himself, of course. The energy required to protect all four was considerably greater. But Jonathan''s source was practically inexhaustible. Practically eternal, like him.


    Leaving the city didn''t pose a significant problem either.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Sylvester sighed.


    Not even twenty-four hours had passed since the incident. Of course, he hadn''t slept a wink in that time. Many sleepless days awaited him before all this was over.


    Although of course, that was the least of it.


    At least he had survived, like all his friends and companions, including the new ones. The newcomers from non-hostile worlds. At least for now. They knew nothing of the multiuniversal war, as he had suspected.


    Rather, it existed.


    The same couldn''t be said for the city whose name he had never learned. Now he never would.


    Everything had disappeared without a trace, as had the people who must have died in the disaster. Must have. Because there were no records that such a city existed. The videos, the photos, the traces of paperwork. Everything had disappeared, without exception. Even the survivors weren''t sure what city they had lived in before this.


    Even they only retained the vague feeling that they had been involved in the incident in some city.


    He suspected that would disappear with time too. Soon.


    And then it would be as if that city had never existed.


    That was what was at stake, what could happen to all of humanity.


    Could?


    Jonathan had said too much, but the truth had become apparent, not even he had a plan. So what could they do besides wait to be erased by a cosmic fucking vacuum cleaner?


    Earth, Wind and Fire, Part 12: END

 79. The Cold of Outer Space, The Warm Embrace of Death, Part 1

    Chapter 79: The Cold of Outer Space, The Warm Embrace of Death, Part 1


    Caim sat by the window, gazing out at the unfamiliar city.


    Well, his eyes were directed that way, but he wasn¡¯t really seeing anything. In truth, he was lost in thought. There was a lot on his mind, and since he¡¯d crashed into this chaotic world on the brink of total destruction, he hadn¡¯t had a moment to really think¡ªuntil now.


    The city held not a single trace of familiarity for him.


    Everything was too advanced, too different. But that was the least of his worries. The closest thing he¡¯d ever had to a home was that small village by the river, where he¡¯d nearly been burned at the stake. Where he¡¯d felt the heat of the flames and the suffocating lack of air, convinced it was the end. Where Victoria had spilled her own father¡¯s blood to save him.


    He had never had the chance to set down roots.


    There was nothing he missed from the past, and he could adapt to anything new. He was adaptable, a survivor by nature.


    Yonah and Victoria would adapt too¡ªthere was no reason they couldn¡¯t. They had much to learn, but in time, any obstacle could be overcome. All they really needed to understand was that this was a different world, one where the prejudice that had haunted him his whole life couldn¡¯t follow.


    Caim realized that unconsciously he had been moving his hand towards his horns. He let it drop before touching them.


    Not everything was perfect, of course.


    Even in the short time he¡¯d been here, he¡¯d received countless stares and a few venomous remarks, but to him, that was laughable. He was a curiosity simply because they had never seen anyone like him before¡ªnothing more, nothing less. It didn¡¯t mean he would be denied a place in the world, and that¡¯s what mattered to him. It was all he had ever wanted from the start.


    A place where his existence was, if not welcome, at least tolerated.


    Finally, he had found everything he¡¯d ever wanted.


    And now it was going to disappear. Same old luck.


    Caim shifted uncomfortably in his seat by the window. Everything was new; everything unsettled him. He had the feeling that if he let his guard down, he would fall through the window and plummet to the ground, but for some reason, he couldn¡¯t pull himself away from the edge.


    I¡¯ve come so far, only to end up in the same place. Leading my family to death.


    He jerked his head back as if Yonah and Victoria were about to burst into the room and catch him talking about things he shouldn¡¯t be¡ªif only to avoid giving them another reason to worry. But, of course, there was no one. For now, it seemed he still had this room to himself. Him and his melancholy thoughts.


    Thoughts that would lead him nowhere.


    He knew that. But that didn¡¯t mean he could stop thinking about it. Thinking was one of the few things he could do to face what was coming¡ªhe certainly couldn¡¯t rely on his sword. No matter how strong he was, this wasn¡¯t something he could defeat in a fight. That much had been clear at first glance. He could level up all he wanted, crush endless enemies, and absorb countless skills¡ªit didn¡¯t matter. He would never be its match.


    So, what now?


    Nothing. Now, nothing.


    So much effort, so much sacrifice, only to bring them to a world that would be erased in a few days. He couldn¡¯t even say that at least they would get to experience the dream they had been yearning for all those years for just a few days. That wasn¡¯t anything¡ªit was barely a breath.


    Nothing is the best I¡¯ve ever been able to give them, he thought.


    Leaving one night, abandoning them in peace, allowing them to live their lives¡ªthey would have been able to build a future anywhere without him, without the weight that inevitably dragged them into conflict and death.


    Of course, they would have mourned him, would have looked for him, for a time. But people said time healed all wounds, and he believed that, in time, the pain would become a dull ache at most.


    Anything would be better than this, in any case. A slow, inevitable end.


    He heard the door slide open automatically, responding to the proximity of the room¡¯s rightful occupants. One of the many wonders of this different world. He still wasn¡¯t entirely convinced that some form of magic wasn¡¯t involved in the process.


    Yonah and Victoria were here. Of course, they shared the room. They always had. It didn¡¯t make them uncomfortable in the slightest after so many years traveling together, fighting side by side. But even if it did, no one would be crazy enough to separate in a place like this and lower their guard, no matter how much they believed the locals had no reason to turn on them over a little discomfort.


    You had to have priorities and act with some common sense.


    Besides, they were family.


    Not bound by blood, but that didn¡¯t matter. Nothing could happen to them.


    Caim took a deep breath.


    In any case, they were here. Time to put on a brave face. Or try, at least. No need to force it too much¡ªthere wasn¡¯t much to be cheerful about. No one on this planet had much to celebrate, but there was no point in souring the last days they would spend together. They had to enjoy every moment. The end would come soon enough.


    They could run, but they couldn¡¯t hide from the end.


    "We thought you¡¯d be asleep," Yonah said, coming closer and sitting on the bed. Big enough for three. Even four, though it would be a tighter fit, naturally.


    Victoria remained standing, silently watching him.


    "I thought so too, but my body¡¯s not cooperating." He shrugged. "It¡¯s hard to sleep."


    Knowing you might not open your eyes again. It all depended on the progress of that being devouring the world, leaving no trace¡ªwiping away any memory that something had once existed in those places, slowly. Or imperfectly, but Caim would bet the creature was still in its digestion phase, nothing more.


    This planet wouldn¡¯t just die. It would be as if it had never existed in the first place.


    It wasn¡¯t his planet, his home, but he wished it were. That¡¯s why it felt like his heart would shatter into a thousand pieces whenever he looked out the window.


    Victoria lay down on the bed, sighed, and placed her staff in the space between the bed and the wall. Yonah glanced at her for a moment, then joined her.


    "Come here, Caim. Let¡¯s at least try to sleep," Yonah said.


    Huddled together. Seeking warmth and safety as they trembled in fear, just like when they had embarked on this long, long journey.


    Especially Victoria. After all, she had left her village with her father¡¯s blood on her hands.


    He...


    He had left content, despite the fact that because of him, the girls had lost their home, their community. Because he was a hollow, selfish creature who had finally managed to obtain something. He should have been affected by his near-execution at the stake, but the truth was he had forgotten the fear and pain almost immediately.


    And instead of appreciating it, instead of desperately holding onto that something, he had basically turned his back on them. Obsessing over his quest for the Tower, where he had finally found answers that had been of no use to him whatsoever. It hadn¡¯t made up for everything they had suffered to get there.


    Caim swallowed and sank into the warm embrace of his family, closing his eyes.


    He was able to sleep, and his dreams didn¡¯t turn into nightmares. In fact, if he dreamed of anything, he didn¡¯t remember upon waking. He didn¡¯t think they had been nightmares, though, because it felt like the first time he had truly slept in months. Rested, full of energy.


    Even if he couldn¡¯t channel it into anything productive.


    ¡ª¡ª


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    Sylvester had finally found Ryan. He had been searching for him for a while. Yes, he could have just called him and asked where he was or arranged to meet up if Ryan felt like chatting.


    He hadn¡¯t, he supposed, to have an excuse to delay the conversation or to prepare himself while wandering the halls.


    Maybe a bit of both.


    In any case, when he saw him, Ryan¡¯s eyes lit up. Sylvester was sure his own did the same. It¡¯s hard to risk your life alongside someone, fighting side by side, without growing attached to them.


    You either grow attached or grow to hate them, but those teams didn¡¯t tend to last long.


    Not that it was usually a clean break. Not nine times out of ten, anyway.


    Sylvester gave him a hug, and Ryan returned it energetically. They were alone, for now, though the hallway wasn¡¯t exactly a private place to talk. Anyone could walk by at any moment.


    Well, if someone overheard, so be it. He no longer needed to project the image of an invincible hero who needed no one and would save the world no matter what, like some cartoon character.


    He was sick of that¡ªsick of just about everything.


    They broke apart.


    "I feel like it¡¯s been a long time since we¡¯ve really talked. You mind?"


    "Of course not, boss. I¡¯m glad, actually."


    "Glad about what?"


    It might have seemed like a silly question, but he didn¡¯t think Ryan was just referring to the chance to chat for a bit while they waited patiently for the world to end.


    A question that might sound silly, but he didn¡¯t think it was just about the chance to chat for a while while they patiently waited for the end of the universe.


    ¡°That you didn¡¯t come in apologizing again for what happened in that city,¡± Ryan said.


    Ah. Now he understood.


    ¡°It would be like if I apologized for something Cynthia did to you. It simply wasn¡¯t you. Even if it was your fault, you¡¯ve already made amends, but it would be so typical of you to apologize again anyway.¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    He¡¯d always suffered from that problem. And Ryan, in the relatively short time he¡¯d been on the team (damn, how could so much crap have happened in so little time?) had seen him repeat it often. Often enough.


    ¡°It sounds strange, but I¡¯m glad. That complex you have isn¡¯t good. That everything is your fault, that it¡¯s always your responsibility. Someday it¡¯ll end up killing you or driving you mad,¡± Ryan said.


    I¡¯m already mad, he thought.


    ¡°Sometimes talking to you feels like confessing to a priest,¡± Sylvester admitted.


    ¡°Really?¡± Ryan seemed half excited, as if he¡¯d been paid a compliment. Sylvester hadn¡¯t said it with that intention, but there was no harm in letting him believe it.


    ¡°Well,¡± he shrugged, ¡°in my imagination. I have never confessed.¡±


    ¡°I see. Sorry to be a bother, what did you want to talk about?¡± Ryan asked.


    You¡¯re not a bother. You¡¯re one of the few people who can put up with me. Even if you basically forced yourself to do so, it¡¯s still true.


    But he was a bit embarrassed to say something like that, so he kept his mouth shut.


    Moving on to the next topic.


    ¡°Don¡¯t take this the wrong way, but I wanted to know how you¡¯re handling all this. You know, because of your faith,¡± Sylvester said.


    ¡°Uh-huh.¡±


    I mean, anyone would have a crisis of faith facing the end of the world. If they didn¡¯t, it would be impossible for them to ever have had one.


    ¡°Seriously, don¡¯t take it the wrong way. I¡¯m not trying to convince you that you¡¯ve spent your life believing in a lie or anything like that. That¡¯s not what I think. Or it¡¯s not what I want to think. I¡¯d like to be like you, I think you already know that.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve told me once,¡± Ryan replied.


    ¡°Really?¡± He should¡¯ve remembered, but frankly, he didn¡¯t. He thought he was revealing a vulnerability he¡¯d never dared to confess... Well, whatever. ¡°Well, it¡¯s true. Having faith in oneself sounds nice, it¡¯s good, but when that¡¯s all there is? Fighting against what we face day after day? I¡¯m tired. I just want... I want to have faith. I want to be able to have faith.¡±


    He didn¡¯t think he¡¯d sounded that desperate the last time he¡¯d said something like that, that was for sure. Like I said, anyone would have a crisis of faith at the end of the world.


    And yeah, it really did feel like he was confessing to a priest. In the end, the role suited Ryan, if only because he was the most devout person Sylvester knew.


    ¡°That¡¯s not something I can give you, boss,¡± Ryan said.


    ¡°I understand.¡±


    ¡°No, you don¡¯t understand. Because you¡¯re looking for a reason why I can keep believing despite the circumstances. That¡¯s not what faith is about. You know? My grandmother used to say: What is faith? Believing in what you can¡¯t see,¡± Ryan explained.


    If there were proof beyond any doubt, I wouldn¡¯t need faith. It would be common sense. It was fair. He didn¡¯t know what he¡¯d expected.


    ¡°So, what can I do, Ryan? I¡¯ve never felt so... so...¡±


    ¡°Pray with me,¡± Ryan said, as if it had just occurred to him.


    ¡°Even if I don¡¯t believe? Even if I¡¯m not sure of anything?¡±


    ¡°Maybe people like you are the ones who need to pray the most,¡± Ryan said.


    That... was also very fair. Sylvester nodded, feeling as if he¡¯d just been given a lesson in humility. What kind of lesson? He couldn¡¯t put it into words, but well, it was a nice feeling.


    You had to hold onto whatever you could.


    So, he followed Ryan to his room, and they knelt, closed their eyes, and prayed. To be exact, Sylvester didn¡¯t have much practice, so Ryan prayed aloud, and he repeated after him. But he tried to be sincere, to lower his guard and set aside his doubts. Out there, the world was dying while he was powerless to do anything.


    He had to believe in something.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Heather was flying above the clouds, at a relatively safe distance, if something like that even existed, from the disaster.


    Of course, by that, she meant the destruction wrought by that being, which was devouring the world bite by bite, leaving behind nothing but empty space. And holes in people¡¯s memories. It didn¡¯t just eliminate things physically; it erased any trace of them from the world.


    From her world.


    The world she wanted to protect with Sylvester, the world she wanted to grow old in by his side, if she was able.


    But now all she could do was watch as it disappeared. Even if they eventually found a way, there¡¯d be very little of the world left. All I need is Sylvester and at least one room, she thought, but he¡¯s not that... adaptable.


    He wouldn¡¯t be able to bear living in a world like that.


    A world he¡¯d think he¡¯d failed, even if it wasn¡¯t true. Because he believed everything was his responsibility. Great power comes with great responsibility. Those were irresponsible words that could destroy a man.


    Heather¡¯s expression softened.


    Or a child.


    Many years had passed since he¡¯d gotten her powers. Sylvester had certainly gotten older, but had he had time to mature? To grow as a person? Not much.


    Not that she meant it in a bad way, of course. She was little more than a child herself.


    She had come into this world with nothing. Believing herself the princess of those twisted and strange creatures humanity called Lunar Remnants. And she had accepted it because she was empty, and with that, she could at least start filling her void. But it had only been the clumsy attempts of a newborn trying to find meaning in her existence.


    Now she had more or less accepted the truth.


    That she was exactly the same as Sylvester. An accident.


    But there was an important difference.


    ¡°Maybe you¡¯ve given up, my love, but I haven¡¯t. Not yet.¡±


    Heather turned her back on that sad spectacle and flew back to his arms, to his warmth.


    The home of her heart.


    ¡ª¡ª


    They finished praying, opened their eyes, and stood up. It had been a... different experience, neither good nor bad. Of course, he didn¡¯t expect a miracle to happen just by doing it once. Anything worthwhile required consistency.


    He wasn¡¯t sure if he wanted to do it again or if it would help him at all, even though he would probably repeat it, but that was another story. And it wasn¡¯t Ryan¡¯s fault. He was just being a good friend, nothing more, nothing less.


    ¡°It was nice. Thanks,¡± said Sylvester.


    ¡°No, thank you. I never thought we¡¯d share a moment like this. And to think you were this close to slitting my throat.¡±


    He was obviously joking, but Sylvester grimaced as he remembered their first meeting. Though Ryan remembered it in his own convenient way. Cynthia had been the one about to slit his throat, but well, he understood the point. No need to be so literal.


    So many things had changed since then.


    So many revelations.


    It felt almost like he wasn¡¯t the same person, and not because he had changed one bit, personally. His life bore no resemblance to the one he used to have.


    ¡°Funny how things change and how simple they were back then.¡±


    He hadn¡¯t been sent to personally handle a Lunar Remnant crisis in a long, long time. Too busy with the multi-universal war. Sure, hundreds of people who could¡¯ve been saved had died because he stayed on the sidelines.


    But if he fell, if his team fell, every speck of dust in the universe would die.


    The balance was clearly tipped to one side.


    ¡°Well, some changes are for the better.¡± It was hard to focus on what had improved, but it was still true. He had been fighting so hard for so long, and sometimes it had been worth it. He needed to remember that in his worst moments¡ªthat not everything had been a waste of time. ¡°Let¡¯s call Cynthia. We could go out for a drink, chat, have some fun. Your girlfriend¡¯s invited too.¡±


    Sylvester grinned like an idiot, but that, unfortunately, wouldn¡¯t be happening.


    ¡°She¡¯s out.¡±


    ¡°Where to?¡± He couldn¡¯t imagine where Heather might want to go, especially under the circumstances. Normal enough.


    ¡°To get a closer look at what¡¯s coming. I didn¡¯t ask why.¡±


    There was no need to say that Ryan shouldn¡¯t ask either, because he had no damn idea. He loved Heather, but that didn¡¯t mean he could read her like an open book. He wished.


    ¡°I hope she doesn¡¯t do anything stupid.¡±


    ¡°If I suspected even the slightest bit, I wouldn¡¯t be here.¡± For better or worse, he had priorities.


    ¡°That¡¯s true. Come on, let¡¯s go.¡±


    Laughing, Ryan gave him a few pats on the back. They left the room like that, then Ryan split off, called Cynthia, and they arranged to meet at the nearest place. Empty, closed. Even better. And it wasn¡¯t hard to get in.


    Cynthia had already done all the work and was waiting for them. She had always seemed like an attractive woman to him. Not in the sense that he had any interest in her¡ªsexual or emotional¡ªjust in the sense that, well, he had eyes, that¡¯s all.


    For some time now, though, she didn¡¯t seem quite so attractive.


    Not ugly, by any means, of course. His eyes were still working. But he simply couldn¡¯t see her the same way anymore.


    Anyway, he wasn¡¯t impartial.


    Her smile was the most beautiful thing. It lit up her entire face. Even Cynthia had an optimism that he lacked. Of course, he saw the small signs¡ªthe weariness, the pain. But with a smile, she could still light up her whole face. He envied her, just as he envied Ryan.


    They were more complete human beings.


    ¡°Boss.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you start with that, too. At least call me Sylvester.¡±


    They hugged.


    Maybe it was a bit much to call them friends. They hadn¡¯t had much time to act like that. Always one fight after another, more crises to solve, fires to put out, or training to be ready for the next crisis, always more dangerous than the last.


    But they were comrades, brothers in arms, and that was almost as good. Or better.


    He couldn¡¯t think of better company to share these moments before the end of all things.


    The Cold of Outer Space, The Warm Embrace of Death, Part 1: END

 80. The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 2

    Chapter 80: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 2


    "Alright, beer for me and Ryan, and for the boss... no need to tell me, a Pepsi, right?"


    For a moment, Sylvester thought about saying no, that this time he¡¯d drink with them, just to break the routine and not be a buzzkill. But his hatred for alcohol was too deep, too ingrained for that. He¡¯d rather drink poison than touch alcohol, even a little, and he didn¡¯t think there was much of a difference in the first place. He had come in with the idea of making an exception for the end of the world, but it was unavoidable¡ªanyone who grew up with an alcoholic father would feel the same way. Abusive, of course, to him and his mother. He didn¡¯t need to spell it out because he didn¡¯t believe in non-abusive alcoholics.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said simply, accepting the cold glass. He had a habit of getting lost in his thoughts. It was always like that when there wasn¡¯t something to punch to help him figure out whatever problem he was facing. You couldn¡¯t teach an old dog new tricks. He took the first sip. The sensation of the liquid sliding down his throat was truly refreshing.


    Cynthia sat down at the table, passing her glass to Ryan.


    ¡°Well, at least no lines or wait times,¡± Cynthia said.


    ¡°Perks of the end of the world,¡± Ryan replied.


    The two shared a laugh over the joke with an ease and naturalness that left Sylvester stunned. They weren¡¯t talking about some distant possibility but about something that would definitely happen in a few days. Something that was happening, even as they drank here.


    But that was obvious; they knew it perfectly well. They joked and tried to have fun, or at least did their best while the world fell apart, and they couldn¡¯t do anything to stop it, for once. Not to get even more depressed and dwell on how things had turned out.


    They did that often enough, for far too long.


    If the end of the world wasn¡¯t the time to change, there was no time.


    It was already too late to join in the laughter, though. That¡¯s what usually happened to him. He could read social cues just fine, only often, a little too late. He wasn¡¯t autistic or anything like that. He was just out of practice, always a few steps behind, always tired.


    That wasn¡¯t something he could fix.


    It was already too late to fix anything.


    But he could enjoy the moment. That was the only thing he had, the only thing all humans and non-humans on this planet had now.


    ¡°Guys, you know, I¡¯ve been thinking... we¡¯re not friends,¡± Sylvester said.


    ¡°Oof,¡± Cynthia replied. ¡°That¡¯s harsh.¡±


    ¡°Let me finish, come on. We¡¯re not friends. How could we be? Always being thrown from one battle to the next, barely time to breathe, let alone get to know each other. That¡¯s not necessarily a bad thing. Maybe we¡¯re something better. Blood brothers. But... I don¡¯t know how to put it.¡±


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    Sylvester took another sip from his glass.


    ¡°I sound like I¡¯m drunk, and this is just a Pepsi.¡±


    Cynthia laughed.


    ¡°Alright, sometimes you can be funny. I think I get it. You¡¯re saying you regret the missed chance, right?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but...¡± How to express it? ¡°I think I never had a chance.


    Life is pain, I¡¯m not special, I know that. But¡­ it¡¯s been a long time since I¡¯ve been a proper human being."


    "With great power comes great responsibility," Ryan said.


    "It¡¯s not about that," he replied, though it was true. A curse that would follow him to the grave. "Or not just that. It started way before. My mother, well, she had Alzheimer¡¯s. Stopped recognizing me very quickly. Deteriorated almost immediately. She was always waiting for a son that would never come. And I never had a father, just a sperm donor."


    "I¡¯m sorry," Cynthia said. Her eyes seemed to tell him: I know we know each other less than we should, but this is a pretty heavy way to start fixing that, don¡¯t you think?


    Yes, her eyes were very expressive.


    Ryan, wordless, placed a hand on his shoulder and gave a squeeze.


    He appreciated both gestures.


    "I grew to hate her, you know? I know she was sick. It wasn¡¯t her fault, but the hate was mutual. She saw me as a stranger, an intruder. More than once, I thought about grabbing a pillow, putting it over her face, and pressing down until she stopped moving."


    There it was.


    He had never confessed this madness to anyone, not even to Helen. It wasn¡¯t that he didn¡¯t trust her. He loved her with all his heart, or at least as much as someone like him could understand what love was.


    The subject had never come up, and he hadn¡¯t seen a reason to share it. Honestly.


    Even if he did tell her, he was a hundred percent sure she wouldn¡¯t react negatively. Even if he had killed his mother with his own hands, he was sure Heather wouldn¡¯t judge him. Most human beings didn¡¯t matter to her; why would she turn her back on him over a moral issue?


    But still, he had to admit that saying it out loud felt liberating.


    He had to admit that, deep down, he had wanted to tell someone all this time.


    "When we fought that damn alien, it got into my head and made me see myself killing her. But I never did it. I thought about it seriously, but I never crossed the line. I swear."


    ¡°We believe you,¡± Ryan said slowly after a while. ¡°And it''s perfectly normal. Physical illnesses are one thing. They take a real toll on the caregiver, but they¡¯re nothing like mental illnesses. Both, the body and the mind failing? That¡¯s even worse. Deep down, you know you weren¡¯t hating your mother, and she would understand.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well. Deep down, sure, but that only helps with my guilt. The thing is¡­¡± He took another long sip, more to buy time than anything else. ¡°I don¡¯t have a solid foundation, and what came out of it is¡­ not good. We¡¯re blood brothers, companions, kind of friends because of all this. If I had to go through a normal life, I can¡¯t imagine being capable of it. I¡¯d have ended up on the street. And soon in a ditch somewhere. And even if I had met you two¡­ Do you know what I mean? I feel like I¡¯m saying too much and not really saying anything at all.¡±


    "It usually happens when you''re not used to being sincere and open," Ryan replied, accurate as always.


    "Yeah, well." Sylvester shrugged. "I''m doing what I can."


    "Is it time to share stories, traumas, etc?" Cynthia said. "If so, you go first, Ryan, I need to think carefully about my turn."


    Ryan snorted.


    "Well, it''s not a bad idea. Let me think. You already know the biggest one, so you''ll have to make do with the second biggest, I''m afraid."


    "You don''t have to tell us anything," Sylvester said.


    "Yeah, but maybe I want to too."


    Too. Yes, why wouldn''t he understand the importance of giving voice to your regrets?


    He regretted having turned what should be a kind of celebration into a depressing event like this, but well, he hoped it wouldn''t be reduced to that. And why would it?


    After all, they had all the time in the world, even if the world had rather little left.


    The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 2: END

 81. The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 3

    Chapter 81: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 3


    Ryan took so long that Sylvester thought he had changed his mind. If that were the case, he couldn¡¯t blame him. They were here to distract themselves from the worst possible situation, one they couldn¡¯t do anything about.


    Talking about minor, yet more personal tragedies, problems they had overcome or struggled to overcome every day, wasn¡¯t a terrible way to do it.


    But it wasn¡¯t the best either.


    It was just more misery, in the end. That they had managed to overcome things in the past, that they were fighters, survivors...


    What did that mean when they now had nothing left to fight?


    But Ryan hadn¡¯t changed his mind.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never had parents. My only family was always my little sister, Taylor.¡±


    The fact that he was an orphan caught Sylvester by surprise, but he had never known that Ryan had a little sister to begin with. After all, they hadn¡¯t done that deep of a background check before forcefully recruiting him.


    But then again, to be fair, orphans disappeared every day. They were especially vulnerable.


    No one was there for them, and the world was ready to swallow them up.


    Taylor probably no longer existed in this world. He now understood Ryan¡¯s strong reaction when he found out exactly what he was participating in, what he was allowing.


    It wasn¡¯t that he was an especially kind person, but rather that it had been a personal matter.


    I didn¡¯t know. I didn¡¯t know.


    How many kids like Taylor, like he had been at one point, had he sent to their doom? Naturally, he had reacted as if it were all a nightmare. He had broken down.


    It said a lot, and proved Sylvester was right, that he had learned this so late.


    More curiously, it seemed that even Cynthia hadn¡¯t known.


    That¡­ he supposed that didn¡¯t bother him. He had started to feel like a fifth wheel. A stranger, an intruder, almost. But Cynthia and Ryan hadn¡¯t grown as close as he had been under the impression they had.


    The distance between the three of them wasn¡¯t that different, after all.


    ¡°We were adopted,¡± Ryan continued, ¡°but we couldn¡¯t call those people parents either. They didn¡¯t deserve it. We found out very soon.


    ¡°They didn¡¯t want children, they wanted slaves. Just working at home, not even going to school. And if it had only been physical labor, I would¡¯ve endured it. But...¡±


    Ryan paused, gathering courage, taking a deep breath.


    Sylvester already knew what he was going to say. Anyone would, he had said enough, and he had a little sister, after all. He just hoped it wasn¡¯t as horrible as he imagined, that he had been able to prevent the worst from happening.


    ¡°One day I caught that man trying to force himself on my sister. It was the first time I killed someone. I beat him to death. I killed him without really intending to, believe it or not. It¡¯s not like I was filled with rage and lost control, I was just scared. That if I stopped hitting him, he¡¯d beat me up. And continue doing what he was about to do. That¡¯s why I killed him. Fear, not rage.¡±


    He had every right to feel both.


    A person like that wasn¡¯t even human. He deserved to die in the most horrible way possible. Sylvester wished that man had faced a more conventional form of justice, but only because of what surely would¡¯ve awaited him in prison.


    Even the worst criminals had standards and a shred of decency.


    ¡°Since then, we spent our lives running from the authorities. From one place to another, always. I went from one terrible job to the next. I didn¡¯t give her a good life.¡±


    Ah.


    Confirmed, then. Taylor was dead. Sylvester reached out a hand to touch his shoulder, squeezing. He didn¡¯t know what else to do or say.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry for your loss,¡± Cynthia said.


    ¡°Huh? I lost her, indeed, but she¡¯s alive. She just doesn¡¯t want anything to do with life.¡±


    A sad smile.


    Of course, any sibling would say that was better than the alternative. But it was still painful.


    She wasn¡¯t dead, but she preferred not to see him.


    In a practical sense, it wasn¡¯t very different. It still meant that it was unlikely they¡¯d ever see each other again. Although, of course, as long as she was alive, there was still hope that one day that might change.


    ¡°Oof. That¡¯s worse,¡± Cynthia said.


    Ryan nodded.


    ¡°And you?¡±


    ¡°Is it my turn now? I wouldn¡¯t mind, but you both already know nothing special has happened in my life.¡± Cynthia downed her glass in one gulp. ¡°The only thing that counts as trauma is the stuff you already know, all the shit this job exposes us to. I joined simply because I thought someone had to do it. I felt it was my responsibility. That if everyone thought, ¡®enough, let someone else sacrifice themselves for you,¡¯ there¡¯d be no one to do what needs to be done.¡±


    Cynthia shrugged.


    ¡°Like I said, I¡¯m normal. It¡¯s boring as hell, and you already knew it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not very normal,¡± Ryan said. ¡°Most people need a reason to sacrifice themselves for others. Money, love, personal satisfaction. Whatever. Few people are truly selfless. Human relationships are a transaction. Even in a spiritual sense, praying and following my beliefs gives me security and makes me feel like a normal person. I don¡¯t do it because I should. I do it for myself.¡±


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    ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you to have such a cynical view,¡± Sylvester said.


    ¡°Cynical? No, don¡¯t get me wrong. It¡¯s not that I think there¡¯s anything wrong with it. If your path in life or the people around you don¡¯t bring you anything, it¡¯s natural to move away. Someone who destroys themselves purely for the benefit of others must be a saint or someone without a sense of self.¡±


    Was there any difference?


    It didn¡¯t sound terrible to be a pure martyr, it wasn¡¯t that different from his dream of being this world¡¯s hero, but Sylvester had been driven by his selfishness and need for attention.


    Someone who truly lived only for others, willing to lose everything...


    A person like that couldn¡¯t be in their right mind. It wasn¡¯t something to aspire to as a human being.


    ¡°I guess you¡¯re calling me a saint, then.¡±


    ¡°Well, you¡¯re the closest thing to a saint I¡¯ve ever known.¡±


    Cynthia laughed and punched him on the shoulder. She probably meant it as a pat, but it was more of a punch. Ryan winced, but ended up laughing too.


    Now that they had finished sharing their traumas, making a final attempt to bond at the end of the world, they could move on to more pleasant topics.


    Silliness. The kind of things you forgot the moment they left your mouth. Anyway, insignificant chatter. Everything was insignificant, so what was the harm? You could say they had no time to waste, that they should make the most of it somehow, but on the other hand... they had already run out of time.


    After all, what really mattered were the little things he had been too busy to focus on all his life.


    It was a shame it had taken him so long to realize it, but better late than never.


    After about two hours, he heard a soft landing. Christina and Ryan didn¡¯t even notice, but he heard it instantly. And he knew it was Heather. He watched her enter the bar. Her face lit up just like his did when he saw her.


    Seeing that always made him feel like a lovestruck schoolboy. It seemed almost impossible to him that someone could care so much for him, just like that. Especially since he had never given her anything. Well, very little, mostly suffering. And yet...


    ¡°I was starting to get worried. You were taking too long.¡±


    Heather shrugged, approached, greeted Violet and Cynthia, and then sat beside him.


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t wearing a watch.¡±


    ¡°Is that really all?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I lost track of time. What else could it have been?¡±


    Sylvester looked into her eyes and decided he didn¡¯t care. Whatever had happened, Heather was intact and alive. So, even if he had reason to suspect, it couldn¡¯t have been that bad.


    He wondered what kind of thoughts had gone through her mind as she watched that being devour cities, erasing everything from reality, leaving only voids in space. Acting as if nothing had ever existed there.


    For her, who hadn¡¯t been able to enjoy a single year of life, who was a different kind of being, what had she been thinking as she watched that dreadful spectacle? In any case, like any of them, she needed time alone with her thoughts. It was probably just that. A way to process it by seeing it with her own eyes. The inevitable end.


    When someone died, at least memories remained in the hearts of their loved ones. But that being wouldn¡¯t even allow that.


    No trace. It wouldn¡¯t be a death, but as if they had never lived in the first place.


    ¡°You know,¡± Ryan suddenly said. ¡°We were sharing traumas earlier, you know, the kind of things you have to talk about when you¡¯re trying not to get depressed.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡±


    ¡°No. Just kidding. The point is¡­ do you have anything to share?¡±


    Heather thought for a moment.


    Then she shrugged.


    ¡°My birth, but you were all there.¡±


    ¡°Oh, right. Yeah. That¡¯s true.¡±


    He didn''t leave much room for conversation, but Heather didn''t seem particularly interested in continuing it. After all, she was perfect just as she was. To him. And that was all that mattered. He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. With her head resting on his chest, she closed her eyes, completely at peace.


    She was home.


    They were.


    ¡ª¡ª


    At some point, the party had to end. They left the bar they had stormed into and started back to the base, more or less satisfied with how the trip had turned out. Or at least, he was.


    The invisible pressure in his chest had vanished for the moment. It would inevitably return because nothing had changed or been fixed. But if he couldn''t be happy with a temporary relief, what could he be happy with?


    Every human being lived on borrowed time. Well, that had always been true at any point in history, but now more than ever. The ticking of the clock. It was as if the beats of his heart marked the rhythm of the countdown to the end of the world.


    But it also meant he was alive.


    Simply existing was something to be grateful for and happy about.


    There was never any need to become someone special. To seek admiration and devotion that could easily be mistaken for love by the desperate. It was late to realize these things, but better late than never.


    Violet and he could fly, but the four of them stayed together and traveled back to the base in the vehicle that had brought them here. Ryan''s car.


    Nothing they could see through the windows was a pleasant sight.


    Currently, the city was as far from a walking disaster as one could be without going to another planet. But that didn''t change anything. No one in the world was sane. It was impossible to stay sane when facing the inevitable end. Humans weren''t designed to think about death.


    Sylvester believed that''s why religion existed in the first place.


    It was nothing more than an escape route.


    They all spoke of a world beyond the valley of tears.


    Of course, it wasn''t the only escape route. Fame and glory. Family. A legacy. In any case, life was a constant struggle to escape death, and now no one could run away.


    Screams and cries filled the air.


    They saw a group of people violently breaking into a supermarket. Stealing. They didn''t bother to stop them, and no one came to stop them either.


    As long as they didn''t harm others, it didn''t matter anymore. That had been the government''s unanimous decision. The forces of order would only intervene if things got really out of hand. Money had no meaning. There was nothing that could be saved on this earth, not even human lives, but something had to be done. They couldn''t let human beings kill each other before that being could do it. In any case, everything was truly dreadful.


    He didn''t want to look, but he couldn''t look away either.


    After all, he felt responsible.


    Only death could free him from that feeling of guilt and responsibility, but there were still some things he could fix before the inevitable happened. Sylvester, accompanied by his team, gathered the visitors from other worlds in that room to tell them what he knew the government never would. Accustomed to consequences not affecting them, the powerful still clung to hope and believed they needed all the help they could get.


    There was no way they were going to get rid of assets as valuable as Jonathan and the others, but they didn¡¯t have to die with this planet.


    It wasn¡¯t even their world, and there was a door.


    Sylvester placed a hand on the device.


    "This device can take you back home, opening a portal between dimensions. Yes, I should have informed you much earlier. I¡¯m sorry."


    He had been too busy processing it all, assimilating it as much as possible. And, of course, crying over what could have been. But that was no excuse. It wasn''t like it required a long explanation.


    He should have done this the day they arrived at the base.


    None of the four seemed happy, though probably for different reasons.


    "We don¡¯t want to go home," said Caim. "We only have each other. We¡¯re happy to be in a world where no one knows us."


    "Any other habitable world, then. I can¡¯t promise it will be very safe, that things will go well for you there, but¡­"


    Caim nodded.


    "If it¡¯s habitable, we¡¯ll manage."


    Jonathan clicked his tongue.


    "Why didn¡¯t you say this before? Any of you?"


    "It¡¯s no excuse," said Cynthia, "but we had other things to think about, and there was time."


    "I¡¯m not talking about running away with our tails between our legs, I¡¯m not planning on giving up! I¡¯m talking about a counterattack."


    "I¡¯m listening," said Heather.


    Interested, too interested. He knew instantly that she had been planning to do something, even if it was a suicide mission. So now that Jonathan seemed to have a real plan, she couldn¡¯t resist.


    "It¡¯s very simple. I said it¡¯s an impossible battle because that being is not in our reality, not entirely. With this machine, maybe we can open a portal to its real body, its core. We have a chance to win this."


    Caim stepped forward.


    "I¡¯ll fight if I have to."


    "Caim¡­" One of them said. He had forgotten their names, to be honest.


    "Why not? We already know we can¡­ that I can fit in here, so why leave it to chance in another world?"


    He wasn¡¯t the only one willing. Ryan, Cynthia, even Heather.


    The will to live, to fight.


    It wasn¡¯t much, but a plan is a plan. It only takes a spark to ignite the flame of hope.


    The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 3: END

 82. The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 4

    Chapter 82: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 4


    They had a plan.


    Well, it was more of a starting point than a plan, but it was still the best they had, considering that the only alternative considered by the government was to spread out across other universes using the portal machines. Simply prolonging the inevitable.


    He wouldn''t even care if it could work, but those in favor of that plan weren''t speaking with the voice of reason, but of desperation.


    It was nothing more than a childish hope.


    That being wasn''t just devouring physical things, but immaterial ones as well. He couldn''t be one hundred percent certain (although, come to think of it, what could he be one hundred percent certain about?), but Sylvester believed they would die with their universe when it was devoured, regardless of where they were at that moment. If annihilation were so easy to avoid, they wouldn''t have even bothered to go so far.


    They wouldn''t have provided the tool to avoid it.


    Humans had to believe in something, because if they lowered their defenses and looked at the horrible face of truth, they could only sit waiting for the end, drowned by the desperation that prevented them from breathing properly like a shroud. He understood it perfectly. No one wanted to understand the truth that their fate was not in their hands.


    But that no longer mattered, because they did have an alternative.


    And if it fails, Sylvester thought, at least I won''t live to see it. We won''t live.


    He corrected himself because Heather, as usual, accompanied him as if she were his own shadow. As if they were one person.


    As he liked it.


    Sylvester had felt the urge to fly to take a look at how things were going, and Heather had offered to accompany him, despite having just returned from a trip with the same purpose. He didn''t reject her offer. He didn''t even think about doing so.


    Seeing that being advancing. The devastation, the holes in space. These things hadn''t changed anything in his heart. They had shattered him, thinking about all that had been lost, but they didn''t tell him anything he didn''t already know. They didn''t help him reach any decision or determination.


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    But he felt it had been important to come here to contemplate it, anyway. One last look at everything he was fighting for.


    At this rate, even if they won, they wouldn''t have much world left to celebrate in; they would have to spread throughout the universe anyway. Colonize uninhabited planets, build settlements, a network of portals so that humanity could remain united and strong. Many things.


    But it was something for the future, and he didn''t really care. As long as humanity survived, he felt he could accept any kind of ending. It was his happy ending, the best they could hope for, anyway.


    It was selfish, but much better to die crying and lamenting than to die with nobility and ideals in one''s mouth.


    Sylvester smiled. Besides, he liked being a damn selfish bastard. He didn''t have to be a hero. That was for crazy people. Among whom he counted himself, but less crazy than a few months ago, that was for sure.


    "What''s wrong?" Heather asked.


    "Nothing, just my nonsense. And..."


    "Come on, spit it out. What are you embarrassed about? It''s not like you."


    "No man could say it calmly. Not to someone he really cares about, in any case." Sylvester looked away, blushing, then told himself he didn''t have the balls and forced himself to look her in the eyes. He wasn''t even doing anything. Not yet, because he had thought better of it. And he knew it wasn''t a risk. There was no reason to feel nervous. "I was thinking of asking you to marry me. I mean, right now."


    "Oh. I see."


    Heather wasn''t capable of blushing, or at least he had never seen her do it, but she looked away in the same way he had done. She looked as if she was too embarrassed to look at him, but at the same time burning with desire to do so.


    "But I don''t want it to seem like I''m preparing things before dying, tying up all the loose ends, just to be sure. Let''s leave it for when we finish this. For when we win. We won''t die. That is, if you want to marry me."


    "Of course I want to, silly. And of course we won''t die." Heather nodded. "No one will be able to stop us as long as we stay together."


    He hoped that was true.


    He shook her hand as if signing a contract.


    A part of him couldn''t help but think: of course she wants me. I''m one of the three people she really knows, and probably the only man on Earth who would give her a chance. He was twisted as usual, so he couldn''t help but think that way. But deep down, he believed it was real love. In the bottom of his heart. Without reason or justification. He believed that even if he traveled the world looking for true love, he would eventually return to her arms.


    Of course, the same went for him.


    As cheesy as it was, he felt he had been born in this world to meet her.


    Sylvester took her hand, their fingers intertwined, squeezing tightly.


    "Let''s go. We have work to do."


    They resumed their flight back to the base.


    To Jonathan, and the portal machine.


    To the last mission of their lives, whether they lived or died.


    The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 4: END

 83. The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 5

    Chapter 83: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 5


    Sylvester taught Jonathan how to operate the portal machine. It wasn¡¯t very complicated, but Jonathan apparently came from a world with scarce technology, where they still used candles and lamps, not electricity, and firearms were flintlocks. He could only imagine his reaction if he showed him a television, something everyone took for granted and even a child could use with ease. This machine, extraordinary even in his own world, would naturally be much worse.


    But when he finished the explanation, Jonathan simply nodded.


    "Don¡¯t you have any more questions?"


    "Not at all," he insisted, so Sylvester stepped aside, hoping Jonathan knew what he was saying. That it wasn¡¯t mere pride, refusing to admit he was overwhelmed.


    His heart was slightly racing. After all, the entire plan depended on Jonathan¡¯s ability to open a portal to the correct world or space, allowing them to strike that being directly. Making it possible, though not likely, that they could win a fight against something that was basically a god.


    Sylvester took a deep breath. He watched carefully. This was the only way to save his world and countless others, so Jonathan better learn. He wasn¡¯t depending on Jonathan for his strength, for a change, but for the information that had been forcibly shoved into his head, nearly driving him mad.


    The first attempts were fruitless, but at least the problem was that they formed portals to the wrong worlds, not that they had trouble with the basics, the operation of the machine. Then they really would have been screwed.


    Around the nineteenth attempt, when he was starting to lose the little hope he had managed to gather after finally hearing a damn plan, no matter how grand, something different happened. A single glance was enough.


    The portal was black, completely black. Nothing could be seen. Not from this side, at least. Either something had gone very wrong, or Jonathan had found exactly what they were looking for.


    "Is that it?" Ryan asked from a corner of the room, arms crossed. Most of the people in this room, including Jonathan, couldn¡¯t do anything but stand by with arms crossed as the fate of this world and the entire universe was decided. In some way, Sylvester envied them, though at the same time, he knew perfectly well that if he were in their position, he¡¯d spend the whole time consumed by frustration, unable to put his fate in the hands of others. Unable to bear it, not the decision, not putting what was right above his pride.


    So he was lucky that this was the right thing to do.


    Once again, the responsibility to save the world fell on his shoulders. The responsibility and the expectation to be a hero.


    Even though he no longer wanted to be a hero. Even though he just wanted to be a husband.


    "I¡¯m almost sure," Jonathan finally responded. "My head¡¯s about to explode."


    "Almost doesn¡¯t seem good enough," Ryan said.


    "Well, it¡¯s the best I¡¯ve got! The best you¡¯ve got."


    Ryan scoffed. Sylvester supposed he was thinking something along the lines of, "Some king, so used to getting his way he can¡¯t stand the slightest challenge." But wisely, Ryan kept silent.


    Jonathan was an asshole, but a necessary asshole.


    "Alright," Sylvester said. "We can test it. If it¡¯s not the right place, it shouldn¡¯t be a problem to come back, as long as Jonathan stays here."


    "It¡¯s too dangerous to go in there without knowing where the hell you''re going." Cynthia sighed. "But that¡¯s what this damn job has always been about, right? And it¡¯s not like you have many more choices. For starters, no one has the right to an opinion except the people who are going to risk their necks."


    "Don¡¯t be ridiculous. We¡¯re a team, Cynthia. That¡¯s not going to change."


    "Yeah, and neither are you. Before you open your mouth to continue, let me guess. I¡¯ll go in first, Heather, just to test it?"


    Sylvester shut his mouth. To grow close to people, you had to open up to them. Logically. But having someone know you well could be a real nuisance.


    "Fine, yes," he admitted. "That¡¯s exactly what I was going to say. So can we skip to the part where everyone lets me do it anyway? The usual routine."


    "No," Heather said, stepping through the portal, stealing the opportunity.


    It was like a punch to the chest. So this is what it feels like, he thought. It was one thing to know you were doing something wrong and a whole other thing to feel it in your bones.


    Sylvester made a move to throw himself into the dark portal, but he held back. If the portal hadn¡¯t reached the right place this time either, then he¡¯d only be putting both their lives at risk unnecessarily. If he truly believed his idea had merit, he had to respect it, even now that Heather had forcibly taken his role. He just hoped she wouldn¡¯t have to pay the price for him to learn the lesson about how much he hurt the people he cared about by behaving the way he did. As if his life had no value, even if that was true.


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    Sylvester held back for approximately three minutes, quite an accomplishment, even if it was wrong to say so himself.


    Fortunately, he didn¡¯t have to hold back a second longer, as Heather poked her head through the portal.


    "It¡¯s the right place," she said.


    "Are you sure?" Sylvester asked, stepping forward, tense.


    "Yes. I can¡¯t explain it to you, but I don¡¯t need to. You¡¯ll understand as soon as you cross the threshold. You don¡¯t need to prepare for an immediate fight... well, obviously, but get your wings out. Don¡¯t let your guard down for a second, or you might die the moment you step in."


    Sylvester barely managed to swallow. Those were a lot of ugly details without really telling him anything. Oh well, he hadn¡¯t expected this to be easy.


    Sylvester spread his black wings, preparing for the final flight. A few feathers scattered around the room. Feathers black as night.


    Heather pulled her head back through the portal, and Sylvester dove into the void, prepared for the worst.


    Or so he thought, at least, but he was very wrong.


    Despite Heather¡¯s warning, he almost died in the first instant.


    Against what? He couldn¡¯t see anything, and he suspected that was because there was nothing there, really. The air itself was hostile. This wasn¡¯t a place designed for human beings to live. It felt like a wind made of pure steel was pushing against them. He could feel pain all over his body; even breathing was an effort. His body was being crushed by a pressure like steel. His head hurt, too much blood pooling in his temples. It felt like even his eyeballs were swelling, about to burst.


    Go back. Go back already.


    Heather didn¡¯t need oxygen to live, but this place wasn¡¯t fit for him, who was still fundamentally human. So he should go back. He still had time to turn back. He had no choice, really. If he didn¡¯t, he¡¯d die sooner or later. He couldn¡¯t overcome that steel-like pressure.


    But Heather had called him here. She had endured all of this and judged that he could do it, or else she would have told him to stay behind. And he knew she would have found a way to convince him, stubborn as he was. Ever since he¡¯d known her, he¡¯d never been able to say no to her. During the brief period when they hated each other, when they were enemies, he hadn¡¯t needed to say no to her in the first place.


    He had to trust her. If she had let him through, it was because she was sure he wouldn¡¯t die.


    For that reason alone.


    He had to believe in her, in the one person who would give everything for him, and endure.


    Whatever happened, this was the end¡ªhis last fight, his final sacrifice.


    Even now, having come this far, there was a part of him that said:


    Why does it always have to be me? Let someone else do it.But he knew there was no one else.


    Same as always, for the same reason as always.


    His blood seemed to be flowing backward. His whole body was going haywire, losing control. He was running out of oxygen faster and faster. The darkness¡ªnothing like the emptiness surrounding him, but real, ultimate, impenetrable darkness¡ªthreatened to consume his vision forever.


    He didn¡¯t want to die here.


    He was going to die. There had to be time to turn back, to cower. He felt that soon his lungs would run out of oxygen completely. And then there would be no turning back, nothing left.


    Why did I come this far?


    Why, even if I only had a few more days with Heather and the rest of my loved ones, wasn¡¯t that better than throwing myself toward death?


    Why had I come here?


    If he couldn¡¯t even remember that, there was no way he could overcome the steel wind.


    His entire life had been swimming against the current. Despite the consequences, all he had ever wanted was to look someone in the eye and have them look back, to be recognized. Ever since his mother had fallen ill, that was all he had wanted. But at least that poor woman had the excuse of her illness. The rest of the world just saw what it wanted to see. They never saw *him*.


    How could they see him when he himself wasn¡¯t sure of his own form?


    It was a selfish desire like so many others. But after so many years, after so many turns, his wish had come true. Someone had looked back at him. Someone had seen him. A weak, pathetic, lonely human being. Someone who longed to love and be loved.


    That¡¯s why he was here. Because it couldn¡¯t end like this. Because he was selfish and a few days weren¡¯t enough. He wanted to live the rest of his life by her side. He wanted to move forward. He wanted to find out who he was.


    Sylvester clenched his teeth. His entire body, on the verge of collapse, was suddenly filled with strength. He pushed against the steel wind threatening to consume him. He had no idea where they were going. He had no idea how long it would take to get there. But it didn¡¯t matter. He just had to focus on this moment. He just had to put all his strength into the present moment to overcome any pressure like this, to let it pass through him as if it were nothing.


    Sylvester felt alive. He felt full. His heart was beating calmly, as if he were just taking a stroll. It was partly because of the lack of oxygen, of course, the difficulty in breathing. But true peace had wrapped around him. He believed he hadn¡¯t known what peace felt like until this moment.


    He was proud. He was selfish. He was greedy. He wanted everything, and he wasn¡¯t going to let go.


    Damn it. No matter how scared he was, he wasn¡¯t going to let fear stop him.


    Good intentions were fine, but he was still running out of oxygen. And once he ran out, he¡¯d die. Unlike Jonathan, he couldn¡¯t just resurrect. He would simply die.


    But that was a human thought, telling him that he really needed oxygen in his lungs. He had to let go of his preconceived human notions before it was too late.


    Sylvester¡¯s lungs emptied. He felt his heart slowing, like a broken clock. His heart stopped, but then suddenly beat again. It started up again, but something different filled his body, and suddenly he felt warm and energized once more.


    And he resumed his flight through the void, close to Heather. He caught up to her and intertwined his hand with hers. A warm hand. A firm hand. His only harbor in this storm.


    Heather and Sylvester continued their flight into the darkness and beyond, not knowing what they would find, but ready to face anything as long as they could stay together.


    Anything. That¡¯s what love was.


    The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 5: END

 Chapter 84: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 6

    Chapter 84: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 6


    Sylvester felt impossibly strange. His lungs were empty of air. He should be dead, his heart stopping or on the verge of it, yet he kept flying forward against a pressure like steel wind that crushed even his eyeballs. How much longer until they reached their destination? He wasn''t sure he could hold on like this much longer.


    Heather had been certain this was the right place, but if that was true, where was everything? It was nothing but an uninhabitable void. If he had to die trying, he could accept that as long as Heather survived, as long as it meant something. But what if they weren''t even in the right place? What if they''d missed their chance to turn back and run to where they''d taken off from?


    He didn''t want to die. He didn''t want to disappear without a trace after losing to this wind. He still had things to live for. More accurately, he had barely started living. He deserved to overcome this and reach the other side. He deserved to be happy.


    But what one deserved didn''t matter, only what one sought. That was the problem with all human beings. They had no fucking clue they were seeking something very different from what they deserved, from what they desperately wanted. Not until it was too late.


    At least he didn''t have to wonder if he''d made the wrong choice. His path up to here might have been littered with mistakes and stumbles, but what had led him to cross the portal was simply running out of options. The only decision left on the table was obviously the right one.


    It had to end soon. It had to be the right place. They couldn''t die from a simple mistake. If they had to fail, let it at least be in battle, doing what they did best.


    Was it too much to ask for just one chance?


    The agony was indescribable, but he would try to describe it anyway. It was what dragged him to the edge of the abyss and what brought him back to safety. Because when he thought he would lose consciousness, the pain was what kept him awake, alive.


    Sylvester closed his eyes, still flying forward like a bullet. How long had it been since the bullet left the barrel? Hours. Days. Months. Even his sense of time was being eroded by that wind. No help for it.


    But finally he felt he had overcome it, that the end was near. He felt it in his bones, a premonition he would bet anything on. And thank goodness, because it came true.


    Sylvester hit the ground. Yes, there was ground. His knees scraped against the cold metal hard.


    "Huh? Where am I?"


    Sylvester looked around. For some reason, he found himself in some kind of train. It was empty, of course. Empty except for Heather and him. Sylvester looked back. Well, at least that was over. But the joy died quickly on his lips. Heather wasn''t there; he couldn''t see her anywhere.


    "Shit! What happened?"


    He approached the door at the other end of the train, pulling the handle, shaking it. It wouldn''t open. It wouldn''t open at all, but even if he broke it down, what exactly awaited him? Just that steel wind, the torture he had tried to patiently endure. As if for the greater good.


    He didn''t want to go back out there. What if the flight had brought him here? Well, it was something new, it was progress. He had to cling to that with all his might. It was all he had.


    Sylvester tried to check his status page and there was absolutely nothing. He was here, so the mysterious power they had granted him still worked. There was no room for doubt, since it was the only reason he could fly. But he had no access to the numbers. No way to monitor his progress, nor, surely, to be notified of new abilities and that sort of thing.


    Well, at this point, nothing he could gain by leveling up would change anything. If he hadn''t become strong enough in these last ten years, a few minutes or hours more wouldn''t change anything. That''s not how it worked.


    It wasn''t much, but Sylvester almost felt normal again. Almost felt as vulnerable as in that alternative dimension where he had nearly served as dinner for some very strange monsters, until Jonathan pulled his chestnuts out of the fire.


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    Exaggeration? Yes. Avoidable? Well, no. Not at all.


    Sylvester gripped the sword with both hands, raising it high. Of course, he had to unsheathe it first. He hadn''t flown with the sword ready. If he had, he would have lost it, torn away by that wind anyway.


    Sylvester decided to move forward. That was the only thing he could do at this point. Besides, the wind had brought him here. This was probably the right place.


    The door opened automatically when he approached. There was nothing strange or surprising about that. That''s what any door did in a place like this. He tensed at the sound, but nothing more. What really had him on edge was that he had no fucking idea what he might find in there. Not to mention beyond¡ªhe highly doubted this was, so to speak, the final battle scene. There was surely something more out there, and he wouldn''t discover it if he didn''t move his ass.


    So that''s what he would do. Move his damn ass without fear.


    But sometimes one felt fear for very good reasons.


    Someone threw themselves at him, pushing him against the steel bars, squeezing hard enough to cut off his breath, and he saw that thing had Cynthia''s face.


    It couldn''t fool him for even a second. It was simply a monster that had taken on Cynthia''s appearance. They might not be best friends, but he knew her well enough to spot a cheap clone at first glance. And besides, it hadn''t even bothered to hide much, attacking him right off the bat as if that were normal.


    It pained his soul even after everything he knew, but Sylvester stabbed it in the elbow without thinking twice. If he had thought about it, he would have chickened out, almost certainly, simply because it wore the face of a dear friend.


    When that dear friend''s life and all those in their universe, including the life of his love, were at stake. Strange priorities. He thought so himself.


    The clone opened its mouth, gasping, spewing blood. It put on quite a realistic performance and, to be honest, it made him nervous.


    But then the puppet collapsed backward into a pool of blood, completely spent. At least it had only taken one precise blow to finish it off.


    With great effort, Sylvester turned his gaze from the corpse and continued forward, his sword dripping with his best friend''s blood.


    "No, she''s not Cynthia, damn it."


    Leaving a thick trail behind him, Sylvester couldn''t help wondering what the hell might be behind door number two if this had been nothing more than his warm welcome.


    He shouldn''t have thought about it so much. Sometimes he spent too much time turning over what he already knew, as if begging someone else to convince him.


    Behind door number two was Ryan. Of course. That is, a clone of Ryan as obviously fake as Cynthia''s.


    Well, to be fair, this thing didn''t try to kill him right away, so it had better chances of fooling him in theory. Too bad common sense and his eyes told him it was nothing more than a damn copy.


    He consoled himself by saying that if the train wouldn''t end until it forced him to face all his loved ones, it would be a very short trip. Lonely, but short.


    "Sylvester," that creature said, "you killed her. For God''s sake, you killed her with your own hands. How could you? Before being my friend, she was your companion, your pupil. You felt nothing and your hand didn''t even tremble. You''re nothing but a monster."


    Sylvester clicked his tongue, hating to see how that thing twisted Ryan''s face, speaking with his voice. He put an end to that farce with a precise slash.


    The head rolled, crashing first against a window, then bouncing. It landed on one of the seats and kept rolling forward, spreading blood like a snail''s trail.


    He had only killed one being, but suddenly the entire car reeked of blood and guts, of violence, as if he had perpetrated a massacre.


    Ryan''s clone''s head was still alive. It stared at him fixedly with those artificial eyes, not even blinking.


    "You''ll never be happy, Sylvester, even if you marry her. Do us all a favor, yourself included: put a gun in your mouth and pull the trigger."


    Until not too long ago, that would have actually been a tempting idea, but now Sylvester firmly rejected it, raising his leg to crush the enemy''s head and ensure it would shut its mouth forever.


    The crunch was immensely satisfying. He licked his lips. He could only experience it because he looked away.


    He could know intellectually that this wasn''t Ryan, just as the other thing hadn''t been Cynthia, but that was different from what he might believe, being a romantic who was easily fooled.


    Door number three. What was there? Well, the worst joke of all. If this was a list of his loved ones, this was the last thing one could expect. The person he had called... the person who haunted his dreams.


    "Mom," Sylvester said, his throat suddenly dry.


    It wasn''t even the first time some mind-fucking son of a bitch had tried to use her against him. He knew that, it wasn''t even the first time, but his legs were suddenly trembling.


    I won''t do it, Sylvester thought, I''ve had more than enough of doing it once.


    Sylvester decided to pass by, to not fulfill what this world seemed to expect of him. He simply couldn''t do it. He would try to pass by and whatever happened afterward, let it happen. He was tired of holding back.


    Sylvester tried to pass by, to put as much distance between himself and the clone as possible in the narrow car. He believed he would make it, that he could pass through the door, that this would end here, but then the hand reached out and grabbed his wrist.


    The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 6: END

 Chapter 85: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 7

    Chapter 85: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 7


    "I''m proud of you."


    Sylvester frowned and slowly turned to look at the specter on the bed, who had a firm grip on his wrist with long, black nails. If it was as fragile as it appeared, he should be able to break the grip easily, as well as its arm. And surely it was. Surely it was just what it seemed - a woman on the brink of death, trapped in bed, skin as white as the sheets covering her up to her shoulders. Dark, sunken eyes. Lifeless. He wasn''t even sure if this had been his mother''s actual appearance or if it was a memory twisted by his mind and the passage of time. Not to mention fear, hatred and rage. He didn''t know. It didn''t matter either. The point is, the woman before him wasn''t real. She was like a mirage. It was obvious. His mother had died many years ago, and beyond that, he knew she would never have uttered those words.


    After everything he''d been through these past few months, he wouldn''t say resurrecting or talking to the dead was impossible, but even if this were truly his mother and she had seen everything he''d done after she died, she wouldn''t have said that. She had never given him reasons to be proud. Neither before nor after her death. It wasn''t a bitter or happy fact for him, it was simply a fact.


    He wondered who or what was responsible for this and what they hoped to achieve with such a cheap tactic. The one responsible must be that being, doing everything it could with its limited understanding of humans (because they must be like ants to that thing) to make him turn back. Digging into his head, playing with his wounds to try to manipulate him, however clumsy it might be.


    He already had more than enough reasons to crush that being, erase it from this world and any other, leave not even a speck of dust as a trace. It didn''t need to give him more reasons, but it just had.


    "No, you''re not," he said. "You''re not even my mother."


    With his free hand, he crushed that illusion''s head. It exploded under his fist, scattering blood, gray matter, and skull fragments everywhere. Too much blood, actually. Further proof that this wasn''t real. The sheets were painted almost completely red in seconds, as if they had just changed color while he wasn''t looking rather than being bathed in blood. But, anyway, everything disappeared quickly. The trace of what he had done, the corpse, and also the bed. More proof, if needed, that it had been false from the beginning. Even more false than the train he was in in the first place


    He doubted a train would have ended up in this space just like that. It was just one last obstacle. That being was scared, he was sure, now that they were here, knocking at its door. Threatening to break it down.


    Sylvester turned around and then felt as if the ghost''s eyes were boring into his back, although there was no trace left of that thing. He shuddered despite himself while walking forward, leaving that car. He wondered what else awaited him. The pattern was obvious, but there weren''t that many people he cared about in this world, alive or dead. He supposed it wouldn''t be bad to see some of his other fallen companions again, regardless of whether the being was trying to manipulate him by validating his feelings, giving him what he wanted to hear, or making them torment him. Either way, it wouldn''t work. It had never been possible, but even less now that he knew with certainty it wasn''t real, just a trick.


    He didn''t see any of his fallen companions. He didn''t see his drunk and abusive father either, which he had feared for a few seconds - it didn''t fit the theme of people he cared about, of course, but it could have changed tactics. After all, the person before him wasn''t someone he appreciated at all either. Quite the contrary, it was the person he had most persistently hated, for better or worse.


    Yes, there was only one possibility. Himself.


    "I am the last obstacle," he said. "Well, it was to be expected."


    Sylvester raised his sword, his wings extending.


    "Better to kill myself than die trying," he muttered, his voice barely audible. Then he smiled from ear to ear, once again amazed by the madness his life had become, where that was a relatively normal phrase.


    He launched himself at the enemy. Strangely, for a reflection of himself and for an obstacle, all it did in response was turn around and start running, passing to the next car. It was so surprising that he almost stopped completely, like those idiots who stood there staring when there was an accident instead of getting the hell out of there, just in case. He passed to the other side, to the next car...


    Except there was no next car, only darkness beneath his feet. Another void, but much better than the previous one, because at least for now that steel wind hadn''t made an appearance again. Were things getting easier as he approached the end? He supposed it made sense, that you could say he had already broken through its greatest defenses. It was a logical explanation, although just the opposite could also be true (that the best defenses were reserved for the final layers), and anyway it wasn''t an excuse to lower his guard.


    Sylvester took a deep breath and kept flying forward. With nothing but void wherever he looked, he simply had to trust he was flying in the right direction. It must be so, or at least close enough, because he almost crashed into Heather.


    "There you are," she said.


    Sylvester hugged her tightly. Part of him had thought as soon as he entered the train that he had already seen her for the last time. He kept making mistakes, but for once he was glad to have messed up.


    "Oh. You''re the real one."


    Sylvester broke the embrace.


    "Did you see me too? When we separated, I ended up in an empty train. In each car I saw a different person. At the end I saw myself."


    "Yes. I saw you too, but I don''t think it was an illusion."


    "Then what?"


    "The thing we''re after. The being that''s been erasing our world from the map, little by little, these past few days."


    "Why would it take a human form?"


    "I''m not sure it''s something conscious. You said you always had the theory that your powers appear as numbers and statistics not because they''re designed that way, but because your brain tried to simplify something from outside this world. Maybe it''s something similar. Or maybe not, maybe it copied you on purpose or because you''re the only human in this space or for a million possible reasons. I don''t know. But I''m sure it''s that being. The last obstacle. The enemy we had to defeat."


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    "That works for me. I trust your instinct."


    Sylvester and Heather kept flying, and it wasn''t long before they advanced. The void gradually turned into simple darkness, and the darkness was illuminated by stars. A large ball came spinning toward them and, since it was the only thing besides them and the stars, they silently decided to land on its surface. It wasn''t difficult. It was as if they were in the middle of space. Just like. The space, the asteroid, even the stars. Everything was as fake as the train and the ghosts that had wandered through its cars. The only thing that existed in this reality besides them was that "being". The ultimate enemy, the only true enemy. The others had just been... necessary collateral damage, while the creature played with their lives and those of other universes.


    This was what they should have done from the beginning. If only they had known, if they had had the right tools, which was of course impossible. Although it didn''t help him feel better, the universes he had destroyed with his own hands had paved the way for this. The liberation of his and countless other universes. The end of this crazy infernal game. If only they won. If they made this count, this last fight. This leap of faith.


    The being appeared before them, still as a complete copy of Sylvester. Black sword and wings included. The moment of truth had arrived. The surroundings reminded him that as little as there was in sight, even less would remain of their universe if they failed. Maybe of all of them - what told him that in the end one universe would win the right to survive? What if from the twisted perspective of these beings, it was simply pruning the leaves of their hedge? Each trampled leaf a world and millions of stories of incalculable value.


    "This has to end here," said Sylvester.


    And it would, one way or another.


    Sylvester and Heather lunged at the enemy, flying straight and with great force, like twin cannonballs, swords ready. There was nothing to say; due to their experiences on the train, he knew that creature could imitate human language, but that didn''t mean they could communicate. That was a very different thing. It would be as useless as him trying to desperately talk to ants trying to defend their hole. Besides, at this point, he wouldn''t be satisfied with any creature''s word.


    So they crashed violently. They crashed in the air, under a meteorite that had shot out of nowhere and was spinning toward nowhere, crossing swords, wills, and powers. Sylvester felt as if he were changing moment by moment. Since he had stopped breathing and somehow overcome that impossibility, he felt as if he were transforming into something completely different, truly inhuman. Which he would accept with open arms in order to win, naturally.


    When he tried to launch one of his special abilities, the enemy copied it perfectly and made sure they canceled each other out. Heather, who usually didn''t see the need to use anything more than her strength and her black crystal sword, was unleashing her powers for the first time. Going far beyond, naturally, what she did even in her brutal training sessions.


    But that being was too fast. Naturally it had copied Sylvester and seemed to silently dodge each and every attack Heather sent at it, while with his own it just rejected them with the same special ability. Reacting so quickly that it gave him the feeling it knew what he was going to do before he did it himself.


    This battle would decide the fate of all universes. He couldn''t fail. As selfish as it was, anyone would bleed. Or gladly, for the sake of defending their own existence. In any case, precisely because he was selfish, he wasn''t willing to lose a single thing. Bleeding without sacrificing, no.


    Sylvester and his clone exchanged dozens of attacks in a matter of a few seconds. Each attack was a rejection, an attempt to break through the opponent''s guard. But none worked. Heather came falling like a shooting star. Her impact shook the meteorite like an earthquake shakes the ground. But nothing more, because by then his copy had already moved away. And now it was preparing to return the blow.


    Sylvester grabbed his beloved, pulling her back to avoid getting her decapitated. It wasn''t easy, but they were handling it very well, all things considered. It was easier than might be expected. A fight at a dimension and scale that he could understand, that he was used to. Truth be told, he had expected all kinds of unreal horrors, but they were only fighting against his own reflection. He felt capable of overcoming this, of shattering his own reflection and walking toward the future.


    Outer space, illusion or not, was very cold. Each wound inflicted on him provided some warmth. Blood flowing abundantly, dancing on his skin. There came a moment when Sylvester grabbed his beloved, and grabbed that being by the legs and neck, standing below her, and together they made it crash against and through the asteroid which burst into a thousand pieces. And these were lost in the infinite darkness of space, before he could blink.


    He had used the asteroid as the only point of support in this nightmare, but it didn''t matter, they didn''t need it, that''s what they had wings for. And the destruction of the asteroid with its fucking head had done some damage to it. At least it looked a bit disoriented.


    That being said nothing, didn''t insult him, didn''t acclaim him, didn''t even call to him. It didn''t emit the slightest sound of pain, completely mute, or so it seemed. He wished it would speak, he needed an explanation for the madness in which his life had become irrevocably entangled. The demented game between universes, a contest of life and death. There had to be a why, something beyond entertainment, if these beings were capable of having fun. And also something more than a bit of care. A cosmic spring cleaning.


    As much as he feared that answer might be real, deep down Sylvester knew he didn''t need the answer. What was done was done, and any answer only had the potential to worsen all his suffering, not improve anything, not undo a damn thing of course, that was completely impossible.


    They crossed swords again, it seemed to be willing to fight him, on his own terms, with his same weapons, as if to overcome him with what he did best, and plunge him into despair before finishing him off, as if it were just playing with its food. He couldn''t know what was going through that creature''s mind, but one thing Sylvester was sure of. This form, this foolish copy of him wasn''t the only one it could adopt, and it certainly wouldn''t be the last. He would be exposed to horrors that would defy his sanity. How extracting, how getting the information had endangered Jonathan''s sanity.


    If he were human at heart, he would have said it was impossible, but as he had already made clear, he was transforming into something unrecognizable. His lungs didn''t even pump oxygen anymore, his chest rose and fell as if by habit, as if it hadn''t yet realized the change. It''s not that they were pumping another substance, they seemed to have simply stopped. He was like a living dead.


    One of Sylvester''s attacks missed because the enemy pulled back, unexpectedly jumping. And instead he almost wounded his own ally. Thank goodness Heather raised a dark crystal barrier between her and his sword making it bounce off. And although it hadn''t been intended, that impact sent Sylvester''s weapon to a better trajectory.


    Quickly his sword reached that son of a bitch''s forearm and sank in forcefully. Dripping blood. The blade was soon bathed in blood, from head to toe, so to speak. He did what he could to cut his arm in half, but unfortunately he wasn''t able to. He had to pull the sword back, prematurely yanking it out. Taking it away before they could snatch it from him.


    Chains wrapped around that being''s arms and legs. Black crystal chains, raising him in the air like a crucified one, like a condemned man waiting for him to execute him. But the chains were useless, rather the opposite. It didn''t escape from them right away, but it didn''t need to either. It rejected him by moving its arms and legs, hitting him with the very chains that were supposed to keep it tied up. Sylvester received several blows to his arms, chest, legs. The head was the only thing that was saved, as he did what he could to protect it instinctively. One could die as easily from blows to other parts as to the head, but still he felt the need to pay special attention to that.


    As soon as the rain of blows ceased, Sylvester tried to return at least one blow. One good hit would suffice for now, but his sword didn''t sink into the impostor''s chest. It was about to do so, but then his arm failed him. And he couldn''t wield it far enough. It fell helplessly between them. His arm had stopped working. Why? No, it didn''t stop working exactly. He was still putting strength in his hands to keep gripping the sword. But no matter how hard he tried he wasn''t able to lift it. What was happening now?


    The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 7: END

 Chapter 86: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 8

    Chapter 86: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 8


    Although he had the strength to hold the sword, he couldn''t move his arm, no matter what he did. That''s why Sylvester was furious; if there was anything he hated more than anything else, it was losing control.


    For most of his life, he hadn''t had control over his decisions, not really, but at least he had been able to depend on what most people had and took for granted: control over their own body. Once again, a strange creature had taken even that away from him.


    Zed didn''t waste time with nonsense, didn''t ask "what are you doing?" and things like that. He immediately realized what was happening and, flapping his wings, flew towards him like a cannonball, even faster than the impostor, the final enemy who wore precisely his face.


    Away from the enemy''s attack, but this one also had wings, of course, so he could simply change trajectory and that''s what he did. But of course, Heather simply intercepted him brandishing the sword; their weapons crossed violently, throwing sparks.


    Sylvester wondered if her pulse wasn''t trembling a little as she glared at an enemy who was exactly like him in appearance. He wouldn''t hesitate to slice up the enemy no matter how much it looked like him, no matter how identical they were, but he didn''t have much appreciation for himself in the first place.


    Sylvester landed on the asteroid that kept spinning through the vacuum of space. The enemy should have been busy with Heather, but as soon as he heard him land, he felt its eyes on him and things changed immediately.


    The enemy came for him; Sylvester was able to dodge at the last moment, but simply by passing by, that damn thing took out another good chunk of the asteroid.


    Well, it''s not like they needed it as a platform, as a combat arena; all three could fly perfectly. He felt a bit anxious seeing how it was being destroyed even more, it was because it was the only tangible thing in this dark void apart from them, and no, the stars certainly didn''t count - he had said tangible.


    Sylvester and Heather attacked that abomination simultaneously. The final enemy... just a little more and he could feel peace, relax and enjoy being human for the first time in so, so long.


    Even Sylvester himself would learn along the way alongside Samada. It wasn''t him who had things to teach Heather, they could teach each other of course, but what mattered was the bastard in front of him.


    There was no point in dreaming until he killed it, until he erased it from this universe and any other, putting an end to this madness, to that cursed mess of cosmic gardening, without caring about anyone''s life, a tournament without a winner, not really.


    The enemy defended valiantly against both their attacks at the same time. Sylvester and Heather coordinated with the same naturalness as if they had been fighting together for countless decades, covering each other''s gaps, without thinking twice, without hesitation and without failing.


    It was an overwhelming and unbreakable wave of attacks, but the enemy, whom he couldn''t even give a proper name to, rejected them all, without breaking a sweat.


    Sylvester would have felt like he''d been kicked in the balls, if it weren''t for the fact that they finally managed to disarm that thing. Its sword flew far away, getting lost in the vacuum of space; soon it disappeared completely.


    At just the right moment, Sylvester and Heather attacked simultaneously, stabbing that bastard in the chest, gutting him. Or at least that''s what should have happened, but the false Sylvester suddenly had the sword, the perfect replica of his sword, back in his hand again.


    He plunged the weapon into Heather''s chest, running her through from end to end, making blood flow copiously. Then he yanked it from her body without consideration - well, how could he have any consideration - and hit him with the sword''s hilt right between the eyes, between his eyebrows.


    That blow, although relatively mild, disoriented him long enough to run the sword across his chest, from left to right. The bastard drew a scarlet cross on his chest, two perfectly executed cuts.


    Then he was going to finish it all, and him, with a blow to the center of his chest, but then Heather thrust her hand into his back; she immediately pulled it out through the other side dripping with blood, entrails, and who knows what else.


    He had copied even the inside of his body, more or less, but there were other things that had nothing to do with human biology, things for which there was no name or explanation whatsoever, writhing, damaging his sight just by entering his field of vision, in the corner of his eye.


    If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    The blow didn''t seem to do much to the false Sylvester, except make him angry. Without turning around, he reached back to grab her head and pulled it forcefully, hitting it with the sword''s pommel, once, twice, three times and more.


    By the seventh or eighth time, the hilt pierced her eye, making it explode like a ripe melon. They couldn''t communicate with this being, they had no name for it and the creature cared very little about the fight that was happening, it wasn''t even worried, much less afraid.


    At least not yet. Sylvester would surely succeed, he yearned to see fear in its eyes, yearned for it to have a taste of the pain and havoc it had caused throughout the universe, throughout all the countless damn universes.


    Selfish as it might be, Sylvester wasn''t fighting only for himself and his happy ending; his was a sword of vengeance that contained the rage, the regrets, and the weight of the universes he had killed with his own hands, even if it had only been because he had wanted to have, to have no other choice at that moment because it had been a matter of survival.


    All that weight was contained in the sword, in his hands, in his heart, and he would make it know, he would drive it deep. Sylvester planted the sword, plunging it forcefully into that son of a bitch''s neck, while Heather struggled to pull the sword''s pommel from the destroyed socket of her left eye.


    The monster seemed to be pushing it harder inward as if intending it to reach her brain, as if believing it could kill her instantly, just like that.


    He didn''t know Heather very well and, anyway, she managed to slip away. Instead, that being focused on him, on the sword stuck in its neck. It grabbed the blade with one hand and drove the other into his chest.


    Sylvester couldn''t defend himself, but a good defense wasn''t always the best; rather the opposite, in his experience, these sons of bitches needed uncontrolled aggression, without worrying about one''s own safety.


    There it was, there was his chance for victory. Sylvester wielded the sword against the enemy like a butcher''s knife, resisting the blows he received, gritting his teeth, biting his tongue.


    Taking advantage of the fact that he wasn¡¯t even bothering to defend himself, his cheap imitation went after him with the same violence and brutality. It was strange to see his own face reflected, to see what he looked like, sculpted in rage and bloodlust. To see himself as his enemies did: terrifying, inhuman, dark, without a hint of light, life, or warmth; a mere killing machine, a mere tool, though one with just enough autonomy to enjoy its purpose. If he wondered which of the two would last longer, it was obvious. Sylvester had stopped being human, but that thing was beyond even that. It was a being that devoured planets, that swallowed universes. There was simply no comparison.


    He understood that perfectly. But that didn¡¯t mean all was lost. Just because it was difficult didn¡¯t mean he¡¯d throw in the towel and accept his fate¡ªor, for that matter, believe there was such a thing in the first place. Destiny was forged step by step, decision by decision, nothing more, nothing less.


    This creature believed it could decide the future of countless billions. Sylvester would prove it was completely wrong.


    At last, the savage onslaught stopped. Not of its own accord, but because Sylvester formed structures of black crystal, building them right on his enemy¡¯s body, sometimes above or below, hitting it hard, tossing it around like a ping-pong ball far into the darkness.


    Of course, that thing came rushing back at full speed, without slowing down, without flinching, without lessening the ferocity and power of its strikes. If he wasn¡¯t careful, they¡¯d be evenly matched soon. Sylvester realized he couldn¡¯t tear it to pieces this way. Whatever that being was, its form was still a sham, a disguise.


    So the question was: where was the real one? How far would he have to go to find the true body, to kill it, to make sure this bloodstained madness would never happen again anywhere in the multiverse?


    He didn¡¯t have a damn clue, but he didn¡¯t think it would be as simple as just defeating the enemy right in front of him. Not like this, not here, in the final battle, where there was nowhere else to look except for the three of them and what remained of the meteorite, that spinning wreck. He had even less of an idea about that, but there had to be something. He couldn¡¯t be deceived by appearances.


    Space was as fake as everything else, like the copy of his own body. The answer was there, somewhere, trading blows with that being.


    Alongside him, their gazes briefly met, and then he knew Heather was thinking the same thing, as if they were synchronized.


    Suddenly, Heather left him. No, she couldn¡¯t leave him; they were mutually dependent. Rather, she flew off, leaving him to resist that being on his own.


    And for what? Well, she hurled herself at the asteroid, smashing it into a thousand pieces, as if trying to reveal what might be inside. But there weren¡¯t many places to search in the end. All that attack exposed was more broken rock, more fragments vanishing without a trace.


    Soon, all they¡¯d have left was the faint, dying light of distant stars and the cold of space.


    Fine, it wasn¡¯t in the meteorite. So where could the real being be, if Sylvester wasn¡¯t entirely wrong? Maybe it was right in front of him and nothing else, maybe it was exactly what it seemed. It didn¡¯t seem very likely to him, but he¡¯d definitely like that. A lot.


    Claws of darkness emerged from a particularly large meteorite fragment that floated toward him. But that bastard could use his powers too. Well, yes, he knew that already, since it was flying on those damned black wings, but the fact it could use other powers caught him by surprise.


    Either way, he didn¡¯t have a good excuse. It was simply stupid not to have considered it. He admitted that himself, but he didn¡¯t pay dearly for that stupidity. His increasingly inhuman reflexes and speed saved him. He backed away from the fragment before those hands could scratch him and saw them disappear along with the meteorite fragment seconds later, leaving no trace.


    Good, everything was going well¡ªor as well as he could hope. They were roughly evenly matched and had a decent chance of defeating the enemy, whether or not it was the main body. That was a good sign, progress.


    The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 7: END

 Chapter 87: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 9

    Chapter 87: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 9


    His double could use his powers, naturally, Heather''s powers. What else? Even those of Jonathan, that unstoppable monster?


    If only he hadn''t had to stay behind to keep the portal open, to ensure they had a way back home, although in reality it made no difference. Jonathan wouldn''t have fundamentally changed the situation. Like them, the proud and practically all-powerful king had fled with his tail between his legs that day. There was as much difference between this being and Jonathan as there was between Jonathan and them.


    Which didn''t mean there wasn''t hope, of course. No matter what it could do, how strong it might be. There was hope and, in any case, this was the situation. There was no use thinking about what could have been, as always. This was what they had. This was what they had to work with.


    ¡ª¡ª


    "How are you feeling, Caim?" Yonah''s soft voice. Her arms surrounding his chest, pulling him backward into an embrace. She rested her head on his shoulder and melted against his back. Victoria wasn''t here. She had gone out to get some air, even though the air outside was much more oppressive than in the safe base. In any case, nobody had protested or intervened.


    Caim, since he had no way to help, had returned to the room to wait for the outcome. The others had left. Only that Jonathan had remained in that room. He didn''t know what Yonah had been doing, but she had returned just a moment ago.


    "Relieved, actually," Caim admitted. "Because it doesn''t depend on us this time. We could lose everything, if they fail and we realize too late to escape to other worlds, but even then it won''t be our fault. That takes a great weight off my shoulders."


    "By ''our'' fault, you mean ''my'' fault. You always blame yourself no matter what."


    Caim shrugged.


    "Well, yes. Of course. But you understand the point."


    "Do you think that''s abnormal, Caim? In reality, no matter what people say, most prefer to leave their fate in others'' hands because the weight of responsibility is too great."


    "You say that like it''s a good thing."


    "Because it is, or so I think. I thought you''d be boiling with rage and frustration, cursing the fact that you can''t go out there to battle and risk your neck personally. So I''m very relieved that you''ve not only accepted it but are glad about it. You carried that burden for too long, believing that you tore Victoria and me away from a normal life in our village, from our family, believing you had to carry the weight of our decisions and others'' hatred to make it all worthwhile in the end. You''ve suffered that way for so long that I can''t help but be happy that you''re finally taking a deep breath and calming down, allowing yourself to live without that unnecessary weight. I''m very happy for you, Caim. Even though it was by force, you''ve finally learned."


    Yonah laughed, resting her head against his back. Caim was about to say something, but then he felt her tears dampening his shirt and didn''t know what to say.


    He bit his tongue, lowered his head looking seriously at his lap, lost in his thoughts. The moment felt long, but it was just a moment.


    What conclusion did he reach at that moment?


    "Do you know where Victoria is?" he asked.


    "Well no, I have no idea. But knowing her, I suppose she''s following the example of the man she always believed was her father."


    Caim frowned. And if he hadn''t come to the village, Victoria would have died believing her father was a just man. But instead, she had killed him with her own hands. All to save his life. To prevent him from dying at the stake. It was easy to tell himself that "that man''s" decisions were totally and completely his own responsibility, and there was no sense in blaming himself, but it remained true that he had been the spark that set everything ablaze.


    ¡ª¡ª


    "You¡¯re a good person."


    Victoria started a little. She might have jumped more if she hadn¡¯t recognized the man. His voice was familiar, and when she turned, she confirmed with her own eyes that she wasn¡¯t mistaken. She knew him; he was one of Sylvester¡¯s companions. They¡¯d been introduced, though, truth be told, she couldn¡¯t remember his name.


    The man sat beside her on the bleachers, keeping a respectful distance¡ªnot too close, not too far. She supposed he was self-conscious, being twice her age, and didn¡¯t want it to seem as if he had other intentions. In her opinion, that was silly. In times like these, no one was interested in anything else.


    ¡°Well, maybe they were,¡± she thought, ¡°since it was the last chance, and it didn¡¯t really matter how you spent your final moments.¡±


    But she didn¡¯t believe this man had bad intentions. The overly respectful distance felt unnecessary, only making her more aware of the differences between them. Because, really, he wouldn¡¯t have sat that far away if she¡¯d been a man. Just small observations she made now and then¡ªnot that it bothered her or that she thought much of it. She was simply observant. She¡¯d had to be from the start, as a preacher¡¯s daughter.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Some might argue how observant she actually was. They might ask her what good it had ever done her. If anyone asked that, Victoria wouldn¡¯t know what to say.


    "I don¡¯t think I¡¯m a good person," Victoria said.


    "Then what are you doing here?" the man replied. "Talking to anyone who comes near you. Helping them. In the privacy of the confessional or out here on these seats."


    Victoria shrugged. "I do what I can. Part of why I help others is for my own satisfaction. Nothing¡¯s really a selfless act. I was raised in a church, not so different from this one. And with similar values, I¡¯m sure. But now I don¡¯t know if good people even exist. Or why I¡¯m doing this. I suppose it¡¯s just my programming. And even if the world ends today, I don¡¯t know any other way to live."


    "Even if Sylvester and Heather fail, you won¡¯t die. Nor will your companions. You could escape in the portal machine, try your luck in another world."


    "Yes, well. But that thing isn¡¯t just interested in destroying this world, is it? You¡¯ve made that pretty clear. Even that second chance might be very limited."


    "Or maybe not. There are countless universes. No reason to think this is the end. And don¡¯t blame yourself just because you feel satisfaction. You¡¯re being far more selfless than the vast majority. Me¡ªI¡¯d like to be a priest. And I never thought to do what you¡¯re doing. You¡¯re an excellent example of what people should be, offering a hand, ready to give kindness in the darkest times."


    Victoria sighed. "If that¡¯s how you see it, I won¡¯t say you¡¯re wrong. But I won¡¯t say you¡¯re right, either. I¡¯m not a good person. I stopped thinking that a long time ago."


    The day she killed her own father. Even knowing she¡¯d had no other choice. That day, like a true demon, she¡¯d stained her hands with her family¡¯s blood. Though it didn¡¯t matter, because she didn¡¯t regret it. She never would, not for anything in the world.


    "But I suppose it doesn¡¯t matter whether I¡¯m good or bad," Victoria continued. "All that matters is that there are people who need help, and I¡¯m here, ready to give it. That¡¯s the only thing that counts, in the end. Actions, not intentions."


    It was a bit twisted, but no less true.


    "But they¡¯re not the only ones who need help, child. You should go back to them. Caim and that other girl¡­ Don¡¯t you want to be with them right now?"


    What a stupid question. Of course, she wanted to be with them. If it were up to her, she¡¯d never leave their side. Not even to go to the bathroom. Well, okay, maybe that was an exaggeration.


    "It¡¯s just that¡­" she said at last. "I¡¯ll go. It¡¯s just that it scares me a bit, knowing this might be the last time. I don¡¯t know how to act, what to say, to make it worth it as a final memory, if that¡¯s what it comes to."


    Victoria wasn¡¯t sure why she was telling all this to a complete stranger. Or maybe she was telling him precisely because he was a stranger¡ªwithout fear of being judged or caring about his opinion either way. Just talking, to get it off her chest. To finally put into words that terrible fear.


    "I don¡¯t know, child," Ryan admitted. "I don¡¯t know what to do or say. The only thing I know is that, if we¡¯re running out of time, we need to make every second count. Even if you don¡¯t know, even if you¡¯re scared. They need you by their side. I¡¯m sure they¡¯re wondering, ¡®Where are you?¡¯ Go to them, Victoria. There are plenty of people here who need comfort, a shoulder to cry on, an ear to listen. But they¡¯re people from my world, not yours. If the worst happens, you¡¯ll regret not being with them more. So go to them now, okay? Let go of that fear. Nothing has to be perfect. You just have to be there. That¡¯s what family is, right?"


    For some reason, he sounded as if he was about to get emotional. She heard him swallow hard. Slowly, after a moment, Victoria stood.


    "You¡¯re right. I¡¯ll go back, and¡­ I don¡¯t know what we¡¯ll do, but whatever it is, we¡¯ll do it together, like always."


    "I¡¯m glad to hear that."


    <hr>


    Jonathan Harker was tired of waiting. Patience wasn¡¯t one of his many virtues. In fact, he didn¡¯t even consider it a virtue. Patience, to him, was for people who couldn¡¯t seize whatever they wanted when they wanted¡ªa rule that hadn¡¯t applied to him for a very, very long time.


    Hundreds, maybe thousands of years. Well, not thousands. Yet. But he¡¯d lived long enough to lose count since he¡¯d sent the Count away and become the only immortal being left on Earth¡­


    Well, his own Earth. Since then, he¡¯d grown used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted. Patience wasn¡¯t a virtue; it was a sign of weakness, of incapability. And he didn¡¯t like to appear weak.


    But this time, he had no choice.


    He was the only one who could operate the machine to open the portal to that creature and keep it open. If only he could deal with that creature himself¡ªthe one who¡¯d forced him to flee with his tail between his legs. Instead, he¡¯d had to leave his fate in the hands of two brats barely out of diapers. Brats who thought they were special just because they had powers.


    The first of them, Sylvester, had been so pathetic the day they¡¯d met that he couldn¡¯t imagine him facing off with him, let alone with that creature. But he had no other choice. As much as he¡¯d like to replace them, nothing was going to change. He¡¯d more or less accepted that, though he consoled himself by dreaming of what would come after¡ªonce he was free to return to his world and claim his promised reward.


    In his world, he¡¯d grown as bored as an oyster after conquering every country and uniting them under an empire as just as he could make it. But with one of those machines, he could spread his realm across the universe. He could try to ¡°help¡± people in multiple universes.


    Because, of course, he wasn¡¯t anything like the Count. Nothing like the man he hated most. He was just trying to help, holding onto his humanity, fighting against the tides of eternity.


    ¡ª¡ª


    "A bit more. We can do it, I can feel it. It''s close now, it''s giving ground," said Heather.


    It was true, not just words to inspire, to instill courage, but worst of all was that it didn''t matter. That thing grabbed him by the neck, threw him far, upward, and Sylvester spun round and round through the endless darkness of space.


    He tried to relax, to find his center again. Since space was a void, cardinal points made very little sense. There was no north, or south, or anything. Up, down, left, right. All of that lost meaning.


    But one could force oneself to see things that way, to find what was up and what was down. Sylvester regained control of his flight, though it was more like falling upward, a reverse fall.


    Yes, in reverse, upward, through glass, glass that shattered into a thousand pieces, accompanying him on his journey to the other side. And on the other side there was sterile floor and walls, a completely different place, a place that hadn''t been there until a moment ago.


    He had no idea what had happened to Heather and the creature they were trying so desperately to defeat. But what worried him now was what would happen to him.


    The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 9: END

 88. The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 10

    Chapter 88: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 10


    Before worrying about Heather or the fate of the world, Sylvester had to worry about his own survival. His copies swarmed him¡ªdozens of them. Even the sword was a perfect replica, and, for the moment at least, that was all they used.


    But even so, that alone overwhelmed him. It was all about the numerical advantage, perhaps a touch of confusion, the disorientation of the battlefield and conditions changing so suddenly. He thought they only copied his exterior; otherwise, they would have used his powers against him.


    No, he wasn¡¯t like Heather, who always fell back on basics because they were more than enough to handle most threats. Sylvester always used every tool at his disposal to crush his enemies and end things as quickly as possible. If these copies shared his mindset, they wouldn¡¯t hold back, either.


    The only explanation for their reliance on swords was that it wasn¡¯t a limitation¡ªit was all they could do. Realizing that didn¡¯t relieve him in the slightest. Either way, he was losing the fight.


    Every second spent battling these cheap copies was a waste of time. Each wound reduced his chances of defeating that being. But maybe that wasn¡¯t entirely bad.


    He had to figure out how to leave, not how to win. Even if it felt like he was drowning, he had to find his center and swim to the surface. He had to get back to Heather¡ªnot leave her alone in the final battle that would decide the fate of countless universes, of life itself.


    He knew he could do it if he focused, if he gave everything one last time. Just one last time. If he wanted to escape, he needed to concentrate on his surroundings. He looked around, peering through the gaps in each attack.


    What did he see? It wasn¡¯t the void of space, but it wasn¡¯t much else, either. He had come here by tearing a hole, breaking through a crystal that had now vanished without a trace. The hole had closed, if it had ever truly existed, and there was no visible exit. None that could be seen with the naked eye, anyway.


    Meanwhile, as he wasted time here, Heather was forced to fight that thing alone¡ªa destroyer of worlds, of entire universes. He had to get back to her, fast.


    They were a stronger team together than apart, no matter how much they liked to pretend otherwise. There was no one left to exploit that vulnerability. Because love was the greatest force, the largest gear driving the world¡ªthis world and any other.


    Naturally, Sylvester couldn¡¯t defend himself perfectly. The attacks constantly broke through his guard, slashing him all over. It felt as though he was in a meat grinder, with no chance of escape. The only difference was that his death was slow¡ªa sensation more than a fact.


    He might have been losing the fight, it seemed, but the reality was that, against all odds, he held his ground. He wasn¡¯t winning, but he wasn¡¯t being pushed back, either. And achieving that was even harder than a simple victory. It meant there was hope for him.


    A strike knocked his feet out from under him, sending him flying toward what looked like more crystal. Suddenly, although moments ago there hadn¡¯t even been a ceiling, he smashed through the crystal on impact, only to end up in the same place as before. That shouldn¡¯t have surprised him. The only difference, perhaps, was that there seemed to be more soldiers now.


    He wasn¡¯t even sure. He felt so cornered that their numbers seemed endless. No matter how many copies he felled with a single swing, stabbed with their own weapons, or fought with every strategy he could devise, their numbers never diminished.


    A drowning man cannot refuse any form of help. Naturally, he felt one of the countless swords pierce his guard¡ªand his side. Cleanly. Well, it went straight through, but clean wasn¡¯t the right word. Blood poured everywhere.


    Sylvester, with remarkable ease, broke the sword in half and discarded the part that wasn¡¯t buried in his body. Disdainfully, without a second thought. As for the rest of the blade, it left his body without any effort on his part. The wound healed, and his flesh and skin pushed the broken blade out, as naturally as if it happened every day. Well, things like that happened more often than he would have liked.


    The difference was that now his own face stared back at him. A small difference. Deep down, his final enemy had always been himself, he thought¡ªand then realized it wasn¡¯t even the first time.


    What mattered was to forget the pain, grit his teeth, and move forward. It was just one wound, one stab, no matter how well-placed. If he let it slow him down for even a second, he would end up impaled from every direction, as if trapped in an iron maiden. A door slammed in his face, the spikes of darkness descending upon him. Permanently. He couldn¡¯t allow that to happen. And all it took was ignoring the pain.


    He was an expert at that. A lifetime wasted ignoring pain, doing anything but what he needed to do. I can change that, he thought. I can change.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    If only he survived this. Now wasn¡¯t the time for childish hopes. Now wasn¡¯t the time to sketch dreams on the dome of his fractured mind. Only the present moment mattered. The fight. The blood burning in his veins.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Heather parried the attacks of that being, retreating, putting as much distance as she could between them.


    That entity was clearly capable of using all of Sylvester¡¯s abilities¡ªJonathan¡¯s too, the self-proclaimed emperor. And recently, it had shown it could even wield powers Heather believed were hers alone.


    It made sense.


    This was the thing that had granted them their powers, spreading them across universes to create this deranged death game. It had also undoubtedly caused their existence.


    They¡¯d never receive clear, direct answers, but Heather thought she knew enough.


    There was a good reason why Sylvester¡¯s world had taken so long to be drawn into the fight. A reason why, at first, only he had shown any powers.


    She was sure of it, even if she couldn¡¯t prove it 100%. It had been nothing more than an accident¡ªa failure in the cosmic gears.


    And the same could be said for her own existence, for the reborn lunar remnants. They were possibly the result of humans unable to handle receiving powers¡ªor perhaps simply a natural consequence of having something ¡°odd¡± like Sylvester in the world.


    In other words, Sylvester¡¯s power radiating outward, altering everything like a form of cosmic radiation. She would never tell Sylvester this theory, of course. He already had enough misplaced guilt weighing him down.


    Still, she was fairly certain that was the answer. Nothing more, nothing less than an accident.


    So much blood, sweat, and tears.


    So much despair in the search for meaning.


    And there was none.


    Just an accident, one way or another.


    Heather had spoken with Jonathan privately, learning that only two people in his world¡ªhimself and someone named Count Dracula¡ªhad acquired powers. And for over a hundred years, they had never been invaded.


    Another who had received his abilities purely by chance, a cosmic hiccup.


    She had also spoken with Caim, who told her about the tower. He mentioned he was the only one in his world he knew of with powers, at least. Though there might have been others, it seemed limited to people of his race¡ªthose special beings with horns and anyone who reached that mysterious tower.


    That¡¯s what they all were.


    Nothing more than a series of cosmic accidents chained together.


    But it was precisely for that reason they had a chance to win. Because they were outside the system.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Jonathan loathed sitting idle, placing his fate in the hands of others¡ªespecially strangers who held no loyalty to him. Although that didn¡¯t really affect his chances of success, it still irked him. Relying on people, on beings he did not own or control in some way, terrified him.


    It was all he could do to keep from throwing himself into the fray. He could have leaped through the portal before it closed, maintaining his connection to the machine. Of course, it was a foolish notion. Even if he succeeded in killing the entity threatening his immortal existence, that would be the end of it.


    The portal machine wouldn¡¯t be able to return him to his world, or this one, or anywhere else. He didn¡¯t know what lay beyond the portal, but he was certain it wasn¡¯t good¡ªor interesting. And it would spell the end of his ambition to use the portal machine to build a Third Empire across universes. Peace, harmony, progress¡ªthat was the dream.


    If Count Dracula had become cruel and inhuman out of sheer boredom¡ªhaving exhausted all pleasures, having seen everything¡ªthen Jonathan believed he could remain human. The infinite possibilities the universe offered would sustain him, all in service of a greater cause. No one could compare him to Dracula, for whom all people, save himself, were mere names in history books.


    No, Jonathan couldn¡¯t cross the portal. He couldn¡¯t end it all with his own hands. Yet he felt a maddeningly tempting pull to do so. This passivity, this dependence¡ªit wasn¡¯t him. He was used to being above others, to doing what he wanted, when and how he wanted. Not to holding back, not to exercising patience.


    He knew it was necessary, but that didn¡¯t mean he had to like it.


    ¡ª¡ª


    If humanity had one universal trait, it was the will to survive. Regardless of country, religion, or politics, the pure and simple instinct for survival drove everyone forward¡ªeven as the universe conspired to crush them under its heel. Only now, it was no longer a subtle conspiracy.


    Years ago, the universe had sent nearly unstoppable monsters after them, appearing anywhere, at any time. Monsters born from the human heart itself.


    And now, it had taken another step forward.


    Many could see that thing¡ªthat impossible being¡ªdevouring everything it touched, leaving a void in its wake. How would it erase them? Their families? Their homes? Everything they had ever loved or believed had any importance¡ªgone without a trace.


    Strangely, the appearance of lunar remnants had dwindled in recent months. Meanwhile, a different kind of chaos reigned¡ªa slow decline that hadn¡¯t entirely stopped, of course. But now, in the quiet of the world¡¯s end, the inevitable happened.


    The progression of the infection accelerated.


    If those monsters were born from shattered human hearts, what greater trigger could there be than the absolute despair of the world¡¯s end?


    The end not only of their fleeting lives but of any legacy they might have had or memory they might have left in the hearts of others. Simply nothing¡ªnothing at all, forever.


    It was inevitable that something like this would unleash havoc.


    A man, roaring as though he were melting, transformed into something resembling a whale¡ªbut this creature had shark-like teeth and tentacles bristling with eyes. Eyes that looked unnervingly human, as if they had been harvested from an entire mass grave, despite the massacre having barely begun.


    And now it began.


    It killed three people with a single tentacle, a single blow. The fourth¡ªa woman¡ªavoided death only because she transformed into a monster a split second before the attack connected.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Sylvester was still clinging to hope, dodging strikes, running, leaping, and flying, searching for the exit. He didn¡¯t believe he was getting any closer. He wouldn¡¯t lose hope so easily, but he hadn¡¯t made any progress¡ªthat much was clear.


    The longer he lingered, the closer their deaths became inevitable. That, too, was a fact.


    There had to be a way out, some trick he hadn¡¯t noticed. It was an absurd thought, almost¡ªas if that being had to play fair, give him a chance if it could avoid it.


    But his hope was that it couldn¡¯t avoid it. Not now that he had crossed the threshold, come this far.


    The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 10: END.

 89. The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 11

    Chapter 89: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 11


    "There are too many," John muttered, looking through the window. There was resignation in his voice, above all else.


    Of course, they had not left unwatched the last fortress of humanity. The only protection of the savior. However futile the gesture might be, the base was surrounded by all the surviving Syndicate agents.


    However badly other parts of the world might be, they recognized that the important thing was Sylvester''s survival, as always. Upon entering the Syndicate, all agents were forced to acknowledge that they were, essentially, second-class citizens. That the entire organization revolved around Sylvester.


    And, recently, also around companions as monstrously powerful as he. In any case, the base was equipped with the best men, traps, and other preparations. The best that the dying humanity was capable of.


    Despite the circumstances, that meant a lot. However, there was nothing more than resignation in John''s voice. And he had already said why.


    They were simply too many. So many that they were impossible to count. So many that, with just one glance, the result of the battle was more than obvious.


    Whatever they did to protect the base, they would die uselessly against so many Lunar Remnants. Humans simply were not equipped for such a fight.


    Their training prepared them, above all, for isolated incidents. Most Lunar Remnants came one by one, instead of causing a chain reaction as one might expect, with the fear and desperation that a bloodthirsty monster beyond human comprehension would spread.


    But the important thing was not the modus operandi, if one could call it that, of those creatures. The important thing is that this was the limit of a normal agent. Even an extraordinary human agent could handle, at most, three or four.


    This was how great the difference was in this battle, with thousands and thousands of Lunar Remnants. So many that they completely covered the street. So many that they seemed like a nightmare tide, which would swallow this piece of humanity''s corpse without a trace, giving them a premature end.


    A click of the tongue.


    "Well, the circumstances are as great as always. Some things never change."


    There were only five agents around him. In the base, there were many more, of course, but the closest were people he considered friends, almost family.


    "This is obviously a job for Sylvester and his little company of monsters, but they are nowhere to be found. So it''s up to us. What can we do, huh? We have to sacrifice ourselves, without even knowing if it will serve any purpose."


    "But hey, if we stay here with our arms crossed, we''re going to die sooner or later anyway. Sooner rather than later, given the current state of things. So come on, guys. Allow me one last dance."


    John stomped. Machine guns appeared on the roof, rising from the ground. The six found a fixed machine gun for each of them and pressed the trigger, firing towards the tide.


    They were not weapons that could kill the vast majority of Lunar Remnants, but at least they could slow down the tide. And hey, if one fell, even better. A bit of luck had never hurt anyone.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    For a moment, John considered jumping into the middle of that horrific chaos. It would be suicide. Staying up here, simply shooting, was also suicide. Any act that was not turning around and running away like hell was a damn suicide. But, anyway, he was not going to back down. Not at this point.


    Even if they were not capable of doing much, at least they should be able to do something. Buy time to fix this mess. To give the world a future, or what was left of it. Although from the beginning it had been like a fragment of the moon, floating in the midst of a dense and impenetrable darkness, illuminated only by the light of stars that had long since died.


    John and the others, without a doubt, were willing to fulfill their role as agents. No, as soldiers.


    Three dozen Lunar Remnants ran up the facade, heading directly towards them. Anything could appear, and under normal circumstances, it would be an unprecedented crisis. But as things were, they were not even a quarter of the enemy. So they would be fine; they would manage.


    The six companions directed their bullets more downward. John abandoned his position because he had an idea.


    "Cover me!" he shouted, running, jumping over the edge, beyond the edge, falling with the wind howling in his ears.


    It was not that he had grown tired of life, although for him it had been nothing more than one hassle after another. He was not throwing himself into the jaws of those monsters. Even if he wanted to, he would not give up now. He was a warrior; he had always been. He knew no other way of living.


    He opened his hood in mid-air, pulling out three bright blue stones from a pocket. He threw them over the enemies, and upon impact they exploded simultaneously, causing havoc. He was quite sure that not a single one of those sons of bitches had died yet, but at least limbs went flying, along with blood of countless colors. They fell from the wall, back to the ground, taking them away from his companions, though not from the base.


    Of course, he was very close to the explosion and was not immune. No, he did not explode into a thousand pieces; the force simply propelled him away from the building. But with the rope hook that all organization agents had, he hooked onto a corner of the building, and the force brought him back, returning like a pendulum.


    John crashed against the facade with force, gritting his teeth. His head was spinning, exploding. He gritted his teeth even more, biting his tongue. He was full of determination. Yes, John was determined to fight until no more days remained to fight. ¡ª¡ª Jonathan was starting to get bored, almost getting used to being unable to do anything for once in his life, when he heard the commotion. Even so, he did not move from his spot. He needed to stay there to keep the portal open. Even with all the foreign information floating in his head, he was not sure he could find the right place again.


    So, if he moved, would Sylvester and Aquicosa die? Would they win the fight or not? Jonathan had not completely lost his human heart. He did not care what happened to that monster, but Sylvester was a human being, although his subject. He should not have to die.


    Moreover, it was more convenient to fulfill his purpose and receive his reward than to try to take what he needed by force. To begin with, he was not entirely sure how it all worked yet. He had managed to get it, but it had cost him quite a bit. A refresher lesson would do him good, though he would never admit it out loud.


    Besides, Sylvester had done almost everything. He had only focused on finding the right place. So he clicked his tongue, thinking: "What the hell is happening now?"


    Horrible abominations violently burst into the portal room, tearing through steel as if it were paper. Unique monsters in this world, which locals designated as Lunar Remnants, for reasons that had not been clear to him, and which mattered even less to him. Jonathan sighed.


    "Come on already!"


    So eager to do something, and now that the opportunity presented itself, he no longer had any desire. But well, this was not doing something, it was taking out the trash at most. Fortunately, he had more than enough skills not to have to get up from his seat to take care of this.


    Like bullets being slid into the magazine, phantom swords appeared floating above his head once more.


    He prepared to shoot, and it turned out he did not need to. Each and every one of the monsters jumped inside the portal, leaving him in peace. Jonathan undid the swords. He leaned back in his seat. Soon silence enveloped the room again, except for the sound of distant alarms, of course.


    "Wow, well, it''s no longer my problem."


    The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 11: END

 90. The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 12

    Sylvester fought against his clones. They were everywhere. They weren¡¯t as strong as the being they also imitated, but they were overwhelming in their own way. He felt like he was drowning. There was no room to attack or defend himself properly.


    For every solid blow he landed on his enemies, he received dozens in return. Maybe they were superficial cuts, but they were wounds all the same, and eventually, they would defeat him, bringing him to his knees in this anonymous space: a white void, far from home, far from the woman he loved.


    He wanted to save the world, but not at the cost of his life. He had endured enough sacrifices. No matter what, he had to survive this. That was the flame burning in his chest, the desire driving him forward.


    He had to survive because someone was waiting for him, because he had a future. It didn¡¯t matter that they weren¡¯t even the same species. He had never felt at home anywhere, not even before gaining his powers, before being separated from the rest of humanity, forever, almost entirely.


    He needed to see her. He needed to touch her, love her, feel her lips on his. Love was the force that moved the world. These inhuman beasts, who knew nothing of love, couldn¡¯t stop him.


    Sylvester roared, and his attacks became even more ferocious. He didn¡¯t just use his sword, his arms, and his legs; he sank his teeth into them. He pushed and tore at their flesh, feeling their blood fill his mouth, his teeth grazing bone.


    He was a wild animal¡ªhe had always been¡ªbut he was more than that. He threw off a few of them and flew toward the ground, or what should have been the ground. The clones attacked more frantically, desperate.


    They scratched him back, bit him. Their swords impaled him from all directions, but he barely noticed. Pain was as illusory as this space. He had to stop being bound by human concepts if he truly wanted to win.


    He broke through the ground. The nothingness shattered into a thousand pieces around him, and something was born afterward.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Heather saw dozens of lunar remnants falling toward them, entering this space, then more and more dozens. An apparently endless progression. How many could there be? Hundreds? Thousands? And would they be against them?


    She was the lunar princess, but if they appeared in this space, they weren¡¯t necessarily under her control. She needn¡¯t have worried.


    The lunar remnants charged toward that being, roaring, howling, snapping their jaws and claws, extending tentacles, vomiting blood, bile, and fluids for which there were no names. They exuded pain, death, and misery.


    These were the strangest and most monstrous lunar remnants she had ever seen, and she could swear that Sylvester, had he been present, would have agreed. What other kinds of monsters could be born at the end of the world?


    It was one thing to know the world was in danger and another to see it vanish before your very eyes. Then Sylvester returned from wherever he had ended up, emerging as if from a portal, followed by hundreds of his clones.


    Heather quickly concluded that these clones were weaker; otherwise, they wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. Sylvester dispatched them in the blink of an eye. The severed pieces and spilled blood vanished without a trace.


    Heather had suspected Sylvester was changing, but now she was certain. He was transforming into something closer to her than any human being. That should have worried her, made her fear for him, or feel pity.


    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    But selfishly, Heather was glad that the one person she cared about was becoming more like her. The distance between their hearts shrank with each passing day. Why not the distance between their bodies too?


    The being who had orchestrated all this madness turned toward Sylvester, fixed its eyes on him, and shot forward. But it didn¡¯t get far, because the lunar remnants were already upon it.


    Heather flew to aid her subjects. On black wings, humanity¡¯s savior took off toward his final battle.


    The four forces would collide in the middle. The army of lunar remnants couldn¡¯t defeat that being outright. But they could help. They could be a nuisance.


    For an entire lifetime, Sylvester had sacrificed himself for humanity over and over, giving everything to save them, even when he saw little worth saving. It was time for humanity to repay him.


    The moment had come.


    The clash occurred, and as a result, space itself trembled. Sylvester was evolving with every passing second, and he wasn¡¯t sure where or when it would stop. But those thoughts could wait until the battle was over.


    The lunar remnants swarmed him, and Heather and Sylvester were no less savage than those beasts. It was clear they had lost all traces of human reason. They weren¡¯t like the ones in the city she had turned into her little kingdom, with human souls and only their forms changed.


    They had lost control and were more monstrous than ever.


    The question was whether it would be worth it, whether it would work.


    They attacked him from all directions, and he couldn¡¯t escape. Too many limbs were grabbing, pulling, stabbing into him, providing thousands of opportunities that they seized in an instant, wasting no time.


    The space itself seemed to tremble like glass about to shatter, vibrating, writhing. Even the air was changing.


    Heather caught a glimpse of the unstoppable monstrosity they had seen over the city, whose name no one remembered. She saw one of those massive limbs slicing through the air.


    She saw, superimposed on the void, the image of one of those limbs tearing a sun from its orbit, causing it to go supernova, making a planet, similar yet completely different, vanish without a trace.


    That disaster had happened in an adjacent universe, perhaps a nearby one, but it couldn¡¯t reach them, because the creature existed in multiple universes simultaneously. It was a higher existence that defied understanding.


    Even she got a headache just looking at it, just trying to comprehend it. But she believed that, in time, she would adjust. In time, sooner rather than later, she would get to the bottom of this.


    Sylvester felt as if his head were splitting in half. He had caught disconnected images of something. They slipped from his memory almost as quickly as they had come. It was another sign of his transformation.


    He was beginning to process things neither human brains nor circuits were designed for.


    What awaited him at the end of this journey? What would be the final form of his transformation?


    He didn¡¯t know. He had no idea.


    And he didn¡¯t give a damn.


    He was back in the fight, and they were winning. That was what mattered.

 91. The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 13

    Chapter 91: The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 13


    It was the end.


    Sylvester felt it in his bones. The end of the world, the end of time, with humanity on the brink of the abyss. The end of his long, endless struggle.


    And he just had to hold on a little longer. That was truer now than ever before, more than during the other times he had thought it. Just a little more, and he¡¯d be free. They¡¯d be free.


    Free to forge their own future, to be happy, to be normal. And it wouldn¡¯t even be him who turned the tide. Nor Heather.


    The Lunar Remnants, recently dismissed as an insignificant crisis in comparison, would once again be the key to everything. It was fitting, it was just, that the mistake of sending powers to this universe would be what cost that being its life¡ªa being that believed it could do whatever it pleased with entire universes. As if countless existences were nothing more than pieces on a game board. It had been racking up an enormous debt, and now the time had come to pay it.


    No escape, no mercy. Now was the end.


    Sylvester could see flashes of what was happening behind the curtains, sharp and painful like shards of broken glass piercing his skull. Universes trembling, stars dying, galaxies spinning out of control as the entity howled and thrashed, extending its tendrils into adjacent universes.


    They''re devouring it, Sylvester thought.


    It was liberating to know the fight¡¯s outcome didn¡¯t depend on his efforts. Not that he would sit idly by, waiting to see what happened. But it felt good, for once, not to carry the entire weight on his shoulders. He¡¯d never felt that way before, not even after forming a proper team¡ªone that could fight alongside him as equals rather than just support him. Maybe because, in addition to the mission, he now had to worry about their lives, their love, their friendships¡­ more complications.


    But the Lunar Remnants were nothing more than monsters to him. Yes, there were people inside, innocent people. He knew that, but it didn¡¯t change how he felt. Not after they had made his life miserable for a decade. He felt no compassion or fear for the people trapped inside them. Maybe he should, but he didn¡¯t. There was no fixing that now.


    In the past, he had thought that a fundamental part of being human had died within him. But Heather had shown him otherwise, that he could still love. So, really, he didn¡¯t care anymore.


    They''re devouring it, he thought again. Just as this abomination has devoured other universes. I have no idea what¡¯s going on, but that doesn¡¯t matter either.


    What mattered, in the end, was always the result. Honestly, he felt inspired watching those horrible monsters at work. Tentacles lashing out like whips, jaws crunching and snapping, teeth grinding, tearing, crushing; tongues licking up the blood and other oozing fluids. Witnessing the carnage, the grotesque spectacle, inspired him. It was as if he were seeing the fury of humanity personified.


    You never should have crossed our path, he thought. But it¡¯s too late for regrets now.


    Most of the Lunar Remnants weren¡¯t even biting the body¡ªthe last copy of Sylvester¡ªbut something beyond. The real body that existed in this and hundreds of thousands of realities simultaneously. Though he couldn¡¯t see it with his own eyes, only in glimpses, only with great effort, only painfully.


    And he was in the middle of it, of course, wielding a regular sword and one of black crystal, howling wildly, not even using his abilities. He felt like he had transcended all that, as if what he was now couldn¡¯t be measured by blue boxes or levels. Maybe it never had been.


    Heather was there with him, shoulder to shoulder. The being writhed, using all its power. Dozens, if not hundreds, of Lunar Remnants died every second, but just as many emerged from somewhere, spilling into the void. They surged toward the being as if born solely to erase it from this world and every other. To feast on its flesh, its blood, and whatever else a being so powerful¡ªa god to them¡ªmight have.


    It¡¯s like a human being killed by an ant, he thought, letting out a grim laugh from deep in his throat.


    ¡°Screw you. Screw you,¡± he snarled as the being¡¯s noises began to sound rabid, pained. ¡°We¡¯re more than ants, you son of a bitch.¡±


    ¡ª¡ª


    It soon became clear that the Lunar Remnants wanted nothing more than to pass through the portal. They only turned violent if someone got in their way. So they stopped doing that. They cleared the path for the macabre procession.


    Cynthia leaned her head back against the wall and let out a breath of mourning.


    ¡°Do you think this is really okay?¡± she asked. ¡°That they¡¯ll be okay?¡±


    ¡°If that man wanted to stop the beasts from crossing the portal, he would have,¡± Ryan replied. ¡°Well, beasts¡­ I didn¡¯t mean that.¡±This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    Ryan winced. It was just a slip of the tongue, though it was obvious why he had called them beasts. They looked and behaved like them. Their only goal was to cross the portal. There was no trace of human determination or will.


    ¡°Besides,¡± Ryan continued, ¡°even if the creature summoned them to help¡­ for lack of a better term, Heather is there. She should be able to control them.¡±


    Should.


    That was the key word. Many things were not as they should be.


    ¡°In any case, I think they¡¯ll be fine.¡± Ryan stood up from the bed. ¡°If a significant part of the world, what¡¯s left of the world, has to die to save this universe and countless others, I consider that fair. Though I¡¯m not the one to decide. But if that¡¯s the case, I should join them because I¡¯m like them. I¡¯m just another beast.¡±


    Cynthia had no idea what lay beyond the portal, past where Heather and Sylvester were. But she knew one thing for certain.


    ¡°If you go, you¡¯ll die like them. Let¡¯s say they¡¯re turning the tide in there. Even so, they¡¯d be doing it as an army. You¡¯d die before you even realized it, and not necessarily for something worthwhile. You couldn¡¯t be sure you really contributed.¡±


    ¡°Even so, I feel I have to. I feel it¡¯s my responsibility. The reason why I, and only I, ended up like this. Half-human, half-monster. Without Shizer¡¯s influence. Without help. If what happened to me was a miracle, and it certainly seems that way, it must mean something. I have faith it does. So¡­¡±


    Cynthia grabbed his wrist, gripping tightly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have faith, Ryan. You have something to prove, and I think it¡¯s enough. I think you need to grow up already, like Sylvester. And let it go. Don¡¯t go.¡±


    After a moment:


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. Fine.¡±


    Did he even know why he was apologizing? She supposed it didn¡¯t matter. What mattered were the results, not the intention. If he still had stupid ideas in his head, she¡¯d help him work on that. In the future. Assuming they had a future. Them and all of humanity.


    Bit by bit. As friends. As a team. At least she¡¯d stopped him from committing suicide. That was a major victory.


    ¡ª¡ª


    Reality was melting. Blurring. Colors bled, exploded, and swapped places. Relief was torture, and pain a comfort. Warmth brought cold. It was as if the fine threads of the universe were cracking amid the great battle, the consumption.


    Sylvester felt he couldn¡¯t hold onto his identity as a human if this continued. But that didn¡¯t matter. He just had to keep pushing forward. Whether as a beast or an alien, a human being or something for which there were no words. He was someone. He was here. And he mattered.


    Everything was falling apart, blending into chaos. His soul¡ªor whatever it was he had¡ªdetached from his body and connected with Heather¡¯s. Everything was shaking, crumbling. The battlefield had shifted, though they remained in the same place. They had stepped further, beyond the curtain. Like beings of pure energy.


    Words were no longer necessary. Sensations lingered like trails. Beyond them lay a journey of energy, colors like a bad acid trip, spirals drawn in specks of dust, stars, galaxies. He had transcended his body. Now, Heizer and he were together. And in transcending everything else¡ªthe laws of the universe, the very concept of life¡ªthey were rising to the level of the being they had come here to defeat.


    Everything was unraveling, dying in agony. Yet something would be born from this chaos. Something would emerge. Wonderful. Fragile. Powerful. It was the final phase of the journey of their evolution. In the midst of a dying world, he would find himself, as he had always wanted from the start, but in a way he had never suspected.


    Life was always like this: spirals, strange gasps, murmurs. He saw a spinning black hole. He could barely process what was happening with what remained of his human heart. After his death, his ascent, the painful yet beautiful fragility of the human cocoon.


    What kind of¡ª? Ah! His bones ached.


    Butterfly would emerge. It hurt. What was pain? The black hole consumed him, swallowing stars, dragging the enemy inside. Black blood splattered everywhere, along with pieces of the enemy, of his human body. His real body. And pieces of things he preferred not to think about. Transcendence.


    Now, in flashes, he saw the world behind the curtain. They had exchanged their positions irreversibly; this was what he suspected. There was no way back.


    No, no. Enough of that cheap, pessimistic crap. Things could get better. They always could. He had to believe that.


    Through the darkness of the spirals, he felt close to understanding something important. Something beyond what Jonathan had reached inside C¨¦sar. Perhaps he hadn¡¯t pierced the veil. Perhaps he only thought he had, and this reality he was experiencing as a being of pure energy was nothing more than another layer. And he was moving toward the true reality, toward what that godlike being was experiencing.


    Heather.


    Her voice was lost in the void. Words weren¡¯t necessary to begin with, but he called her as if they still were, as if he needed to be sure she was still there with him, though he could feel her. Though they were one. And not in a metaphorical sense.


    Sylvester saw... no, they saw. A single reach to the edge, becoming a supernova.


    A howl shook the galaxy they now inhabited. A rain of stars, tears in the rain: red, black, green. Forces of creation after personally bringing the destruction of so many universes. They managed to construct a planet right over the being, a mass to strike it with.


    The planet only lived for a few seconds. It exploded, scattering fragments into the spiraling darkness. Spiral. Black, red, green. The Lunar Remnants kept fighting, devouring, erasing.


    The being called Sylvester hurled the so-called God against and through a black hole. Time sped up, slowed, froze. His perspective shattered like the fragile pane of a mirror.


    Come on, come on, come on. He knew they could do it. The signal was there. This was the end.


    No spiral would sever the serpent¡¯s head. They would stop the Ouroboros circus. Here and now. Here and now. Forever.


    ¡ª¡ª


    ¡°Do you want to leave, Caim? There¡¯s still time. We could slip away with the refugees. I don¡¯t know what world we¡¯d end up on, but hey, it¡¯s something.¡±


    Yonah looked at him too, her gaze steady.


    Caim shook his head.


    ¡°No. It¡¯d just be delaying the inevitable anyway. Besides, we should stay here, wait and see if that being stirs again. Only then will we leave. A little hope isn¡¯t so bad for a change. Just a little hope.¡±


    ¡ª¡ª


    Everything was falling apart, drifting away. In that chaos, in that battle on an unimaginable scale to end the monster, they were becoming a true monster themselves.


    He forgot his name. He forgot the names of many things. Her name included, the name of love.


    It didn¡¯t matter.


    Overcome every adversity and move forward. This wasn¡¯t death. This wasn¡¯t an end.


    He lost the pain. He lost the cold and the warmth. Soon, he even lost his thoughts, as his consciousness expanded to encompass the universe.


    The Cold of Outer Space, the Warm Embrace of Death, Part 13: END