ã€ŠBioshifterã€‹


 1. Two Worlds

    Once again, I wake up trying to figure out which of my limbs are actually real.

    It''s my own special little form of sleep paralysis, and the fact that it occurs nearly every single morning has not made it any less terrifying over the years. I dream every night, though I don''t usually recall it beyond a few vague feelings. When I do remember, though, I know myself as something vastly different. A monster with ten hard, claw-like legs, scraping away at something rigid, yet soft. Digging. I''m trapped underneath somewhere impossibly deep and horribly suffocating, and I have to get out but I don''t know why. Every night, I learn to move my horrid new body in order to burrow towards freedom, and by the time I wake I''ve forgotten my old one entirely.

    So here I am. I try to twitch a muscle, move a leg, but I guess wrong. I expect to grab and pull my covers off, but all I flex is a phantom. Next, I move a leg instead of an arm. I cycle through every part of my body, twitching and gasping for breath as the ever-present fear of never figuring myself out again screams in the back of my mind.

    But of course, less than a minute later, I remember how to be a human and everything is fine. If nothing else, I suppose I rarely struggle to stay awake after all this. I get up out of bed with my heartbeat still hammering, and walk across the room to silence my blaring alarm.

    Today''s a school day, so I''d better go take a shower.

    I grab some clean clothes, head to the bathroom, and strip down. The girl in the mirror isn''t what the still-waking part of me expects to see, but she''s nonetheless the same as always. My straight black hair and slightly thin eyes hint at my half-Asian heritage, but it''s not super noticeable unless someone goes looking for it. I''m still pretty pale thanks to my mom''s side. My little brother got way more of the other end of things. I''m fine with that, as I''ve never even been to Asia and my dad never talks about where he was born much anyway. I''m thoroughly American, which is to say I''ve lived my whole life in the United States and not, y''know, the thirty-four other countries in the Americas that we''ve decided to completely steal the title of ''American'' from like the arrogant pricks we are.

    Anyway, after a quick check to ensure I''m still me, I take a quick shower (defined as merely forty-five minutes instead of an hour and a half) and emerge to dry off, get dressed, eat breakfast, and put on a light coating of makeup before covering most of it with a facemask and dragging my abusively heavy backpack to wait for the schoolbus. I don''t run into my parents for the entirety of my morning routine, since my dad doesn''t bother to get up at the ungodly hour I have to go to school and my mom is already gone by the time I get out of the shower. My brother and I manage to share a single grunt of communication, but that''s about it. The agony of waking is almost entirely forgotten. I understand that my dreams are pretty darn weird, but I''m so used to them that I find them even more mundane than simply going to high school.

    So here I am, waiting at the bus stop and doing little other than getting annoyed whenever one of my yawns forces me to readjust my N95. I have a driver''s license, but even as a senior I don''t have a car to call my own. It doesn''t really bother me; I don''t like driving anyway. The bus is fine, and it''s not as though it lacks good company.

    "Hannah!" a familiar voice calls out, and I turn to grin at its source. Speak of the devil.

    "Hey, Brendan," I greet him as my excessively tall friend happily bounds up to me. And when I say excessively tall, let me assure you I mean truly, exceptionally, stupidly tall. Brendan is six foot eight, which means my piddly five foot two puts me at eye level with his armpits¡­ if I look up. The poor guy has not taken his growth spurt gracefully, either: he''s worryingly thin and knobby-limbed, a complete beanpole without much in the way of shoulder width or muscle. He''s got blonde hair, big goofy glasses, and that special kind of pale skin that makes you wonder if vampires are real. (They probably aren''t, but sunburns definitely are.) I met Brendan in elementary school when I walked up to him out of the blue and declared that he had the same name as my rival in Pok¨¦mon Emerald, and therefore he was my rival in real life. We''ve been best friends ever since.

    "How''s the morning treating you?" he asks, his voice a bit muffled under his own mask.

    "Just another refreshing day in the plague-apocalypse," I grumble. "Plagocalypse? You know what I mean. It''s cold and I''m tired and my body''s sore from sleeping weird and the planet is dying and there''s still COVID everywhere and yet half the people we go to class with aren''t even vaccinated."

    "So¡­ grumpy?" Brendan interprets. "You sound grumpy."

    I open my mouth to answer, then close it.

    "Yeah, okay, I might be grumpy," I admit. "Take my mind off it?"

    "Sure!" he says happily, and immediately launches into a story about a Pathfinder game he''s been playing in which his character¡ªa mermaid summoner that can''t walk so she sits on top of giant magical servants and rides them into battle¡ªhelped the party''s sorcerer successfully seduce a sapient house by enlarging him enough to polymorph into an awakened gazebo. Which, of course, forces me to ask questions like "why do you need this sort of leverage on a house?" and "did the sorcerer agree to this plan?" and "if you have access to eighth level spells, couldn''t you have solved this with dozens of methods that don''t imply the existence of house sex?" This, of course, means the story gets rewound a ways back to give me ''important context,'' and things only get sillier from there.

    Brendan loves tabletop games. Once he starts talking about them he will absolutely never shut up, and it''s great. I love hearing him ramble about the crazy nonsense he and his groups get up to. I don''t play much myself, but I''ve played enough to know what he''s talking about and that''s all I really need. I enjoy tabletop games, but I simply don''t have the time for them. Brendan plays three or more five-plus hour games a week. It''s basically all he does outside of school. Between my classes, my job, and my sort-of-leisure-time-sort-of-other-job, I haven''t been able to fit in time for a tabletop game in at least a year.

    Inevitably, the bus ride is over long before Brendan''s story. This is entirely expected; I suspect this particular one will last through lunch period and the ride home as well. He can seriously talk about this stuff forever, and I find myself with a delightfully goofy grin on my face throughout all of it. Unfortunately, we have to go to class eventually, and despite the pleasant start I spend the day antsy and exhausted for no discernable reason. My body keeps trying to pass out, which is unusual for me. I didn''t stay up late last night or anything. Perhaps I''m simply tired of bullcrap.

    Still, I push through my exhaustion, ignoring most of the lectures in my classes in favor of simply doing the assigned homework from the textbook. I learn the same things that way, and it''s a much more efficient use of time. I''d rather read than listen anyway. The teachers let me do it, too, since I''m getting straight A''s and not bothering anyone. Pretty much all of the teachers like me for those two very simple reasons, and I''m happy that way. I go to a public school but it''s pretty upper-middle class; there isn''t too much in the way of nasty bullying, at least not in terms of physical violence. It still doesn''t hurt to be one of the kids the faculty will actually go to bat for, though. I don''t have the energy to deal with high school bitchiness today.

    When we finally get to lunchtime, I''m both exhausted and absolutely ravenous. I bribe another friend to drive Brendan and I out to eat, where I purchase and eat three different hamburgers, against my better judgment. I just feel worse and worse as the day goes on, though. When school ends my head is throbbing and I''m itchy all over so I''m probably getting sick, but I just down a bit more than the medically recommended amount of ibuprofen and power through. I''ll be home soon, and then I''ll have to go to work. and then I''ll get to rest. Not before.

    "Hey, Hannahgator," my dad greets me when I finally get home. Apparently I used to bite a lot as a kid, so he''s been calling me that since I was around two years old. And yes, he worked today, despite getting out of bed after I left for school and getting home before me. He''s a dentist, and he works from nine in the morning to three in the afternoon. What kind of hours even are those? It''s infuriating.

    "How was school?" he asks.

    "Fine," I lie automatically. "Will we have time to grab food before my shift?"

    "Uhhh¡­ yeah, I think we can swing that if we head out in the next few minutes."

    I thank him and rush upstairs to drop off my school things, double-check my makeup, and quickly throw on my work uniform. Then I run back downstairs and hop into my dad''s already-running car, and we head out to grab a Little Caesar''s pizza, which I eat nearly all of in one sitting. What the heck is up with you today, metabolism? Geez.

    "Anything interesting happen today?" my dad asks.

    "Nope," I answer truthfully. Me feeling like crap isn''t particularly interesting.

    "Could you¡­ maybe try to give me even two sentences to work with here?" he presses to my mounting frustration.

    "I''m tired," I grunt. "I have a headache."

    "Did you take¡ª"

    "Yes, I took medication. I''ll be fine."

    The conversation thankfully doesn''t continue after that. I''m dropped off at my job, which is of course in the food service industry and therefore terrible. Money is money, though, and I''ll need to earn a lot of it if I expect to be able to afford college and not end up in a crippling, infinite debt spiral. I work at what the industry calls a ''fast casual'' restaurant. You know, the kind where there''s no drive through and everything costs three times as much as McDonald''s but they still have the food ready less than five minutes after you order it? (Or at least we''re supposed to have the food ready five minutes after you order it.) Yeah, it''s one of those. I''m working at the register tonight (oh goodie) so it''s time to turn on Customer Service Mode and pretend that I''m happy to see everyone. Which, to be fair, I''m actually pretty good at. People can be very annoying, but it only makes things worse to take it out on them. Self-control is the key to a good experience at work. Whatever the manager says to do, I find a way to get it done, no matter how ridiculous or inane. It is, after all, work. I don''t come here and expect to do what I want to do.

    At least my shift is boring and uneventful. I really needed that, today. There aren''t many customers so I just focus on cleaning the whole time, which of course makes my boss very happy. I''ve got to keep her happy so that I can be the next shift manager. They make two more dollars an hour, after all.

    I carpool home with a female coworker I barely know and I don''t particularly like. Thanking them for the ride, I get out and trudge inside only to get ambushed by my mother, who scoops me up in a hug that I tolerate with dignity.

    "Welcome home, honey!" she coos. "How was your day?"

    "It was fine," I insist.

    "Your father said you had a headache?"

    "I probably just need sleep," I tell her, both to reassure her and to hope she takes the hint and lets me go do that.

    She, of course, does not.

    "Did you have a good time at work?" she asks.

    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "It was slow," I inform her.

    "Oh, I''m sorry. Days like that are always so boring."

    I mean, no, you''re completely wrong, I like the slow days. But I''m not going to say that, lest I receive that disappointed look.

    "I made it through," I say instead. "May I go?"

    "We''ve barely even started a conversation!" she complains. "I''m your mother, don''t I get to talk to you at least sometimes?"

    I don''t know what to say to that. I''m too tired to find the right answer. Customers are easy to talk to because all of them want things and I can just give those things to them. But I don''t know the correct answer here, and I''m taking too long trying to think of one, so I just shrug. Which is, of course, a mistake. I get a look.

    "I''ve picked out more colleges for you to apply to," she says, and that conversation starts. None of the things she shows me look appealing, so I try to guess which one she seems to like the most and pretend to express interest in it. I guess correctly, and I''m rewarded with a slightly faster end to the conversation. If I didn''t pick her favorite, she''d have tried to convince me to change my mind until I did.

    Finally, I''m free to head upstairs. I walk into my room, shut the door, glance longingly at my Switch before ultimately deciding that collapsing into bed is my only real option. Which sucks, because I hate going to bed almost as much as I hate waking up. When the dream starts, it''s just as jarring as when it ends. I haven''t seen a therapist in years, but I did talk to my old one about my dreams. They were a curiosity, a strange quirk noteworthy only because they caused me distress. Nothing we tried ever stopped them, though, not even sleeping medication. And ultimately, my therapist and I both decided the dreams weren''t really worth the effort to try and stop. They''re disruptive and unpleasant, but¡­ well, only for about five minutes of my day. They never change. I''ll learn to deal with them.

    I sit down on my bed, peeling layers of clothing off. I know that as soon as I lie down, I''m going to pass out. So I hesitate, just a bit. But ultimately, I know I need rest. So I get under the covers, go to sleep, and immediately wake up as something else.

    New sensations pound at me with horrid lucidity. They are familiar, but until now it has only been in that dream-like way where many things you''ve never done or never been feel familiar. Tonight, I remember falling asleep. Tonight, I know I am dreaming. I try to scream as alien sensations attack my mind, but find that I cannot breathe. Blood pulses rapidly through my body. I have a heartbeat but no breath!? I''m going to die! My panic rises higher and higher, and with it I take my first clattering steps.

    Two, then four, then six, then eight, then ten legs all step forwards in sequence, each extending from my body in a radial pattern from my orb-like core. I look like a spider without a head, and I know this because I see myself, my senses somehow ignoring the pitch darkness and showing everything in a wide radius around me. It''s not sight, not really. I have no concept of color, by which I don''t mean ''everything is black and white,'' I mean that color as a concept does not exist, I merely understand the shape and texture and composition of everything around me with complete ignorance of how it reflects light. This sense has a limited range, but it goes in all directions and doesn''t care if objects are in the way: I feel myself, I feel the walls around me, I even feel the inside of my own body. I see my chitinous exoskeleton, the mouth at the bottom of my circular core, the way my many-segmented legs move in undulating patterns as I walk. I also see my tube-like heart and the proof I will not suffocate: openings in my body lined with thin, page-like structures passively let air flow over them to collect oxygen. Book lungs, they''re called. I remember feeling a need to learn how spiders breathe once, so I looked them up. I suppose this is why. The lack of breath is a sensation I''m not sure I will ever get used to.

    The area around me is much less interesting. I am in a tunnel, a jaggedly-dug tube traveling in a single direction. Everything around it, for as far as I can sense, is solid matter. It''s layered, fibrous, and rigid. It''s wood. I''m trapped inside a giant chunk of wood?

    It doesn''t matter. I need to dig. I know that in my¡­ er, exoskeleton. (Oh god, I don''t have bones.) My legs are sharp, and with my front legs¡ªdefined as the legs pointing in the direction I want to go, since I''m radially symmetrical¡ªI start scraping away at the inside of my prison, digging great gouges in the end of the tunnel in front of me, consuming the shaved wood, and making progress cut by cut. It''s relaxing in a way, almost meditative. My panic falls for the first time since my dream started as I work away, putting all my attention into being productive, into doing something, so that I don''t have to focus on the horrid nature of my circumstances. It is the best kind of distraction: the kind I feel good doing. Even though the tunnel seems endless, I keep making headway because that is all I know. My body is tough. I''m not getting tired, even after what must be countless hours of work. The wood tastes horrible, but something about it invigorates me, fills me with the power to keep going. I''ll eventually suffer from fatigue of the mind, but my body will not falter.

    So. This is the nature of my dream. Is this what I experience every night? Will I remember this when I wake up? I don''t know. I don''t have any way to know. Despite the trance-like state of my work, I feel strangely¡­ awake. It feels new. It feels exciting. It makes me think I''m almost there. This tunnel is impossibly long, but even as I start to get sleepy, I carry on. Something urges me to.

    That''s when I feel it. The end. I have been digging this tunnel my entire life, and I''m finally at the end!

    I have been digging diagonally upward, I note. At the edge of the seemingly infinite wood there is a relatively thin layer of soil, roots, and what I can only assume are plants. The roots burrow deep, many of them worming into the wood below and eating from it much like I do. And above it all is glorious empty space, glorious freedom. The closer I get to the surface, the more of it I feel. Rolling hills, broken boulders, shrubs and grass and moss. It''s like the plateau on top of a mountain, where only the heartiest of plants survive the thin air. Smaller animals wander about as well, making the toothy, lamprey-like mouth at the bottom of my core start to masticate with anticipation. Something to eat besides all this ding dang wood! I''m going to be free!

    I hurry through the layer of dirt, avoiding the many rocks along the way, until finally I burrow myself to the surface! I pop my body out of the hole I''ve been trapped in, attempting and of course failing to take a deep breath. Still, I feel the fresh air flow into my body and wriggle with delight. It''s so open and flat here! I feel the warmth of the sun on my body! I wonder how far I can¡­ see?

    I can''t see. My lack of vision wasn''t due to the darkness of the tunnel, I simply don''t have eyes. Even though there is nothing blocking me, nothing but open space, my sensory perception simply stops at the same edges it did before, only showing a radius of about fifty of my body lengths in every direction. And as that realization sinks in, as my instinct to dig dies away to nothing, I''m left with nothing to do but recognize the utter absurd horror of my situation.

    I am a monster, and everything around me is wrong.

    The animals and plants around me are nothing like anything I know from Earth. It all looks relatively benign until it moves, at which point even the smallest, most harmless-looking critters undulate into warped nightmares, their bodies stretching and twisting around strange patches of barren land where no plants grow. Hesitantly, I move towards a small creature next to me, and it scurries off in a disturbing zig-zag pattern without ever actually seeming to turn. It''s avoiding the barren patches, and I don''t know why but it can''t be good.

    I shudder nervously. I''ve played enough Pok¨¦mon Mystery Dungeon to know where this is going. I''m in another world, aren''t I? This is too lucid, too real. And try as I might, I''m not waking up.

    I scuttle along the ground, my movements instinctive and natural unless I try to think about them. The prey around me¡ªand it''s difficult not to think of the creatures as prey¡ªall seem to be much faster than I am, much better-suited to the zigzagging paths required to avoid the seemingly-dangerous barren zones. If I want to eat them I¡­ wait, wait wait! Why do I want to eat them? Could I please focus on the absurdity of the situation right now?

    I spin in a tight circle, rotating like an office chair as my legs easily scuttle to pointlessly reorient. I don''t have a forward or a backward, only an up and a down. I have even less need of rotating to zig-zag, even though I don''t really understand how the other creatures are pulling that off. And while yes, this situation is absolutely impossible, I feel hungry and tired. On the off chance all this is real, I should focus on getting food and shelter. And if this is fake, well¡­ why not get food and shelter anyway? It''s not like I have anything better to do, and the dream is denying me any control over my surroundings despite my lucidity. Maybe I''ll manage to think up something tastier than wood fiber if I have to work for it.

    I spend a while chasing smaller, herbivorous-looking critters, and though I start getting better at controlling myself I ultimately fail to catch anything. I do manage to chase a tasty-looking morsel all the way back to its burrow, but unfortunately it''s too small for me to crawl my way in. I can, of course, ''see'' into the burrow without issue: there''s a thin tunnel down and a cozy little room at the end of it, which would be plenty big for my body if the way in wasn''t so thin. Although¡­ hmm. As much as I''m not a fan of digging, it would be pretty trivial to widen this hole enough to enter, stab the occupants with my legs, and swallow them up. I find myself weirdly excited about this idea, considering that it involves eating raw meat. I''d be disturbed to even consider that while awake. Plus¡­ you know. More digging.

    I spin around some more as I think, an odd nervous tic that I suppose I''ll have to live with if this all turns out to be real. In the end, I decide to go for it. Whether these are my new instincts or the pull of some strange dream logic, it''s not as though I have anything else to do. I stick a few of my legs down the hole, yank on the dirt, and start widening the tunnel.

    The occupants, predictably, do not like this. The fuzzy little things remind me of chipmunks, and though they chirp and yip angrily at me, I do not find myself particularly intimidated by the display, not even with two of them ganging up on me. When I dig far enough to stick a leg into the burrow proper, one manages to bite me. ¡­Or at least they try. The critter''s teeth gnaw uselessly on my carapace, and a simple application of force is all I need to push the leg through the rest of its head, killing it. A shudder of mixed revulsion and satisfaction fills me, but I don''t hesitate to do the same to the other animal. My hunt is successful.

    Now then. How do I, um¡­ how do I eat them?

    My mouth is on the underside of my body, which is of course raised up into the air by my legs. My legs are sharp and not the least bit prehensile, designed for digging and climbing and killing, not object manipulation. I could stand over the corpses and then¡­ sit on them, basically? That would get them in my mouth, but it just seems gross. In the end, I enter the burrow and scuttle overtop my prize, balancing myself on five legs while the other five wrap underneath my meal. I bring it up to my mouth with all the precision and gripping strength of a carnival claw game. I drop the corpse a few times, but ultimately I am successful. The meat is juicy and bloody and far more satisfying than wood fibers, though after eating both my prizes I find myself feeling¡­ bloated. I guess I did just swallow at least a quarter of my own body weight.

    Scooting down onto a not-so bloody part of the dirt, I curl my legs up under me, causing me to roll slightly like a ball. It''s comfortable, though, and I feel myself getting tired. Freedom, food, and shelter. Today was a good day. Quickly and easily, I nod off to sleep.

    ¡­And I immediately wake up, my alarm blaring in my ears. I try to jolt upright and ready my clawed limbs for an attack, but all it does is cause my fleshy body to spasm wildly as every instinct comes out twisted and wrong. I''m huge and I''m heavy and I''m soft and everything is shaped wrong and I can''t feel anything around me and I''m not breathing I have to breathe now I have to BREATHE!

    Air comes in, air goes out. I open my eyes. Air comes in, air goes out. I''m Hannah, I''m human, and I have no idea what just happened. My dreams¡­ aren''t normally like that. I don''t usually remember that much. There''s never that much to remember because I never escape the tunnel. Everything feels so wrong. Slowly but surely, I flex my muscles, reminding myself which body parts go where and how they move. It takes me a lot longer than normal, but I still get up after about six minutes to finally turn off my alarm. Holy crap, that was all so disturbing. What a freaky frickin'' dream.

    Yawning, I stumble into the bathroom, wincing with every step. My toes all hurt, I must have kicked something in my sleep. I strip down and hop into the shower, doing my best to let the warm water wash away those disturbing memories. It''s calming. I like water. There''s a reason I get up early to take long showers, despite all my complaining about having such little time. This is how I center myself and get ready for the day. When I have a good job and my own place to live, the first thing I''m doing is buying a hot tub. That''s my promise to myself.

    Unfortunately, the calmness quickly ends as the water in the tub runs red. I start to panic immediately. It''s way too early for my monthlies (and it''s been years since they could sneak up on me in the first place) so I have to be injured somehow. But where? Agh, my toes, of course! The pain is more serious than I thought! I squat down, pinching my big toe ever so slightly. A shot of pain jolts down my foot, causing me to let out a hiss and a small squirt of blood. I get similar results from every toe, and the more I poke at them the more wrong they feel. I think¡­ I think there''s something wrong with the bone. When I press down hard enough, it almost feels like it''s poking out of my toe from the inside. Which would explain the blood, but¡­ that''s impossible, right?

    What''s happening to me?

 2. Unravel

    A frustrated pounding on the outside of the bathroom door startles me so hard I nearly fall into the toilet.

    "Hurry up, Hannah!" my brother shouts at me. "I have to shower, too!"

    "S-sorry!" I call back. "I''ll be out in a minute!"

    Annoyingly, I don''t think I''ve even spent as long as I usually do in the bathroom today. My shower is already done, and I''m currently busy bandaging my feet up. I don''t really know what''s going on but I do not have the time to deal with it right now. School. Job. Rest. Repeat. I realize this is definitely abnormal. My dream was weird and now my toes are all simultaneously screwed up in a way that can''t be anything other than a physiological issue. But there''s still a chance it will heal on its own, right? Right. Of course. I just gotta get through the day. The alternative is heading to the emergency room, getting poked at by strangers, freaking out my whole family and just¡­ no. No thanks. No doctors, and definitely no getting my family involved. I''ll figure this out on my own.

    I finish wrapping up my feet, steal our gauze roll in case I have to change them out at school, and get to completing the rest of my morning routine. My brother yells at me two more times before I get out of the bathroom, but screw him. Today''s one of the days I really have to pay attention to my makeup. Also, my toes might be mutating.

    I manage to limp out to the bus, enjoy listening to Brendan''s nonstop ramblings on our way to school, and do my best to keep my weight on my heels as I stagger into my first class. Brendan, unfortunately, notices that I''m in a lot of pain. He''s usually very unobservant, but I guess as he would say ''everybody nat twenties sometimes.''

    "Is there something wrong with your feet?" he asks with obvious concern.

    "...Yes," I admit, because as much as I don''t want to have this conversation there''s no way I''m lying to Brendan. "My toes hurt like hell. I''m not sure what''s wrong with them."

    "You seem tired today, too," he notes. "Maybe you should take some sick days?"

    "I''ll be fine," I insist, reassuring both of us. "It''s a little weird, but¡­ um. I''ll tell you after school?"

    Brendan hesitates, giving me that confused squint he does which means ''I think I''m misreading something in this conversation but I''m not sure what.'' Which is usually my cue to explain something, but I''m really not up for an in-depth conversation right now. I hope he at least picks up on that much. He hunches down a little when no explanation is forthcoming, retreating further into the recesses of a hoodie that''s somehow simultaneously too baggy and too small.

    "...If you''re sure," he agrees to my relief. "Don''t push yourself too hard, okay Hannah?"

    "Don''t worry about it," I tell him. "I don''t have work today anyway."

    "Which just means you''re doing your ''other work,'' doesn''t it?"

    "Well¡­ yes," I admit. "But it''s still basically relaxing. And I don''t have to stand up for that, so it''s fine. Anyway, I gotta go to class! Bye, Brendan!"

    He sputters a few of his usual protests about overworking myself as I run (or I guess quickly stagger) to my first class. I gratefully plop down in my seat nearly ten minutes before the class is scheduled to start, partly because punctuality is an important gesture of respect but mostly because my feet hurt. People start trickling in shortly after, including my friend Ida who approaches me with the sort of shit-eating grin that makes me mentally place a parenthetical question mark after the word ''friend.''

    Ida is a tiny and incorrigible bundle of chaos. The first word that comes to mind when I think of her is ''gremlin.'' She''s one of the few people in the school even shorter than I am, with a blonde pixie cut, almost childishly thin body, and mischievous glint in her eye that all combine to make me wonder if she was replaced by a fae as a child. She approaches with one of her other friends, some curly-haired gossip girl who carries herself exactly like the kind of person I tend to avoid for the sake of my mental health.

    "Hey Hannah," Ida greets me with a concerning air of smugness. "Are you taking your autistic boyfriend to the dance this year?"

    I blink, utterly blindsided. That¡­ how dare she? She knows better than that! What the¡­ why!? There''s only one response I can muster which properly expresses how I feel.

    "Fuck. You," I hiss vitriolically.

    Ida just grins brightly, turns to the girl next to her, and holds out her hand, palm-up. The curly-haired girl groans, pulls out ten dollars, and slaps it dramatically into Ida''s hand. Then she walks away, leaving Ida to triumphantly beam at my furious glare. What the f¡ª what the heck just happened!?

    "Did¡­ did you just win a bet?" I ask Ida disbelievingly.

    "Yeah, sorry Hannah," Ida says, projecting token contrition. "We were talking about you and she said you were too much of a goodie-two-shoes to ever swear, so I bet her that I could make you cuss me out after only a single sentence. And then she bet against me, because she''s a fool."

    Wh¡ªreally? That''s it? I know I don''t swear much, but I don''t get why anyone would swear much. If you swear too often then none of your swears have meaning. Using them constantly is just intellectual laziness. There are better ways to indicate more general disgruntledness. When I tell someone ''fuck you'' I want them to know I''m getting dangerously close to punching them in the mouth. Speaking of¡­

    "You don''t get to talk about Brendan that way," I say, glowering at her. "You should know better."

    "What way?" she asks. "The boyfriend way? Because like, he is autistic, right? It''s pretty obvious."

    "That is his business," I snap. "Not yours, especially not when you say it that way. And the boyfriend thing isn''t your business either, but you already know we aren''t!"

    "Okay, okay!" Ida says, raising both hands placatingly. It''s not very effective, since one of them is still holding the money she won by betting she could piss me off. "I can see that I owe you an apology! I''m sorry for implying you are anything other than an absolutely massive lesbian."

    "Ida I swear to god¡ª"

    "Let me make it up to you!" she continues, barreling through my fury. "I''ll buy you lunch. No tricks, just girl talk. After all, thanks to you I happen to be ten dollars richer."

    I scowl at her. She''s a smarmy bitch, but also I am quite hungry.

    "...Not wanting to date my best friend doesn''t make me gay, Ida," I protest lamely.

    "Of course, of course, yeah," Ida agrees in that blithe manner that means she doesn''t believe a word of it. "So. Free food?"

    "...I''ll be ordering more than your winnings will pay for," I tell her.

    She shrugs.

    "Sure, it''s your waistline."

    Gah! She never cared about the money, did she? I''ve definitely been played, but I don''t know how!

    "Just¡­ please don''t test my patience any more today, Ida," I grumble. "I''m in a lot of pain."

    "Aw, I''m sorry Hannah," she replies genuinely (for once). "What happened? You okay?"

    "I¡­ think so," I hedge. "It''s my feet. I''m fine as long as we sit down."

    "Alright," she nods, quickly perking back up. "I''ll see you at lunch, then!"

    Class starts shortly after that, and I do my usual bit of largely ignoring the teacher since today''s material is all review. It''s fine. Unfortunately, the next period is gym class, which is absolutely not fine.

    I fit solidly in the nerd/geek clique and so somewhat predictably, I''m not the biggest fan of gym class. I don''t really hate it, though. I''m pretty firmly middle-of-the-pack in terms of athletic capability, under all the kids on actual sports teams (and the marching band, all of whom are secretly kinda jacked). But not being on a sports team means I''m still in that group of people the gym teacher doesn''t really care about. It can be¡­ frustrating. But today, of course, I have bigger problems.

    I head into the locker room and take off my shoes in order to switch to gym shoes and find my socks stained red. I grimace and quickly put the shoe back on before anyone can see. Wonderful. I can''t ignore this. Running around for an entire class period would be an absolutely horrible decision. But if I talk with the gym teacher, he''s going to send me to the nurse''s office. And then the nurse is going to look at my feet, and then she''s going to freak out and tell my family, and then¡­!

    An unexpected surge of panic hits me, but I swallow it down. I don''t know what to do. This clearly isn''t normal!

    "You okay?" someone asks me. What''s her name? Amanda or something?

    "Just ducky," I respond, my voice cracking just a little bit.

    "You sure?"

    I flash her my best smile, remember I have a mask on, and give her a thumbs-up instead.

    "I''ve repressed worse!" I reassure her. It does not seem to have the desired effect.

    "Well, um¡­ class is about to start, so you should get changed."

    I put a bit of pressure on my foot and decide that, regardless of the consequences, I''m definitely going to mess myself up if I try to actually run around on my feet today. My choices are to request permission to go to the nurse''s office or to just ditch, and I''ll definitely get an earful at home if I''m ever caught ditching.

    "I think I need to go to the nurse, actually," I admit. "I''ll go talk with Mr. Attenborough."

    "Autumn, Hannah, you''re late!" the gym teacher barks when we emerge. (Ohhh, her name is Autumn. Eh, I was close.) "Five extra laps for both of you!"

    "Sorry sir, she was helping me," I say, doing my best to take the blame for her. "My feet are bleeding."

    "Like blood-blood?" he asks.

    The heck does that mean? What other kind of blood would I be talking about?

    "...Yes sir, I have open wounds. Autumn was just helping me. May I go to the nurse?"

    He considers this imperiously for a moment before nodding, because thankfully my school is not a ridiculous fantasy land in which gym teachers wouldn''t get fired so hard you''d hear gunshots if they made a student run around while actively wounded.

    "Yeah, get out of here," Mr. Attenborough grunts. "Autumn, you still get five more laps."

    Wow! I guess he''s still a jerk though! I whisper ''sorry'' at Autumn and put ''making it up to her'' on my mental to-do list just under ''scream into a pillow for four hours.'' She just groans and starts jogging, which I suppose is an entirely fair reaction under the circumstances. Time to limp to the nurse''s office, I suppose.

    I stagger on over to the front of the building and let myself into the medical room, earning a pleasant smile from the nurse sitting inside. She is not wearing a mask. Why is our nurse not wearing a mask!? Like I know it''s no longer mandated but¡­ seriously? Gahhh!

    "Ms. Hiiragi!" she greets me. "Welcome! Do you need something?"

    No, I''m limping into the nurse''s office for a social visit, obviously. How does she even remember my name? We''ve talked like, maybe twice ever. In lieu of a verbal answer I just plop down in the nearest seat and take a shoe off, showing the blood on my socks.

    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

    "I need to change my bandages," I tell her.

    On the way here, I developed a genius strategy: pretend this is entirely mundane and that I don''t need or want help. That''s my strategy for most things, really. The more in control of a situation you pretend to be, the less people try to help you. I pull out the bandages I brought myself and remove my sock, carefully refusing to wince at the sight of the bloody red rows of gauze over the front of my foot. Why is it bleeding so much? Shouldn''t it have scabbed over by now? I''m being careful not to put much pressure on my toes!

    I try to angle my body away to not show much to the nurse, but I am unfortunately the only other person in here so I have her full attention. That''s fine, it''s fine. Just keep pretending it''s normal. I''m careful to block the nurse''s view with an innocuous hand placement as I peel the bandages away from my big toe.

    I almost vomit.

    No. No no no no. That''s bone. That''s definitely bone. Even as stained with red as it is, it''s impossible to mistake the curved white structure as anything but a claw. It''s grown since this morning, the core of my foot straining to gouge its way free of my flesh.

    "Do you need any help?" the nurse asks, noticing me freeze up.

    I barely register her words. My bones are growing out of my feet. Hesitantly, a numb horror moving me, I pinch the protruding spear of bone between two fingers. It''s sturdy. It''s not broken. I''m growing claws. Fuck. What the fuck. No. No no no no.

    "Ms. Hiiragi?" the nurse addresses me again, placing her hand lightly on my shoulder.

    "Don''t touch me!" I snap at her.

    She pulls back immediately, schooling her face into a calm expression and putting her hands on her lap.

    "Breathe slowly, Ms. Hiiragi," she suggests.

    What? Oh. I¡­ I''m hyperventilating. I feel cold.

    "Look at me," the nurse says. "It''s okay. Breathe in, breathe out."

    Numbly, I try to follow her orders. Breathe in, breathe out. My breath is shaky. My chest is starting to hurt. Wait, my chest hurts!? Am I having a heart attack!?

    "I¡­ I¡­" I start to stutter, but the words don''t come out. "I f-feel¡­"

    Tears run down my cheeks. Am I dying? What''s going on? I''m growing fucking talons out of my feet and I''m dying and everything is insane and I can''t speak, I can''t fucking breathe¡­!

    "You''re having a panic attack," the nurse says calmly. "This is perfectly normal. I promise you''re going to be okay."

    Panic attack? Panic attack!? I don''t get panic attacks, I''m not¡­ I never¡­! This is so much worse than that!

    "M-my chest¡­!" I manage to choke out. I''m dying. I''m dying I''m dying I''m dying¡­!

    "Does it feel like squeezing, or stabbing?"

    "S-stabbing!"

    "Do your arms hurt?"

    What? My arms?

    "No?"

    "Tell me if your arms or hands start to tingle," she instructs, as calm as ever. "Would you like to lie down?"

    I shake my head emphatically no. I still have one hand grasping my toe, blocking it from her view. I squeeze it slightly, verifying that the claw is still there. I can''t let go. I can''t let her see it!

    "Would you like me to go farther away?" she asks.

    I quickly nod yes, and she scoots her chair to the other side of the room. Oh god I just walked into her office with an unexplained injury and started acting like a PTSD victim when she touched my shoulder she''s going to call fucking social services. I''m an idiot. I''m a freak. I''m the world''s stupidest moron freak and everything is going insane.

    Okay. No. Hold on a second, brain. Calm down.

    So I might¡­ I might actually be having a panic attack. The more I think about that the more signs seem to be pointing that way. That''s, um¡­ that''s good, right? Better than a heart attack, haha.

    Yeah, no, this doesn''t feel good at all. This is hell. I must be going insane, I would never¡­ I mean. Okay so panic attacks are normal. Intellectually, I know that. But I feel weak and pathetic anyway. This isn''t something that should be happening to me. I should be better than this. I know that''s a horrible thing to think but it still claws at my mind anyway.

    I shudder. Ugh. ''Claws.'' What a horrible choice of words.

    It takes another couple minutes that feel like eternities, but my breathing starts to stabilize. My aching chest starts to dull down, and the tears running down my face start to dry. I did not, it would seem, have a heart attack. Oh boy!

    I still have talons, though, so as soon as my hands stop shaking I bind my toe back up. The nurse waits patiently while I do so, likely not wanting to be the first to address me after I asked her to give me some space. Credit to her, she probably has dealt with this before. She seems in her element. I finally turn to face her once I finish my patch job.

    "S-sorry," I manage to choke out, because ''thank you'' feels foreign and wrong.

    "You have nothing to apologize for," the nurse tells me firmly. "Have you ever had a panic attack before?"

    "No," I admit. "Never."

    "Well, like I said, it''s normal," she assures me. "Downright common, really. Now if you''re comfortable with it I''d really like to take a look at your f¡ª"

    "N-no!" I blurt immediately. "I¡­ I don''t consent."

    She sighs slightly, but nods.

    "Okay," she allows. "Well then, if nothing else you should definitely rest. I''m going to write you an attendance exemption. Feel free to take as long as you need in here. There are cots you can lie down on in the room next door. Are you comfortable walking?"

    "Yes," I tell her, and stand up to prove it. "I¡­ I''m fine."

    I''m fine.

    "Then rest well, Ms. Hiiragi."

    "C-call me Hannah," I tell her. "Please."

    "Hannah, then," she agrees, and I walk next door and collapse into a cot.

    Immediately, I realize I''ve made a mistake. Because I''m exhausted. The cot isn''t very comfortable, but my panic-addled body doesn''t care and demands rest immediately. I''m very much the kind of fallen-log sleeper that can immediately pass out pretty much anywhere I lie down, so if I''m not careful I might end up¡­ I might¡­ I¡­

    ¡­

    I shudder as I suddenly become aware of my surroundings without ever opening my eyes. I''m in an underground burrow, all ten of my legs curled up in a ball. My stomach growls at me, and I roll slightly as it causes me to flinch.

    Dang it. I''m here again.

    I have a mouth, but I still can''t scream. I settle for uncurling my body and furiously clawing at the walls, trying to make my silent despair known through violence. I''m here again! I''m here again! It''s all real, isn''t it? It''s either real or I''m sobbing somewhere in a padded cell! What is happening to me!?

    Unfortunately, my silent tantrum is soon interrupted by strange, quiet noises that catch the edge of my attention. At least I can still hear things that are outside my weird sensory bubble. And if I''m not mistaken, what I hear sounds like¡­ voices.

    Not English-speaking voices, of course, it''s all gibberish to me. But the sounds absolutely have the complexity and the back-and-forth between speakers that I associate with language. The voices themselves even sound pretty close to human, albeit not speaking any Earth language I know of. It sounds like there''s two men and one woman, and their conversation seems to be entirely congenial. Of course, I''m recently coming down from a panic attack and I''m also currently shaped like a horrible little ball-spider monster, so I''m less than confident that a social interaction is going to go well for me. Not to mention that if this is some freaky fantasy world (and it certainly appears to be), this could just as easily be a terrifying voice-mimicry monster as it could be a person. Brendan has told me harrowing stories about those! As such, I opt to wait inside my burrow as the voices continue to approach.

    They start to get quieter as they get closer, and eventually the voices stop. I don''t find this particularly reassuring. And sure enough, when something finally steps into my range, I can''t help but shudder with terror. I am clearly looking at a monster.

    The three creatures that approach me are vaguely humanoid, in that they seem to have arms, legs, a torso, a head¡­ you know, human stuff. But the closer I look, the more twisted and distorted it all becomes. What I thought was clothing on two of the figures is actually a thick coat of fur, and they have two extra arms, long and low-hanging. Though the third doesn''t have any such alien features (even, seemingly, on the inside of his body; it all looks like human anatomy to me) he walks in front, and as he does his visage warps horribly, shifting and stretching and twisting as he moves like he''s a reflection in a funhouse mirror. The others suffer similar horrid twists of body, and the worst is when they pass over one of the barren zones. These creatures are far bigger than anything else around, so large that I could barely reach their knees if I stretch my body as tall as I can go. As such, they don''t zig-zag around the smaller barren zones because they can''t. They''re too large. Instead, they just¡­ unravel. Their bodies twist and warp like horrid flesh monsters as they split open their own foot so it lands evenly on either side of the barren zone.

    The horrid creatures have stopped talking entirely, though sometimes they turn to look at each other and make what I can only assume would be facial expressions on a body not twisted into a Cronenberg horror creature. One of them points at my exact hiding spot.

    For the second time today, I''m certain I''m about to die.

    I watch as the mostly-human-looking one kneels down and holds out its hand. Not at me, though; it seems to be pointing at nothing in particular. Yet then I notice one of the small animals nearby halt and start slowly walking towards them. It seems hesitant and stiff, undulating around the barren spots of land as it approaches the monsters.

    It stops right in front of the hand, leans forward, and nuzzles it. The monster pets it kindly. And then its partner stabs it in the brain with a spear that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.

    Oh god.

    I''m not moving. I am completely, utterly still, curled into my little hole as I pray to whatever horrid god brought me here to make this stop. I''m just a little spider-ball! Don''t mind me! But my prayers, of course, go unanswered, as any god horrible enough to make this world clearly isn''t interested in preventing my suffering. The corpse of the small animal is set gently outside my den. The smell of it is enticing. Then the monster stretches out its hand to me, and waits.

    I¡­ am being baited. I''m obviously being baited. There''s no fucking way I''m going out there! In fact, maybe I can dig myself a different exit? Crap, I should have been doing that this entire time! I turn to face a wall before remembering that the concept of turning isn''t really a thing for my body, and scrabble away at the back of the burrow. Just as I start, however, a nagging feeling starts to itch its way into my head.

    What if they''re friendly?

    Haha, what? I just saw them murder a little creature, and I am currently a little creature! Nope, no way.

    They have food. They''re friendly.

    That''s¡­ no. What? That is bait. That is a trap. No thanks. Except, y''know, what if it''s not a trap? I am pretty hungry. They could be friends. Friendly friendly friends. They''re nice and I should go to them. Yes, that makes sense. A refreshing breeze wafts over my body as I step out of the burrow, right in front of them. How nice of them to bring me a me¡­ a¡­ how nice of them to¡­ to¡­ to get me¡­

    A freakish, twisted thing that looks like a hand run through a taffy machine reaches forward to pet the top of my carapace. This is wrong. It''s wrong. No, it''s fine. They''re friends. They''re not friends, they just killed something by doing this! But not me though. They only killed that animal to feed me. I''ll be fine. It''s fine. They''re friends!

    The hand touches me. I freak out and bolt.

    I don''t even think about it, I just sprint away. This seems to startle the monsters, and as a result I feel the fog on my mind disappear with a jolt. Holy crap, did I just get siren song''d? Does this world have predators with mind magic? Crap crap crap crap!

    The monsters recover from their surprise quickly and give chase, which is extremely bad because I''m currently very small and their legs are very long. They are absolutely going to catch up to me in a footrace. Worse, a bunch of those barren patches are coming up, and I still don''t know what sort of horrible thing happens if I step in them!

    I swerve to avoid the first one, and my pursuers twist to do the same. What are they? How the heck do their bodies work? They look like they''re being constantly warped by a weird instagram filter. There''s no time to consider it, though, because they''re still gaining on me! If I don''t do something, they will catch me. In front of us is a particularly large patch of barren terrain. Going around it will require me to drastically change direction and move in a wide arc around it. Going through it, however¡­ I mean, I have no idea what could possibly happen to me in that case. But surely, nothing lives in the barren patches for a reason?

    Well, I suppose I should just stop running, then. The ones behind me are going to catch me no matter what, and they just want to be friends!

    I almost start to slow down before I catch myself, a redoubling panic casting the foreign thoughts out of my mind. You know what? Better the unknown problem in front of me than the certain mortal danger behind me! When we reach the next barren patch, I don''t swerve around it. I go straight.

    My legs skitter across the empty space, no longer impeded by errant rocks or inconveniently-placed shrubs. Instead, I note there''s only solid wood underneath me, the same kind of wood that I dug through before reaching the surface last night. Well, last Earth night. I don''t have any idea if it''s day or night here in this world, or if the concept of day and night even exists. Though I suppose I recall feeling the sun on my chitin when I first stepped outside. I think there was something that felt like sunlight while I was running away, too.

    There isn''t any sunlight anymore.

    It''s cold here, very cold. Not uncomfortably so, but the difference in temperature is immediate and stark. The monsters behind me skid to a stop as I pass into the barren patch, looking around with apparent confusion, as if they can no longer see me. Maybe they can''t? Are these areas some kind of dark patch or something? That could explain why no plants grow here, but there''s no dirt either. Just wood.

    Either way, my pursuers have stopped. That''s great news, but I''m going to keep on running! I dash to the other side of the barren patch, but the moment I step back out on normal ground the monsters seem to spot me and they start chasing me again! Gah!

    I duck onto a different barren patch nearby and the monsters slow down, jogging up to the intersection between the normal ground and the barren ground and stopping to wait, once again with apparent confusion. I slow to a stop and wait. They begin to babble at each other as I watch. I scuttle in a terrified circle, realizing suddenly that my body is incredibly tired. Just that short little run really took it out of me, which does not bode well for my escape chances.

    The monsters start to pace around the barren patch, sometimes in a normal circle but often in horrid, jittery warping movements where they seem to stretch along the outside of the barren zone like a shadow crawling up a wall. They''re pinpointing me somehow, but they don''t ever step inside. It seems like their bodies might be physically incapable of it. I can hide from them here. They can''t come in. I''m safe. But I''m also hungry, and this area is barren. My singular valve of a heart beats rapidly as my panic starts to come out of fight-or-flight mode. I can rest and think a little, but I can''t stay here forever.

    What''s my next move?

 3. Persistence

    They''re friendly, my mind insists. Just go to them.

    Even in the chill of the barren zone, my body feels like it''s burning from my recent death-defying sprint. I need water, food, and rest, but even though I''m hiding somewhere safe I don''t think I''ll be able to get any of them.

    Of course you''re safe. They''re friends.

    ¡­Because the longer I stay here, the more insistent those voices become. The three horrific monsters know where I am. They''ve been stalking around the barren zone, and while they seem unable to enter they''re certainly able to call out to me with that¡­ I don''t know what it is. A charm spell, I guess? Charm spells make someone your friend while Dominate spells directly and completely remove agency from someone, at least in Dungeons and Dragons. What''s happening to me reminds me of the former, and by extension the few times I''ve seen it used in those games and the many times Brendan has described shenanigans involving them. Ultimately, when you think about it, there''s not much point in using a charm spell on someone if you plan on killing them. So they probably actually just want to be friends, and I should¡ªGah! Not this again!

    Okay, I need to get out of here. I need to move. Ignoring my painfully protesting body, I get back to my feet and start planning a route. They''re faster than me, sure, but so far nothing bad has happened in this barren area, they can''t seem to enter barren areas, and there are barren areas absolutely everywhere. As far as I can see (which is admittedly only like fifty feet or so, assuming the human-shaped monsters are human height) the barren areas are interspersed seemingly at random with the normal landscape. Most barren areas are very small, but some are huge and I bet I can take advantage of them to escape my pursuers. It''ll be just like a stealth game: the bad guys can''t see me as long as I''m in the darkness. I''ll clown on these monsters like they''re the stupid guards in Metal Gear Solid. Right? Right. Of course. Let''s just ignore the fact that MGS guards are AI designed to provide the player a challenge and not actual intelligent creatures designed, presumably, to catch and eat me. I mean, they probably won''t eat me. If they wanted food they could just catch more fantasy chipmunks. I bet they just want to be fr¡ª

    Agh, no no no! Running! It''s running time!

    I burst out of the barren zone, skittering as fast as I can to the next largest one close by. One of the monsters cries out and points at me, then all three give chase, rapidly gaining on me until I manage to enter the next barren zone. I keep sprinting straight while my pursuers have to zig-zag, putting a healthy amount of distance between us before I''m out the other side, rushing to the next zone. This is working. I can outpace them this way!

    Or at least I could if it didn''t hurt so much.

    I''m definitely making distance, but the longer I run the worse I feel. I''m not the most athletic person in the world, but I''ve never struggled this much before. My muscles burn like I''ve just jogged a mile. I barely have any stamina. Terror is just about the only thing moving my legs at this point. I can''t sprint for much longer. If I stop running they''ll catch me and I''ll die, but I have to stop, but I can''t stop¡­!

    I stagger into another barren zone, slowing down to a crawl but resisting the urge to collapse on the spot. I''m burning up. Why? Why am I so weak? I feel lightheaded, insofar as I can feel that way without a head. I''m so hot, I''m too hot. I have to rest. I¡­ I can''t breathe.

    Wait. That''s right. I can''t breathe. My body is making a lot of heat when I run but I have no way to cool down. I can''t sweat, I can''t even pant for air. I''m cold-blooded, I can''t thermoregulate without using my environment, and while it''s nice and cool in these barren zones my mad sprint for my life is still overheating me. I''m not built for this.

    Again, I desperately wish I could scream. If my brain is working well enough to analyze why I''m screwed, maybe it could think of a way to survive this!? Yet thinking too hard about my body only brings attention to how impossible my current situation is, mixes up my legs and makes me worse at running! How am I even moving this naturally? It feels like I''ve been a freaky ball spider for my entire life. Were those stupid dreams seriously all real? How? What the fuck is any of this!?

    Maybe I should go ask my new friends.

    I claw at the ground, a wave of panic pushing me to focus. No. Screw this. I just have to keep going. I''m not getting mindfucked by monsters! Again, I start to sprint. Pain wracks through my body, every part of me feeling sick. Skittering out of my safe zone, I''m immediately chased. Why do they keep following me!? Why won''t this end? I suppose it can end easily. I could just turn around and be done with this. I could just make some new friends¡­ No! Agh! Get out! Get out of my head! Get out get out get out I need to get away!

    The ground grows steeper as I flee, the tundra slowly becoming less plateau and more mountain. This is awful, but it''s an awful that works somewhat in my favor. My small size means that going uphill is less of an impediment to me than it is for my huge pursuers. It just doesn''t really matter, because I''m dead on my feet. I don''t really have a good grasp on what my body''s limits are but I am being pushed well past them, every part of me screaming for mercy as my mind starts to get foggier and slower. How long has it been? Hours? More? I don''t feel the sun on my carapace when I''m outside a barren zone anymore, which means it''s probably nighttime. Another thing that helps me out but doesn''t seem to matter. The monsters behind me have slowed down a lot, not really bothering to exert themselves as they stalk me. I''m just forced to flee without rest or food, over and over, as their long legs and the permanent threat of mind magic inevitably catch up with me.

    Maybe I''m dying. Wouldn''t that be funny? Dying of exhaustion while trying to escape my death. I''m not even running anymore, just staggering painfully forwards. I think¡­ I think I might be starting to pass out. But I can''t sleep here. They''ll find me. They''ll worm their way into my brain while I rest. Or just stab me. Whichever is worse. I have to keep moving. Keep going until they give up. I have to move. I have to. Just¡­ just another step. It hurts. I can''t¡­ I can''t move.

    They''re gaining on me. I''m going to die. I''m going to¡ª

    Bong. Bong. Bong. Bong.

    My eyes shoot open as the school bell rings, signifying the end of second period and the start of lunch. A cold sweat covers my body in a disgusting, sticky film. Wait, how am I sweating? Why am I so heavy? I''m in bed! But I''m at school? What¡­

    Right. Right, right, right. Nurse''s office. Human stuff. I''m Hannah and I''m human and as real as that horrible nightmare felt, I¡­ hah. Yeah, no. As I twitch my muscles and get a handle on being me again, I can already tell that there''s no way I''m convincing myself that what happened isn''t real. There would be no way I could do that even if I wasn''t growing claws out of my body, but that''s also a thing that''s happening. I shudder with stress and pull myself into a sitting position, grabbing my gauze roll and forcing myself to look at my feet again. Still bloody, though they don''t feel as wet.

    Last I was awake, I had a panic attack and thought I was dying. Then, when I fell asleep, I actually almost died. Perhaps I am dead in the other world. What happens to me if I die there? Do I die here, too? Do the dreams stop? Or do they just get replaced with something else? Perhaps I''ll find out tonight.

    Perhaps I''ll die tonight. There¡­ there really is a solid chance I will die the next time I fall asleep.

    I can''t keep my hands steady as I peel the bandages off my feet, though fortunately the shaking merely makes the task annoying rather than impossible. My feet are naturally still a bloody mess, but they don''t ache as badly as they did when I passed out and the blood seems to be drying. The claws are obvious now, curved and prominent. Flexing my toes only elicits a dull ache, as does prodding at the base where they connect to my flesh.

    The claws have entirely replaced my toenails, but they aren''t mere extensions to the nails themselves. Thick and talon-like, they have grown to encompass most of the end of each toe, the sharp, thick bone protruding like a horn and curving down to claw at the ground. I take an experimental step, and a resounding click echoes in the room as my feet scrape at the porcelain flooring. I glance hesitantly out the small window in the door, seeing the nurse still buried in other work. I need to be careful. If anyone walks in here now, the freakish mutation will be obvious.

    ¡­Also the blood. I should really clean them. Keeping an eye on the nurse, I get up and rifle through the nearby cabinets, most of which are locked but one of which thankfully has some alcohol swabs. I shamelessly steal them and start to wipe my feet clean, yet another task made frustrating but not impossible by my shaking hands. There''s only one way in or out of the room, and I''m positioned carefully on the bed so that the blankets are poised to block the view of anyone coming in through the door. My now-clean claws are both more and less horrifying to look at than my bloody ones, a pristine ivory white that contrasts even the relative paleness of my skin. They are undoubtedly real, undoubtedly talons, and if not for how much worse my recent experience as a radially symmetrical spider monster was, I''d undoubtedly be having a second panic attack right now. Instead, I only feel that classic full-bodied tension that borders on the edge of painful with how tight all my muscles are. Just thinking about my dream pumps my body full of adrenaline, making me feel jittery and frayed. I''m also starving, which no doubt compounds the issue significantly.

    I guess I should probably go get some lunch.

    My cleaning done, I bandage my feet back up in case the scabs break, put my bloody socks back on, and put my shoes on over them. They don''t fit right anymore, thanks to the extra half inch or so of bone jutting out of the end of my toes. Even worse, putting any pressure on my foot causes the talons to poke through the bandages and socks, digging into the sole of the shoe. It''s a horrifying, alien feeling that feels equal parts terrifyingly impossible and worryingly pleasant. Little tingles crawl up my toes as my claws dig into something soft. That''s¡­ you know what, I''m just not going to think about that.

    I napped through the entirety of second and third period, so while I feel jumpy and stressed I am at least no longer exhausted. I politely thank the nurse, still angry at her for not wearing a mask during a pandemic but also undeniably thankful that she was around when I had that¡­ panic attack. Even if it''s painfully embarrassing to have been seen like that. She once again asks to look at my feet. I insist that they''re no longer bleeding (which is true, at least for now) and that it''s nowhere near as bad as it looked (which is true, because it''s worse). I''m certainly not going to tell her or anyone else that my friggin'' feet are growing dinosaur talons because that just seems like a one-way trip to being prodded at by strangers with less respect for consent than they have for science. Science is cool and all, but not if I''m the experiment. Especially since whatever''s happening to me is obviously supernatural.

    It''s frustrating. I know some people that would squeal with delight if they started growing claws out of their feet. Being a huge nerd means that a big chunk of my social circle is firmly in the ''fantasy is way cooler than reality'' camp, and I know a lot of them would think that this is cool as heck. And I get that, really, I do. I''ve wished to be whisked away on a magical adventure more than once in my life. I love fantasy stories, including urban fantasy. There''s one particularly dangerous element of urban fantasy, though: there''s a reason normal people think the magic isn''t real.

    In World of Darkness, werewolves literally drive humans insane whenever they transform, causing all witnesses to have a temporary psychotic episode they don''t remember. And that''s probably the kindest secret-keeping method. Vampires systematically slaughter any of their own kind that reveal their nature along with anyone that nature is revealed to. Mages friggin'' explode if too many normal humans witness them breaking physical laws. And World of Darkness is obviously just one of many examples, because every urban fantasy has examples, because if something is real but most people think it''s fake, it means the information is being actively suppressed. I am either entirely unique on Earth, the first of my kind in recorded history (which is statistically unlikely), or I''m part of a group so invested in keeping themselves secret that not even I know about them, and I can expect someone or something will be extremely miffed with me if I go public.

    ¡­I swear, if my dad has like, kitsune blood or some dumb crap like that I will blow a gasket. Now I''m imagining my parents throwing me a little private party celebrating my toe-hatching day, inducting me into their secret cult now that I''ve come of age or whatever. Except that ''parents don''t tell their children that they might turn into monsters, even though this is a known possibility'' is dumb tropey bullcrap that only makes it more likely that the secret will get out because the kid (i.e. me) will have no idea what to do when ding dang claws start growing out of their feet and will react badly, possibly publically. My parents aren''t dumb enough to make that kind of mistake, so it''s probably safe to assume they don''t know anything.

    And even if they do, I don''t want to talk to them about this either way.

    As I absentmindedly walk towards the lunch room, still limping to keep the pressure off my toes, I run into a rather impatient-looking Ida.

    "There you are!" she grumbles at me. "Geez, I thought you were gonna ditch me. We''re running out of time, you know."

    I blink with confusion.

    "H-huh?" I ask.

    "Uh, you promised to go out to eat with me today?" Ida presses. "Remember? We''re not gonna have time to drive somewhere if you keep dragging your feet, slowpoke."

    Oh. Right. She ticked me off in order to win ten dollars. Man, that feels like days ago. Well, I''m absolutely freaking starving and she agreed to pay. That counts for a lot. A school lunch will not fill me up. On the other hand¡­

    "I''m pretty sure I''m on the edge of a mental breakdown, Ida," I tell her. Another mental breakdown, technically, but she doesn''t need to know that.

    "So¡­ like pretty much always?" she asks, grinning at me.

    I glower back at her.

    "No," I gumble. "Much worse than usual."

    "Oh," she says, deflating a bit. "Alright, Hannah. I''ll be gentle, promise. Just good food and good company, no shenanigans."

    I glower harder.

    "...No shenanigans directed at or nonconsensually involving you," she corrects herself.

    Hmm. Much more believable.

    "Swear on your true name, you little goblin," I grunt at her anyway, mostly for my own amusement.

    She sighs dramatically, bringing a hand up to rest over her heart as she solemnly recites her oath.

    "I, Ida Miranda Kelly, do solemnly swear on my name and my blood that I shall neither cause nor allow the occurrence of shenanigans, tomfoolery, goonishness, horseplay, trickeries, or deceptions which would target nor involve Hannah Banana Hiiragi, my stalwart friend and fruit, for the duration of today''s lunchtime outing."

    I continue to glare. She smiles innocently.

    "Good enough," I say, and we depart for her car, an admittedly fancy-looking four-door¡­ or at least fancy to me, as I pretty much think any car that looks new and clean is fancy and have zero understanding or interest in them beyond that. We exit the parking lot and rocket down the main road, Ida having no interest in pedestrian concepts such as ''speed limits,'' ''safety,'' or ''the law.'' At least she wears a seatbelt. She''s reckless, not moronic.

    Though I wish she (along with 95% of my school) would wear her dang mask properly. She has one, but she doesn''t usually have it on.

    We don''t speak as the car roars down the road. Ida sings along with the radio a little, which is almost as annoying as the radio itself, but overall it''s not too bad. We eventually park and walk into Wendy''s and Ida''s eyes bulge comically when I order three baconators. She waits until we sit down before saying anything, though from the strange looks I''m getting I suspect I''m not about to like the conversation that''s about to happen.

    "So, uh," Ida says slowly. "I''m gonna have to do the good friend move here and ask if you have an eating disorder, I think?"

    Oh. Well, that''s awkward but not too bad. Honestly, this kind of thing is why I tolerate Ida''s¡­ abrasive nature. She''s just as willing to plow headfirst into uncomfortable subjects whether they''re for or against you. I manage a bit of a smile.

    "Ah, no, I''m not binge eating," I tell her honestly. "Or¡­ anything else like that. Thanks for checking. I''m just really, really hungry right now, and you''re paying, so I figure if I have leftovers I''ll just save them."

    "Okay, but like, eating three burgers in one sitting cannot be healthy for you. Won''t this eventually give you a heart attack?"

    I stiffen, my mind suddenly flashing back to the panic attack. My chest hurt so much. I thought I was dying. My hands start shaking again.

    "...Hannah?" Ida asks, leaning forward a little. "You okay?"

    "I¡­ I already told you that I''m not," I say, turning away from her intense gaze. "Just don''t talk about heart attacks, okay?"

    "Did something happen in your family?" she asks.

    The question takes me by surprise. No, of course nothing happened to my family? Why would she¡­ oh, I see the train of logic now. Heart attacks usually happen to older people.

    "No, they''re all fine," I insist, perhaps a bit forcefully. "Can we talk about something else?"

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    "Fiiiine," she sighs, leaning back. "I suppose I''ll be your escapist fantasy for the day. What would you like to talk about, Hannah Banana?"

    "How do you manage to be so abrasive while also trying to be kind?" I ask, narrowing my eyes a little.

    "An intensive daily training regimen," she answers immediately. "And also, wow, I give you leave to talk about anything you want and you pick me? I''m so flattered! Are you sure you''re not gay?"

    I can''t help it, the question prompts me to give her an instinctive once-over. Even as a tiny little evil pixie creature, I can''t deny that Ida is attractive. Her skin is clear and soft, her makeup is flawless, and while she''s not some kind of comically stacked short girl she has some very nice curves for her height; no one would mistake her for a child, even as short as she is. Years ago, back when puberty was first starting to hit us like an entire subway system with broken brakes, I stole a few regret-filled opportunities to peep on her like an absolute creep. Which probably should have been a pretty big hint that yes, I am extremely gay.

    But I''m also extremely in the closet, and awful gross garbage I did when I was eleven that gives me an urge to scream if I so much as think about it does not make me any more inclined to come out. Especially not to Ida, because she''s an incorrigible gossip and, despite her attractiveness, I very firmly do not want to date her anymore. I''m quite certain that would go poorly for both of us.

    "Lay off it, Ida," I growl.

    "Aw, man!" she complains. "Does questioning your sexuality count as a shenanigan?"

    "Yes!"

    "Well, shoot. I guess I owe you another lunch, then."

    Another point in the ''Ida is a fae creature'' column: she keeps her promises, both in spirit and letter. Or at the very least, she takes them seriously and actually makes up for it when one is broken. It''s another thing I like about her.

    I guess, given recent events, it''s not outside the realm of possibility that she actually is a fae creature. I don''t think that''s particularly likely; it''s a common joke I make but there are plenty of counter-examples. I guess I''ll keep an extra eye on it, though. I grew talons so all bets are off.

    ¡­Holy fucking shit I grew talons. My heart rate spikes just thinking about it. I want to vomit. Fortunately, my stomach loudly vetoes this idea, and when the food arrives I quickly devour all three burgers to Ida''s clear discomfort. Just keep going, get through the day, and try not to think about it until there''s something I can actually do about it.

    "Don''t look at me like that," I grumble as I start on the fries. "It''s not my fault your stomach is the size of a lima bean."

    "You''re barely any bigger than I am!" Ida protests. "Forget health concerns, where are you physically keeping all that!?"

    I open my mouth to answer, then close it. That''s¡­ actually a question I don''t really want to think about. I''m probably using it to fuel my horrifying monster transformation, after all. I start shaking again, feeling pressure build up in my chest, but I take some deep breaths and try to calm back down. I feel my claws gouge deeper tracks into the inside of my shoes, which sort of helps me calm down but also really, really doesn''t.

    "...We should probably get back to school," I mutter quietly.

    "Yeah," Ida agrees, giving me another concerned look. "Okay."

    We make the drive back in silence, though Ida turns to me as soon as she parks.

    "Hey, I get that you don''t want to talk to me about stuff," she says. "I''ll just want to scream and shake it all out of you, which you clearly don''t vibe with. But talk to somebody, okay? Like your not-boyfriend or whoever. You''re putting up more red flags than a first-act Marvel villain."

    I glance at her with surprise.

    "I didn''t know you read comics," I say, slightly dumbfounded.

    "I don''t!" Ida groans. "I watch movies! You absolute nerd!"

    I wrinkle my nose. I guess the movies aren''t bad, but the comics are better. Well, okay, the good comics are better. Which is definitely not all of them. But still.

    "I appreciate the concern, I guess," I tell her. "But honestly, I don''t even know where to start talking."

    "Then start anywhere," she grunts, hopping out of the car. "Come on, Hannah. You used to be so clever and fun! That''s why we became friends, you know? You were witty as shit and I loved it. But all semester you''ve been getting more and more closed off. You barely talk to anyone anymore. You''re obviously depressed as fuck. What happened?"

    "Nothing happened," I tell her.

    "Bullshit."

    "No it isn''t!" I snap. "Nothing happened!"

    Wait, no, something obvious and huge and awful and horrifying happened. It''s just not what we''re talking about.

    "...Okay, something happened today," I correct. "I ended up spending gym class in the nurse''s office. But like, nothing happened that ruined my semester, okay?"

    "Then why are you so fucking miserable all the time?" Ida presses.

    "I don''t know!" I shout. "I have no earthly idea, Ida! My parents are annoying but not anything worse than that! My brother is the same as always, my dayjob is going well enough, I''m not struggling in any of my classes, and I''m making more and more money with my business! By all accounts, my life is fine. Great, even! I literally can''t think of a single tangible complaint!"

    Other than horrifying and possibly deadly monster problems, but those are all too recent to have contributed to the current trend. Because Ida is right, I''m kind of miserable. I''ve been miserable for a long time and I don''t know what I''m supposed to do about it.

    Ida looks me over one more time and sighs.

    "Just talk to Brendan, okay?" she says. "Or preferably a therapist, but I know better than to push you on that. I know we''re not besties or anything, but I still worry."

    "Wow," I answer flatly. "Real human emotion coming from the evil goblin. I''m touched. ¡­In the head, probably."

    Ida beams with glee.

    "Yeah! See, that''s more like it! Talk to you later, Hannah Banana!"

    I wave goodbye, letting myself smile a little. She did it again, huh? I wanted to punch her in the face just a couple hours ago. Or maybe a day ago, depending on how you count horrifying dream world time.

    I hate to admit she''s right, since I don''t want to talk to anybody about any of this. But she''s totally right. I have enough self-awareness to know that things will get much, much worse if I try to handle everything all on my own. I just really, really don''t want to freak Brendan out or accidentally put him in danger or anything like that. I''d never be able to forgive myself.

    ¡­But that would go against our Best Friend Code. If Brendan started growing talons and turning into a spider monster in his dreams, I would want him to tell me about it even if it would put me in danger somehow. Therefore, I should tell him. (The Code is also why he''s the only person who knows I''m a lesbian. He was a bit disappointed at the revelation, but to be fair I actually took it way worse. I almost tried dating him anyway, but he said no.)

    The rest of my classes pass me by as the stress of fleeing for my life fades into a much more familiar existential dread. I suppose if dying in the other world was going to kill me in real life, it would have happened by now. I just have to worry about the claws, and more importantly I have to worry about explaining to Brendan that I have claws. I successfully manage to avoid him for most of the day, but when we get on the bus together I know my time has run out.

    "So¡­" he prompts. "Your feet?"

    Ah yes, that classic Brendan subtlety is on display.

    "Can I tell you tomorrow?" I ask desperately.

    "Sure," he answers immediately.

    Oh. Huh. I didn''t expect that to work. Tomorrow is Saturday, so I''ll have a lot more time to explain everything. I have my other job today, after all, and it''s important I don''t drop a huge bomb on Brendan like this without having enough time to actually let him process it. So this isn''t really running away from the problem, when you think about it. I''m actually being responsible!

    Satisfied with my obviously terrible self-justifications, I enter my home with my head held high and my guilt cutting deep. I successfully dodge my father on the way to the bathroom, ripping my shoes and socks off and noting with relief and a bit of surprise that the new bandages aren''t bloody. I remove them as well, swallowing with horror as I give my new toes an experimental wiggle. They, uh, they look really sharp.

    I want to claw something.

    I shiver at the thought. It feels alien, but not really in the same way that the awful mind control monsters did. When they invaded my head and stuck their own thoughts in there, it felt¡­ I don''t know. Insidious? Like something was nudging my mind around to think in certain ways, and I could only tell it was wrong because those thoughts didn''t make sense. I couldn''t justify them to myself, and I am really good at justifying things. This, however, is the opposite. It feels like something someone else stuck in my head and forced me to think, but it''s not. It''s me. And I''m not sure if that''s worse.

    I put new bandages on even though the old ones were still clean, then sneak out of the bathroom to grab fresh, thick socks. My feet still look slightly weird, but with all the layers in the way they''re not too bad. Then I hand wash my old socks in the sink, break a red highlighter pen all over them and my pants, then drench them all in Spray ''n Wash to disguise the stains as best I can.

    I grin at my handiwork. I''d stick it in the washing machine as well, but I think it needs a bit more handwashing or else it''ll ruin the other clothes, and if I wash it by itself my mom will definitely ask questions. By leaving it stained, properly soaking, and out in the open, my mom will come to a conclusion about what happened without needing to talk to me at all. It is truly the perfect crime.

    Now, onto work. My earlier sobbing session didn''t mess up my makeup as bad as I''d feared, but I still get some touch-ups on it after changing into a slightly lower-cut top. Something horrible is happening to me. When I go to sleep, I might wake up as a mind slave, or just straight-up dead. My body is mutating into something alien and I have no idea what the cause is. I am embroiled in insane fantasy nonsense which could very literally be the death of me, or worse.

    But it''s Friday night, dang it. I''m gonna play Pok¨¦mon and no one is going to stop me. Not even my constant need to feel like I''m being productive. Door: closed. Lights: on. Outfit: cute. Room: clean. Potential methods of doxxing me: removed. It''s go time.

    "Welcome to the stream, everybody!" I say into the camera with an exuberance I don''t really feel, and my second job begins.

    I am a professional streamer. Technically. Obviously, I still have another job because I''m not making enough money to support myself with just this, but it''s a nice little supplement to my paychecks. And legally, I do this with the intention of making an income, and therefore it is a business! My mom really hated it when I said that. She thinks it''s awful, dangerous nonsense because the internet is full of predators and video games rot my brain, but she hasn''t explicitly forbidden it and that''s good enough for me. No one bothers me when my door is closed and the recording sign is up, either, so it''s one of the better ways to not be annoyed by family members as well.

    So I start to play! I''m currently doing a basic runthrough of Pok¨¦mon Legends: Arceus, trying to complete the ''Dex and occasionally experimenting with interesting glitch opportunities in hopes of throwing the speedrunning community a bone. Unfortunately, Legends uses a strict flag system that makes finding time-saving bugs a major hassle, so I doubt I''ll find anything good. Still, it passes the time, and I get to banter a bit with my modest chat as I play one of my favorite games. It''s nice.

    I don''t have a ton of followers, but I''m steadily growing and that gives me some vain hope that someday I might. Streaming is a job, sure, but unlike my other job I don''t hate it. Being able to do something I don''t hate and make money off of it is supposed to be the dream, right? So here I am. I mostly do Pok¨¦mon stuff, which is a bit of a saturated market, but I''m good enough at the game to hold the attention of the type of person that obsessively browses Twitch for new Pok¨¦mon streamers, and also I have breasts, so that already puts me ahead of most of my competitors. But not all, obviously, and I''m really struggling to find something that sets me apart from the pack. I''m definitely not interested in playing up the sexy girl angle and catering to the horny crowd; I recognize that boobs selling products is a fact of life, but I have no desire to emphasize that. Power to all the ladies that get their money that way, but I''m just here for the silly little Nintendo games. The creeps I already get are way, way, way more than enough, thank you. I very much do not find that kind of attention flattering.

    So that leaves¡­ what? Challenge runs? It''s a good idea, but the kind that''s so good everyone already does it. Fangames? That makes it harder to get an audience before you''re already established because no one knows what the heck Pokemon Blaze Black 2 Redux is. Having a winning personality? Ha. Funny joke. Maybe I should just rip something up with my claws on camera.

    Maybe I should just rip something up with my claws on camera.

    Agh, I mean, that would work. But also heck no. Geez, me, ''no showing feet'' was an ironclad rule before I started mutating into something horrifying and inhuman and dang it that''s a thing that''s happening to me, why why why?

    Ignore it. Play the game. Banter with the chat. Relax. Relax you moron! Relax before you have another panic attack like the weak little freak you are and your heart explodes! You''re doing something you love, Hannah! You''re making an income and securing your future, Hannah! You''re doing everything you''re supposed to be doing, Hannah, so why aren''t you relaxed!?

    I resist the urge to shudder, feeling my feet curl up, easily piercing my bandages and socks to rip gouges into the carpet. Ignore that. I''m on camera. I''ve been quiet for too long. I need a topic of conversation.

    "Does it bother anyone else," I begin, "that none of the official Pok¨¦mon games ever really talk about what the Pok¨¦mon experiences when they evolve?"

    I get a handful of answers from the chat, mostly agreement. The big paragraphs of counterpoints will no doubt be arriving in the next minute or so. I press on with my rambling anyway.

    "I mean, it''s sort of touched on here and there," I continue. "But think about it. Imagine being a Pok¨¦mon and suddenly getting wrapped up in golden light or whatever as your body rapidly shifts into something completely different. You might grow new limbs, or maybe lose old limbs! And it all happens so fast! It must be terrifying for the poor things, don''t you think? It''s always portrayed as the newly-evolved Pok¨¦mon being awesome and kicking butt, like¡­ woo, Charizard! Look at how cool Charizard is, he''s flying around! How did he even learn to fly, though? Is it just all instinct? And if so¡­ don''t you guys think it would be terrifying to just suddenly have new instincts? To find yourself moving completely differently from how you''ve ever moved in your life, but still feeling natural? To be twice as tall as you used to be but never stumble? To just instantly be something completely new but being okay with that?"

    I clench my toes again. I''ll have to hide the carpet damage somehow. I don''t care.

    "I think that''s terrifying," I say. "Do you think that''s why they made evolution postgame-only in Pok¨¦mon Mystery Dungeon? To ignore how traumatizing it would be for everyone? They used amnesia to get around the trauma of the original change. Personally, I think more Pok¨¦mon games should have trauma in them. It''d be helpful! Teach kids early how to manage PTSD!"

    It sure would be handy if I knew how to do that!

    My mom has a strict time limit on how late I''m allowed to stream, but I willfully ignore it. The idea of going to sleep is impossible for me. It''s too terrifying. If it was just a nightmare, maybe I could work up the courage to do it anyway. But the insanity of my life is real, as far as I can tell. It''s real and the moment I pass out I will return to that horrible world of torture and fear. I can''t bring myself to do it. I can''t.

    But I can''t stay awake forever, either.

    I wouldn''t exactly describe myself as a morning person, but I''m definitely not a night person. Staying awake is very difficult for me. So as the early morning starts to pass and birds start singing in the pitch darkness of 4am, I feel myself fading. I can barely talk to the stream anymore. If I don''t shut it off, I''m going to pass out on camera. So I sign off for the night, thanking everyone that stuck with me to the end.

    It might possibly, actually be my end.

    I''m tempted to go chug some energy drinks and try to stay awake forever. I''m tempted to text Brendan goodbye, to ramble into his phone while he''s unconscious and cry about how I might be dying the moment I close my eyes. But instead of doing any of those things, I just fall onto my bed and pass out.

    Then I wake up, and everything hurts.

    There is only pain. My muscles burn. My breath is gone. I''m on fire from the inside. I''m sick. I''m delirious. My death is right behind me.

    They''ve only progressed a little from what I remember. What¡­ what happened? Did I only pass out for a moment? Did I experience over twelve hours on Earth while barely a few seconds occurred here?

    No time to think about it. My body feels like it''s about to explode but I still struggle to twist my legs, start standing again, start to move¡­! Slowly, agonizingly, I stand up, take a single step, then tumble to the ground. It hurts. It hurts it hurts it hurts. I can''t go on. I can''t. I should just give up and let my new friends help.

    No! No, no, no! I have to move! I have to, except my body won''t let me! If I keep trying, I might get irreparably damaged. My new friends wouldn''t want me to be hurt. My friends are coming. It''ll be okay. My friends are going to help. My friends. My friends¡­

    I cough up a foul-tasting mix of bile and blood. I don''t have any friends in this horrible, terrifying world. But fine. I''ll wait. I expected to die anyway.

    The monsters catch up to me. My friends are concerned. Fuck them. I want to scream at them, claw at them, hurt them, kill them! My legs twitch in desperation, but there''s no way I''ll be able to stand up. Instead, following some wrathful instinct, I rub the serrated edges of two legs together, and a furious hissing noise erupts from them like a demonic cricket''s chirp. That seems to startle the monsters. Ha. One last lick before I die. I hate all of this so, so much.

    The most human-looking of the new friends leans down at me, and I know he won''t ever hurt me. Except I saw him hurt something this way, I know he did, I am stronger than you, you monster! You might take my life but you won''t take my mind! He reaches out a hand and I hiss again. It hurts to even make that much movement, but it''s worth it to make him stop. I don''t want him to touch me. Just kill me, damn you! I''m already helpless, what more do you want!?

    But no, he keeps reaching forwards. A horrid sense of foreboding washes over me, but there''s nothing I can do to prevent this. His hand touches my carapace, and¡ª

    It''s okay because he doesn''t want to hurt me. He is a friend. He is sorry. It is okay. He has water. He has food. It is okay.

    Ah. I''m safe, then. I start to relax immediately, but the feeling is so foreign to me that I jolt back to sanity.

    It''s not okay! I roar into the recesses of my own mind. I just got chased all the way across who knows where by a bunch of horrifying monsters! I just got fucking persistance hunted ninety percent to death! I hate you! I HATE YOU!

    The monster touching me (who is not my friend) goes still. Not counting his hideous internal organs, of course, but I try my best not to pay attention to those. He doesn''t remove his hand, though. Instead, my mind suddenly has a very different stray thought from every one prior.

    Wait, I think to myself. Did you just communicate with words?

    Huh? What? Oh my fucking god. No. Fuck no!

    Yes I can communicate with words! I think as loudly as I can. I''m a person you absolute fuck! What is wrong with you!?

    He seems distressed. Even more anger starts to bubble up inside me. I cannot believe this. This is so stupid.

    Leaves and branches, I am so sorry, my mind thinks to itself.

    Go die in a horse''s asshole! I think back.

    The freakish, twisting monsters glance at each other, then back to me.

    We would like to give you some food and water first, at least?

    He¡­ he wants to¡­ gah! I hate this! I hate everything! But I''m in so much pain I can''t even move. I''m starving. I''m dehydrated. My tormenter is offering to help me, and ultimately I can''t afford to say no, no matter how much I want to. If I just chase them off, I''ll die. Plus, something in his backpack smells really good.

    ¡­Dang it. It''s always the food that gets me.

    Yeah, okay. I say, and the monsters break bread with me.

 4. Perspective

    Are you sure you''re human? I grumble indignantly, swallowing some jerky the trio of terrors offered me. The bread didn''t go so well. I''m apparently carnivorous.

    I certainly was the last time I checked, the creepy psychic guy answers me, which I suppose is an answer I can vibe with. Me too, buddy. Me too.

    I don''t think he means it that way, though. Despite looking like a funhouse horror show, Mr. Mindfuck insists that he currently is and has always been a perfectly normal human being. He and his monster pals have set up a small impromptu camp next to me, mostly because I refused to be moved. I still don''t quite trust them, because while they seem nice they also have creepy mind magic and that makes it rather difficult to trust anyone or anything.

    The two monsters that aren''t trying to claim to be human don''t seem to be thralls, at least. The three of them work together to set up camp, acting as equals to gather materials, set up tents, start a fire, and so on. Or at least I assume they start a fire. My ''sight'' still doesn''t detect light at all, so while I can feel the heat, the fire looks nothing like fire to me. It looks more like¡­ steam, kind of?

    You look¡­ off. I tell the ''human.'' Like you''re human from some angles but not others. But most things look strange to me. I think I might not be seeing things as they actually are.

    I''m not really sure how to interpret that, the psychic admits.

    Yeah, I''m not sure how to interpret it either. I spit out the jerky as well. It tastes delicious but I feel sick from my recent flight for my life. I have heat exhaustion, or possibly heat stroke since I literally passed out from overexertion, and I don''t want to end up vomiting it back up.

    I''m overheating, I say. Can you take me to one of the barren zones to cool off?

    What is that? I don''t understand the concept you''re sending.

    I would scowl if I was capable of it. The telepathy ability the ''human'' is using to speak with me is interesting. Neither of us speak the same language, but the spell doesn''t care; it interprets thoughts as raw concepts and associations, so that the intention of our words is conveyed rather than the words themselves. This is, apparently, why he can use the ability to control animals.

    ¡­And me. But I''m doing my best to ignore that, because these people seem inclined to feed me and nurse me back to health as an apology for nearly killing me, and no matter how much I don''t trust them I still need them to do that. I can''t even walk on my own, which is why I need help to get somewhere cool.

    Barren zones, I repeat. The places without plants that you couldn''t follow me into.

    Oh, is that how you see them? The telepath asks me. That must be your Space magic at work.

    ¡­My what? I ask, startled.

    Space magic, he repeats. Is the concept sending correctly? For such a small creature, you have quite the powerful aura. That''s, um¡­ why we were after you, actually. Before we knew you were a person, of course! Again, I''m terribly sorry, we''ve never met an intelligent species that looks anything like you. Would it be alright if I ask what you are?

    H-hold on, I send back. I need a moment to process all that.

    Space magic. He said Space magic, didn''t he? I, Hannah the horrifying radial spider monster, have magic? Like obviously something that''s basically magic is involved with whatever the heck is going on, but if I also have magic that I get to use on purpose? That''s different. It''s a siren call to my inner nerd, and I can''t help but get a little bit excited.

    All of a sudden, everything finally starts to sink in at that. I am a fantasy creature in a fantasy world. I''m basically a character in one of Brendan''s favorite manga. Mangas? Whatever. The point is¡­ okay, I don''t actually know what the point is. ''What the friggin'' heck,'' I guess? This is insane!

    But it doesn''t have to be the bad kind of insane.

    As much as I hate these three for the horrifying torture they put me through, as much as I don''t trust their apparent generosity, as much as they are terrifying, horrible giants representative of how utterly insane my life has become¡­ my nightmares finally caught me, and I''m okay. I might be in danger, sure, but it''s not immediate. Instead I''m having a conversation about magic with a weird telepathic man who seems willing and eager to help me. The fact that I''m small, inhuman, and freaky looking doesn''t matter to him, or to his companions for that matter. They seem to be really used to the idea of nonhuman sapients, and they seem to have like¡­ a basic respect for that? Which already puts this place ahead of a lot of fantasy worlds I''ve read about.

    Two of them clearly aren''t human, after all. They have four long arms, thick fur, pointed ears, a prehensile-looking tail with what I think might be three fingers at the end of it, and a language that seems to involve a lot of growling. One of them is male and the other is female, which is obvious since their anatomy in that regard is quite similar to humans and my method of ''sight'' doesn''t care that they''re wearing undergarments in the slightest. Not that they''re really wearing a lot, which is almost as distracting as the fact that the woman has four breasts to go with her four arms. She has such thick fur on her torso that they aren''t particularly noticeable even though she''s not wearing a shirt¡­ unless you have a weird, possibly magical spatial sense like a certain recently-arthropodic girl I know. I can see everything, but that comes at the cost of seeing inside her body as well, making the overall experience¡­ less than enticing. I''m not sure if I''m thankful for that or annoyed by it.

    ¡­I really don''t have time to think about this right now anyway. I''m a magical spider monster the size of a cat, this is no time to be ogling tits. Focus, Hannah! It''s time to figure out your apparent magical powers!

    What does it look like to you when I step into one of the places you can''t go? I ask the human telepath.

    You disappear from¡­ everything, really, he answers simply. You cease to be physically present at all. Then you reappear in a different location later. It seemed more like invisibility than teleportation, which is odd because most invisibility spells should be impossible for a Space mage. It''s almost as strange as your legs.

    My legs? I prompt.

    Your magic is obvious in your aura, but it''s even more obvious in your body, he tells me. We can''t count how many legs you have. They seem to appear and disappear in impossible ways as you walk. It''s like an illusion, though again you shouldn''t be capable of that. It''s more likely that you''re not entirely in this realm.

    Well that''s¡­ concerning and strange, but also very appropriate. ''Not entirely in this realm'' does seem to fit my situation to a tee, but I didn''t expect it to manifest quite so physically.

    I have ten legs, I tell him simply. And they move normally from my perspective. You all, meanwhile, look like you stretch and shift around the barren zones, or have to take strange turns to avoid more straightforward paths. You zig-zag around a lot.

    How interesting, the telepath muses. Well, I only know the basics of Space magic, but it sounds like you can go into places that don''t exist for anyone else, hide in them, and use them as shortcuts. The ability to perceive these extradimensional locations must be warping your senses; we didn''t zig-zag towards you like you describe.

    Oh good, I''m eldritch, I mentally mutter. Wonderful.

    I''m afraid I didn''t understand that word, the telepath answers.

    Hmm! So the concept of ''relating to incomprehensible outer gods'' doesn''t translate? Is that concerning? I mean that''s not the dictionary definition, but that''s certainly how I use the word, so that''s probably what the telepath is picking up. Agh, I have no idea. Let''s just be safe here.

    If you don''t know it I''m not explaining it, I state firmly. Just get me somewhere cool.

    He nods at me.

    Is it okay if I pick you up?

    I hesitate. He''s been prodding me with a finger this whole time, since apparently it helps him with his magic. I don''t like it, but it''s better than not being able to communicate. Being picked up is a whole different thing, though. He''s¡­ huge. Huge and terrifying.

    Okay, I allow anyway. It''s not like I''ll be walking anywhere on my own.

    He delicately wraps his fingers around the core of my body, threading them between my legs. I squirm a little; I can''t help it, getting touched freaks me out. In doing so, one of my legs actually passes into one of his fingers, causing it to twist and warp around the leg in the same way their bodies would warp around barren zones.

    ¡­Did you feel that? I ask, going still.

    Feel what?

    I guess he doesn''t!? Gosh this is so weird. Some of my legs touch the human''s hands normally, while others pass strangely through his fingers¡­ and the strangest bit is that it doesn''t stay consistent. A leg that used to pass through him will suddenly find itself perfectly solid while the leg next to it starts interacting strangely. What the heck is going on? I guess I really am some kind of extra-dimensional creature. In more ways than one, I mean.

    Then he actually lifts me into the air and I can no longer focus on anything else. Once again, I feel an urge to scream that I''m unable to fulfill. Holy crap holy crap holy crap! I squeeze his hands as tightly as I can with my legs as I''m rocketed into the sky like one of those amusement park drop towers in reverse. The human''s motion is effortless, completely and utterly effortless. I probably weigh less than a gallon of milk, I definitely weigh less than the backpack I carry to school every day, and it''s doubtlessly well within this human''s power to crush my carapace with his bare hands.

    Not to mention if I fall, I could very well die. A tiny, itty-bitty spider the size of your fingertip has a terminal velocity so low that it could jump off a skyscraper and be fine when it hits the ground, but I''m a lot bigger than that. Despite being so light, I might still be heavy enough to crack my body open if I''m dropped from high up. I''m currently closer to the ground than my own head normally is when I''m standing up as a human, but looking down still feels like I''m staring down a vast, impossibly high cliff with certain death sneering up at me from the bottom.

    It''s terrifying, but also weirdly exhilarating.

    Though my screaming muscles still clench with terror and the warmth of the human''s hands is highly unpleasant to my overheating body, as the giant carries me carefully to our destination I can''t help but find comfort in the firmness of his grip. And as I let myself acknowledge that profoundly alien feeling of safety, more and more of the terror bleeds away into joy. It''s¡­ fun!

    And then the terror hits again. I should not be this relaxed. That''s wrong. And he''s touching me, which means he could be doing anything!

    Get out of my head! I think as loudly and angrily as I can.

    What? the ''human'' blinks with surprise. I''m not doing anything.

    Liar!

    I swear on my honor I am not influencing you, he insists, and I have no way to know if I believe him. Suppressing a shudder, I just focus on not falling and try to ignore the bubbling exhilaration in my gut. It''s probably just more vomit.

    Carefully cradling me in one arm, the human gets out a moderately-sized bowl and fills it with water before setting me down into it. It''s cool, and a shudder through my body indicates it''s exactly what I need. I don''t care that I''m lounging in the pool, I still drink a bit, the glorious liquid soothing me on the inside and out. The others let me, busying themselves with duties around their camp as I rest there for what must be around half an hour, just sitting silently and feeling like garbage. I am exhausted, but still far too wired to be anything close to sleepy. Not to mention far too surrounded by people I don''t trust. Though now that my body is no longer boiling itself to death, I''m starting to get very, very hungry.

    I tap the edge of my bowl loudly to get attention. The human isn''t casting on me, so I can''t communicate with anyone. All three of them ignore me, though, so I rub two legs together to make another horrible eldritch hiss, which gets their attention much more promptly. They rush over to see what the matter is and I hold out one leg. The human touches it, and we speak again.

    Is something the matter? he asks.

    No, I''m feeling better overall, I tell him. I just¡­ can''t talk? I didn''t have another way to get your attention.

    Oh, he answers. My apologies. We really do feel terrible about all this.

    Well, how about you give me some more of that jerky and tell me what ''all this'' even is, I suggest. Who are you people?

    Ah, allow me to introduce everyone. I''ll have to do this verbally, since the sounds don''t transfer over the link. My name is¡ª

    "Sindri," he says out loud.

    The [four-arm tree fur person war hunter agile tail] gentleman you see behind me is named "Teboho."

    Hold up, I didn''t quite catch one of those words, I think at him. The what gentleman?

    Ah, sorry, the word is "dentron," he clarifies, saying it verbally. It is the name of the species my two companions are part of. The last of whom is the lovely lady "Kagiso."

    The dentron man named ''Teboho'' is stoutly ignoring me, as he''s busy pitching a tent. I watch with surprise as, after placing a tent stake, a hammer simply appears out of nowhere in his hand, which he then uses to pound the stake into the ground. The hammer then disappears, at least until he prepares the next stake, at which point it''s back in his hand. Crazy! Maybe he''s another Space mage? A hammerspace mage, to be precise! Hee hee, I''m hilarious.

    Meanwhile, Kagiso (aka the woman whose chest I''m firmly refusing to think about) seems to be¡­ whittling, I think? Oh, she has a bow. She''s probably making arrows. Every so often she glances in my direction with a dour facial expression, assuming I''m interpreting her facial expressions correctly given the weird, twisty way I see everyone''s faces. It helps to alter the angle I''m choosing to perceive her from, since some of them make people look more normal than others.

    ¡­Also, huh, I can choose to perceive things in my range at different angles? But only kind of, since I''m seeing all of it at once? Gah, thinking too much about how I work gives me a headache.

    Sindri, Teboho, and Kagiso, I repeat instead. The latter two of whom are ''dentron.'' I see. My name is Hannah, but I guess you won''t be able to interpret that.

    Apologies, you are correct, he says. Sounds don''t carry over the link, only meaning, which makes onomatopoeias and names particularly difficult to convey. When you think of your own name, I merely get an impression of a term you use to refer to yourself, not what the term is. Although now I find myself curious: why does your species have a phonetic language if you can''t speak?

    Hmm. What''s a true enough answer to not invite further questioning? I''m definitely not opening up about the whole ''from another world that I go back to when I sleep'' thing until I have a better idea of what reaction that would cause.

    I''ve never actually met another member of my species, I admit. The language I know was invented by humans. I can''t speak it, but I can understand and write it. I doubt you''ve seen it before, though.

    Can''t hurt to try! he says.

    Well, it totally could hurt to try, but¡­ hmm. Let me think. I guess if they do recognize English that means I''m not the only isekai victim, and that would give away my situation immediately. Which could be totally fine or it could be really bad, but even if it''s bad it means being able to communicate without someone touching me and worming their way into my head. That''s a net win. I crawl out of my water bowl with no small amount of regret, staggering as I get back to my feet. With a claw I write out my name in the dirt, hoping that no weird dimensional shenanigans prevent me from being legible. Best I can tell, though, everything is stable.

    Hmm, you''re right, the human muses. I mean, Sindri muses. His name is Sindri. I''ve never seen these runes before. Though if there was any doubt to your intelligence it''s certainly been dispelled now.

    Um, should I be offended? I ask.

    Oh! Um, no, it''s just that the other two can''t hear you yet. They''ve had to take my word for everything so far, and they''ve been a bit frustrated about this entire hunt.

    I tamp the ground with my claws in irritation. Something about him saying that so casually pisses me off.

    You mean your hunt for me? I grumble.

    Er. Well, yes, I suppose I do.

    Yeah, thanks again for giving me the single most horrifying experience of my entire life, I snap at him. Can I send emotions through this link?

    Um. Technically yes, if you¡­ well, I mean, I generally pick up on that sort of thing.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    Ah, good. I do everything I can to focus on the absolute maddening horror my life has unexpectedly become, and especially this jerk''s part in it. It hurts. I recall the pain of my body, the dangerously hot beating of my heart, the way every bit of me protested for mercy but I just had to keep going or face what I thought would be certain death. I shudder physically at the recollection, and do everything in my power to send it all over the link. It''s a horrid self-torture to relive my recent memories like this. But for the sake of spite, I can do many, many things.

    I¡­ you have made your point, Sindri insists. Please stop hurting yourself just to hurt me.

    No.

    What?

    I said no! I snap at him. I''m mad, so that means I get to make stupid decisions!

    There''s a pause as Sindri tries to figure out how to respond to that.

    Would you perhaps stop torturing yourself if I offered you more meat rations? he asks helplessly. My stomach growls in response.

    Dang it. Not again.

    ¡­Okay, I regretfully allow.

    I am given my promised jerky by the jerk, which I nibble indignantly as Sindri starts to explain why my life was recently turned into a living hell.

    So¡­ ah, where shall we begin? I suppose I''ll start by saying my naturalborn element is Pneuma, and my innate magic focuses on coordination and cooperation. On a personal level, I am¡­ less suited for combat than my two teammates. So I supplement this by convincing beasts of the wild to fight alongside me.

    My first thought here is, of course, ''what''s with all these buzzwords?'' I guess it''s time to suss out the type of fantasy world I''m stuck in. ''Naturalborn'' and ''innate magic'' obviously implies that some people get born with the ability to cast spells. Talking about elements means that we probably have an elemental-based magic system, or at least one where categories like that are relevant. Sindri has already mentioned that I use Space magic, and so my ''naturalborn element'' is probably Space. That is very neat.

    My second thought here is ''dang it, he''s a friggin-fraggin Pok¨¦mon trainer, isn''t he?'' The fact that there are elements makes the comparison even more obvious. So that means there''s only one reason he would try to chase me all over the damn place.

    I''m a Legendary.

    You wanted to add me to your team, I conclude. Why?

    We are on a hunt for a Chaos mage, he explains, and there could be nothing more useful than a creature with as powerful an Order aura as you.

    Gah! Order? What''s this Order stuff? Is that in addition to Space being my magic, or does it mean something else?

    Back up for a second, I say. Do I have a Space aura, or an Order aura? And what does that mean?

    Er¡­ both? Sindri explains. Your aura reflects your naturalborn magic, and yours features a near-even mix of Order and Space. Which isn''t terribly uncommon; I only have Pneuma, but a lot of people have more than one naturalborn element.

    I assume ''naturalborn'' is the name for people who are born with certain elemental spells just built in? I ask. I''m not sure I''m picking up on the meaning perfectly, whatever word you''re using doesn''t have a good equivalent in my language.

    It doesn''t? he asks, seeming dumbfounded. Well, ah, no, ''naturalborn'' doesn''t mean you''re born with elemental alignments and spells, it''s merely the term used to describe which elements you''re aligned to. There''s no need for a word denoting individuals that are born with magic, because all living things are naturalborn to at least one element, without exception. Even mindless creatures like plants, though their auras are generally so weak as to be unnoticable.

    Huh! So in Dungeons and Dragons terms, everyone in this world is a sorcerer. That''s¡­ wild. And extremely concerning!

    So like, does that mean any of the cute little chipmunk things around here might randomly be able to shoot fireballs?

    Do you mean the small animals of the plateau? Sindri asks, since ''chipmunk'' naturally didn''t translate. Any of them could be Heat-aligned, yes, though they are weak creatures and it would be very rare for any of them to have an aura that could pose a threat to a person.

    Well hopefully we don''t have bacteria with dangerous magic, in that case. That feels like it''d maybe be apocalyptic.

    Okay so circling back, then, you said you wanted me because I had Order in my aura, I muse. And that''s useful because you intend to fight a Chaos mage. I take it that some elements naturally oppose each other, then?

    He nods slowly, and I get the impression that he''s a bit weirded out by the fact that I don''t know this stuff. Hey my guy, what do you want from me? You literally found me living under a rock. Cut me some slack.

    That''s correct, he says. Order and Chaos are diametrically opposed, both magically speaking and in base concept. Chaos magic will be drastically less effective against you, which is important because Chaos is the most destructive and deadly form of magic there is. Where the rest of us might be obliterated into nothing, your powerful aura will protect you from the worst of it. Of course, this goes the other way as well; Order magic you cast on powerful Chaos-aligned targets will be relatively ineffective. Your aura will also protect you slightly from Chaos'' complementary elements, but it won''t help at all against most things.

    Gah! I''m filling up on new concepts faster than I can get him to explain them. So elements can oppose each other or compliment each other, and that alters their effectiveness. I know I''m at least a little bit obsessed with Pok¨¦mon but dang it I''m gonna keep comparing it to Pok¨¦mon until I have a reason not to.

    Are there any elements that are particularly effective against other elements? I ask. Super-effective, you might say?

    No, Sindri answers. Not really.

    I drum my legs against the ground in a manner that definitely isn''t a form of sulking.

    Your magic is at its most effective against auras that don''t really interact with it at all, Sindri explains. Using an Order spell against, say, a Motion mage will be about as effective as using it on something without an aura at all. Or, for that matter, about as effective as using it on another Order mage. You don''t resist your own elements.

    What element does Space oppose? I ask.

    Light, Sindri answers.

    Ah. That explains why he didn''t think I could use invisibility or illusion magic. But also: what? Why light? Because Space is so big that not even the fastest possible thing can traverse it? Because black holes can eat light (along with everything else) and gravity is generally associated with space? Eh, I suppose I''ve internalized worse analogies for the sake of remembering type advantages. Like ground being weak to ice because of ''that thing where water gets into cracks in the ground and freezes which makes the ground crack, which is really actually more of a reason rock should be weak to ice, but rock isn''t weak to ice so don''t worry about it.'' And bug resists fighting because it''s really hard to punch a bee.

    Dang it, now I just wanna go back to playing Pok¨¦mon. ¡­Although if the pattern continues, when I take a nap I''ll likely wake up on Saturday morning and be able to do just that! Wild. On the other spider leg, I''m learning about real-ass actual magic right now. Why the heck do I want to go home and play video games instead? Maybe my mind is just starting to wander from exhaustion-induced delirium.

    Besides, I won''t get to play Pok¨¦mon when I wake up at home anyway. I''ll probably end up spending an hour in the shower freaking out about my inhuman toes and then I''ll have to go to Brendan''s place and show him said inhuman toes, and I have no idea how that''ll go.

    Staying awake it is, then.

    Considering how your physiology seems to be related to your Space magic, I suspect it''s an inherent part of your species, Sindri continues. Your ''sight'' seems to use Space magic to function, since you don''t have any obvious organs for such a purpose. I''ve never heard of an intelligent race reliant on an innate magic like that, but it''s hardly outside the realm of possibility. I''d guess your entire species is Space-aligned for this reason, but many of you likely have a secondary element. Yours is Order.

    Which is why you want me to fight a Chaos mage with you, I reiterate. Why are you after this Chaos mage, anyway?

    Because those innately born to Chaos are destructive and dangerous by their very nature, Sindri says firmly.

    Ah! Now there''s the fantasy racism I was expecting! Whew! I was worried for a moment, but now that I know he believes an entire category of person is ''destructive and dangerous by their very nature,'' I can now confidently say that Sindri is, in fact, human.

    Of course, this is a fantasy world, so it''s not impossible that being born with Chaos magic actually makes you inherently destructive or dangerous in some way, but you''re always going to see counterexamples. Part of what makes a person a person is the fact that they can make meaningfully informed decisions. They can comprehend right, wrong, happiness, and suffering, at least intellectually if not emotionally. It''s certainly possible that being a Chaos mage strips you of that capacity and removes your ability to choose good entirely, but¡­ well, color me skeptical.

    People are just born with random elemental affinities, right? I ask. Is that detectable as a baby?

    It is, Sindri confirms. But the mother of this particular mage failed to slay her child as she was supposed to, so now we have to hunt them down.

    Ah, they practice baby-killing here. Skepticism rising.

    How did you find out about all this? I ask.

    The mage turned Teboho and Kagiso''s village into dust, he hisses. Dozens of innocent people died.

    Okay, skepticism¡­ somewhat falling. I don''t know if I''m on board with the ''all Chaos mages are evil'' thing, but chasing down this particular mage for war crimes against innocents sounds reasonable, I suppose. I don''t really know enough about the overall situation, or for that matter what Chaos magic even is. Chaos and Order are terms that get thrown all over the place in fantasy games and it seems like every universe has its own interpretation of what that actually means. Sometimes the forces of Order are the good guys and Chaos are the evil demons trying to destroy everything. Sometimes that''s subverted and Order acts like the good guys but Chaos are actually the plucky rebels preventing the world from descending into a totalitarian dystopia. Though I use the word ''subverted'' here pretty liberally because both tropes are so common it''s really more of a tossup.

    So, Order is good and Chaos is bad, I prompt.

    Pretty much, yes, Sindri confirms. Both are fairly rare elements, but it''s always nice to see a strong Order mage, whereas most people ought to run the moment they see anyone naturalborn with Chaos.

    Why''s that? I ask. What do they do?

    They do what they sound like they do, Sindri answers, leaning down to sketch out a human shape in the dirt. Order is¡­ order. Structure. Codification. Complexity. All living things are naturally creatures of Order, because we are unimaginably intricate combinations of systems. As such, Order magic is most commonly associated with healing, as healing is fundamentally the art of taking something that is destroyed and making it orderly again. Order is the idea that there is a way things are ''supposed'' to be in this vast and frightening world, and by imposing our will upon it we can control our fate. Chaos, meanwhile, is the opposite.

    He sketches out a little spider next to the human, then sweeps his hand across both, scattering the pictures into nothing.

    Chaos is randomness. Meaninglessness. The aggressive annihilation of simple probability. Where Order maintains a form, Chaos destroys it, reducing it to constitute parts¡­ or perhaps turning it into something else altogether. But not in the way a Transmutation spell might change something; Chaos does not turn a man into a beast, or a monster into a¡­ a swarm of insects or something. It''s the kind of randomness that doesn''t change meaning but destroys meaning completely. Most people, when targeted by the most basic of pure chaos spells, simply¡­ disintegrate. Their bodies become something else, particle by particle, substance by substance, until no element of their physical form properly matches with any other. They simply become dust, or gas, or some terrible combination thereof, and they die.

    I pause for a while, chewing on more offered jerky as I soak that in. I''ll admit, the way it''s described is absolutely terrifying.

    I see, I eventually say, not sure how else to continue the conversation. Thankfully, Sindri just barrels on without needing actual feedback.

    This is why we went to such lengths to capture you, he explains. I am a Chaos hunter. It is my job to deal with Chaos mages, and this one is a particularly major problem because they''re human and killing people in dentron territory. The murders are bad enough in their own right, but this could also cause a diplomatic incident. Dentron-human relations are already¡­ rather strained.

    And you fight by sending mind-controlled beasts after your target rather than fighting them yourself, I continue for him. So when you saw a strong counter to your target you couldn''t wait to get her to fight for you.

    I¡­ again, I apologize. I realize my strategy sounds cowardly, but¡ª

    It''s fine, I grunt. I understand. From the way you describe Chaos mages, they seem prone to one-shot pretty much anything they can cast a spell at. Relying on meatshields is just good strategy, and if your meatshields are animals that''s the best way to ensure no actual people get hurt. If your meatshields are Order-aligned animals, then hopefully not even the animals get hurt. It''s a win-win.

    Exactly! Sindri agrees with relief. You understand. Teboho and Kagiso are motivated by vengeance, but each of them also has innate spells that are well-suited to dealing with Chaos mages. If there is one weakness to the element of Chaos, it is that it tends to be fairly straightforward. There are only so many ways one can unconditionally destroy.

    That sounds like the kind of assumption of weakness that will get you killed, I idly note.

    He laughs at that.

    I have been fighting for years against monsters and people with the ability to instantly disintegrate matter with but a thought, he reminds me. I assure you, I am only alive because my hubris has long since died.

    Heh, okay, I grant him. Fair enough.

    And after hubris, pride tends to be next to go, Sindri continues. So I am compelled to ask: will you consider putting aside your well-earned grudge against me and assist us in our task?

    I stiffen with surprise.

    What? I ask. Are you serious?

    Of course I''m serious, he confirms. You are not a beast, so it would be monstrous of me to force you to come. But all the reasons I want you to come have not changed just because I mistakenly attempted something monstrous. You owe me nothing. Quite the opposite, in fact; I''m still clearly in your debt. But as shameful as it is, I must nonetheless ask for your help because I know it could save lives.

    I hesitate. The Call to Adventure, is it? Well sorry, fantasy world, I''m in no hurry to galavant off on a headhunting mission to murder a disintegration mage, of all friggin'' things. My initial response is a firm ''no.'' Why wouldn''t it be? Even if I accept the idea of fantasy headhunters maybe not being bad guys if they headhunt mass murderers (which is very much not something I can just take at face value) I still don''t want to become one! I don''t wanna fight and kill things! Why would any sane person willingly choose to do that outside of extreme duress?

    I quickly realize, however, that this train of thought might not apply perfectly to me, because I am under extreme duress. Not in the sense that I''m being forced to accept this decision, but in the sense that my current position is completely untenable. I know nothing about the world I''m in. I''m tiny and physically incapable of seeing more than a small distance around me. If I tell these people to screw off and they leave me here, I''m the one that gets screwed. I can''t really search for civilization with how limited my senses are, and even if I find one I can''t communicate with anybody so I might just immediately get mistaken for a dangerous animal and attacked! Again!

    As spooky as Mr. Murderous Mind Mage is, he''s still being nice and taking care of me when he doesn''t have to, and he''s my only method of communicating with people. While I hesitate to trust any of my feelings about him (because again, mind mage) he''s affable and helpful and going out of his way to answer my questions, and I have so many questions. I need someone like him if I want to figure out anything about this crazy new world, and here he is, dropped into my lap just like that. It''s frankly rather suspicious, but can I really afford to turn up my nose at it? Uh, so to speak.

    ¡­Can I think about it and get back to you later? I ask.

    I suppose so, Sindri allows. We''ll be moving on in the morning, though.

    Would it be okay¡­ if I came with you? I ask hesitantly. This isn''t me saying yes, I''m not sure if I want to join your crusade thingy. But you said you''re in my debt, right? Well, I need help. I don''t know where I am or where I''m going. I don''t know much about magic or¡­ or really much of anything? I''m lost and you''re the only person I can even talk to.

    He smiles at that.

    Travel partners, then? he asks. I think that sounds quite reasonable to me. You won''t be much of a burden on our supplies, considering your size. And I wouldn''t want to leave you alone in the wilderness regardless.

    Okay! Okay, this works! I can travel around with these three weirdos, get my bearings, and learn about the world. And then once I understand what''s going on a bit better, I can make an informed decision about the whole helping-Sindri-kill-a-guy thing. Which will probably still be ''no,'' because like¡­ murder.

    Travel partners sounds great, I tell him.

    Well, it''s the least I can do for you, Sindri agrees affably. I''ll add you to the team''s telepathic link tomorrow, and properly introduce you to the others. But for now I think we should both get some sleep, don''t you?

    I hesitate. I don''t really want to sleep, knowing what I''ll wake up to. But I can''t deny that my body is screaming for rest.

    I suppose so, I admit. Thank you, Sindri. For not killing me, and stuff.

    Ah, you''re welcome? he says. Sorry again for today, little one.

    Do NOT call me little one, I grumble. I have a name!

    Yes, but unfortunately until we trade languages I''m not sure what it is.

    You''re a telepath! I grumble. You don''t need my name to get my attention.

    True enough, he admits, and then finally takes his hand off of me to wander off and return with a small blanket, motioning for me to get on top of it. I do, and once again I am rapidly lifted into the sky in an exhilarating fear-concoction of altitude and powerlessness. Again I wish I had lungs, though this time I''m not sure if it''s because I want to scream or because I want to giggle. Gah, why is this so fun?

    I''m taken into Sindri''s tent, which immediately freaks me out at first because like¡­ being brought into a man''s tent!? Except that''s a stupid reaction, because I doubt Sindri intends to try and seduce an extradimensional spider monster. I''m not being treated like a woman, I''m being treated like a talking cat. Which¡­ I guess I''m okay with, given the circumstances. The only other woman in the party is someone I don''t even know and hasn''t done much of anything other than glower at me, which I''m going to assume isn''t really a great sign.

    Sure enough, my blanket is placed on the ground next to Sindri''s bedroll, which he promptly gets inside of and passes out. It looks like Teboho has first watch, leaving Sindri and¡­ god, what''s her name again? Kagiso? Leaving Sindri and Kagiso to sleep. I try to get comfortable in my little impromptu pet bed, but it just doesn''t feel right. I keep trying to rip into the blanket with my sharp legs, aggressively kneading it in a manner that will definitely tear it if I''m left to my own devices. It''s not right. I get up, quickly spin in a circle, and sit back down again. It''s not right! On a whim, I step off of the blanket and, following the call of instinct, burrow underneath it instead. I carve a small indent into dry earth, squish my body into it, and wiggle around until the dirt caresses me comfortably. There we go. That''s much better. Hooking the blanket with a bladed foot, I drag it overtop my body and quickly pass into slumber.

    Then I wake up, and I wish I hadn''t. My instinct-driven bliss immediately twists into terror as I realize my head is no longer covered by a protective layer of dirt, which is bad and wrong! I try to move my legs but they''re all gone and my lungs burn because I have lungs now and my whole body spasms as I desperately trial-and-error my way through remembering which muscle makes them inhale. Ah, that''s right. There we go. Slowly but surely, I remember how to move as a human. I''m human again, except for my feet of course. I''m back home. Wonderful. Well, at least I can use these lungs for what I''ve been wishing for since I passed out.

    I bury my face in my pillow and scream.

 5. Rip and Tear

    My pillow-muffled screams eventually die down as the anxiety of staying in bed for too long starts to catch up to me. My mom is going to pop her head into my room any minute now to make sure I''m not oversleeping, and I just can''t deal with that so I guess it''s time to get up.

    I turn over and start dragging myself out of bed, causing my brand new claws to rip up the bedsheets with a loud, horrible tearing noise. I pull my pillow back over my face and start screaming again. If I''m going to be stuck in an isekai anyway, why couldn''t I at least be spared from having to continue my original life too!? Or at least let this part of my life be tolerable! What kind of insane mess of a person do I have to be if turning into an extradimensional spider monster in another friggin'' universe and getting persistence hunted half to death turned out to have a better conclusion than just waking up in the goddamn morning!?

    I curl my toes with frustration and it just rips up even more of the bedsheets, but screw it. Screw it! I don''t care! I''m a freak now and I don''t know what''s going on and I''m just going to have to put up with that! Carefully, I extract myself from my bed, the long claws protruding from my toes having had no issues poking through both my bandages and my socks that I''d futilely left on my feet. Ugh¡­ what time is it? I reach over for my phone and scowl at it. 8:34am. I probably have another hour and a half before my mom actually walks in and starts badgering me, but all things considered I should still get up and get dressed.

    I gather up an outfit in my arms and stagger into the bathroom, dropping the clean clothes by the door and quickly stripping out of my dirty ones to drop them by the shower. With every step, even before I remove my socks, my talons click horridly on the hard floor, sending vibrations up my toes that yearn to have commands to tear sent back down to them. I want to break it all, claw it up and feel the strength in my feet as I grip into the porcelain floor, into the wood beneath it, and feel the resistance of proper ding dang traction. The scrabbling is offensive to me; my claws aren''t being used right and I know that somehow and it''s this horrible, constant brainworm in the back of my head all throughout my shower.

    I cut my shower short because of it. I can''t even enjoy the most simple pleasures in my life right now. I''m far too busy becoming a monster. But it''s fine. It''s fine! Worst case scenario I go full cryptid and gallop off into the woods where maybe I can actually relax from time to time before getting shot by some wandering hunters. Or should I say best case scenario?

    Gah. No. No entertaining thoughts of suicide. I fortunately don''t have much trouble with that, despite my ever-mounting depression. I suppose my prodigious skill at distracting myself with constant work is to thank for that. Move on, one step at a time. It''s the only way I can get through anything. It''s a strategy that works really well until I encounter a problem that can''t be solved in an afternoon of hard labor, and while I realize that''s a lot of really important problems it is, by definition, none of my immediate, short-term ones. I kick butt at doing homework, at working my day job, at getting to my appointments on time, and at fleeing from my apparent impending death. These are all things inside my skill set. Long-term planning, though? Not so much. Talons growing out of my feet is not a problem I can just bash my head into until it''s solved, and as a result I don''t even know where to start with it. I have no idea how to deal with it beyond just ignoring it as best I can, and I know that won''t work but I have nothing else. I just feel helpless.

    Which is exactly why I need help.

    You awake? I text Brendan, tossing my clean clothes over my body.

    The response starts immediately, but it''s nearly five minutes before Brendan hits send on a single word.

    Unfortunately, is the ultimate response. I snort with amusement. Brendan is very much not a morning person.

    Everything okay? I ask.

    There''s this fucking bird, he sends, his next two sentences each individual messages.

    Outside my window.

    It is a bastard.

    Chuckling and shaking my head, I formulate a comforting response befitting my status as his best friend.

    Most birds are bastards, considering their lack of marital practice, I send back.

    Okay but this one is a bastard and also a fuck. Because it will NOT SHUT UP. It has kept me awake since 4am. I hate it so much.

    It''s true, most birds also fuck, I agree. It''s probably singing in an attempt to do so, actually.

    No stop being witty it''s too early in the morning for this.

    I''m not really being witty so much as smarmy, I argue. Which is totally different.

    What if, instead of witty or smarmy, you were murderous, Brendan suggests. Against, specifically, this fucking bird. Because I want it to die.

    Killing a bird would be a fowl crime indeed, I point out solemnly.

    Damn it you''re with the bird aren''t you, Brendan realizes. You have joined with it to torment me!

    Well obviously there''s no better response to that than "Muahahahaha!" so that''s what I send back. Brendan wallows in this cruel but inevitable betrayal for a while before I finally ask if I can head over to his place, which he agrees to on the condition that he also needs to shower first. I magnanimously release him from the iron grip of an entirely text-based conversation he can easily walk away from whenever he wants, and contemplate how I''m going to pass the time until I can get out of the house. I guess I should probably eat, but unfortunately that means going downstairs.

    Actually¡­ wait. I sniff a bit. Do I smell pancakes?

    My anxiety forgotten, I make sure my shoes are on tight and curl my toes a bit to make sure they won''t just get shredded. The soft padding gives way and once again fires waves of pleasure up my toes, but the shoes are tight enough and the soles thick enough that I''m in no danger of clawing my way out the bottom. That''s all I really need. Rushing downstairs, I happily slide onto a seat at the dining room table and take in the delicious scent of my mom making pancakes.

    "Hannah!" my mother greets me cheerfully. "Just in time. I''ve got a hot one coming up. You want any sausage with it?"

    "Nice!" I cheer. "And yes please!"

    A radiant pancake is swiftly deposited on my plate, which I coat with glistening butter (and then a lot more butter once my mom turns around) before topping it all with thick, amber syrup, mixing it with the buttery goodness and happily shoveling it all into my mouth. Pancake pancake, paaaancaaaake! It''s impossible to predict when my mother will get the urge to make a big breakfast for everyone, but when she does it''s always wonderful. The sausages are deposited on my plate before I''m even half done with the pancake, letting me enjoy devouring them together. An unexpected explosion of savory, salty goodness fills my mouth as I chow down, surprising me with how much I love it to death.

    "Is this a new brand?" I ask, immersing myself in the joy of the mystery meat.

    "Nope, same as always, honey," my mother informs me.

    "Huh," I mutter. "Must be a new batch. It tastes way better than usual."

    "Hmm. You think so?"

    Well, I''m not going to look a gift sausage in the long-since-crushed-into-a-meat-tube mouth. I''m in heaven, and as I''m learning is probably going to be a trend, I''m very hungry. I devour twice as many pancakes as I usually do, though thankfully no one minds; my mom generally makes a lot of extra ones so we can reheat them throughout the week.

    "So, you have any plans today?" my mom asks, and I immediately stiffen a bit, trying to focus on the delicious food.

    "I''m, uh, going to Brendan''s to hang out," I admit.

    "Hmm. Are his parents home?"

    "I dunno," I lie.

    "Well, you know how I feel about that," my mother says. "Boys that age will take advantage of you if you''re not careful."

    I grit my teeth. I know she has my best interests at heart and I know she''s just worried about me, but we''ve had this conversation a hundred times before and at some point I will not be able to listen to her baselessly imply my best friend is a rapist.

    "I understand," I say. "Like I keep telling you, it isn''t like that. He rejected me, remember? We''re just friends."

    "He''s a teenager, honey. You need to be careful. A boy invites you over to his house alone and there''s only going to be one thing on his mind."

    Yeah, and it''s probably Pathfinder. First edition, obviously. This is literally her entire argument: boys like to take advantage of girls, Brendan is a boy, quod erat demonstrandum. And like, yeah, I''m not some ignorant little church girl who doesn''t understand that sexual assault happens. I get it. But it''s pretty obvious that she keeps saying this because she just doesn''t like Brendan, has absolutely no interest in trusting him as a person, and by extension doesn''t trust my choice of friends. It doesn''t matter that we''ve known each other since we were eight, it doesn''t matter that Brendan has never done anything cruel to anyone because he''s the best thing in my entire gosh dang life, she doesn''t like him and she doesn''t trust him. And she is impossibly stubborn about it, just like she is with everything.

    There''s no point in calling her out on it. If I get mad she''ll play the victim. If I try to explain she''ll never be convinced. If I try to vocalize my feelings she''ll take offense to the fact that her attempts at protecting me make me feel bad. The worst part about all of it is that she loves me. She loves me a lot. She puts a lot of effort into doing what she thinks is right for me. She makes me food and helps me find good colleges, sure. She''ll go full Karen for me if I let her, aggressively going after anything she perceives as a threat to my well-being with all her power as a lawyer. She dotes on me when I''m sick, she pushes me when I''m holding myself back, and she throws her all into planning family vacations that everyone will enjoy. She always has my back. She''s not a selfish person at all, and I know if I give her a task, something she can work towards that I think will help me, she will pour her everything into it. It just has to be something concrete, something achievable, and something she can physically do. My mother will work hard at anything other than self-improvement.

    She''s just like me in that way, and I despise it.

    I seethe silently through the rest of the captive conversation, and it''s more than enough time for me to finally receive a text from Brendan that he''s ready for me to come over. I take that as the perfect excuse to leave the table with the excuse of an obligation (my mom at least values punctuality, even if she doesn''t value Brendan) and I start the familiar walk over to his house.

    My mom does not, I notice, ever worry about me getting assaulted when I''m off walking alone, but I suppose to be fair to her we live in an extremely nice neighborhood. We''re firmly at the tippy-top of upper middle class, what with both of my parents having doctorates and my father even having his own business. Unlike what my food service job''s health insurance policy insists on, teeth are not exactly optional bones, and as long as humans keep existing they will keep having cavities and cleanings. And of course my mother makes good money at her law firm, as well¡­ even if she almost certainly makes less than her male co-workers. Funny how even lawyers can''t stop their employers from illegally applying a pay disparity. Still, as I wander past the fancy, two-story houses on this pleasant spring day, I can''t help but notice again that I am lucky and my life is quite good. I wish my depression would just shut up and pay attention to that fact.

    I walk up the beautiful garden path that leads to Brendan''s house, noting with derision that no one in his family actually maintains it. Unlike what I told my mother, I''m supremely confident Brendan''s parents aren''t home, and it''s for pretty much the same reason that I''d be willing to bet that Brendan sees the groundskeepers more than he sees his own mom and dad. Brendan''s parents are landlords and stock traders, making their vast wealth through the unholy magic of late-stage capitalism. As such, a lot of their work involves leaving the state to check up on their many, many properties and investments. Even when they aren''t working, though, their favorite pastime is taking long vacations to other countries, and resultantly they are basically never around.

    Brendan''s parents are another constant reminder of the fact that my parents really aren''t that bad. My mother and father are present, helpful in their own ways, and consistently make an effort to do right by me. His mother and father tried raising a kid as a lark and then decided they didn''t like it very much when he was barely ten years old, and he''s more or less raised himself ever since. And frankly, he''s turned out better for it! Brendan''s mother actively claims his autism is caused by vaccines and the fact that she''s so irrationally angry about that is pretty informative of how negatively she thinks of said autism (to which I''d like to emphatically say ''fuck her''). His father agrees with this general assessment, and is a generally belligerent and self-entitled man who I have nothing but horrible memories of during the many times I''ve unfortunately had to interact with him over the years.

    So, in case I haven''t made my opinion on Brendan''s family crystal clear: I hope they all eat twelve cases of needle-shaped sticks of deodorant before vomiting it all, mixing it into a stew, and eating it again. My family is pretty much the one thing I never complain to Brendan about, because I know he''s got it a thousand times worse.

    Anyway, Brendan answers the door seconds after I ring it, the cute dork having probably been sitting on the stairs next to the front door waiting for me. He gives me a goofy grin and invites me inside, and I immediately stare with hesitation at the spot where I''m normally supposed to take off and leave my shoes.

    "That bad, huh?" Brendan says, tilting his head to the side a little.

    "At least I''m no longer limping, I suppose," I sigh. "Look, it''s not really bad so much as¡­ insane, I guess?"

    "Huh. Well, you''re probably just gonna dance around the issue unless we dive into whatever it is you wanna tell me, so¡­ let''s just do that now?"

    Dang it, he''s totally right.

    "...Okay," I allow. "Let''s head to the basement first, though."

    He nods and leads me there, though of course I know the way. Brendan has basically claimed his house''s entire basement for his purposes, and it contains nearly all of his gaming and computer stuff, as well as massive shelves of tabletop RPG books, figurines, and paraphernalia. His computer is open to a drawing program I can''t identify, in which a half-finished picture of what I assume is one of his or his party member''s TTRPG characters. She appears to be some kind of large-chested dragon woman, and perhaps fittingly for the occasion she does indeed have talons. That''s an uncomfortable coincidence, but I suppose I''ll give Brendan the benefit of the doubt and won''t start to wonder if he''s secretly the mastermind of my suffering until I start to grow scales, too.

    "So," he prompts.

    "So," I answer hesitantly.

    "Come on, out with it," he says, putting his hands on his hips. "You''re the one who called this meeting, after all."

    I''m working up to it! Geez.

    "Uh¡­ you''re not gonna believe me unless I show you, so¡­ I guess I''ll just do that," I say, plopping down on a nearby couch.

    "This is gonna be some kind of wacky flesh-eating athlete''s foot, isn''t it?" he asks as I take my shoes off.

    "If only," I grumble.

    I peel off my rather useless sock and reveal my horrifying talons, stretching and wiggling my toes as they once again taste freedom. I could be wrong, but the bony area seems like it might have started growing up the toe knuckle, though it''s a bit hard to tell. I haven''t examined my feet super closely, if I''m being honest. It just makes me too anxious.

    Dang it, I want to claw something.

    "So, uh¡ª" I start, but Brendan barrels through my words like a freight train.

    "Did you get way better at makeup without telling me, or are those real?" he asks.

    I blink, not expecting him to jump straight to the ''are they real'' question without a bit more skepticism first. Does he know something about this? Or¡­ no. It''s Brendan. Best friend code. He would have told me.

    "They are, in fact, real," I confirm. "They grew out of my feet in a bloody mess and I don''t know what''s happening, but it''s freaking me out."

    Don''t make fun of me. Don''t doubt me. Please, please don''t tell me I''m crazy. I won''t be able to take it. Not from you. But he doesn''t, of course. Instead he kneels down on the ground, inspecting my freakish foot from a dozen different angles, getting so uncomfortably close to it that I can feel his breath.

    "These just¡­ grew," he clarifies.

    "Yeah, in like a day," I confirm. "Maybe half a day? It was horrifying."

    "It''s like your bone structure is¡­ hmm. Can I touch you?"

    I stiffen up a bit, but I''m already mentally prepared for this particular question. Brendan doesn''t touch people basically ever, which is a state of affairs I''m very happy with because I hate to be touched. But I figured he might want to investigate, so I swallow my anxiety and give my consent. He gently pokes around, squeezing the bone and the base of the toe where they meet, feeling out the reality that, yes, that really is part of my skeleton, and it really is protruding from ten different places on my body, and that is not how human skeletons are supposed to work!

    "This is incredible," Brendan breathes.

    "I know, but I kind of don''t like being incredible in this regard?" I whimper. "I''d really prefer someone else was the scientific marvel here."

    "O-of course, sorry," Brendan apologizes immediately. "But still¡­"

    He starts poking around near the tip and I go very, very still.

    "C-careful," I caution him. "They''re really sharp. I¡ª"

    "Ah!" Brendan yelps, pulling his finger back in pain despite my warning. "You weren''t kidding! Geez, how are your bones that sharp without shattering? They should be too brittle for an edge like that. It''s almost as if¡­"

    I don''t really hear the rest of it, because I''m too focused on the blood beading on the end of my best friend''s fingertip and the horrible verve it seems to fill me with. My heart beats faster. Saliva pools in my mouth. Time seems to slow as the muscles in my legs bunch up, ready to kick out and rip more beautifully red gashes through the skin of the person I love more than anyone.

    "Get out," I whisper.

    Brendan shuts up and looks at me with surprise.

    "What?" he asks.

    "Out!" I shout at him. "Go upstairs! Bandage! Now!"

    My sudden outburst gets through to him and he skedaddles, leaving me vibrating with murderous energy. I want to chase him! I want to tackle him to the ground and¡­ and¡­ agh! No, no, no! Bad horrible monster instincts! I''m not doing any of those things!

    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    I''m not. It doesn''t feel like I''m actively fighting against some terrifying inner beast that''s going to rip itself free and commit murders on my behalf or anything. I''m not going to turn into a werewolf and wake up naked in the forest surrounded by corpses. ¡­Probably not, anyway. It feels more like I have an open bag of potato chips nearby, and I know I should probably close the bag and put them away, but I''d really, really like another chip. Like a mild addiction to performing actions I''ve never even done before. Except in this analogy eating the chip would involve injuring my best friend, and not even Chile Lim¨®n flavor is worth that.

    ¡­Though maybe if there''s something nobody would miss, I suppose I could indulge myself and rip it to shreds. As a little present to myself. Just once, to see what it feels like.

    I free my other foot while I wait and carefully flex my toes in an attempt to calm down. Brendan eventually staggers back downstairs holding a massive whiteboard, some dry erase markers clattering down the stairwell to herald his impending arrival. I want to go help him pick them up, but I end up not moving, rooted to the couch by vague anxieties and paranoid terrors that I can tell are patently ridiculous even considering my current absurd circumstances. Oh well. He''ll understand.

    "Okay!" Brendan announces, setting up the oversized whiteboard on a stand in front of me and uncapping the black marker. "Let''s write some stuff out and try to get a handle on the facts! Then we can figure out where to go from there. So¡­ when did you notice something was wrong with your feet?"

    "Um¡­ yesterday morning, I guess?" I answer.

    "Okay, yesterday¡­" he mutters to himself, moving to write on the board. The marker, unfortunately, passes across its surface without leaving a mark. Brendan scowls, tosses the black marker to the side, and fails to find any ink in the blue marker next. The red marker suffers the same fate. Only the green marker seems to function, so I guess we''re doing this whole thing in green.

    "Okay!" Brendan tries again. "Yesterday morning. What happened?"

    "Well, my toes started bleeding in the shower when the bone first poked out of them." I say hesitantly. "Er¡­ actually, no. We should probably back up and talk about my dreams."

    "The digging ones?" Brendan asks.

    "Uh, no," I say. "I mean yes, but not anymore. I¡­ I got to the end of the tunnel, I guess. I finished digging. That''s when this all started. Now my dreams are all super vivid and lucid, and I''m like this¡­ spider monster thing? In a weird fantasy world? I guess!?"

    Brendan blinks at me for a few long moments before turning back to the whiteboard.

    "Well I''m not¡­ I''m not really sure how to put all that into the timeline," he says. "How about you just¡­ tell the whole story?"

    So I do. I tell him what I remember about burrowing out of seemingly-infinite wood, catching a wild animal on a strange alien world, the fact that I''m apparently fourth-dimensional, at least in some limited capacity. I describe my horrific dash for my life, my new maybe-friend-maybe-mind-rapist associate Sindri, who gave me the most horrifying experience of my life on complete accident. I explain the limited things I know about the magic system, the whole Order vs. Chaos nonsense, and the offer I got to help three obviously-murderous strangers kill another, allegedly murderous stranger.

    "And then I went to sleep in that world, so now I''m back in this one," I conclude. "Now I''m here."

    "Damn," Brendan sighs. "Is it weird that I''m jealous?"

    "Not at all, but you definitely shouldn''t be," I insist. "All of this is horrific and terrible."

    "But magic, though!" Brendan exclaims, throwing up his hands. "And super cool claws!"

    I bristle a little at that.

    "You think these freakish bone growths are cool?"

    "Extremely, yes!"

    I sigh, trying to ignore the slight flush on my cheeks. I should have expected that. Brendan is such a dork for fantasy stuff. I love him so dang much, I was completely serious when I tried to date him. Like¡­ he''s not attractive at all, not physically. But I don''t click with anyone the way I click with him, and¡­ gah! It sounds dumb to say but I don''t know how to describe it other than ''he''s not like other guys?'' He doesn''t creep me out the way most of them do, even when he sometimes not-so-subtly checks me out. What would be revolting from anyone else is flattering from him, and I don''t really get why. I don''t wanna have sex with him, but I want to do¡­ I don''t know. Everything else, I guess? Whatever that is? But he doesn''t, because he knows I''m not really into him that way, and he''s fine with that because he''s wonderful but like¡­ gah! I should not be thinking about this right now! Or at all! He''s right, I''m way too gay for a relationship to work out, and I know that, it''s just¡­ ugh. Being a girl nerd is already a pain in the butt because all the guy nerds are constantly trying to get in my pants but I''m actually stuck with the same problem they''re stuck with! There just aren''t enough girl nerds!

    "Hannah?" Brendan asks. "Are you listening?"

    "Huh?" I ask with a jolt. "Uh, sorry, nope. I missed all of that. What were you saying?"

    "I was asking about the predatory urges you mentioned."

    "Um¡­ I''m not really sure what there is to say," I hedge.

    "You said you wanted to claw things?"

    Yes. Desperately. I need to rip something open with my feet and I don''t know why.

    "I mean, it''s just a random intrusive thought," I say. "It''s not really a big deal."

    Brendan taps his chin.

    "Let me get you one of the big dog toys Fartbuns doesn''t use anymore."

    "Where is stinky ''ol F-Buns anyway?" I ask.

    "Asleep, probably. I''ll be right back."

    Fartbuns is, naturally, Brendan''s dog. He''s named as such because Brendan got said dog for his thirteenth birthday despite being absolutely terrified of dogs. He hated them as a kid. Being slobbered on and especially loud barking tends to set off his sensory overload, and to this day he hates the way they smell. Hence he bequeathed his ''thoughtful present'' the scathing title of Fartbuns, although I''m sure there''s something else his parents put on the collar as his ''real'' name.

    Thankfully for Fartbuns, Brendan has grown to love the perpetually happy little fuzzball over time. The huge Alaskan Malamute is pretty well-behaved as long as he gets his exercise, and thankfully our neighborhood has some great dog walking trails whenever the absolutely massive yard Brendan''s home features isn''t enough. Also thankfully for Fartbuns, he''s unlikely to miss any given piece of his infinite mountain of dog toys, which is good because I am getting increasingly excited at the prospect of destroying one.

    Brendan eventually returns with what is pretty much just a teddy bear, except for how it''s styled to look ferocious instead of cuddly. Also, it squeaks.

    "Here you are," Brendan says, tossing it at me underhand. "Go nuts."

    I snatch it out of the air and stare at it. I suddenly realize I''m, uh, not actually sure what to do? I''ve never torn something open with claws before. Should I like¡­ pin it between my feet while I''m sitting, or something? No, that''s dumb, how would that even work? I''m not ripping it apart like plastic wrapper, I''m¡­ I''m slaughtering prey.

    I toss the bear to the ground, standing up slowly as I feel my breath get heavy. Instinct floods my motions in an intoxicating haze and I feel myself lifting up on the balls of my feet, my body coiling for violence. I carefully lift up a foot, balancing on my other leg as I line up my kill, and stomp down.

    The floor protests and my body sings as my talons easily pierce into the fluffy stuffing of my hapless prey, causing it to let out a terrified squeak. My curved blades easily hook into its body, so when I lift my foot off the ground once again I bring the little bear with me, dragging it into the sky where I then stomp down on it again, and again and again until I finally smash the bladder making that defiant squeaking noise! Its struggles ceasing, I pin what remains of my catch to the ground and dig my free foot deep into its neck, ripping the skull from the body. I am victorious! Now I can¡­ I can¡­

    ¡­I can clean up all the stuffing I got everywhere, I guess!? Um. Yeah, wow, let''s not get ahead of ourselves, Hannah, that was a flippin'' teddy bear. I blush furiously at the thought of how thoroughly I enjoyed that, sneaking an embarrassed glance at Brendan. He seems to be downright jubilant about the whole process of my budding monsterdom, and I''m not sure if that''s less embarrassing or more.

    "S-sorry," I mutter, kneeling down to start collecting my fuzzy victim''s wool viscera.

    "Are you kidding?" he grins. "That''s the biggest smile I''ve seen out of you in ages! Something about that really¡­ I dunno, nailed it home for me, I guess? That was just not a Hannah thing to do at all. You''re really turning into a monster girl, huh? I gotta admit, I''m jealous."

    "Don''t be jealous," I hiss. "This is completely messed up!"

    "Oh, definitely, but at least it''s in a really cool way," Brendan says cheerfully. "Like¡­ wow. Wow! I can''t fucking believe this is happening, this is insane. Do you think you''re going to keep mutating or evolving or whatever?"

    "I don''t exactly have any precedent to compare myself to," I grumble. "But I doubt I''m lucky enough for the changes to stop here."

    "This is so fucking cool," he whispers.

    "It''s not cool!" I snap at him. "Brendan, please! This is terrifying! I have no idea what''s happening to my body, I have no idea what caused this, I have no idea what it''s going to do to me, and I have no idea what anybody else is going to do to me because of it! And it''s¡­ it''s infecting my mind! You just saw that, you said so! That¡­ that wasn''t a Hannah thing to do!"

    I point a shaky finger at the eviscerated teddy bear, feeling my breathing start to accelerate dangerously.

    "So stop being happy about this!" I demand desperately. "It''s wrong and it''s going to ruin everything! I don''t need you to fanboy over me, I need a solution! A¡­ a plan! Some way to hide all this before¡­ before¡­ before whatever the fuck is going to happen when this gets found out!"

    Brendan frowns at that, seeming to contemplate for a moment.

    "Oh," he finally says. "Okay. Sorry about that. Um¡­ I mean, I guess I''ve thought about how I might handle something like this before, so I have a few ideas."

    "...You''ve thought about this specific situation?" I ask incredulously. "Really?"

    He shrugs.

    "Not like, exactly this situation, but yes I''ve thought about what I''d do in a bodily transformation situation."

    "Why¡­?"

    "For the same reason I''m excited about it happening to my best friend: I think it''s cool. Anyway, the first strategy is to become as open and public about it as possible, as quickly as possible."

    "That sounds like the absolute worst strategy ever," I grumble.

    "Hear me out," he insists. "It''s 2022. It''s the information age. And while there are certainly still crazy people and religious bumpkins out there in the world that will see you as a monster and nothing else, the vast majority of the world is going to see you as a human girl with a strange condition that categorically deserves the exact same fundamental human rights as everyone else. That means privacy and control over your medical records, that means protection from discrimination, that means continuing your life mostly as-is, and most importantly that means protection from being kidnapped or murdered. If we presuppose that there are other people like you and they''re unknown due to some sort of dangerous masquerade enforcement system, be that the government or the magical society itself, then while going public draws their ire, going public enough means that they''re only painting a bigger target on their backs if they make you disappear. As long as you don''t go public too slowly, they won''t have a window to get rid of you and will likely be better served by obfuscating your situation with pseudoscience and propaganda until people collectively lose interest in the fact that your body is strange."

    "That¡­ seems like a lot of assumptions," I point out.

    "Of course it''s a lot of assumptions," he counters. "Everything I have to offer is going to be like, eighty percent assumption. We know nothing, we can only extrapolate chains of logic based on whatever seems most reasonable to us. I''m not the one metamorphosing, you can''t expect me to know any more than you do."

    "Right, right," I sigh. "Yeah, that makes sense. What''s your next idea, then?"

    "My next idea is the opposite. Publish pictures of your talons online, with a link to like¡­ a dummy account people can PM you on, but nothing identifying. Then hope someone who knows what''s happening to you reaches out."

    "Nope, I hate that idea," I shudder. "I''m just gonna get messaged by creepy fetishists and you know it. Plus, the hypothetical masquerade people would have to be able to dox the crap out of offenders in order to do their job, which means there''s nothing stopping them from coming after me. What''s your next idea?"

    "Pretend to be a furry."

    "What!?"

    "As long as your transformations remain as things that could reasonably be a costume of some sort¡ªand you could definitely manage that with your talons, as long as you don''t let anyone get too close¡ªyou can just be kind of eccentric and people will happily assume that''s all there is to it."

    "Okay, but what if the changes get worse?" I ask. "Like, way worse."

    "I mean, there''s a lot you can probably hide behind a veneer of just being a little weird, but yeah at a certain point you''re screwed, I suppose. Of course, we don''t know how bad your changes are going to get, or if they''ll even progress at all, and it''s not like we can''t change strategies if one of them becomes untenable."

    "...I guess so," I grumble. "I''m not really a good actor, though."

    "True, you''re terrible at it."

    Um? I know I said it first, but still. Ouch.

    "Well if you don''t like any of those, my last idea is to just try to hide all the changes," Brendan continues, shrugging. "Which is what you''ve been doing. The problem is that you''re putting your reveal to chance; if you do end up getting revealed, it''ll be in a situation you have zero control over. Furthermore, while you''re most heavily denying the possibility of people coming to hurt you, you''re also denying the possibility of people coming to help you. It''s the low-risk, low-reward strategy that just kind of leaves the situation stagnant."

    "Sounds perfect for me," I grunt.

    "Uh¡­ I mean, I know you meant that as a joke, Hannah, but¡ª"

    "I''ll just keep hiding," I conclude firmly. "At least for now. Like you said, we can always switch the strategy later, and if we wait a little longer we''ll be able to see if any other changes start to happen to my body or not."

    "I¡­ suppose waiting for a week or two to gather what information we can would be prudent," he agrees hesitantly. "I''m just worried you''ll keep hiding a lot longer than you should because it''s easy."

    I pout mightily, but Brendan is too powerful for it.

    "...Yeah, okay, that''s fair," I admit. "If you don''t push me I probably will. That''s¡­ why I''m here, I guess."

    He smiles slightly, letting the conversation come to a natural close. As usual, I feel better about it now that I''ve talked with him, even though we didn''t really come up with a plan. I knew that going in, though. There''s no way to plan with no information available. There''s no way to seek information without risk. And I''m far too terrified and too overwhelmed to try bringing strangers into it anyway. But talking to Brendan helps dull the panic of the situation, the feeling of isolation, and brings in one of the only people I truly, deeply care about into the mix.

    I wish I could say anyone in my family falls into that category, but for whatever reason they never have. Which is another one of those things I haven''t told anyone other than Brendan; the idea that I''ve never loved my own family makes me feel like a monstrous sociopath. They clearly love me. They''re not abusive, they''re not negligent, and while they have their problems they''re not outright awful in any way. And yet I read so many stories about how family is important, about how people love their family no matter what, about how people that are put through horrible abuses far worse than my own still love their family despite all that, and I, meanwhile, just feel¡­ nothing.

    I suspect the only thing I''ll feel at their funerals is a dull horror at the knowledge that I don''t feel anything else. In many ways, I know that makes me even more of a freak than my feet do. Valuing your family is the right thing. The human thing. But¡­ I don''t. And I don''t know why.

    "Well¡­ this is all pretty crazy, huh?" Brendan eloquently summarizes.

    "Yep," I sigh. "I''m still not totally sure I''m not in a psychiatric ward somewhere."

    "That''s fair," Brendan grimaces. "That''s definitely fair. Um¡­ can I ask¡­ what it felt like? To grow them, I mean."

    I glance down at my feet, wriggling my toes as I idly note how quickly I seem to be getting used to them.

    "...There''s not much to say," I admit. "It just hurt. A sharp pain from them cutting open the skin, and a duller ache from the growing pains, I guess. That was about it."

    "No flash of mana or whatever?" he asks with a grin.

    "I don''t even know if mana is a thing," I admit. "I''ll keep you apprised on the magical details as I work them out, I suppose."

    "You''d better! I''ve got dibs on being the first person you teach spells to. Archmagi Hannah and Brendan shall drive this world into darkness!"

    "Okay, I''ll pencil in ''conquering the world with arcane might'' immediately after ''actually learning the names of the other kinds of magic.''"

    "Haha, okay, fair," Brendan admits, glancing at the whiteboard. "We''ve got, what, six kinds? Order, Chaos, Space, Light, Pneuma and you said he also briefly mentioned Motion. Unless Motion is the opposing element to Pneuma, which wouldn''t make much sense, there''s probably quite a bit more than that. And considering how vague the categories are, you''ve seemingly got either a really soft magic system or a poorly understood magic system, both of which are ripe for exploitation and abuse!"

    "That''s not reassuring," I grumble. "If the magic system can be abused, it''s probably already being abused by people a lot more powerful and knowledgeable than I am."

    "What, you don''t think you can use basic logic to immediately become the best at a system that entire societies have already been using for thousands of years?"

    "Well I didn''t get any mental notifications about experience points or skill upgrades, so no, I doubt it''s going to be that easy. I don''t even have magic, I just sorta am magic in a weird fourth-dimensional way that mostly seems good for hiding. Which I will probably need to do a lot because I am tiny and weak."

    "Yeah¡­ you''ll be okay, Hannah," Brendan assures me. "You''ll figure things out and make it through this."

    "Well, if I randomly die in my sleep you''ll know I didn''t," I answer sardonically.

    We sit on the couch in silence for a little while longer, but Brendan stands up before I can wallow for too long.

    "Let''s go get Fartbuns up and take him to the backyard," he suggests.

    I sigh and nod, grabbing my socks.

    "Nah, leave your shoes and stuff off," Brendan suggests. "The only thing bigger than our yard is the fence surrounding it, nobody''ll see."

    I frown at that.

    "I don''t exactly like seeing my feet like this," I remind him. "I''d prefer the shoes."

    "Humor me?" he suggests.

    Gah. Fine. I follow him upstairs, carefully keeping my toes off the ground so I don''t ruin the hardwood floors. Brendan easily wakes the family fuzzball with promises of "outside time!" and we head out the backdoor together, Fartbuns bounding happily ahead of us and quickly finding a nice spot to piss in the grass. The yard isn''t very exciting; there''s a decently-sized patio complete with a sizable gas grill, and pretty much everything else is a vast green field of wasted water. When we were little they had more things here; a miniature playground, a trampoline, and an inflatable pool in the summer. But that''s all gone now, so everything is just grass, grass, and more grass.

    Tennis ball in hand, Brendan plays a halfhearted game of fetch with Fartbuns as the two of us silently appreciate the beautiful weather. Once out in the grass I let myself relax a little, lowering my talons into the soft earth and relishing in the feeling of grip I get from it. I rock back and forth on the balls of my feet to my heels, trying to ignore my ever-growing instincts to chase the dog every time it runs off to grab the ball.

    "You doing okay, Hannah?" Brendan asks.

    "No," I tell him. "I feel weird. Really weird. I just¡­"

    Brendan tosses that dang ball again and Fartbuns dashes off after it, causing me to instinctively crouch a little lower, preparing to run. Agh, I want to¡­ I don''t know! I want to move, to run, to feel the dirt in my toes and¡­ and it''s weird! It''s weird and freaky and wrong, but like¡­ it''s just me and Brendan here. Is there any reason I shouldn''t? As long as I don''t claw Fartbuns, obviously.

    "You just what?" Brendan asks, retrieving the ball from a returning Fartbuns.

    "Just¡­ just don''t judge me," I beg, and when he throws the ball again I''m right behind the dog.

    I don''t generally like exercise. I''m certainly not a fan of running, and my recent experience of nearly running so hard that I die will forever get an honorary spot on my bulging shelf of traumatic memories. But nonetheless, as my feet grip into the ground and my legs explode my body forward at speeds I''ve never achieved before, I feel raw, unfettered elation.

    Fartbuns quickly loses interest in the ball as I barrel after him, panting excitedly as he dodges around my charge and happily accepts this apparent upgrade to playtime. I pounce at him again and again until eventually, after a near-miss, the big happy doggo retaliates. He playfully nips my hand as I reach out to grab him, which is just the opportunity I need to double-down my assault and wrap my arms around my favorite fluffy boy. We roll in the dirt, eliciting another nip on my arm, to which I respond with the only thing a rational woman can do in this situation.

    I bite him back. I don''t even know why, I just get the sudden urge to chomp and I roll with it, winning a mouthful of dog fuzz and a light, toothy pinch on my new playmate. It''s fun! Then Fartbuns quickly wriggles free of my grip and bounds happily around me, and the dance resets. I think at some point I start laughing, and I can''t really bring myself to care.

    I don''t know how much time passes, but eventually Fartbuns and I are both left panting in the grass, my outfit ruined by countless green stains and my toes caked with three layers of dirt. Giggles still occasionally bubble up from my chest as I stare up at the blue sky, the back of my mind constantly jolting with terror at the question of ''what if someone sees me like this!?'' But there''s no one here but Brendan and I, and it''s okay for him to know. It''s okay.

    I¡­ had fun. I haven''t had fun like that in a long time.

    Brendan''s towering figure eventually moves to loom over me, offering a hand to help me to my feet. I take it, still grinning like an idiot.

    "Thanks," I tell him. "For¡­ for all this. For being you, I guess."

    "I''m glad I could help," he answers. "And Buns really appreciated it too, it seems."

    "Yeah, I¡­ I kind of hate how much I loved that?" I admit.

    "Well don''t," he says. "You''re not allowed to hate any part of my best friend. She''s too cool for that."

    I smile wider.

    "God. How are you not absolutely freaking the heck out, Brendan?" I ask. "I¡­ how can you so blithely accept this?"

    He shrugs.

    "I guess I''m just better at freaking out on the inside."

    I laugh. What else can I do? All of that was¡­ I don''t know. I don''t know if this is a good thing or not. I''m happy now, sure, but¡­ this changes nothing about the horror of the situation. I''m still afraid it''s all going to keep getting worse.

    "I need to feel normal for a while," I declare. "Let''s go play Super Smash Brothers."

    "Sounds good to me," Brendan agrees as I try to wipe all the grass off my body. "You gonna stream today?"

    "Yeah," I confirm. "But starting a little late won''t kill anyone."

    "You''re not worried about suddenly mutating on camera?"

    Oh, fuck. I mean, I am now.

    "...My talons took a whole day to grow in and they hurt like hell," I hedge. "It''s probably fine. I''m sure I''ll notice before anything gets too wild."

    "If you say so."

    We head back inside and I put my shoes and socks back on, whiling away the next few hours playing video games. Eventually I can''t justify staying any longer, though, so before long I''m heading home, feeling just the slightest bit better about my situation. I''ll go home, I''ll get my work done, and soon enough it''ll be time for bed.

    And then it''ll be time to learn magic.

 6. Magical Meetings

    A comforting pressure surrounds me as I wake, though I''m immediately aware I am no longer in my bed. Yesterday went¡­ pretty well. After getting home from Brendan''s house I just streamed most of the day, which helped take my mind off of things. Brendan even found a set of foam blocks that I can stick on my claws to prevent me from ripping up my bedsheets any more when I sleep, and they also give that pleasantly tingly feeling of stabbing something, which helped a lot with my anxiety about getting in bed.

    Now that I''m very, very far away from my bed, I nonetheless find myself comfortable and warm, my many-legged body nestled pleasantly in the earth. Ah, that''s right. My weird burrower instincts took over last night so I dug underneath the blanket given to me and put it on top of me. Geez, I''m like a trapdoor spider. Trapdoor hyperspider? Whatever. I flex all my legs in sequence to make sure I know which ones are which, and start taking in my surroundings.

    I assume it''s morning, because Mr. Mindfucker and his pals are all up and about, cleaning up the campsite. I guess I should put more effort into mentally thinking of him by his name, ''Sindri,'' because it would be kind of awkward to send over my nickname for him instead, no matter how fitting. The three of them seem to be quite experienced working together, effortlessly completing their individual jobs without a word and without getting in each other''s way. That said, they also don''t seem to be particularly friendly with one another, as while the two non-humans (who are called dentron, if I recall correctly) occasionally chatter a bit with each other, they barely acknowledge Sindri at all and seem to treat him with mild suspicion.

    Which, y''know, fair. Mind magic is suspicious as fuck. On the other hand, it sounds like people don''t get to choose the kind of spells they''re born with, so it''d be unfair of me to judge the Pneuma mage while being hesitant to do the same to the Chaos mage.

    Regretfully, I wriggle my way out of my comfy little dirt coffin, shaking off the detritus still sticking to my body for a moment before I get the urge to just step into a nearby barren zone instead. It just¡­ feels more right. Hesitantly, I do so, and all the dirt caked on my body simply falls right off, unable to pass the barrier between dimensions. Huh! I check myself over with my spatial sense and can''t find so much as a single speck of dust on my carapace. I''ve probably never been this clean in my life. In fact, I get the distinct impression that I couldn''t choose to enter the barren zones with crap stuck to me even if I wanted to.

    On the one leg, this is awesome. I''m so clean I probably don''t even have microbes on me! Being this clean is so wonderful and good, it''s like dopamine central for my various neuroses. On the other leg, this is creepy. I hate having all these new foreign instincts pushing me to do things, even if they''re convenient in regards to figuring out how my body works. Something has fucked with my head, mind mage or no, and that''s violating. And on a third leg¡­ not being able to bring anything into the barren zones is going to be more of a hassle than it will be a benefit, I think. I won''t be able to carry anything! For that matter, I won''t be able to wear clothing, though I guess I don''t really feel immodest. I suppose there''s not much to be embarrassed about on my creepy ten-legged bug body. I haven''t even had to go to the bathroom yet, which is good because I''m not at all excited to learn how the heck I actually do that. I, uh, try not to stare too hard at my own intestines. More importantly, though: I won''t be able to carry equipment, materials, supplies, food¡­ no spider-backpack full of meat rations for Hannah! It''s a tragedy.

    ¡­Although presumably once I eat food, it doesn''t leave my body when I enter a barren zone. So maybe I can carry stuff inside my mouth?

    I step back out of the barren zone into the middle of camp, where all three other people there jolt with surprise as I seem to appear out of nowhere to their senses. I grab a small rock and close my mouth around it, walking into the barren zone and spitting it back out without trouble. Okay, neat! I take it back out to the normal realm, spit it out again, and pick it up between my teeth so that it''s not fully enclosed by my body. This time, crossing over into the barren zone causes it to simply drop from my grip as if it stopped existing. It seems like I can carry things into my little pocket dimensions only if those things are completely enclosed by my body. That''s a pain, but it''s better than nothing.

    I suppose while I''m in my little pocket dimension here, I should try to get a better handle on how it actually works. Now that I understand what I''m looking at a bit better, things are easier to wrap my head around. There are pockets of space I can enter which balloon within the physical area around them like bubbles in a bathtub. When someone else walks into a spot where I perceive one of these spaces, they simply flow around it, causing the strange twisting effect that kind of looks like gravitational lensing. I, meanwhile, step into the bubbles as if they''re normal space and walk straight through them, giving me a ''shortcut'' where other people have to ''go around'' the bubble. The bubbles are all different sizes and shapes, scattered around the environment, and by changing the ''angle'' I''m looking at things through my spatial sense, some bubbles will appear, disappear, grow, shrink, move, and so on. There are a set number and position of the space bubbles, but it''s difficult for me to perceive them all at once. It might be possible for me to perceive them all at once, but that''d take a degree of familiarity with fourth-dimensional thinking that my pathetic human mind simply does not have.

    ¡­Meh. I can figure it out. I''m not going to give up on perfecting my cool new magic powers just because they require naturalizing myself to the w-axis.

    I scuttle out of the barren zone again, startling my new companions for a second time. Teboho (the male non-human) babbles something at me in his weird language, which I don''t really understand. I''m not sure how to convey that to him, though, so I just tap each of my legs on the ground once in sequence, lifting them in a little wave pattern around my body. Hopefully that''s enough to acknowledge I''m paying attention, at least.

    Sindri kneels down and holds out a hand, which I''m tempted to hop onto so I can be carried but I just touch it with a single leg instead. Let''s not go crazy just yet.

    Good morning, he greets me. Did you sleep well?

    I feel much better than I did yesterday, I admit truthfully. Thanks.

    Of course! Now, would you like to speak with the others today?

    That sounds like a good idea, if we''re going to be traveling toge¡ªow!

    A sharp pain fires in my side as a pebble bounces off my carapace. What the fajita? Four-boobs threw a rock at me! I tense immediately, rubbing two legs together to produce that furious, warbling hiss to communicate my displeasure. Kagiso (which is her name, Hannah, get your mind out of the gutter) just scowls at me, the long ears on the side of her head twitching with displeasure.

    Well for my first question I''d like to ask her what the heck that was for! I snap at Sindri.

    I''m so sorry! he sends back. I have no idea what has gotten into her!

    Both he and Teboho turn to chastise her, but she just tosses another pebble at me¡ªthis time with her three-fingered tail¡ªwhich I dodge by scuttling to the side. This causes her to narrow her eyes at me further, but Teboho bodily steps between the two of us and starts pleading with her. She glances his way and starts yammering an explanation, and the two of them exchange words for a while.

    A-ah, apologies again, Sindri says, reaching out to poke me once more. Kagiso can be¡­ impulsive. It sounds like your body is interacting uncomfortably with her innate magic.

    So she threw a rock at me!? I protest. That''s not impulsive, that''s just being a jerk.

    Please don''t think too poorly of her, Sindri requests. She''s a bit¡­ odd. I don''t think she meant you any harm.

    If you don''t intend to harm someone you shouldn''t throw any friggin'' rocks at them!

    I agree entirely, I assure you, Sindri says calmingly. How about we establish a method of communication so she can apologize to you directly?

    Ugh. This morning is off to a terrible start already.

    How does it work? I ask.

    It''s simple enough, Sindri says. I''ll cast a spell on everyone that will join us together in a mental network. We''ll all be able to send and receive information over the link. It''s normally a faster and quieter method of coordinating in combat scenarios, but we can simply use it on a regular basis to maintain the ability to speak with you without needing me to be in physical contact all the time.

    Huh. Okay. I''ll admit, that sounds like a handy use for mind magic. And it''s not like it''s any riskier than communicating only with Sindri.

    Let''s do it, I answer.

    The four of us gather together, the three of them each grabbing another''s wrist so they''re all in contact with each other at the same time. They kneel down and I, with instruction, put a leg on each of their hands, Kagiso flinching a bit as I do. Teboho seems a bit more accepting of my presence, but both of the dentron are obviously uncomfortable with me. Hopefully, that will change soon.

    A pulse of¡­ something shivers up my body and settles into my mind, that tickling presence of Sindri''s magic making itself known. It remains even as the others unlink hands and stand back up.

    Hello, everyone, I send to them. Can you all hear me?

    The dentron mutter a few words at Sindri, but then Teboho answers me.

    Yes, I hear you little one, he confirms.

    The mental voice he sends is startlingly different from the one I ''hear'' when Sindri speaks to me. It''s interesting. When Sindri speaks it almost feels like I''m just thinking to myself. The different cadence, word choice, and habits are the only things that make it obvious it''s him. Teboho doesn''t sound like that at all, though; he just feels like a different person, the voice deep, sturdy, and reassuring.

    Don''t call me ''little one,'' I grumble.

    I will not, he confirms apologetically. Do you have a name?

    It does, but it''s unable to speak it, Sindri confirms on my behalf.

    Uh, I''m also a ''she,'' not an ''it,'' thank you, I correct.

    Is this not easily remedied? Teboho asks. She can write.

    Not in any language I know, Sindri shrugs.

    Then we will improvise, Teboho insists. We must know her name, Sindri. Give me a moment. Kagiso, apologize for throwing rocks.

    Undamaged, Kagiso sends in protest. Her voice is dramatically different from both Sindri and Teboho, stilted and somewhat fuzzy, as if it''s being projected on a CRT television with a bad connection.

    Whether or not you hurt her is not important, Teboho explains patiently. Would you want someone to throw rocks at you unexpectedly? Would that not distress you?

    ¡­Oh, Kagiso says, wrinkling her nose. Apologies, creature.

    Not as bad as ''little one,'' but please don''t call me ''creature'' either, I grumble. Why were you throwing rocks at me, exactly?

    In response to my question, Kagiso grabs another pebble from the ground with her tail, which really is a fascinating little structure. A long, thin extension of her spine that reminds me most of a monkey in its flexibility and shape, the tail ends by splitting into three smaller tails, each about the size and length of a finger. Like her feet, which have longer, more flexible toes and small claws, her body seems more designed for grasping and climbing than a human''s. Considering how much of her body is humanoid but more¡ªtail, extra arms, bigger ears, fur, etcetera¡ªher species probably has to eat a lot more food than humans do every day. I wonder why they evolved that way.

    ¡­Assuming this fantasy world functions via Darwinian evolution, anyway. I mean, I don''t know how else it could work, but it''s a fantasy world with magic, they could very possibly have been spat out by a divine entity as-is. What do I know? I should probably ignore that and focus on the fact that she just grabbed another rock, and the last two times she did that were not pleasant for me.

    Targets, she says over the link, pointing at four different rock formations in sequence. Then her mouth moves, and a word is spoken. But not by her.

    I understand the word. It makes perfect, clear sense in my mind, despite how I''ve never heard it before and will be hearing it for the first time no matter how often I listen to the sound. The word is something other, something beyond that touches me, peels me open, and holds the core of my being with the distant affection of a woman holding someone else''s baby. It laughs at me, joyful and fond and utterly without obligation.

    "Ricochet," something says with Kagiso''s lips, and she throws the stone.

    I''m so shaken by the word that I almost don''t notice her flick her tail, launching at the first of her targets. The pebble bounces off the rock and, in gleeful defiance of all physical laws, accelerates as it bounces off into the next rock, then the next, dramatically increasing in speed every time until it finally smashes clear through a poor animal''s skull and splatters its brains onto the ground behind it.

    Literally none of that would be possible on Earth.

    I take it your naturalborn element is Motion, then? I ask, trying to restrain my stunned terror. Or was that something else?

    Motion, Kagiso confirms. Know where shot will go. Always.

    She kneels down next to me, her eyes boring into my carapace.

    Unless. I bounce off you. You''re¡­ wrong.

    I shudder slightly, scuttling backwards.

    Well there''s an obvious solution to that, don''t you think? I grumble.

    Her eyes go wide.

    Tell, she insists fervently, scooting towards me more.

    Just don''t bounce things off of me!!!

    She blinks slowly.

    Not a solution, she pouts. What if need to throw you? Or use you for angle?

    Wh¡ªno! I yelp, hissing at her and stepping back further. Do NOT throw me!

    "Kagiso!" Teboho barks out loud, followed with a bunch of words I don''t understand.

    Kagiso''s ears droop and she walks away from me as Teboho gives me an apologetic smile.

    Hey, come on over here, he says. I''ve got something I want to show you.

    Is it that alphabet you''ve been writing?  I ask.

    He seems surprised, but it''s not like I can''t tell what he''s doing. Even though he''s a good ways away, I get a bird''s eye view of what he''s writing in the dirt with that weird pole of his. I do not, of course, have any idea where he got the pole, but I assume it''s more of his funky hammerspace magic.

    Yes. Do you recognize it? he asks.

    No, I admit. I was just guessing, but it seems like the most logical thing you could be doing. It reminds me of an alphabet I''ve seen before.

    Ah, yes, I see! he nods happily. Well, I was thinking that the easiest way for me to get your name would be to teach you which sounds are associated with which letters and let you write it out yourself.

    I drum the ground once with each of my legs in sequence.

    That''s very thoughtful of you, I tell him. Thank you. Let''s get started.

    And so we do, and I learn the basics of the dentron language. It is, as I feared from looking at how many damn letters it has, more comparable to Japanese than English. I don''t know much Japanese, despite my heritage, but Dentronese (or whatever it''s called) has the same basic structure to katakana: each letter is a syllable rather than a single phoneme, and accordingly there are well over twice as many of the stupid little squiggles than the English alphabet has. They use the odd guttural hiss as a consonant in a handful of letters, but the rest of the sounds are familiar. It''s weird how they use mostly the same phonemes and syllable structure as my father''s native language, but Dentronese still manages to sound way, way uglier. It grates on the ears even without adding in the occasional choking noise.

    Still, it gets the job done. I point out the symbols for ''ha'' and ''na,'' quickly assembling a close approximation for my name.

    "Ha¡­ na," Teboho vocalizes. "Hana?" Is that right?

    Hannah, yeah, I confirm. That''s close enough. Thank you.

    Of course, Hannah, he sends happily. It''s truly the least I can do for you. I''d like to apologize for the other day, as well as for my sister''s conduct this morning. Please forgive her. She struggles to get along with others.

    I drum my legs again. I suppose it''s as good a shrug equivalent as anything.

    It''s fine, I allow. Strange doesn''t mean bad, I''ll figure her out. We won''t have any problems as long as she stops assaulting me.

    Ah, but what if she has to throw you? he asks, shooting me an amused grin.

    I hiss at him and he laughs, giving me a good look at his terrifying teeth. Hmm. Or perhaps not-so-terrifying teeth? They''re a lot flatter than human teeth, his species probably eats a lot more plant matter than humans do. Certainly more than I do.

    I would like to give you this corpse as apology, Kagiso says, having returned with the body of the small animal she recently exploded the skull of. She holds it out to me, its blood leaking between her fingers.

    I stare at her. She stares silently back.

    Um, thank you, I say. That''s¡­ very thoughtful of you.

    Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    Kagiso smiles very slightly.

    Yay, is all she says, and then she wanders off to finish packing up the camp.

    Hmm. I, uh, hope I haven''t started a dangerous precedent. Should I even eat this? It''s uh¡­ got a lotta organs leaking out of it.

    ¡­Which actually makes it smell pretty good.

    Okay, fine, waste not want not. I scuttle over to it and pull it into my mouth. Mmm, delicious raw meat. Let''s not worry about how much I enjoy this and just let myself appreciate the flavor, okay? I have enough on my plate. And thankfully, my feeding practices don''t seem to net me any strange looks from my companions. Well, not any that I think are because of the feeding practices, anyway. Before long the camp is collected into a set of packs which the group slings onto their backs, and very noticeably does not put into any kind of hammerspace. Hmm. Maybe the hammerspace mage doesn''t have enough room for it all? ¡­Or maybe my guess was just totally off.

    So Hannah, just for clarity''s sake, we''re heading to the base of the branch and traveling further up the trunk, Sindri explains. You''re comfortable heading that way, right?

    I mean, I don''t know what that is, so¡­ hmm. Wait. Branch? Trunk? And I dug my way up through wood, right? Holy bagels, am I on a world tree!?

    Um¡­ is there a reason I shouldn''t be comfortable heading that way? I ask hesitantly.

    Sindri laughs.

    Not unless you''re wanted on the upper branches, I suppose. We shouldn''t be going high enough to worry about the burning tunnels or anything like that. And with us around, you should be safe from any monsters along the way.

    Uh. Hmm. Yeah that more or less confirms the world tree theory, unless it''s all metaphorical. It feels like the kind of thing that might be dangerous to ask about because they''ll definitely ask why I don''t already know the answer to that question, and I won''t have any lies that don''t sound dumb. There''s another question I want to ask, though. One that I do have a good excuse for.

    I''m not sure I''m interpreting the word ''monster'' correctly, I hedge. What''s the difference between a monster and an animal?

    Hmm. Nothing formal? Sindri answers after a brief pause. I suppose it''s aesthetics, mostly.

    Alright, so there''s not some entire category of crazy something-or-another that monsters have, they''re just¡­ dangerous creatures, I guess.

    Then let''s get going, I suppose, I say.

    Forgive me if this is an offensive question, Teboho says, but would you like a ride, Hannah? We are likely to keep a marching pace for quite some time.

    Translation: ''your legs are smaller than our flipping feet and we''re not gonna slow down for you.'' I admit, it''s a tempting offer, but I''m a bit hesitant to be treated like luggage.

    I think I''ll be okay for now, I say. I don''t have to walk as far as you do.

    I punctuate my point by stepping into a barren zone, eliciting surprise and a slight chuckle from Teboho. Once everyone starts to set out, though, I soon find myself struggling. I don''t have to be constantly sprinting for my life anymore, but my tiny body still has awful heat regulation and I don''t have enough time to rest in the cooler barren zones before I get exhausted. I make it barely half an hour before throwing in the towel.

    Okay¡­ remember your offer when we started, Teboho?

    He laughs and kneels down, both palms out to let me scuttle onto two of his hands. I do so, feeling that terrifying, elating rush of being lifted into the sky. He places me carefully on top of his backpack, and I hook a leg into a couple of the straps and over each of his fuzzy shoulders to secure myself. Gosh his fur is soft, I can even feel it through the muted sense of touch in my legs.

    You ready? he asks.

    Yeah, sorry about this.

    It''s no trouble, he assures me, and then the horrifying giant starts to walk and I try very, very hard to scream. Of course, I still can''t, so I have to settle for screaming inside my own brain.

    Holy gondola he''s so flippin'' fast! I clearly take being five-foot two for granted, if this is walking speed for someone at human height. Considering my little spider body might maybe reach one foot two if I stand on my tippy toes, I feel like I''m living through Shadow of the Colossus right now! Aaand now I have Revived Power stuck in my head. Ah, well.

    Though I feel what I assume is the sun beating down from above us, our trip up the steep tundra just keeps getting colder. Motes of frost and occasional patches of snow get more and more common, which might make me wonder if we were just on a normal mountain climb if not for the fact that I can still ''see'' that, under the layer of dirt at our feet, there''s wood rather than stone.

    Ah, now that''s a fantastic view of the trunk, Teboho says to me. It''s majestic isn''t it?

    I''m blind, I remind him. I can only sense things close to me.

    Oh, truly? My apologies. You''re quite the strange little person, I must admit. I''ve never heard of anything like you. Does your kind hail from the Slaying Stone, like the humans?

    I hesitate. I have to admit I''m ignorant at some point, I suppose. I just need that to not be suspicious. There was a level of intense vitriol in the words ''Slaying Stone,'' so I probably don''t want to push at that too hard.

    I¡­ don''t think so? I answer. I''m sorry, I just¡­ you literally found me living under a rock. I hardly know anything about the world. I''ve never met anything else like me either.

    Ah, I see. I''m sorry to hear that. It must be difficult to be alone. If you''re curious, I''m certainly happy to answer questions.

    I appreciate that, I say honestly. I''m very curious about a lot of things, I''ve just never really had many people to talk to before. Is it okay if I ask stuff that might seem¡­ I dunno, really stupid and basic?

    Of course! he assures me.

    Well, now or never, Hannah. ¡­Well, okay, I mean it''s actually more like ''now or any time after now, probably,'' but let''s pretend it''s now or never to try and trick my procrastination instinct into shutting up.

    ¡­Are we on a big tree? I ask hesitantly.

    There''s a pause, and then Teboho bursts out laughing, jostling me unexpectedly enough to send a wave of terror through my body. Don''t fall, don''t fall¡­!

    Well! You could certainly say that, Teboho confirms as his chuckles die down. Merely calling The Mother Tree ''big'' is rather underselling it, however. You have, ah, sensed a tree before? You are familiar with their structure?

    Yes, I say. I''m able to sense details very well, I just can''t see light or color or things that are far away.

    I see, I see, he nods. A tree has roots, it has a trunk, it has branches, and it has a canopy. The Mother Tree has all of these things as well, though the difference in scale is so vast it is barely comprehensible. Entire countries may exist on a single one of Her leaves. We are at the base of one of the Mother Tree''s branches, where we will soon meet with the trunk. You know how the trunk of a tree has grooves, yes? Jagged and wavy patches between the individual pieces of bark? We will walk into one, a vast canyon deeper than the eye can see, and from there we will enter the trunk itself.

    Yeah, okay. Standard world tree stuff.

    It sounds beautiful, I say, trying to seem suitably awed. I wish I could see it.

    Perhaps you can, Sindri chimes in. I''ll try to work out an upgrade to the coordination spell that can allow us to better share senses. I think it will be useful for a number of purposes.

    I shuffle irritably.

    Like letting people tell you their names? Well, either way, I agree. That would be useful. I''d like to be able to see.

    He nods and I return my focus to Teboho.

    My next question is about you, if that''s okay, I say.

    Go ahead!

    How does your magic work? I thought you might be Space-aligned like I am after seeing you make a hammer appear out of nowhere, but now I''m starting to think I''m wrong.

    A good guess! he reassures me. But no. I am dual-aligned to Matter and Barrier. I can create static objects at will, with a focus on sturdiness. I use this to form myself weapons and armor, create cover for my allies, and give my sister objects to use her spells on if needed. She and I have always fought together as family, and I believe it is a sign of our bond that our innate magic compliments each other so well. Though I have to admit, I''m pleasantly surprised at how well Sindri''s skills enhance our own, despite his unfortunate humanness.

    Why thank you, Sindri sends dryly.

    Sorry, can we clarify all that a little? I ask. You say your innate spells create matter?

    Nearly all Matter magic does, Teboho confirms, not seeming to understand why I''m suddenly so exasperated. It is the primary feature of that form of magic. I can also un-create the things I create, though that''s only the things conjured by myself personally.

    Well crap in the peanut butter, that''s¡­ that''s¡­ what even is that!? The amount of energy required to make, like, a single gram of matter is in the terajoules! It''s the kind of power scale where you start using gosh dang atomic bombs as a unit of measurement! Magic has to be absolutely cracked to the point of insanity unless mass-energy equivalence just isn''t a thing in this universe¡­ but if that''s true then that''s insanity. How would physics even work!? Aaaaaaaah!

    Is¡­ is there any chance you could give me a quick rundown on all the types of magic? I ask helplessly. If they''re all as absolutely bonkers as Matter magic, I need to know sooner rather than later.

    Of course, Teboho answers easily. The pairs are Order-Chaos, Pneuma-Death, Art-Matter, Motion-Barrier, Light-Space, and Heat-Transmutation. With the exception of Chaos, which is quite rare for any being to possess, they are all fairly common.

    Huh. That''s a decent variety, though there are some odd picks. Art? Barrier? I mean, Barrier is the opposite of Motion, so it''s presumably about stopping stuff. Heat and Transmutation both seem like normal kinds of magic too, but why are they opposites?

    Are there any others that are considered evil or overly dangerous the way Chaos is?

    Death and Heat are the two complements to Chaos, so they are rarely smiled upon. Your naturalborn element is a reflection of who you are, after all, and both types of magic are nearly always destructive in nature. Death in particular is magic that revolves around the creation and abuse of departed souls, so its users are generally depraved.

    And ''creation of departed souls'' of course means ''killing people.'' Cute.

    Unlike Chaos mages, however, the naturalborn of Death and Heat are rarely incapable of controlling themselves, Teboho continues. If they are destructive and murderous, it is due to their own decisions, and they are thus judged by their actions, not the circumstance of their birth. However, this is not so with those of Chaos. The lack of volition that Chaos imposes on its naturalborn is the reason they must be purged. I¡­

    He pauses, his breath catching a bit as I watch his tear ducts fill up ever so slightly from the inside. (Which is super gross, for the record.)

    ¡­I should speak of something else, I am sorry, he finally says.

    It''s fine, I assure him. Don''t worry about it, Teboho.

    I am normally much more composed, he insists. I fear my sister is handling our situation far better than I am.

    I''m sure she''s hurting, I tell him. She probably just doesn''t show it the way other people do.

    Of course, he sighs. Of course, you''re right. Thank you, Hannah. You are very kind. I appreciate your patience with her.

    I wriggle uncomfortably. I''d like to say it''s just common decency, but I know better than to expect decency to be common.

    I''m just giving her the benefit of the doubt, I insist. Mistakes and misunderstandings are forgivable. But if she doesn''t treat me well then I''ll run out of reasons to do so for her.

    That seems more than fair to me, he agrees amiably. Did you have any other questions?

    I am an endless barrel of questions, I answer frankly. I am confused and overwhelmed basically all the time.

    He chuckles again, forcing me to squeeze his shoulders a bit tighter.

    Well, my offer to answer them remains open.

    Hmm. Well, now I have to choose one. I suppose I''ll go with the greediest, most self-indulgent question.

    ¡­How do I actually do magic? I ask. Like¡­ I know you apparently chased me because I''m naturalborn to Order, but I don''t actually know how to do any Order magic.

    That''s not uncommon, Teboho assures me. But ultimately, I can''t answer that question. It''s your magic. While you might be able to learn generalized Order magic, the Order magic unique to you will make itself known when you discover it.

    Wait, so I can learn spells in addition to just being born with them?

    Of course! Well, as long as you''re compatible with them. You can learn any spell as long as it''s an element you have or an element that compliments your naturalborn ones. You''ll never be able to learn, say, Heat magic, but you have a solid variety of magic you could pick up.

    Wait, why won''t I be able to learn Heat? I ask. No fireballs!? What sort of self-respecting wizard can''t shoot fireballs? Worse, I won''t be able to make magical air conditioning spells!

    Your two elements, Order and Space, each complement Transmutation. You might even be naturalborn to Transmutation as well, but that''s unlikely. Your aura would look the same either way, so it''s hard to tell.

    Hmm. I, uh, think I might be. No reason to tell him that, though.

    And Transmutation opposes Heat, for some reason, I recall. What''s up with that, anyway?

    He thinks for a moment.

    If you think of Order as the element of maintaining a form, he muses, Transmutation is the element of altering, improving, and advancing one. And while you can think of Chaos as the absence of form, the element of Heat is the process of destroying one. Heat is not mere temperature, but also the inevitability of waste, the infantry in Chaos'' war against Order. It is the idea that, with every change, some beauty is burnt away and never returned.

    You''re talking about entropy, I realize. Every reaction creates thermal energy that becomes unavailable for work in a system.

    Pardon? Teboho chuckles. I''m not sure I understood even half of that.

    I understood it, Sindri comments. How do you know about entropy but not basic magical theory, Hannah?

    Wait, how does Sindri know about entropy? Is the tech level here higher than I¡­ no, wait, Kagiso uses a bow, and I don''t see any post-industrial tech on Sindri. Why is science advanced enough to know about entropy but not make guns or clocks or whatever. Actually, now that I''m thinking about it, how the frizzle does entropy even apply to a world where people can create arbitrary matter!? Surely there must be some kind of hard limiting factor I don''t understand there.

    I have had a very strange education, is all I actually say in response. So basically, Transmutation makes things more complex, while setting stuff on fire generally makes things less complex. That''s such a strange and arbitrary dividing line.

    I''m not sure where you got the impression that the nature of the world needs to conform to your idea of a proper dividing line, Teboho chuckles. We make the best explanations we can, but at the end of the day Transmutation opposes Heat regardless of whatever we think makes sense.

    I guess so, I grumble. It''s just that¡ª

    Destination, Kagiso announces.

    Destination? Sindri asks. What do you see?

    Village.

    A village? Sindri muses. That''s strange. There wasn''t even an outpost the last time I was here. Though I suppose it has been a couple years since I was this high on the tree.

    Ah, will we be getting proper beds to sleep in tonight? Teboho asks. That would be a welcome change of pace.

    Hmm. I was hoping to make progress through the burrow before we rest. But a proper inn is tempting.

    Ah, but if there''s a settlement here, there''s almost certainly a trader''s burrow. You know where our quarry is headed, don''t you Sindri? We can simply take a more efficient path. The Chaos mage wouldn''t have been able to enter a village of this size.

    Sindri nods in contemplation.

    Yes¡­ all right. Let''s stop in the village. Lead the way, Kagiso.

    I grumble blindly as the conversation moves to discussion of a village that I won''t be able to see until we''re already inside it. I guess the rest of my magic lessons will have to wait. I''ve yet to even see a single structure in my range when a dentron man starts approaching us, wearing a heavy backpack and followed by a large sloth-like creature drawing a cart full of goods. I see textiles, mostly, with the occasional crate of fruit. The dentron man has a lot more clothing on than Kagiso and Teboho, presumably to show off his fancy wares. I wonder if they''re dyed; I suppose they probably are, but I don''t have any way to tell beyond asking. He''s also wearing an interesting pendant with what looks like a twisting centipede on it, though it''s underneath his shirt.

    He says something to us all as he approaches, probably buttering us up to try and sell something. Naturally, I can''t understand any of it. Sindri politely declines whatever it is he''s asking about three times before he finally lets us go. He glances towards me every so often throughout his yammering, though I suppose I can''t blame him. I''m pretty weird.

    What a pushy guy, I comment dryly. He was wearing a weird pendant too. Some kind of bug?

    Ah, he''s probably a cultist, Sindri comments as if that wasn''t an utterly terrifying revelation.

    A cultist!? I ask. Like the human sacrifice kind?

    What? No! Sindri snaps. They don''t really do anything bad other than recruit rich merchants and exploit them for donations, preaching about the end of the world as if its coming wasn''t obvious to everyone. The Tree of Souls has been dying for hundreds of years and it''s taking the rest of the world with it. What would we need an apocalypse cult for?

    Oh boy. More plot hooks. I hope this world doesn''t expect me to save the Tree of Souls from The Great Bark Beetle of Annihilation or something. Like, what am I supposed to do, exactly? Tremble, for I am the great hero Hannah! I''ll nibble your kneecaps off, foul fiend! At least as long as I can reach them!

    Is the Tree of Souls the same thing as the Mother Tree? I ask as we continue to approach the settlement. I can see a giant wall of wood off to my side now, which I assume means this place is built next to the trunk.

    Yes, that is what the humans call it, Teboho confirms.

    I drum my legs on his fuzzy shoulders. I don''t want to save a dying world. I just want cool magic and somewhere I can relax. And frankly, today has been promising in regards to those things. As long as these cultists don''t turn out to be a problem, I think I can chalk today up as a win.

    As we continue to approach the wall of bark, I find something interesting inside it: a tunnel. A human-sized tunnel, in fact, resting just behind the natural wall of the tree with small slits that lead outside to where we are. Bolt holes, maybe? No one is manning them, though, and soon enough I find the entryway to a series of man-made tunnels that lead into the trunk, marked by a pair of banners flying on either side.

    Oh, that''s kind of cool. The village is inside the tree.

    Sure enough, we wander in unaccosted and I quickly notice a small marketplace, most of the stalls and buildings crafted by excavating wood out of the tree rather than building anything inside it. It looks almost like everyone is living in a giant sculpture. The vast majority of people here are dentron, but there are some humans as well. I do my best not to look at their internal organs and compare them to the particularly tasty ones I ate this morning. That was an animal, so it''s very different.

    I suppose we''ll confirm the existence of a burrow that heads where we want to go, then find an inn, Sindri says. Our quarry already lost a lot of time heading to the upper branches, so we should gain on them even if we rest early today.

    Another one of the merchants suddenly approaches us, this one also with one of the centipede pendants. He babbles a bit at Teboho and points at me, producing a large sack of what I assume is probably money.

    Is he trying to buy me? I ask.

    Yes¡­ he is a beast trader. Teboho confirms, seeming shocked. I''ve told him you aren''t for sale, though I suppose you should be flattered. You are apparently worth quite a lot.

    I''m not a beast, though!

    He insists you are.

    Well he''s rude! No selling me!

    I would never dream of it, Hannah.

    I wriggle uncomfortably. I do not like the idea of a cultist trying to buy me. Cultists are always bad news. He''s probably wanting to use me for ritual components.

    Maybe we shouldn''t sleep here after all, I hedge.

    You''ll be fine, Sindri insists. I call them cultists but they''re a recognized religion in most major nations. They''re scammers, but not technically criminals. Besides, beast trading is a common and lucrative occupation for Pneuma naturalborn. He''s not going to jeopardize his business or his life trying to steal from a Chaos hunter, not to mention two dentron warriors.

    Okay but if something awful happens I reserve the right to say I told you so, I insist.

    Seems fair to me, Sindri smirks.

    Sindri then wanders off to confirm that there''s a ''quality burrow'' heading to wherever it is we''re going, and since that apparently turned out well we buy a pair of rooms at the inn.

    You said you were a woman, right Hannah? Teboho asks. Would you mind sharing a room with my sister?

    I will not throw, Kagiso insists, though after a pause she adds ¡­Unless emergency.

    What kind of emergency would require you to throw me!? I grumble.

    Will know when see it, she insists.

    I wish I could sigh right now.

    Just don''t squish me or throw anything at me, I request in exasperation. If you can agree to that, I don''t mind rooming with you.

    I agree, Kagiso nods immediately.

    There''s no way this could possibly go wrong.

 7. Sleep

    Kagiso carefully cradles me in two hands, idly brushing the top of my carapace with a third as she carries me up to what will be our shared room. I, of course, am holding onto her with a death grip, wary of being dropped¡ªor worse, thrown. I admit, I don''t actually know if I''ll be hurt if I fall, but I''ve heard that tarantulas can get seriously injured from being dropped and that''s about the closest equivalent I have to my current leggy body. I don''t intend to test it.

    I can ''see'' the two rooms long before we reach them, and I have to admit they look nicer than I expected for a fantasy world. The way the whole building is carved out from the inside of the tree is incredibly cool, and I can''t even imagine how most of it could have been done without magic. The walls are beautifully smooth, most of the furniture is artistically crafted out of the wood, and there are even small tunnels snaking between the rooms for what I assume are ventilation purposes. Not even I could fit inside those, so what sort of tool would they even use to carve something like that? I mean¡­ I guess there probably is a tool of some sort that would work, but magic seems likely considering that it''s largely ubiquitous. Not to mention¡­ no way. Some of the little pipe-tunnels aren''t ventilation, they''re full of water! They lead to a bath! That''s so awesome!

    I do note with annoyance that Kasigo and I only have a single-bed room, while the boys get two beds. I get why. I am nowhere near large enough to justify giving me a bed to myself. But also, where am I supposed to sleep!? Do they expect me to just curl up on the foot of the bed like a cat? Or do I just slip under the covers with this four-breasted fuzzball and act like it would be physically possible for me to get any sleep that way? I just¡ªah, woah woah woah woah woah!

    My thoughts are interrupted by a sudden increase in altitude, Kagiso lifting me up, placing me on her head, and then extracting her hands from my grasp, leaving me to cling in terror to her skull.

    You are a hat, she declares.

    Wh-what?

    Good hat. Pat pat.

    And then she just¡­ pats me. I am absolutely stunned speechless. Her brother seems to be holding back a laugh, and even Sindri is smiling.

    What just happened? I ask helplessly.

    I think she likes you, Teboho says. Are you getting along with Hannah, Kagiso?

    Angles, bad. But! She is small.

    I get the feeling that this is somehow overall an assessment in my favor.

    I suppose that''s good! I hope you''re not too uncomfortable, Hannah? Teboho asks.

    I hesitate. Unprompted physical contact is not normally ''my thing,'' and I don''t really want to encourage it.

    It''s fine, I say anyway. I''d be blushing with embarrassment right now if I could, and I don''t even know why. I just can''t bring myself to call this a problem. Even if she''s not all that much like him, Kagiso''s weird charm reminds me of Brendan so I just can''t be mad at her. ¡­Hmm. Now I''m thinking about getting picked up and carried around by Brendan and yep I think I know why I''m embarrassed now let''s think about something else yep yep yep. God I need to get over the squish I have on my best friend.

    It''s okay, I say. It''s kind of a fun perch up here, to be honest. I get to feel like one of you big people.

    Teboho laughs at that, giving me a grateful nod before we part ways, he and Sindri entering their room while Kagiso brings us to ours. Kagiso carefully removes her bow and quiver, setting them by the bed before much more haphazardly peeling off and dropping her backpack on the floor. I watch Teboho and Sindri much more carefully unpack their things, since of course having a solid wall between us does nothing to prevent me from seeing them.

    I''m going to work on the sensory-sharing spell, Sindri announces. But while I do so, I''ll have to deactivate our current communication spell. It takes too much focus.

    Oh, I respond. So I''m not going to be able to talk to anyone?

    Hats don''t talk, Kagiso points out.

    Well this hat does! I counter.

    Hmm, Kagiso considers. Fancy hat. Hungry?

    I suppose I could eat, I admit.

    Okay. More food for Hannah. Goodbye.

    She reaches up with two hands and peels me off her head, putting me back down on the bed and giving my carapace another pat before slinging her weapons back over her shoulders.

    Wait, are you just leaving me here alone? I ask hesitantly.

    There shouldn''t be any problems with that, Sindri notes. But if there are, hiss as loudly as you can and we''ll come help you.

    Kagiso, for her part, ignores our conversation and just leaves, wandering off alone to presumably murder some more unfortunate fantasy chipmunks.

    Can''t I just hang out in your room until she comes back? I whine. There''s no way I''m gonna be comfortable alone in a town full of cultists! One of which tried to buy me!

    I assure you, they are annoying evangelists but otherwise harmless, Sindri responds with a mental sigh. Besides, Teboho and I are going to be bathing.

    Gah. If I were still human that''d be enough to drive me off. I''m way too gay for that crap. Unfortunately for spider-Hannah¡­

    Look, I appreciate you treating me as a woman instead of as a weird monster, but I can see through objects, guys. I''ve been looking at your gross dicks the entire journey, not to mention all your internal organs. Taking your clothes off¡ªor for that matter, even having this wall between us¡ªdoesn''t affect my perception in the slightest. But it does affect your ability to protect me from cultists, so I''d really feel a lot more comfortable in your room.

    I watch the two men glance awkwardly at each other before Teboho shrugs.

    It seems like a compelling argument to me, he admits. I say we let her in.

    Fine, Sindri sighs. I''ll come get you.

    Thanks, I¡­ hmm. I stop. Wait a moment.

    I wondered for a moment if I could just walk through a barren zone and ignore the wall between our rooms entirely, but now that I''m looking for one I''m seeing something strange. There aren''t really barren zones here. Or¡­ no. There are barren zones everywhere, but they''re not empty. They''re all full of wood. Whatever carved out these rooms only carved out the three dimensions normal people have access to, which¡­ I mean, duh, of course they did that. But the wood extends beyond the third dimension. It''s a completely solid wall in every direction that moves along the w-axis. Of course, a bunch of wood in my way is pretty much the opposite of an obstacle. Like¡­ I could just burrow a hole in the wall, I''ve been burrowing through wood for years. Except that it wouldn''t be a hole in the wall, not to anyone else. It''d be a¡­ a fourth-dimensional hole. A little spider-burrow between locations.

    I scuttle up to the wall, align my perceptions so I''m looking at the part of the wall that exists only for me, and then I rear up on my ''back'' legs, readying myself to dig. Something¡­ clicks, and warmth enters the legs I''ve lifted. When I pierce into the flesh of the world tree, they cut through it like butter.

    I don''t need to make a large hole. Just a hole that leads from one side of the wall to the other. I easily twist my legs into a simple circle, carving through the space I need, then push the fourth-dimensional chunk of wood out into the normal world, walking through the wall after it. From Sindri and Teboho''s perspective, a one-foot diameter disc of wood just manifested out of their still-solid, fully intact wall¡­ and then I did the same. They stare at me in shock.

    Hey guys, I send as casually as I''m able, trying not to let my full-bodied excitement take over. I just walked through a wall! And I got to claw shit to do it! I''m magic and I''m awesome and I''m magic and I''m magiiiic! It''s only when Teboho walks over and leans down to pick up the disc of world tree wood with a blank expression that I realize I might have just seriously messed up. His people revere the tree, don''t they¡­? Aw poop aw beans aw lard.

    This is Deep Wood, Teboho notes, twirling the disc between his fingers. Thankfully, he doesn''t sound mad. I suppose there''s no doubt you hail from the Mother Tree now. That is reassuring.

    Yeah, that''s quite interesting, Sindri agrees, rubbing his chin. She''s like a tunnel worm.

    I don''t know what that is but the comparison does not sound flattering! I grumble in protest.

    Sindri chuckles.

    Tunnel worms. They dig the tunnels we''ll be using to head to a higher branch. Traveling to other branches would be absurdly impractical on foot otherwise. Even if you had an easy path to climb on the outside of the tree, it would take months to get to the next highest branch. But the holes dug by tunnel worms somehow just¡­ ignore that. They''re Space-aligned, like you, and their tunnels are somehow far, far shorter than the distance between their entrance and exits.

    Huh. That''s neat. They''re like wormh¡­ oh gosh frigging darn it. They''re literally wormholes. Uuuuugh, I hate that, why does this world have a pun monster.

    Unfortunately, I don''t think I can bring anyone else into my space, I say. I''m kinda surprised I could push that out of it. I wasn''t able to do so with a rock unless I put it in my mouth.

    Is that what you were doing with that rock? Sindri asks. Hmm. Well, the Tree of Souls has long been documented to interact differently with spatial magic. The tunnel worms can''t replicate their transport abilities back on Pillar. Although part of that could just be how they had to be modified to work with rock.

    If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Can we not speak of your kind''s perversions of nature? Teboho grumbles. You are a decent man, Sindri, but I cannot simply forget all that humans have done. The only creatures more destructive than you are the Steel Ones, which you created!

    I most certainly did not, Sindri grumbles. Moronic humans from hundreds of years ago did that. Trust me, we''re no more thrilled by those things than you are.

    And yet you still dabble in that which is beyond you.

    Woah, woah! I say, mentally butting in. Let''s stow the casual racism, you two. We''re all friends here, aren''t we? Common purpose and stuff? There''s no point in getting mad at people for something they haven''t personally done.

    Of course, Teboho sighs. I am tired, so I forgot myself. Please accept my apologies, Sindri. Would you mind if I bathe first?

    Go ahead, Sindri confirms. I''m going to cut the connection now and work on the improved spell. Goodbye for now, Hannah.

    Uh, bye? I allow, and then that clawing feeling at the back of my mind vanishes, thrusting me into muteness once more. Oh well, I guess. I crawl up onto the empty bed and curl into what I have decided is morph ball form, tucking my legs up under my body so I can roll around a bit. Hmm. It''s kind of fun to roll around, actually. And I don''t get dizzy! Hehe. Rolly rolly rolly. I keep circling around the bed until I catch Sindri staring at me with amusement, at which point I quickly burrow under the covers in shame.

    Dang it. Why is being a freaky hyperspider so fun? I should be having a panic attack but it mostly just feels neat. It''s just¡­ I don''t know. Exciting? New, yet weirdly natural? Like sure, okay, the first day wasn''t so hot, what with the fleeing for my life and nearly dying of exhaustion and all. But now I''m just hanging out with nice people, learning magic, and not transforming into a horrifying monster. I''m already a monster, sure, but everyone is super cool about it so it''s not really a problem?

    I guess I don''t really care about being a monster so much as I care about being treated like one?

    I contemplate this in silence as the boys get naked and clean themselves off, one after the other. As predicted, the process doesn''t really bother me any more than my spatial sense already does. I''m just looking at an extra-detailed anatomy diagram of everybody all the time and slowly learning to ignore it. I stay under the covers in silent contemplation until Teboho sits down on the bed, prompting me to scuttle on out in case he wants to use it. He doesn''t seem interested yet, but he does nod in thanks. I don''t actually have any idea how close it is to nighttime, and I suppose I can no longer ask.

    Teboho looks contemplative for a moment before motioning me over to where he''s sitting. I crawl on over and curl up by his lap, where he proceeds to summon a stone tablet out of thin air. Holy geez. Etched on the stone talent is a familiar alphabet, the same one he drew out when learning my name. He clears his throat, points to the first letter, and starts to sing.

    Oh my goodness. Teboho is a terrible singer. Like, I''m not sure a dying raccoon could sound worse than this. But that doesn''t matter, because he''s teaching me his culture''s alphabet song! He''s gonna teach me to read! I straighten up a bit to show that I''m interested, and we go through the song together a few times before he starts to quiz me. I wiggle with delight, drumming my legs in a circle around me whenever I get one of the letters right. By the time I see Kagiso return with a bag full of bloody animal corpses I''m getting about eight of the letters consistently (including ''ha'' and ''na,'' naturally) which I feel is pretty darn good for a first day.

    I don''t really have any way to tell him Kagiso is back with food, of course, so I carve another coaster-sized circle of what he called ''deep wood'' out of the air, reaching into the w-axis with magically empowered legs to make the circle cut and then reaching in from a few other directions to chop it out of the solid mass of wood that exists in the barren zone realm. I carve a crude smiley face on it, sign my name with what I can only assume is absolutely atrocious handwriting, and gift it to him before jumping through the tunnel I made between the rooms right after Kagiso gets back with my dinner.

    I''m starting to get a handle on how all this stuff works! It''s just fourth-dimensional thinking; in the same way a two-dimensional image only exists in a single ''slice'' of 3D space, 3D objects only exist in a single ''slice'' of 4D space. Every single 3D object seems to exist in the same point on the w-axis (let''s assume it''s zero), so when I move across that axis, 3D objects can''t interact with me anymore. Well I mean, they could interact with me if they also move along the w-axis, but they can''t do that unless they take a ride inside my mouth.

    The tree, however, is four-dimensional somehow. When I''m standing on top of a branch, I see 4D space as a series of barren areas with wood floors because the tree is beneath me and only the tree exists in that space. When I''m inside the trunk like I am now, every point on the 4D axis except the one dug out in 3D (i.e., w=0) is just solid wood. But I can still dig through that wood to make myself tunnels to hide in. It''s¡­ well, it''s a lot! Complicated and somewhat brain-bursting. I don''t seem to have perfect control over 4D movement, either, since if I did I could just waltz into w=1 space and then walk as far as I want before reemerging. But I can''t do that when I''m out on the branches; the barren zones aren''t infinite. I wonder why. Maybe it has something to do with how I can use them as shortcuts. Hopefully I''ll get better at it the more I practice.

    Kagiso doesn''t seem the least bit surprised when I walk out of a solid wall and wave a leg to greet her. She just waves back and dumps a bunch of corpses on the floor, looking as proud as a cat. I have to admit, they do smell like delicious corpses, so I happily skitter over and start shoving them in my maw. I manage to swallow four magic chipmunks before I realize I shouldn''t physically be able to hold this much food. My stomach looks pretty normal, though? Are my organs bigger on the inside?

    Hmm. Well, more food for me I guess. I gleefully finish a fifth critter. Kagiso makes a weird noise that I think is a laugh and squats down to pat my carapace some more, which I stoically allow because she was kind enough to get me so much tasty animal flesh. I suppose I should probably be cooking it, but it''s just so delicious like this! Surely that means my body is designed to handle it, right? It''s not like I can cook it without hands anyway. Or, for that matter, a stove. This isn''t exactly a hotel, there''s no kitchen in the room. Just somewhere to clean up, somewhere to sleep, and somewhere to take a dump.

    Kagiso herself apparently found some berries and leaves to munch on while she was out hunting. She eats them alongside one of the thick, dense-looking bread rations from her pack, which looks like enough food for two human-sized Hannahs. Either my guess about a higher metabolism was correct, or Kagiso just has the munchies tonight. Once she''s done eating, she hops face-first onto the bed, spreading out over the whole thing without bothering to take off her clothes or get under the covers. She raises her lower right arm and pats the bed next to her, as if inviting me to join her.

    I hesitate like the gay little mess that I am. It''s obviously not any sort of proposition, since we''re completely different species, but that is a shirtless woman that would probably be quite attractive (in a weird mutant fursona sort of way) were I not currently staring at her internal organs. I''m not sure how comfortable I am getting on a bed with her.

    "Hana," Kagiso grumbles loudly into the pillow, slapping the bed again.

    Ah. Hmm. Well I guess a little influx of social anxiety helps. Driven by her apparent insistence, I crawl over to the side of the bed and, on a whim, leap up like a cat. Ha! Oh gosh, I didn''t expect that to work! I have hops. Wow, that was kind of fun. Anyway, I curl up on the spot Kagiso indicated. She places a hand on top of me and then shoves her face deep into the pillows.

    Hmm. I wonder what her deal is. Does she just enjoy physical contact? Hesitantly, I scoot up next to her side, brushing my legs against her fuzzy ribcage. She makes a happy noise. It''s kinda cute, but in more of a cuddly dog kind of way than an attractive girl sort of way. I give in and snuggle up, letting Kagiso hold me like some sort of arachnid teddy bear.

    Despite my worries, sharing a bed with a shirtless woman is turning out to not be the least bit sexy. Now that I think about it, I haven''t been even slightly horny at any point during my time as a spider-beast. I initially thought that''s because of my weird perception, but now I''m starting to wonder if it''s physiological. I haven''t gone to the bathroom as a spider creature yet either, which I''m thankful for because I''m pretty sure I don''t have any orifices other than my mouth. If my mouth actually functions as a cloaca and therefore does, shall we say, double duty? I''ll be less than enthused. But I''m not an entirely comprehensible creature in terms of pure biology, am I? I''m a motherflippin'' magical beast, maybe I take a dump via teleportation or something. How crazy would that be? Incomprehensible arcane might, all used to take fourth-dimensional poops. Regardless, the point I''m making is that I don''t think I have genitals. Either that or this body is only sexually attracted to other hyperspiders, which¡­ well! I don''t want to think about that so I''m not going to. I''m just glad I don''t have to be a creepy voyeur animal like Morgana from Persona 5.

    ¡­Though I guess it''s possible I''ll have a different interpretation of this particular memory back when I''m in a humanoid body. Gah! Just add that to the ''don''t think about it'' pile, Hannah.

    Hmm.

    Crap, I can''t stop thinking about it. I''m probably not going to be able to sleep like this. I''m pretty sure Kagiso is zonked out, so I''m hesitant to extract myself from her grasp and wake her. Honestly, I''m hesitant to sleep at all. I¡­ well, I don''t really want to go back to Earth. I suppose it''s Sunday tomorrow, so that won''t be too bad as long as I can survive the agony of church service. Heh, I guess my weekends are twice as long now, kind of. ¡­Though I guess by that logic, my weekdays are too. Oof.

    Mentally grimacing, I make an effort to busy my mind elsewhere. My impromptu fantasy adventure party is all sleeping peacefully, but the same can''t be said for the entire inn. Many merchants are still awake in their rooms, and the inn proprietor still yawns behind the front desk. He has, I note, one of the centipede necklaces marking him as one of the supposedly harmless cultists, but naturally I don''t trust that one bit. Sure enough, my suspicions start to rise when three other cultists, including the one that tried to buy me earlier today, all get together and start chatting with him, the conversation getting increasingly quick and secretive.

    Obviously I can''t hear a word they''re saying and even if I could I wouldn''t understand it (I''ll put ''learn to lip read'' on my to-do list) but I can''t help but get more and more anxious as they seem to assemble and start to enact some sort of plan. I watch one of them break off from the others, heading upstairs to where our rooms are, and I start to panic, nudging Kagiso awake. She blinks blearily at me, seeming rather grumpy to be roused, but I just point at the door and let out a soft hiss.

    Immediately, her exhaustion seems to vanish. She wordlessly grabs her bow, knocks an arrow, and draws it, pointing to the door. I stay still, waiting in terror¡­ as the cultist passes us by and uses a key to enter the room next to ours. He begins to unload his stuff.

    Gah! False alarm? No, wait! The other three are heading upstairs as well. I''m not really sure what they''re doing. It looks like they''re¡­ stuffing their ears with something? Why? Wait, what''s the guy next door doing? Is that an instrument? It must be! He pulls a small, harp-like object out of a fancy wooden case. A lyre, I guess? Or maybe some fantasy equivalent, I don''t really know much about instruments.

    He starts to play, and the world tilts.

    Barely five notes have come out of the song and I feel my limbs getting heavy, my tense body slacking. Wh-what? Oh, crap! The music is carrying through the air vents, and the three other men put in ear plugs! Kagiso inhales deeply and starts to scream, her voice drowning out the sound for a moment and snapping some vitality back into my mind. Art! Art is a kind of magic! This is a sleep spell! I start hissing with five pairs of legs, rubbing them together to create an even more horrid cacophony. In response, the mage in the other room starts playing even louder. None of it seems to be noticed by any other patrons, our own friends included.

    Out in the hallway, the three men are using the innkeeper''s master key to unlock our door, presumably oblivious to the racket we''re making. I spare a pair of legs to point at the door with more urgency, and Kagiso nods. She swings her aim to the side, pointing at a seemingly unrelated wall. Her scream starts to peter out, so I do everything I can to be as loud as I can, scraping and tearing at the bed during my hiss, and giving Kagiso the time she needs to take a breath. The next thing out of her mouth isn''t a scream, though.

    "Ricochet," something beyond either of us growls, and Kagiso''s arrow flies. Bouncing off the floor, the ceiling, and three different walls, her dinky arrow eventually punches straight through the solid wooden door, stabbing one of the men behind it through the arm. Blood splatters as the arrow passes through him and out the other end, and though the man grimaces he does not cry out. I, however, jump in surprise, which means for a brief and terrible moment, my stupid, moronic self let the room fall into silence. Except, of course, for the lullaby.

    Kagiso''s bow clatters to the ground. She''s unconscious before she finishes collapsing onto the bed. Shit, shit, shit! I''m so exhausted I nearly do the same the moment I land from my terror-induced leap, but I start hissing again just in time to be awake when the door flies open. In a panic, I lift up a leg and slash Kagiso, drawing blood from her arm. She doesn''t even twitch.

    I do the only thing I can think to do. I run. Three grown men stomp into the room, each nearly six times my height and two of them lanky, four-armed dentron. They make a grab for me, but I barely manage to rush over to the wall, leaping through the extradimensional tunnel I dug for myself.

    I suppose I shouldn''t have bothered, because the music is playing here, too. I hiss and shriek as loud as I can, clawing away at the beds beside me. It''s already too late, though. With all the running I had to do, I couldn''t hiss at the same time. And without Kagiso''s screaming to help drown out the music, I can''t think straight anymore. I''m dimly aware of one of the men staying behind with Kagiso as two more rush over into the boys¡¯ room. That''s¡­ bad, I think. I left her. I left her to die. But¡­ it doesn''t really matter¡­ anymore. All¡­ I can do¡­ is¡­

    "Sleep."

    I wake up and scream.

 8. Religious Experience

    No, no no no. Oh god. We''re going to die. We''re all going to die. The cultists had weapons, they knocked us out, we''re dead we''re dead we''re dead. Or maybe I''ll be the only survivor. They probably wanted to capture me alive, they wanted me because I''m some sort of valuable monster so they''re going to steal me and lock me up and kill my friends to remove the witnesses and¡ª

    "Hannah!" someone shrieks. "Hannah, is everything alright!?"

    My mother bursts into the room, ignoring the closed door because my room has no lock (I hate that my room has no lock!) and stomps her way to my side. No. Why. I don''t want you here. I try to stop her, to shove her away, but my head is still scrambled and my instinct to move gets sent to a limb that doesn''t exist. Get out get out get out why are you here.

    "Hannah!" my mother shouts again, wrapping her hands around my cheeks. She looks so terrified, it''s hard to stay mad at her. She says something else, but her voice is too hard to hear over the awful noise in the room. What''s¡­

    Oh, wait. That''s me. I''m still screaming.

    A few seconds later I figure out how to stop, taking gasping breaths as I force myself to focus on my body. My heart hammers at troubling speeds as I tug around at my own limbs, remembering which is which as I stare my worried, loving mother in the eyes and wish she would just go away. Curling my toes, I feel the foam blocks preventing my freakish talons from ripping apart my sheets. My whole body feels sore, a deep, bone-level ache permeating everything. For all I know, something a lot more horrible than toe-claws is growing on me underneath my blankets. It could be anything. Anything. I have no idea what sort of monster I''m turning into.

    "Oh my baby, you''re okay, it''s okay," my mother coos. "It''s alright. You''re alright."

    "Get out," I croak.

    She seems taken aback. A bit offended, even. I suppose I was harsher than I needed to be, but I''m not in the best state of mind right now.

    "...Are you sure?" my mother asks. Ugh. Do I look like I''m in the state of mind to want this kind of careful consideration!?

    "I''m fine," I say, repeating the easiest of all lies. "I''m okay, I just¡­ I''m gonna get dressed."

    "The dreams again?" she asks.

    I want to tell her to get out again, but I suspect I''ve already pushed my luck by being rude even a single time. And you know what, sure. ''The dreams again'' may as well be a correct answer. It''s certainly all I intend to explain.

    "Yeah," I answer. "N-nothing special. I just need a moment to myself."

    "Alright," she says, leaning over to kiss me on the forehead. "Church today, be sure to dress nice."

    "I know," I tell her, and she finally leaves, closing the door behind her. I shudder and extract myself from bed, flexing my toes again before yanking them free of all the foam. Are they¡­? Shit. They are. The bone growth has started to crawl up the entirety of the toe, breaking into segments over the joints. It hardly even looks like bone anymore, it''s more like¡­ well, an exoskeleton. An ivory-white carapace. Flexing my toes as much as I can, I try to peer into the crack between the joints, seeing what I think might be a hint of skin. Or¡­ maybe not skin, but some other kind of flexible epidermis. It''s dark. ¡­Actually, is my whole body getting darker? I look a bit more tanned than usual.

    Gah, I can''t tell. If it is, it''s subtle. I quickly get my shoes on and rush for the bathroom, stripping down to give myself a more thorough examination with the help of a mirror. Ugh, my everything hurts. And I''m itchy! It''s from an errant scratching on my leg where I find the next problem: a small section of bone growing from what I think must be my tibia, protruding ever so slightly from the skin. It''s not bleeding or anything, it''s just¡­ there. In a tiny patch smaller than a fingernail, my skin just stops and there''s bone instead. Creepy.

    I''m on a time limit, aren''t I? I''ll have to figure this transformation thing out fast or it''s gonna figure itself out all over my metaphorical front lawn. Of course, thinking about time limits is a bad plan, because now I''m back to panicking about my impending death. Or worse, the impending deaths of kind people which I may have just caused.

    I jump into the shower out of a need to keep moving. I don''t want to be here right now, existing as a human while a crisis is going down in another world. But what am I supposed to do, try to pass out again with my heart beating a mile a minute? I''m on the verge of another panic attack, there''s no way I''m going to be able to nap. I''m pretty sure we don''t have any melatonin pills or other sleeping aids in the house either. We might have Nyquil or something? I seriously doubt it''ll do the job, though. It''s nearly impossible for me to nap.

    Guess I''ll just be a twitchy neurotic mess all day! Last time I nearly flippin'' died I passed out in the other world and woke up moments later, even after spending a full day awake on Earth. So it stands to reason that regardless of how short (or long) my nap is in the other world, when I sleep here I''ll wake up over there whenever I would have woken up normally. Our timelines aren''t in sync.

    ¡­Which, y''know, actually has terrifying implications. Is the relative time that passes between universes based entirely on when I zonk out in each one? If so, that would mean I have to be the only person on Earth who wakes up in that world when I sleep, or at the very least everyone else must be synched with me somehow. Or more likely, if there''s anyone else like me, they could be going to a completely different world from the one I go to. Nothing else really makes sense.

    ¡­Unless time travel is happening. If causality has been ceremonially defenestrated then anything goes. But I hope it''s not that. Nothing good ever happens because of time travel.

    It''s thanks to all these musings that I almost fail to notice a larger patch of skin falling off my leg in the shower, revealing more bone in the process. Unfortunately, I manage to step on the palm-sized mass of discarded epidermis, causing me to start screaming again. It sticks to the bottom of my foot and I flail around in the shower, scratching up the tub with my talons and nearly cracking my head open as I slip trying to shake it off. Aaagh it''s too big to fit down the shower drain, oh gross oh no oh ew ew ew ew!

    My body shaking, I carefully hold back my urge to vomit as I drop the patch of my own skin in the toilet and flush it down, immediately extracting myself from the shower and carefully drying myself off. The exposed bone of my leg is now large enough that it''s clearly not actually my normal bones; there are muscles working underneath. I''m just¡­ growing an exoskeleton, I guess. But it''s not very chitinous, it''s distinctly bony. I have extra bones. Bonus bones. More bone per bone. I''m going insane and my whole body is shaking and I just¡­ I just can''t.

    Deep breath. In and out, Hannah. You can and you will, because you have to. That''s life. Learn to deal with it. I mean, this isn''t anything like most people''s lives, presumably, but you have to learn to deal with it all the same. Look at the bright side! You''re not bleeding this time! Clearly your aching flesh sack of a body is improving its technique. Which is an idea that I thought was going to be comforting but now very firmly is not.

    Whatever. I''m dry. Clothes on. I''m wearing my modest little church-blouse-and-floor-skirt combo so I can cosplay as a straight person. I do not, unfortunately, go to a church with one of the cool denominations who have decided that being gay is a-okay, which is a big part of why I''m still in the closet. Those denominations are funny to me; the Bible is pretty explicit about ''gay is bad,'' but it''s also explicit about, say, ''divorce is bad,'' yet multiple people in my church prove I wouldn''t get shamed for that. We should get more people lobbying to make divorce illegal. Not because I think it should be, but because it would be funny to compare the utter lack of traction that gets just because ''people who have divorced'' are not a minority. But hey, what do I know, I don''t believe in any of it and every day I wake up as even more of an abomination that Yahweh would doubtlessly despise, so the narcissistic, abusive prick can go shove his divine knob into a carpentry saw for all I care. At least it wouldn''t be another virgin.

    Blasphemy aside, I still find myself shaking in terror as I sit in the backseat of my mom''s car, my brother beside me and my dad riding shotgun. My claws are cramped horribly inside these awful church shoes, though after some quick tests they seem sturdy enough to keep my feet contained. The modest breakfast I wolfed down after getting dressed is nowhere near enough to calm my gnawing hunger pains, and I feel achy and sick all over. Maybe I''ll burst forth from my flesh during the sermon today. That''d be a fun way to get outed as a demon. The gays were monsters all along! Muahaha! Then I''ll eat them, and everyone will be happy.

    I bite my lower lip, doing a double-take on that particular daydream. There was something weirdly euphoric about it, and that''s¡­ terrifying. Why did my head just go there? Most people in my church are really nice apart from the bigotry thing (and like yeah, that''s bad, but we''re hardly Westboro Baptists). They''re just, y''know, a community of people whose existence makes it impossible for me to publicly pursue a relationship until I''m financially independent from my parents. So there might be some pent-up aggression at my congregation, I guess, but I don''t want to murder them. I don''t want to murder anybody! If someone stubbed their toe because of me I''d do nothing but apologize for like, six hours. I really hope I''m not becoming a danger to society.

    I flex my talons, and even as cramped as they are the movement sends joy up through my feet.

    Church is boring. I avoid talking to anyone as much as I can, both because there''s nothing I want to talk about with any of these people and because I''m still in the type of panicked state where I might start crying if I attempt to string more than two words together. Thankfully we didn''t get here terribly early, and before long we''re all in the pews, listening to an old white man ramble on about conscience and the Holy Spirit. I barely pay attention, since my mind is fully occupied with the infinitely-replaying thought of Kagiso getting stabbed through the heart while she sleeps. In my mind''s eye I''m using my spatial sense to watch it all, seeing the moment the blade pierces that vital organ, watching it continue to beat over and over, pumping more and more blood out of the new holes now digging through its walls, until it rapidly falters, fades, and ultimately fails. She dies alone in her room, because I was too cowardly to stay and too pathetic to help. I tell myself there''s nothing I could have done, but then I start thinking of a dozen things I could have done. If I hadn''t messed up and stopped making noise to drown out the spell. Or better yet, if I had been fast enough, smart enough, ruthless enough, I could have dug right through the wall and silenced that Art mage myself. But I can''t take a life like that. I don''t want to. What other options are there, though? Give myself up? No, of course not, ''letting the murderous assholes win'' is not how you deal with murderous assholes. But what else am I supposed to do!?

    It''s probably too late anyway. By the time my spider-body wakes up, it''ll be long over. Automatically, I stand up with the rest of the congregation and mindlessly sing the hymns along with everyone else. I may not believe any of this stuff anymore¡ªhaven''t for years¡ªbut I have to admit that Benediction (May the Peace of God) is actually an unironic bop, even if shortening ''heaven'' to one syllable during the chorus kind of grates a little. How are we supposed to pronounce that, even? It''s spelled "heav''n" in the hymnal, and like¡­ what? What is that? The closest we tend to get is just saying ''hev.''

    The one good hymn soon ends, though, and my musings end with it. It''s back to panic mode. I politely excuse myself to the bathroom now that the service is over and spend a little while stretching out my poor, abused monster feet before I once again trap them inside my awful, awful church shoes. I don''t take off my tights, but I do run my hand over the front of my leg, feeling out the patch of external bone and shuddering. At least I don''t find any more skin falling off. Hmm, that reminds me.

    Help, my skin is falling off, I text Brendan.

    Almost immediately, those three little dots which indicate a person typing appear, and just that alone is enough to fill me with relief.

    Because you''re in a holy building, or¡­? he asks.

    Smartass, I chide him. No I mean like my skeleton is straight up hatching, Bren.

    I''ll get the trumpets and xylophones I guess? he answers, and I snort out a laugh from inside the bathroom stall.

    I can''t believe you''re memeing me right now, I grumble halfheartedly.

    Sure you can. Besides, I''m not sure what else to do? I mean, other than scream "holy shit go to a fucking doctor, Hannah!"

    But I obviously won''t listen to that, I answer.

    Obviously, he agrees. You bleeding?

    Nah, I answer. It''s the benign kind of late-stage leprosy.

    Small mercies, I guess? he hedges.

    So they tell me.

    The next message takes quite some time to show up. No doubt Brendan tried to type something and then deleted it a few times before finally settling on a message.

    You streaming today? is all he ends up asking.

    Yeah, I confirm. Gotta take my mind off of stuff. Are you finally going to tell me what your Twitch handle is?

    Nope. But I''ll be watching and commenting! >:D

    Curse your shenanigans! I whine. I''ll figure you out one of these days!

    No you won''t! Your chat is too popular due to how great you are!

    Nooooooo! Liiiiiies!

    Muahahahahahaha! Ok now you should probably put your phone away until you get home.

    Yeah ok.

    Regretfully, I get off the toilet and return to society. No one thinks much of my extended stay, since normal humans can somehow engage in conversation with each other about topics other than Pok¨¦mon, Tabletop RPGs, or horrifying mutations of one''s physical form, which is a technique I have yet to master. Still, it means they''re all too distracted speaking with each other to try and speak with me, which is just the way I like it. I tolerate the wait in silent panic, but a short eternity later we''re back in the car and heading to Taco Bell, which is for some reason our traditional after-church choice of dining. Nothing quite like praising God shortly before your intestines make you wish you were dead, I suppose.

    "What do you want, Hannah?" my mom asks, which means it''s time to calculate. I''m hungry as hell, but how much of her money can I get her to spend on just me without her questioning it? Probably no more than¡­ fifteen dollars, max? She''ll balk at that, but silently. I quickly order some of the larger things on the menu and, to my great relief, she just nods and asks my brother the same question. Mission accomplished, Hannah! Booya! You have successfully minimized social interaction with your own family at this juncture! Great job, very normal and well-adjusted of you!

    ¡­Well, whatever. I chow ravenously down on my collection of beefy potato burritos, their cheezy, oozing slosh helping quiet down the chaos in my mind. The increased food consumption is obviously fueling my transformation, but like¡­ what am I gonna do? Starve? Then I would probably just transform into an underweight monster with hunger pains. Let''s be honest with myself here: I''m absolutely doomed. I have no control over this situation and I''m too much of a mess to get control over this situation, no matter how much help Brendan tries to get me. I''m stuck on this ride until something catastrophic happens and then I will probably be shot to death by a local coven of rednecks.

    But whatever. It doesn''t matter. None of this matters, not when I might wake up in a cage with the blood of three good people on my legs the next time I pass out. Everything here is just so pointless in the face of that. What''s the use of putting effort into caring about something horrible that will probably happen to me when something horrible is already happening to me right now!?

    I''m helpless to do anything about any of it anyway, so why bother to try? Global warming is killing the world, half the country is trying to make sure COVID gets us first, wars are starting up all over the place and I''m slowly transforming into some kind of freakish pandimensional spider-girl. I even have a first and last name that start with the same letter! I''m a regular silver-age superhero! The point is, it''s all garbage that''s going to keep happening to me no matter what I do. That''s just how things are. So my lot is even more insane than anyone else''s. So what? Someone has to be the edge of the bell curve. Doesn''t give me any more of a right to complain.

    We all make it home without so much as a fart endangering us and I swiftly return to my room, closing the door and kicking off my awful, awful shoes. The rest of my outfit quickly follows, leaving me free to select an actually good outfit to stream in today. Hmm¡­ something black, I think, to try to draw attention away from the fact that my skin might be subtly changing color. After a double check of the room and a triple check of my own face to make sure nothing monstrous is happening up there, I put on a bright grin and start the stream.

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    "Hello everyone!"

    Sunday is one of the few times I semi-regularly stream, so chat is a bit more packed than usual. Still nothing huge or impressive, of course, but there were a good chunk of people there right when I started. Just¡­ waiting for me. Something about that always feels good. I might protest and quibble with Brendan over it¡ªI can''t let myself get too big a head, after all¡ªbut my channel really is growing and I love watching it grow. It means nothing to my family, since I don''t even make minimum wage yet, but to me this is beautiful. I get to do something I love, and other people love watching me do it so much that I make an income out of it! Like come on, I''m literally getting paid to play Pok¨¦mon. Sometimes it feels like, even if I only just make enough money to survive, that''d be worth it, you know? But that path leads to ruin, unfortunately. Bills will pile up somewhere, most likely from the fucking protection racket that is the American healthcare system. I''ve got to make a lot more money than the average food service worker or Twitch streamer if I expect to survive with any degree of comfort.

    ¡­Unless I mutate into a monster and rampage through downtown instead. One more point in that category, I suppose.

    [YaktaurCaptain]: u ok, DD?

    [AllTricks]: she''sTHIMKING

    [LavAbsol]: Pok¨¦mon is a game that requires INTENSE FOCUS

    [NougatKin]: DD has achieved zen

    [PentUp]: is she even breathing lol

    [Lucarivor29]: DD please notice us ;-;

    [SwalotRancher]: RIP DD

    Oh, crap! A quick glance at my chat reminds me that I''ve been silent for far too long, which is a quick way to lose my audience. "DD" is me, obviously. I go by DistractedDreamer online.

    "Ah! Sorry, chat," I tell them, shaking my head as clear of thoughts as I''m able. "It''s been a pretty rough few days, my head''s caught up in all sorts of things."

    I immediately get a chorus of ''what''s wrong'' and ''oh no!'' and realize my mistake. They''re curious. Now I''m expected to explain, and I really, really don''t want to do that.

    Obviously, I could decline to do so. Nothing stops me except my own obsession with channel growth. Managing relationships, or at least the appearance of relationships, is an extremely important part of my job. I am my brand, and brand loyalty is a big part of how a business grows. I don''t want to encourage parasocial relationships, of course¡ªthey''re as creepy for me as they are unhealthy for everyone else¡ªbut it''s sort of unavoidable since personal interaction is essential to my job. People caring about me personally, about my life, is what will keep them on my channel rather than migrating to one of the more popular and more skilled streamers. I''ll never physically meet any of these people, but I want to try to remember them, recognize them, and form that vague sort of internet familiarity with them because that''s going to be the foundation on which more people get attracted to my content.

    Streaming is fun, sure, but it''s also a job. So¡­ how do I explain? How do I discuss my problems when they all sound like insane fantasies? ¡­Hmm. Well, I suppose there''s a pretty easy way to talk about insane fantasy stuff as if it was happening to me.

    "Does anyone here play GURPS?" I ask. "The tabletop game? Generic Universal Role Play System?"

    I get a few ''yes'' answers but mostly ''no.'' That''s okay. It gives me more story to tell.

    "GURPS is wild," I continue. "It''s pretty much exactly what it says on the tin: an attempt at a universal role play system, one that can be used to simulate any fantasy or sci-fi world you can imagine. Even the real world, if you''re into that for some reason. You can make absurd things with the GURPS ruleset, from eldritch gods to swarm-minds to hyper-advanced robots to ancient magi. It''s a phenomenally powerful system, mainly held back by the fact that it goes really hard into physics simulation and realism. If you''re not very, very familiar with the rules, you''re going to spend literal hours in every single combat encounter, looking up all sorts of wacky edge cases and still ignoring half the game''s rules just to make that bearable. I''m not personally a fan of the system much because of that, but I can''t deny that it does an absolutely incredible job of accomplishing what it sets out to do."

    Time for the small lie, I suppose.

    "Anyway, I''m currently in a GURPS game. And it''s fun, but it''s kind of messing with my head."

    I hesitate a bit, trying to think of the best way to frame my life as a fantasy.

    "...So, the premise of the game is that¡­ our characters have amnesia. To the point that we don''t even know what we are or what we can do. The GM has our character sheets and was the one to make our character. We have to figure ourselves out as we go, and we''ve got all kinds of weirdos. A human mind mage, a pair of four-armed siblings, and I''m a friggin spider with some sort of space magic. It''s pretty wild. Anyway, uh¡­ the last session ended with like, our whole party getting hit by a sleep spell from some cultists. I think they wanted to capture me, but they have no reason to keep the rest of the team alive. And I feel awful. I did what I could to stop it, but it wasn''t anywhere near enough. Now I''ve gotten everyone into a situation where they all might die. The session stopped there, too, right when everyone passed out. We don''t know what might happen."

    [LavAbsol]: The GM isn''t gonna randomly kill you all like that lol

    "Yeah, you don''t know my GM, Lav," I sigh. "Trust me, it''s a real risk."

    [AllTricks]: u got space magic right? Teleports?

    "Pseudo-teleports, yeah. More like I can step into another dimension for a while. I have to sorta¡­ dig through the other world, I guess? At least in the place I''m in now. But I can make my legs sharp for that."

    [PentUp]: OK it sounds like you''re spec''d for an ambush character. GURPS is high lethality, so that''s good for stealth play. Step into another dimension, wait for a good sneak attack, kill cultist. Step back. Repeat.

    "Uh¡­ I don''t think my combat stats are very high. Also, I definitely have the Reluctant Killer disadvantage."

    [AllTricks]: atk from behind so u don''t take the -4 from seeing ur victims face

    "I, uh, have some kind of unique omnidirectional sense which makes that impossible."

    [PentUp]: Then your build is trash and you''re fucked lol

    [AllTricks]: ya lol

    [Lucarivor29]: big oof

    "Wow," I sigh. "Thanks, chat."

    I suppose I probably should have known better on that one. Panic starts filling me once again so I drown it out in video games, chatting as much as I can. I''m not doing well tonight. This is a bad stream. This will hurt my metrics. But I keep going, because the alternative is being alone with my thoughts.

    Unfortunately, no amount of distraction seems to be enough. What''s going to happen to me? Will I wake up in a cage? Perhaps I could escape that easily enough, but then what? I can''t even communicate with anyone unless I have Sindri''s help. In the best-case scenario, my friends are free and alive, but I''m still probably kidnapped. Will they be able to find me? Will they try? It''s more likely that my friends are dead. No loose ends and all that. It would be child''s play to kill them all while they''re unconscious. Hours pass and the despair just keeps creeping in on me. Maybe they captured my team alongside me? I don''t know why they would but they certainly could have. They''re cultists, perhaps they want to sacrifice us! But by that same token, maybe they don''t want to capture me at all. Maybe they want to kill me and the sleep spell was just their best way of accomplishing that. Over and over, each imagined scenario worse than the last, I torture myself until well after the sun sets and my body starts becoming too exhausted to continue. It''s almost a relief when the stream ends, the foam goes back over my toes, and I snuggle into bed, quickly passing out despite my raging heart rate.

    I wake to a furious roar shaking me to my core, and blood splattering over my body.

    My spider-self has no eyelids to blearily blink open, only a perpetual sense of everything surrounding me, so the chaos hits all at once. A fuzzy arm, cradling me. Pulped and peeled organs, smashed and cut. Blood pooling inside bodies, but outside veins. Death. Pain. Danger. Movement.

    Teboho is holding me in the crook of his left lower arm. Another arm holds a large shield. The last two hold a spear, which currently has its point impaled through the neck of the lullaby-spell user. One of the other three cultists has a sword impaled through his belly; he''s alive, but likely won''t be for long. The other two are busy smashing through walls of stone that have somehow grown out of the wood of the tree. And speaking of the tree, two brand new holes have been smashed in it, presumably by the sledgehammer at Teboho''s feet.

    Holy crap. Teboho somehow woke up during the sleep spell, blocked the two cultists entering his room with a stone wall, smashed through the wall separating our rooms to stab the cultist going after Kagiso, and then smashed through the next wall in our room to stab the Art mage. Once again, I can''t have been asleep for more than a few seconds.

    Is this¡­ a best-case scenario!?

    A crashing sound rings out as the two upright cultists break through the stone barrier two rooms over. Agh, let''s not be hasty here! The scenario is still going! Teboho rips his spear out of the Art mage''s throat, quickly stabbing him two more times for good measure before turning back into my room. Kagiso and Sindri blearily blink awake for only a split second before jumping into combat mode, which fortunately saves Sindri''s life as he barely leaps out of bed in time to avoid a super-speed stab from one of the cultists. Motion magic, probably? With another furious roar, Teboho hurls his spear into the room, forcing the Motion mage to dodge and giving Sindri time to scramble over to the weapon and pull it out of the far wall. A crack like thunder rings out as the other cultist points his hands at Sindri, though, something striking him in the chest and causing him to let out a hoarse scream. I watch some of the blood vessels in Sindri''s arm explode, his whole body seizing painfully for a moment. What was that!? It sounded like lightning! Shoot, it might be lightning, what with how it traveled down his arm and boiled his blood. I have no way to know, I can''t see light! Kagiso scrambles for her bow, grabbing arrows to nock, and the chaos escalates from there.

    I feel paralyzed by terror, the nature of my strange senses contributing to a feeling that I''m not really here, just watching this horrifying scene in third person. Yet I know that''s not true. Each pump of rapidly-leaking blood spilling from the bodies of the cultists near us is a reminder that these deaths are real, and it is only by some miracle that Teboho is the one dealing them rather than the one bleeding out on the floor. Dimly, I realize that I''m restricting his ability to fight by clutching onto his hand like this, so with shaky limbs I dig through the air and hop into an extradimensional cubby, hoping against hope that somehow, everyone will be okay.

    It''s all I can do.

    Teboho seems to notice me scurry off, quickly forming himself another hammer out of thin air and rushing to Sindri''s side with the weapon swinging. In the arm that used to hold me, he now has a dagger. Kagiso has finished nocking her first arrow, but she fires it point-blank into the head of the dying cultist at her feet before joining the fight proper, a chilling execution that I''d probably have nightmares about if I was capable of them.

    Though I suppose, arguably, this world is my nightmares.

    The speedster-cultist jumps into the room with Kagiso and his ally unleashes another crash of thunder, this time hitting Sindri and Teboho. Suddenly, our archer is stuck fighting in close-range while our two melee combatants are held back by a mage. Everything''s going worst-case again, and I''m just sitting here, hiding!

    Trembling.

    I don''t want to be a killer.

    Step into another dimension. Wait for a good sneak attack. Kill cultist. The recent murderhobo advice rings in the back of my mind, and I feel myself start digging. Kagiso and her enemy are both Motion mages, and though she''s struggling she''s still defending herself. She probably has some degree of magical speed as well. There''s no way I could ambush them. Sindri and Teboho, meanwhile, are getting fried. ¡­And their enemy is standing still.

    Can I stop him? How would I even do that? Attack his legs? His arms? He''s a mage and the magic of this world doesn''t require limbs to use. I''d have to knock him unconscious, but I don''t know how to do that safely. I don''t even know what to try, and even if I did it''d risk either death or failure depending on how I mess it up. My friends scream as their bodies burn, wracked with deadly magic that I can''t even see.

    I can save them, though. I just¡­ I just have to kill.

    Teboho tries to throw up another stone wall, but the zap-mage focuses him down, leaving him a writhing mess on the floor. My tiny valve of a heart beats as fast as it can, my legs throbbing with power as I dig to my target. My tunnel is more or less suspended in midair, starting from the spot I crawled out of Teboho''s grasp at waist height. It doesn''t take terribly long to find myself huddled in terror behind the cultist''s neck, my claws ready to strike.

    "Hana!" Sindri shouts my name in desperation, leaping behind a bed for cover. "Hana!"

    I barely hear him, what passes for my ears consumed by the pounding sound of my own blood and Teboho''s screams. I don''t want to kill. I don''t want to kill him. This man in front of me attacked us, unprovoked. He''s going to kill us all. He''s evil. He''s scum. He''s more of a monster than I ever could be.

    I don''t want to kill him.

    But I have to. I have to. I''m shaking. I have to kill him. I can''t but I have to. The speedster nicks Kagiso in the arm. She''s going to die at this rate, but the boys can''t help her. No. No, no no. Have to. I have to. I create my tunnel exit, shredding the wood inside my mouth so it doesn''t fall out into 3D space and alert my prey. The back of his neck is right in front of me. Exposed. My legs tense, magic filling them and begging for release. I feel the pull, the need to sink them deep into flesh, remembering the ecstasy of cutting things open with my talons back on Earth.

    I don''t want to kill him. Two of my legs flash forwards, one aiming for the spine and the other for the jugular. I don''t want to kill him. My bladed body swims through bone even easier than it does wood. I don''t want to kill him. My instincts know what to do, leaping onto his severed neck and sinking my teeth into the wound. I don''t want to kill him. He tastes like iron and victory.

    I clatter to the floor atop a corpse, tearing into it voraciously as Sindri rushes into the adjacent room to flank the last cultist. The speedster isn''t so easily cornered, but he quickly catches onto the fact that he''s outmatched, disengaging immediately and rushing out the door. Sindri swears, or at least it sounds like he does, before staggering back into this room¡ªthe room where I am currently eating a man that I just killed¡ªto try and drag Teboho to his feet. The dentron is in terrible shape, which I suppose is the natural consequence of being struck by lightning multiple times in repeated succession.

    "Hana!" Sindri barks at me, but I ignore him because I''m still very busy eating. Because I killed a man, and now I''m eating him. I killed a man and I''m eating him I killed a man and I''m eating him I killed a man and I''m eating him what am I doing what am I doing stop stop stop stop stop¡ª

    Two strong hands reach down and pull me out of the bloody mess of viscera I''ve ravenously dug myself inside of, and I immediately freak out. Flailing as hard as I can, I hiss with multiple pairs of legs, trying to squirm out of the tight grip. Despite all the blood making my carapace slippery, however, I am lifted up, up, way up until I find my shrieking body placed carefully on top of Kagiso''s head.

    "Fala hana, nata nata," she coos, tapping the top of my body once for each ''nata.''

    Good hat, I intuit. Pat pat.

    I stop struggling, swallowing the last bits of flesh caught in my mouth. I''m just shaking now, my body unable to scream or cry. I''m a murderer. I saved my friends, but¡­ god. Oh god. Fuck! I just¡­ I just¡­!

    We need to go, Sindri''s mental voice suddenly blares in my head. Now!

    Ah. Yeah. The speedster might be getting backup. I don''t answer, but I don''t need to. I just keep a firm grip on Kagiso''s skull, careful not to cut her as she and Sindri each support one side of Teboho and the three of them all flee together, taking whatever they can carry before legging it out of the inn. Outside of the confined spaces, my limited sensory range now feels confining. I see Kagiso grab a stone from a pouch on her side, speak her spell, and throw it¡­ but I don''t know what her target was until we run past the corpse of a human woman, face-first on the ground with a hole in the back of her skull. Another cultist, judging by the necklace, but not the speedster that was fighting us. I have no idea what she might have done to earn Kagiso''s ire.

    The little rest stop village we''re in isn''t very large, and we''re soon at what is obviously the end of it. Multiple human-sized tunnels are dug into the wood at the town''s edge, each quickly twisting into an impossible direction. Sindri looks them all over briefly before decisively picking one, and we rush into what I can only assume is one of the wormholes. Once inside, it quickly twists into w=1 space, but somehow enables the human and dentron to follow the path anyway. I can somehow feel the magic here, but I have no capacity to focus on anything right now. I feel as dead as the man I just killed.

    Sindri and the others have a brief conversation, and a barely-conscious Teboho makes another wall, sealing off the tunnel behind us. Sindri and Kagiso set him down as carefully as they can, then collapse from exhaustion. Sindri makes everyone clasp hands the way we did when establishing the last communication spell, and I numbly step off of Kagiso''s head and add a leg to the mix.

    Well, Sindri heaves. I suppose I owe Hannah an apology. The cult¡­ was definitely a problem.

    I don''t answer.

    Brother save us, Kagiso comments. Hat save brother. Good hat.

    How did he save us? I manage to ask numbly. Why wasn''t he¡­

    I don''t manage to finish communicating the thought, but Teboho figures out my question anyway.

    I''m a Matter mage, he says. Matter and Barrier. Matter opposes Art. You screeching underneath my bed was enough to wake me up.

    Oh. Oh, I''m so dumb! He resisted the spell because of his element. Gah, I''d just learned that, how did I forget?

    Thank you, I mentally mutter.

    No, thank you, Hannah. If you hadn''t woken me up, a blade through the chest probably would have. You saved my life twice just now!

    And I ended a life. I ended a life for the first time. I''m still covered in sticky, wet blood. I drank it from him. I liked it.

    I''m the only reason they attacked, I answer numbly. I put you in danger in the first place. They wanted me because I''m valuable, right?

    Most likely, Sindri confirms bluntly.

    That hardly makes it Hannah''s fault! Teboho protests. They wanted to steal her like an animal, and kill us to get her! What occurred was nothing but justice against foul men so cruel and corrupt that they doubtlessly would have found a reason to attack us regardless.

    Perhaps, Sindri answers noncommittally. But whether they wanted Hannah or not, the important thing is that we stopped them and made it out alive. We should be largely safe here in the worm tunnels, at least for a while. And if they DO come after us here, Teboho and Kagiso can set up an absolutely brutal killzone. So for now, let''s lick our wounds and rest.

    Lick, lick, Kagiso purrs, having taken Sindri''s advice literally and decided to slurp at the gash on her arm. Then she glances at me, takes her arm out of her mouth, and offers it to me.

    Hannah want? She asks, motioning to the blood leaking out of her.

    N-no! I yelp back at her. She shrugs and goes back to licking herself.

    Yes, about that, Sindri sighs. Please don''t eat anyone else, Hannah. It''s not acceptable in civilized cultures.

    I jump a little at that, my legs nervously drumming through 4D space.

    I didn''t mean¡ªI mean, I won''t! I don''t want to, I just¡­ I won''t. Sorry. I''m sorry!

    She saved your life, Sindri! Teboho protests. Leave her be. You aren''t hurt anywhere, are you Hannah?

    N-no, I''m fine, I insist. I''m fine.

    I''d ask the same to him, but I can''t bring myself to do so. I can see exactly how bad Teboho is torn up on the inside, and it''s horrifying. Less than an hour later, though, I''m back on Kagiso''s head and everyone else is back on their feet, staggering up the wormhole to our next destination. I spend the whole trip replaying my kill over and over in my mind. Remembering my panic, my horror, my regret, and my reluctance.

    And how it all washed away at the bite.

 9. Taste for Blood

    We don''t talk much for the rest of the day. Or¡­ is it nighttime? I guess it probably is, considering our rude awakening, but it''s impossible for anyone to tell inside this spatial tunnel up through the trunk of the Mother Tree, or Tree of Souls, or whatever a given culture wants to call this thing. My vote is ''Absolutely Massive Woody.'' God, that''s so bad. What the heck, brain?

    Regardless of the time, we''re all exhausted, frayed past our breaking points. My thoughts are a constant anxious loop, replaying the moment I murdered a man over and over in my mind. The way my legs slid through him with only the slightest resistance, the way the smell of his viscera erupting from the wound drove me into a frenzy, the way his sticky blood still covers my body, gunking up my joints and providing a constant reminder of what I just did. It''s sickening. It''s horrifying. It''s revolting.

    It was probably the right thing to do.

    I mean, by any halfway decent legal system that wasn''t murder, that was justified self-defense. They escalated to lethal force, we responded reasonably in order to protect ourselves. I guess you could argue Teboho was the first to kill someone, but if I woke up in the middle of being magically disabled to see two shady men with weapons drawn looming over my bed¡­ yeah, I think anyone would be justified in assuming they were trying to kill us. And by the time I got involved, my victim was already frying my friends with goddamn lighting bolts. If I got tried in court, I''d probably get off scot-free if I had a reasonably competent lawyer.

    Literally none of that justification makes me feel better, of course. The law does not decide what''s moral or what''s right, and it certainly doesn''t decide how traumatized I''m going to be after an event like this. If someone else had done what I did, I would tell them that they did the right thing. They saved people that were in danger via the best method they had available. I know that. It just¡­ doesn''t matter. Because I did that, I had to live through it, and I just killed someone. I will never, ever be able to take that back.

    At least I''m not alone in my trauma. The only one of us who seems unaffected by the experience is Kagiso, who just seems sleepy more than anything else. Though all three big people trudge up the tunnel with obvious fatigue, Teboho and Sindri are both noticeably subdued in ways that feel like they go beyond mere exhaustion. I want to ask them about it and see if there''s anything I can do to help, and I''ve almost worked up the courage to speak up when everyone suddenly halts.

    Kagiso, hide Hannah, Sindri orders.

    Wait, what? I ask, but I''m immediately peeled off of Kagiso''s head and stuffed into her backpack, which is sealed overtop of me. Oi! What''s going on?

    People ahead, Sindri explains. They''re heading down, we''ll meet them. They''re probably merchants, which means there''s at least a half-decent chance that they''re cultists. I seriously doubt every member of their group is going to try and kidnap you, but¡­ well, better safe than sorry.

    I stop struggling and curl up into a little ball, doing my best to act like luggage.

    That makes sense, I allow. Why do you think they were after me in the first place?

    Same reason I was, I suppose, Sindri answers. If you were just a monster, you''d be ridiculously valuable.

    Did you not explain to the merchant who wanted to buy me that I''m a person!?

    I did, Sindri insists. I suppose he just didn''t care.

    What makes me so valuable, anyway? It seems like you have tons of Space-aligned monsters, and I''m sure there are plenty of Order-aligned ones as well.

    Hannah, I just saw you decapitate a Light mage with a Space spell. Those are opposing elements. Remember how magic resistance works? You completely ignored being electrocuted¡ªwhich is normal enough, if admittedly impressive¡ªbut you also ignored your target''s resistance to your magic. That speaks of a massive difference in relative power.

    Wait, I was being electrocuted that whole time!? I didn''t even feel it! I guess it was loud in there, but I assumed he was still zapping Teboho! Gah, I really wish I could see! Still though, I suppose it sounds like I have the standard bullshit isekai power level. That''s¡­ something, except I''m fairly certain it doesn''t translate to anything like hit points. I can still quite literally be squashed like a bug.

    I¡­ I had no idea, I admit. So they just wanted me because I''m powerful?

    Yes, Sindri confirms. That''s my suspicion. It probably had more to do with the fact that one of them was a beast trader than the fact that they were cultists. The Disciples of Unification are a borderline pyramid scheme, sure, but they''re not a bunch of bandits. They''d strongly disapprove of anyone wearing their emblem engaging in that sort of behavior.

    What do you mean by a ''borderline pyramid scheme?'' I ask.

    Becoming a high-ranking Disciple of Unification requires sizable donations to ensure your dedication, Sindri explains. The more you pay, the more the ''truth of reality is revealed to you,'' or some such nonsense. Anyone with basic sense knows to stay away from them, but they still manage to subsist off of aggressive evangelism among the merchant class.

    Oh my god they''re scientologists. That''s¡­ I hate that so much. I get sent to a fantasy world, but instead of deep and interesting cultures of tree-dwelling peoples who worship provably real deities that enact miracles directly on the world, I''m stuck still mucking around with the lowest common denominator of religion.

    I¡­ I see, I manage to answer, and then the incoming merchants come into my sensory range.

    It''s three dentron: a man, a woman, and a small male that I assume is a young boy. They have a strange wagon-like¡­ thing, but rather than being pulled by an animal it rests on top of a large, flat lizard-like creature, which has no apparent trouble with the rough, steep tunnel even with an entire caravan and three people on its back. The creature is wide and low to the ground, both of its eyes resting on top of its head. Oversized feet grip so solidly into the wood that I suspect it could travel via the ceiling of the tunnel if it were so inclined, though its cargo might not appreciate that. Its body is longer than a pickup truck, not counting the tail, and on its back is what I suspect might be the life''s wealth of the family driving it. Securely covered and attached, the storage area has crates upon crates of glass bottles filled with unidentifiable substances, from powders to liquids to animal organs to dried plants. There''s enough empty space back there for the group to huddle up and sleep together, as well, so there are beds laid out and plenty of crates that just have travel food. It''s all very interesting, but I''m more concerned with the risk they pose than the goods they sell. I search through their outfits, and to my dismay I find that both of the adults have the same centipede-engraved pendants that the other cultists have.

    They''re Disciples of Unification, I confirm to my team.

    How can you tell? Teboho asks.

    Pendants under their clothes, I answer. Centipede symbol, right? Long twisty bug, lots of legs?

    That would be them, Teboho confirms.

    There''s no reason to assume they''re involved with the group that attacked us, Sindri assures everyone, but it doesn''t stop him and the rest of the team from tensing up for combat, muscles coiled and ready to fight in an instant. Kagiso doesn''t draw her bow, but she subtly palms a stone in each hand while Sindri rests one of his own on the short sword at his hip. Teboho, of course, is neither armed nor armored, but the entire premise of his magic is the ability to change that in an instant.

    Our tension must make the cultists nervous, as it spreads to them the closer they get to us. They don''t make any aggressive moves, however, simply ordering their son to hide in the covered parts of the cargo before politely (or what I assume is politely) hailing us. They keep their huge (and kind of adorable) flounder-skink as respectful a distance away from us as they can, but we''ll have to pass very close by in order to get around them.

    Hannah, can you see what goods they sell? Sindri asks.

    A bunch of weird stuff, I answer. Glass bottles full of crap. Maybe they''re apothecaries? Magic potions or something?

    There''s no such thing as magic potions, Sindri chides. They could certainly be selling medicine, though.

    Need medicine, Kagiso points out. Hurt. Stabbed.

    You want to buy stuff from the people that tried to kill us? I ask incredulously.

    It''s better than going untreated, I suppose, Sindri grumbles. We need a doctor to look at Teboho''s injuries, and we need to make sure Kagiso''s wounds don''t get infected, and I could probably use someone to look at my arm as well. Just¡­ keep Hannah in the bag. Don''t let them see her. Alright?

    Hide the hat, no pat pat, Kagiso confirms seriously.

    I can just hide in one of my dimensional pockets, I point out.

    Your what? Teboho asks. I don''t think Kagiso''s pockets will be big enough.

    Did that not translate? I ask.

    I understood you, Sindri sighs. Do what you think is best, just don''t be seen.

    Okay, I''m hiding in higher dimensional space then, I say. Just don''t leave without me. I''ll sneak back into the backpack when you guys are ready to go.

    I reach through the direction that shouldn''t exist, carve out the wood in my way, and pass into the cool, familiar space of tunneled world tree, the blood caked to my body all dropping into Kagiso''s backpack as it''s unable to follow. It''s second-nature for me to dig through the trunk like this, probably because that''s what I was doing every night of my life until I finally emerged less than a week ago. ¡­Geez, was it really less than a week ago? That''s insane, it feels like so much longer.

    Anyway. The team is going to go talk to cultists on purpose, even though we just got nearly killed by a group of them. That seems incredibly stupid to me, but I guess it''s not my call. I need to stay out of sight. And if something happens, then I''ll be in the perfect position to¡­ to¡­

    Oh god, please don''t make me have to kill anyone else.

    Ignoring an urge to vomit, I shakingly dig a tunnel towards where the cultist merchants have stopped, shoving the carved-out wood down my seemingly-endless gullet. Sindri speaks with them for a while, giving me the time I need to move behind their necks. Just¡­ just in case. The merchants wear armor underneath their clothes, but have no weapons. That means nothing, of course. Weapons are somewhat less important when anyone can randomly be born with a deadly spell. Everyone is always armed, though most people have no idea what anyone else is armed with, making everything even more terrifying. Pneuma mages have it lucky, what with being able to see whatever ''auras'' are.

    I skitter in a circle, chasing the unfocused thoughts from my mind. This is dangerous. This could be another catastrophe and I have to be ready because if I''m not ready people could die! ¡­And if I am ready then people will die and it will be my fault, but at least it won''t be people I like. That''s¡­ fuck. Fuck! I hate this! I hate having to think like this! Why is every part of my life collapsing all at once!?

    I wait, claws at the ready as Sindri negotiates with the cultists. I''m ready when he approaches them, showing proof that he can and will pay. I''m ready when a deal is agreed on, I''m ready when Sindri reports it''s a good deal and these kind people aren''t taking advantage of our desperation. I''m ready when clothing starts to come off so wounds can be treated. I''m ready. I''m ready through it all. If they attack, I''ll make their kid an orphan. I''ll do it. That''s the reality of this world, so I''ll do it.

    An eternity later, my friends are thanking the traveling merchant-doctors, the two groups parting ways. I slip back into Kagiso''s backpack, trying to ignore the small bed of dried blood shavings that I inadvertently created inside. Nothing happened. Everything was fine.

    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    See, that''s how things usually go with the Disciples of Unification, Sindri grunts. Those four we fought were just rotten, greedy bastards.

    You speak as though you have a history with this group, Teboho comments.

    I wouldn''t say a history, Sindri hedges. I just travel a lot, and they''re one of the few organizations prominent on both the Tree of Souls and Pillar. They accept basically every sapient species to their ranks and mainly recruit other travelers, like merchants. They''re usually quite fair merchants, too, they just have a horrible tendency to constantly prod at me and try to get me to join their organization. They''re annoying, is all.

    Talk too much, Kagiso groans. Sleep soon?

    It''d be bad form to set up camp inside a tunnel, Sindri insists. Not enough room in here. Just a little further, everyone.

    But sleepy, Kagiso whines.

    Your brother nearly got fried to death and he''s not complaining, Sindri sighs. I mean it. It''s just a little further.

    I think it''s a little weird that we''re avoiding rest when we nearly all just died, but I guess I''m the only member of the group that didn''t get injured and I''m also the only member of the group that doesn''t have to walk, so I figure I don''t deserve a say in the matter. Sindri isn''t lying, at least. Less than half an hour later, we make it out of the tunnel onto another branch, the cool wind indicating we once again stand under open sky.

    I''m sure it looks beautiful to everyone that can see it. To my senses, it''s just a few structures and a bit more dirt.

    There''s no village here, just a small outpost. We avoid it, Sindri navigating us away from anyone else and setting up camp somewhere secluded. We agree on a watch rotation, and since it''s apparently dark enough right now that my senses see further than everyone else''s, I''m included in the shifts. Sindri takes first watch, followed by me, and ending with Kagiso. Teboho is excluded, since he''s the most heavily injured.

    Hannah want? Kagiso asks, patting the dirt next to her sleeping bag.

    I think I''ll sleep somewhere no one can get to me, I tell her. Thanks for the offer, though.

    She pouts a little, but nods. I start trying to burrow into the tree¡­ and realize that we''re out on a branch again rather than inside the trunk, so I''m not able to burrow in whatever direction I want. I have to find a nearby barren zone and step into it. I''m not sure why it works that way, but that''s the way it works. There''s a small barren zone nearby, though, so into it I go.

    I curl up, dig a bit to get myself comfortable, and then wake up on Earth. My alarm is going off. It''s Monday morning. I guess it''s time for this traumatized little murderer to go to school. Once I remember how to walk, anyway.

    The morning routine isn''t so bad today, at least. It doesn''t take long for me to figure my limbs out, and I head to the shower without any trouble. My horrifying mutant bits are still horrifying and mutant, but other than my skin getting a little bit darker and the exoskeleton slowly growing up my toes I don''t see anything notable. I don''t even lose another patch of skin from my leg, although that patch of bony exoskeleton sure is a thing still.

    Nope, it would seem I''ve hit a new normal. The only odd part about today is how I start shaking like an insane person every time I stop moving for more than five seconds, having to think about the taste of glorious, horrible blood in my mouth as I burrowed into a man''s chest cavity. It makes my toes curl and my leg itch and my stomach growl for bloody meat. Will I kill someone here on Earth, too? Will it be in self-defense again, or will the changes to my body just drive me mad?

    No. Don''t think about it. Press forward. I get long, thick socks on to hide my mutating leg and claws, with a basic T-shirt and jeans covering¡­ hmm. No. I put a jacket on, one with a hood. Then I find some gloves and stuff them into my pockets, just in case. Now I''m ready. Or at least as ready as I can expect my useless preparation skills to be capable of. I walk to the bus stop and immediately realize my mistake.

    I have to wait. There''s nothing to do here. I pull out my phone in a desperate attempt to acquire distractions but it''s too late, I''m already thinking about human flesh sliding down my throat. God, why did the one cultist I ended up killing have to be the human one!? I mean, would it have been better if he was a dentron? Is it racist to say yes? Oh good, now I''m a murderer and a bigot. Great work, Hannah, you''re really striking off the unforgivable monster bingo card! Keep this up and you''ll be going for a blackout before the end of the month! I''m sure you can find someone to torture if you put your mind to¡ª

    "Hey, Han¡ª"

    I leap away from the sound, twisting in the air and trying to get a half dozen limbs that don''t exist up and ready to protect my face from the predator that somehow just snuck up on me. How did it do that!? I can see¡­ I can¡­ wait.

    I land in a slight crouch, my heart throbbing a mile a minute and my breathing heavy. It''s just¡­ it''s just Brendan. It''s Brendan, it''s fine, it''s okay, it''s Brendan. It''s okay. I''m fine. There''s no attack.

    "Hannah¡­?" he asks slowly, opening and showing both his palms.

    I open my mouth to tell him I''m okay, and a hiss leaks out. Brendan takes a step back, which immediately makes me want to chase him claw him predator danger kill eat I''m going crazy oh god I''m going crazy help me help me! I feel my breathing get faster, my eyes grow wider, but I''m not going to hurt Brendan, I refuse, I refuse, I categorically refuse. Not the best thing in my life. He''s fine. He''s safe. I''m safe.

    ¡­Except I''m clearly not safe. Not safe to be around, not safe to exist. I''m still stanced like an animal, still completely certain that something is trying to kill me and I''ll have to kill it first if I want to live. Just like last night. He had to die. He had to. I had no choice.

    "Hannah," Brendan repeats, kneeling down slowly. Smaller. Less aggressive. Good. "You in there, Hannah?"

    Yes, I''m in here. I''m in here and I need help. I know how to say the words but they won''t come out. I feel tears start to form in my eyes. I''m completely, mortally terrified, and I don''t even know what of. I want to run, I want to fight, I want to scream until the sun dies, but as usual the action that comes easiest to me is doing nothing at all. Stay the course. Maintain status quo. I stay stock still, not trusting myself to attempt anything else.

    Brendan takes a slow step forwards. I let him. He takes another, and another. Cautiously, treating me like the wild animal that I am, he extends a hand forwards. I track it carefully with my eyes¡ªI don''t think I could choose to not track it¡ªbut I continue to otherwise stay still until it inevitably reaches its target.

    Brendan pats me on the head, the motion rough and uncomfortable.

    "There¡­ there?" he says awkwardly.

    Something about that¡ªmaybe the odd humor to it, maybe the sheer absurdity, maybe the contact itself¡ªbreaks the dam of tension and I break, my body dropping out of fight-or-flight mode like a stone. I gulp for air and then have to stop gulping for air, worried about hyperventilation. Brendan catches me as I stagger, then quickly releases me once I get my balance back. I look up into his worried expression, embarrassment sparking inside me but lacking the energy to flare.

    "...Bad night?" Brendan asks.

    "Y-yeah," I confirm. "Yeah. Pretty bad night."

    "Maybe you shouldn''t go to school today," he ventures.

    "I''m fine," I insist. "I''ll be fine."

    "Hannah¡­"

    "I''m fine!" I snap. "I just¡­ let me pretend."

    He stares at me, not knowing what to say for a while.

    "Tell me about it?" he eventually asks.

    I take an involuntary step back, my body starting to shake with stress again.

    "I¡­"

    I killed someone. The words are on the tip of my tongue but they don''t come out. I killed someone and I ate them. I was almost kidnapped and my friends almost died.

    "I-I¡­"

    Hannah you pathetic imbecile, just say the words! The Best Friend Code demands it! Yet the bus arrives before I can choke out the truth, and before I know it we''re at school, getting off the bus and neither of us have said a single word. We''re going to have to split up to get to classes. Now or never.

    Come on, Hannah. You''re not this weak.

    "I killed someone," I manage to choke out.

    Brendan stops and stares at me for a while, taking in the severity of my words.

    "You should definitely see a therapist," he says simply.

    I''m taken aback by the comment for a moment, feeling offended and betrayed.

    "I-I''m not going to see a therapist!" I snap.

    "Okay, but like, intellectually you understand that you need a therapist, right?" he presses.

    I hiss at him. Again. Because apparently I have a hissing response now. I''m still too exhausted and angry to be embarrassed about it.

    "I know you hate therapists, Hannah," Brendan says, putting his hands up placatingly. "But bad experiences with them doesn''t mean you don''t still need one. No, actually, it means you need one more."

    "So I can do what?" I challenge. "What am I gonna say, Brendan? That I wake up in an alternate universe every night and I ate a man because he was shooting lightning? I''d get thrown in a looney bin!"

    "I think you''re more than lucid enough to avoid being forced into a psychiatric hospital," Brendan answers calmly. "You''re not¡­ okay, I mean, you are a danger to yourself, but not because you''re insane."

    "Oh, har-dee-har!"

    "Hannah, that was emphatically not a joke."

    I hesitate at that. He''s really serious. Even worse, he''s not wrong. I''m obviously traumatized, I''d have to be a thousand times more dense than I already am to not see that. Therapy is how you deal with trauma. The problem, of course, is that I''m traumatized by therapy.

    "You can go to a completely different treatment center, Hannah," Brendan points out. "Hell, there''s no way your parents would let you go back to that place. That''s not how things normally go and you know that. You had a good therapist for years."

    "I had a useless therapist for years," I counter. "It never helped, it was just¡­ not that."

    The bell rings, announcing our impending tardiness. I turn to head to class, hesitantly looking back at Brendan one more time.

    "We''ll talk more about this after school," he insists.

    I nod glumly, hurrying off to my first class of the day. It''s just English, so nothing particularly interesting or difficult, which is good because I have biology next and there''s a big test today. Ignoring whatever nonsense about The Scarlet Letter the teacher is droning on about, I pull out my science textbooks and start to get some last-minute review in. The teacher calls on me with a question part way through class to try and gotcha me into paying attention, but that only works if I can''t answer the question correctly. Obviously, I can. No complaining, teach, I have straight A''s and you know it. Leave me the heck alone.

    Studying biology isn''t exactly productive, but it''s engaging enough to work as a proper distraction and that''s what I need to get through the day. I expect the test itself to be similar. Not difficult, but definitely taking my full attention to accomplish. I sit down, manage to distract myself with my phone until the bell rings, and then it''s testing time. Multiple choice, too, just the way I like it. I look forward to forgetting all of this crap in a few months. Who needs life skills if you can just regurgitate information without context? It''s not like our society has created a searchable database of nearly all human knowledge or anything. Memorization is definitely the most important thing to focus on. ¡­Although what I should really be focusing on is this test.

    As time passes, that quickly starts to get more and more difficult. There are a few questions about blood, and just thinking about them brings up horrid memories, horrid tastes that creep into my mouth and refuse to let go. Warm, wet iron sliding down my throat like syrup. Pooling in my mouth. I''ve heard that human meat tastes like pork, but I can''t say I agree with that. Maybe that''s true when you cook it, but when you devour it raw from a still-spurting neck? It just tastes like blood.

    My mouth tastes like blood. So much blood. More and more, I try to lock my focus on the test in front of me, but I just keep tasting that awful, revolting, glorious blood. I fill out an answer as it fills up my mouth. I can''t get the taste out of my mind. It''s so real, almost like I¡ª

    A drop of liquid leaks out of my cloth facemask and stains the test paper red.

    Oh. Oh. My mouth tastes like blood because it''s actually bleeding. I don''t even know if that''s better or worse. I move my tongue around, and wow, okay, there''s actually a lot of blood collecting in here. Where''s the cut? What''s happening to me now? I prod at one of my teeth on a whim and¡­ it moves.

    It comes loose.

    I''m so startled I open my mouth, just a little, an audible splat of blood hitting my desk as a result. Now that I''m scared of it, I can''t help but apply pressure to other teeth¡ªpoking them, sucking on them, just a little¡ªand one by one they all start to collapse out of my gums, filling my mouth with enamel and blood. Oh god. Oh god! In a panic I jump to my feet, hand over my mouth as my chair clatters behind me. Everyone looks my way. Everyone sees the blood oozing through my mask, over my fingers, and dripping onto the desk. The teacher shouts my name as I run out of the classroom, but I don''t listen. I rush for the bathroom, no nurse, not again. I rush to a sink, block the drain, pull up my mask and spit.

    Every single tooth in my mouth clatters into the porcelain, all of them drenched red. I¡­ I don''t have any teeth anymore. I don''t have teeth. And that is a lot of blood. My blood. All that blood is coming out of my face. It''s still bleeding. Oh no. Oh no oh no. Stop. Please stop.

    My chest starts to ache. I guess we''re doing the panic attack thing again. I hardly even feel like I''m in my body this time, like I''m some casual observer feeling this pain, seeing this bloody-faced girl in the mirror start to hyperventilate and nearly choke on her own blood. C-calm. I have to calm down. Face down, let the blood drain out. Don''t swallow it. It''ll stop. It''ll definitely stop. You''re lightheaded because of the panic attack, not because you''re dying. I don''t know if that''s true but I''ll keep telling myself that. Oh, fuck, what''s happening to me? What''s happening to me!?

    I mean¡­ I suppose there''s only one thing it could be, when you think about it. I''ve already lost all my baby teeth, of course, and my father is a dentist for crying out loud. My teeth were impeccably healthy. The only thing that could have pushed them out is new teeth coming in. I prod my gums with my tongue, quickly finding telltale points starting to emerge. Because of course they''re so damn pointy I nearly cut my tongue on them before they''re even poking out of my gums.

    I suppose I''m a maneater now, so it only makes sense I grow the teeth to match.

 10. Urges

    I do not have the supplies and tools I''d like to have for cleaning up this much blood, but I suppose I''ll just have to make do.

    I should probably try to stop producing more blood first, though. Or¡­ well, I mean, I''m going to need to produce blood to make up for all the blood that''s falling out of my face, but I need that blood to not fall out of my face, so¡­ god, what am I even thinking about? Am I still having a panic attack?

    Hmm.

    Yep, chest still hurts, body still feels like it''s screaming, breathing is only stable due to effort. Definitely a panic attack. Is this what dissociation feels like? Huh. I don''t like it. What was I thinking about? Oh right, the blood. Thankfully I still have a bunch of crap in my backpack all about dealing with blood, so I quickly close my mouth, rinse my hands, and stick a bunch of gauze in my mouth. Awesome. Now what should I do with the thirty-two teeth that I just dropped into a sink?

    Something about that thought hits me like a brick to the face, and I''m slammed back into the full terror of my situation all at once. All of my teeth just fell out of my face. I am bleeding from the entirety of my gums at the same time. I am losing a lot of blood and I might need to go to the emergency room, at which point it will be discovered that I am a horrifying freak of nature whose existence probably defies everything we know about how biology works and I don''t know, maybe that''ll go just fine, but maybe I''ll be kidnapped and tested on or outright killed and I have no idea what will happen, I have no way to know what will happen, so I just have to keep it all a secret even though there''s no way that''s going to last I just¡­ I can''t! I can''t handle anything else!

    So, again: teeth. Do I just flush them down the toilet or something? I mean, that might work if there was just one of them, but I have an entire mouth full of teeth and I''m worried they might get stuck in the pipes. Imagine an irritated old plumber trudging out to the school to fix a clog just to open up a pipe and have thirty-two teeth just tumble onto the floor. He''d think someone was killed and murdered to death! They''d call the police, the police would check the dental records, they''d find my dental records and find out I''m alive and well but they''d definitely want to talk and figure out what all that was about and just¡­ aaaaaaaaah!

    So none of that plan is happening! Instead, I reach my hand into the horrible little soup of blood I''ve collected in the sink and retrieve all my teeth, depositing them on top of five layers of paper towel. I rinse them off, transfer them over to a new set of dry paper towel, then stick them all in a ziplock bag and drop it in my backpack. Good. Now if anyone finds my teeth, they won''t think I''m a murder victim. They''ll just think I''m a murderer instead.

    Which is true.

    And speaking of, this entire process has gotten a lot of blood everywhere, so I quickly change out the red-soaked gauze in my mouth, put on a fresh N95, and start compartmentalizing the crap out of all my various forms of panic so I can move my body in automatic mode. I''m not sure why, but I''ve always liked cleaning. I''m certainly good at cleaning, and it''s something that I can do with my hands that''s just engaging enough to fully occupy my brain. It''s distracting in exactly the way I need right now, or at least in exactly the way I''ve traditionally used to handle stress which probably isn''t actually what I need but is the only thing I know that helps, even temporarily.

    I''ve always considered myself weirdly self-aware for someone who repeatedly runs face-first into the same problems over and over. They say the first step is admitting you have a problem, and dang am I really good at that, but all the other steps sure do tend to give me trouble. ¡­Wait, did I just hear the bathroom door open? Oh, crap-and-mustard sandwich someone''s coming in! No no no no no!

    "O-occupied!?" I squeak desperately, even though that''s not how this bathroom works because it has four different stalls in it.

    "Uh, Hannah, right?" an oddly familiar voice calls out to me. "Mr. Frank said to check if¡­"

    A freckled girl''s face peeks around the corner into the bathroom proper and immediately goes white as a sheet, presumably because of all the blood all over everything, myself included. It''s Autumn, of all people, the girl who also saw my bloody-as-a-horror-movie toes back in gym class. She has brown hair, green eyes, and a somewhat thin face with high cheekbones that would probably look sharp and intimidating on someone who didn''t look like she was about to scream and/or throw up. Outside of that she looks incredibly plain, wearing the kind of nondescript, almost uniform-like outfit that''s so boring I can almost forget what it looks like while staring right at her. Which I am, in fact, doing, because someone just walked in on me cleaning up pools of my own blood with nothing but hand soap and a panic attack. We deer-in-the-headlights each other for an awkward fifteen seconds or so as Autumn''s face gets increasingly more panicked, her breathing accelerating and body shaking until she suddenly squeezes her eyes shut, takes a deep breath, and twists her expression into something more like confused, mildly irritated bewilderment with what seems to be sheer force of will.

    "Okay," she manages to say, sighing deeply. "What?"

    "What?" I parrot back like an utter fool and complete moron.

    "What," she grumbles, fishing into her back pocket for a small notepad and pulling it out, "is going on, exactly?"

    "I, uh. Bloody nose," I lie poorly. My voice is a horrid muffled mess because of all the gauze in it, and also because of the lack of teeth in it, but maybe I can just talk quietly and pretend it''s the mask getting in the way.

    "Do you have a fucking artery in your nose, or something?" Autumn asks incredulously, glancing at her notebook rather than me. Her eyebrows scrunch together as she reads it, but she just puts it back in her pocket afterwards.

    "The sphenopalatine artery, yeah," I answer numbly.

    She blinks at me. I blink back.

    "...Would you like help cleaning that up?" she asks with a sigh.

    I mean. I suppose this is a lot of blood for one person.

    "Thank you," I mumble. "I have some latex gloves in my backpack, if you want them."

    "Of course you do," Autumn sighs. "That''s not creepy at all. Is your mask stuffed with gauze or something? You sound like you''re talking through a wall."

    "Not the whole mask," I assure her. "But I mean, there was a lot of blood, so¡­"

    "A lot of gauze," Autumn agrees as if that''s perfectly reasonable and I''m not a crazy person covered in liquid human, which I have to say is rather nice of her. "Get me those gloves, I definitely don''t want to catch whatever explosive blood problem you seem to have. Are your feet okay?"

    "Uh¡­ well, they''re not bleeding anymore," I answer awkwardly, pulling a whole box of latex gloves out of my backpack that I guess I must have stuffed in there during my morning fugue. What else is in here? Bandages, Band-Aids, some other useful stuff I guess I stole from my house''s medical supplies. Well hey, good job, me. I''ll have to pack some cleaning equipment tomorrow, too. I toss Autumn the box.

    "Y''know, once is unfortunate, but twice is suspicious," she points out, catching the box and pulling out a pair of gloves to wear. "You gonna explain any of this?"

    I stare at her, trying to figure out the best way to answer.

    "No," I ultimately decide. "No I am not."

    Autumn gives me a rather nonplussed look, but to her immense credit she grabs some paper towels, squirts some soap on them, and starts cleaning up regardless. Which is exactly the response I needed. Honestly, kind of a girlboss move to see someone who was literally drowning in blood moments ago and be all like ''hey, you need help wiping up all your gross human juice?'' Something about that¡ªprobably the fact that it''s horribly timed and doomed to failure, given my track record¡ªmakes my heart flutter in what I''ve come to recognize as the beginning of a crush. Which, y''know, is the last possible thing I need right now, but my body being a piece of shit and doing whatever it wants with no regard to how it affects me has become somewhat of a theme lately. Ugh. I was just thinking about how Autumn looks plain, but the moment she does something nice for me I''m staring at those adorable freckles and long brown curls in a completely different light, trying to avoid letting my gaze fall below her neckline, and generally just activating all of my gayest neurons. This happens way too often for my liking, I really wish it would stop. But also, I really wish she''d take off that offensively plain shirt and¡ªhmm nope stopping that thought. You know what? I''ve got blood to clean up. Let''s clean up the blood. I peel my eyes away from my uncomfortably attractive classmate and get back to work.

    "Thank you," I manage to gurgle out, doing my best to ignore how catastrophically stupid I must sound with my gums stuffed with gauze. "I really appreciate the help."

    "It''s whatever," Autumn grunts. "At this point I''m just trying to get a good excuse to take the science test some other day. I feel like helping you with all this is probably enough of one."

    "Well, you said Mr. Frank told you to come check on me, right?" I ask. "He can''t get mad at you for doing what he said to do."

    Autumn is silent for a moment, her eyes squinting almost imperceptibly, but she nods slowly.

    "Right, yeah," she answers blandly. "Good point."

    If there''s one advantage to a sudden, intrusive, and entirely unwanted budding crush on a girl I have talked to a grand total of two times, it''s that it somehow manages to distract me from the horrid feelings in my frighteningly-empty mouth, the throbbing ache of slowly-closing blood vessels, the painful pang of new teeth growing in, and the general lightheadedness of having lost all of the blood that I''m currently wiping up. The bleeding does, at least, seem to be rapidly slowing down, as my fresh gauze still tastes more like spit than iron. Together, Autumn and I quickly contain and sanitize the mess as best we can, making it look less like a slasher flick. I only need to remind myself that she''s probably straight about fourteen times throughout the process. My brain is just annoying like that. I''m very much not able to handle a relationship right now, with everything going on. I mean heck, at this rate I''d probably try to eat her or something! Plus, she''s not wearing a mask, and I refuse to date anybody not wearing a mask. I don''t care that it''s not required indoors anymore! Every little bit helps! My stupid hormones ignore all of this perfectly reasonable logic, of course, but it''s no big deal. I get these sorts of crushes all the time, and they are yet another thing I''ve gotten very good at repressing. Nobody else is gay in this stupid southern-state Christian town, so sixty percent of my crushes end up making cartoon awooga eyes at the beefiest football players, thirty-five percent loudly agree with my pastor when he decries homosexuality as sinful (which I guess doesn''t mean they aren''t gay, but it certainly means I don''t want to deal with their baggage) and of course the last five percent is Brendan, who I assume is there just because the part of my brain who crushes on people that are nice to me went so far into overdrive that it temporarily tossed my gayness out the window, or something. I dunno. I''m probably just unspeakably desperate.

    "I guess I owe you double for this," I tell Autumn, my mouth still a muffled mess. "If you need anything, just let me know."

    I''m not sure if I''ll be of much help with my life rapidly shattering to pieces like this, but I''m certainly going to try.

    "I''ll be sure to write your favor down," Autumn answers dryly, peeling her soapy gloves off and tossing them in the trash before pulling out her notepad and, apparently, actually doing just that. Unfortunately, she has the notepad angled so that I can''t see it. Probably on purpose. Still though, I want to ask.

    "Do you collect all your debts into that ledger, or just the particularly bloody ones?" I joke.

    "What can I say," she drawls. "It pays to know who''ll be willing to spot you some cash. Literally."

    I chuckle even though it isn''t funny, half because of the budding crush and half because I''m experiencing a major adrenaline crash and my brain is completely shutting off. Though in her defense, Autumn generally seems very¡­ flat. Uh, like in the amazing, dry, witty sort of way, not the chest way, which actually looks rather¡­ y''know, not, um. Flat. Anyway, point is, even if that particular joke didn''t particularly land, I liked the delivery of it. For some reason the deadpan really hits me. Also, as previously mentioned, I''m unspeakably desperate.

    "Let''s see if we can get that test rescheduled for tomorrow," I offer. "And maybe if we can get some janitors in here to properly sanitize the place. I''m not sure I trust the bulk-bought hand soap."

    "That''s probably wise on all fronts," Autumn agrees. "Hell, if we play our cards right, maybe we can get out of gym tomorrow."

    "Hah! I doubt it, but we can dream. Really, thanks again, Autumn. I appreciate the help."

    And more than that, I appreciate the fact that she seemed utterly unfazed outside of her initial shock on entry. She didn''t press any questions I gave obviously evasive answers to, and she was content to work in silence once we really got going on things. And I definitely liked¡­ no, wait, stop. Bad brain. Stop crushing. You basically just met this girl, you awful collection of hormonal garbage.

    "No problem, gauze-face," Autumn answers. "Which is what I''m going to call you until you tell me your name."

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    Oh! Gosh, did I forget to tell her my name!? Rude, rude, rude, Hannah! How could you be so rude?

    "Agh, I''m sorry! It''s Hannah. My name is Hannah!"

    "Hannah, right. I''ll remember it this time."

    I nod, and the two of us head back to the science room. We politely ask the teacher to reschedule the test for tomorrow¡ªI could probably finish in the time we have left since I''m a blisteringly fast test taker, but I don''t want to make it awkward for Autumn to ask¡ªand he agrees, probably in part because I took the opportunity to strategically change out some of my bloody gauze. With the N95 still on, of course. I gotta say, my favorite thing about facemasks is that they hide your face. Helping prevent the spread of a deadly disease is a close second, though. The bell rings shortly afterwards, Autumn and I parting ways without a word as we head to our next class. Gah, I still can''t believe I forgot to give her my name!

    Except¡­ wait a second. Didn''t Autumn say my name when she walked into the bathroom? That''s why I didn''t tell her! She already knew it! I guess she was just messing with me? Or something!? Ah, whatever. It doesn''t make much difference. I guess I can just ask her next time I see her.

    Welp. Only one thing left to do then. I pull out my phone and send off a succinct text to Brendan.

    Hey so literally all of my teeth just fell out.

    The three dots that mean ''this person is typing'' appear, disappear, appear, disappear, and appear again for the entire short break between classes before Brendan finally hits send.

    Smoothies for lunch then? he asks. I snort with amusement. Cheeky dork. But also¡­ yeah that''s a good idea actually.

    I guess I don''t have any other options!? I admit. I wasn''t really thinking about that.

    Is there a more pressing train of thought for losing all your teeth than "how am I supposed to eat now?"

    I mean, there apparently is when cute girls are around. But as tempted as I am to simply respond with the word ''titty'' (which I''m sure Brendan would understand, considering all the curvy monster girls he draws in his free time) I do actually have a more coherent excuse and I''m going to use it.

    The worryingly large amount of blood leaving my face was actually my primary concern, I tell him. That and the fact that someone else saw it. Not the teeth, but the blood.

    Who?

    Mr. Frank sent a girl named Autumn after me. Same one that saw my bloody feet. She was nonplussed, but she helped me clean it all up so she''s cool in my book. You know her?

    I know who you''re talking about, but no, we''ve never really talked. Brendan informs me. I kind of expected that answer; Brendan has a couple other friends but otherwise doesn''t talk to much of anyone.

    Hmm. I''ll ask Ida about her at lunch, I guess, I respond, entering my third period classroom and sitting down.

    Oh, yeah, we''ll need her car if we want smoothies, Brendan agrees.

    You okay with that? I ask. I know you two aren''t really friends.

    I can''t say I''m thrilled but I''m not going to leave you at Ida''s mercy.

    She''s not that bad, I protest.

    She is and you know it.

    I sigh. This particular line of conversation won''t go well, so I change it.

    I''m surprised you''re not bugging me to get more extreme help than a smoothie, considering my situation.

    Five minutes later, when class has started and Brendan is still typing his response, I realize that particular diversion may have been a tactical error. A big block of text enters my phone all at once, and I read it with the fear that it will explode inside my heart.

    I care about you, and your health, significantly more than I care about anyone else. Myself included. If I could get you the medical attention you need, I would. If I could fix all these problems for you, I would. What''s happening to you is interesting and neat in the abstract, but I know that, to live it, it''s horrific. And you''re handling it the same way you handle all the problems in your life, which is to just pretend it''s not there and try to keep everything the same until it gets worse and worse and worse and ultimately blows up in your face. You shut down, close yourself off, put on a big smile and act like you aren''t going insane because the worst, most awful, most unthinkable shit in the world is happening to you. Stuff you should NOT put up with, stuff that you NEED to act on, but you refuse. You always do this, and if anyone tries to push you out of your cycle you just push them away, dig your heels in, and make it a contest of stubbornness that I don''t have a chance of winning. So yeah. I''ll be happy if I can just make sure you eat enough fucking food, Hannah.

    I feel my toes curl, my gums masticating a bit on the gauze, the itchy spot on my leg where skin gives way to something terrifyingly firm. I was right. That hurt to read. In the awful, stressful way of something I want to deny, I want to get mad about, but I know that he''s right. Brendan is right, but as usual I already knew that. I just can''t fix it.

    I don''t know what else to do, I answer lamely.

    I gave you three other things you could do, Brendan reminds me. You''re just refusing to try them.

    A flash of irritation passes over me and I fail to push it away. I know he gave me other options. I know that. He doesn''t have to tell me.

    I can''t, I insist. There''s too many unknowns. None of my options are good, but hiding gives me more time to figure stuff out!

    Hannah, you know that''s not why you''re hiding.

    I grit my gums instinctively, which is painful so I immediately have to stop.

    I just can''t, okay?

    Yeah, I know, he answers. I''m used to you by now.

    What the strudel does that mean? I scowl, which turns out to also be a terrible idea. Ow, ow, ow. Stupid budding monster teeth. ¡­Wait. Am I getting to the point where I''ve successfully compartmentalized enough trauma that my response is just ''stupid monster teeth?'' Gosh, I mean, that''s probably really bad, but it''s also incredibly refreshing! Like, finally, geez. Panic attacks are exhausting.

    I look up and notice the teacher glaring at me, which I correctly interpret as an order to put away my phone and at least pretend to pay attention. I wonder what my next horrifying mutation will be? I hope nothing happens to my eyes or the upper half of my face, since that''d be a pain to cover up. What wouldn''t I mind is another good question. If I''m going to end up being the villain in a horror B-movie I should at least get to be a cool one. Hmm¡­ extra limbs is an obvious answer. It''d be nice to fill the slots I always wake up missing. Ooh, and magic is cool. I like magic, I like having magic, and if I had magic on Earth it might make my life here a little more manageable. ¡­Actually, wait, do I have magic here on Earth? I, uh¡­ haven''t tried yet.

    It would make sense though, wouldn''t it? Going by the theory that my current transformations are due to the aptly-named Transmutation category of magic, because why wouldn''t they be, magic exists on Earth and I''m doing it, albeit unwillingly. If I figure out more about magic, maybe I could even control the changes! It''s gotta be worth a shot, right? The problem is that I don''t actually have any idea how to do magic, since all my powers are passive. The spatial sense is always on, the barren zones are just there, and the ability to move in 4D space likewise just feels normal when I''m in hyperspider mode. I don''t have any active¡­ er, no, wait. I do have one. I used a spell to cut that delicious cultist''s spine in half, didn''t I?

    ¡­I mean evil cultist. Not¡­ not the other thing. I shudder. Fuck, okay, not totally compartmentalized there.

    A-anyway. Magic. Magic cutting spell. I have one, and I guess it might be a bit of a trauma trigger but it''s still magic, it''s the only active spell I know I have, and¡­ I just want to see if it works? I guess being in public and surrounded by people is a terrible time to practice supernatural mojo I barely understand, though. I should definitely wait.

    I successfully wait five minutes. I''m honestly inclined to consider that pretty good. It''s magic, for fritter''s sake. My toes have been curling with excitement just thinking about it. How am I going to test a cutting spell, though? I guess I should get like, a piece of paper or something else that has no real consequences for destroying. Easy enough, I have lots of paper. I position a sheet on my lap, drag a fingernail along it, and try to get it to cut. Which, uh, doesn''t work. I suppose I should have seen that coming.

    I don''t exactly like thinking about¡­ the killing I did. I guess I also use the spell to dig but I still associate it with murder, and it hurts to think about. I should just¡­ forget about it. At least for now. It''s probably smarter to figure it out over in world tree land anyway. Distractedly, I let class pass me by, doing my best to ignore the increasingly uncomfortable gauze, the urges to drum my claws on something, and all the other constant reminders that after a few weeks of this I probably won''t look even remotely human anymore. I''m getting resigned to it, at least. Being human isn''t all that great anyway.

    When lunch begins, I quickly find Brendan (he is very tall, which makes it very easy) and the two of us approach Ida, who''s chattering away with some girl I don''t know. I wave her down and she quickly wraps up whatever conversation that was, all but skipping over to us.

    "Hannah! Hey!" she greets me cheerfully. "I heard your face exploded!"

    "I¡­ I mean, that''s not inaccurate," I hedge.

    "What?" Ida asks, blinking with confusion. "I can''t understand you."

    Bah. Stupid gauze mouth. Stupid lack of teeth!

    "I''m calling in the second lunch you owe me," I say, enunciating as carefully as I can. "I need a smoothie or a milkshake or a soup or something."

    "Ah. Something with your mouth then? I would have guessed your nose."

    "If anyone asks, I''d prefer you tell them it was a bloody nose," I grumble at her. "But yeah, it''s my mouth."

    "Well sure, I''ll ferry you out to get something edible for you, I guess. Is tall, dark, and nerdy coming with us?"

    "If that''s not a problem," Brendan mumbles quietly, not looking Ida in the eyes.

    "Sure, no skin off my back," Ida shrugs. "You''re paying for your own lunch, though, I only owe Hannah."

    Brendan nods, and the three of us exit the school and head for Ida''s car.

    "Speaking of debts," I mention idly, "I now owe a girl named Autumn, she helped me out today. You know her, Ida?"

    "Uhh, vaguely," she hedges, to my immediate surprise. I thought Ida knew everyone, and I tell her as much.

    "Hey, I certainly make the social rounds, but Autumn''s a bit of a weird one," Ida says defensively. "Girl with the notebook, right? Curly brown hair, freckles, that Autumn? Yeah, she doesn''t really talk to anybody. I don''t know anyone who hates her or whatever, I don''t think she''s being bullied. She''s just kind of¡­ skittish, I guess?"

    Huh. ''Skittish'' is not how I would have described Autumn, but the rest of that description seems spot-on.

    "Uh¡­ let''s see," Ida continues, starting to count things off on her fingers. "I think she''s on the swim team, and I think she does martial arts? So she''s athletic. I''ve spotted her hiding in the library with her nose in a book during lunch, too. I dunno, she''s nice enough, she could probably fit in with basically any clique, she just¡­ doesn''t? So, y''know, fifty-fifty on being an nth-level introvert versus being horribly traumatized. Either way I think you''d probably get along well with her!"

    "...Hey," I protest lamely.

    "Dunno if she''s gay, though, so I can''t help you there."

    "Hey!" I protest even harder, thanking my mask for hopefully hiding the blush creeping up my cheeks. Ida''s snickering makes me less than confident about that, though.

    She starts up the car and I cede shotgun to Brendan, who immediately sets the seat back as far as it will go since his absolutely massive legs need all the extra space he can squeeze out. Ida''s back seat has all sorts of knick-knacks and items of various usefulness, from the obviously important blankets to the questionably tasteful collection of antennae toppers that I''m just now realizing she probably swaps out every few days. She has a bunch of them, from Mickey Mouse to Rick and Morty to Jason Voorhees, not to mention a collection of various non-copyrighted cute animals. It''s all rather adorable, actually.

    I want to rip one apart with my claws.

    I peel my eyes away from the floppy, cartoony, shreddable things, but it''s too late. The need to cut and tear has wormed its way into my brain, my feet tapping with pent-up energy. Gah, why am I like this now!? I cross my legs to try and get them under control, but it doesn''t help in the slightest, my eyes constantly flicking back to the pile of novelty antenna toppers. Oh come on, what a stupid friggin'' problem to have!

    Come on, Hannah, think about something else. Resisting the urge to cut things is a skill you are absolutely going to need to develop, so you''d better start now! Gah, but the only topic that comes to mind as sufficiently distracting is magic, which is also a bad idea! Not the least because it''s basically the same idea, since my magic is also just cutting stuff! In a lot of ways, the way I feel about these stupid little rubber figures is comparable to how I felt shortly before opening a man''s throat, just¡­ y''know, without the terror, the revulsion, the life-threatening situation, the horrid crashing thunder rumbling through my exoskeleton, and so on. More like¡­ in the sense that my instincts are calling for something. Some part of me, the part that has lived every night of my life digging up through the wood of a world tree, knows this feeling, and how to summon it. Magic is part of me. It has always been part of me, for as long as I can remember. I just never knew it until I finally dug myself free.

    I clench and unclench my toes, digging my claws deeper into the grooves they''ve already carved in my shoes. I know this feeling. All I need to do is reach out a little, and it''s mine. Just like in the other world. It''s the same, after all. The magic is waiting for me, off in that direction my human self can''t quite reach towards yet. But it''s still there, if I call for it.

    So I do. I can''t help myself. I want to feel it, need to feel it, to pull something cool and good out of this nightmare. To my irritation, though, my prior confidence seems to be for naught. The magic is there, itching to fill my toes and imbue them with cutting energy, but the path is¡­ clogged, for lack of a better term. Misdirected? Blocked by something that shouldn''t be there? I peel away at the problem in silence, ignoring Ida''s singing, Brendan''s uncomfortable stares out the window, even the antenna toppers that were, until this moment, the subject of my need to destroy. I need to figure this out. It shouldn''t be here, whatever it is. It''s my fault and I have to fix it.

    When I asked Teboho how magic is cast, he said he couldn''t tell me because the process was too personal. He said that my magic will "make itself known to me when I discover it." No one else can teach me my spells, because they''re mine, and to cast them proficiently I have to understand what makes them mine. Is my own lack of understanding causing the problem?

    Yes. Of course it is. I''ve been thinking about it wrong. I''ve considered it a claw augmentation, a cutting spell, but my magic is Space magic, and Space does not cut. To cut something is to apply force to it. Pressure is force over area, and thin, slicing edges work by maximizing the amount of pressure applied with the same quantity of force. That is what allows them to cut, and my spell is not some paltry application of basic physics. I''m a Space mage. I don''t cut, I separate. It''s not force that gouges holes in my foes, it is simply the creation of space where before, there was none, and the world recognizes the newly-formed break by simple tautology. The two halves are separated, therefore they are separate. That''s my magic. It is power. It is pure. It is so batshit broken it may as well be divine.

    Again, I call upon it, but I realize now that it needs a name. Deserves a name. Given my proclivities, there''s only one name that comes to mind. A pearl of wisdom, you could say. I open my mouth to speak it and my breath is stolen away, inhaled by an amused goddess, invisible and perhaps imagined. For a stolen moment, the world stops, myself included, and I''m left choking motionlessly as some infinite creature decides whether to use my air to speak or simply laugh at me. She caresses my face, tousles my hair, and pinches my cheeks, all without ever being here. How small she must think I am. How cute and helpless. She makes her decision, and when time moves again, so too does my mouth. But I no longer have my breath, so she speaks in my place.

    "Spacial Rend," my mouth says on its own, the sound impossibly perfect despite the mask, gauze, and current plane of existence. The world shrieks as I tear deep gouges in the bottom of Ida''s car, opening the interior to the roar of the road.

    Ida, of course, starts shrieking immediately afterwards.

 11. Secrets Spreading

    "What the fuck!" Ida screams, slamming the emergency lights button in her car and pulling over to the side of the road. "What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck!"

    I can''t respond, of course, since I''m too busy pressing both hands against my mouth and trying to pull my claws back up through the gouges I just dug into my shoes. I''m such an idiot! What the heck was I thinking, trying to cast magic in a moving car? With my friends around? With the verbal incantation I can apparently now do!?

    The car jerks to a stop once Ida gets out of the way of traffic, twisting around to send a look of utter panic in my direction.

    "Did you just summon fucking Cthulhu into my car!?" she shrieks.

    Holy crap what does she know.

    "Cthulhu!?" I blurt. "Is Cthulhu real? Is that who that was!?"

    "Wh¡ªno! God no! I mean, I hope not!? I was fucking kidding, Hannah, I do not like that your reaction is apparently ''that sounds concerningly plausible!''"

    She says the last bit in an exaggerated, mocking tone that just gets to me in a way I feel normally wouldn''t. I''m raw right now, lightheaded and dizzy and just coming down from a panic attack followed by a self-induced horror show. My body starts to shake. I feel my toes curl, immediately undoing my progress of pulling them out of the soles of my shoes and causing them to grind up against the tears in the metal I just dug into the floor of Ida''s car. I remember it all happening, the way the goddess¡ªI don''t know what that was, really, but it can''t be anything other than divine¡ªjust¡­ had her attention here. Her judgment, her presence. I got to name my own spell, but she got to judge the name, decide its worthiness. She spoke the words, after all, and she''s no mere tool I can use at my whim. I get the impression she was faintly amused by my naming scheme, but had she not been amused? Had ''Spacial Rend'' not been a name she approved of? I''ve no doubt that I wouldn''t like what she''d choose to use my breath for, in that case.

    I got the impression the goddess liked me, but not in a way that feels remotely comforting. It was an appreciation akin to one I''d give a photo of someone else''s cat. Cute, certainly. Something I enjoy seeing. But the moment that picture goes away, I''ll never think about it again, because there are a billion cat photos in the world and most simply aren''t all that special. It is the sort of imperceptible, instinctive fondness that only lasts as long as we choose to indulge it. How many cute pictures have I seen of animals that are no longer alive? Of animals that have suffered abuse, neglect, pain, and torment? I''ll never know, because I never even think about those pictures outside of a passing entertainment. Of course, unlike the goddess, if I did know an animal was being hurt, I would actually care. But to her I''m just¡­ an abstract amusement.

    But I was at least amusing enough to get her to speak two words, and what an experience that was. I mean, the loss of bodily autonomy was horrifying, the way something else reached out and seized my muscles with as much effort as a blink and spoke words that needed no voicebox, no lungs, and no mouth to emerge from my body fully-formed and brimming with power. Which, in retrospect, makes the entire experience more terrifying, because like¡­ why bother forcing me through that at all, in that case?

    ¡­Though before I start trying to justify anything to myself, I should probably establish that while activating the spell involved my body being briefly taken over to speak the wacky universal magic language or whatever, the stupidity that followed was 100% home-grown Hannah. I''d felt the spell coalesce around my claws, wreathing the exoskeletal weapons with spatial energy which extended maybe a couple inches past the tip of the curved blades. The moment they came into being, the moment I felt them pulsing in my feet, I had to cut something. The overwhelming need of it boiled over, and I proceeded to choose the stupidest possible target: the bottom of Ida''s car.

    It turns out car frames aren''t particularly thick; only a few inches of it separates the riders from the road. That means the ten thin gouges I dug through the backseat floor are all exposed to the air outside, resulting in a terrible roaring noise when the car moves at high speeds. So yeah, I just dealt expensive damage to an expensive vehicle, loudly broadcasted that something supernatural is going on to Ida, and generally fucked up in the biggest way possible.

    And it felt so good. The way the metal just peeled open like tissue paper¡­ god, it gives me chills just thinking about it. I can feel through the spell, kind of, as if it''s an extension of my own body. The easy glide through solid material was far from the sort of vibrational, visceral feedback I usually get from digging my claws into things, but differently pleasurable is certainly still pleasurable. I want to do it again. I can cut metal. I can cut anything! Can we just go to a scrapyard and¡­ agh, no! No no no no!

    "What happened to my car!?" Ida yelps. "Those look like goddamn claw marks! Oh my fucking god Hannah, if you don''t explain what''s going on right now¡ª"

    "I don''t know!" I snap at her, trying not to choke on all the gauze still in my mouth. "I don''t know, just¡­ just give me a minute!"

    "Are we in any danger, Hannah?" Brendan asks evenly, though I know his calm expression and demeanor mean he''s anything but. When things get intense, he gets¡­ flat. It''s how he handles stress. Were he happy or comfortable he''d be a lot more expressive, if not in voice then at least in body: tapping his feet, rubbing his hands together, possibly even wiggling his whole body if he was in a particularly good mood. He gets self-conscious about it all when he''s stressed, though, causing him to focus on shutting all of that down and being as emotionless as possible.

    "I¡­ I don''t think so," I manage to choke out, trying to take deep breaths. "I''m sorry. I''m sorry, I just¡­ this was my fault. There''s nothing else going on."

    "Was¡­ was there someone else here?" he presses.

    Was there¡­? Oh, he means the goddess. They heard that. They felt that. Maybe not exactly the same way I did, but there''s no way they believe that''s natural. I mean¡­ I''m sure a lot of people could convince themselves it was just a hallucination, but I doubt Brendan and Ida are the type.

    "I¡­ kind of, I think," I tell him. "But I don''t know. I don''t know if that was a person or¡­ or something else. Look, please, I just¡­ I need a minute."

    Brendan nods, while Ida just gives me a look mixed with stress, fury, and general ''are you fucking serious'' energy¡­ but she shuts her mouth and lets me take a while to compose myself. I take a few shaky breaths, curling myself into a ball by perching my heels on the edge of my seat, letting my toes dangle in open air where they can''t fucking cut anything. My shoes are still on, of course, even if the soles are mostly shredded, but that''s enough to prevent Ida from seeing the freakish changes. Once I feel capable of it, I say the first thing on my mind.

    "I don''t want to talk about this."

    It''s not fair, but¡­ it''s too much. It''s too much to face head-on. I can''t handle it, and I definitely don''t want Ida to know about it. I know it''s not fair, but maybe if I just request it politely I can pretend this never happened.

    "Too goddamn bad," Ida grunts. "You don''t get to speak in tongues and make my car look like I just ran over a velociraptor and then not explain. Fuck that."

    I wince, but I guess I should have expected that. Words won''t come, though, so with shaky hands I just start removing my shoes instead of saying anything. It feels so good to not have my feet pinched into a shoe that''s now two sizes too small for the extra length on my toes, so I allow myself a small shudder of pleasure as I go ahead and take my knee socks off as well, stretching out my claws. They look the same as they did this morning, the bone growing up past the knuckles of my toes and forming sharp, exoskeletal joints. They''re not entirely even, with something craggly and primordial about them that gives off an air of danger that both terrifies and enraptures me. I''m so busy admiring my own feet that I almost miss Ida''s gaping expression, though I do look up and catch it when she starts making an ''uhhhh'' noise.

    "...You''re shitting me," she whispers. "Hannah, are you turning into a goddamn werewolf or something?"

    "I¡­ I mean I think it''s more of a were-spider?" I squeak.

    "Hannah isn''t any kind of therianthrope," Brendan says, almost automatically. "She''s turning into something, but it seems to be mono-directional, not a kind of shapeshifting. Though I guess she might qualify for more spiritual kinds of therianthropy, considering she''s apparently a spider in her dreams, but that''s not really how the word is used much anymore."

    Ida turns and blinks at him once.

    "What?" she manages.

    "Werewolves turn into wolves or wolf-hybrids under certain conditions, then turn back into humans when the conditions are no longer met. Same with other were-creatures. Hannah does not seem to be changing back."

    "Yes, thank you for the reminder," I grumble.

    "I''m just clarifying," he answers flatly.

    "So¡­ so back up," Ida insists, rubbing her face with exasperation. "Basically, magic is real and those claws are real and Hannah is turning into a monster somehow? That''s what you''re saying? This has gotta be some kind of insane, stupid prank, right?"

    Well, nothing for it. The spider''s out of the dimensional pocket now. I reach up under my mask, pulling the bloody gauze out of my mouth as I reach into my backpack and retrieve my ziplock bag full of human teeth. Ida stares at it in horror as I plop the gauze in there (I don''t want to get her car messy, after all) before putting it all back in my backpack. I stretch my jaw a bit, moving it around with satisfaction. I''m not bleeding anymore. That''s nice. Ida just gapes at the whole scene, and since that''s apparently still not enough for her I pull up my pant leg and show her the exoskeletal growth starting there, as well. Brendan raises his eyebrows at that, a flicker of interest passing over his features, but he''s too overwhelmed to ask to touch it like I expect he wants to.

    "Feel free to independently verify," I offer, feeling the comfortable yet horrible numbness of disassociation start to set in. It immediately starts warring with a fresh spike of adrenaline, though, and who knows which one is going to end up winning this particular faceoff.

    Ida looks down at my leg, which I extend out to allow her ease of access. Then she looks up at my face, then back down to the leg, then up at my face again before finally reaching over to touch the exposed bit of exoskeletal bone. She pokes it, sending a strange and somewhat uncomfortable sensation through my leg. The touch isn''t anywhere as dulled as I would have expected from not having skin there anymore; in fact, it still feels almost exactly the same as it would have normally¡­ if not for the fact that there is no feeling of give, no depression to make from the force. My exoskeleton is utterly unmoving where skin would bend or squish, and that is, somehow, the biggest difference in sensation I get from the experience.

    "Is this¡­ is this actually bone?" Ida hisses, poking around at the edges where the skin thins out and reveals my mutation. "You''re fucking with me, right?"

    I try to answer that, but Ida presses on a particularly itchy part of skin around the area and I end up involuntarily letting out a small, happy noise. Sensing blood in the water, Ida seems to immediately forget that I''m turning into a monster and grins mischievously, rubbing a bit more around the area in an attempt to elicit more noises from me. It does feel nice¡ªas getting someone to massage an itch generally does¡ªso even though I put my hands up over my mouth I end up making another happy grunt or two.

    "This is weird," Ida says, though she''s grinning like a demon. "This is so fucking weird. Seriously, what the fuck is¡ª"

    With much the same sort of satisfaction that I felt when I took my restricting shoes off, a rush of relief suddenly fills me as I watch Ida''s idle scratches suddenly peel off a palm-sized chunk of skin, which catches underneath her nails and sticks to them. She screams, flailing her arm and ripping the chunk of dead epidermis off my leg, eliciting a hiss of pain and relief from my lips. The patch of skin soon flies free of Ida''s wild movements, landing on Brendan, who is visibly disturbed¡­ though he at least reacts to that by freezing stiff rather than screaming painfully. I, for one, just stretch my ankle a bit, watching the now-revealed joint slide around plate-over-plate like a robot from a sci-fi movie. The revealed exoskeleton now reaches from my ankle up my shin to nearly my knee, like it''s trying to move down to meet up with the bones crawling up my toes. Between them, my skin feels normal, but pressing around the revealed areas indicates that more fresh exoskeleton is growing underneath the skin that''s still attached. Little by little, it''s all going to fall off, and at this point I''m so resigned to it that it barely even registers as something I should be panicking about. Ida knows and my life is ruined. She''ll tell everyone. I''ll be outed as a freak and this is the end.

    Oh, well. Honestly, I couldn''t have expected this to last much longer. I feel an urge to giggle bubble up and I just let it happen. Why not? I''m turning into some kind of bone monster, I just invoked divine magic in the middle of town¡ªso y''know, any secret organizations looking for that kind of shit absolutely just found me¡ªand my ankle has some kind of freaky interlocking ball joint that I can''t stop staring at and moving around because I''m pretty sure it''s a scaled-up iteration of some of my hip joints when I''m a hyperspider, albeit minus one dim¡­ well. It might be minus one dimension. I can''t actually see into the w-axis right now, so who knows?

    "Hannah?" Brendan asks quietly. He sounds pretty concerned, presumably because I''ve been staring at part of my body that just had the skin ripped off and giggling to myself.

    "Hi Brendan," I answer, grinning under my mask. This doesn''t seem to make him feel any better for some reason.

    "...Can you take some deep breaths for me?" he asks. Which, okay, that seems reasonable, but it''s pretty hard to control my breathing right now between my laughter and gasps for air. I do my best, though, trying to slow down my overtaxed lungs and get some air. I meet with moderate success.

    "So this is real, then," Ida gulps. "Really real."

    "Yes," Brendan confirms for her. "We''re not sure what''s happening, but it''s definitely real."

    "Holy fucking shit," Ida breathes. "Well. That''s absolutely fucking terrifying, but alright. I guess I live in a movie now."

    "How are you feeling?" Brendan asks me, turning away from Ida without answering her.

    "Very lightheaded," I answer, since it''s true. "I''m dizzy. And hungry. And thirsty, I think? I have a bit of a headache, at least."

    "Right. You¡­ said you lost a lot of blood alongside your teeth, right?"

    I feel my hands shaking. So much blood. I''d wished it was someone else''s.

    "Yeah," I confirm. "I really need more blood."

    "Oh my god don''t say it like that," Ida insists. "Look, just¡­ Brendan, there should be a roll of duct tape in the door next to you. We''re gonna patch the floor with that and¡­ put a mat over it or something, okay? For the noise. You didn''t hit the drive shaft or anything, did you Hannah? Brake line, maybe? You must have missed the exhaust or we''d smell it."

    I blink, looking down into the gashes I made in the floor.

    "I don''t see any car bits other than the frame," I tell her. "But you probably want to check for yourself."

    She groans and sticks her torso back between the front seats, getting a closer look at the damage.

    "...Nope, I don''t see anything, we should be good," she sighs, holding the palm of her hand out towards Brendan. "Duct tape, tallboy."

    The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    He dutifully hands her the roll, and she quickly patches the floor while I very carefully twist my body to keep my claws the heck away from her. She quickly patches up the hole and swaps the foot mats on the left and right sides in order to cover it further.

    "That should help with the noise," Ida grumbles, sounding resigned. "I''m not looking forward to explaining this shit to a mechanic, but whatever. Liquid meal time. A smoothie isn''t gonna cut it, we''re gonna get you tomato soup or something. Maybe a bread bowl? ¡­No, wait, our Panera doesn''t have a drive through."

    "Huh?" I manage to vocalize.

    "Hannah, your shoes are shredded, we can''t take you inside a restaurant," Ida dismisses. "That''d be against health code."

    "...Huh?" I repeat.

    "You''re being awfully calm about this," Brendan comments.

    "Look, I had my freakout," Ida snaps, looking into the rear-view mirror and fixing her hair before starting the car again. "We did that, it''s done. Now it''s time for me to make sure the woman growing goddamn monster teeth in my car doesn''t get hungry. There''s no fucking way I''m gonna die because I didn''t get Hannah enough chicken wings. What''s your shoe size, by the way?"

    "Um. Six?" I supply.

    "Great, we''ll get you some size seven and eights on the way back, too," Ida grunts.

    "...Please don''t buy me anything expensive," I squeak, since that''s somehow the most uncomfortable part of this situation.

    "Fuck you, I do what I want," Ida answers, and slams the car into drive.

    The rest of the car ride is somewhat of a daze to me, partly because it''s full of awkward silence but mostly because I have, for like the third or fourth time today, burned out on adrenaline. I feel like that''s too many times in a day, y''know? Though I mean, the day''s barely halfway done, so I probably shouldn''t be tallying up the record yet. Wow my life is bad. Just. Golly!

    At some point I''m broken out of my daze by the tantalizing smell of soup, which I quickly devour. Or I guess chug, depending on your perspective. Doing so, of course, necessitates taking off my mask, allowing Ida and Brendan an eyeful of my raw gums and the tiny, tiny tips of sharp white starting to poke out from within them. I make the mistake of poking them with my tongue and end up cutting myself, trickling the taste of blood into my mouth once again, pushing that flashback into the forefront of my mind. Thankfully, I have a second bowl of soup to wash it away with.

    "Hannah, wait, that''s ho¡ª"

    Too late. I gulp it down like an alcoholic during happy hour. I used to love tomato soup, but now I find it kind of¡­ bland. Whatever. It was the only soup that didn''t have a bunch of noodles or vegetables or delicious meats in it, and I unfortunately need that since I can''t currently chew.

    "What the fuck, Hannah, are you okay!?" Ida gapes at me. "Just holding the container for that nearly burned my hand!"

    I blink at her with surprise.

    "It¡­ felt normal to me?" I hedge. "Like, warm enough to be good, but not so hot that it hurts."

    "Is fire a kind of magic?" Brendan asks, staring at me. "And if so, what does it oppose?"

    Ah, I see where he''s going with this.

    "Heat opposes Transmutation," I inform him. "So I guess I''m probably heat-resistant. But at the same time, that''d be really weird, because when I first popped over to the other world I was having serious problems regulating my body temperature."

    "Maybe that''s why?" Brendan hedges. "You oppose Light, and you''re blind. You oppose Heat, and it''s difficult for heat to enter your body or leave it. You oppose Chaos, and nothing seems to be more toxic to you than deviating from your schedule."

    "...I don''t think that last one is magic-related."

    "You can''t oppose chaos!" Ida protests. "I embody chaos!"

    "I oppose it metaphysically, not ideologically," I say defensively. "It''s not exactly something I have a choice in."

    "And if you could not interject when you don''t even know what we''re talking about, that would be great," Brendan grumbles.

    "Woah, shit, tallboy''s spine just straightened itself," Ida quips. "Never thought I''d see him actually man up."

    "Stop," I snap at them. "Please, just¡­ don''t prod each other. Please?"

    "Sorry," Ida says, waving it off. "Habit. I''m gonna go buy you some of those really thick-soled shoes that lesser short people wear to hide their true power. I figure you''ll need the extra sole so you don''t just delete the damn things. You two stay in the car and don''t break anything."

    Oh, huh. We''re parked in front of a shoe store now. When did that happen?

    "Bye," I tell Ida, but she''s already out of the car and slamming the door.

    Brendan and I are now alone, and immediately I see some of his tension fall away. He starts bouncing a leg, watching her walk away with one of his many varieties of unreadable expressions.

    "I don''t like her," he announces.

    "I know," I sigh. "If it makes you feel any better, it''s not personal. I don''t think she has anything against you, she''s just¡­ like that."

    And Brendan is pretty sensitive, so the kind of thing that just rolls off my back really, really gets to him. But I don''t say that out loud, since that would sound like I''m blaming him for her being rude, and that''s not appropriate or helpful. Ida is abrasive. That''s her flaw, not his.

    "That doesn''t make me feel better at all," he says. "Being rude to everyone is worse than only being rude to me. Besides, I thought you didn''t want to tell her any of this stuff."

    "I don''t," I mumble. "I just did something moronic, is all."

    "I guess that sounds like you, yeah," he admits.

    "...Hey," I say. "You, uh, seem a lot more rude than usual yourself."

    "I guess so," he agrees. "I''m stressed. About you, about all of this. But you and I are friends. Ida and I are not friends. It''s different."

    I shrug.

    "I guess you''re right," I agree. "It''s probably good we went with her to get food, though. As out of it as I was, if I didn''t do the big stupid magic thing in her car, I probably would have done it in a classroom."

    "What was that, anyway?" he asks after a short pause. "What said those words?"

    "I don''t know," I answer, "and I get the feeling I''m probably safer that way."

    Another awkward pause stretches between us, the silence only broken by the tap of Brendan''s leg.

    "...Spatial Rend is a Pok¨¦mon attack, isn''t it?" he asks slowly.

    I feel a blush creep up my neck onto my face.

    "It, uh, yeah," I admit. "Signature move of the legendary Pok¨¦mon Palkia. ''Spacial Rend,'' spelled s-p-a-c-i-a-l instead of s-p-a-t-i-a-l, because spatial is spelled with a c in the UK and I guess they just decided to translate it that way for all English versions of the game?"

    "Is it any good?" he asks.

    "I-in Pok¨¦mon?" I ask.

    "Yeah," he confirms.

    "I mean, it''s pretty good, yeah," I mumble. "Sometimes Draco Meteor is better for specific needs, but Spacial Rend is still a one hundred power high crit STAB move on a Pok¨¦mon with base one-fifty special attack. Though they kinda did it dirty in Legends by making the base power actually go down when Origin Forme Palkia uses it? Like yeah, the crit rate goes up and becomes the highest crit rate move in the game, and that''s neat, but I like the consistency, you know?"

    "I''ve always found it funny how much you like competitive Pok¨¦mon, an incredibly luck-based game, but you hate luck."

    "It''s not¡­ it''s still a skill-based game! Luck swings things, but not enough to prevent top players from consistently winning! Like, yeah, Scald is bullpoop and Focus Miss is just the absolute worst, but like¡­"

    I''m babbling. I know I''m babbling, and I hate that, but it''s okay because it''s just me and Brendan and I''m pretty sure he just baited me into babbling in the first place. Both of us start to relax as the words flow out of me, a conversation (more of a rant, really) that I''m sure I''ve had a dozen times but it''s okay because it''s just me and him and my freaky monster toes wiggling around in my mostly-shredded socks. Things probably aren''t going to be okay, but they''re okay right now, and frankly that''s more than I''ve had in what feels like way, way too long.

    So naturally, my brain has to go and ruin it by blurting a question I don''t want to think about the answer to.

    "What if I hurt you?" I ask.

    The question is full of meaning and fear that I can''t fully articulate, the horror of urges I don''t understand creeping into more and more of my brain and body. The physicality of it all terrifies me, the violence pulsing underneath my rapidly-degrading skin which makes me feel aberrant and dangerous because of course it does, normal, healthy people do not get urges to do these things. And now I do, and I feel like I''m always teetering a step away from giving in at the worst possible moment.

    Brendan regards me in silence, perhaps picking up on the fear I''m leaving unsaid but perhaps not. To some extent, it doesn''t matter. He''ll know someday, and he''ll understand. He always understands, in the end, even if it takes hours or days of late-night texting sessions and impossible heart-to-hearts that I could never even think of breaching with my parents, or anyone else for that matter. And I know that, to him, I''m the same. Brendan doesn''t have many friends. He''s more or less had to raise himself, stuck with parents that don''t understand or even particularly care about him. He does not trust easily, because his childhood was nothing but beratement and apathy. I didn''t know it back when I first latched onto him in elementary school, but I was all he had for a long, long time.

    "Then I''ll forgive you," he answers, and it''s not what I wanted to hear. "Just don''t do that stupid thing everyone does in the movies where you try to leave for my sake, okay? That''s just going to make everything worse, and you know it."

    "Okay," I promise him, because what else can I say? "I won''t."

    Ida returns shortly afterwards, tossing two shoeboxes at me before pulling the car door shut behind her with a grunt.

    "These are yours now," she huffs. "Figure out which one fits better."

    I''m too stunned to respond, instead simply gaping at the fact that Ida just threw well over a hundred dollars of gifts into my lap. These aren''t expensive shoes, but they sure as sugar aren''t cheap shoes either! My mind is absolutely shredded by this insanity. I am a very frugal person and this kind of casual waste of money is just¡­ aaagh!

    "Ida, you can''t¡ª" I start, but the little imp is having none of it.

    "I. Do. What. I. Want," she snaps at me. "So take the damn shoes. You need them. I''m a spoiled rich girl, Hannah, I didn''t have to earn a cent of what I just spent. So chill out and cover up your monster claws already!"

    I shut my mouth and nod numbly, slipping a foot into the first pair of shoes. Immediately, I know these are a million times better than my old shoes, and that thought magnifies a hundredfold when I end up curling my toes and sinking my claws into the inch-thick soles without piercing through the other side. The warm buzz from penetrating the leathery, fleshy texture feels like the relief of getting in a hot tub on a cold day, and I''m far too exhausted and frazzled to resist the pleasure of it. I barely have enough energy to put the other shoe on before I collapse into the backseat, closing my eyes and just¡­ letting myself stop for a little while.

    But not sleep. It''s much too early to sleep.

    "...So, how many other people know about this?" I hear Ida ask, the car starting to pick up speed down the road.

    "Nobody," Brendan answers. "It''s just us. We''d like you to keep it that way."

    "I know I''m a blabbermouth, but I''d just seem like a crazy person if I gossiped about this," Ida grumbles.

    "Glad to know you can keep secrets if it''s your reputation on the line rather than someone else''s," Brendan says.

    "I''ve never claimed to be anything but a hedonist," Ida answers. "So frankly? I don''t want to be involved with this shit. Don''t come crying to me if you need help hiding a body."

    "Please don''t joke about that," I groan. "I already killed someone last night."

    There''s a painfully stressful pause.

    "...Fuck," Ida hisses vitrolically. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can''t believe you told me that. Are you stupid? I''m going to have to testify that you said that or else I could be tried as an accomplice!"

    "I don''t think she can be tried under an American court, considering that it happened in another universe," Brendan supplies.

    "What!? No, wait, actually, fuck that. Don''t answer. I''m not getting wrapped up into your crazy movie bullshit, you two can just save the world without me. You understand? I want no part of this. We''re going to go back to school, get chewed out for missing fourth period, and then when the day is finally over I''m getting so fucking blown out of my mind on LSD that I will not even know who you two are tomorrow."

    "You know," Brendan supplies, "now we''ll have to testify that you said that or else¡ª"

    "Oh, fuck you!"

    "I, for one, approve of this plan," I mumble. "Just pretending it didn''t happen works well for me."

    "Don''t you dare say that, Hannah, or else I''ll have to be self-aware about how stupid this plan is," Ida grumbles.

    "...I said I liked the idea, though?"

    "I know!"

    Another awkward silence fills the air. This time, I''m the one to breach it.

    "Thank you for the shoes, Ida," I tell her. "I like them."

    "...You''re welcome," she mutters. "I made sure to get you black ones to hide any bloodstains."

    "That''s thoughtful of you," I admit. "Thanks again. You''ve always been really nice to me. I don''t know why you''re so nice to me. You''re not usually nice to people."

    She flinches a bit at that, drumming her fingers on the steering wheel as she keeps her eyes planted firmly on the road. The car speeds up a little more, even though she''s already well over the legal limit.

    "It''s because I want to fuck you," she says. "Obviously."

    I blink, slowly and numbly. I blink again. My mouth opens, then closes, then opens again.

    "Oh," I manage to say.

    "I do not know how to articulate to you how much of a dumb fucking lesbian you are, Hannah," Ida continues. "Even Brendan figured it out, and he has a special education action plan longer than the damn English final."

    "Maybe I''m just more observant than you think," Brendan supplies, "and you''re just worse at flirting."

    So much blood is going to my face right now that I''m afraid my gums are going to start bleeding again just from the pressure. I try to formulate a response and only manage to let out a confused squeaking noise.

    "Fuck you, you don''t know shit!" Ida snaps at Brendan. "You''ve never seen a vagina without tabbing into 4chan first."

    "Ida!" I say, finally finding the power to step in. "Uncalled for!"

    She shrinks down a bit from her bristled posture, Brendan turning away from her to look out the window and quietly fume.

    "...Sorry," Ida manages. "I speak before I think."

    "Something like that shouldn''t even be used as an insult," I continue. "No one should ever be expected to¡ª"

    "I know, I know! Jesus, Hannah, I get it. I''m glad you seem to be feeling better."

    "Huh?" I ask, dumbfounded.

    "Your fucking¡­ preachy moralizing. I haven''t heard that from you in a long time. It''s annoying, but it''s better than the silence we''ve been getting instead."

    We pull into school, Ida having to find a parking spot at the back of the lot since we''re so late. We''ll be in trouble, but we probably won''t be in much trouble, since we''re pretty much never late. Or at least Brendan and I don''t. Ida might ditch all the time, for all I know. She doesn''t ever ditch the classes I''m in, but¡­ well. That might be for a different reason, I guess?

    "I definitely think you''re attractive," I admit to Ida.

    "Oh yeah?" she drawls. "Damn, and here I was thinking that you constantly stare at my tits for heterosexual reasons."

    I blush again but press on, because Ida is a good friend and she deserves a clear answer.

    "Wh¡­ I, uh. Anyway, I don''t think a relationship would be a, uh, good idea. For a few reasons, but the current situation is¡­ a big one."

    "Yeah," Ida says. "I figured. It''s pretty fucking wild. I don''t even know what to say, other than like¡­ I hope it works out for you? Like, what else is there? This is so far beyond my ability to help with, so far beyond what makes sense in reality, that it''s just¡­ I can''t. I wasn''t telling you I think you''re hot in order to ask you out, I''m telling you to remind you that I''m a shallow cunt and giving you a reason to cut ties. I just wanted in your pants, Hannah, but I don''t fuck with crazy. I''ll keep your secret, just¡­ keep away from me. I don''t want your eldritch goddess doing something to my head again, understand?"

    "I really, really do," I assure her. "Trust me, if I had the option to just walk away from this, I would take it in an instant."

    I clench my toes at that, delighting in the feel of digging deeper into my shoes. Something about my words just now felt a little hollow, but¡­ whatever. I could definitely live without freaky monster instincts. It''d be greatly preferable, in fact.

    "You are nice and great and I hope everything works out for you," Ida says. "Now get the fuck out of my car."

    We oblige, trudging back to school in awkward silence. I''m late enough to be considered absent to class already, so I just head for my next class of the day to wait. It''s the only class I share with Brendan, actually, so he follows me and waits outside the door alongside me.

    "So," I manage, "that could have gone much worse."

    "Well we''re no longer friends with Ida, so all things considered I think it went quite optimally," Brendan answers.

    "Hey!" I protest, elbowing him in the hip. "I know you don''t like her, but I like her. At least be supportive of that."

    "She reminds me of my mom," Brendan says bluntly. "Except with more swear words."

    Oh. Shoot. I don''t¡­ have a good answer to that. There probably isn''t one.

    "I''m sorry," I say.

    He doesn''t answer, but I didn''t expect him to. We wait outside class together, and just the proximity is enough. Today has been¡­ quite the roller coaster, I have to say. Way too much panic, way too much terror. I''m rubbed raw from having to kill for the first time and spitting all my teeth out of my mouth and just¡­ everything going on. But as terrifying and alien as it was, I did love getting to access my magic. It''s a spell that destroys, which I''m not thrilled about, but it''s just the beginning, right? I''m also an Order mage, so maybe I can get a spell that heals, too. A spell that fixes things. Pretty much by definition, magic opens up countless possibilities that weren''t there before. Maybe if I get good at it, I can take control of what''s happening to me. Now that I''m fed and not in pain and coming off the high of getting shoes that actually feel good on my feet, I can start to feel a spark of hope that everything will be okay.

    "So what do you think Ida meant," Brendan says suddenly, "when she said ''I don''t want your eldritch goddess doing something to my head again?''"

    ¡­Ah, never mind. The terror''s back. At least I''m starting to get used to it.

 12. New Normal

    The rest of my day is startlingly normal. No secret organizations kidnap me for using magic in the middle of a street, no body parts form or fall off of me, and no one else learns of my freakish mutations. Ida, unfortunately, seems to have blocked Brendan and I''s phone numbers, or at the very least she''s pretending she has, so my inquiries into her experience with me accidentally drawing a divine entity''s attention go unanswered. I hope she''s okay, but as Brendan pointed out we can''t help somebody that refuses to communicate with us. If she''s in trouble, we just have to hope that she''ll reach out.

    "Good work today, Hannah," my boss says just as I finish cleaning the floor. Yeah, I went to work today. Yeah, that was probably stupid. But frankly, the idea of going to work was a lot less stressful than the idea of trying to explain to my parents why I don''t want to go to work.

    "Of course," I answer. "Thanks for letting me stick to back-of-house stuff tonight."

    "No problem," my boss nods. "You sound a little funny today. Something up with your mouth?"

    I have, for all the obvious reasons, kept my mask on all shift. I''d be doing that even if I didn''t have monster teeth growing in, what with the global pandemic and all.

    "Yeah, talking all night wouldn''t be pleasant," I confirm.

    More importantly, I''m still feeling a bit too raw to deal with customers all day. Making food, though? I can get into kind of a zen mode for that, completing whatever orders pop up on screen and cleaning the rest of the time. My boss was happy to have me in back-of-house, which is how we refer to kitchen work. We have one of those kitchens that''s open to the main room so everyone who orders can watch us make stuff, so it''s really all one room. The ''positions'' are front-of-house¡ªwhich handles customer orders, cleaning the dining room, and so on¡ªand back-of-house, which does all the food prep and dishwashing (even though everyone is supposed to handle dishwashing). There are technically a bunch of sub-positions for back-of-house that focus on the different foods we offer, but I can do it all and when we''re understaffed like we were tonight, I tend to need to do exactly that. It''s stressful, certainly, but it''s a very human stress, something that takes a lot of effort and attention but is very much my element. There''s a list of things I have to do, and I need to get them all done as quickly as possible, and I''m never lost for the next step. It''s very¡­ well, I guess I''d describe it as orderly, but considering that I''m Order-aligned in terms of magic I''m a little leery about that. I''d like to assume your personality just determines what magic you get somehow, but unfortunately I know that, due to how Chaos mages are apparently killed at birth, your type of magic is assigned at birth. So while my preference for structure could be a coincidence, I very much don''t like the possibility that it isn''t.

    "Is it ever?" my boss asks, smirking at me as he cleans out the inside of one of our grease traps. My boss is a decent enough guy, though I don''t really have strong feelings about him either way. He''s thirty-something, with short brown hair, brown eyes, light stubble all over his face and a generally pretty positive disposition. Our store is low on employees right now, so he''s almost always in the thick of things alongside us, making food and taking customer orders like a common grunt. I think I lucked out a bit with this job, since I''ve heard all kinds of horror stories about food service bosses and he doesn''t really match up to any of them. That said, I still just mentally think of him as ''my boss'' and not by his name, since I can''t even remember it, which I think kind of communicates my general opinion on the man better than anything else.

    "It kind of depends on my mood," I admit. "Sometimes I prefer front-of-house to back. Managing customers and cleaning the dining room is easier than making all the food, it''s just a matter of how thick my skin is feeling that day. If I can''t handle getting screamed at, it''s better for me to stay in the back."

    Which is exactly how I felt today, hence asking for kitchen duty. It''s past 10pm now, so we''re closed and putting the finishing touches on all the cleaning we have to do before going home for the night.

    "Eh, you know that if anyone starts giving you shit you can just come get me, right?" my boss insists. "I will absolutely kick out a customer that starts yelling at my employees, and if somebody''s that mad you should be grabbing me anyway."

    See? He''s a good boss. I wiggle my toes a little, feeling my claws slide into and out of the gouges I''ve dug into my new shoes.

    "It''s not fun to be yelled at even if I have an immediate way to leave the situation," I point out. "But thank you."

    "No problem," he confirms. "You need a ride home tonight, by the way?"

    I hesitate. That''s¡­ a perfectly innocuous question. I do usually carpool home, and the girl I usually carpool with is one of the two people that called in sick tonight (and wasn''t that fun). I can and often do call my dad to have him pick me up, but I prefer not to do that since he tends to be really late and also, y''know, car ride with my dad. So honestly I have every reason to accept that offer, except for the obvious and glaring fact that I do not at all want to get into a man''s car alone with him.

    I don''t think my boss is at all inclined to sexually harass me, let alone do anything worse than that. He doesn''t give off that kind of¡­ creepy vibe, you know? And the creepy vibe metric is a pretty darn good metric, frankly, and I will not allow anyone to tell me otherwise. Sure, it''s technically profiling, but like¡­ I''m not a cop determining who needs to be arrested, I''m a young underage woman trying not to get raped. I really, really wish that didn''t have to be the sort of thing I need to worry about, but it absolutely is. If anyone tries to convince you otherwise you should punch them in the dick.

    So! High-speed personal safety mental calculation time. I''ve already been hesitating for too long, which means he probably suspects I''m trying to determine the odds that he''s going to try to rape me, which, y''know, most people kind of take offense to, even if just silently. So I make a show of saying ''uhhhh'' and pulling out my phone to look at the calendar app as if it has my carpool information in it, which it does not. Does my boss pass the creepy check? Yes, no real bad vibes from him. Does he pass the leering check? Mmmmostly, yes. Better than most guys, which is unfortunately a technical pass because my standards have been lowered enough to grade on a curve. Does he pass the accountability check? Yes, there''s one other employee here tonight who could confirm we left in the same vehicle. Does the situation pass the personal safety check? I think¡­ yes. I can have my phone out for the whole drive to quickly call the police if needed, and if things get really bad I can pretty easily kill him with one foot.

    I blink at that thought, reeling it back a little and letting it play again. I, uh¡­ huh. I can kill him with one foot. I can trivially overpower an adult man. That''s¡­ incredibly comforting, in a way I never expected it to be. Like, obviously I don''t want to kill him, but¡­ well, I''m a five foot two teenage girl who doesn''t work out, any incel off the street could easily force me to the ground because testosterone just cheats like that. I''ve got less than half the upper body strength of the average man, because I am a below-average strength woman. That''s just life. But now I have a literally magical equalizer, and that''s a weight off my shoulders that''s been pressing down hard for a long, long time. A horrible fear that I always have to keep in the back of mind is now just¡­ quieter.

    "I think a ride would be helpful, thank you," I tell him, and get back to cleaning.

    "No problem," he agrees, and returns to scrubbing as well.

    We''re done with the closing routine just under an hour later, which is way longer than it''s supposed to take but that''s the reality of only having three people on a five-man shift. I buckle up in the passenger seat of my boss'' truck and direct him back to my house, all of which occurs without incident. Which is what I expected, but¡­ y''know. Still a relief.

    The rest of my family is asleep at this hour, so I quietly enter the house and creep up to my room before peeling off my clothes, dutifully sticking foam cubes over my claws, and squirming into bed. As usual, I start to feel the exhaustion take me almost immediately.

    Hannah! Are you asleep?

    I try to open my eyes, but I don''t have them anymore. I roll around a little instead, getting my legs underneath me before uncurling myself into a stretch. Sensory information floods me all at once, the entire material composition of everything within fifty feet of me rushing into my mind before I mentally blink it back into submission, focusing my attention enough to comprehend what I''m looking at. We''re¡­ in our camp. Teboho and Kagiso are asleep. There doesn''t seem to be anyone else around.

    Sindri? I think groggily. What''s up?

    It''s your turn to keep watch, Sindri answers. I can feel your presence, but I can''t see you. Where are you?

    Ah, right, sorry. I slept in a barren zone. Or I guess a dimensional pocket? Same thing I guess.

    I crawl out of my little extradimensional sleeping cubby next to where Sindri is standing, startling him enough to make him jump a bit. Hee hee. It''s a shame I can''t laugh in this body, because I totally would if I could.

    Woah! Hey there, he greets me. I''m glad I managed to wake you up, I suppose, because otherwise I wouldn''t be able to find you. It''s your turn to keep watch.

    Oh right, I did agree to do that.

    Sure thing, I confirm. Quick question, though. How will I know when my shift is over? I don''t know how to tell time.

    Sindri nods and pulls out a small lantern, though rather than oil or something to fuel it, the inside only has a single, tiny candle that can''t possibly emit much light. Not that light helps me in the first place, so why¡­ oh! I see. There are notches built into the lantern next to where the candle rests.

    Is that a candle clock? I ask.

    Yes, exactly. The candle will burn down and you can see how much time has passed by how much wax is left. Each small notch is a [time increment, medium-short length, fraction of fraction of day], while each longer notch is [time increment, medium-long length, fraction of day].

    Your units didn''t convert for me, I inform him. How many notches am I waiting?

    Two of the long ones, Hannah.

    Okay, thank you!

    Sindri nods and yawns mightily, rolling a stiff shoulder.

    By the way, forgive me if this is a rude question, but is something growing on your carapace? Your coloration looks a bit different.

    Huh? I ask.

    Between each of your legs there. At least, if I''m not mistaken?

    Huh. I suppose I haven''t really checked myself over since waking up. I focus on my own body, glancing at the area between each leg, and sure enough there''s¡­ something happening. The exoskeleton seems to be thinning out, a membrane developing under it alongside a nerve cluster to match. What the heck? Does my spider-body mutate too? That''s¡­ kind of really annoying, actually. I''m not sure why, but it is.

    You''re right, something is different, I agree. Not sure what, though. Hyperspider puberty, maybe?

    He chuckles a bit at that.

    It must have been very difficult growing up as the only member of your species that you know, he sympathizes, and I''m not really sure how I feel about that. It''s somehow completely inaccurate yet extremely relatable. Your species name didn''t quite translate there, by the way.

    It''s not the real name for the species anyway, since I don''t know what that is, I admit. It''s just what I call my species. Mix of the words ''hyper'' and ''spider,'' because that''s how my native language refers to fourth-dimensional objects. The 4D equivalent of a cube is a ''hypercube,'' etcetera.

    Ah, interesting. Thank you for explaining.

    No problem.

    He smiles down at me before heading into his tent to get comfortable for bed. I don''t follow, because there''s no real need¡ªI can still ''see'' him and ''hear'' him exactly as well as I could when we were right next to each other.

    I must say, you seem to be doing a lot better than you were before, Sindri says. It''s good to see.

    I stiffen a bit at that.

    ¡­I mean, don''t get me wrong, I''m extremely traumatized, I tell him frankly. I''ve¡­ never killed anyone before. But sleep helped, I guess.

    Mainly because a bunch of other crazy stuff happened, from my teeth to using magic on Earth to Ida finding everything out, and while all of that was terrible in the moment, things¡­ kinda turned out decent? Other than Ida not speaking to me anymore, I guess, but I''m not super worried about that. It''s¡­ a very Ida thing to do, and I''m kind of expecting it to not last very long.

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    ¡­I''m not sure how I feel about her having a crush on me, though. That''s¡­ odd. Because I used to have a big crush on her, for sure. I spent like a year and a half smooshing it to nothing because I was sure she was straight, though, so now I don''t have that crush, which makes things¡­ a bit odd, emotionally speaking. Hannah from a year ago would be ecstatic. I''m just¡­ confused. That''s not even bringing in the whole terrifying monster transformation thing, which probably means she''s not interested in me anymore regardless.

    Honestly, it''s heartening that you haven''t had to see much death before, Sindri sighs. But I''m afraid you''ll probably have to get used to it. The Tree of Souls is a fairly lawless place with relatively few central governments. It''s mostly villages and city-states, and only the biggest ones bother to patrol the areas outside their walls for bandits and monsters. Travel is dangerous, and we are travelers.

    Huh. That really sucks. Can we even get the guy who ran away arrested?

    In the strictest sense of the word, the people who attacked us weren''t even doing anything illegal, so no. Though practically speaking, if we could prove the merchants responsible performed such banditry, they''d likely be expelled from from their guild if they''re in one, or possibly even barred from entering some of the nearby towns, but¡­ well, I don''t really have the time to go around trying to convince local ruling councils to do things like that. Likewise, I don''t have the spare funds to devote to putting up a bounty, which is the most common form of retribution for richer folk to employ.

    Sheesh, it''s pretty wild-west out here, isn''t it?

    That really sucks, I say, because what else is there to say? Society seems like a mess.

    It''s the natural consequence of having large numbers of small, disparate communities of people who seem disinclined to engage much with each other. Things are much better organized back on Pillar.

    Okay, so question about that, I say. The word ''Pillar'' mostly translates, but I don''t know much about it. Is it the same thing as what Teboho called ''The Slaying Stone?''

    It is, Sindri confirms. It''s where my people come from. Humans. The ground there is rock, rather than wood.

    Where is it? I ask.

    A very long way below us, Sindri shrugs. I''ll be returning there after killing the Chaos mage we''re hunting, and if you have nothing better to do you''re welcome to join me.

    I might take you up on that, I admit. It''s not like I have anywhere else to go, and Sindri is a pretty cool friend.

    We''ll talk more about that all later, then, Sindri says. For now, I need to rest. If you feel yourself falling asleep, please wake Kagiso early. It''s better than having no one awake, and she''s mostly unharmed from our recent fight.

    Will do, Sindri.

    Thanks again, Hannah. I know that what you did weighs on you, but never forget that you saved our lives in doing it. To protect innocents by killing aggressors is not evil, it is brave.

    I guess so, I admit. I just wish nobody had to die at all.

    Were only the world so kind, Sindri sighs. Good night, Hannah.

    Good night, Sindri.

    Well. I guess I''m keeping watch now. The general idea of it seems pretty straightforward¡ªif anything dangerous-looking comes within fifty feet of us, or if I hear anything suspicious enough from outside my range, I wake everybody up. Easy enough. The hard part, I suspect, is staying focused and awake.

    Or, well¡­ at least awake. I don''t think I can really fail to notice something big enough to be threatening entering my range, not unless I was particularly groggy. And since I am kind of groggy, priority one right now is waking myself up. I scuttle in a circle, spinning my body and getting my blood pumping. For some odd reason, this feels a lot weirder than normal. Uh, insofar as spinning around as a little radially symmetrical spider creature can feel normal, anyway. Still, something feels odd, almost like something is pressing on me in a particular direction. But it''s not¡­ touch, really? I''m not sure how to describe it, it''s just¡­ new. Is there anything in that direction that''s noteworthy? Let''s see¡­ there''s Sindri''s tent, I guess. A small colony of ant-like creatures is over that way as well, kind of. And the candle clock is next to me, I guess.

    ¡­Oh, wait a minute! The candle clock! I stop spinning myself silly and walk around it, feeling the¡­ whatever I''m feeling match whatever side of my body the candle is on. I walk away from the lit candle, noticing the feeling get dimmer. Then I walk behind a tent and immediately notice the feeling disappear.

    ¡­I think I''m sensing light!

    It''s the new organs between each of my legs, it has to be. They''re rudimentary light sensors, the evolutionary precursor to eyes. I mean, probably, anyway. It matches my observations and would make sense, and like¡­ dang I really hope it''s eyes. I don''t like being blind one bit. My spatial sense is really nice, don''t get me wrong, but it''s sort of¡­ claustrophobic. Fifty feet seems like a long distance up until it really, really isn''t.

    One way or another, my body is definitely changing. The thick nerve clusters underneath each part of my weakening exoskeleton just kinda weren''t there before, so it''s pretty obvious. Assuming this is the same sort of Transmutation effect as the one affecting me on Earth, this might be a good time to try and figure that magic out, maybe even learn to control it!

    ¡­Though on the subject of control, I should probably start with the spell I already know. I focus on the feeling of my Spacial Rend, at least as best I can. Spacial Rend, Spacial Rend¡­ I know it''s called that, I know it''s named that, but it also isn''t. That''s a representation of the name, but the real name is Sp¡ª

    I shudder, feeling the goddess'' attention on me for a fractional yet infinite second. I¡­ I recall Kagiso demonstrating her spell by incanting its true name to me, so I doubt the goddess minds all that much about being summoned frivolously, but¡­ I don''t know. It still seems rude to do it without a reason. Like calling someone on the phone, or sending them a Discord ping. Some people can just do that, but I sure can''t. It''s intrusive! I''m curious if I can use the verbal incantation without being able to talk, but not curious enough to¡­ y''know, bother somebody. What if I accidentally wake my friends if I succeed? They''d assume we''re under attack!

    Anyway, inviting the goddess to speak the true name of my magic is an entirely optional part of casting the spell. It empowers things, from what I''m told, and it probably does so considerably. This just comes at the cost of all the many downsides of, y''know, saying the name of your spell out loud, a trope that has been criticized to death. This world doesn''t run on anime time, for starters, so enemies won''t stop trying to kill you while you talk. Plus, the name of the spell describes the spell, and that gives information about your spell that people otherwise might not have. It certainly isn''t stealthy, and screaming "I''M CASTING A SPELL!" is pretty bad on its own, but¡­ I feel like the name has to actually, legitimately describe the spell, as well. Your target will get information regarding what you''re about to do when you say the name. No trying to game the system and trick people with the name. I don''t know why I feel that''s true, but I do. The goddess just¡­ wouldn''t like it, probably. Maybe. Blah, I genuinely don''t have a logical reason to believe this is true, which means I should submit the belief to scientific rigor, but¡­ maybe not personally. I''m sure someone else has tried. I''ll ask the others about it when they wake up.

    So. Magic. Let''s try to focus here, Hannah. My goal is to figure out my shapeshifting magic in order to try and control it a bit better. I feel like shapeshifting is somewhat of a potentially catastrophic kind of magic to fuck up, and considering that I don''t want to Akira myself I''m gonna try to take this slow. I''ll start with the one spell I can cast, and see if figuring out the details of actually casting it can help me extrapolate from there. Spacial Rend, my cutting-that-isn''t-cutting magic. I will never be able to cast it without remembering my first kill, I think, so that''s the memory I turn to, the feeling I force myself to relive. I hope it is always as haunting and disturbing as it was then.

    I am, as I so often am, immediately disappointed in myself. The bloom of power comes easily and it feels comfortable, like putting on a snug sock. The memory of blood and terror and evil performed by my own claws doesn''t torment me like I feel it should. I just¡­ activate the magic, casually dig a small hole with it, then let it fade away. It''s easy, as easy as breathing. It''s my magic, after all, and it''s as much a part of me now as any muscle or limb. And I''m actually pretty good at trying to flex muscles that don''t exist.

    Though¡­ surely that''s not all there is to it, right? There''s no way I can learn to control my transformation spell by just feeling around for other threads of power to pull on, can I? That doesn''t seem quite right, but it doesn''t seem quite wrong either. Agh! I hate that! I hate how¡­ instinctive everything is. I hate feeling my way through this rather than understanding and knowing! I like hard magic systems, ones where the magic is basically science in the sense that it''s consistent, predictable, and an inherent part of the world. This wacky personalized stuff is¡­ uncomfortable to me, yet at the same time it got me my first spell, so¡­ here we go? Feeling around for threads of power. This will work, kind of, I think¡­ because I know what I''m looking for. I know the spell I''m seeking. It''s the spell that changes me.

    That feels fundamentally incorrect, but also sort of close enough. There''s some basic resonance from that: yes, the spell does change me, at least in the sort of ''no duh'' way which is basically meaningless. I''m missing important elements here. I roll the idea around in my mind a while, accompanied by me curling myself into a ball and rolling around the campsite a little bit. Hmm... hmm hmm hmm. Rolling does weird things to my budding light-sensor organs. I''m radially symmetrical but not spherically symmetrical, so the light sensors are rolling along with me, spinning in ways that would make my human body quite dizzy. Or, well. My humanoid body. I''m not really human anymore, what with the exoskeleton I''m growing.

    An exoskeleton. Hmm. My spider body¡­ also has an exoskeleton. And it has claws, though they''re not shaped quite the same way as my toe claws. The teeth, though. My spider body has very sharp teeth. My human body might be growing parts that are more like my spider-self. And the budding eyes, well¡­ my human body has eyes. Not ten eyes, though. It doesn''t quite match up perfectly, but I think I''m onto something, and while I''m tempted to go pulling on what my instincts say is kind of the right magic muscle, I''m not currently anemic enough to think that''s a good idea a second time. Instead, I idle away the hours until the candle finally burns down and then skuttle into Kagiso''s tent to wake her up.

    She''s curled up in her bedroll on the ground, so I just head up to her face and bump into her a few times to wake her up. She tenses, her eyes shooting open¡­ but then she glances at me and relaxes, making a tired groaning noise and trying to curl up deeper into her bed. Which¡­ hey! She can''t do that! It''s my turn to sleep!

    I bump her a few more times, to increasingly annoyed groans, before she finally starts wriggling out of bed.

    "Fala hana, nata nata," she mumbles, patting me on top of my body. I drum my feet indignantly, because I am not a hat, no matter how often I end up on top of her head. She ignores my silent denial, however, stretching like a cat and yawning before grabbing her weapons and standing up.

    For some reason, I follow Kagiso out of the tent rather than just curl up into the nearby barren zone and pass out. She sits down on a rock, nods at me, and pats a small space beside her, so I jump up and curl into a ball next to her thigh. Kagiso pulls out a set of whittling tools as well as the chunk of the deep wood I left in her backpack after tunneling into it, and starts turning it into arrows. Neat. The two of us sit in silence, partly because we can''t actually talk to each other while Sindri is unconscious but partly because that''s just who we are: a pair of introverts in the mood to enjoy each other''s company in utter silence.

    It doesn''t take long after I get comfortable there to find myself waking up in bed. Once I spend the requisite few seconds figuring out how to breathe again, I let out a sigh. Nothing actually bad happened. No one tried to come after us in our sleep. That''s quite a relief.

    For the first time this week I crawl out of bed without being on the verge of a panic attack. Alien feelings in my jaw and careful movements of my tongue indicate I should probably keep my lips firmly shut until I lock myself in the bathroom, but I expected this. It''ll¡­ it''ll be okay, I think. As long as there''s nothing extra tagging along with my new teeth. I enter the bathroom, strip down, and do a quick check over my body. Everything looks the same. My toes are now entirely exoskeletal, and they''re starting to infect my feet. My slowly-changing leg has more growing under the skin than it did yesterday, but I don''t have that itch I tend to have when the skin is ready to fall off. Satisfied with my checkup, I bite the bullet, stare into the mirror, and finally open my mouth.

    Uh. Wow. Holy steamed casserole, okay, that''s¡­ that''s some teeth. I stare into the mirror and huge, glistening-white triangles shine back at me like an upscaled shark mouth. A full set of horrifying saw-like edges, not a single one built for chewing. I am made to tear chunks off flesh and swallow them whole. I open and close my mouth a few times, focusing on the strangely disturbing feeling of my upper teeth and lower teeth slotting in next to each other, passing into the gaps side-by-side rather than settling on top or in front. It''s almost mechanical, in a way. They slot into each other too well, to the point that any slight warping would leave me stabbing my own gums or unable to close my jaw. A naturally-evolving creature couldn''t rely on having perfectly ordered teeth all the time, that''s just genetic variance, but I suppose my magically-induced changes have no such limitation.

    I open my mouth as wide as it will go¡ªand holy moly that''s a lot wider than it used to be¡ªthen snap my jaws shut with a satisfying clack. Woah, that''s¡­ loud. I used a lot more force than I intended. My teeth are extremely sharp, extremely dangerous, but whatever part of my brain that instinctively wants to be careful with my own teeth and not stress them too hard has apparently been shut off. I''ll have to be sure not to bite my own fingers off when I''m eating! Hell, I could probably bite my own hand off if I tried. Or, y''know, someone else''s. Heh.

    ¡­I should get in the shower so I can go eat breakfast. I step in and let the hot water run, rinsing myself down and looking over the skin on my legs for hair to shave. I''ve thankfully never been all that hairy¡ªit''s annoying shaving what little body hair I do get, I can''t imagine having to do both legs every day¡ªbut I don''t spot anything. Hmm. Not too strange, I suppose, but I feel like I should have regrown some body hair by now. I guess my skin knows it''s eventually going to die and fall off, so it has stopped bothering with frivolities. I do still have to shave my armpits, but I suppose the exoskeletal advance army has yet to reach such heightened shores. I giggle a little, and now that my mouth is open I just have to snap my teeth together again. Then again. Clack clack. Man, that is worryingly satisfying. I need to find someone to chew. I mean something to chew.

    Ha ha, I''m definitely going insane. I should probably be panicking about this. I could be panicking about this, if I really started focusing on how fucked up it all is. But¡­ I''m extremely tired, especially of panic. I''ve been doing that so often lately that I just feel numb to it. It''s probably healthy to take a rest day or two to refill my panic reserves for later, right?

    I luxuriate in the shower for a good while longer before finally getting out, wiping the steam off the mirror and watching myself clack my teeth together one last time for good measure before drying off and getting clothes on. Including, of course, my mask. There''s almost a hint of resignation in me as I put it on, for whatever reason. It''s human Hannah time. My routine is calling, and it''s school, work, sleep, repeat. Just get through things, taking one step at a time and hoping my problems just go away, even though I know they won''t. That''s my life. It sucks, and it''s terrible, but it''s mine and the idea of letting it go just terrifies me too much to consider.

    I spare one last longing glance at the mirror, then exit the bathroom to face the day.

 13. Fuel for the Fire

    The simple act of trying to eat breakfast is enough to alert me that something a bit more fundamental has changed than just my teeth. I eat cereal for breakfast every day, unless my mom decides to cook something on the weekend. I mean that. Every single day, I wake up, I shower, and I chow down on a bowl or two of sugary, oaty, wheaty goodness drenched in milk. I like cereal; it''s simple and easy and tasty and quick. It''s a great meal all around, yet the mere thought of eating it now makes my stomach churn. After a hesitant, confused back-and-forth of trying to complete my usual routine but being deeply repulsed by it, a cycle of opening the cupboard, shaking in place, closing the cupboard, then opening it again, I head to the fridge instead. This feels more natural, somehow. An urge takes me and before I know it I''ve swallowed four eggs whole.

    ¡­Huh.

    I¡­ really hope I don''t get salmonella. What the heck, monster brain? At least let me cook them. I didn''t even chew the darn things, just¡­ gulp. Like a friggin'' snake. I mean, I doubt raw egg would taste good anyway, but¡­ uh, hmm. I glance at the egg carton. Hesitantly, I put another egg in my mouth. I''m not really able to chew things anymore, since I have no molar structures and my teeth just do cutting now. Eggs don''t really need more than that, though, so I burst it open in my mouth and jolt at the explosion of flavor that rushes out of it. This is weird. Really weird. Eggs used to taste so bland to me, but now it''s just like¡­ mmm. Tasty unborn children juice. I swallow it all, the broken eggshell scratching uncomfortably but not painfully as it slides down my throat. I''ll need to eat a few dozen more eggs each day to catch up with Gaston, but I''m starting to see the appeal of his routine all of a sudden.

    Whatever. I''d better get out of the house before my brother comes downstairs. It''s raining outside, which in some nebulously narcissistic way makes me feel somewhat cheated. Days upon days of constant panic and horror have finally left me somewhat numb to the idea that my humanity is slowly dripping away. Not¡­ not totally numb, not by a longshot. The thought is horrifying. It''s just that I''m so incredibly exhausted from being horrified all the time that the feeling is sort of sliding off of my brain a little. I feel like there''s a subtle difference between coming to terms with something and just¡­ lacking the mental bandwidth for additional panic attacks. But maybe not. Maybe this is what acceptance feels like. I guess I''ll take it, either way.

    I grab an umbrella from the stand by the door¡ªit rains a lot here, so my family is prepared for it¡ªand start my walk to the bus stop. Brendan arrives not long after, giving me a wide berth as he circles into my line of sight in an attempt to not surprise me. I smile at him, not that he can see it behind my mask.

    "Hey," I greet him.

    "Hey," he answers, relaxing noticeably. "Uh, how''s things?"

    "Not terrible," I admit.

    "That''s¡­ good news, I suppose," he nods. "How was last night?"

    "Pleasantly uneventful," I admit. "I was only awake for about two hour-ish fantasy time units. We were keeping a watch rotation."

    "Ah. Yeah. Classic adventuring stuff."

    "Exactly."

    "Good that nothing happened," he comments awkwardly.

    "Agreed," I say. "I think spider-Hannah is starting to grow eyes though, maybe?"

    "Oh! Is that good?"

    "Well if they let me see it will be, yeah."

    He nods, and the silence that follows makes me restless instead of comfortable like it usually does. Absentmindedly, I open my mouth just a little bit and let my jaw snap shut. Clack. Brendan gives me a startled look.

    "Teeth came in," I explain, pointing at my own mouth. "They''re, uh, really big and sharp. Also I had a weird urge to eat like five raw eggs this morning, so if I start vomiting later that''s probably why."

    "You seem, uh, calmer about that than I would have expected," Brendan admits.

    "I noticed that too, yeah," I agree. "I think I''m just too tired to panic, but it might be mental corruption, so¡­ I''m trying not to think about it too much, honestly."

    He relaxes a little.

    "Well the corruption can''t be too bad, you''re still you enough to purposefully ignore it," he jokes, and I glare at him. This only seems to amuse him further, so I really don''t know why I bothered. I clack my teeth at him again, and that seems to do a better job of getting my point across.

    "...I really wanna see what you have going on under that mask," Brendan admits.

    I glance around. We''re the only two people at the bus stop and the bus is nowhere to be seen, so I shrug and lift the mask, opening my jaw up as wide as it''ll go. I feel it drop down, down further, and nearly unhinge all the way down to touch my neck to my chin, even as I stare up at Brendan. His expression is¡­ complicated, to say the least. I watch his eyes flicker around to various parts of my face, a mix of interest and mild horror and something I can''t really identify all warring together in a messy mush of emotion.

    "Close your mouth and smile," Brendan says.

    Seeing no reason not to, I snap my teeth shut again (clack!) and give him a tight-lipped grin.

    "Woah, that''s creepy," Brendan mutters. "Your cheeks stretch just enough to put you in uncanny valley there, Hannah. Be careful with that if you''re ever caught without your mask."

    "Oh, good to know," I nod, putting said mask back on. "I guess that makes sense, considering how wide I can open my jaw now. Think of how big of a burger I could eat!"

    Although, frankly, I''d prefer to just remove the patties and bacon from the burger and just eat that. Maybe the cheese, too.

    "It''s always food with you," Brendan snorts.

    "Hey, mutating into a horror beyond human comprehension takes a lot of calories, okay?"

    "I dunno, you seem pretty comprehensible right now."

    "Just wait until I start phasing out of reality! I''ll reach halfway through the fourth dimension and you''ll get to see all my internal organs and stuff."

    "Lucky me."

    Unfortunately, our banter is cut short by the arrival of the bus. Once surrounded by humanity, the talk of my budding inhumanity has to end, so I prod Brendan for more information about the misadventures of his tabletop characters. The mermaid who summons battle mounts to get around on land hasn''t even gotten another game since I first started mutating, so instead I''m learning about a clawed psychic woman who flies around everywhere completely naked because GURPS gives you a discount on defensive force fields if they prevent you from wearing anything while they''re up for some reason. Consequently, she functionally has more hit points than the rest of the party put together, because hardened ablative psychic barriers are better than hit points anyway. I choose not to judge the fact that Brendan clearly decided not to convince his GM that the ''no wearing equipment under the force field'' shouldn''t apply to clothing that provides no mechanical advantage, even though he absolutely could have done that. I am in no position to complain about someone who fantasizes about flying naked ladies.

    We soon get off the bus and the school day begins. Vaguely wondering what sort of horrible mutation will ruin my life today, I''m surprised to find lunchtime rolling around entirely without incident. Unfortunately, (or perhaps fortunately, given my teeth situation) I don''t really get to eat today. I have a science test to make up.

    I find Autumn already waiting outside the science classroom when I show up, scribbling something into her notebook. She quickly puts it away when she spots me, nodding a somewhat nervous greeting. She seems kind of uncomfortable in general, hunched over slightly with her arms tight against her body.

    "Hello, um¡­ Hannah?" she says. What, did she forget my name again?

    "That''s me, I''m Hannah," I confirm, stepping beside her to wait for the teacher to arrive. "Worried about the test?"

    She shrugs awkwardly and declines to answer.

    "What about you?" she says instead. "Are you doing okay?"

    "The bleeding stopped, if that''s what you mean," I respond carefully. It''s simultaneously a more reassuring and more correct answer than just saying ''yes,'' even if it''s misleading because of that.

    Autumn just gives me a funny look for a while before turning away.

    "That''s good," she says.

    "Thanks again for all your help back then," I tell her before I can chicken out. "Really, it means a lot to me."

    "Don''t thank me for that," she answers firmly, which surprises me. That didn''t sound like modesty, that sounded like a legitimate request. Self-esteem issue, maybe?

    "Uh, I''m not sure I can stop myself from being thankful. Like, that was a lot of blood you helped out with, but¡­ I''ll go ahead and be thankful silently, I suppose," I manage.

    She just nods, not even looking at me. Shoot, I handled that badly and I don''t understand how. She seems really uncomfortable all of a sudden, so I take a subtle half-step away to give her some space and shut up. If she appreciates that, I can''t tell, but it''s still probably my smartest move so far. The science teacher arrives not long after, letting us into the classroom and giving us our tests back. He didn''t bother to give us new tests, apparently not caring about the possibility that we looked up all the answers overnight. Which is fortunate for Autumn, because she blitzes through the test with a speed that implies she did exactly that.

    I finish my test (even though it still has bloodstains on it, which I feel like should probably be a biohazard) and turn it in at around the same time, leaving Autumn and I free to go actually eat something before our next class. I glance into the cafeteria to see what they''re serving and see some vegetarian pasta thing that smells absolutely revolting, so lacking any real way to get food I just end up turning to Autumn.

    "You wouldn''t happen to be going out to eat, would you?"

    She shakes her head, causing her brown curls to bounce adorably.

    "I have a car, but I don''t normally go out. I packed lunch."

    "Well darn," I sigh. Then, on a whim: "Mind if I come sit with you anyway?"

    She gives me an odd (and cute) look before turning away.

    "...I''m just going to the library to read," she mutters.

    "I''m okay with that," I tell her. "I have some homework to do."

    That''s only half true; I would normally do the homework next period, but¡­ y''know. Crush brain says proximity to girl is good. Follow. Befriend. Bask in presence. Other perfectly normal and not-creepy behavior. Like yeah, everything I thought yesterday about relationships being a bad idea when I''m mutating into a monster is true, and also it''d probably suck for Ida if I start pursuing someone else right after she admitted she wants to get in my pants (which is still kind of weird and confusing, what the heck), but I''m not really in a position where my logic brain is in charge here. But hey, if I want a logical reason to do this, here''s one: Autumn is the kind of friend that''s willing to help me clean up giant bloodstains, and I''ll probably need more of that in the near future.

    Though I guess she might change her tune if it ends up not being my blood. Hopefully we won''t have to find out.

    Thanks to the joy of rich-person taxes, my school library is actually pretty well stocked. I don''t have time to read anymore, but I used to enjoy it quite a bit and I consumed a lot of the books on offer here during my freshman year. Autumn awkwardly plops down at a table, pulling a book and a lunch bag out of her backpack before lifting said backpack up on the table, as if to use it as a shield to prevent her from having to look at my face. Which, y''know, probably not the best sign. I have no idea what this girl thinks of me, but¡­ I guess that''s what I''m here to find out?

    I hear a pencil scribbling as I get out my textbooks¡ªprobably Autumn taking notes again¡ªand settle in to study. I don''t want to come off as too weird (or too desperate) so I resign myself to stay quiet until lunch ends unless Autumn starts a conversation. She doesn''t, but that''s okay. Silence is pretty comfortable for me, a lot of the time. When the bell finally rings and we start getting up, I finally manage to catch a glimpse at the cover of her book, which just has a single, large word on it: Thud!

    Oh nice, she has good taste!

    "Are you reading Terry Pratchett?" I ask. "I love Terry Pratchett!"

    Slowly, she peels her eyes away from the book, blinking owlishly for a moment as she slings her backpack over her shoulder.

    "...What''s your favorite thing he''s written?" she asks, testingly.

    Uh. Hmm. That''s a good question. Pratchett has a lot of great books, but¡­

    "Monstrous Regiment," I say, since I''m trying to hint at the fact that I am a lesbian. "But I also really love Going Postal. Only Terry Pratchett would have the gall to name the main character of a story ''Moist.'' Like dang, that is an impossible amount of confidence on display. The dude really made me read the word ''moist'' thousands of times in a row and like it, and I think that is all the evidence you need to prove he is the most powerful author to have ever lived."

    She giggles a bit at that and my heart flutters, my face flushes and a feeling of unparalleled success washes over me, utterly unearned. All I did was speak a few sentences about how Terry Pratchett¡ªwhose books have sold over one hundred million copies worldwide, who is technically, in fact, Sir Terry Pratchett because he was knighted for being so good at words¡ªis a pretty good author, actually. An utterly worthless, smooth-brain thing to point out.

    And yet, it made a nerdy girl laugh. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah!

    "My favorite is Carpe Jugulum," Autumn supplies. "The whole witches series was what hooked me. I''m rather disappointed the witches don''t show up much in the other books. Most of the Ankh-Morpork characters do to some extent."

    "Well, that''s what happens when most of the books take place in Ankh-Morpork," I agree. "You''re right though, it is a shame. With a series as huge as Discworld, though, it''d be impossible to have everyone showing up all the time. I always wished for more Susan, myself."

    "Susan is neat," Autumn agrees. She agreed with me about a book! I can''t help but grin, which probably makes it extra fortunate that I have a mask on. Look at me interact socially! Aww yeah! Unfortunately, it looks like we now have to part ways, because Autumn doesn''t seem to be heading in the direction of my next class.

    "So, uh, do you usually eat in the library like that?" I ask.

    Autumn immediately tenses, her expression immediately becoming twenty times more anxious.

    "...Um, yeah?" she answers after a long and conspicuous pause.

    Woah. What was up with that? Ida said she was pretty sure Autumn wasn''t getting bullied, but that was¡­ not the face of someone expecting something good to happen as a result of asking where she eats. This is so weird, she''s acting really funky compared to yesterday. I should make sure to give her an out.

    "Well, um, I was wondering if you would be okay with me dropping by and eating with you sometimes, or if you''d prefer to eat alone," I say carefully.

    She stares at me briefly, not seeming to know what to say.

    "I''m not gonna stop you from going to the library," is all she settles on, and I decide it''s best not to press. She turns and hurries off, the unexpected quickness of her movements making my muscles tense with an instinct to pounce. Thankfully, I ignore that instinct and do not chase down, tackle, and bite my crush. That''s like, third or fourth date stuff.

    ¡­Uh, wait. Back up on that one. Really, brain? I shake my head and wander off to my next class. It''s boring, uninteresting, and uneventful, as is the class after that. Things are going suspiciously well, and since I don''t know how to feel about that I do my usual strategy of ignoring it. I have work today, too, which means I''m not expected to eat dinner with my family, which means I don''t have to spend a whole meal trying not to show my teeth when I eat, and that''s pretty nice too. Even work goes off without a hitch. It feels like my old routine is back, despite all the changes. It feels¡­ weird. I''d expected it to be more comfortable after all the panic and insanity and madness. I suppose none of that is disappearing, though, it''s just¡­ delayed. I''m probably just stressed in anticipation.

    Whatever. I head home after work, trudge up to my room, and quickly pass out. Then I immediately start flailing and hissing because it feels like somebody just peeled my eyelids back and forced me to look at the sun. I try to shriek in agony but nothing happens because I can''t breathe. I flail around instead, screaming silently as I flail to get the agony out instead. I roll in pain, other parts of my mind dimly starting to wake and take stock of the situation. I''m in fantasyland, I''m a hyperspider, Kagiso is standing over me looking horrified and repeatedly calling my name. But none of that matters because pain, pain, pain, pain! It feels like something is boring itself into my skull from a dozen different directions, ripping me open and setting the holes on fire. I''m in pain. I''m under attack! I need safety! I jump into the closest barren zone, entirely on instinct.

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    Darkness descends instantly. The pain vanishes like a popped bubble. I still wish I could scream, but the need is less instinctive and more¡­ me.

    "Makana!" Kagiso cries out, looking around desperately. "Hana makana! Makana! Makana makana!"

    I don''t know what that means, and I''m worried for her, but we don''t seem to be under attack by anything so I don''t have the mental bandwidth to focus on it. The pain is¡­ kind of coming back. It''s not really there, almost like the memory of pain rather than pain itself, but sometimes it throbs in a way that makes me immediately fear it''s about to return. Teboho and Sindri wake up as a result of Kagiso''s shouts, rushing out to speak with her in hushed tones. I get the expected mental contact shortly afterwards.

    Hannah? Sindri asks, causing another spike of agony to ram into my brain.

    Ow! I hiss back at him. I''m here. I''m alive. I''m in pain.

    Kagiso is apologizing over and over, Sindri says, which hurts more so I hiss at him mentally. What happened?

    I have no idea, I answer. I literally just woke up.

    She says she hurt you.

    Huh. That seems odd. I don''t feel wounded or anything, I feel more¡­ a stabbing ache. Like a migraine. I check my body over anyway, and¡­ wait. There''s some chitin missing between two of my legs. Oh. Oh! The light-sensing organs! The thinning chitin that had been covering them is falling off! A quick check next to where I was sleeping on the rock next to Kagiso does indeed show a chunk of chitin that fell off.

    Not her fault, I tell him. I''m partially molting. It hurts. I think I''m growing eyes.

    You''re what?

    Growing eyes, I repeat, looking deeper into my own body. Yeah, those nerve clusters are really bunching up and meshing with my brain. Kinda creepy. I think I just overloaded an undeveloped organ system. My nervous system is still adjusting to stuff. I should probably stay here for a while.

    May I ask why?

    Well, it''s dark in the fourth dimension, and I don''t have eyelids.

    There''s a pause.

    Fair enough, Sindri eventually allows. I''ll let the others know the situation while we get camp cleaned up, and then we''ll figure out the best way to handle things.

    I send back an affirmation and stretch my legs a bit, scuttling around the inside of the barren zone as I try to think. It does seem like I''m getting my wish, as least as long as I''m interpreting my new senses correctly. My guess for how things went down is as follows: I fall asleep next to Kagiso, my body still changing. Kagiso gives me pats and scratches as she is wont to do, but accidentally ends up removing part of my body covering up my still-developing eyes. It probably came off really easily since they''re just¡­ dead chitin at this point, entirely intended for being harmlessly removed. They were just removed too early, before the changes to my nervous system were ready for the sudden influx of light and information. So under this assumption, all I can really do is rest and wait for my body to finish changing. The main problem with that being that I am very, very hungry.

    Sindri, I think as ''loudly'' as I can, for lack of a better term. Sindri, can you hear me?

    Of course, Sindri answers. How can I help, Hannah?

    I think I need food, I admit. Meat. A lot of it.

    Transmutation pangs? He asks.

    Huh?

    You need mass and fuel for your changes, Sindri explains. The speed of the change and the symptoms you''re experiencing point to Transmutation magic, so I think this is pretty obvious evidence that you''re triple-naturalborn. Which, again, is extremely uncommon, but certainly not unheard of. Most Transmutation magic focuses on the self, with shapeshifting spells and whatnot, and it''s one of the more energy-intensive forms of magic. It tends to make the caster hungry. We call that hunger Transmutation pangs.

    Oh, that¡­ makes sense, I guess, I admit. Honestly, this is all really weird and strange to me, so it''s really reassuring when you treat it like it''s normal? If, um, that makes sense.

    Of course that makes sense. And it is normal, Hannah. I would not consider your situation in general to be normal, I suppose, but the individual pieces? Of course. Humans categorize and record everything we can on magic, and it''s part of my job to be up-to-date on our general well of knowledge. Mostly so I don''t get killed by my own ignorance. You''re fascinating and unique in many ways, but many people have magic that allows them to step through space, or that changes their body over time. I''m happy to help share what we''ve learned from their experiences.

    In that moment, I am very, very tempted to tell him about Earth. Maybe he won''t think that''s crazy either. Maybe he can help me find people like me. Sindri is nice, Sindri is a friend, and he''s proven that he''s willing to put real effort into helping me when he doesn''t have to. I don''t, though. It''s a conversation I don''t want to have.

    For some reason, I kind of like not having to talk about being human.

    Curling up into a ball, I roll around a bit to get comfortable since I know I''m just going to be waiting around for a while. I am currently watching my own eyeballs grow, which is a bit of a surreal experience. They aren''t growing or changing very fast, not by a longshot, but they are shifting at a visible rate, the ends of new nerves slowly snaking to their destinations, the membranes of the eyes themselves thickening and adjusting little by little. It''s kind of fascinating.

    Kagiso caught you some food, Hannah, Sindri reports. Where should she leave it?

    Ah, right, actually getting the food into the barren zone will be a problem. I scuttle over to the edge of the area and stick one limb out, wiggling it around for Kagiso to notice. She drops the animal corpses nearby, deliciously raw and bloody. Resigning myself to a moment of pain, I scuttle out of my barren zone, keeping the budding eye she accidentally revealed at the back of my body as I quickly grab a bite and return to the dimensional pocket to swallow it. Repeating this a few more times, I actually start to feel full by the time I finish off her pile of unneeded apology presents. I tell Sindri to tell her thank-you.

    Getting food in my system seems to speed the growth process for my eyes significantly, though I mean that as a very scientific kind of significance, not to in any way imply that things are now moving fast. There might be a way to speed it up, though. Let''s try to tackle that problem in the least stupid way I have available, though.

    Hey Sindri, I ask. I was thinking of trying to purposefully use my Transmutation magic. Right now it just kind of does its own thing, and I was hoping to get a bit more control over it. Any advice?

    Not the first time you''ve woken up with new body parts, then? Sindri muses. Hmm. Your own magic generally isn''t at risk of harming you, unless you go out of your way to be reckless and stupid with it. Even then, reckless and stupid people generally get magic they can''t irreversibly injure themselves with, so generally speaking I''d say you''re likely to be fine. The same can''t be said for the rest of us, though, so make sure to direct whatever magical energies you conjure up away from Kagiso, Teboho, and I, okay?

    Huh. That''s weirdly nonchalant. "You''ll probably be fine" is not an answer I expected from Sindri, he seems like an extremely cautious man.

    Of course, I won''t expose you guys to anything if I can help it, I confirm. But I have to admit, I was hoping for more concrete advice. I barely have any idea how magic even works, I''ve just kind of been flailing around and trying to do what feels right, and that''s annoying. I like to know how something works, why something works, and only act once I have some solid idea of the expected outcome. But I''m just kind of doing everything blind! Er, no pun intended.

    Sindri laughs.

    Well, he muses, I must say, it''s easy to believe that you were raised by humans.

    What, just from that? I ask. I know lots of reckless humans.

    Of course, of course, we can be just as thoughtless as anyone. But a dentron wouldn''t have that philosophy towards magic at all. It''s sacred to them. A deeply personal thing. Dentron are like that in general, very uninterested in looking towards the ''how'' and ''why.'' I have to admit, it''s very refreshing to be traveling with someone who bothers to ask those kinds of questions. Unfortunately, much to the endless frustration of our scientists, magic continues to defy our understanding. The most common theory is that it''s managed by some sort of greater intelligence, but I personally have my doubts.

    You do? I ask, personally quite surprised. I felt¡­ I mean, someone says the true names of spells, don''t you think? When they''re cast that way, I mean. The voice sounds like it''s coming from a person.

    An unfathomably alien person, but still a person, in the broad sense of the definition. Sindri just shrugs, though.

    I am a Pneuma mage, he says simply. I am somewhat naturally suspicious of the veracity of unexplained, magically-induced certainty, even if it''s a phenomenon shared by nearly all sapients to some extent. I do not claim there is no guiding intelligence, I only claim what I said: I have my doubts. Wrapping back to your initial concern, however, my point is that magic is frustratingly personalized. Attempts to standardize magical teaching ultimately amount to mindfulness exercises like meditation and personal therapy.

    Oh no, they have therapists here. I shudder.

    So I just kind of have to figure it out, I conclude.

    You just kind of have to figure it out, Sindri confirms. But the flipside of that is this: you can ''just figure it out,'' on your own, without help. Go ahead and let your instincts guide you. I merely ask, again, that you direct your tests away from our general direction.

    I suppose if I must, I answer jokingly, and try to figure out some magic. Fortunately, I already did most of the groundwork for that last night. I know what lever of power I have to pull. I don''t know its name, I don''t really know what it does, but I know it''s there. If I want to know more, I''ll have to see what it does with my own ten eyes. So with a twist of a muscle that isn''t real, I cast some magic, and I''m in two places at once.

    Power flows into me, and power flows into me. I''m here, waiting in the darkness for my eyes to function, and I''m there, four-limbed, motionless, and dreaming, deep in REM yet somehow aware. My magic takes hold, thrumming in the space between universes. An impossibly long line of power connects each half of me, my magic reaching out to grasp it, full-fisted. Grip firmly established, my magic activates, and all it does is pull.

    My changes accelerate in both bodies at once, and my familiar friend panic makes her triumphant return. Immediately, I clamp down on the spell hard, ending it before it can change too much. My awareness of my mostly-human self ends, but the damage is done. Something will be wrong when I wake up, that''s for sure. At least here and now, in my small little spherical spider body, things have more or less gone to plan. Nerve clusters finish filling themselves out and attaching to my brain. Membranes protect the light-sensitive organs, while the rest of the dead chitin covering them falls off. I still can''t see a darn thing, but I suspect that''s just because light doesn''t seem to enter the fourth dimension at all. Even once the changes stop, though, I''m a bit hesitant to go outside because I don''t have any friggin'' eyelids.

    I get that spiders don''t have eyelids, but¡­ really, body? You''re going with the spider theme rather than basic sense? I''m going to have to be looking in every direction simultaneously, all the time, because I have ten eyes and none of them can close. That''s, uh, a little overkill, don''t you think, goddess?

    If she''s listening she doesn''t make herself known, which in retrospect I suppose I''m thankful for.

    Hesitantly, I crawl partially out of my dimensional pocket and fail to squint at the bright, painful light I''m greeted with. I''m gonna have a constant headache, aren''t I? It takes way too long for my eyes to adjust, stepping uncomfortably out into the open where my three friends have recently finished packing up camp. This hurts and I can''t see crap but slowly, very slowly, my vision starts to clear and my new eyes start to be comprehensible. The worst part is how overwhelming it all is. I don''t even know why it''s overwhelming, I''m currently seeing everything in every direction including stuff that''s inside other stuff, so why is three hundred and sixty degree vision a problem? I suspect that I''m just too used to monodirectional vision; I know what vision is supposed to be like, but this is around four times more than that. I take a few hesitant steps, slowly rotating my body and trying to keep my focus towards the ground, watching my own little spider feet tap around. My chitin, I notice, is bone-white. Funny, that.

    Hannah? Sindri asks. Are you okay?

    This is indescribably weird, I answer.

    I suppose I can only imagine. Here, can I at least borrow a leg so I can get us all in the communication network?

    I drum my feet in agreement and lift a leg in his general direction, which he, Teboho, and Kagiso all touch at once so Sindri can allow everyone to talk. The first voice is, of course, Kagiso.

    Hannah! she chirps immediately. Sorry!

    It''s fine, Kagiso! Really, you didn''t do anything. My body is just a bit cruel to me sometimes.

    Y''know. Just a bit. Kagiso just responds by projecting a general feeling of anxiety in my direction, which like, mood.

    Uncountable legs, and now uncountable eyes, Teboho comments. You are truly a uniquely beautiful creature, Hannah.

    Thanks, I think? I manage. But it''s ten legs, ten eyes. Neither is uncountable.

    My legs do seem a bit hard to keep track of with my eyes, I suppose, but they look perfectly normal to my spatial sense.

    I''ll take your word for it, Teboho chuckles. But the fact that I have to do so is rather the point, isn''t it?

    I guess, I admit, trying to focus on the legs and feet of my comrades. Teboho''s fuzzy legs are a somewhat woody reddish brown, matching what I can only assume is the giant, upscaled bark of the world tree in the distance. It looks like a giant wall that replaces the sky in a certain direction, but I can''t really see much of it thanks to my low-to-the-ground position. Kagiso''s fur, meanwhile, is stark white. I''m not sure if that''s albinism or just a normal variation in her species, but I decide not to ask.

    Tilting my tiny body, I start moving my gaze upwards (and also downwards, as the other half of me starts pointing towards dirt). The more of my friends I get to see with my eyes, the more I start to realize how insufficient my spatial sense is in terms of experiencing the world. Like sure, I already knew Teboho was smiling at me, but I knew that because I knew the muscles of his lips were tensed into an upturned position, not because I was looking at the guy and seeing him smile. There''s a world of difference between knowing an expression and seeing it, letting every social instinct in my brain chug into reciprocation mode, feeling my mood noticeably improve due to the proof that another person is happy with me. I can see again. Holy crap, I missed this. Also, while I''m still seeing the inside of them all the time, which is kind of super gross, I now get to actually look at all four of Kagiso''s fuzzy boobs which, uh, is certainly a very different experience now than it was before, and... that''s really all I have to say about that! Also also: Sindri is black. I did not expect that at all and as a result I now feel vaguely racist. So. That''s a thing.

    Hello, everyone, I manage to think at them. It''s really nice seeing you for the first time.

    Not too ugly a view, I hope, Teboho jokes.

    Not at all. I mean like, Sindri''s a human man so he''s not really all that interesting to look at, but the dentron are actually really neat! Their four long orangutan-esque arms seem kind of creepy to a human aesthetic sense at first, but now that I''ve been on the receiving end of many fuzzy pats I''m really growing to like them.

    Kagiso is the cutest, I announce. But I suppose you two aren''t terrible looking.

    Kagiso grins smugly, grabbing me with her tail. Her tail then transfers me up to a hand, which ultimately transfers me up to her head. The whole process is dizzying, but I do my best to keep my bearings and ignore the overwhelming sensory data flooding into my head as my view gets moved around.

    Good hat, she says happily.

    I''m not a hat, I protest.

    Then why on head? Kagiso counters, a foolproof response that no one could ever possibly argue against. I rub two legs together to make a hissing noise in lieu of an answer.

    That earns a few chuckles from everyone, which I stoically ignore. I''m still busy looking at new things, after all. The problem with my spatial sense is seeing distance, after all, so I''m trying to get my brain to actually focus on and comprehend the absolutely vast amount of visual information I''m now getting thanks to my high vantage point. Around us, the ground just looks like pretty normal ground: dirt, shrubs, etcetera. It seems like it''s pretty dry here, but other than that things seem normal. The further I look, however, the crazier things become. Out in the distance, it becomes clear that we''re on a raised plateau of land, one that extends far, far out into the horizon, thinning and splitting off into branches of branches of branches until they finally end in what are undoubtedly leaves, even if they, too, are covered in dirt and foliage¡ªa lot more foliage than where we are by the trunk. The closest leaf I see is at least a few miles away, but on it is an entire forest, countless normal-sized trees all growing on the leaf of the giant tree we''re already standing on. A waterfall plummets from one of the leaf''s edges, painting a rainbow in the air as the impossibly long drop separates the column of water into mist. Beyond it all, puffy white clouds intersperse with the edges of longer branches, the sky a mix of white and green without a hint of the clear blue I''m used to from home. I''m not sure if that''s because the sky here is just white or if there''s just too many clouds to see it. I look forward to discovering the answer.

    That''s just looking outwards, though. I''m on a world tree, so the real view is looking up. My family often goes to Dollywood for celebrations and the like, which is a theme park based on Dolly Parton which somehow exists and is actually real. This is relevant because Dollywood offers log cabins in the Smoky Mountains, and we''d rent them because my mom finds that kind of thing incredibly romantic. And really, it''s a pretty cool vacation. The Great Smoky Mountains are absolutely gorgeous, and like most mountains they are also very, very tall. My experiences in hiking around the smokies defined a lot of what I find gorgeous in nature, even today. Majestic, powerful, and huge. I thought there was nothing else that could come close.

    And then I went to the Rocky Mountains, and my mind was absolutely blown out of my ears. The topographic prominence of Mount Elbert is double that of the highest prominence in the smokies, and in terms of elevation it hits an absolutely ridiculous fourteen thousand feet. Sure, there are more impressive mountains in the world, but for little twelve-year-old Hannah? I thought I was climbing the gosh dang Tower of Babel and sneaking my way into heaven. There is nothing quite like the awe of yet-unforeseen scale, of having the idea of what you thought was big suddenly and impossibly dwarfed into nothingness by comparison. And that is what it''s like to look up the trunk of the world tree.

    The wall of wood has no apparent beginning or end. Simply looking forward gives me vertigo, because what I''m looking at is so vast, so all-encompassingly solid, that my brain insists it must be the ground. I shift my weight on Kagiso''s head, however, and start looking up, up, up, further and further, higher and higher until finally I''m looking straight vertically and there''s nothing but canopy, leaf, wood, and fire.

    ¡­Wait, fire? Oh shoot, that''s definitely fire! There are countless branches and leaves between us and it, it has to be like, a hundred miles above us or something. It''s hard to judge distance at this scale, but peeking between the gaps in the leaves is undoubtedly a roaring inferno on an impossible scale.

    Uh, Sindri? I ask. Is the Tree of Souls supposed to be on fire?

    No, absolutely not, he answers. But there''s nothing we can do about that, so let''s get moving, shall we? We have a Chaos mage to catch, after all.

    Um. Okay? I manage, nervously clinging a little tighter to Kagiso''s head, which prompts her to give me a pat. The four of us head out together, following whatever it is Sindri uses to determine where we''re supposed to be going.

    If you think that''s bad, Teboho comments glumly, wait until we get a chance to look down.

    I don''t like the sound of that at all.

 14. Wheel of Fortune

    Since everyone has apparently agreed to collectively ignore the fact that the world is ending, our journey resumes with only moderate urgency. We are, on one hand, chasing a dangerous, murderous criminal who needs to be stopped as soon as possible. On the other hand, Sindri is already confident that we have them cornered. They''re here on this branch, which means we''re between them and the trunk. It''s only a matter of time before we either catch up or drive them to the edge of the branch where they can''t run anymore anyway.

    How do you know where they are, by the way? I ask.

    I''m an animal tamer, remember? Sindri reminds me. I have a pair of birds tracking our target. I can send and receive very basic information from them over a very long distance. They''re my only two assistants right now, but since we''ve made it to the branch we''ll be facing our foe on it''s time for me to collect allies in earnest.

    I hope that doesn''t mean I''m going to have to fight a bunch of monsters.

    Fighting shouldn''t be required with me around, Sindri says, a little smugly. Though there''s always the possibility of bandits, I suppose.

    Kagiso bobs her head back and forth slightly, making a humming noise and causing me to swing precariously around. I endure it. I''m starting to get used to being six times my body height up in the sky all the time. I do get revenge, however, by pinching Kagiso''s long ears between two legs each and tugging each of them back and forth. She squeaks in protest.

    There''s no need for glum talk of battle! Teboho laughs. We will be ready if it comes. Hannah, why don''t you cease torturing my poor sister and work on your letters with me? Or I could teach you more about magic!

    Magic, I answer immediately. Literacy is awesome but magic is awesomer. This is simply an undisputed fact of the universe. I''ve gotten the name of every kind of magic, but not the description, and some of the magic types seem a bit esoteric. Also, I think you mentioned something about complementary forms of magic? What''s up with that?

    Ah, yes! Teboho nods happily, summoning a stone tablet with what looks like a carving of a spoked wheel on it. At the end of each spoke is a word and a symbol, though of course I can''t read any of it. So! Think of it as though every kind of magic rests on the edge of this wheel here. Order, Pneuma, Art, Motion, Light, Heat, Chaos, Death, Matter, Barrier, Space, Transmutation, and finally looping back around to Order again. The two forms of magic on either side of any given type are its complements. So Order is complemented by Pneuma and Transmutation, Light is complemented by Motion and Heat, and Matter is complemented by Barrier and Death. With me so far?

    I think so, I admit. What do complements do?

    A few things. You''ll slightly resist the elements which complement any elements you oppose, but the effect is minor. More importantly is the fact that you can learn other people''s spells if they complement your elements, as long as you know the true name of the spell. Spells copied from other people in this manner are substantially weaker than the original, but there are a lot of helpful spells that don''t rely very much on power.

    Ah, yes, that''s right, Sindri chimes in. I was going to teach you Aura Sight, Hannah. My magic, Pneuma, complements Order, and Aura Sight is one of the best Pneuma spells to know. Very useful for determining how dangerous an opponent is and what their likely capabilities are, not to mention some hints on their personality.

    Do people''s personalities show up in their aura somehow? I ask hesitantly.

    No, people''s personalities are reflected by the magic they have, Teboho explains. The Mother gifts us magic that fits who we are. You are an orderly person that often needs space to herself, are you not?

    I wriggle uncomfortably.

    I mean, yeah, I guess.

    Don''t be ashamed! Teboho reassures me, laughing. My Matter magic opposes Art, and guess what I don''t have a lick of talent at?

    Teboho singing against law back in village, Kagiso comments blandly.

    Ha! Yes, the chief did ban me from doing so, didn''t she? Teboho agrees with a bittersweet smile. The point is, it''s useful information to know.

    Well, give me the rundown then, I guess, I sigh. I''m not so sure about this magical profiling stuff, it feels kind of¡­ horoscope-y. It''s too vague to be useful. Who doesn''t need space to themselves from time to time? You could apply that to anybody!

    Right then, where to start¡­ I suppose Order is the standard place. It''s at the top of the circle here, with Chaos all the way at the bottom. As we''ve mentioned before, Order is the magic of complexity, meaning, and systems. Most notably it encompasses healing magic, as all living things are impossibly complex constructions of the Mother. That''s far from its only use, of course: some Order mages are born with impossibly keen minds, capable of putting together disparate facts or complicated equations in moments. Others get magic revolving around directing a community or building complex structures. Order magic is fundamentally helpful, however, and almost always shines best in conjunction with other people. Conversely, Chaos magic is entirely about destruction. It is volatile, difficult to control, and harmful to all life. Chaos magic is about scrambling, randomizing, and mashing something until it is utterly unrecognizable, reduced to uselessness. For obvious reasons, it is reviled.

    I send a few mental confirmations that I''m listening, but don''t speak. I feel like Teboho is getting into lecture mode, so I let him continue talking without interrupting. I wish I had something to take notes on.

    Pneuma is the magic of the soul, he continues. Specifically, the magic of the living soul, encompassing mind, thought, personality, breath, self-image, will, and to some extent, our connection to magic itself. The soul is where our magic arises from, so the rare Pneuma mage can manipulate that connection, strengthening or weakening it. Most, however, dwell within the realm of the mind, be that reading minds or influencing them. Pneuma mages tend to be somewhat controlling, no offense intended, of course.

    None taken, Sindri answers easily.

    Pneuma opposes Death, the magic of corruption, subsumption, and unlife. Like Pneuma, Death mages influence the soul directly, but rather than manipulate its connection to the living body, their spells pervert the soul, ripping it from where it belongs and using it for foul and selfish intentions. They can create unliving servants, weaken the body and mind, or just outright kill. Death complements Chaos, which is another mark against it to be sure, but it is also a perfectly natural part of life, and an¡­ acceptable form of magic. I would not go so far to say it is well-liked, of course, and the tendency of Death mages to be incredibly selfish does little to assist with that.

    Next we have Art, complement to Pneuma and Motion. It is the magic of emotion, sound, and beauty. Art magic is as esoteric and varied as art itself, though it often requires the active presence and practice of art to be used: singing, painting, sculpting, dancing¡­ these things accompany the use of Art magic and its effects on the world. To be affected by Art magic, you must be affected by art itself, and upon being moved by beauty you are moved in a magical sense as well. Art mages can incite certain emotional states, empower or weaken those who behold their work, or just shatter your eardrums with a blast of sound. Art mages tend to be self-conscious and somewhat flighty.

    The opposition to Art is Matter, and while I may be somewhat biased I daresay Matter is the most straightforward form of magic there is. There are no complexities like there are in Art, it creates matter and very little else. Some people can only create certain kinds of matter, some people can only create certain amounts, some people make matter that disappears on its own, and some people¡ªlike myself¡ªhave only a certain amount of matter that can form at any given time, and can remove anything we create at will. Matter complements Death and Barrier, and as their centerground its creations are lifeless and inert. Like the magic itself, we Matter mages tend to be rather uncomplicated individuals, focused and blunt.

    Huh. That''s interesting. So Teboho has a limit to the amount of matter he can produce at once. Is that how his magic avoids conservation of energy problems? It''s still an absurd amount of energy, though. Plus he just said not all Matter mages have that restriction. Gah, magic is so crazy! I can''t decide if that''s frustrating or cool!

    Next, we have Motion, which rests between Art and Light. It is also relatively self-describing: it is the magic of momentum, velocity, acceleration¡­ it moves things! Motion mages tend to be impatient and easily distracted.

    Kagiso blinks slowly, radiating disapproval.

    ¡­But they''re also quick and decisive thinkers, good at accomplishing things efficiently! Teboho quickly adds. Motion opposes Barrier, the magic of halting, limiting, preventing, weakening, and warding. Barrier magic focuses not on enacting one''s own will on the world, but denying others and protecting the caster. It is steady, sturdy, and fundamentally defensive. The types of effects they can produce are varied and powerful, but also stationary. Barrier mages tend to be resolute and determined.

    ¡­Obstinate and stubborn, Kagiso corrects, causing Teboho to laugh awkwardly.

    Anyway, next we have Light, Teboho continues. It focuses on the manipulation of light itself, of course, and also lightning as I''m sure you''re aware. More esoterically, however, some Light mages can manipulate magnetic objects as well.

    Well they can do lightning so that makes sense, I agree. It''s all electromagnetism. Which is probably what the category of magic should be called, by the sound of it.

    Pardon? Teboho asks.

    Don''t bother trying to explain electromagnetism to the dentron, Sindri says wryly. Believe me, we''ve tried. Though I am very curious to learn where you hail from, to know about that but not write in any language I''ve seen before.

    ¡­A story for another time, I think, I deflect. Please continue, Teboho.

    Yes, of course, Teboho agrees. Anyway, Light mages can damage and destroy things with burning sun rays and lightning, of course, but they can also create fantastic illusions, render themselves invisible, and countless other tricky effects. Light mages tend to be optimistic and upbeat, yet struggle to form deeper connections. Light opposes Space¡ªthe vast and infinite gulf through which not even light is fast enough to travel. I''m sure you''re quite familiar with Space magic, but for completeness'' sake: Space covers dimensional movement, teleportation, and occasionally gravity. Unlike Motion which allows people and objects to get from place to place very quickly, Space magic moves the concept of ''place to place'' itself, having no effect on those actually doing the moving. Space mages tend to frequently swap between needing close interpersonal contact and strict alone time.

    ¡­Hey. What? Okay, that hits pretty hard, actually. I''ll die without being able to hang out with my friends, but I''ll also die if I have to hang out with people too often. I don''t like being called out there.

    Next up is Heat magic, which is the second complement to Chaos and therefore not well-liked. It is destructive, as while heating and cooling things is certainly capable of being used for mundane purposes, with enough power any change in temperature is a deadly one. Heat mages manipulate fire and ice, certainly, but also the more invisible aspects of their craft. They tend to be impatient and impulsive.

    Finally, we have the last form of magic: Transmutation, your third naturalborn element. It is a complement to Order, but where Order focuses on making things how they should be, to whatever degree that is perceived, Transmutation is about how things could be. Where Order is structure, Transmutation is improvement. It is the magic of evolution, alteration, and actualization. Shapeshifting is the most common form of the magic, though more permanent changes like yours aren''t unheard of. It''s possible your species hasn''t been seen before because you''re one-of-a-kind: some other creature, animal, or person that was changed by your magic into who you are today. Or by someone else''s, I suppose. Transmutation mages are creative and brilliant, but tend to struggle to fit in with society.

    Ah, see, there''s the weak link. None of that sounds like me. I have been working my ass off to fit in with society and I feel like I was doing a pretty darn good job until Transmutation magic itself strolled in and started making problems. That''s a self-fulfilling prophecy, not any part of my personality. I''m getting straight A''s, I''m working a job and a half, I''m making a little nest egg so I can go through university without indebting myself for life, I''m going to graduate with a good degree and find a nice girl to marry and adopt a kid with or whatever. I don''t smoke or drink or do drugs or really break any laws at all. Other than the homosexuality I am a prim and proper American woman, and even the gay stuff is rapidly (and correctly) being accepted as okay in¡­ well, parts of the country that aren''t mine. But I can just move to a better place and it''ll be fine! That was my plan, to fit in and work hard and get rich and hopefully find some way to be happy with the money I make ten years from now. And sure, I''m miserable now and I''ll be miserable until then, but you don''t get good things without putting in the work for them. The magic messed everything up, and then the magic says I don''t fit into society well? Nuh-uh. Now all my plans are screwed because nobody''s gonna hire a fourth-dimensional bug lady to be a department manager and basically everything I''ve done in preparation for that future is now worthless. I''m just glad I''m too busy worrying about the fourth-dimensional bug lady bits to panic all that much about the plans-are-ruined bits. Honestly, I haven''t really had time to care about any of that.

    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

    ¡­Hmm. Well, uh, let''s not start now, shall we? I have plenty of more important things to worry about. Like that magic!

    So every kind of spell is one of those elements, right? I prompt.

    One or more! Teboho corrects. People like you and me that have more than one element often have spells which use multiple elements simultaneously. The spell I use to conjure protective walls, for example, is both Matter and Barrier, the Barrier element of the spell making the walls significantly more durable than mundane material would be otherwise. Though my spells are relatively boring in that manner. You will no doubt see more unique and exciting magic when we reach [location, destination, proper noun].

    Sorry, what was the name for that? I ask.

    "Grawlaka," he rumbles out loud, the first syllable animalistic and guttural.

    That sounds like what you''d name a tiger king, not a city, I comment. But alright.

    Grawlaka is one of the largest city-states on this branch, Sindri explains. They''re a couple leaves ahead of here, and while our quarry is almost certainly going to avoid the area, it''s still an ideal place for us to rest and obtain supplies. It''s a beautiful city, I''m sure you''ll like it.

    What if our quarry doesn''t avoid the area? I ask hesitantly. A chaos mage entering a major city sounds bad.

    Then our job becomes significantly easier, as they will be slaughtered by the city''s defenders without us having to lift a finger, Sindri answers easily. Cities of that size keep a careful eye on those trying to enter, and while Chaos mages are undoubtedly dangerous, they aren''t dangerous enough to survive the combined efforts of a major militia.

    Well, I guess that''s reassuring, I admit. Why don''t the militias handle it, then?

    Partly because any Chaos mage that lives past a few years old needs to be very, very good at hiding from them, and partly because local militias don''t tend to be any more inclined to get killed by a Chaos mage than the Chaos mage is inclined to get killed by them. There are an abundance of smaller villages that Chaos mages can prey on instead.

    Teboho scowls, since the implication is obvious. Everyone he used to know other than his sister is dead. That''s¡­ insane to think about. It''s a miracle he and Kagiso can still function. Maybe the thought of revenge is all that''s keeping them going. ¡­Though maybe not, since Kagiso doesn''t seem to react at all. Perhaps she''s just not listening to the conversation.

    So how do I go about learning that aura sight spell, then? I ask. Magic magic magic! More magic!!!

    I think it might be wise if you start by learning the local language, Sindri answers. Just for the sake of convenience. Teboho, if we could switch the lesson plan up a bit?

    Oh, certainly, he agrees to my immense disappointment. His magical wheel diagram disappears and is soon replaced with an alphabet tablet. Shall we review, Hannah?

    I groan internally, but agree. Knowing how to understand what everyone is saying does seem important. So the lesson begins. And continues. And continues. ¡­And continues.

    This world, I note, does appear to have a sun. This is pretty obvious, since as the hours pass the glowing, flaming pain-ball very clearly moves across the sky above our heads. It''s often hard to see it between the branches and the leaves, but it''s there. For obvious reasons I''m avoiding looking at it too much, yet my gaze still wanders up to it every so often. There''s something weird about it that I can''t quite seem to put my claw on, but I suppose this is a fantasy world. I shouldn''t expect the light source for a magical world tree to be anything like the one I have back home on Earth. Whatever''s bugging me, I don''t figure it out before the glowing ball descends below the branch, cutting it off from view. But not, apparently, cutting off most of the light.

    Instead, a muted, sunset-like glow washes over everything, the world colored vaguely green as the majority of light reflecting down on us first bounces off of the leaves above. It quickly gets cooler out, which I personally find quite welcome, but despite the sun setting below what counts for our horizon it does not appear to be getting any darker from here.

    This is kind of pretty, I comment. What''s nighttime like? Does it ever get darker than this?

    Yes, Teboho confirms. The sky will darken again when the great flame dips underneath the Slaying Stone, then once again when it moves to the opposite side of the Mother Tree. The fire up above will provide some light through the night, but we''re too low for it to do much.

    We''ll have to make camp soon, Sindri comments. We probably won''t make it to Grawlaka for another couple days.

    A pit of dread settles inside me at the thought of having to wake up as a ''human'' again, not knowing what horrifying changes I''ve managed to force onto my body. Will tonight be the day that I''m finally discovered? Did I screw myself already? I feel myself start to knead Kagiso''s hair, running my legs through the long strands of white for a while before a given leg moves out of synch with her slice of space, letting the hair fall right ''through'' me. I immediately get embarrassed when I catch myself doing it, but then Kagiso makes a quiet but happy trill. Permission to keep going, if not an outright request. Hesitantly, I continue, taking care not to accidentally cut her. My legs aren''t that sharp without magic enhancing them, but they''re still clawed.

    You really get along well with her, Teboho says after a while. I realize he''s been staring at us and embarrassment immediately returns.

    Is there a reason we wouldn''t get along? I counter defensively.

    Don''t like smelly people, Kagiso murmurs. Loud people. Nosy people. Tall people. Blue people.

    Wait, do you know anybody that''s blue? I ask.

    She thinks for a moment.

    No, she admits. But wouldn''t like them if I did. Blue is not an accurate color.

    And green is not a creative color? I supply, knowing that probably zero other people in this entire universe get the reference.

    Hmm. That is good to know, Kagiso nods, taking me seriously.

    See, this is what I mean. Teboho chuckles. What are you two on about?

    We are vibing about colors, obviously, I tell him. Colors are neat. I''m feeling kind of yellow right now, personally.

    Mmm! Yellow is good, Kagiso says, nodding profusely and nearly flinging me off her head. Red is favorite though. Red is good. I like red.

    Like blood, or¡­?

    Yes, Kagiso confirms. I like blood.

    I pause for a moment, trying to decide how I feel about that.

    ¡­Blood can be pretty, yeah, I conclude. It''s not red when I''m looking at it my usual way, but I can ''see'' the blood moving through your bodies. It''s kind of hypnotizing the way it pumps around to the beat of your hearts.

    Oh. Yes. I like that, Kagiso agrees, her four hands slowly clenching into fists, then unclenching, then clenching again. Helps you aim? Sindri. Make sensory share spell. You promised.

    It''s nowhere near the priority it used to be, since Hannah went and grew her own damn eyes without me, Sindri points out.

    Make. The spell. I would like to see the blood, Sindri.

    Well, when you put it like that, he chuckles.

    Sindri. I want to watch your heart beat.

    I think he''s going to make it, Kagiso, I assure her. My heart is pretty interesting as well! It''s much smaller than yours and less complex, lacking a lot of the chambers yours has.

    Oooh, Kagiso trills happily. Well, I guess I found her hyperfocus. No wonder she likes hunting things for me so much.

    How does ''making'' a spell even work, anyway? I ask. I thought you had to discover your own spells.

    You do, Sindri confirms. But this is the sort of spell I believe is part of my gifts. In the same way you''re not born with knowledge of everything you can do, I''m not either. But I feel as though this is possible for me, so I''m trying to figure it out. My magic shares thoughts. Why shouldn''t it share more complex thoughts, like sensory data?

    I guess that makes sense, I agree.

    We should get back to teaching you the language, Teboho chimes in, and I sigh. I suppose he''s right.

    Time passes until it finally starts getting dark. I feel like I just spent an entire school day in a single class. It''s boring, but I''m good at handling boring things so I make decent progress. A simple set of mnemonics makes memorizing the alphabet easy enough, but the hard part is putting them together and learning words. It''s not something I expect to get a handle on for weeks, but I''m pleasantly surprised by my progress. Learning the language is a lot easier than I thought it would be. Maybe Sindri''s mind magic is helping somehow? I am in constant telepathic contact with three people who think in this language. I ask him, but he says he doesn''t know. He''s busy setting up camp so he doesn''t really think about it too hard.

    I cannot, unfortunately, delay the coming of night and the need for sleep. I try to, though, by volunteering for first watch. I don''t want to go to sleep, don''t want to face how badly I messed up back on Earth. But no amount of time being alone with my thoughts in the night has any hope of helping with my anxiety. When the candle clock melts down, I wake Sindri and wander into Kagiso''s tent to sleep. I want to rest beside her, but I also want to dig a hole and hide in that to rest. It''s so frustrating that, on a whim, I decide to scuttle into the bedroll with her, snuggling onto her fuzzy back with the blankets pressing down on top of me. I end up waking her up, but she seems happy with the arrangement and promptly passes out again. Ah, this is what I need. Cozy, warm, safe, and soft. The advantages of being the party''s mascot, I suppose.

    I fall asleep not long after her, and then I wake up. It''s a relatively easy transition, unlike how gaining consciousness in my human body tends to go. Usually I find the whole experience quite jarring, but I went to sleep with so much dread that waking up with it just feels kind of natural. It''s just me and my sleep paralysis demon now, no fuzzy maybe-albino alien girls to keep me company. Unfortunate, but that''s life, I guess. Let''s get this show on the road.

    Limb one¡­ nothing. Limb two is therefore probably also nothing, and¡­ yep, I don''t feel anything move. Limb three¡­ ooh, that''s my left arm. Which probably means limb four is my left leg, so I move that next, and¡­ uh. Um. That doesn''t feel right.

    Oh geez, did I grow another limb? I quickly cycle through muscle groups and figure out where my actual arms and legs are, and yes, there''s something extra. Crap, crap, crap, crap! I manage to sit up, twisting my body around to look at myself, but I don''t see anything. What''s going on? I feel something moving around my lower back, but I don''t see it!

    I scramble to my feet, hissing with displeasure as I put weight on my mutating leg. My blinds are closed so I go ahead and rip off all my clothes in my room, checking myself over. Agh, my leg is¡­ wrong. The whole thing feels itchy, the skin from my knee to my foot sagging and clearly dead. That stuff is gonna fall off today, and I am not looking forward to ripping it into pieces to flush down the toilet. I feel around my other leg, looking for the signs of exoskeletal growth, but when I press too hard on my fingers pain shoots up them and they start to bleed. No, no, no! This is too much at once!

    ¡­And this isn''t even the worst of it, is it? Advancements of prior changes in my legs. Expected matching changes in my hands. I quickly grab a handful of tissues to catch the blood from my now-leaking fingers. This is fine. All this, I was prepared for. What I was not prepared for are limbs five and six coming to life. I can move them. Now that I''m naked, I can watch them bend underneath my skin, pulling and deforming the sides of my abdominals like a fat, bony leech swimming through my body. I feel them, anchored to my spine a short way above my pelvis. I can move them, pushing on my intestines as they stretch for the first time. They''re useless things, at least for now. Still trapped inside my soft epidermis, still small and ungrown. But they''re there. My limbs. My fifth and sixth limbs that I''d always known I was missing. They''re finally here.

    Clack. I snap my teeth together, letting my lips twist into a grin. Anxiety and euphoria go to war inside my head and for the first time in a fucking year I feel euphoria win out. I should not be excited for this. I''m a freak, I''m going to get kidnapped or killed, this is going to ruin everything in my life. I should not be excited for this. But as I flex my budding limbs, I can''t bring myself to feel anything else.

    I am tempted, very tempted, to call on the magic again and accelerate this further, but then there''s a knock on my door.

    "Hannah!" my mother calls, and immediately I''m back in panic mode. Oh no oh geez what if she comes in!? No no no no no! I leap back onto my bed and throw the covers over my body.

    "What''s up, mom?" I say in as normal a way as I can. My voice only cracks a little.

    "I''m running a little late, so could I shower first?" she asks.

    Oh. Right. That makes sense. She doesn''t use the same shower that my brother and I do, her bedroom has an attached bath. But she doesn''t like showering at the same time as anyone else for water pressure and temperature reasons, and frankly I agree with her on that.

    "...Sure!" I answer. "I''ll grab breakfast first?"

    "Thank you dear!" my mother calls, and leaves me a panicked, disorganized mess. What was I thinking? Accelerating the changes further would just¡­ agh, shoot, I''m bleeding on my sheets! Nooo! I forgot about my stupid bloody fingers! I peel myself out of bed again and get bandages on my newly-budding claws, putting gloves on overtop them. And now that I''m entirely naked except for those gloves I fish out my dirty clothes from yesterday and quickly put them on. I''ll get clean clothes on after I shower, thank you very much.

    Underneath my shirt, I flex limbs five and six, and my body shudders. No time for that, though. I head downstairs so I can grab more eggs without anyone around to look at me.

    I''ve gotta keep pretending to be human, after all.

 15. Once-Meat

    I''m so friggin'' hungry that even when I finish off the last of the egg carton I still need to microwave up some frozen sausages and eat those as well. Geez, they taste good now, all savory, salty, umami heaven. They''re not even like, high-quality sausages, they''re the kind you''re supposed to cook in the microwave, nothing but fat and sodium and once-meat. But once-meat is, apparently, good enough for my newly carnivorous taste buds. My teeth slice through the tubes of industrially-compressed flesh like they''re cotton candy. I swallow the chunks without chewing and wash it down with milk.

    I quickly write in eggs on the grocery list and head back upstairs just in time to slip into the bathroom before my brother. I strip down again, being careful with my bleeding fingers, and hop into the shower the moment I hear my mom finish hers. I feel like I''m in a fugue state, but unlike my usual post-panic disassociation it''s not really a negative one. It''s more of a zen-like flow, where I keep encountering problems with my routine¡ªmy mom messed up the order of operations, I can''t eat cereal anymore, touching anything with my fingertips yields blood and pain¡ªbut it''s not really bothersome in the way it normally is, it just adds a new task to the list to be solved with the same efficiency as any other. It''s nice, at least up until the moment I automatically sit down to shave my legs and remember that all the skin is falling off one of them. Literally all the skin, at least from the knee down. It''s very itchy and I am going to have to dispose of it somehow, which just¡­ eyugh!

    It feels so gross, partly because it no longer has feeling at all. The skin is dead, so touching it feels like someone is touching a particularly slimy, squishy pair of pants that I''m wearing. It''s even more disgusting than it sounds, and that''s without even factoring in how gross it looks. Graying from a lack of blood, it sags and shifts slightly whenever I move it, just a simple tug away from falling off. The idea of just pulling on it and letting it tear is horrifying, though, like trying to pull at a hangnail rather than clip it off. If only I had something sharp to¡­ cut it¡­ with.

    I lick my lips, my stomach bubbling at the thought. No. Absolutely not. I''m not going to eat my own dead skin! That''s completely revolting. Like, sure, on the small scale I do stuff like that, like when there''s dead skin on my lips. I normally just peel that off with my teeth and swallow it, which um¡­ might be normal? I have no idea if that''s normal, but either way a tiny little fleck of skin is nothing like eating the entire epidermis off my gosh dang leg! Plenty of animals do it, I guess, but I sure don''t want to. Though, uh, I guess my alternative is tearing it off by hand, ripping it into small pieces, and flushing them down the toilet. That or ignoring it until it falls out of my pant leg in public, and while that does sound like the kind of thing I''d do normally this is just way too itchy for me to be able to reasonably leave it alone. Turkey dumplings and piss, is this really what I''m going with? Am I even flexible enough to reach my calf up to my mouth in the first place?

    Hesitantly, I grab my leg and pull it up to my face, genuinely surprised that I am, in fact, that flexible. Unfortunately, now that my leg is right here, I find myself biting into it before I know what I''m doing. I suppress an instinct to shudder as I feel my teeth sinking painlessly into the dead flesh, tearing through skin and peeling it off my body with ease. I cut carefully, my teeth scraping safely against the outside of my yet-to-be-freed exoskeleton without penetrating any part of me that would actually hurt. One mouthful of horribly clammy former Hannah parts later, I swallow. It''s¡­ unpleasant, but not disgusting like I thought it would be. I feel like I''m eating plain, unseasoned and unsauced lasagna noodles. Mostly tasteless, but still technically food. That realization is all the push I need to finish the job, cutting and slurping and swallowing the remaining humanity still futilely clinging to my right leg. My exoskeleton is free now, and it gleams in the clear water of the shower.

    As before, my organic armor is bone-white, though streaks of red wash down it as I poke it with my bleeding fingers. The joints aren''t perfectly covered, though, so when I bend my knee or my toes it''s possible to spot softer, pitch-black flesh underneath, providing an impressive contrast. I flex and move my leg as I swallow the last of my dead skin, enraptured by the alien movements that are somehow mine. My body, my leg. It''s terrifying, certainly, but nowhere near as much as I expected. Honestly, the fear comes from thinking about the implications: the problems this will cause, the what-ifs and oh-noes. I am scared of the consequences of my leg. I''m scared of what other people will do to me if they find out. But¡­ I''m not really scared of the leg itself, am I? This feels like it should be inherently disturbing, but somehow it''s exciting instead. I feel stronger, I feel more right. There''s a euphoria bubbling under the fear, and I''m hesitant to find out what happens if I embrace it.

    Shivering with¡­ some sort of emotion, though I''m not sure what, I stand back up and finish washing myself off. It''s mildly worrying that my fingers are still bleeding, but they aren''t bleeding much and I''ve recently dealt with far, far worse. I dry my hands off with toilet paper since I don''t want to get blood all over my towel, then bandage up my hands before drying the rest of myself off. As before, I have multiple layers of clothing over my legs: thigh socks and pants, just in case. Some fashionable gloves are added to my outfit for the day, and I guess also to every outfit from now on, forever. There''s no way I''m going to be lucky enough to grow retractable claws. ¡­I should go shopping soon. I''d like to go shopping with Ida. She''s always fun to shop with because she has the energy to keep me going, the intuition to make sure I don''t dress myself like an idiot, and most importantly she doesn''t waste time. Unfortunately, she still hasn''t responded to my texts. Brendan hates shopping with a passion so he''s out, but I really don''t want to go alone. Maybe Autumn will go shopping with me?

    ¡­Aaaaand I''m already blushing just thinking about that. Dang it, Hannah! Why do you have to be so gay!? I mean, I could do it, though. I normally would stream today but I think that''s potentially on hold with the whole mutation situation, so I''m pretty much free, and there''s no reason not to at least ask if she''s also free, so¡­ hmm. We''ll see how socially useless I am when I meet her face-to-face, I guess. It''s all a moot point if I''m too busy being distracted by GIRL PRETTY to actually ask.

    Well, let''s go over my mental checklist one last time. I''m dressed, I have medical supplies and extra gloves in my backpack, and I can''t find any more dead skin. Because checking for parts of my body that are about to fall off is part of my morning routine now. Isn''t life grand? Everything seems to be in order, though, so I hoist my backpack on, luxuriate in the alien feeling of moving my budding limbs underneath my skin, and march out to the bus stop.

    God, I''m such a freak. I should be a lot more weirded out by this, shouldn''t I? I guess there''s a level of validation to it all. I''ve seen doctors and therapists (ugh) about my dreams, and the general consensus was always that I just experience a weird form of sleep paralysis, not that I was ever actually missing limbs. And I mean, sure, I believed that too, because why wouldn''t I? I still love the fact that they''re all wrong, though. They''re wrong! My insane fucking therapist was wrong!

    "Hannah?"

    I whip my body towards the noise and hiss, my hands up and my budding claws throbbing. Then I spot Brendan, who has introduced himself from a very respectful distance away this time. I blink twice, take a deep breath, and feel blood flushing my cheeks as I relax my body. Dang it, this is twice, now! Being snuck up on freaks me out, but at this point it''s just my fault for getting so distracted. I clear my throat awkwardly and look away.

    "Oh, uh, hi Brendan," I greet him casually. Nothing happened, nothing happened, don''t worry about it.

    "Hey, Hannah," Brendan answers slowly, eyeing my gloves. "Hand claws growing in?"

    "Oh, ah, yep. A lot of things are growing in, actually. I, uh, tried to figure out how to control whatever spell is transforming me and I just kind of ended up¡­ accelerating things."

    "Oh yeah?" he asks, raising an eyebrow and walking up next to me. "Like what?"

    "Here, here!" I grin, making grabby hands at him. Obligingly, Brendan offers his arms and I grab his wrists, putting his hands on my waist so I can wiggle my new limbs around. His eyes bulge and his cheeks flush and I immediately wish I''d had the presence of mind to take a photo of it, it''s hilarious.

    "Wiggle wiggle," I giggle to myself, poking at him from inside my own body. His face gets even redder and he pulls away, prompting me to laugh even harder. He''s such a dork!

    "What¡­ what are those?" Brendan asks quietly.

    "I don''t know!" I answer excitedly. "They''re limbs, I can tell that much, but they''re sort of low to be arms and high to be legs, so I think they''re going to be something a bit funkier than either. I guess I''ll find out!"

    "Uh¡­ yeah," Brendan nods, scratching his cheek. "You seem super stoked about it, actually? Which is¡­ surprising, but really nice to see."

    "Don''t get me wrong, this is freaky," I assure him. "I had to eat half the skin off my leg this morning, it''s like¡­ all exoskeleton below my right knee. I am utterly horrified of people finding out, but like¡­ I dunno. You already know and you''re cool with it so it''s cool I get to talk to you about it, I guess? I think I''m more scared of what people are going to do to me because of the changes than I''m scared of the changes themselves. Cuz like¡­ I don''t really mind being a spider monster when I sleep, you know? It doesn''t feel weird in a world where everyone is okay with it."

    Brendan nods slowly.

    "That''s¡­ honestly really good to hear," he admits. "I know this is freaky for you, but since you''re changing anyway it''s nice to know you''re changing into something you like? It would really suck if you had dysphoria on top of everything else. It''s kind of weird that you don''t, I guess, but it''s a good weird."

    "It''s your kind of weird, right?" I joke, elbowing him in the hip. "You sold any commissions for your art, yet?"

    "Oh, um¡­ yeah, a few, actually," he confirms awkwardly.

    "Are you finally going to tell me what your account is so I can buy one?"

    "Nnnnnope."

    "I''ll let you play with my leeeeeg," I tempt him.

    "You''ll do that anyway," he counters immediately. "Speaking of, you wanna hang out today? Or are you going to go public on your Twitch?"

    "Uh¡­ actually, I was thinking about going shopping for new clothes. Y''know, since I need some more stuff to help cover up. But if that doesn''t take long I could come over afterwards?"

    "That''s fine," Brendan shrugs. "Who are you going with? You and Ida make up?"

    "...No," I grumble. "What makes you think I''m going with anyone?"

    Brendan just gives me a flat look.

    "Ugh, fine. I want to ask Autumn to go with me, because she seems cool and I want to thank her for cleaning up a bunch of my blood."

    "If someone tried to thank me by taking me shopping, I don''t think I''d like them very much," Brendan says matter-of-factly.

    "I know that!" I protest. "But¡­ y''know! She''s a girl, and¡­ well, I guess it''s sexist to assume that means she likes shopping¡ª"

    "It is," Brendan helpfully assures me.

    "¡ªBut I''m hoping it''s one of those situations where she''ll at least enjoy it a little with company? And then like, y''know, we''ll be at the mall so if it''s going well maybe I could see if she wants to see a movie or something."

    "What?" Brendan asks. "Sorry, you started mumbling really quietly there."

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

    "Nothing! It''s nothing."

    "It certainly didn''t sound like nothing," he prods, amusement tingeing his voice.

    "I''ll bite you, Brendan," I threaten. "Don''t think I won''t."

    That shuts him up, at least. He even glances away like he''s embarrassed. Well! Good! He should be embarrassed about trying to make fun of me like that! This is just unexpectedly effective revenge. The bus arrives shortly afterwards, and since I don''t really want to talk about my mutating monster bits in a crowded public transit vehicle Brendan instead regales me with the adventures of Scrixel the tabaxi fist warlock, a catgirl who summons knuckle dusters as her pact weapon, empowers them with demonic energy, and then beats the snot out of people in the name of her blood-obsessed patron. Apparently, 5e doesn''t officially have stats for fist weapons, but that sort of thing is trivially easy to homebrew and the DM let it slide. She is, obviously, evil¡­ and she''s the only evil member of the party, so Brendan gets to have a lot of fun letting Scrixel be an unhinged little gremlin held back from slaughter only by having been de facto adopted by the party''s Paladin of Redemption. Brendan doesn''t really like 5th edition all that much compared to 3.5, but D&D is still D&D and the real fun comes from roleplaying the characters rather than the mechanics anyway.

    "Besides, tabaxi are cool," Brendan insists. "They pretty much have the best racial abilities available, barring the obligatory hashtag-variant-human. Climb speed and an activatable double-speed that''s super easy to refresh? They''re crazy good. Their stat bonuses are perfect for melee warlocks as well."

    "Are you self-conscious?" I tease. "You don''t have to justify being the cat species, Brendan. I, of all people, am not going to judge you for being a monster girl."

    He snorts at that.

    "...Thanks, I guess."

    "I''ve always got your back, dude," I assure him. "Anybody messes with you, I''ll bite ''em."

    "What is with you and biting people all of a sudden?" Brendan grumbles.

    Well. It''s because I kinda want to bite somebody.

    "I have to be careful every time I open my mouth, so I''ve got teeth on the brain," I say instead. "I''m sure it''s not at all indicative of anything concerning."

    "Well, I would have agreed with you up until the point where you said that," Brendan sighs.

    I hiss at him, which only makes him chuckle instead of be afraid for some reason. I guess it''s not really a proper hiss, only a rush of air out of my freakish and mostly-muffled mouth. There''s no eldritch screech component to it like when I rub my legs together over on the world tree. Oh, well. We arrive at school soon enough, Brendan and I parting ways. Let''s see¡­ today''s Wednesday on a B-week, so¡­ no gym today. Awesome! I have no idea what I''m going to do about my new leg in a class where shorts are required, but I can figure that out tomorrow. Sucks to be future Hannah!

    I do have Biology, though, which means I get to see Autumn before lunch. I guess I get to do that every day, since Autumn is also in my gym class. Huh. That''ll make coordinating lunches easier. English class is boring, so I spend the whole time reading ahead in our assignment. Biology is also pretty boring, though I spend half the time glancing towards Autumn rather than doing homework like I should be doing. Stupid, stupid, stupid. This is why I only have two friends. Guys get creepy around me but I get creepy around girls!

    ¡­Though I guess I''m a monster now. Maybe monsters are allowed to be a little creepy. You know, as a treat.

    I chuckle to myself and focus on homework as best I can. Monster creepy and stalker creepy are different things, so I''ll have to nip that idea in the bud, I think. When class finally ends, though, I do actually work up the courage to approach Autumn. I honestly wasn''t expecting that.

    "Hey," I greet her eloquently.

    She freezes halfway through getting out of her seat, turning to look at me.

    "Hello, Hannah," Autumn answers hesitantly, her head bobbing in acknowledgement.

    "Sorry, I didn''t mean to startle you," I assure her, scratching my cheek awkwardly. "I just, um¡­ wanna eat lunch together again?"

    Slowly, she finishes extracting herself from her desk and gets her backpack on.

    "...I''m not going to be any better of a conversationalist than I was last time," she warns me.

    "And I''m not going to be any less swamped with homework," I assure her.

    She stares at me for a moment, gives me a nearly imperceptible nod, and then starts walking away. I follow her, budding limbs wiggling with delight underneath my skin, but then I realize I forgot to pack a lunch again. I peek into the cafeteria as we pass it. Meatloaf, huh? Kinda gross, but maybe it''ll actually taste good to my weird new senses. It already smells better than usual in there.

    "Let me go grab food and then I''ll join you, okay?" I say.

    "Sure," Autumn shrugs.

    The meatloaf, it turns out, does actually taste a lot better now¡­ but I still wouldn''t call it great. Soggy, mushy, and not at all satisfying. Especially annoying is how I have to scuttle off to a bathroom stall to eat it, since I don''t want anyone to see my teeth. The presence of Bathroom Smell doesn''t do anything to enhance its flavor, that''s for sure.

    Once I finish, I return to the library and find Autumn at the same table as before, reading the same book. She hasn''t put her backpack up on the table like a shield, though. I plop down across from her, pull out the work I need to do, and get working. It''s quiet for a good while, but to my surprise it''s Autumn that breaks the silence first.

    "Why are you wearing gloves?"

    I look up, blinking with surprise. Well, shoot, how do I answer that? Honestly, just giving her a chunk of the truth is probably best here, she''s already witnessed things getting pretty weird for me.

    "Blood," I admit. "My fingers were bleeding."

    "Were?" she prompts.

    I shrug.

    "They might have stopped by now? I haven''t checked. But they''re all bandaged up and I didn''t really want people bugging me about that, so¡­ gloves."

    "You, uh, bleed a lot, then?" she asks.

    "I have a very weird medical condition that likes to intrude on my life at the worst possible times," I tell her flatly.

    She smiles a little and it makes my toes curl, my claws digging into my soles.

    "I get that," she sympathizes. "That sucks."

    Huh. Was that general empathy, or is she implying that she also has an intrusive medical condition? She certainly seems to have experience dealing with the aftermath of blood geysers. I''m not really sure if it''s appropriate to ask, but I guess she brought it up.

    "Is that coming from personal experience?" I prod.

    She bristles slightly.

    "I don''t randomly start bleeding all the time, if that''s what you''re asking," she deflects.

    "Fair enough," I allow. I don''t want to get too nosy, especially when it might prompt her to do the same.

    We return to silence, books once again being at the center of our focus. Before long, the lunch bell rings and we start heading to our next classes. It''s now or never, Hannah. Ask her. Just ask! She might say no, she might think you''re weird, but you should still ask! Ask ask ask ask ask, dang it!

    "Would you like to go shopping with me after school?" I blurt.

    ¡­Holy cannoli I actually did it. What!?

    "What?" Autumn asks, parroting my thoughts.

    "U-uh, I, um¡­" Dang it, Hannah, don''t mess this up now! "I need new clothes. I¡­ y''know. More gloves. New pants. Maybe another pair of shoes. Stuff I can wear to cover up. A-and the friend I usually shop with isn''t talking to me, and¡­ you seem nice?"

    God. Just. Great job with that, Hannah, real eloquent. You look like a loon. Autumn''s eyes widen imperceptibly, her lips quietly mouthing ''oh.''

    "I, uh¡­ I can''t," she answers simply.

    Agh! Stupid, stupid, stupid, I''m so stupid!

    "Right!" I say as cheerfully as I can. "Of course, that makes sense, we don''t really know each other all that well! Um¡­ bye, then!"

    "Hold on," she protests. "I¡­ I can''t today, but¡­ maybe? I''ll get back to you, alright?"

    "Oh! Cool. Cool cool cool." I am a clown of unparalleled proportions, but not by profession. "I''ll¡­ talk to you later, then?"

    "Yeah," Autumn agrees. "Um, talk to you later."

    I turn and swiftly walk away, blush so deep it''s making my cheeks feel heavy. She said ''talk to you later!'' She''s thinking about it! She doesn''t want to ghost me! Aaaaaah! ¡­Geez, why am I even doing this, though? I do actually need more clothes, but inviting my probably-straight crush who I only met a few days ago is¡­ stupid? I''m mutating into a horrifying monster, I should be minimizing contact with people. Yet I''m going to the dang mall. Uugh, what part of me thought this would be a good idea!? Thankfully my phone buzzes, knocking me out of my self-depreciating spiral.

    How''d it go? Brendan asks.

    She can''t today, but she said she''d think about it, I text back.

    So you''re free. Wanna hang out?

    I dunno, I hedge. I should probably stream.

    With a mask on, or¡­?

    Yeah, I confirm. People will think it''s weird but it should work.

    I wanna see your leg though :(

    I chuckle.

    Can you imagine what my mom would say to you inviting me over so I can take my clothes off?

    Well she lectures you without bothering to figure out if I''m actually going to do that or not, so¡­ exactly the same thing she says normally? he answers, which makes me wince. He''s got me there.

    I''d like to hang out, but I think I need to take a slow day, I admit. I promise my leg isn''t going anywhere.

    Okay, he allows. I still question your strategy of ''turn your favorite form of relaxation into a job,'' but whatever works for you, I guess.

    Thanks, Brendan.

    The rest of the school day passes without anything notable happening. I feel a bit twitchier than normal, I get a few comments on my gloves, and whenever I get a moment to myself I take a while to luxuriate in feeling of my new limbs, both budding and recently transformed. My exoskeletal leg still functions basically the same as my old leg, just¡­ sturdier. Stronger. It''s the same size as my left leg but the difference in power sometimes makes me feel like I''m limping, unexpected bursts of energy adversely affecting my gait in subtle ways. It''s a bit unpleasant, but also empowering. I know I''m stronger now. Much stronger than I used to be. I don''t know why, but I really, really like that.

    Once I get home I grab some food so I don''t have to head downstairs for dinner later and turn on my stream, spending the rest of the day on that. People ask about my mask so I give vague non-answers and act all mysterious, since maybe that''ll increase viewership or something, I dunno. I''m just here to play Pok¨¦mon until it''s time to pass out, and eventually that time does indeed arrive. I actually got through a full day without a major incident. Go me.

    I pass out on my bed and wake up in Kagiso''s, though she''s not in here with me. She must have gotten up without waking me. I feel groggy and vaguely embarrassed. Did I really get into bed with Kagiso last night? It doesn''t really get any more suggestive than that, but¡­ well, at the same time, it doesn''t really feel like anything? Kagiso is warm and fuzzy and comfortable, but my status as a tiny, ten-legged arthropod of indeterminate sex and dimension has somewhat understandably killed my libido. And besides, Kagiso invites me to cuddle with her almost every night, so it''s not like it''s unprecedented. Just¡­ weird. I like it, I guess I can admit that, but it''s definitely weird. I grumble internally and scurry deeper into her bedroll, which feels very strange, like my own skin is fighting against me. Except that¡­ I don''t have skin. Huh?

    I focus my spatial sense on myself and figure out the issue immediately: I''m molting. How lovely, I guess I get to eat more of my own discarded flesh today. I step into an intersecting barren zone, leaving my molt behind inside the bedroll before stepping back into normal space and scurrying back inside, dragging it out by my teeth and making sure the inside of Kagiso''s sleeping space is devoid of dead Hannah. Once I''m satisfied that everything is clean, I start chowing down on my molt and that''s the moment Teboho decides to open up the tent flap, naturally. The light hurts my eyes and I spend a while adjusting to that as he stares at me, looking vaguely queasy. I stare back for a bit, then resume my meal. It''s not like I can talk to the guy until Sindri sets up our network. Teboho silently departs, leaving me to my meal.

    Hey Hannah, Sindri reaches out. Teboho says you''ve found breakfast?

    I have found my own discarded epidermis, yes, I confirm. Though I could definitely eat more, this is pretty bland.

    Ah, so your species molts, then? I guess you''re still growing.

    I guess so! I agree.

    I''m sure Kagiso would be happy to catch some breakfast for you. Unless you''d like to hunt your own food?

    I stop eating and think about that for a moment. Immediately, my reaction is that I do kind of want to do that, partly because I think I might enjoy it but largely because I think I should get practice. I want to be self-sufficient, for one, and for two I''m kind of worried I need more practice fighting. Killing people is horrifying and I never want to do it again, but killing animals for food? That''s fine. There''s nothing wrong with that. I am a carnivore.

    Sure, I agree. I guess I''ll hunt something.

    Great! Sindri agrees. If you can, try to catch something big enough for me, too.

    Wait. That wasn''t the deal. Oh shoot, did I just get set up?

    It''ll help you learn to fight, won''t it? Sindri presses.

    Gah! Yes, I suppose so.

    Fine, I grumble in response. But I''m not carrying something big back to camp!

    Hah! Fair. I was thinking you and Teboho could go? He can keep you safe while Kagiso and I handle camp. As long as you stay within a [distance, long] or so, the two of you should still be able to talk.

    I guess I''ll trust him to know how far that is? I hedge.

    Oh, right. Yes, that''s another good reason to bring him. Good luck!

    Thanks, I say, sending him a mental sigh. What am I getting myself into? Oh, well. I did nothing but sit on Kagiso''s head all day yesterday. It''ll be good to finally stretch my legs and kill something. ¡­Wait. Hmm. Okay, I mean, that''s actually what I''m setting out to do this time, so I suppose I''ll let the frighteningly murderous Freudian slip pass just this once. I''m hungry and I don''t really need to make excuses about that.

    Let''s go hunting.

 16. Clean Kill

    So Hannah, Teboho asks me as we trudge away from camp, exactly how much experience do you have, in terms of hunting and fighting?

    I squirm slightly, firmly attached to his fuzzy shoulder as he walks. When we get closer to our destination I''ll get off and walk by myself, but until then it''s more efficient to hitch a ride.

    Uh¡­ well, remember those cultists we fought? I ask.

    I''ll never forget it, he assures me solemnly.

    That''s it, I say. That''s the first time I''ve fought anyone or anything.

    Have you never even hunted? he asks. How were you feeding yourself when we first found you?

    Well I ate tiny burrowing animals, I tell him, since I guess I did do that once. Nothing like what we''re supposed to get today. They couldn''t hurt me at all. Other than that¡­

    I¡­ I''m not actually sure what I ate before that. Because my spider body has been alive, right? It''s been alive just as long as my human body, or at least as far as I can remember. Was I eating the wood of the tree? I''ve swallowed that stuff before, but it never really felt all that filling. I guess my two bodies are connected somehow, though. Maybe I was sustaining both of them with the food from Earth, or maybe I can eat wood even though it tastes all bland and¡­ I dunno, woody.

    I have mostly been fed by kind humans, I decide to admit, since it''s true.

    There''s a pause, and I feel a confused mix of worry and amusement coming from Teboho.

    ¡­Ones that got too close, or¡­? he prods.

    What''s he¡­ AGH OH I GET IT, FRICK. I sputter with indignance and terror, my flailing wild enough that I end up falling off Teboho''s shoulder.. He quickly twists around and catches me, chuckling lightly.

    I don''t eat people!!! I insist. Other than that one time! That¡­ I don''t know what that was! It was a stressful situation!

    So you only eat people when stressed, he muses. Good to know, good to know.

    I hiss at him and scuttle down his torso and leg, unwilling to dignify his japes with my proximity.

    Why is this so funny to you? I grumble. I ate someone! Isn''t that super messed up?

    He calms down his laughter and gives me a more sympathetic look.

    Ah, that''s right, you were raised by humans, he muses. Killing a person for the purpose of eating them would be a grave crime indeed, but to simply eat the corpse of a man who was slain in self-defense? Most people of the Mother Tree would find no fault in that. We dentron do not eat much meat at all, but many of our neighbors do and this sometimes includes the bodies of intelligent people. The nychtava in particular are known to devour their enemies en masse when they are moved to war. To consume the flesh of the fallen is a natural thing, Hannah! It is not shameful for the predator and it is not shameful for the prey.

    I hesitate, very unsure of how I feel about all that. It feels wrong, but it makes sense. Murder is bad, maiming someone is bad, that''s all bad. But if someone is going to be dead anyway, well¡­ a corpse is just a thing. People might get really upset about corpse desecration, but that''s just part of human culture, it doesn''t hurt anyone outside of sorta rubbing in the trauma of someone being dead on those still living. Most of the really bad things eating bodies can do are things that just happen to whoever does the eating: diseases, mainly, but also stuff like mercury buildup I think? I dunno, I''m not really an expert, I just know it isn''t healthy to eat your own species.

    Isn''t it likely to make you sick, though? I ask.

    For dentron? Yes, certainly, Teboho agrees amicably. We can''t handle much meat in our diet in the first place, however. I don''t think it''s healthy for humans, either, but I''m not sure.

    It''s a pretty bad idea, Sindri confirms, startling me slightly. I¡­ I mean, I guess we''re using his spell to talk, so it makes sense that he''s hearing our conversation, even though he''s nowhere near us anymore. It''s disgusting in general, but it''s very much unhealthy as well. Do ''prions'' mean anything to you, Hannah?

    Those are like, the weird things that kill you by making your brain proteins fold wrong or something, right? I ask.

    Hmm, that''s very close to correct, Sindri confirms. Interesting. Regardless, while I certainly wouldn''t recommend you eat people, it might not be a problem for you depending on your personal biology. Plenty of living things, particularly predators from the Tree of Souls, have a robust set of resistances towards the types of diseases and issues one would normally associate with the dangers of cannibalism. I''m not sure if you''re among their number, but if your instincts are telling you that corpses are food I''d say it''s at least somewhat likely. Perhaps your Order magic assists you in that manner as well. Still, maybe just don''t.

    Or do! Teboho encourages. You''re not human, you don''t have to think like them.

    I scuttle through the grass, not really having any way to respond to that. He''s right. I''m not human. If I ever was, I''m obviously not now. In the stories, this is usually a pretty big plot point. The plucky protagonist wakes up as a monster and their goal is to fight their way through trials and tribulations to be reborn as a human once more, to reclaim the humanity they''ve lost over the course of their journey. That''s what I''m supposed to want, but¡­ I don''t, really. My body is weird and annoyingly tiny, sure, but¡­ it''s fine? I don''t hate it and I don''t understand why I should. At least this way I have all the limbs I''m supposed to.

    Teboho, thankfully, picks up on my silence as the desire to end the discussion that it is. We''re descending pretty far down the branch now, and I''m noticing a lot of consequences of that which remind me of descending in altitude, even though we''re still way higher up on the tree than the branch we were on before. Regardless of why, the air seems to be getting thicker and more humid, and the temperature is rising a bit as well. Consequently, the foliage is growing thicker and thicker, until eventually I''m walking through grass that''s even taller than I am.

    ¡­Oh my god I''m a random encounter. Some ten-year-old-jerk is going to stumble into me and throw an animal at my head any second now! ¡­Except not actually because being stuck in overgrown foliage doesn''t stop me from having perfect knowledge of everything within fifty feet of me. I''m still less blind than I was before my eyes grew in, so it''s not really a huge deal.

    No, the truly weird part about this experience is the fact that I can''t blink. When I lift a leg off a blade of long grass and it comes shooting back up towards my eyes, my instincts get confused. I want to scrunch my eyelids together and pull away, yet I also want to step forward and lash out. So I end up doing a lot of both: sometimes I jump and twitch away, bringing up a leg to protect my eye. Other times one of my legs lashes out on its own, cutting a blade of grass that moves too quickly past my vision. All of it, I soon learn, is unnecessary: whenever the moving grass gets past my defenses and pokes me in an eye anyway, it doesn''t even hurt. Whatever my eyes are made out of, they''re not squishy or vulnerable like my human eyes are. They don''t rotate, they don''t move. They''re just solid orbs, and I''m fully capable of poking or pressing on them directly without discomfort. It''s very strange.

    About fifteen minutes later or so, the first trees pop into my spatial sensory radius. They''re gnarled, twisted things, with jagged, uninviting branches and needles instead of leaves. Conifers, I suppose, though they don''t look anything like the straight-trunked pine trees of home. There''s something odd about them, about the way their branches split and seek outward, like the stepped leader of an incoming lightning bolt.

    Ah, a forest of devourer trees, Teboho muses. That''s a good sign. Let''s go in there.

    Uh. Devourer trees?

    That doesn''t sound like a good sign at all! I protest. That is, in fact, the least reassuring name for a tree I''ve ever heard!

    Teboho chuckles.

    Ah, worry not, Hannah. They are harmless to us, only devouring other trees, you see. Look at where their branches meet.

    I do that, following the tangles of wood wherever they grow towards other trees, and sure enough I see it. When a branch tip encounters another tree''s branch, or even the trunk itself, it doesn''t stop growing. Instead, it burrows, lodging itself into the bark like a parasite. Each one of the trees is stabbing all of its neighbors, drinking their sap and creating an incestuous network of consumption and counter-consumption. Even their roots, now that I''m tracking how low they go, seem to jut straight down, digging as deep as they can go and searching not for fertile soil, but the flesh of the world tree itself.

    Devourer forests are fairly common, Teboho explains, and they are prime hunting grounds. Devourer tree branches are sturdy, rigid, and often anchored at both ends, allowing much larger creatures to live high in the treetops without risking the collapse of their handholds and footholds from their own weight. Many of my own people prefer to live in devourer trees as well, though these look a bit too small and young to support a dentron population.

    I send a mental acknowledgement of the information, scuttling closer to the forest and keeping a careful eye out for any animals around. I''m a bit anxious, what with us being here to try and kill likely-dangerous creatures and all, but I''m also weirdly energetic. Like, in a good way, that way which happens in the month before a new Pok¨¦mon game comes out and my brain wanders over to thinking about the days until release and everything I''m looking forward to and just overloads with joyful energy that makes my body wiggle and kick in happy ways. I guess this isn''t anywhere near that exciting for me, but¡­ yeah. ''Exciting'' is the right word, isn''t it? I''m excited to go hunting. What a weird thought.

    I start moving forward a little faster, enjoying the rhythmic tapping of my legs against the lush dirt. It doesn''t take long to reach the trees, and on a whim I decide to see if I can climb one. The movement comes naturally to me, my claws digging ever so lightly into the bark and easily giving me the grip needed to ascend the trunk just as quickly as I would run across the ground. I want to laugh, to giggle, but my body can''t so I just send the feeling over the mental link, the need to share this utterly unexpected joy strong enough to overcome my usual preference for keeping things like that to myself. Teboho grins below me, and with an impressive leap he reaches the lower set of branches, grabbing onto them and pulling himself upwards with ease, following me up into the tree with natural, monkey-like movements. He called this forest ''small and young,'' but all the conifers around us are still probably seventy feet tall, at least. I guess it makes sense that the people of the world tree have high standards for forests.

    I find a branch that connects to another tree''s trunk and start skittering along it, my legs not having any problem traversing a walkway thinner than my body for what I''m fairly sure are just naturally good coordination reasons, not fourth-dimensional reasons. Teboho seems to be enjoying himself as well, swinging around from branch to branch with acrobatic leaps and catches that alternate between all four of his arms. I reach the next trunk and scuttle straight down without any sort of vertigo, making it to the next branch and rushing across that to try and keep pace with my fuzzy, four-armed friend.

    Enjoying the forest, Hannah? Teboho prompts, grinning nearly from ear to ear.

    Yes! I confirm. I can see why you like these trees, they''re fun!

    Indeed! Teboho laughs. You take to it like a natural! Perhaps you''re not from the Slaying Stone after all!

    Thanks, I think? I answer him. I''m not sure how to take that!

    Neither am I, Sindri grumbles.

    Haha! I mean nothing by it, friend! Teboho assures him. Those from your rock aren''t often very good at climbing, is all. Now be sure to stay vigilant, Hannah! We''re getting deep enough in to start seeing some good prey.

    I don''t need him to tell me that. There are weird fantasy animals all over the place, and I''ve been eyeing them with interest. I''ve already seen a dozen different types of birds, uncountable amounts of bugs, a weird-smelling sack-plant that I''m fairly sure is eating those bugs, and a collection of fuzzy snakes that remind me of those adorable little worm toys, which I have decided to name ''friend noodles.'' Mmm. Yummy. I wanna eat a friend noodle. Chomp and slurp!

    While appreciating the many noodles of the forest, however, my focus falls on a creature that just entered the edge of my range, lounging lazily on some lower branches. It looks like a giant starfish the size of a human being, with five radial limbs the color and texture of bark. Wrapped sinuously around the trunk of the tree, it appears more like the kind of weird growth common to randomly occur in tree trunks than any kind of animal, at least to my eyes. My spatial sense knows better: judging by the many sharp teeth I can see inside of its closed mouths, this thing is almost certainly an ambush predator.

    And yes, I really do mean ''mouths.'' Plural. Rather than a singular mouth in the center of its body like I have¡ªor for that matter, like starfish have¡ªthis creature has five, a massive, gaping maw on the end of each limb. This isn''t a giant starfish, not really. This is a starhydra.

    I think I see something I''d like to hunt, I tell Teboho.

    Oh? he answers, immediately stopping at the next branch. What is it?

    I stop as well, pointing at the creature¡­ and then realize there''s currently a tree between me and it so I scuttle a little closer and then point again.

    That thing, I tell him. With the five heads.

    Five¡­ hmm. I don''t¡­ oh! I think I see it! A [dangerous, monster, magical, threat], probably!

    Yeah, I didn''t understand that, so I''m going to call it a starhydra.

    A what?

    I feel the need to sigh, but since I can''t, the energy ends up being used to quickly rotate my body in a circle. Sindri''s mental communication spell can be a bit silly sometimes.

    The name isn''t important, I tell him. Is hunting it a good idea? I picked up the fact that you thought it was dangerous.

    They''re dangerous because of their potential for magical potency, Teboho explains. It might have a particularly powerful spell or two, and without Sindri here there''s no way for us to get a hint as to what kind.

    Teach me that Aura Sight spell already, Sindri! I whine at him.

    Okay, okay, we can work on that today, he answers. After you get us breakfast, of course.

    Bah! Why''s he so insistent on getting me to kill some food for him, anyway? ¡­Well, I guess now that I think about it, I should do this regardless of his reasons. I''ve more or less been freeloading off of these people, eating their food and riding their heads and getting them nearly killed and not really doing anything for them in return. Like sure, they owed me to some extent for the horror of how we first met, but that was definitely paid back and then some after the whole cultist problem. Plus, they''re my friends! I should be helping them out, and this is something I can do to help. It wouldn''t be fair for me to not do this. And since I''m certainly no vegetarian, I don''t have any moral problems with killing animals to eat them.

    I''m just slightly worried about how excited I am about it. Killing to eat is fine. Killing for fun is¡­ a bit worrisome. But I guess it makes sense for a predator to get excited about the thing it has to do in order to eat? Like, biologically speaking. Though I guess cats seem pretty excited to hunt things and so they end up killing a lot of stuff they don''t eat, like the cute little jerks they are. I don''t know. I suppose I could say that I just won''t do that, but I''m not exactly confident in my capacity for self-control. Still! Sindri wants food, I should get him some food. If there are problems, I''ll likely understand them better after I''ve given this a shot.

    I drum my legs on the branch I''m perching on, anticipatory energy coursing through my body. I need a plan of action. The starhydra and I are both ambush predators, and while it''s a much bigger ambush predator, I''m (hopefully) smarter, and most importantly I''m the one actually doing the ambush in this situation. My Spacial Rend spell is crazy powerful, and while the starhydra is very big it''s also pretty flat. I think I can stick my claws deep enough into its body to hit something vital. Assuming, of course, I can figure out where its vital areas are.

    The inside of the starhydra''s body is weird. It doesn''t really have five heads so much as it has five mouths and zero heads. It certainly doesn''t have five brains; my best guess as to its nervous system is decentralized throughout its entire body, with a relatively small node in the center but a pretty substantial chunk of neural matter winding down each neck-arm. In essence, I''m not confident that stabbing the central bit of brain matter will be lethal to this weird little goober. Like, it''s certainly not going to enjoy the experience, but I''ve heard that an octopus tentacle has a similar sort of brain structure and those things can keep trying to grab stuff after they''ve been cut off. This guy has octopus tentacles if tentacles had mouths as big as my entire body, so¡­ let''s just not take that risk.

    Unlike octopi (which I know is technically less correct than ''octopuses,'' but I''ve always liked it more), the starhydra only seems to have one heart, so that''s probably my best bet at killing it in one shot. I''ll have to sneak up on it from above, pop out of the fourth dimension, stab it through the center of its body and retreat until it bleeds out. Easy!

    I think I can take it, I tell Teboho. Or at the very least, I want to try. If things go badly, can we get away? It doesn''t look very fast.

    It''s faster than you might think, Teboho muses. But it''s still slower than I am. We''re also close to the edge of the forest and I doubt it will follow us past the treeline.

    Hunt safe, little Hannah, Kagiso sends, feelings of worry spilling over the mental link.

    I''ll do my best, I promise her.

    Go for your killing stroke, Hannah, then retreat towards me, Teboho instructs. Don''t wait to see if it dies first, just immediately start running. If it is dead, great. If it isn''t, you''ll be glad you didn''t hesitate.

    I understand, I tell him, and start scuttling along the branch network to the space above my target. The slow rise and fall of its body suggests that it''s napping, but it''s hard to say for sure. I search for barren zones when I get close, and¡­ wait, what? There aren''t any? There are normally a ton! Why aren''t there¡­ hmm. No, I''m probably looking at things wrong.

    I pause, focusing my perception on fourth-dimensional space. It''s a difficult thing to consciously wrap my head around, even if I have quite a bit of intuition guiding me. It''s not like adding an axis merely increases the volume of stuff; adding an axis makes the concept of volume insufficient for completely describing space. 4D space has volume, sure, in the same way that 3D space has area. But it also has hypervolume, and it''s just¡­ gah. I''m glad there''s no light in the barren zones, because I''m an actual fourth-dimensional being and even I have no clue what the heck that would look like. Projections only go so far.

    My point is, it takes more than a metaphorical flick of focus to properly survey the nearby fourth-dimensional space. There''s a lot of it, because adding one dimension makes every choice of movement many times more complicated. I wait, perfectly still, as I figure out what''s going on with my perception. Why could I move into 4D space whenever I wanted while I was inside the trunk, but I can only move into barren zones now? That doesn''t feel right. I am 4D. I should be able to move along the w-axis any time I like. I should just be a small step in¡­ woah!

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    I stumble slightly, nearly falling out of the tree as I make an experimental movement outside of normal space. I was right! I can do it whenever I want! So why they heck can''t I see anything in that direction!? It''s like there''s nothing there, which¡­ uh. Which¡­ makes perfect sense, actually. Gosh, I''m an idiot.

    The wood of the world tree is fourth-dimensional, like I am. I can go into w=1 space in the trunk any time I want because there''s wood in every direction, there''s something to sink my claws into. But out here on a branch, the wood of the world tree is a good forty-plus feet below me most of the time! In normal space, there''s a huge layer of dirt and rocks on top of the branch itself, on which all the plants grow and all the structures are built and whatnot.

    I can enter w=1 space outside the barren zones¡­ but only if I want to fall four stories and splat painfully on the ground below. When I see ''barren zones,'' that''s just my brain filtering areas where the wood in 4D space has bulged upwards and actually given me something to stand on. And now that I''m up in the branch of a tree on the branch of the tree, I''m so far above my higher-dimensional footholds that no knurls or branchlets of wood reach me. I''m surrounded by a sheer drop on all sides.

    This makes my ambush significantly riskier.

    Hannah? Teboho asks. Everything okay?

    Yes, I tell him. Sorry. Planning my approach. My spatial movement is very limited up here.

    Oh? How so?

    Basically, my movement is better the closer I am to the Mother Tree, I summarize. Out on a branch there''s a lot of dirt between us and it, and up on a tree we''re even further away. So I''m much more restricted in the places where I can step out of view.

    Hmm, Teboho rumbles, seeming vaguely pleased about my magic''s limitation. I guess when his religion reveres the world tree as a creator goddess, that makes a lot of sense. You still think you can do it?

    I''m certainly still willing to try, I confirm.

    Then I''m ready when you are.

    I send my affirmation and slowly creep across the branch, my spatial sense guiding my claws to soft bark that won''t crack or make a sound. I can see, in that ephemeral way that isn''t sight at all, how the internal structure of the bark is laid out, where it''s dry and thin, where it''s wet and flush with life. Carefully, ever so carefully, I make my way over to the same tree as the starhydra, crawling silently onto the trunk. I barely feel the slightest hint of vertigo as I creep down the sheer vertical surface, stepping around a slowly-breathing mouth and right next to the creature''s core. The heart is in pretty deep, but I''m sure I can reach it with magic. I lift a leg and channel my energy into it, the essence of extra space pushing aside the air around my claw. Hmm. It''s hugging my leg a bit too closely, I need it to be a bit longer. More powerful, but not so much that I accidentally get the goddess to say Spa¡ª

    The world seems to stop. A personified pressure crushes me with the weight of its attention, her casual giggle like drumbeats hammering into my mind. The air is pulled from the vents on my side that I have instead of lungs, thin pages of gill-like filters which whisk oxygen passively from the air. She steals it from me, inhaling it with a horrible, razor-sharp smirk on her invisible face.

    "Spacial Rend," the goddess commands the world, and the world obeys. Power blooms from my claw, adding an extra six inches to the length of its blade¡ªjust about doubling it. But also, of course, waking up basically everything in the forest.

    Crap in a sack of beets. I stab as quickly as I can, my extra range cutting a deep, bloody gouge into my victim¡­ who is unfortunately already awake and moving.

    "Hana!" Teboho cries out fearfully, but I hardly need the warning to know I need to jump. Two gaping, drooling mouths of razor-sharp teeth converge on my location from mere moments ago, and though I swipe my bloody claw at them as I retreat, I already know I''ve messed it all up. I missed the heart, and while it certainly has a chance of bleeding out from the deep gash I gave it, it isn''t going to be quick.

    I let myself drop, gravity accelerating me downwards just a few feet before my legs latch onto a branch and I start to skitter away as fast as my tiny little claws can carry me. I''ve gotta get to Teboho so he can protect us! Yet behind me, the massive monster also drops from the tree, reaching up with one of its limbs to bite the branch above us and start swinging mouth-over-mouth like a horrifically toothy monkey. It is angry and it is coming for me and I so wish I could scream right now.

    Hannah! Teboho mentally cries out. Why did you incant? You were doing so well!

    It was an accident! I snap back. I wasn''t trying to speak the spell, I don''t even have a voicebox!

    Wait, did you say Hannah spoke an incantation? Sindri asks. How? Isn''t she still learning the basics of her magic?

    The branch I''m scuttling across jerks violently, nearly flinging me out of the tree as the starhydra chomps down on the wood just behind me, yanking it downwards. It roars at me from three different mouths, furious and aggressive beyond what I expected from an injured animal. Spittle flies, teeth dig deep into wood I''d been running across moments before, and my death rushes ever closer all the while.

    Can everybody just shut up and focus on the monster that''s trying to kill me!? I shriek over the mental link.

    Help? Kagiso asks.

    Backup would be good just in case, Teboho confirms, but I think I''ve got it. You''re almost to me, Hannah, just a little more!

    Just a little more. He''s right. He''s right in front of me on the branch, one arm grabbing the trunk, one arm reaching out to me, and the other two gripping a long stone spear. He stabs it right at me, and I''m immediately thankful because I can also see the starhydra chomping upwards at me from below. The spear barely passes by my back legs, and Teboho manages to lodge it into the roof of one of the starhydra''s mouths, saving me from an untimely demise. I reach his legs and scamper up the side of one, and Teboho quickly drops his spear, takes a deep breath, and¡ª

    "Stone Shield!" the goddess says with Teboho''s voice.

    Darkness flares around us as light is cut off, the wood cracking dangerously beneath us as it''s suddenly an anchor to a hollow orb of rock, encasing us safely inside. A horrible slamming sound rings out as the starhydra bashes against the exterior, but the rock easily holds. Teboho has encased us in a cocoon that the beast can''t penetrate.

    There. See? I got it, Teboho sighs. Now we just wait here for it to bleed out or leave. It''s just an angry animal, it''ll rush off to lick its wounds when it figures out it can''t reach us.

    Thanks, I shiver, crawling up to his shoulder. Sorry for screwing up like that.

    Ah, well, we all learn to speak to the goddess in our own ways, Teboho reassures me. You didn''t do badly for a first hunt.

    That''s kind of you to say, I send back, not really believing him.

    It''s the honest truth! Teboho insists. Why, on my first hunt, I¡ª

    He stops sending words, wincing as a horrible sizzling sound rings out from above us. I focus on the area, and to my horror I see the stone start to melt away, something invisible to my spatial sense devouring the rock at terrifying speeds. A gas, maybe? The starhydra starts wrapping its body around the stone shell like we''re a clam that needs prying open, its five maws all leaking the horrid something that''s eating away at the rock.

    Teboho! I yelp. Why didn''t you tell me these things have acid breath!?

    They normally don''t! he protests. That must be its magic! Death, maybe? Or Matter? It could be Chaos for all we know!

    Both of you calm down, Sindri says firmly. Kagiso is en route.

    We''re out of time! I insist. It''s about to break into the shield!

    I scamper down Teboho''s back as at that very moment, a hole is burned through our protections. Light streams into our once-protective ball, and with my eyes I can see my guess is correct: a faint green vapor pours from the starhydra''s maws, eating through stone and gradually sinking down towards us. Teboho drops his protection and leaps away, but ends up jumping right through a cloud of the stuff on our way out. I wish I could scream again, but Teboho manages one that''s agonizing enough for both of us.

    In barely a second, Teboho''s upper body is scoured of fur, and the skin starts to bubble away immediately afterwards. I don''t fare well either, my exoskeleton no more resistant to the acid than Teboho''s rock was. I instinctively stick all but three of my legs out of normal space, but the three I need to hang onto Teboho with feel like they''re being boiled into nothing. The moment passes and we make it into open air, Teboho out-swinging the starhydra even with his badly damaged and bleeding arms, but despite no longer being in the cloud of death his wounds¡ªand mine¡ªkeep getting worse. It''s not a gas anymore, not after making contact with our bodies. It clings to us, eats at us, and just keeps digging deeper into our flesh. Teboho tries to grab a branch and his arm just gives out, nearly causing us to plummet to the forest floor before he thankfully catches himself with one of his three other hands. But we won''t last at this rate. We''re dying. If we can''t get this stuff off of us, we might already be dead.

    An arrow whisks past us, clattering into the trunk of a tree behind us, yet somehow bouncing off instead of imbedding itself. It hits a branch, then another branch, picking up speed with each sudden change in direction. The entire length of the arrow somehow rotates instantly whenever it hits something, flying straight and true even though there''s no way physics could have given it its new vector. In the blink of an eye, it finds its ultimate target, stabbing deep into the starhydra''s flank. It''s then followed by a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth, and a sixth all in frighteningly rapid succession, pincushioning the poor creature from every direction and finally forcing it to plummet to the forest floor, not quite dead but definitely dying. The chase is over.

    ¡­But the burning remains. The acid isn''t going anywhere. Teboho quickly drops in altitude, using a few branches to safely land us on the ground where he promptly collapses in agony. I''m in much better shape, as while I can see and feel the acid eating away at my flesh, I''m now on the ground. I leap into a nearby barren zone, leaving the acid behind to plop on the ground and start dissolving the grass. Then I emerge on the other side of Teboho, injured but safe. Teboho himself, however, has no such cheat. He groans in agony as I try to figure out what the heck I can do. Water, probably? Water can wash off most things, there''s even an emergency shower in our chemistry classroom that I''ve never seen anyone use. Kagiso rushes towards us, firing another few arrows into the unmoving body of the starhydra for good measure, but nearly makes a grave mistake as she skids to a stop next to us.

    Don''t touch him! I warn. It''ll stick to you, too!

    Dying, Kagiso sends, her mental voice as flat as ever. Needs help.

    Do you have water? We might be able to wash this off.

    She nods, pulling out a waterskin and starting to pour it over the worst of the burns. ¡­It doesn''t seem to help. Why isn''t it helping!? Gosh dang magic! I start to panic as more and more of Teboho''s blood starts leaking up from his rapidly-dissolving skin, mixing with the acid and being no more effective at removing it than the water was. What can I do? What can I do?

    Kagiso reaches over, a firm hand gripping the top of my carapace and squeezing hard enough to hurt. I freeze, confused and terrified by the gesture.

    Save him, she commands me. Order magic. Heal.

    Oh. Oh, she''s right. I am an Order mage. But¡­ I don''t know any Order spells!

    Hannah has never healed anyone before! Sindri reminds us. Do not use unknown magic on an injured person! I''m on my way, just keep trying to dilute the acid!

    Hannah strong, Kagiso grunts back. Hannah heal.

    She might not be able to, Kagiso! Sindri insists.

    Her grip just grows tighter.

    Hannah heal.

    Is¡­ is that a threat? No. It''s stress. She''s terrified of losing her brother. I force my terrified brain to think, to focus on magic. To try and get back into that calm realm of self-reflection that I used to accidentally accelerate my transformation. But rather than look for my Transmutation magic, I need to look for my Order magic. I have to heal him. I have to heal him. I have to heal!

    ¡­Nothing. I feel nothing. No resonance, no instinct, just¡­ nothing. If I wasn''t panicking before, I certainly am now. I can''t have nothing. I''m supposed to be a super-powerful Order mage! That''s the whole reason I''m hanging out with everyone here in the first place! Why can''t I do this? I should be able to do this! Order magic heals!

    No. No, no, no. Wait. Order magic is order. It is the application of systems. Order is not the bringer of life, life is merely one of its many facets. But¡­ but what if that means I can''t heal him? No, stop, focus. Life is one of its many facets. I have to find my facet. What makes me Order-aligned? Where is my place in its domain? I think back to how it felt to use my Transmutation spell, how I saw the ephemeral thread between my sleeping, partially-human body back on Earth and my hyperspider body here on the world tree. I remember how I took that connection and tugged, drawing the two closer. That''s not what I want. I focus on that thread, focus on the incredible power flowing through it, the impossible magical might connecting two completely different universes together, and I draw it into myself. I feel it flow into me. I''m ready. I''m ready to¡­ uh. Hmm.

    I need a bucket, I realize, sending the message to my team. No, wait. I need like¡­ a beaker. A glass cup, basically. Teboho, can you make glass?

    I''m currently dying, he reminds me with startling calm.

    Yes, and before you do that I really need you to make glass.

    Is this truly important right now!? Sindri demands.

    I don''t know! I answer honestly, the magic roaring inside me, demanding an outlet. I can''t hold it for much longer. Teboho, can you do it or not!?

    He groans in agony, but manifests a crude glass container on the ground next to him. Perfect, now¡­ agh, something''s still not right!

    Dump out the rest of your waterskin! I tell Kagiso, and she does it without hesitation. Now I''m ready! I let the magic flow, the power rushing out of me¡­ and nearly all of it flowing right back into that thread between my bodies. Hey, what the heck!? But the rest of it does enter this world, it does what I command, washing over Teboho, passing over his body, into his body, and¡­ not healing him in the slightest.

    But the acid is gone. The blood is gone. My heart soars for a moment, but Teboho quickly continues bleeding a moment later. No, no no no! What did I do wrong? I followed my instincts! Hmm, wait. He''s not covered in acid anymore! That''s good, that''s really good! In fact, for a brief period of time, Teboho''s body was completely, perfectly clean.

    Oh my gosh it''s a cleaning spell. My mighty magical aura has finally shown the full extent of the potential I was nearly mind controlled into slavery for, and it''s a gosh dang cleaning spell.

    I¡­ have no idea how to feel about this.

    "Fala Hana!" Kagiso shrieks happily, releasing my body and quickly retrieving bandages from her pack to start binding up Teboho''s wounds. I glance over at the crude beaker that Teboho made, and sure enough it''s full of horrible, murky green acid. I cleaned it up. That''s what my magic does. To my surprise, though, the acid bubbles furiously against the glass, and somehow it actually starts burning that too. What the heck? It''s supposed to go there and stay there, because glass is the proper receptacle for acid. It needs to be in its proper place! That''s very annoying in the nagging OCD way I usually just ignore, so I do my best to ignore it now. I guess the acid isn''t going to get the ground dirty, really. ¡­Oh, and what matters is that Teboho is safe. Obviously.

    First it''s electrocution, now it''s a magical dissolving spell, Teboho groans, letting Kagiso poke and prod at his wounds with only the occasional whining noise. You''re saving me from a lot lately, Hannah.

    Not before you end up saving me from something that''s my fault in the first place, I answer back. You only keep getting hurt because you keep helping me! Please, please don''t die.

    Will be dizzy, Kagiso grunts. Not bleed out, but maybe bad infection. Need healer.

    I notice Sindri running towards us, the man finally entering my sensory radius.

    We''ll march as fast as we can for the nearest town, he promises. Is the [animal, dangerous] dead?

    Another jolt of panic re-fires the parts of my brain that had recently stopped producing adrenaline, and I quickly focus on the last place I remember the starhydra lying. ¡­And it''s still there, dead as a doornail. No heartbeat, no breathing. Kagiso got it good.

    It is, it''s over there, I tell him, pointing briefly before realizing there are way too many things between the two of us for him to be able to see me. Agh, I''m so dumb. I drum my legs to try to let off some stress, but that just reminds me of all the pain in my body which happens to be rapidly getting worse as the stress hormones die down. Yeah, okay. That hurts. That hurts a lot. Frickadoodle fries, that hurts so much wow wow wow wow. I lie down in the grass and mostly give in to my body''s sudden urge to completely shut down, but annoyingly the pain prevents me from passing out. No going to another universe to escape the consequences of my actions, unfortunately.

    Sindri finally reaches us, rushing past us a bit to go check on the starhydra corpse that he apparently didn''t need my help to find anyway. He balks the moment he sees it, returning to us with a furious look on his face.

    Teboho! he demands. Did you seriously let her fight that!? It''s fully grown, what did you think was going to happen?

    She wanted to hunt it, Teboho says, chuckling lightly for a breath before wincing in pain. Who was I to tell her no?

    Have you absolutely no sense of self-preservation? Sindri demands.

    His smile drops at that, and his lack of answer is an answer in and of itself. Oh, gosh. I wish I could comfort him somehow. He''s so positive most of the time, it''s easy to forget how much he''s lost recently. He and Kagiso both grieve¡­ strangely.

    Well, Sindri sighs, his anger quickly deflating at Teboho''s response, I''m very glad that everyone is safe. We''re not far from our destination, so even if Teboho falls ill we should be able to get him treatment before it''s too late. Hannah, I certainly hope you''ve learned your lesson about aggravating monsters outside your weight class.

    Yeah, I agree. Sorry. That was stupid of me.

    It''s okay, he sighs. Learning is what matters. Kagiso, can you carry your brother once his wounds are tended to?

    She nods, and that seems to be the end of the conversation. Sindri returns to camp to finish packing it up, carrying his, Teboho''s, and Kagiso''s gear as Kagiso carries her brother in a piggyback¡­ and once again insists I rest on her head. I snuggle up onto her scalp, clinging to her body with four of my uninjured limbs and resting the three heavily burned ones in the cool darkness of higher-dimensional space. The trudging walk begins, my body alternating between intense pain and intense itchiness. Gah, I just molted, but I''m going to have to molt again to heal all of this, aren''t I? Maybe even more than once. That''s certainly one advantage of having skin.

    I suppose I promised to teach you Aura Sight, didn''t I, Hannah? Sindri muses.

    Uh, yeah, I guess you did, I confirm. I''m guessing there''s more to it than just saying the incantation?

    Always, Sindri confirms. Be careful when you say the names of spells, Hannah. You must be certain you fully understand the spell you''re trying to cast, or at least fully enough to satisfy whatever arbitrary system judges that understanding. I highly, highly recommend never speaking the true name of a spell¡ªor trying to name one of your own spells¡ªuntil after you''ve cast it normally at least a hundred times. If your name isn''t approved, there are painful consequences.

    What happens, exactly? I ask.

    It depends on what you were trying to cast, Sindri answers. Generally, it spawns a magical effect of the same category of what you were trying to cast, except it''s always highly dangerous and directed exclusively at you.

    The Mother Tree''s displeasure is fickle and fearsome, Teboho agrees. But I would not worry so much. When I heard her speak your words, Hannah, I got the impression that she liked you quite a bit. She will be lenient with you where others might suffer.

    Regardless of whether the essence of magic truly has opinions, Sindri grumbles, prudence is always wise. So I''m going to start by explaining the nature of the soul as we understand it, so that you can understand the nature of aura.

    He pulls a waterskin from his belt, idly uncorking it and bringing it to his mouth.

    So far as we can tell, he continues, since drinking something doesn''t prevent telepathic communication, the soul doesn''t actually con¡ª

    He sputters, coughing, hacking and looking down in horror as he chokes up a hideous mix of blood, viscera, and dirt, all of it dripping from his mouth and the waterskin in his hand as he spits furiously, desperately trying to clean out his mouth. Ah. Uh. I guess when I cleaned up the acid and put it in the beaker, I put everything else in the waterskin.

    S-sorry, I whimper over the link. That''s my bad.

    Wh¡­ is this blood? Sindri yelps back. Is this Teboho''s blood?

    Don''t worry, Sindri! Teboho grins. We''ve already discussed my views on cannibalism! Go ahead and take another swig!

    The look we get from Sindri makes me suspect I won''t be getting a Pneuma lesson today after all. Fooey. Though on the bright side, I guess I do have a new opportunity to test my cleaning spell.

 17. Good Mood

    I wake up, and it hardly feels like I''ve slept at all. Because, y''know, I sort of haven''t.

    A quick limb check gets me out of bed sooner than usual. I know to expect six in my Earth body now, though I''m hoping to get up to ten. And isn¡¯t that a weird thing to think? ''I sure hope I grow more horrific bug limbs!'' In my defense, I''ve been waking up feeling like I don''t have enough for my entire life, so the prospect of finally fixing that is undeniably exciting. Not exciting enough to make me not feel exhausted, though.

    Sleep is important, and it serves multiple functions. Physical upkeep is an important one: the brain needs to reformat, clear out junk data, form more permanent connections, and do general maintenance tasks on itself and the body. Without sleep we eventually lose the physical ability to function. And luckily for me, I''m pretty sure my bodies are still doing all those things. When one brain is awake, the other rests. Easy enough.

    My mind, however, is always awake. My continuity of consciousness gets a bit disoriented when I flip-flop between universes, but it never gets a break. I really, really hope that''s not going to start driving me crazy. I could definitely use a bit more rest in my life.

    No time for that now, though. I sit up in bed, stretching my arms above my head and my budding extra limbs underneath my skin before finally flipping the covers back to examine my sheets. Sure enough, a lot of bloodstains are visible among the tears and claw marks. Old stains by the foot of the bed contrast much newer stains around hand-level, which I confirm as probably from the claws on my fingers once I unwrap their bloody bandages. They''re fully grown now, the bony, half-inch long protrusions sharp and deadly. Unlike the curved talons of my feet, my hand-claws are relatively straight, the ends of my fingers naturally tapering down into an exoskeletal point after the bone emerges from the last knuckle. I hope I''m running out of transformations that involve me losing so much gosh dang blood all the time. It''s a wonder I''m not critically anemic after this past week. Plus, it always makes a mess.

    ¡­Though perhaps I don''t have to care about that anymore. I pick up the small waste bin just inside my door, put it next to my bed, and then focus. The magic I''d been practicing all day as a hyperspider comes to me easily, and the dried blood all over my bed and hands swiftly removes itself, gathering as a fine dust on top of the other bits of trash where it belongs.

    Gosh that feels so satisfying to do, I can''t help but grin a little. It''s official: cleaning spell is best spell. I can do the same with the dried sweat in the sheets, with the lint, with every impurity and improperly present substance. I can''t repair the many tears in the fabric, though I suspect there are probably Order spells which could. I don''t seem to be able to use them, though. My magic is exclusively about cleaning, or more accurately it''s about sorting. I spent pretty much all day after the fight with the starhydra getting a handle on it, and I think I have a pretty good idea how it works.

    On paper, it seems like it''s a really weak spell. It does nothing other than grab stuff and move it somewhere else, but its weight limit is super low and even if it does grab something it won''t work unless that something is misplaced. It''s not telekinesis: I can''t grab and move anything manually, I can''t choose the path the substance takes when it''s being moved, I can''t do any of that. I just target a substance, and then I target a place for that substance to go and that place has to result in¡­ a superior state of organization, basically?

    It''s a little wibbly, and it''s unclear how the ''superior state of organization'' is determined. My best guesses are either that I''m subconsciously determining that through some method I haven''t figured out how to trick, or the goddess just judges it for me. I hope it''s the former for many, many reasons, though Teboho insists it''s the latter. Either way, I can''t do crazy stuff like ''cleaning'' the entire mucus lining out of someone''s eyeballs (though I can remove any excess discharge), and though I intend to check I''m probably not able to ''sort'' the engine of a vehicle into its component parts. Mucus belongs in the eye, a car engine belongs in a car, and I can''t convince myself (or the goddess) that there is a superior location or configuration for either. So really, the spell just seems best for cleaning.

    I am completely, one hundred percent okay with this.

    I like cleaning. One of my favorite things to do at work is to clean. I don''t have the time or energy to clean much around the house anymore, but that used to be something I would do to relax. I''m way more comfortable in clean places than dirty ones, and now I can finally just turn any place into a clean place. With my gosh dang mind! It''s the best!

    I grin wider, and on a whim I open my mouth and shut my jaws with a resounding clack. It feels almost as satisfying as wiggling my new limbs, even as trapped under my skin as they still are. I guess I should check up on the rest of myself, now that I think about it. My claws finished growing in, so I''m probably due for some new horrific transformation that I''ll need to scramble to conceal with increasingly-improbable excuses. See? I have pattern recognition. I know how this goes.

    I strip down and start investigating myself, prodding my body in various places to look for any new changes. Surprisingly, there aren''t really any. A bit more skin comes off of my right leg, so I pop that into my mouth and slurp it down, but other than that I seem more or less the same. Maybe I''ve hit a temporary equilibrium where my body is busy trying to finish growing its many changes-in-progress that I won''t have anything new added today? That''d be a nice change of pace. Maybe I''ll actually get some relaxation in.

    Someone knocks on the door to my bedroom and it takes everything I have not to scream.

    "Hannah?" my mother calls.

    "Don''t come in!" I shriek hurriedly, quickly jumping under the covers in case my words aren''t heeded. I''m sure they will be, my mother doesn''t ignore closed doors for no reason, but that doesn''t stop me from immediately thinking of a dozen terrifying scenarios in which she walks in on me anyway. My heart is pounding out of my chest so hard I probably have more adrenaline in my body than I did after almost getting eaten by a monster.

    "Calm down, honey," she sighs. "I''m just letting you know that your father tested positive for COVID."

    Well that certainly doesn''t help my anxiety at all.

    "Is he okay?" I ask hurriedly.

    "Oh, yes, he''ll be fine," my mother dismisses. "His lungs are strong, I doubt it''ll affect him worse than a cold. It''s what he gets for sticking his nose so close to other people''s open mouths all day."

    That''s¡­ true. I can''t help but be worried about him, of course. COVID is scary, but my dad''s not that old and overall he''s very healthy. I want to worry about him more, but in the back of my brain all I can really think about is how this gives me a great excuse to wear a mask around the house to hide my teeth.

    "...Well, he is a dentist," I point out. "He doesn''t have much choice in the matter."

    "Details. Anyway, I''m just letting you know he''s going to be home for the next couple weeks, and that I''m going in late today as well to cook everyone breakfast. Join us, would you? We''ve barely seen your face lately."

    Aw, crapbaskets. There goes the only upside to the situation. Hiding my teeth is going to be a chore and a half when I''m eating. I don''t want to eat with them. I don''t want to be around them at all. What are they going to think of me when they find out? My thoughts on the manner feel pretty much identical to how I feel about coming out as gay, I suppose. Dad won''t understand. I don''t think he''ll do anything bad but he''ll still think I''m a freak in his mind. And mom will try to control it all, somehow. She''s like me in that way, always needing things to be going according to plan, according to schedule. But only her schedule. Never anyone else''s. She has to be in charge of everything she''s involved in.

    "Sorry mom, I''ve just been really busy lately," I mutter loudly enough to be heard through the door.

    "I know," she answers fondly. "You''ve always been my busy little worker bee. But you''re not too busy to eat a good breakfast before school, and you''re going to make sure of that. Understand?"

    "Yes ma''am," I answer, feeling a metaphorical coffin close around me. I can''t get out of this now.

    "Good," she confirms, and then heads down the hall to give my brother the same ultimatum.

    I peel myself out of bed for the second time, dread pooling in my belly. How am I going to get out of this? I mean, I guess I''m not going to get out of this. Skipping will put me in more trouble and make mom more likely to pay more attention to me, which will of course lead to more problems. Instead, my best bet is to try to learn how to eat with a mask on, and¡­ honestly, that''s a skill I''ll probably need to cultivate anyway. The trial run is just going to be a little more high-stakes than I''d like, I guess.

    I wait for my mom to head back downstairs and start cooking before getting out of my room and slipping into the shower. I''m tempted¡ªvery tempted¡ªto just shower through the entire meal, but I know that won''t work. It''ll just result in my brother pounding on the door until I let him in. So I speed through my shower instead, not really having time to savor it as I think about my strategy for not letting my family see my teeth. Honestly, I''m lucky I haven''t cut my own tongue off with these things, they''re crazy sharp and way bigger than my old teeth. I wonder what my dad would think of them. He''d probably have a ninth-level freakout, honestly. He was always pretty invested in the quality of my old teeth. ¡­Which I still have in a baggie in my backpack. I, uh, am not sure what to do with them. This whole teeth situation is so freaky.

    At least they''re fun. Clack.

    There''s no time to enjoy myself, though. I take a deep breath, drum my claws on the floor, then stick my little foam packing cubes on them to prevent them from cutting anything. I squeeze my transformed calf, still impressed with how solid it is without any apparent loss of touch, but then I get my thigh socks on and the mutations are covered up. Then I get my pants on, my bra on, my long-sleeved shirt on (just in case) and my gloves. Hopefully, my natural heat resistance will allow me to survive being overdressed for the humid spring day, but I''ll be inside an air conditioned building the whole time so it shouldn''t be unbearable either way.

    I can do this. I get my mask on and head downstairs.

    Our kitchen, dining room, and main living area are all more or less the same huge room, the difference between kitchen and dining room indicated only by a counter and the border between dining room and living room just being the swap from tile floor to carpet. Skillets crackle as my mother works to prepare a big breakfast, my father sprawled out on the living room couch, watching the news.

    "There she is!" he announces, turning to grin at me as I walk into view. "How''s my Hannahgator?"

    "Doing good, dad," I lie. "How are you?"

    "Oh, I''m fine," he grins, waving me off. "It''ll take more than a deadly plague to put your old man down. I''ve just gotta stay cooped up inside so I don''t spread it to anyone else, is all."

    "Stay inside and rest," my mother insists. "And don''t get any of the rest of us sick! That couch is the quarantine zone now, Hannah, stay away from it."

    "Can do," I confirm.

    "Now come on, sit down!" my mom presses, motioning to the chairs at the counter. "Tell me how your week has been!"

    "Uh¡­" I mumble, not quite sure what sort of lie to tell. "It hasn''t really been all that eventful. Just work and more work."

    "Has your stream thing been going well?" she asks. "With your games?"

    With my games. What does that even mean? I swear, she''s aggressively ignorant about everything I actually care about. She can''t even say ''stream'' without putting ''thing'' after it, or something similar.

    "It''s been going fairly okay," I admit. "The numbers are slowly crawling up, so I guess I''m doing something right."

    "I still can''t believe people sit around and watch you play those things," my mother comments idly, seeming genuinely dumbfounded. Not¡­ offensive or anything. Not accusing me of something. And yet I still feel an immediate need to defend myself as if I''m being verbally attacked.

    "Is it really that strange?" I ask. "You and dad sit around and watch people play football and stuff."

    "Yes, but those people move," my mother counters.

    I don''t really have anything to say to that. Not because I can''t keep trying to explain, but because I should have known better than to start. We''ve done this sort of back-and-forth before, and I''ll just get accused of being argumentative if I don''t let her have the last word. I guess I can''t really say nothing either, or that becomes a problem, but my mom pretty exclusively wants to talk about things that I very much don''t want to talk about. I should change tactics.

    "How has your work been?" I ask.

    That gets her complaining about the corporation she''s currently contracted for and all the legal work she has to do for them, though heavily edited for confidentiality. ¡­Most of the time. Sometimes she lets some things slip that she''s legally not allowed to, but I kind of like it when she does. It helps to be reminded that she''s a person that needs to vent sometimes. She gets overwhelmed, she makes mistakes. She needs a human connection from time to time, too. That''s why she''s so insistent on forcing my brother and I to spend time with her. She doesn''t actually have any friends outside of work, and she spends so much time complaining about her co-workers that I''m not sure she has any at work either. I think her legal firm has in-house parties every so often, and sometimes she goes to those, but honestly I think she likes big social gatherings even less than I do. And that''s saying something.

    Neither of us have been diagnosed with anything, but no one in my family is exactly neurotypical.

    "Ask me about my work!" my father says once my mom is finally done with¡­ whatever she was saying. I just kind of made noises at her and pretended to listen.

    "Honey, we''re about to start eating," my mother protests, dropping some pancakes on my plate. Mmm. At least I get pancakes.

    "Aw, this one''s not that gross," he insists. "A man came in the other day, he must have been late twenties, early thirties? And he still had a bunch of baby teeth because of an impacted canine that grew in sideways and blocked off an incisor as well. A real big one! His other canine came in fine and it was like a damn vampire fang on the left side of his mouth, but the right was just a worn-away baby! Barely longer than its neighbors. It struck quite the amusing contrast."

    Huh. I wonder if vampires are real. My guess would be no; magic is real, sure, but the one magical creature I know of (me) is nothing like any urban fantasy novels I''ve read. Whatever magic secret society that probably exists keeps a tight lid on stuff, I''ll bet.

    "He''s probably the one that gave you COVID," mom grunts.

    I let the two of them carry the conversation, taking advantage of their distraction to quickly lift up my mask and sneak a bite of delicious, syrupy pancake into¡­ my¡­ mouth. Huh. This batch doesn''t seem as good today, for some reason.

    ¡­No. No! Do I not like pancakes anymore!? I take it all back! Curse you, horrible monster transformation! Curse you a thousand times! You have given me my limbs, but you have taken away my love!? How could you ever¡ªooh, wait, mom''s also making sausage. She plops some on my plate and I gobble it down, the savory flavor¡ªor ''umami,'' as dad would call it¡ªmultiplied a hundredfold and firing off every endorphin generator in my brain. Okay monster transformation, I forgive you. Feel free to return to your regularly-scheduled ruining of my life.

    My brother wanders downstairs shortly afterwards, yawning and plopping himself into the chair next to me without so much as a hello. Which I''m perfectly okay with. My little brother and I are about as opposite as they come: he''s tall, I''m short, he''s athletic, I''m nerdy, he''s tan, I''m pale, he''s talkative, I''m quiet. He doesn''t even have any interest in video games, which I think is a big ripoff. A sibling that I could play Super Smash Bros. with would be awesome, but nope. Somehow, the girl of the family is the gamer, and the boy of the family is the gossipy asshole.

    It''s fine, though. Now that he''s here, he can take all the attention off of me. Mom grills him for information harder than she grills the sausages, but at least she still cooks enough for me to get extras. A lot of extras. I wish there were eggs, too, but¡­ well, I ate them all yesterday. I have no idea what I''m going to eat tomorrow, but I''ll figure that out when it happens. I hate how thankful I am that dad catching a potentially deadly disease means I can get away with wearing a mask at the breakfast table. Before this transformation started I''d probably be freaking out at the idea of someone in my family being sick. I really don''t want to catch the plague, and I have no idea why everyone else seems so laissez-faire about the whole thing.

    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.

    "I''ll be getting us some of the saliva tests from work to make sure none of us are infected," my mother comments. "But for now just stay out of the same room as your father."

    "A whole forced vacation and no one to spend it with!" my dad laments. "Nobody make any judgy comments about our Netflix history this week, I''m going to be desperate."

    I was already going to be desperately avoiding my whole family, but now I just have an additional reason to. I feel like my mom and brother aren''t going to be quite so diligent about not spreading things around. They''re certainly not wearing masks indoors. ¡­Though I guess they''re not dealing with their teeth mutating either. Still, though!

    I glance at my phone to check the time, and decide it''s close enough to when the bus arrives at the stop for me to be able to politely excuse myself. I wait for my family to be distracted and shove the rest of my food into my mouth at once, pancakes and sausages together, but when I try to close my jaw I realize two things: I just unhinged my jaw, and my teeth aren''t designed for chewing anymore. I''m forced to swallow the entire mass of cake and flesh whole, causing me to make a weird involuntary grunting noise in the process. My brother turns my way so I quickly turn my back to him and grab some water to wash it all down with before getting my disguise back in place. I continue to pretend not to see him as I grab my backpack and make for the door, my face burning red.

    "You heading out, Hannahgator?" my dad asks. "You can use my car if you want."

    I blink. Huh. I guess he''s not going to be driving to work, is he? But¡­ agh, I don''t wanna leave Brendan alone on the bus.

    "I think I''ll take the bus to school, but I''ll drive myself to work tonight if that''s okay?" I hedge.

    "Of course that''s okay," he agrees. "You''re not going to be able to get to work otherwise."

    "Right. Yeah, that makes sense."

    "Love you, Hannah!" my dad calls out.

    "Love you too," I call back, guilt clawing at my heart since I know that''s a lie. I desperately wish it wasn''t, but it is.

    I exit the house and immediately realize I''m an idiot for denying the car. I could just drive to the bus stop and pick Brendan up myself. And then we''d have a car to go out to eat with! Stupid, stupid, stupid. I didn''t think about that, I just kind of instinctively didn''t like the idea of driving to school for some reason.

    I guess it''s just not my usual routine.

    I meet up with Brendan at the bus stop, give him the bad news about my dad, and let him know my finger-claws finished growing in. More importantly than that, though, I tell him about my super awesome amazing cleaning spell.

    "Of course you''d be more excited about getting one-sixth of prestidigitation than everything else that''s been happening to you," Brendan comments dryly.

    Wh¡­ the nerve of him!

    "Hey!" I protest. "My magic is way more awesome than a fractional cantrip! Get me a bag of Skittles and I''ll instantly sort them all by flavor into separate little baggies."

    He opens his mouth to respond, then closes it, then opens it again.

    "...Shit, okay, that is pretty good," Brendan admits.

    "Right!?"

    "Now I''m just imagining a goddess showing up and being told to sort candy for you," he muses. "Imagine how that would feel."

    "Oh, I mean, I can''t actually summon her for this spell yet. I haven''t named it, and she only shows up if you speak a spell''s name."

    "...So the whole car incident is even more unnecessary than it already was?"

    "Shut up! It was an accident!"

    We depart the bus still engaged in friendly bickering, parting ways soon afterwards. I really need to get around to showing off my recent monster parts to him, but unfortunately I''m working today. I guess I could probably get today off if I call in saying my dad has COVID, but I don''t have any symptoms so that feels like it''s just me being lazy. Arguably, I should stay home just because of the risk that I might transfer COVID to a customer, but I haven''t even looked at my dad without an N95 on for over a week. I seriously doubt I''ve gotten anywhere close to catching it, but I''m still really, really scared that I will.

    ¡­Actually, wait. Can I catch COVID? I''m like, half bug person, and I''m slowly becoming more and more of a bug person every day. COVID barely affects other mammals and it conclusively can''t infect invertebrates, birds, reptiles, or amphibians. I guess I''m technically still more mammal than anything else, since I still have hair and breasts and stuff. ¡­Aw, geez, I didn''t think about that. I''m becoming less and less of a mammal! I hope my bazoingas don''t fall off, I really like them.

    My day is pretty boring until gym class happens, because gym class means I have to change into gym clothes, and changing into gym clothes means I have to take clothing off. Fortunately, I am super smart, and I prepared for this. Gym clothing has to be a t-shirt and shorts, plus a sports bra if I don''t want my aforementioned badonkadonks to get sore. Normally I''d change into all of that at school because I don''t like wearing sports bras all day, but to minimize the risk I''ll be changing that habit on gym days. At some point I''m gonna have extra limbs poking out of my body, and I''ll definitely not be wanting to take my shirt off anymore. So my sports bra and t-shirt are already underneath my long-sleeved shirt, so I just have to take the latter off. Swapping from pants to shorts is a little risky, but it''s fine for now: my thigh socks go well above the spot where my leg is mutating, so as long as they don''t fall down too much I should be golden!

    Confident in the iron-clad guarantee of normalcy my exceptional planning skills have granted me, I step into the girl''s locker room without worry and almost immediately get all thoughts yeeted clean out of my skull when I spot Autumn changing her shirt. She¡­ she has abs. Oh my god she has girl abs, oh geez oh frick oh no I want to put my face on them aaaaaaa!

    My plan forgot to account for how gay I am. Rookie mistake. Autumn''s normal outfits are always so bland, I never really got the impression that she was buff underneath them. It''s not the gross kind of buff that ignores the fact that humans need body fat in order to be healthy, and women need more body fat to be healthy than men do. Autumn doesn''t have abs that look like tank treads, you couldn''t grate cheese on them or whatever. But she''s very obviously toned. Easily on par with someone from a varsity sports team. She''s not on any teams, though. She''s not in any clubs, as far as I know. But who cares, the important thing is that I did not expect her to be this hot! She tricked me!

    Her shirt drops over her tummy, cutting off my view and shocking my brain back into functionality. Shoot, agh! I can''t get caught ogling, that''d be so embarrassing!

    "Oh, hey Hannah," Autumn greets me. "Need something?"

    "Buh?" I ask.

    "Hmm? Oh, sorry, I thought you were staring at me," she says.

    I can feel my face about to turn red, so I quickly turn away and shake my head rapidly.

    "N-no! Nope! No, I just¡­ got really distracted there, sorry!" I lie terribly. "Haven''t been getting enough sleep lately, I guess. Haha."

    "Right," Autumn answers flatly. "Well if you''re not about to start getting blood all over the place again, I''m gonna go line up."

    "Nope! No blood today so far!" I squeak.

    "How reassuring," she grunts, then steps past me and out of the locker room. I quickly get changed according to plan and follow her. Class starts soon after, and we do our stretches before starting a warm-up jog. Both feel very, very strange to me. For reasons that I suppose should be obvious, my exoskeletal leg is noticeably less flexible than my purely-skin-covered leg, and by the same token I can''t really strain the exoskeletal leg all that much. When it reaches the edge of its ability to rotate, it''s because two chunks of bone-chitin have clonked up against each other and are no longer able to budge, no matter how hard I try. The act of stretching it at all feels somewhat pointless, since I''m just kind of¡­ not stretching it. But of course, I go through the motions anyway. The worst part is when I get a piece of lint stuck inside my joint, which itches like crazy and feels really, really uncomfortable. I immediately cheat a bit and clean it out with magic, shuddering at the alien feeling of it sliding around inside me.

    The jog gets to me because I just feel lopsided. My mutated leg is much stronger than my normal leg, and while it''s not too difficult to tone it down to normal human levels to match, I don''t want to tone it down at all. My body wants to leap with every other step, pushing me harder so I can feel the wind rush past me. I do my best to ignore the urge, sticking to what I feel like is a normal pace for me as I watch Autumn run. I never really paid much attention to her before, but she''s pretty solidly near the front of the pack, huh? The track team outruns her but that''s pretty much it. That''s really cool. She starts getting close to lapping me, and I''m not really feeling all that tired so I do my best to speed up, letting her get close to passing me and then matching her so I can chat for a bit.

    "Don''t take this the wrong way," I huff, "But I never expected a fellow book nerd to also be super active!"

    Autumn glances at me and opts to slow down slightly to help me keep pace. Which is nice of her, even if I don''t really feel like I need to.

    "Uh, yeah," she agrees, giving me an oddly searching look. "What can I say, I''m multifaceted. Did you need something?"

    "I, uh, was just wondering if you''d given any more thought to the thing I asked you about at lunch," I say sheepishly. "No rush! I know you said you wanted time to think about it, but¡­ uh, y''know."

    She grimaces.

    "I¡­ had forgotten, actually," Autumn admits. "Sorry. Ask me again at lunch?"

    "Oh, no problem," I assure her. "Um¡­ do you wanna partner up for all the partner stuff today? We''re playing volleyball, right?"

    "We are," Autumn confirms. "Hmm. No offense, but¡­ are you also a book nerd that''s super active? I don''t want to do everything at a reduced pace."

    Hmm. I''m still not feeling tired, and we''ve run nearly a half mile.

    "Go ahead and speed up," I challenge her. "I may not be as buff as you, but I''m faster than I look."

    "Hmm," she mutters doubtfully. "Okay."

    We start to speed up, and I do my best to keep pace without my form getting too weird. It''s a lot easier than I expected. Did I not get any external changes today because I''m getting internal changes instead? I guess I don''t really have any way to know. I just have to be careful about overheating and/or accidentally letting my socks slip. They''re doing a good job of staying up so far, at least.

    "So," I comment idly, my breath finally starting to huff a bit. "You work out, huh?"

    "You were looking at me," Autumn accuses, though she at least seems amused rather than grossed out. That does nothing to prevent my face from getting red, of course.

    "I¡­ I''m just curious!" I protest. "You''re nice and I want to get to know you! You don''t really seem to have any other friends, which makes you all mysterious and junk."

    "Maybe I just don''t want any friends," Autumn grunts.

    "Pfft, okay Sasuke Uchiha," I snort.

    She just gives me a weird look.

    "Wh¡­ what?" I protest. "Have you not seen Naruto? I don''t even like anime and I''ve seen Naruto."

    "Mm-hmm," she mutters. "Well if you''re really dying to know, I do martial arts. Self-defense stuff."

    "Oh!" I grin. "That''s super cool! Is that why you were busy after school yesterday?"

    She gives me another weird look, distinctly different from the first and completely incomprehensible to me. Gah, am I doing something wrong? Is my disguise slipping!? No, no, everything seems to be in place. It''s just me, normal human Hannah, doing normal human things with my fellow normal humans.

    "Yeah," Autumn eventually confirms. "That''s what I was doing after school yesterday."

    "Nnnneat," I say, snapping the T a little as my mind screams a mile a minute. Autumn''s always a little weird, but I feel like I''m missing something big that I just absolutely do not see at all.

    Autumn is¡­ not very talkative for the rest of gym class, which my anxiety interprets as an abject failure on my part. I don''t even know why I''m doing this. Trying to be friends with someone because I have a crush and want to date them is a little bit¡­ ugh. Like, I''m just setting myself up for heartbreak, aren''t I? There''s like a ninety percent chance she''s straight, and even if she''s gay she''s not going to want to date a gosh dang bug monster! I should really just leave her alone.

    ¡­Or so I tell myself, but after Autumn and I part ways and I get through my third class of the day, lunch rolls around and I find my feet taking me to the library. I ended up eating in a bathroom stall again, so Autumn is already there when I arrive, her nose buried in the little notebook she''s always looking at and scribbling stuff in.

    "Um¡­ hey, Autumn," I greet her awkwardly.

    She jolts, briefly giving me a wide-eyed look before she seems to figure out words again.

    "Hannah. Hi."

    Well, she figured out a couple words, anyway.

    "Hi," I say. "Um¡­ is it okay if I sit?"

    "Oh, uh, yeah," she confirms, motioning to the seat across from her. "Feel free."

    "Sure, thanks," I agree, sliding stiffly into the chair. We stare at each other for a bit, and I can''t help but ask. "Did I make things awkward in gym class?"

    "What?" she asks. "No? I mean, I don''t think so?"

    "Oh. That''s good."

    Another awkward pause descends. I''m tempted to pull out some homework and start it, but I feel like the conversation isn''t really finished. It''s just delayed.

    "...Does Saturday work for you?" Autumn suddenly asks.

    "Huh?" I blink.

    "Saturday," she repeats. "I thought about it, like you asked me to. Do you want to go to the mall Saturday?"

    Do I have work Saturday? Oh shoot I don''t. I''m free that day. We can go and get new outfits. Me and Autumn. Er, Autumn and I? Cute girl with abs and idiot bug. I bet she could pick me up really easily.

    "Um¡­ sure," I manage to force my mouth to say. "That sounds awesome. Thanks."

    "Cool," she says quietly. "I''m, uh, really bad at shopping though. Just a fair warning."

    "I bet I''m worse," I admit. "Don''t worry about it."

    She chuckles a little, and it''s so cute it almost hurts. I don''t really see her smile much, but she definitely looks better that way. I hope I can make her smile more and more. Although¡­ maybe I should be more careful about that, thinking back on our conversation in gym.

    "Hey, uh, I kind of made fun of it at the time, but¡­ were you serious when you said you didn''t want any friends?" I ask.

    She stiffens up immediately, and I almost regret asking, but¡­ well. Communication is important, and friends don''t let friends say vaguely cryptic red flags about depression without offering a bit of support.

    "I, um¡­ I suppose that sounds like something I might say," she mutters bitterly.

    "Yeah, I made a joke out of it at the time, but that was probably rude of me, thinking back," I admit.

    She shrugs.

    "It''s fine," she says. "Please don''t worry about it."

    Shoot. That was definitely the kind of ''it''s fine'' that means ''it''s not fine,'' wasn''t it? Do I know her well enough to press on this? ¡­Ugh, no, I don''t think so. I want to be her friend, but we''ve only met a handful of times now. Maybe if the d¡ªthe friendly outing goes well, I''ll feel comfortable pushing. For now, I feel like it''s best to back off and just be there if she wants to open up. Maybe continue the conversation in a different direction.

    "I have¡­ one and a half friends, I think," I admit. "The half-friend is Ida. I don''t know if you know her, but we got in an argument and we''re not really talking right now, but I think she''ll come around. My best friend is Brendan, we''ve been pals since elementary school. But that''s pretty much it. I don''t really reach out to other people at all."

    A pang of guilt stabs at me as I realize I do, in fact, have three other friends: Teboho, Kagiso, and Sindri. I haven''t known them long, but they''re undoubtedly my friends. Still, I can''t really talk about them here.

    "You''re reaching out to me," Autumn points out. "I''m honestly surprised you haven''t already decided I''m a weirdo and stopped trying."

    "Uh¡­ well, I like that you''re a weirdo, I guess?" I admit. "I''m also a huge weirdo. Like, probably way weirder than you think. I think weird is good. And like, sure, you don''t talk much, but that just means you''re not flapping your mouth when you don''t have anything to say."

    "That''s hardly the strangest thing about me," Autumn protests.

    "Well, I look forward to learning what else there is!" I insist. "My eyes just glaze over when normal people bond over normal things, it doesn''t mesh with me at all. I don''t know why, I just¡­ can''t focus on anything outside my own little zones of interest, I guess. Like¡­ Pok¨¦mon, or tabletop games, or fantasy novels, or¡­ you, I guess!"

    She blushes a little. Actually blushes. What? Oh god did I just flirt? I didn''t mean to flirt! Aaah!

    "I''m one of your zones of interest?" she presses.

    Code red! Code red! Abort, abort!

    "Uhh, that¡­ kind of came out wrong," I stumble over my words, my mouth feeling dry. I can''t believe I said that, aaagh! "I just¡­ I mean you''ve been really nice to me. Helping me clean up blood and stuff. You do martial arts. You''re cool. So¡­ I wanna hang out with you more."

    Another unreadable expression flashes over her face, but she quickly buries it in a book, no longer looking at me. Did I make it too weird? Or¡­ is she also¡­?

    "So¡­ Saturday is good?" she mumbles.

    "Um¡­ yeah," I agree. "Saturday is good."

    The rest of my day is just a blur of me trying not to let out a squeal of lesbian triumph. I know my gaydar is made out of two broken toothpicks and a slice of cheese, but if she''s maybe, possibly also in the same boat I am, that would just¡­ aaaah! No. No, calm down, Hannah. You''re reading too much into things. The only interpersonal thing you''re insightful about is noticing when someone is trying to deflect away from a serious problem, and the only reason you''re good at that is because you''ve used all those techniques first.

    I''m just¡­ projecting, probably. I can figure things out once I get more data from the shopping mall trip. It''s way too early to be fantasizing about touching our foreheads together, or getting to feel her biceps, or biting into the meat of her thighs and letting her blood run down my throat. I want to hold her close and dig my claws into her back, I¡­ I''m going to take a cold shower when I get home. Holy carp on a hook, those are not good fantasies to have! That would kill her, you stupid brain! What the heck!

    ¡­I''m never going to be able to have a relationship, am I?

    Maybe I can cancel the shower. That thought is plenty chilling on its own. None of this matters, does it? The friendship doesn''t matter, the maybe-date doesn''t matter, Autumn''s sexuality doesn''t matter. I''m not going to be human long enough to enjoy it. I do my best to hide it, to forget about it, but what''s happening to me isn''t going to go away. The threat of being outed won''t vanish. I am a monster and I''m becoming more monstrous all the time. It doesn''t matter if I hate it or enjoy it, it''s going to happen and I might not even be the same person when I come out the other side. Autumn isn''t a potential date, not really. She''s just another distraction, and before long that won''t be enough.

    I hug myself tight, clutching my triceps so hard I almost puncture my gloves with my claws. What''s going to happen to me, when the world finds out? Just thinking the question is enough to make my good mood die on the vine. For a while there, I was really starting to believe I didn''t mind the idea of being a monster. It''s scary, but also exciting. It feels like me, in some way that being human somehow doesn''t. It''s right and I like it, so why¡­ why am I afraid again?

    I guess no matter how much I''m okay with being a monster, I''m still mortally terrified of being a freak.

 18. Guilt

    A freak. An outcast. A pariah. That''s the core of my fear, isn''t it? Sure, there are people who will accept me for what I am. There are people that already do. But society as a whole? No. Definitely not.

    It''s similar to being gay, really. I do not live in what I would describe as a queer-friendly community, so I keep my mouth shut about it. Does that mean that the average person on the street would attack me if they saw me kissing a girl? Probably not. A good chunk of people won''t care in the slightest. A good chunk would be happy to see it, even. But a good chunk of people, my family included, would glower judgmentally at me, complain about the sin of the youth, and be just a little bit angrier the next time they go chat with their friends¡­ or go to the polls.

    And in the wrong parts of the wrong towns, yes, I absolutely might get attacked for it.

    For obvious reasons, I don''t want to deal with that. Even before this whole mutation problem, I was very purposefully trying to get through life without adding to my list of issues. It''s easier to just not think about it, to bury the thing people will hate me for deep down inside, to avoid the disdain and the ostracization by pretending I''m just like everyone else. I know not everyone does that. We had pride parades in town last June, even. Ida invited me to come with her to one and wow I thought she was making fun of me at the time, I could not have been more wrong. But the point is that I know I''m not trapped. There are people braver than me who created ways for me to safely come out. I just¡­ can''t. I don''t want to. I''m scared of stepping out of line, of the disapproval of my family, of being dragged to church every Sunday with that much more vitriol behind the expectant glare of my parents. I can''t¡­ no. That''s a lie. I could handle it. I know that. I just don''t want to. I wish I didn''t have to make this decision at all.

    Honestly, I hate being a lesbian.

    If I could just be straight and date my best friend and live a normal life, that would be awesome. I mean, for a certain kind of normal life. I get that I''m weird even without the gay stuff and the turning-into-a-monster stuff, but it''s it''s not the same. Nerdy girls that barely talk to anybody unless it''s about video games or fantasy novels, who don''t like going out and don''t fit in with any cliques and don''t bother remembering the names of most of their classmates are weird, sure, but it''s a different kind of weird. A socially acceptable kind of weird. ''Eccentric,'' I think the word is. Sure, I''d probably have more friends if I wasn''t introverted, or geeky, or fashion-ignorant, but all of those things are still okay to be in society. All of those are things my family and community can forgive. Being gay isn''t, so that''s what I end up crying about in my room.

    I feel like a traitor to the queer community for thinking this way. These kinds of feelings are exactly why ''pride'' is emphasized, because we''re raised in a culture that has been trained for generations to shame. I know, intellectually, that there''s nothing wrong with me. That my family''s bigotry doesn''t make me a lesser person. That the things I''ve been taught by a religion I don''t believe in do not dictate my reality, and that it is okay to be who I am. But my emotions don''t care. I still feel the shame of being other. I still feel the fear of being a sheep in wolf''s clothing, surrounded by the pack. I hate it. It''s not fair. I should have never had to deal with any of this. And now it''s worse, because my body is giving society even more of a reason to think I''m a monster.

    If I start walking around as openly homosexual in this town, I''ll be hated. If I start walking around as openly inhuman, I''m pretty sure I''ll be shot. Not by anyone I know, and not right away, but there''s no doubt in my mind that somebody in this town is a crazy, neo-confederate bastard with no doubts as to my lack of personhood and ready access to plenty of methods to relieve me of it anyway. I''m sure I can convince my family that I''m still Hannah, and I''m sure they''d be on my side, but only in that very particular way that they''re always ''on my side.'' Which is to say they''d try to bring me to their side, dictating everything I do because they know better, insisting on having control of the situation and¡ªmost frighteningly¡ªdoing their best to remove me from the situation entirely.

    They would view what''s happening to me as a problem, and they''d only be right because they''d make it one.

    My grip tightens on the broom in my hands as my claws dig deep into the thick soles of my shoes. Without really thinking about it, I let out a low hiss, as if trying to intimidate the crumbs on the floor. I''m at work now, the rest of the school day having not been all that exciting. Somewhat predictably, though, thinking about all this garbage has put me in a bad mood. It isn''t helped by the fact that my boss gave me a bunch of crap for wearing gloves.

    I can''t really blame him though, since he''s just doing his job. Gloves and food service have a tricky relationship, to say the least. Food safety protocols are complicated, and in many cases purposefully excessive. Which is a reasonable policy, if I''m being honest. Lazy teenagers comprise a pretty large percentage of food service workers, and the amount of times I''ve seen my coworkers casually disregard the health code is frankly rather terrifying. By holding everyone to a ridiculously high standard, they prevent the vast majority of inevitable slip-ups from actually hurting anybody.

    So! Gloves. Common wisdom would suggest that you want food service workers to wear gloves. And oftentimes, you do! Hands are gross. But while the gloves I wear to hide the fact that my fingers are powerful, deadly weapons are pretty stylish (if I do say so myself), from a health perspective they are significantly more gross than my bare hands because they aren''t designed to be washed in a sink.

    Gloves in food service are only sanitary if they are disposable gloves, and only if they are actually disposed of and replaced often. Wearing gloves prevents dirty hands from touching food, but it does not prevent dirty gloves from touching food, and it''s often more difficult to notice when gloves are dirty than when hands are dirty. My workplace actually doesn''t want us to wear gloves at all most of the time, preferring that we use tongs and ladles and what-have-you to keep our hands away from the food completely. As such, it''s against company policy to wear the kind of gloves I''m currently wearing at all, even if I''m not working in the kitchen. It''s a uniform violation, one I had to get around by insisting to my boss that I have some really gross crap growing on my hands that I thought customers would be concerned about seeing, which is technically true. The compromise is that, when I step foot in the kitchen, I have to wear disposable gloves over my normal gloves and change them out often.

    Honestly, it''s not that big of a deal, really. My boss wasn''t happy about it, but I''ve earned enough brownie points by being a good worker that he''s willing to let it slide. I''m technically violating company policy, but as long as I use disposable gloves properly I''m not violating the health code, and that''s a compromise he is begrudgingly willing to make for me. I still hated needing to have the conversation at all. Needing to draw attention to myself, needing to be an exception to the rules that all my coworkers will at some point ask about or find out about. And the worst part is that it''s all unnecessary, it''s all performative. My gloves will never be dirty again, not unless I choose to let them be.

    Though that thought is a bit annoying, it makes me smile a little, too. I love my cleaning spell. I could start using it right now and make this restaurant cleaner than the day it opened. I won''t, but I could, and something about that makes me very happy. I sweep efficiently away at the floor, tidying up the dining room just in time for another customer to come in and return my focus to the register. I may not have been thinking about very pleasant things today, but I''m glad I''ve been thinking about them. The customer is a regular, an annoying and belligerent one, but I patiently help them anyway, recording their ridiculous order and all the off-menu peculiarities that we never complain about to their face. We have a lot of strange regulars that order difficult-to-make things, but no one ever grumbles about the ones that are actually nice to us. Funny how that works.

    I wish that people would accept the weird parts about me as long as I''m nice enough. Maybe I could find some pride for who I am, if that were true.

    A lump starts to form in my throat and I swallow it down, trying to will away the uncontrolled burst of depression I feel coming. As usual, my emotions brazenly defy me. No, no, no! Don''t start crying now! I''m busy, I''m working, I''m in a professional environment! My shift just started, we''re not even at the dinner rush yet, I can''t fall apart already!

    The tears start to drop. Silently, without looking at any of my co-workers, I quickly turn a hundred and eighty degrees and walk into the back room, where my manager is sitting at the store''s computer and looking at his phone.

    "Hannah?" he asks, looking up and noticing my tears the moment my name leaves his lips. His eyes go wide. I pretend not to see his facial expression.

    "Could you man the front for a little bit?" I ask quietly, forcing my voice not to waver.

    "Yeah," he says, nodding once and getting up to do just that. I collapse into the chair and start to sob. My coworkers will probably all think I was driven to tears by that jerk of a customer, even though I''ve dealt with him a hundred times and I deal with him well. They''re going to think I''m emotional and weak. They''re going to be right, even if for the wrong reasons.

    I banish those thoughts from my mind. I barely know them and shouldn''t care what they think. I care anyway, but I shouldn''t. My focus right now needs to be pulling myself together. I take deep, slow breaths, each of them shaky and accompanied by the wetness of my cheeks. I try not to think about how my life is going to fall apart, how I''ll have to live as a sideshow freak if I even get to keep living at all, and focus on those breaths. Keep them even. Calm myself down. Through sheer force of will, I start getting the tears to halt. I brought my backpack to work today, and I''ll keep bringing my backpack to work in case I need any of the supplies I''ve been stuffing it with. I pull out a small hand mirror once I have a bit more control of myself, and to my dismay I find my makeup smeared and messy. It''s not too bad, not enough for most people to notice, but any other women that get a good look at my face will be able to tell I''ve been crying. I don''t have a makeup kit in my backpack, though. I''ll need to buy a portable one for when I inevitably need it to cover up my skin falling off, but I guess for now I''ll have to head to the bathroom and wash it all off. Better no makeup than smeared makeup, no matter how light it happens to be. It annoys me. The placement of makeup is important, that''s a big part of why it works. It''s subtle, that''s the point. Even people who can''t tell why it''s wrong will get the feeling that something is wrong. It can''t function if it''s¡­ disorderly.

    Huh. I wonder if¡­

    A twist of will and a pleasant thrum of power later, I watch the smeared cosmetics return themselves to how they were before, the extra salt and water from my tears separating from the compounds and evaporating back into the air. The makeup looks better than when I put it on this morning. I smile.

    I seriously have the best spell ever.

    I take in a deep breath and let it out in a refreshing huff, putting my hand mirror away and returning to the front to get back to work. I assure my boss I''m okay when he asks, and the rest of my shift proceeds fairly normally. No more outbursts, no more tears. I only fantasize about killing three different customers, but that probably isn''t even the monster thing. I asked the girl running the other register and she admitted to wanting to strangle five.

    Fantasizing about eating them though, that''s probably the monster thing. I get over the urge by stealing some raw chicken from the walk-in fridge and slurping it down. It''s all slimy from the marinade but I pretend it''s blood and that makes things more fun. I don''t even have to worry about getting messy anymore! It''s kind of weird how standing in the fridge doesn''t really feel cold anymore, though.

    ¡­I really, really hope my immune system is up for dealing with raw foods, because I''ve had weird teeth for like, a few days, and I''m already addicted to ripping apart uncooked meat with them. It''s just not the same when the meat is cooked, there''s no¡­ pop, if that makes sense. There''s no moment between not enough pressure to penetrate and then enough, where you suddenly break through all at once, like biting into an apple but more¡­ soft? Even? It doesn''t resist being pierced because of skin, but because it''s bending to absorb the force, I guess. It''s hard to describe, but there''s nothing else quite like it. The feeling of cutting it apart, of letting my teeth slide through the flesh, is completely different when the food is cooked. Tender meat is easier to chew for pathetic omnivore teeth, but I like mine tough and dripping. It''s satisfying on a much more primal level than simple flavor.

    Also nice is that it means I can eat the restaurant''s chicken without paying for it and without anyone suspecting that I''m the reason for the shortage, since no one will ever see me cook the stuff. Woo for stealing from soulless corporations! ¡­Exclusively in ways that can''t be traced back to me, of course. I''m a hungry, hungry lesbian, not a revolutionary.

    With that as the highlight of my night, I eventually drive myself home and scoot into bed. I''m still not feeling great, all things considered, and while I''d normally be happy to get to sleep for that reason¡ªone of the absolute best cures for bad days is a good night''s sleep, after all¡ªI don''t get that sort of luxury anymore. My bad night will carry over as a bad morning in the other world, because my day never really ends anymore. Still, though, a change of scenery might help, not to mention getting to wake up surrounded by friends.

    Or more accurately, wake up with a friend surrounding me. When my eyes close on Earth, my eyes are already open on the Mother Tree thanks to my complete lack of eyelids. Of course, I still can''t see anything, because I''m snuggled up deep inside Kagiso''s bedroll, with three of her arms wrapped around me and hugging me tight against her chest. I adjust my legs slightly, all too aware of how the minute movements press up against her fuzzy boobs. Damn. I''m finally getting to touch another woman''s breasts, and I don''t even have the libido to appreciate it.

    Thankfully, I can still appreciate every other part of this situation. The way the bedroll ecompasses me is delightful to my burrowing instincts, and the joy of cuddling a friend I care for and trust with my life is possibly all the more vibrant now that I''m not distracted with thoughts of sex. The warmth of Kagiso''s fluffy arms around me is one of the most profoundly comfortable things I''ve had the pleasure of experiencing, so I''m more than content to just stay still and enjoy letting her sleep.

    The sheer comfort of the moment makes me happy to not have hormones making things weird, but unfortunately the moment I have that thought I''m brought back to thinking about how I resent my sexuality. I''ve always struggled to make friends, but being attracted to or the object of unwanted attraction from any potential candidates made that struggle all the more difficult. It''s a big part of what trained my brain to avoid physical contact with people: it makes me feel like a total creep. Just brushing shoulders with another girl would set my heart fluttering, and that always started up a chain of self-loathing which contributed to my distance from everyone else. It''s certainly not all of it, I''m sure I''d still be an incorrigable introvert if I was straight or asexual or whatever, but it''s still another thing to add to the pile. I hate how just having an upcoming maybe-date is forcing all these thoughts back into my head. I shouldn''t have bothered with¡ªurk!

    I twitch with surprise as Kagiso suddenly gives me a firm squeeze, prompting me to phase a few legs into 4D space to avoid them getting crushed. She starts mumbling something in her sleep in a language I can''t understand, and I stay still for a moment before hesitantly bringing my legs back to wrap them around her arms and torso. I squeeze her back, and she quiets down, returning to restful sleep.

    A warm feeling bubbles through my body and, on a whim, I start stroking a claw through her hair. It''s so weird how quickly I''ve warmed up to Kagiso, considering all my hangups. Sindri and Teboho, too, though neither of them are insisting on cuddling me to sleep so it''s a much less extreme example. Maybe it''s because they keep saving my life? As reasons to trust people go, that''s a pretty damn good one. Whatever it is, though, I''m glad for it. I''m glad that my friend group has basically doubled thanks to this other world. I''m glad there are more people in my life that I can touch and talk to and joke with and enjoy being around. This world is crazy and terrifying, but I''m really starting to love it thanks to my friends. If only Brendan could be here. He''d love it, too.

    ¡­Gosh dang it, I''m introspective lately. I don''t like it. Let''s think about something else. Uhh¡­ according to the one-half rule, the fact that dentron have four breasts means that their average litter size is two, but having up to four children at once wouldn''t be uncommon. So it''s pretty likely that Kagiso and Teboho are twins. It''s also fairly likely they''re triplets or quadruplets, and their other siblings are just dead. Oh geez. I¡­ don''t know if I should ask them about that. Probably not? Wait, was Kagiso having nightmares earlier? Is that why she keeps wanting to cuddle with me at night? Oh no poor baby.

    I squeeze her a little tighter, eliciting a small, happy noise from the sleeping fuzzball. She gets to cuddle me as much as she needs to, ding dang it. In the meantime, I distract myself by keeping tabs on the camp with my spatial sense rather than trying to think about more things. Thinking has been somewhat of a loser''s game today.

    It''s easy enough to find Teboho, snoring away in his bedroll as he is. At least he doesn''t seem to be dreaming. Sindri, meanwhile, seems to be¡­ talking to a bird? Hmm. That''s probably a normal thing for a person to do if they''re an animal tamer. The owl-like creature looks large enough to pick me up and fly away with me, though it''s hard to be afraid of it with how happily it''s gobbling down chunks of shredded starhydra meat pinched between Sindri''s fingers. I wonder if this is one of the birds Sindri is using to track the chaos mage or if it''s a¡­ ''new hire,'' so to speak. Hopefully it didn''t have to get run down like I was, but Sindri mentioned that his power is intended for animals rather than people anyway, so it''s probably a lot more effective on them. It''s kind of strange that it worked on me at all, but I suppose I''m a bit¡­ animalistic. It sucks that people keep assuming I''m not a person, but I guess I can''t really blame them for that. I definitely have ''weird critter'' vibes.

    Since I''m awake anyway and Sindri seems a bit distracted, I turn my focus to keeping watch on the camp perimeter, settling into a familiar watch routine. I only realize it''s morning when Sindri puts out the last embers of the campfire and heads into Teboho''s tent to wake him up. The bird is long gone. I hope for a moment that he lets Kagiso rest, but unfortunately he''s tapping on the outside of our tent flap right afterwards and Kagiso''s long ears perk up instantly, rousing her from slumber. She pats my carapace good morning and extracts herself from the bedroll, leaving me to begrudgingly follow. I scuttle up her leg and onto her head as she exits the tent.

    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

    Teboho waves and says something that I can actually parse as ''good morning, you two!'' thanks to all the lessons I''ve been getting on the dentron language. I wave a leg back at him and he grins, the four of us coming together so Sindri can cast the mental communication spell on us. It''s a nice morning ritual, one that''s particularly welcome in this crazy world where my normal routine means absolutely nothing. It''s nice to start the day by joining hands with all of my trusted friends.

    ...And there we go, Sindri announces. Good morning, Hannah.

    Warm hat, Kagiso agrees happily.

    "Good morning, Hana!" Teboho says aloud. "You [gibberish] me, right?"

    All but one word, I answer. I''m far from fluent, but I''m starting to pick things up.

    "[Glibblegorble] fast!"

    I do my best to commit the sounds I don''t understand to memory so I can try to remember them from context before I answer.

    Yeah, I didn''t think I''d learn this quickly, I admit. Either my magic is helping me somehow, or more likely I think Sindri''s magic is.

    I couldn''t say for sure, Sindri admits. It''s definitely plausible, though. Sharing information between minds is well within the realm of Pneuma magic, and this communication spell is relatively new and unnamed. We tend to think our thoughts in our native languages, so whenever Kagiso and Teboho send you their thoughts you''re getting that information along with the meaning of the words. I can see that being a very effective teaching aid, but considering that you''re the first person who has attempted to learn a new language under the influence of this spell, I can''t say for sure.

    Yeah, we need more data points, I agree. It''s pretty darn useful if it does help, though. Learning a new language in a week and change is crazy.

    "You negative [glurpleburple] yet, Hana!" Teboho reminds me.

    ¡­But I haven''t finished learning yet, yeah, I agree. I''ll get it, though. I appreciate you all helping me out so much.

    "Think small of it!" Teboho assures me with a laugh. "You are being very pleasurable!"

    Um. Oh! He means I''m enjoyable to be around. Gah, I''ll have to mentally translate things less literally, as well.

    Well, we have a long day of walking ahead of us, Sindri reminds the team. So let''s get camp packed up and get to moving.

    We do¡ªor rather everyone else does, since I continue to be pretty useless at basic object manipulation¡ªand then we get walking. ¡­Which I guess is also just something that everyone else does. I need to find more ways to help out. I kind of wonder why they put up with me, now that I think about it. Are they just going to leave me in the city when we finally make it there? ¡­Well, I guess I''m not an entire human''s worth of logistics either. I don''t help very much, but I don''t really make their journey that much harder either, barring that time we were almost murdered. Still, they''re all going on a really dangerous journey. It''s weird that I''m tagging along when I barely even know how to fight.

    Oh. Wait. That''s why Sindri wanted me to go hunting. He wants me to practice killing. He wants me to fight the chaos mage for him. He wants me to murder another person. Am¡­ am I willing to do that? Even to the monster that slaughtered Kagiso and Teboho''s village, I''m not sure I can.

    I¡­ I guess that''s why I need practice? If I''m not going to bring anything but trouble to my friends, the least I can do is help them safely deal with a threat to their lives, not to mention countless other lives. I don''t realize how hard I''m gripping Kagiso''s head until she reaches up and scratches the base of one of my legs, letting out a quiet trill. I relax, resettling my weight. It''s okay. I''ll be okay. I''ll figure something out.

    Shortly into the walk we encounter a forest, and with Sindri having to trudge through the thick undergrowth on foot, I finally get a chance to walk under my own power rather than just ride. Kagiso, Teboho and I take to the trees while Sindri struggles below us, which gives me time to hunt. Kagiso purrs with approval as I successfully sneak up on and assassinate a fuzzy little friend noodle, gobbling it down and savoring the bloody meat. The furry snakes are surprisingly delicious! I expected all the hair to be a bit unappetizing, but nope, it''s still yummy. I gleefully hunt two more and eat them before Sindri eventually gets fed up with his slow progress and mind controls what looks like a giant tardigrade-sloth combo to clear the way for him. It also looks tasty, but since it''s currently an ally I guess I shouldn''t stab it through the skull and suck its brain out through the hole before tearing the rest of its flesh from its bones and oh my gosh I''m really hungry, why am I still this hungry after eating so many friend noodles? I''ve probably close to doubled my weight in food intake, not that I''m actually any heavier. ¡­Hmm. I''m gonna go eat more cute fuzzy snakes.

    Hours later, I decide to reinstate my usual position on Kagiso''s head after being electrocuted, immolated, splashed with acid, driven into a mindless terror by a cute little noodle song, and utterly flummoxed by a little fuzzy worm that just grew wings and flew away when I got close. Only the latter two actually stopped me from eating them, since the lightning and fire didn''t really hurt and the acid was easily cleaned off my body with my spell. Still, it served as an important reminder that potentially everything in this world is dangerous, no matter how cute or delicious.

    Which is why I could really use that aura sight spell, I remind Sindri. You''re not still mad at me for the blood in the waterskin, are you? I promise I''m really sorry.

    It wasn''t just blood in there, but alright, he acquiesces. I''ll quit being a grump and teach you. To use aura sight, it''s important that you first understand what aura is. Therein lies our first and largest obstacle: we don''t know.

    We don''t know? I repeat dumbly.

    Nope, Sindri confirms. We don''t know what aura is, beyond the fact that it only appears on creatures with souls. And we don''t have a great idea what souls are either, but they''re a lot easier to interact with so we can start there.

    Okay, I wanna stop you right there, I say. When you say the word ''soul,'' that''s being translated as a word in my language that has a lot of cultural baggage. Like, we''re talking ''the part of you that goes to the afterlife and lives forever when your body dies'' kind of cultural baggage. ''The part of you that is most truly and essentially you,'' cultural baggage. ''The ephemeral essence of a person that separates thinking beings from mindless apes,'' cultural baggage. Can I get some clarification here on how accurate that is?

    Hmm. A good chunk of it is, Sindri confirms. Souls are hardly exclusive to people, though, nearly every living thing has a soul.

    Souls are granted by the goddess the moment a living being takes their first breath, and they are returned to the goddess the moment a being takes their last, Teboho chimes in. That''s not merely a poetic turn of phrase, either. The first breath of a child summons her as surely as a spoken spell, wherein she takes that breath and fashions a spirit from it. It is thus via the soul that we interact with the divine, as the soul is inherently divine in nature.

    Uh, what about creatures that don''t breathe? I ask. Y''know, since I''m currently one of them.

    You still respirate, Sindri shrugs. The common wisdom for the trigger is an organism respirating under its own power rather than being supplied by its mother or an egg, though this is largely disproven by the existence of ensouled synthetic life forms.

    Woah, woah, what!? I ask. You guys have robots?

    Unfortunately, yes, Sindri grumbles. That''s not important right now. What is important is that¡ªdivine or not¡ªthe force responsible for magic is responsible for souls, and souls are extremely influential. Pneuma mages can manipulate them to affect your personality, and Death mages can communicate with the recently deceased, so the idea that your soul contains your personality and continues to retain it after death is a fairly compelling one. Best we can tell, the aura is just¡­ some sort of energy that a soul passively gives off. The stronger the mage, the larger their aura. The aura sight spell magically attunes your mind to detect the energy of whatever you''re currently focusing on. Calling it ''sight,'' however, is a bit of a misnomer. It''s a unique sense that most people equate to sight, but it''s¡­ odd. Difficult to describe. Foreknowledge of the experience thankfully isn''t required to learn the spell, but the odd sensory inputs do make things difficult to parse at first.

    I''m getting used to having weird new forms of observing the world that don''t seem to make any sense, I answer casually. I''m not too worried about it.

    Hmm, yes, I suppose using sight as a comparison would be a somewhat different metaphor for you, Sindri agrees, giving me an odd look while I pretend that I definitely was referring to sight when I said that, yep.

    ¡­Though I guess being able to see in three hundred and sixty degrees is pretty darn weird. On one hand it kind of feels like I just have way more peripheral vision than normal, but that''s not quite right. It''s more like I know I can focus on additional directions at once, but I''m so used to only focusing on one that I never do that without putting in the effort to. The rest of the time it feels more like I just have one eye that can rotate in whatever direction I want and kind of detect movement in whatever direction it isn''t looking. I guess my brain isn''t powerful enough to unconsciously handle all the sensory input yet.

    In any case, Sindri continues, Aura Sight is a powerful spell in its initial state. Because Aura reflects the soul, experienced and skilled users can discern a lot of information with this spell alone, watching fluctuations in the natural emissions of the soul to determine thoughts, moods, opinions, strengths, and weaknesses. You need to know this because it''s important you understand the nature of the spell itself, even if you''ll never be able to accomplish that sort of refined ability with it.

    Wait, I won''t? I ask. How come?

    Because your learning is third-hand and you aren''t even a Pneuma mage, Sindri answers. Spells are substantially weaker when taught rather than innate, and weaker still when taught by someone other than their originator, and the fact that you only have an adjacent affinity compounds both of those problems immensely. Your aura is so powerful you''ll be able to push raw strength through those maluses, but you''ll still only get the bare basics. My guess is you''ll only be able to manage viewing a single person at a time, and you''ll only get their affinities and maybe their relative strength.

    Geez, I sigh. That''s some stiff penalties. Learning a bunch of spells doesn''t sound like a great strategy when you put it like that.

    Mmm. It depends. Even a massively neutered version of Aura Sight grants you essential information: your target''s affinities. Thus, as long as you can cast it at all, there''s little reason not to find someone to teach it to you. A lot of spells are useful even without significant power behind them, so those are the ones that get passed around. Most people will charge exorbitant prices when teaching spells, of course. It''s a valuable resource, and time-consuming for the student and the teacher if you don''t want things to end in disaster.

    Uh¡­ disaster? I hedge.

    I doubt that''s a concern in this instance, Teboho protests.

    Teboho, do you have any idea what a Pneuma miscast can do to a person? Sindri snaps.

    Woah, woah, don''t fight! I yelp. We''ll do this the safe way, there''s no reason not to do this the safe way.

    Exactly, Sindri agrees. Thank you, Hannah.

    So, uh, what does a Pneuma miscast do? I ask hesitantly.

    I assure you that you don''t want to know, Sindri answers firmly.

    Yeah, okay, he''s right, I don''t want to know.

    Anyway, Sindri continues, you know the basics now, so most of the rest is getting a feel for the spell in action.

    Which means what? I ask.

    Paying attention while I cast the spell, Sindri answers simply. Exposure to the spell being used is statistically proven to increase your chances of success. So if you''ll come over here¡­

    He holds out his arm and I hop on, scuttling up to his shoulder.

    Just wait and get a feel for it, Sindri instructs. You won''t see anything. The spell won''t do anything to you. But the feeling of the invocation itself is something you should try to commit to memory. Cultivate an affinity for it over the course of a few weeks. Ready?

    Yep, I confirm.

    He takes a breath, and then the goddess takes it back, tasting the air from his lips with the same amusement as always. She acknowledges him for only a moment before switching to me, her attention stroking my carapace with equal parts affection and schadenfreude. She licks her nonexistent lips with a tongue of horrors and speaks the words Sindri meant to say.

    "Aura Sight."

    From my perspective, nothing else happens. Sindri presumably feels the effects of the spell. The goddess, however, does not leave. Her gaze remains on me, crushing me from without and within, playful and expecting. Inviting me. Daring me, almost. It''s tacit permission, and while I''m curious why she''s extending it I''m far more terrified of what might happen if I deny her.

    I let the intent flood through me, and she rips the air from my body, laughing with delight. Knowing me a fool. She says the words anyway, because what would a goddess gain from a lie?

    "Aura Sight."

    And then she''s gone, leaving only one last cackle that I''m not sure anyone else hears. Not that ''hear'' is the right word to describe how one experiences the sounds she makes. I don''t have much time to be horrified by the interaction, because Sindri grabs me and yanks me off his arm, throwing me away from the others as hard as he can. My heart nearly bursts with terror as I fly like a football, instinctively curling my legs up underneath me and holding myself in a tight ball. I hit the ground, bounce, and roll quite a good distance before I re-extend my legs and skid to a stop, my body shaking with adrenaline and sore with damage.

    What the FUCK were you thinking!? Sindri roars furiously into my head, and Teboho starts to laugh. Sindri ignores him. I JUST told you that kind of shit is dangerous, Hannah! You could have killed yourself! Or WORSE!

    I told you! Teboho laughs. The goddess favors her! It''s obvious!

    She might have become a mindless beast! Sindri snaps back. She might have gone insane! She could have turned into a completely different person! She could have done that to all of us!

    But she did not! Teboho continues to chuckle as I get back to my feet and start to painfully limp back to the team.

    Only because of dumb luck! Sindri counters. Dumb fucking luck!

    I want to be angry, but I know that was stupid. Sindri only threw me because he was afraid that I was about to hurt everyone. It hurts, but it''s my own dang fault.

    It wasn''t luck, Teboho insists. The Mother Tree speaks to you, doesn''t she Hannah?

    ¡­I don''t know if ''speak'' is the right word, I answer noncommittally. But I do feel a sapient intent behind magic, yeah. I know it''s not exactly scientific, but¡­ I don''t know. I was urged to try it. I was scared of not trying it. I''m sorry.

    The apology comes out easily, years of experience guiding me to downplay what happened and immediately admit fault. I can tell in an instant from the look on Sindri''s face that he''s still angry, though. It takes all of my willpower to avoid hiding in another dimension.

    That sort of recklessness isn''t something you can just say sorry to, Sindri hisses. You will not be learning any more spells.

    Any ''more'' spells? I don''t exactly see any¡­ oh, wait. I tilt my gaze up and look at Sindri with my eyes rather than my spatial sense, and I focus. Sure enough, the magic I activated shows me¡­ something. It''s like a halo of light, but it glows Pneuma rather than white or green or blue. Its color is a meaning, not a sight. It makes my head hurt. I look at Kagiso next, who sure enough glows with Motion. My glance at Teboho has a bit of extra strangeness: he glows with Matter and Barrier, but the two are similar and blend together in odd ways. It''s sort of hypnotic, like a lava lamp or something.

    Kagiso runs up to meet me halfway, lifting me onto her head and giving Sindri an angry glower.

    Only I throw Hannah, she growls at him.

    Wait, what? I protest. How about nobody throw Hannah!

    No. Only me!

    Why is the person doing the throwing the thing you''re worried about!?

    Enough! Sindri shouts, saying the word out loud as well. This is not a joking matter! Hannah, you need to understand the severity of the risk you just took. Learning spells is not that easy. You had well over a ninety percent chance of ruining your life forever by speaking those words. Promise me you won''t invoke a spell''s name like that again without my approval.

    I let my legs droop, hanging limp on Kagiso''s scalp.

    I promise, I tell him.

    Good, Sindri says firmly. Good. Okay. Let''s get moving again. Teboho, keep teaching her the local language.

    Fine, fine, Teboho agrees. Though I do think you don''t understand as well as you think you do, Sindri.

    The feeling is mutual, Sindri grunts.

    Some people are born with a deeper connection to the Mother Tree than others, Teboho insists. She has favored children, I think. I may not know as much about numbers as you do, but aren''t outliers exempted from averages?

    They start bickering a bit more about that, though I mostly tune them out, a lump of dread settling into my body. Teboho is right, isn''t he? I''m pretty obviously different. Favored. My situation is exactly the kind of weird that evokes a chosen hero with a grand destiny. I''ve been living my life in this world day to day without thinking about why I''m here, about what could have caused my situation in the first place. I''ve read stories where people get reincarnated in another world to fight demon lords, corrupt kings, or¡­ or apocalypses. Such as, perhaps, the one the crazy apocalypse cult that almost killed us might be worshiping. Oh, god. Is that why? What do they know about me? Am I going to have to keep fighting them? What are they trying to accomplish? What sort of horrible fate am I supposed to prevent? No, no no no. This is crazy, right? I''m not arrogant enough to think that this world revolves around me like that. I''m not a hero. I''m nothing like a hero.

    I can''t even get through a week without crying. How the heck am I supposed to save the world?

 19. Taste for Flesh

    "It''s about time you finally came over again," Brendan grumbles, glowering half-heartedly down at me as I walk through his front door, Fartbuns happily bouncing behind him.

    It''s Friday afternoon already. Time seems to have flown by. After learning the soul sight spell and royally infuriating Sindri, the rest of the day was thankfully not all that eventful. I pretty much just spent it sitting on Kagiso''s head and learning the dentron language some more, stopping occasionally to hunt friend noodles for food. Boring, yes, but a good sort of boring. By the end of the day, I''d settled into somewhat of a comfortable routine. We should reach the city we''ve been heading towards either the next day (tonight''s sleep) or the day after (Saturday''s sleep). My day here on Earth has been equally uneventful, with Autumn and I being awkwardly quiet around one another as our mall maybe-date looms on the immediate horizon. I''m excited and I''m stressed and I''m especially glad I finally have time to hang out with Brendan. The two of us don''t usually have lunch together for various reasons, so I''ve been missing the guy.

    "Can''t say I disagree," I tell him, slipping my shoes off as he closes the door. "It''s good to be here. Really good, actually. Can I hug you?"

    He seems briefly taken aback, but nods and holds open his arms. I flop my face into his belly and squeeze his waist, since he is too gosh dang tall for me to hold anything else. He stiffens up and makes an uncomfortable gurgling noise when I squeeze him, causing me to let go in a panic.

    "Ah! Are you okay?" I yelp.

    "Yeah, yeah, I''m fine," he assures me, rubbing his back. "Pretty sure you''re getting stronger, though."

    "Oh no, I''m sorry!"

    "Seriously, I''m okay," he waves me off. "You''re not Supergirl yet. Come on, let''s go."

    I don''t need to be told that he means for me to go to the basement, so we head down there promptly. Fartbuns bounces down the stairs after us, the huge fluffy dog full of energy as usual.

    "So," Brendan says conversationally, "you seem to be doing a lot better."

    "Do I?" I ask. "I guess that''s good. Better than doing worse!"

    Brendan gives me a knowing stare. Oh no. He''s about to go on the offensive.

    "...Looking forward to your date tomorrow, huh?" he asks.

    "It''s probably not a date!" I yelp immediately.

    "Sounds like you definitely believe that," he answers dryly.

    Agh no he''s going to bug me until I explain. Curse my conditionally hyper-observant friend.

    "Look, I just¡­ she was blushing at me a lot today," I admit. "Just, really awkward. And considering that she caught me staring at her abs yesterday, I think she figured me out."

    "Autumn has abs?" Brendan asks, seeming surprised.

    "Oh my goodness she has really nice abs," I confirm, nodding excitedly. "Just like, toned enough to be noticeable, to be strong, but still all¡­ I dunno. Girl soft?"

    "Girl soft," Brendan repeats flatly.

    "Girl soft!" I insist, flopping onto the couch. "Like, y''know, girls. We''re soft. Men have less body fat and gross rough skin, all rough and tough and¡­ bleh. Um, no offense."

    "None taken," he answers in a tone that implies there was at least some amount of offense taken. "So. You think Autumn knows you''re gay, but that just makes her blush a lot and she hasn''t called off your date, so you''re thinking she''s also gay. And neither of you have bothered to just ask if the other is interested in that sort of thing."

    "It''s arguably a good sign that she isn''t asking," I nod sagely. "Being a complete mess is the lesbian love language."

    "Hannah, you''ve literally never dated another lesbian, you''re just saying that because you''re a mess. You don''t get to pretend it''s not a problem by projecting it onto other people."

    I fishmouth at my friend a little, my jaw opening and closing wordlessly as I put a hand over the heart he just so brutally wounded. Fartbuns makes a happy ''boof'' noise and puts his face on my lap.

    "I can''t believe my dearest friend would so mercilessly wound me," I intone as dramatically as possible, the hand not clutching the gaping hole he just dug into my heart moving automatically to scritch behind the dog''s ear.

    "I''m just trying to get through to you about the fact that your life would be so much easier if you''d just talk to people about this stuff," Brendan says, exasperated.

    "I''m just not ready to come out, okay?" I fire back at him.

    "Then why are you trying to date a woman!?"

    I open my mouth, lips peeling back to reveal deadly fangs as I hiss at him, a sound that carries only a hint of the eldritch vibrations that I can make in my hyperspider form, but it''s still enough to quiet the room into silence. It surprises what little part of me is still looking out for that sort of thing during the instinctive impulse, making me wonder what part of my throat now dips ever so slightly into angles impossible to represent in a mere three dimensions. The dog''s muscles freeze with tension underneath my fingers, the prospect of having claws so close to his neck suddenly not as appealing as it was seconds before. Brendan goes silent, averting his eyes from my glare as I wait for my brain to catch up with what I just did. The hiss just slipped out, it wasn''t a conscious decision on my part. I take a deep breath, removing my hand from Fartbuns and consciously relaxing myself.

    "Sorry," I manage to get out. "I didn''t mean to¡­ do that. Anyway, there''s honestly a good chance it won''t be a date, and I actually do need the clothes we''ll be buying, so there''s that. But also, I just¡­ I''m afraid I won''t have the chance to do this kind of thing again pretty soon. You know?"

    Brendan''s face falls.

    "Hannah¡­" he starts, but I cut him off as Fartbuns retreats behind his legs.

    "The transformations have slowed down a bit," I tell him. "I haven''t gotten anything new these past few days. But the old changes are growing and I probably don''t have all that much time before everything comes to a head. I just¡­ I wanna feel normal while I have the chance."

    "Being normal is overrated," Brendan says quietly, his expression inscrutable.

    "You''re probably right," I admit. "But still, this is my last chance at it."

    "...Can I still see all your cool monster bits, though?" he asks.

    I chuckle.

    "Brendan! Imagine what Autumn would think if she knew I took my clothing off for a man!"

    "Imagine what your mom would think," he counters, and I shudder.

    "Yeah, okay, let''s not go there. I''ll show you."

    I start rolling up the right leg of my pants, though the thigh sock underneath it still covers up everything important. I could take off my gloves first, but honestly I''ve gotten so used to having my claws covered up that I''m a little worried I''ll cut myself. I mean, I guess I probably can''t cut my own exoskeleton, but¡­ whatever. This order of operations works. Plus I get to torment Brendan a little by doing things the slow way. ¡­No, wait, bad brain. Don''t think of this as a strip tease. This is just normal teasing which merely happens to involve stripping, entirely by coincidence.

    After the pant leg is rolled up, the shoes and socks come off, as well as the little foam blocks, revealing the brilliant bone-white chitin of my leg. The sight of it steals my breath a little, even though I know what to expect. It''s so hard to believe that this is my body, yet I feel the sensation when I run a finger across it, I watch it move when I flex the joints. I am, somehow, becoming a creature beyond the understanding of modern science. A fantastical beast, a monster of legend, a dream from a storybook. The white armor of my leg, pristine to the point of gleaming thanks to my magic, perfectly frames the contours of my body, deviating only to protrude the occasional spine or ridge reminiscent of my other body''s limbs. I curl my toes, revealing the deep contrast of black in the flexible material underneath the armor, visible only within bent joints. Brendan kneels down to investigate and only then do I remember he''s even here, self-consciousness blooming inside me as he grabs my calf and starts prodding away at my body. He pokes at the inside of my knee, between my chitin plates, and I almost take his finger off with a twitch.

    "Th-that feels weird," I protest. "Don''t poke there."

    "Weird how?" he asks.

    "Uh¡­ I dunno. Like you just stuck a finger up my nose? It''s sensitive in that ''this part of the body isn''t supposed to be touched'' kind of way."

    "Mmm. Okay, sorry," he says, removing his hand from the soft part of my joint. "It''s an interesting structure. Kind of¡­ wiry, and it tenses up when you move. It''s either closely attached to the muscle or it is the muscle."

    "All the more reason not to poke it," I grumble.

    I take off my gloves next, though Brendan is still pretty engrossed in investigating my leg. The chitin tips emerging from each of my fingers are delightfully sharp-looking, giving me the immediate and concerningly familiar urge to cut something. Though honestly, without Spacial Rend active I doubt I could do all that much damage. Can I cut things with these claws? Yeah, definitely. It''s not going to pierce skin if I don''t put a lot of force into it, though.

    I still wanna.

    "Hey Brendan, do you have anything I can tear to shreds?" I ask.

    "There''s a raw steak in the fridge," he grunts.

    Oh fudge truffle yes. That''s the most yes thing I''ve ever heard. I practically leap to my feet and dash up the stairs, claws digging delightfully into the carpet before I bound into the kitchen and do a sort of clatter-slide once that traction suddenly vanishes on the hardwood floor. Fartbuns does the exact same thing, smacking into me right after I skid to a stop and nearly knocking me to the ground. I can''t help myself; I start laughing.

    "Fartbuns! Hey, boy, you be careful, alright?" I giggle, kneeling down to give him some careful scratches. He seems to like the feel of my claws, thankfully, so I indulge him a bit more before returning my attention to the fridge and throwing it open in delight. Sure enough, in front of me is a huge slab of glorious dead cow meat, still on the bone. I extract it lovingly, resisting the dangerous urge to try and lick my lips, since that''s unlikely to go well with my teeth as huge and sharp as they are.

    "Hannah, please don''t make a mess," Brendan sighs, having finally caught up with me. I turn and give him the biggest grin I can fit on my face.

    "You fool," I tell him. "You utter imbecile."

    Then I rip the packaging in half with my claws, splattering bloody marinade all over the kitchen. I take a moment to savor Brendan''s bug-eyed expression before locking my vision firmly on the meat, ripping a chunk off of it with my bare hands and swallowing it whole. I bite and tear and rend it to shreds, relishing in the delightful feeling of meat sliding down my throat. I''m laughing whenever I''m not swallowing, knowing full well that it makes me look completely unhinged, but what do I care? It''s just me and Brendan here, the one and only place where I can be truly and completely me. I don''t feel out of control, I feel in my element.

    Even the T-bone is no impediment to my greedy fangs, letting me bring the meal to my mouth and crunch down to finish off the rest of it. There''s a very different appeal to gnawing on bone than devouring meat, a more methodical yet no less visceral process. While I can bite large chunks of bone off at once, it wouldn''t be comfortable to swallow them. Therefore, while I can''t chew in the same way I did with a human mouth, I still have to perform my best equivalent in order to get at the tasty marrow I crave, slurping up the bits of meat still stuck to the lumbar vertebra that I''m happily crunching down on.

    "Nom nom nom nom," I coo happily once I''ve calmed down a little, delighting in the contrast between the bloody mess and my dumb little noises.

    "Holy shit, Hannah," Brendan breathes.

    I chuckle, swallowing my current mouthful and licking the tasty blood off my claws. We lock eyes, a nervous swallow descending slowly down his throat, betraying a delicious fear that makes me want to pounce on him, sink my teeth into him, and shake him around like a toy until he goes limp. But that would be insane, and also probably murder, so I do not do those things. The urge isn''t a strong one, just a passing thought that makes me warm and happy to consider. Maybe I can just tackle him without the biting? No, wait, he doesn''t like to be touched. What am I even thinking, I don''t like to be touched! At least, normally I don''t, but I''ve been kind of¡­ weirdly touchy recently. Maybe I just get touchy when I''m feeling relaxed.

    ¡­Oh, woah. That''s what this is. I''m feeling relaxed.

    "Thank you," I tell Brendan emphatically. "I really needed this."

    "You really needed to make a bloody mess of my kitchen," he grumbles, glancing away from me.

    "Oh, pishhh, come on Brendan!" I say, blowing a raspberry at him. "Did you forget that I''m a super cool magical mage with the best spell of all time!? Behold! Spell-I-Haven''t-Na¡­ actually no I''m not going to name it even as a joke, she might take it seriously."

    "Um. Maybe you shouldn''t¡ª"

    I ignore him and snap my bloody fingers (entirely for dramatic effect) and activate the cleaning spell at the same time. If there''s anything dangerous about this spell, it''s too late to warn me now; I''ve been subtly using it all over the dang place. Here, though, I have no need to be subtle. The blood flies off my body and dances into the sink in beautiful red streams. The remains of the packaging pick up off the floor and plunk themselves into the trash. I stand up and take a quick sweep around the rest of the kitchen while I''m at it, collecting dirt and hair and food and other detritus, leaving the entire place looking squeaky clean. While there''s absolutely a visceral satisfaction involved in ripping stuff apart, putting it all back together like this might be even more intoxicating. It''s clean! It''s all clean! Hehehehehehe!

    "...Woah," Brendan breathes, finally getting to see the full power of my spell in action. It doesn''t have very much range or power, but I can cast it repeatedly so as long as I get close enough to my target I can get it clean pretty trivially.

    "Ha! Pretty awesome, right?" I preen, putting my hands on my hips and puffing out my chest triumphantly. "Who''s only one-sixth of prestidigitation now?"

    "I concede, you''re clearly making me eat my words," Brendan rightfully reneges. "That spell is a lot more impressive than I thought it would be. It seems¡­ ripe for exploitation, actually."

    "I know, but I still can''t find anything broken with it!" I whine. "The target limits are pretty strict and the weight limit is super low. I can''t figure out anything more useful than cleaning. Still, though! I''m in love with this spell."

    "I can only imagine," Brendan nods, letting out a big huff of air. "That¡­. was magic. The way everything just moved on its own, it just¡­ I don''t know. Somehow, that seems more real than the changes to your body. The world has magic. Fiction is fact. And I''m a part of it, even adjacently."

    I drum my toes on the floor, happily soaking in the goofy smile that''s barely touching the corners of Brendan''s lips. This is what he''s always dreamed about, right in front of him. It''s exciting, but I bet on some level it''s tearing him up a little that he''s not the one with the powers. ¡­Although, maybe that''s not quite the case. Magic is real, after all, and at least in the other world everyone has it. Maybe Brendan does too.

    "Hey Brendan," I say conversationally. "You know that spell I was telling you I learned last night?"

    "The Aura Sight spell, the one your friend justifiably got super mad at you for ignoring all safety protocols before using," Brendan summarizes.

    "Yeah, that one," I say. "I haven''t used it on Earth yet because I can''t activate it without invoking the goddess to speak the words for me, and that''s somewhat conspicuous."

    "Yeah, reasonable," Brendan nods.

    "But it''s just you, me, and Fartbuns here," I say, motioning at the dog who is disappointedly trying to find more delicious floor flavor after I made all of it magically disappear. "Less risk of exposure than the whole car incident, and¡­ well, I could maybe figure out your magical aptitude."

    I can tell he was about to firmly insist on the stupidity of my idea until that last sentence there, but I know magic is his weakness. He hesitates.

    "Do I even have a magical aptitude?" he asks.

    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "I have no idea!" I answer cheerfully. "That''s what we''d be figuring out, I guess."

    "Is it safe?" he presses.

    "Um, I mean, we''d be figuring that out too," I admit. "But as long as I do things the same way as before and don''t try to shove too much power into the spell, I don''t think there''s any chance of miscasting. We already know I can cast spells here, and there''s no reason Aura Sight would be an exception."

    "There are lots of reasons it could be an exception," Brendan groans. "It''s learned rather than innate. It''s in a different world. It''s being cast without the goddess'' attention and permission already on you. We have no idea how many of these things could be significant variables, Hannah. Not to mention that summoning a goddess from another universe here could itself have dangerous consequences we don''t know about."

    "So what do we do, then?" I ask. "Just sit on the spell and never use it?"

    "You could always come clean to the people that you yourself claim to be friends, explain to them about the alternate world stuff, and get their significantly more educated opinions," Brendan grumbles.

    I hesitate.

    "They''re my friends," I say, just to have said it out loud.

    "Yeah," Brendan nods.

    "They are. I like them. I just¡­ I''m not sure I trust them with that. I''m not friends with them the same way I''m friends with you, Brendan. I''ve only known them for a couple weeks. And I kind of want to tell Kagiso, but¡­ I can''t tell her anything without Sindri hearing it. Which is¡­ I dunno. It''s never really all that much of a problem in the moment, I don''t really need privacy from him, but it''s still creepy when you think about it in the abstract."

    "Waiting to learn the language so you can communicate privately is, I''ll admit, a decent reason to wait," Brendan sighs.

    "Ha!" I cheer triumphantly.

    "...But isn''t Sindri the person most likely to have the knowledge you need to answer these questions in the first place?" Brendan continues. "Based on what you''ve told me, his culture seems to be pretty advanced for a fantasy world, scientifically speaking. Magitech was implied, he knows about stuff like entropy and enthalpy. Multiverse theory probably isn''t much of a stretch for his knowledge base."

    I hesitate, thinking on that.

    "I prefer to be seen as a denizen of that world, for now," I tell him. "I don''t know what will happen if I tell him, and it''s not something I can undo. I want to learn a bit more about the culture and mythology of the world before I do anything that might be stupid. Maybe after we get to the city? Or I can ask them about those things and prepare, I guess."

    "Alright, that''s a sensible enough plan," Brendan nods. "And speaking of plans, now that you''re done going feral we should head back down to the basement. I have some stuff to show you."

    "What if I''m not done going feral?" I ask, moving to follow him anyway. "It seems to be an ongoing process, really."

    He gives me a sideways glance before heading down the stairs.

    "Please don''t joke about my friend losing her sense of self," he grumbles.

    "...Okay, sorry," I tell him. "If it makes you feel any better, I don''t feel like I am. Things are a bit weird and different, but I still feel like me, even when I''m¡­ I dunno. Doing things I wouldn''t otherwise do?"

    "Yeah," Brendan nods. "It does make me feel better. You seem happy, actually. I''m jealous."

    "Having positive emotions is a strange and novel experience, but I do recommend it," I agree, plopping back down onto the basement couch. Fartbuns, having long since got over the prior spook with my hissing, joins me immediately, flopping onto my lap and crushing me under his massive floof. I give him a hug, which he seems to appreciate. Brendan, meanwhile, goes to get his whiteboard. And a corkboard. And a bunch of books. And a laptop.

    "Um, what is all this stuff?" I ask hesitantly.

    "Research," Brendan grunts. "On world trees, mostly."

    "World trees?" I ask, reaching forward and barely managing to grab one of the books before the weight of a giant goofy puppy forces me back to the couch. Sure enough, it seems to be a collection of norse myths. A post-it note marks pages with references to Yggdrasil.

    "The Norse world tree is the most well-known," Brendan says, returning with his last stack of books. "But the thing about mythologies is that there are a lot of them, and there''s no reason to assume the most popular interpretation of a myth is the most accurate one. So I''ve pretty much collected every resource I can find to try and compare it with your current situation. I have to admit, though, the Norse interpretation is looking like one of the more solid ones."

    "Oh? Why''s that?" I ask. "I don''t actually know much about other world tree myths. Heck, I don''t know much about real Norse mythology, only the modern interpretations."

    "Well, that''s partially because there''s less of it than you might think. Norse mythology was mainly an oral tradition, and the resources we use today were composed by like, Icelandic scholars or something. There''s more to it than that, but the point is, in terms of actual text I could get a hold of, there isn''t actually much said about Yggdrasil. But that''s okay, because again, there''s no reason to think that the original text is more likely to be accurate than the modern interpretations."

    "Wait, there isn''t?" I ask. "Why not?"

    "Why would it?" Brendan asks. "Why would any of these stories be more likely to be divinely inspired or written by actual witnesses just because they''re old? Statistically speaking, since there are so many more people now, the odds of someone having a legitimate source rather than making up stories out of their ass is higher now."

    I blink at him, reach out to a paperback with a big number on the spine, and read the title. It says ''High School DxD.''

    "This is a harem manga," I point out simply.

    "It''s¡­ it''s explicitly referenced on the wikipedia page for N¨ªeh?ggr," Brendan answers defensively.

    "Pony poop," I challenge, whipping out my phone to call his bluff. One quick google search later, I scroll down and¡­ well dang, okay, there it is. Huh.

    "Was Wikipedia a mistake?" I ask idly.

    "No, Wikipedia is one of the single greatest achievements of mankind, period," Brendan answers immediately. "But I admit that, upon actually reading it, I seriously doubt that High School DxD holds the answers to any burning questions we could possibly come up with. But the possibility existed, so I looked for it. What exactly do you think I''ve been doing with all my free time lately?"

    "Right, okay," I say, giving my friend a soft smile. "Thank you, Brendan. It means a lot to me. What stuff in this pile of possibility has stood out to you, then?"

    "Most world trees, or at least the classic world trees, are more like trees of worlds than trees that are worlds," Brendan explains. "They''re often symbolic, with the whole underworld-Earth-heaven thing being represented or outright connected via the roots, trunk, and branches. We''re looking for non-symbolic trees, literal actual megaflora which aren''t just important for being magic, they''re important because they connect multiple realities, and Yiggdrasil fits the bill. It''s far from the only one, but there are really limited resources on, say, Samoyed mythology."

    "I don''t even know what that is," I admit.

    "Exactly. I''m going to keep looking for stuff, because there''s a lot of it, but we''re starting with Yggdrasil. The whole thing with how it connects multiple worlds together is an obvious reason we care about it, but also notable is the fact that things live on Yggdrasil. Not a lot of things are mentioned, of course; hell, one of the most notable parts of the myth is just called ''the unnamed eagle,'' but there are some points of importance. Notably, the reason I subjected myself to trashy self-insert wish-fulfillment junk fiction: N¨ªeh?ggr, the serpent that eats the tree."

    "...I don''t see how that''s relevant," I grumble.

    "Hannah, by your own reckoning, you spent seventeen years eating a world tree."

    ¡­Oh.

    "Th-that doesn''t make me Nidhogg!" I protest. "Lots of things eat the world tree! There are literally creatures bred for the purpose!"

    "I know, I know, the hole-worms," Brendan placates. "I don''t actually think you''re the herald of Ragnar?k, Hannah, there are too many inconsistencies. You not being a serpent is sort of a notable one, as is the fact that you don''t hang out in the underworld or get nasty rumors spread about you via a lying squirrel. N¨ªeh?ggr is also supposed to eat the roots, while you appeared on some random branch. It''s flimsy at best. Though, again, accuracy to the original text doesn''t necessarily mean actual accuracy. Maybe Norse mythology was describing you, but it was filtered through an unreliable narrator and the original myths are what''s wrong. All things considered, though, I believe the most likely situation is that the world you go to when you sleep isn''t any of the world trees discussed in mythology. Or at the very least, if there are kernels of truth in the mythologies we know about, they''re mixed too deeply with falsehoods that it''s impossible to tell."

    "...Which puts more evidence in the pile for ''someone out there is suppressing magical knowledge,''" I conclude.

    "Either that or you''re the only person on the entire planet with access to this alternate universe that you never even intentionally sought out, yeah," Brendan confirms. "I love you, Hannah, but I don''t think you''re that special."

    That gets a chuckle out of me.

    "So. Your main conclusion so far is that we still know nothing?"

    "Yep," Brendan nods. "The most boring and most likely conclusion of all research."

    "I guess we''d better get cracking at the rest of these books, then?" I suggest, since I know he didn''t stack these all up just to show off. Even if he did, Brendan has been working so hard for me and I need to help. Taking care of myself is, technically, more my job than his. Even if he''s obviously way better at it than I am.

    As the hours pass, we do get some research done. We also ramble about games, talk about what dead skin tastes like, play with Fartbuns, order pizza and chicken wings, and generally just hang out until well after the sun goes down and it''s time for me to get home or risk a scolding from my parents. Regretfully, we eventually part ways and I head home, my nascent limbs wiggling with joy underneath my skin. Today was a good day. A great day, even. I''d forgotten what those feel like. When I get in bed and pass out, there''s finally some real optimism behind it.

    Immediately, of course, I wake up. Kagiso is shaking me conscious for last watch, which unfortunately means I''m not waking up cuddling next to her. Gosh, that''s still such a weird thought. More evidence that I''m getting over my touch aversion with startling speed. I wonder why that is.

    I stretch my groggy body and regretfully crawl out from deep within the bedroll. I''m not really comfortable sleeping as a hyperspider unless I''m fully encompassed, though being in a human-sized sleeping bag is of course more than enough to accomplish that requirement. Being one foot tall has its perks, and comfiness is a big one. Being constantly surrounded by terrifying giants tends to put a damper on the comfort, I''ll admit, but I''ve mostly gotten over it.

    "Fire burn?" Kagiso asks, her raspy voice quiet in the dead of night. She''s asking if I want her to refresh the campfire that''s been burning all night. It''s one of the many tasks I can''t do on my own, but it also doesn''t much matter to me if the fire burns or not. I don''t need it to stay warm thanks to my body''s resistance to external heat sources, and I don''t need it to keep watch thanks to my spatial sense. Still though, I like being able to see things with my normal eyes, and I can trust my friends with fire pits enough to let the thing burn all night without too much worry.

    I scratch the dentron words for ''yes'' and ''please'' in the dirt, and Kagiso makes a happy rumbling noise before exiting the tent to put more wood on the fire. Sindri, Kagiso, and I are still handling all of the watches ourselves, letting Teboho sleep through the night undisturbed. The poor guy is still severely injured after getting half his skin burned off by acid, because why wouldn''t he be. Though with how consistently upbeat he seems to be in spite of that, it''s sometimes hard to tell.

    "Done," Kagiso rumbles as I scuttle over next to her. "Night be peaceful, Hana."

    I hug her fuzzy leg with two of my own and she makes a happy noise, reaching down to pat me before exhaustedly staggering into her tent and getting in bed. The night passes slowly after that, my eyes hypnotized by the waves of smoke drifting up from the damp logs. Our choice of firewood was less than ideal tonight, but I''m at least happy that I can help everyone by being the one to cut it all into the right sizes. Whenever I find a chore I can take care of for people, I try to put my all into it. I don''t like being such a dead weight.

    Night watches are another good way to help out my friends. Now that I have eyes, I don''t even need the candle clock to do the last shift of the day; my watch ends when the sun comes up, or I guess whenever it gets into a position in which things won''t be dark. I''m still not entirely clear on how the sun actually works. If it''s just moving in a circular orbit, wouldn''t most of the branches never actually get blocked off from seeing it? You''d only get true night if the sun was completely blocked by the trunk, right? Because when the sun is merely below our branch we get the pretty green-sky evenings. I guess if there are enough other branches in the way, they could block stuff. Maybe that''s it; just sheer mass of branches between us and the sun causes nighttime. ¡­But no, wait, that still wouldn''t work for every branch, unless the sun had a really irregular orbit. Which I guess it might? Gah, this is so confusing! I should just ask for more¡ª

    A snapping sound breaks me from my thoughts. That''s very much the sound of something alive, stepping on something as it moves through the forest. I''m already looking in the direction it comes from, but I can''t see anything, neither with my eyes nor my spatial sense. Just to be safe, I slip into a barren zone, the light from the fire completely winking out of my perception. With or without the fire, my eyes can''t see any farther than my other senses in the dark of night anyway.

    Though now that I''m on edge, I''m quickly coming to realize how incredibly short those senses travel. Fifty feet is like, the length of a semi trailer, give or take. Not even the trailer and the truck, just the trailer. That distance, in every direction, is my entire world. It''s enough to encompass the camp, but not much beyond it.

    Which means I won''t know if anything is coming our way until it''s right on top of us.

    I guess that''s not much better than anyone else being on watch, but that thought makes my situation no less nerve-wracking. Still within the barren zone, I wander closer to the direction I heard the noise, hoping to pick something up on the edge of my senses. If an animal wanders into the camp proper, I''m not actually sure what to do about it. The fire does a decent job at keeping things away, but it might attract certain animals with Heat affinities, depending on how their magic manifests. I can kill most things in the forest, I suppose, but I''d rather not have to. I continue approaching until eventually I sense some moving creatures in my range. They''re¡­ wait. They''re not creatures at all. They''re dentron.

    They''re people, and they''re armed.

    Terror flooding me, I reverse direction and scuttle quickly into Sindri''s tent, reappearing in normal space once inside it and poking him awake. More and more people start entering the edges of my sensory radius, coming from multiple different directions. At least six of them, all men, all armed, surrounding us from all sides. What do they want!? They don''t have cultist necklaces or anything, so why are they here!?

    Sindri wakes up the moment I place a clawed leg on his face, his hand twitching towards the knife under his pillow for a second before he registers it''s me. Using the contact, he opens our mental connection in silence.

    Trouble? he asks. I have never been more thankful about his to-the-point attitude than at this moment.

    Six dentron, armed, I report. We''re surrounded.

    Fuck. Bandits, probably, Sindri grumbles. They saw the campfire smoke. Odd to have dentron bandits, though.

    I want to ask why that''s odd, but the smarter part of my brain reminds me that now really isn''t the time. Bandits, though? Really? I take a closer look at the people slowly and stealthily approaching us, dressed in dirty clothes and armed with axes, bows, and other cheap equipment designed more for hunting and forestry than combat. The hard determination in their expressions shows only a hint of the stress they must be feeling, approaching a camp of people they don''t know with intent to kill. That, more than anything, makes me believe they''ve killed people before.

    What do we do? I ask.

    I''ll wake everyone and attempt diplomacy, Sindri grunts. When it inevitably doesn''t work, I want you already in position to kill as many as you think you can.

    Some part of me expected an answer like that. These people wouldn''t be sneaking towards our camp in the middle of the night with weapons out if they were intending charity. Intellectually, I know that. This world is harsh. It''s mostly lawless. People fight each other and die. I know that. I''ve experienced that. But I still don''t want to kill people. The thought mortifies me, and unfortunately Sindri seems to pick up on it, or at least anticipate it.

    Hannah, I''m sorry, he says. But there''s six of them and Teboho is injured. I need you to do this. We all need you.

    I¡­ okay, I answer numbly, trying to decide which of the bandits seems most likely to be in charge, or at least particularly dangerous. The one with the newest-looking axe is grouped a bit closer with a comrade than the others, who are now getting close to the last few trees between them and our camp. That''ll be my target then. My kill. My little act of greater-good.

    Ice flooding my veins, I step silently into the nearby barren zone, approaching my target as closely as I can without stepping out. I do, unfortunately, have to step out; I''m not lucky enough to have a straight shot to my target and even if I did he''s moving around. Instead, I exit at the base of a tree and scuttle quietly up the trunk, my tiny body quiet even in the hush of night. Sindri is awake and quickly gathering weapons and what armor he can put on, mental jabs to Kagiso and Teboho waking both of them up. When he exits his tent and calls out to the people approaching us, they freeze in place, letting me more easily find a branch directly above their heads. Sindri and the bandits exchange a few words, but I''m too terrified to try and translate either side of it. I''m too busy staring at the bandit''s heart. Watching it beat. Tracing the veins and arteries that snake out from it in every direction, noting which ones seem most likely to be a quick kill if severed. The blood pulses, streaming quicker and quicker throughout the body. It annoys me how his heartbeat doesn''t sync up with mine, like when I''m watching the blinker of a car at the stoplight in front of me flash just the slightest bit out of time. Both heartbeats are starting to go faster, though.

    I imagine the kill, over and over, in this endless, torturous minute before I take a person''s life. What will the fall be like, where will I aim, what are my backup plans if he moves? Over and over, the same few answers pop into my head, and yet I just turn around and ask myself the same questions again. Will he even feel it, when my tear in space splits his body apart? Will I? I can''t just kill one man and be done with it, either. I''ll have other targets to go for as well. It''s a good thing that I can''t breathe manually, or else I''d certainly be hyperventilating right now. I feel like that''d probably be loud enough to give away my position.

    I will probably die if that man ever looks up.

    The thought flits by, and selfishly it fills me with even more terror than the prospect of murder. I feel disgusted by that, but it''s hardly a surprise, is it? That''s why I''m here, plotting a man''s death. Because I''d rather kill him than die. I wonder why this man would rather kill us than whatever happens if he doesn''t. Is he starving? He doesn''t need us to die for us to give him food, I''d bet. Is this just the sort of man he is? A lover of violence and death? A raider? A villain? Or is he more complex than that? Could I understand him if we could speak to each other? Could we someday be friends?

    He moves. I watch muscles start to pull all around his body. I see him inhale deeper than ever before in his conversation with Sindri, preparing to shout. His heartbeat goes faster, faster, faster. Maybe now it will match my own.

    Do it, Hannah! Sindri orders me, and I immediately drop, power flowing through my legs. With a flick of a half-dozen different legs, I sheer into flesh and puncture through veins, pools of blood blooming all over the bandit''s body. I miss most of my strikes, but I doubt it matters: the most damage of all was dealt by the one leg that didn''t move, that I simply held straight as I fell, digging a deep gash through the back of the man''s skull, down his neck, back, pelvis and tail. It''s by no means a clean cut, weaving in and out of the spine in multiple places, but in the second it takes me to hit the ground, it''s more than enough to cripple him, assuming he isn''t already dead. I don''t wait to find out before slashing his calves and leaping to his head when he falls. I plunge a foot through his skull like a boot through fresh snow. He might have been dead before. He''s definitely dead now.

    With my omnidirectional senses, I can see the whole fight play out, watching myself take part in the combat as if I''m not even the one doing it. It''s like a third-person action game, one where I can see the whole battle at once and make snap tactical judgements. Not that I do, I''m just vaguely aware that I could if I wasn''t a terrified mess, scrambling in horror for the nearest barren zone to escape into before the bandit nearest my victim notices me. I can only assume I fail, since the ground beneath me twists into a terrifying claw of dirt and stone, trying to clamp around me and smash me like the bug I am. I barely manage to step away before it closes around me, breaking line of sight by retreating into a higher dimension. The bandit starts looking for me, so I just make distance between the two of us, instead targeting one of the ones that hasn''t even seen me yet. Unfortunately for them, they''re close enough to the exit of a barren zone that I can pop out right behind them, removing their ability to stand with a quick swipe and their ability to live with another before retreating back to safety.

    The battle continues. An arrow takes a bandit in the throat. The battle continues. Sindri duels the one with earth-hands, eventually managing to bury his short sword in the mage''s belly despite the aggressive terrain. I don''t know if I end up killing a third bandit or not. I stop paying much attention at some point.

    But when the battle is over, I know that dentron meat is sweet.

 20. ClichèŒ…

    Bone marrow is one of the most delicious things I''ve ever tasted.

    The smooth, buttery texture, creamy and savory and sweet, will live in my memories forever. Not because I''ve never had it before; I''ve crunched on quite a few bones since being human became a past-tense situation, but these are special. These are a lot sweeter than any other bones I''ve tasted. They''re honestly the best I''ve ever had the pleasure to eat.

    They come from a person.

    I bite down again anyway. Sweet. They''re so sweet! Though they''re technically omnivores, dentron mainly seem to eat fruit and sap more than anything else, only having occasional, small portions of the meat that Sindri and I subsist almost exclusively off of. I guess all that concentrated sugar leaks its way into the muscle and fat somehow, marinating the meat while it''s still alive. Or something like that, anyway. I don''t know why different animals taste differently. Different meats. Different people. I''m eating a person. I''m eating a person and I don''t want to stop.

    Part of me is desperately trying to hyperventilate, but of course I can''t do that because I don''t have lungs. Instead, the only movements of my body are the greedy dips into torn and bleeding flesh, my knees bending so I can smash the underside of my circular form into skin or wound or protruding limb and close my teeth around a chunk, ripping it off and swallowing with a precise speed that doesn''t slow, doesn''t have any desire to savor even in the face of such a heavenly meal. If anything, thinking about the flavor only makes me want to eat faster. To get this over with. To finish this corpse and finally have nothing left that was once a person to engorge myself on.

    I''m very small, though, and dentron are very large. The drying blood on my body is quickly replaced with fresh, oozing globules of red. I''m only vaguely aware of a desire to clean myself. My actions and my thoughts are¡­ disconnected. They have been since the fight started. With my spatial sense, I''m watching myself devour these bodies¡ªbodies that I killed, people that I killed¡ªfrom a somewhat detached perspective. Sure, I''m still moving my legs, biting with my teeth, feeling the meat of my kills slide up my esophagus, watching it shrink as it travels up into my body before eventually disappearing¡­ but there''s a distance to it that there normally isn''t. I guess I''m disassociating. That''s a stress response. A pretty major one, I think. Like panic attacks. I also have panic attacks. I might currently be having a panic attack. Why am I still eating? Can''t someone stop me? Shouldn''t they?

    Another bone breaks in my jaws, and I suck out more of the creamy nectar within. I wonder where it all goes. I don''t seem to have a stomach, and I don''t defecate. Just another thing that makes me a freak, I guess. Adrenaline, or whatever my alien equivalent of it is, thrums through each and every muscle in my body, urging my fight-or-flight instinct to continue fighting, continue feeding, as if my life depends on it. Kagiso and Sindri both approach me, and I hiss furiously at them, overcome with anger and possessiveness and a burning need for them to leave me alone and let me eat. I don''t want them to leave me alone. Please, don''t go. Help me.

    They don''t hear my silent pleas, and they leave me be. My new eyes, unfortunately, cannot cry. Perhaps they would have stayed if I was capable of showing any expression, any sort of hint that my conscious and subconscious minds are at war and I can''t do this alone, I can''t let myself keep digging into the blood and death and delicious, delicious taste of my mistakes. Yet they have no way to know, so here I remain. I am full of horror, full of joy, and full of a person''s flesh.

    Except I''m not really full at all.

    No matter how much I eat, I''m not satisfied. I do not feel hungry anymore, far from it. I have been eating plenty and I know that, to sustain myself, I do not need to eat any more. But I can, so I do, because I love it as much as I hate it. God, I love it as much as I hate it. Why? Why is it so good? What about this situation makes this meal so special? Do I just like eating people? Do I just like killing people? Or do I want to eat it all because it''s something that I, personally, killed?

    ¡­I mean someone. But still, there might be something to that thought. This man¡ªoh god, he was a living, breathing person with hopes and dreams and a life and I took it all away¡ªis the biggest thing I''ve killed on my own, barring of course the other people I killed all on my own. All three of them. I killed three people this fight, plus the one cultist. I''ve killed four people. Four kills, incidentally, is just enough to count as mass murder. Anyway, I like to eat the things I kill. I swallow the smaller things whole, but when I hunt bigger things I act in a similar way to how I''m acting now, just¡­ without the guilt. Because hunting animals for food is okay, but killing people for food is absolutely not, why am I still doing this, stop please stop!

    I manage, for a moment, to pause. To take a bit more stock of my situation. I''m safe, the enemies are dead. My kill, and my right to it, are being respected. There''s plenty more food, and plenty more need for it. My hunger goes beyond just self-sustenance, it is a burning desire for fuel, materials, and strength. These people before me are already dead. They attacked us, we didn''t attack them. Arguably, their deaths are justified, but even if they aren''t¡­ does it do them any good for me to leave their bodies alone? To ignore my needs for the sake of a morality that, logically speaking, is not something that should apply to me? The culture of this world, of the very people I just killed, believes getting eaten to be an acceptable equivalent to burial. The only thing to fear beyond that is my personal health, and my biology is so vastly different from that of my prey the idea of getting diseases from them seems rather silly. I know, in my chitin, that I am built for this. For the consumption of flesh. I want it. I need it. I take another bite, not feeling the slightest bit better about the act but no longer having the will to deny it.

    I really like maraschino cherries. Or¡­ at least I did, back when I was human. I probably don''t anymore. But my point is, whenever we''d go out and get milkshakes or mocktails or what-have-you, I''d always beg the rest of my family for their cherries because those things are delicious. One time, my mother did an at-home mocktail party as one of our little ''family events'' that we''re required to go to since my brother and I wouldn''t otherwise, and she bought a jar of maraschino cherries for it. Of course, a jar of maraschino cherries has vastly more of the little red jewels of sugar than one can reasonably consume in a single four-person party with one''s mom, so the jar just kind of sat there in the fridge after that particular event. One day, I decided to eat one. This was, in my young mind, a dastardly act of theft. The consumption of unauthorized sweets was highly illegal in my household, at least back when I was little. I swore I''d only eat one, though, and no one would ever know.

    Minutes later, I''d eaten a second. A day later, the jar was empty. And now, years later, I drench my throat in red syrup once again, savory and sharp. My self-control, it seems, has not improved one whit since then. Each bite, I find myself demanding ''this must be the last one,'' and knowing in my heart that it won''t be. The dread just keeps stacking as the mouthfuls keep coming, with no end in sight. Do I have weird monster instincts urging me to eat this man? Yes. I obviously do. But is it still me, taking each and every bite? Absolutely.

    They say the first step is admitting you have a problem. As always, I am incredible at the first step, and absolutely nothing else. So I keep devouring this trauma, knowing that it will sit inside me forever and never digest.

    When the last of this man''s body finally gets pushed up my throat (except the area around his bum, since not even weird monster instincts can convince me to eat poop) I immediately start looking for one of the other two people I killed today (other two people I killed today other two people I killed today) which of course is an easy thing to do with my spatial sense. I take a shortcut through a nearby barren zone, which also has the unexpectedly delightful effect of removing the many sticky layers of blood all over my body. The sudden cleanness smacks into my conscious mind like a shovel, the joy of getting into a shower after being covered in sweat shaking me just enough to give me something to hold onto, something to focus on beyond the horrid addiction to blood and muscle and marrow. Stop. Wait. I really, honestly, don''t have to do this. I want to, I really, really want to, but¡­ but I¡­

    I''m a seventeen year old high school student that has killed four people. Fuck! I just¡­ I did that. I did all of that. Worse, I''m apparently good at it. Six people attacked us. Sindri killed one, Kagiso killed two, and I killed three, I killed them, they''re dead and it''s my fault. I dug my claws into their bodies, I made their hearts stop beating, I cut them open and let their life pour onto the forest floor. It was horrible. It was easy. A quick slash to the legs hamstrung them, allowing access to their vital organs at ground level. With enough barren zones around I can strike silently from virtually anywhere, and I took advantage of that, cutting from behind the moment my target tried to focus on anyone else. My target. That''s all they were. I collapse to the cool ground, darkness all around me as my body tries and fails to figure out how to heave out stomach acid that does not exist. I can''t cry, I can''t vomit, I can''t even scream. My whole body shakes, horrified and alone, invisible in the dimension only I can access. I can''t do anything more than shake. I''m so fucking inhuman I can''t even emote my despair.

    ¡­No. There''s one thing. It''s not something a human would do, but I''m a monster and it''s all I''ve ever been. Just a wretched fucking monster. I bring my legs together, all ten of them touching a partner, and rub a mournful, wailing hiss out into the infinite darkness of the higher dimensions. A cry and a scream all in one. Why? Why did I have to do this? Why am I like this? Why, goddess? If you made me, why did you make me so horrible and wrong?

    From the way I see my friends stiffen with my spatial sense, the sound I''m making apparently reaches them, on some level. I take some satisfaction in that, in knowing that my eldritch equivalent of sobbing can reach through the barrier between my realm and theirs. But it''s a tiny and meaningless satisfaction, utterly incomparable to the weight of the lives I''ve just taken. So I screech my horrid sounds well into the morning, when the sun finally rises and the time my watch should have ended finally comes to pass. I''m exhausted, I realize, and it doesn''t take much time after that for me to finally stop screaming and fall asleep.

    Immediately, I wake up. My eyes and cheeks are wet, my nose runs with a fountain snot. The knowledge that I have apparently been crying in my sleep is vaguely comforting, in a horrible, weighty sort of way that replaces pain with dread rather than actually making me feel better. I can cry now, I can vomit, I can scream, but I absolutely shouldn''t do any of those things because unlike my friends in the other world, my family will not understand and the absolute last thing I want is to be comforted by them. Not when it will just lead to more questions, more things I have to deal with that I absolutely, positively cannot deal with right now. So I have to hold it in. I have to pretend everything is fine. I have to minimize the amount of questions and attention I get because I can''t afford that sort of thing right now, I don''t have the mental bandwidth for it.

    Small mercies, at least: it''s strangely easy to get out of bed today, my limbs feeling more normal and natural than usual. I inhale a shaky breath, trying to force myself calmer and halfway succeeding. I need to clean my face. I almost cast the spell for it, but magic doesn''t feel very fun all of a sudden. I use a tissue instead. It doesn''t do a very good job, but whatever. I''m about to shower anyway.

    Inhale, exhale. Steady breaths. Barely feeling functional, I stagger into the bathroom and strip, using the mirror to help me check my body for new changes. The claws on my hands are starting to creep up my fingers, gaining territory over my first set of knuckles. The wiry black flesh within is now visible in the joint, and my hands consequently feel a lot stronger than they used to. My right leg has a bit more dead skin (skin, I ate so much skin. It tastes far better when it''s still juicy with blood.) and my left foot does as well, signaling that it''s starting to change beyond the claws. Wiggling my extra growing limbs, I find them still firmly trapped inside my torso but noticeably larger, long enough to reach up from where they anchor above my hips and touch the bottom rung of my ribcage. Doing so isn''t particularly comfortable, but it sure is a thing I can do now.

    None of these changes are big, and none of these changes are new, but I can''t help but note that there are a lot more changes than I had when I woke up yesterday, or the day before. Is this what excess food does? Or is it just a coincidence? Thinking about it nearly makes me vomit, so I ignore the thought and get into the shower, cutting off the hanging flaps of dead skin so they don''t fall off on their own at inopportune times. Despite the revulsion churning throughout my entire body, I still eat them, because I am a messed-up, horrific thing with absolutely no self-control. Would it be stupid for me to go to school today? Will I lose control? Wait. No. There is no school today. It''s Saturday. I have my maybe-date today.

    Holy gonzoli, I have my maybe-date today. For some reason, that''s impossibly funny to me. A laugh bubbles up in my chest and I lean into it, letting it out full-force. I double over with mirth, hot water running down my naked body as the horrible, horrible irony washes over me. The date I''ve been convincing myself is okay to go on because I might be too monstrous to have one later is today.

    Literally one day too late.

    Oh, sure, I can probably still pass as human as long as I doll myself up how I usually do. If I''m doing really, really well at suppressing my emotions I can probably even pass as a human who isn''t having a complete mental breakdown. Pretending everything is fine has always been one of my best and most practiced skills! But I am still mid-panic about the fight to the death I just had and the people I just killed during it and boy howdy that does not seem like it''ll be conducive to romance! I should not be going to the mall, I should be going to a therapist.

    ¡­Except there''s absolutely no way I''m ever going to a therapist again, so screw it. I guess I''ll go to the mall, if for no other reason than to not have to suffer the utter mortal terror of texting Autumn to cancel. And yes, I am saying that as someone literally currently getting over a bout of immediate mortal terror. And yes, I know that''s stupid.

    Whatever. What''s the worst that could happen, she thought to herself with the most agonizingly massive girth of irony conceivable to exist within this pathetic fragment of the presumably infinite multiverse. I will go to the mall, not because it is a good idea, but because it''s on my schedule for the day, and it''s a good enough reason as any to maybe, hopefully, think about something other than the actual people with rich inner worlds as complex as my own which I just snuffed out of existence and then devoured like cattle. I guess.

    Shower, over. Clothes, on. Makeup, perfect. Outfit, cute. Other than the fact that my current heart rate is more comprehensibly measurable in bps than bpm, everything seems to be going swimmingly. I head downstairs and exit the front door without talking to anyone or eating any breakfast, because for some reason I do not feel like doing either of those things.

    Autumn and I traded addresses, figured out that we''re both in walking distance of the mall, and decided to walk there, presumably because we''re stupid and forgot that we would be buying things. Her house is closer than mine, so I''ll be walking there to meet her. Consequently, I''ll get to see what her house looks like, which is something that has always felt a bit weird to me. I wonder if other people feel weird when they see someone''s house for the first time. It''s not really the kind of thing I''ve ever thought to ask someone else, but dang does it always make me feel weird. As I walk towards where my phone says the address is, however, I start feeling significantly weirder.

    It starts with the lawns. I mean, it probably doesn''t start with the lawns, but they''re what I notice first. Overgrown gardens, patches of brown, walkways blocked by untrimmed foliage. Cars are a bit older, a bit rustier, a bit more often parked on the street. The houses have flaking paint, the windows are dirty, and the fences damaged. Disrepair escalates. Poverty becomes obvious. I am now in what my parents refer to as ''the bad part of town,'' and my coddled, privileged white girl brain immediately starts to worry about that.

    This begins the familiar thought process I''ve lovingly dubbed the "Am-I-Racist Train." I am uncomfortable in this part of town. I live in Tennessee, and therefore ''this part of town'' has a lot of people that are not white. While this is a true demographic fact regardless of whether or not any given person on Earth is racist, acknowledging it certainly feels racist, because it''s making the claim that I''m uncomfortable in an area that is, to a significant degree, not full of people of European descent. But I''m not even fully European in descent (though I do kind of look like I am) so does that count? I certainly don''t feel like I''d be more comfortable if this neighborhood was all extra-pale neo-confederates, but¡­ no, that doesn''t work, I can''t equate the people here with the lowest common denominator, that''s obviously racist. ¡­And actually, while it''s true that we have these ''demographic facts'' as my brain just somewhat concerningly put it, I don''t actually know what the demographics of this specific neighborhood is, I just made an assumption, and aw dang it that is definitely racist. Agh, no, I didn''t mean to! I''m just scared because the crime rate is higher in places like this! Isn''t that a good reason? No wait crap how do I stop!? Look Hannah, maybe this place looks scary, but it could just as easily be full of neo-nazis instead of gangs or whatever.

    ¡­Which I am assuming as the logical alternative because it looks poor. Why is ''this neighborhood has bad people'' my assumption at all? Great, now I''m racist and classist. Why would I even think about neo-nazis in this situation, all sorts of rich and powerful people are neo-nazis! Oh great, now I''m worried about that instead!!! And the best part of all is that absolutely none of these thoughts are making me more comfortable to be walking around alone in this WONDERFUL NEIGHBORHOOD THAT I''M SURE IS FULL OF GREAT PEOPLE DOING THEIR BEST. Oh good, there are cop cars in front of that house over there! I am sure that the cops are being bastards, as cops are purported to be, even though I''ve never had a cop do anything other than be very nice to me and help me out because I am a petite white woman that does not break laws! Other than homicide! But that''s pretty recent and no cops have talked to me about that, I only talk to cops when, say, a man flashes me when I''m in the middle of taking his order at work (which is a real thing that happened that I''m honestly more confused about than traumatized over) and the police were very nice to me when I called them about that! So basically all the bad stuff feels wrong, even though lots of extremely reputable sources insist it is right, which should be more than enough to override my stupid personal biases from my stupid Karen-mom upbringing but it isn''t and I hate it and I''m a bad person and aaaaaaaaaaagh!

    I''ve almost managed to work myself into another panic attack when my phone''s GPS loudly informs me I''ve arrived at Autumn''s place, but at least this panic attack is about a different thing than the one I was having this morning. I like how there are so many interesting and unique ways for me to be a bad person.

    I walk up to the front door (cracked walkway, weeds in the garden, porch looks unstable) and ring the doorbell (doesn''t work, have to knock). I manage to get the attention of someone inside, hear the requisite shuffling, and do my best not to think about the ridiculous and purely paranoid possibility of the person on the other side of the door pointing a gun at me when they open it. I don''t even know why my brain is considering that possibility, I''m just so outside my element and flushed with stress hormones that everything seems possible as long as it would be really bad for me personally, and ideally everyone around me as well. Thankfully, an armed stranger does not open the door. Autumn does, and the gay part of my brain immediately joins the anxious part of my brain in bullying the logical part.

    Girl pretty.

    Autumn''s school clothes are always plain, but it''s a very particular kind of plain. The sort of plain designed to be generic, uninteresting, default. Her outfits are generally practical but somewhat baggy, hiding her figure and bouncing attention off of a shield of meh. Her Saturday clothes are a very different sort of plain: the adorable kind. She doesn''t look boring, she looks like a librarian. And reading is hot.

    She''s got the ankle-length skirt. The long-sleeved cardigan. The homey color scheme of woody browns and dull maroons. Really, the only things she''s missing are glasses and books in the crook of her arm, and I bet we can fix that second part at the mall today. I, conversely, look exactly the same as I usually do. Sure, I picked out my fanciest outfit that involves long pants, thigh socks, and gloves, but the whole reason we''re going to the mall is that I do not have many outfits which satisfy that criteria. It''s hot and muggy out at this time of year, and gloves are not exactly a common fashion accessory in weather that makes every confined body part leak sweat like spring rain. Out of the entire town, Autumn is probably the only person other than me wearing something that covers up so much skin.

    ¡­Which, uh, actually brings up the question of why she''s doing that. But before I can think too much on the matter I realize that I''ve been staring without saying anything, and that she''s blushing slightly, and holy cannoli she is so cute when she''s blushing and now I''m blushing and oh my god Hannah say something, you dumb bug.

    "I like your shkirt," I say, almost successfully completing a single sentence.

    "My¡­ ''shkirt?''" she asks, because of course it would be obvious that I am stupid.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    "I like your skirt," I clarify. "And also your shirt."

    "Thanks, um, you too," she answers. "Your shirt I mean. Since¡­ you''re not wearing a skirt."

    There''s a pause.

    "...But I also like your pants," she manages to finish.

    Well. At least we seem to be equally bad at this. I smile at her, and then remember I''m wearing a mask so she can''t actually see me do that.

    "To the mall, then?" I ask.

    "Um, yep!" she confirms. "To the mall!"

    And so, we start walking to the mall, at first in more awkward silence but eventually in significantly less awkward conversation. All of said conversations pretty much involve us trading book titles until we find one that we''ve both read, at which point we babble about it in each other''s general direction. I get the distinct impression that she''s probably not all that good at talking about anything that isn''t fiction, but that''s okay because that''s honestly a pretty big mood. I don''t have anywhere near her number of consumed books, but getting her to open up and talk about something I haven''t read is weirdly difficult. I know she could, she can really get talkative about books sometimes, but for whatever reason she doesn''t seem to want to.

    Should I open up about a thing I like to talk about but she doesn''t know much of to indicate that it''s okay? Or would that just be seen as me being selfish in response to her consideration? What would I even talk about? The main thing that comes to mind is Pok¨¦mon, but that''s a terrible idea, I''ll ramble for hours and ruin the whole date if I start talking about Pok¨¦mon.

    "So, um, what''s your favorite fictional universe?" Autumn asks as we finally make it to the mall.

    "Pok¨¦mon," I answer.

    Aw, cracker barrel.

    "Pok¨¦mon? Like the kid''s show?"

    Hannah, I swear to Arceus, do not rant angrily about the massive adult following of Pok¨¦mon.

    "That''s the one," I manage to say. "Though it''s way more than a show, there are a bunch of different canons across the franchise."

    "Oh. Really?"

    "Yeah, really!" I confirm. "I mean, none of them are really high-effort on the writing front except Adventures-slash-Special, the canon is always full of contradictions and vagaries and really just¡­ not a whole lot in the way of story at all, really? But something about the world and setting have always captured me anyway. There''s both a gorgeous utopic bent and a horrifying underbelly of fridge logic in the world of Pok¨¦mon, and I love talking about it."

    "But you said the writing wasn''t any good," Autumn points out.

    "Yeah, the official material is kind of terrible. But like, the potential is there, which makes it really, really fun to think about."

    "Have you tried reading any fanfiction?" she asks.

    Agh oh no I love her.

    "There''s some really good Pok¨¦mon fanfiction, yeah," I agree happily. "I can recommend some if you''ve never tried any."

    "Um, sure!"

    Fanfiction is awesome, with its only glaring weakness being the incomprehensible fact that most people do not think it''s awesome. You can''t talk to the average person about fanfiction at all without it being really awkward because there''s this weird cultural stigma surrounding it that assumes all of it is embarrassing garbage written by tweens. And sure, there''s a lot of embarrassing garbage fanfiction written by tweens, but first of all how is anyone supposed to become a good writer without starting with embarrassing garbage? And second of all, so much of it is so fudge-in-a-cupcake good. There are some genuinely, unironically brilliant works of fiction that the average person will never even hear the title of for no reason other than it being fanfiction, and that''s a horrible state of affairs. Taking stories other people make and using them to inspire your own is one of the most fundamentally natural methods of human storytelling, and it has been going on since the dawn of history. Just think about it for like two seconds, and it becomes pretty obvious: every single vampire novel ever is Dracula fanfiction. The entire extended Cthulhu mythos is Lovecraft fanfiction. The wikipedia page for Divine Comedy claims "it is widely considered the pre-eminent work in Italian literature and one of the greatest works of world literature," and it''s literally, unambiguously, inarguably a self-insert fanfiction of the gosh dang Bible. It''s not even accurate to the Bible!

    Then capitalism walked in and was like ''yeah, but what if we prevent humanity from doing this anymore so we can make a bit more money'' and suddenly fanfiction is in a really weird spot of intellectual property law that nobody wants to touch. Only the copyright holder can make derivative works, but is fanfiction a derivative work or is it fair use? There''s arguments for both and there isn''t a lot of legal precedent on the matter, and frankly it''s probably better that way because nobody wants to risk a corporation actually trying to get the legal precedent that they''d no doubt be gunning for. As a result, fanfiction survives and thrives by simply being made by people who do not monetize their labor, creating beautiful stories (or terrible ones) purely for the enjoyment of doing so without receiving compensation for it, which, while bullshit, is at least something that most companies don''t care too much about. But that''s dumb, and fanfiction writers should be able to monetize their fanfiction. If you''ve ever actually tried to write one, you''d know it''s a ton of work, creatively and otherwise. It''s nothing like rote plagiarism.

    "So what about you?" I ask. "Favorite fictional universe?"

    "Real life," she answers.

    "Huh?"

    She shrugs, her lips twitching in an almost-laugh.

    "I, um, really love urban fantasy," she explains. "Stories that have magic but take place in a modern-day world which could believably be our own."

    I am briefly overcome with a temptation to just peel back the edge of my mask, grin a little too wide and say ''oh?'' It''d be so wild, so¡­ exhilarating. Magic is real, Autumn! Just look at what it''s done to me. You live in that world, and here''s just a hint of it.

    "U-uh, yeah," I stutter out instead. I''m not daring enough for anything more, and frankly Autumn doesn''t deserve to be caught up in my crap. "I used to like that a lot. I don''t know if it''d be to my tastes anymore. I don''t have a lot of time to read, but lately I want my fantasy worlds to not remind me of real life at all."

    Which, among other things, means no world trees. I''ve killed four people on a world tree. I''m a monster. All of a sudden, the enjoyable conversation melts away and I become hyper-aware of my freakish body, the chitin of my leg, the way my claws dig into my shoes, the constant thrum of magic within myself that''s waiting to be unleashed into the world. I don''t belong in this normal place, not when I can''t stop thinking about what the people around me would taste like. I''m a freak and a fraud, playing at a guise of humanity that''s paper-thin, one bad day away from a disaster.

    "Hannah?" Autumn asks, sounding a bit worried.

    "Wha?" I gulp, blinking my attention back to the now. "Sorry, did you say something?"

    "I said that makes sense," she answers nervously. "The world is pretty bad right now, what with the wars and the plague and stuff."

    Ah. Yep. That''s definitely what I was referring to.

    "Uh-huh," I manage to choke out. "By the by, I think we walked past like three clothing stores already, but I don''t actually know how to go shopping so I''ve just continued walking straight."

    "Oh!" she answers. "Um, haha, I thought you had a plan so I''ve just been following you."

    "Yeah, nope, I never have a plan," I admit a bit too honestly. "I''m just a total loser whose mom buys her clothes."

    "That sounds kind of nice, actually," Autumn answers. "Well, I can take the lead then. I''m sure you''ve noticed I''m not super fashionable, but I know how to find things, at least. You need, um, gloves you said? And stuff to go with gloves?"

    "Yeah, this is my only pair," I confirm.

    "Why the sudden need for them, anyway?" Autumn asks curiously.

    "Um¡­ it''s better than walking around with my hands visibly covered in bandages," I answer honestly. Well, as honest as a sentence I''ve specifically constructed to mislead can be, I guess.

    "Oh, right. Gosh, I''m sorry. Are you okay?"

    No. Not at all. I''m so far from okay that I''m pretty sure my only chance of feeling okay again is to literally go insane.

    "Yeah, I''m fine," I say out loud. "You of all people don''t have to apologize, Autumn. You were a big help."

    She doesn''t respond, awkwardly turning away and walking into the nearest clothing store instead. From that point on, conversation is mostly about outfits and bargains and checking between stores for options before deciding on a purchase. Hours pass before I even buy one thing, which probably isn''t conducive to a proper date. Though I guess Autumn doesn''t really seem to mind. She checks the time a fair bit, but when I ask her if she has anywhere to be she insists that she doesn''t.

    "Although, um, are you not hungry?" Autumn squeaks. "It''s nearly three-thirty."

    Oh gosh, really? I mean, I''m not hungry, but only because I''ve been doing everything in my power to disassociate my mind with the very concept of food. No longer able to hide, the hunger and the trauma both crash into me at once and I almost physically stagger.

    "...Food would probably be a smart idea," I admit, horrible and delicious flavors singing through my memories.

    "Cool," she nods. "Food court?"

    That sounds like a good place for food. There are plenty of people in the food court.

    "Sure," I answer quietly.

    Are my hands shaking? Oh geez I probably look completely insane. Change the subject, Hannah, change the subject!

    "Is it really three-thirty?" I ask.

    "Yep, just about," Autumn answers. "Sorry, I should have asked to eat sooner, but we were finally getting some progress¡­"

    "Ugh. Yeah. Maybe the only reason I hate shopping is just because my methodology is unbearable. I feel so pushy and annoying dragging you around all over the mall."

    "It''s fine," Autumn insists. "It''s nice to pass the time with someone else."

    "It''s nice seeing you be kind of talkative for once, too," I joke. "I''m glad I haven''t frightened you off, yet. Sometimes you seem so tough, but usually you''re like a nervous little mouse."

    Her brown curls spring adorably as she nervously tugs on a lock of hair.

    "...Do you like me better tough?" she asks.

    Oh gosh is that¡­ is she¡­? Aaaaah, abort, abort! Except¡­ wait. You know what? I don''t have the mental bandwidth to be embarrassed about this. So belay that, full speed ahead.

    "Um¡­ I, uh, wouldn''t say that," I admit. "I just¡­ like you. I''ve been having a lot of fun talking to you. And you''ve been really helpful today, I don''t think I could have bought any of this stuff without your help. You''re cool when you''re tough, but¡­ you''re cute when you''re nervous."

    Holy beans on toast I actually said that. I blush. She blushes.

    "I see," is all she says, though I manage to catch her doing the smallest little wiggle. My heart. Oh gosh.

    I ride the high of this interpersonal victory all the way to the food court, where I promptly realize that even if I did have the emotional wherewithal to eat right now, I can''t actually take my mask off in public and am therefore screwed. At school I just eat somewhere private, but I can''t exactly buy food and rush off into the bathroom to scarf it down here, now can I? That''d be disgusting and super weird. Oh, I don''t necessarily have to, though! I could get something food-adjacent that I can slurp down with a straw. That should do the trick. A milkshake isn''t exactly a meal, but it''s better than nothing and my rapidly-carnivorizing digestive system can hopefully-probably still handle milk without much issue. I''ll have to check how tasty it smells.

    I will say that, on a whole, the food court is absolutely full of tasty smells, and it''s really reassuring to know that those tasty smells are not people.

    "Well, um, what were you thinking?" Autumn asks. "Looks like there''s a Chinese place, a Mexican place, an ''Italian'' place that''s really just a pizza place, and something called ''Nathan''s World-Famous Hot Dogs,'' even though I''ve never actually heard of them."

    "Well, I feel like the advantage of a food court is that we don''t necessarily have to agree on a place," I point out.

    "Yeah, but then we have to wait in two different lines," she counters expertly.

    "Oh, right. True. Um¡­ I''m fine with anywhere that has a milkshake, that''s probably all I''m going to be getting."

    "Oh, gosh. Not hungry?" Autumn asks. "You must have had a big breakfast."

    I mean, does an entire human-sized person count? I flex my claws and talons, extra limbs in my torso shifting uncomfortably.

    "Something like that," I answer.

    Autumn frowns.

    "Are you okay?" she asks. "You''ve seemed pretty distracted all day."

    "I''m¡­ well, okay, no. I''m not fine," I admit. "But I will be fine. Hopefully. I just¡­ some stuff happened yesterday."

    "More medical stuff?" Autumn asks.

    I glance over to her. That is the logical assumption, isn''t it? Based on what she knows, she probably thinks I''m dying. She might be right. Considering how violent the other world is, I''ll be lucky to survive a month. Forget the whole turning-into-a-monster problem, will my body over here even still be alive if my body over there gets chopped up in its sleep? No wonder I''m so desperate to go on a date, I''m basically trying to fill out my bucket list. And Autumn doesn''t even know. If she thinks this is a serious date that might actually end up as a relationship, I''m just leading her on.

    "I''m not doing so hot in a lot of areas," I tell her. "I''m sorry. I just¡­ I''m kind of using you, aren''t I?"

    "H-huh?" she stutters, looking startled. "I''m not¡­ I don''t feel used? We''re just shopping."

    "And if I asked if you wanted to see a movie with me once we''re done eating, what would you say?"

    She gives me a deer-in-the-headlights stare for a moment, but manages to answer.

    "I''d¡­ like that a lot," she squeaks.

    I stare at her. We''re both pretty short people, so it''s easy to meet her eyes. Anxious and surrounded by loud, rude humans in line for crappy mall food, I realize that I have become so overwhelmed with horror that my brain has stack overflowed all the way into fearless. I take the plunge.

    "Autumn, are you aware that I''m gay?" I ask her.

    Her blush deepens.

    "I, um, did manage to pick up that impression from somewhere," she admits.

    "So is this a date?" I ask.

    "...Historians in the future may or may not refer to today as a date," she hedges. "It depends on if it goes well or not. Though we can''t let any information about any hypothetical dates get back to my dad."

    "Same goes for my family," I sigh. "But that''s really not the only problem. I don''t know how long I''ll be capable of dating, Autumn. It''s not fair to you if we start something when I know I''m just going to have to call it off. I''m being selfish."

    She doesn''t get the chance to answer immediately, since it''s our turn to order food. We fumble a bit at doing so considering the mental gear-shift required, but I get myself a plain vanilla milkshake (I figure chocolate might be risky) and settle back into waiting for the inevitable rejection.

    "Maybe it''s okay if we''re selfish, for once," Autumn says instead.

    I give her a surprised blink.

    "...What do you mean?" I ask.

    "Exactly what I said," she answers. "I''m here because I want to be, Hannah. I''m having fun. Can we continue?"

    "Oh, um¡­ sure."

    I awkwardly collect my milkshake and stick the straw behind my mask, earning an odd look from Autumn that I only shrug to in response.

    "We should normalize kinds of food that can be eaten with masks on," I mutter. "There''s a dang pandemic going on."

    "I guess it makes sense that you have to be pretty health-conscious, huh?" Autumn chuckles. "At least you seem hale."

    "Except for when my blood all decides to fall out, yeah," I confirm. "Although speaking of stuff in my body that needs to fall out, I''m gonna head to the bathroom. Watch my shake?"

    "I''ll protect it with my life," Autumn promises.

    "Cool," I nod. "Uh, don''t actually do that though, please run if there are any threats to your life. Be right back!"

    I jog to the nearest bathroom, my need to use it a lot more urgent than I expected. What did Autumn mean by that? ''Maybe it''s okay if we''re selfish?'' If nothing else, I guess it sounds like she''s okay with it if this turns out to be a pretty short-term thing. Which is¡­ nice. Definitely reassuring. Holy crap though, did I really just admit that I''m gay in a public setting!? I mean, it''s a public setting with a zero percent chance that anyone was bothering to listen in on me, and even if they were I didn''t recognize anyone nearby, but still. What the heck, me? I''m going to give myself a heart attack with something like that.

    I sit down on the toilet, moving my right sock down to expose my knee so I can pick the lint out of the joint. Having things inside my joints, it turns out, is extremely uncomfortable, and lint really likes to get stuck between the plates. I could just magic it out, but¡­ I dunno. I guess I have to wait here for my large intestine to cooperate anyway. It''s a big one, which is odd since I haven''t eaten anything, but I didn''t poop this morning so I guess this sort of thing happens. Unless¡­ no. Nope, nuh-uh, I''m not going to think about that. I do my business as quickly as I can, wipe up, and resolve not to look into the toilet itself when I stand. I immediately fail.

    I feel like it''s weird to look back and check your own turds after pooping, but like¡­ surely everybody does that at least sometimes, right? Gosh I''m on my first date ever and I''m lamenting about my own feces. It''s not like there''s any way that it¡­ that¡­ um.

    Are those shards of bone?

    They are. Oh god, they are. Packed in with the brown rot of my own excretions are chunks of hard white, proof positive of what I''ve done. How is it here? How did it chase me across dimensions? Why would¡­ how did¡­ fuck!

    Vomit joins shit in the toilet bowl, a powerful heave upending a waterfall of horrible orange acids from my throat. No. No! Everything was going so well! Why did this have to happen now? Why can''t I even have one good day? I''m going to ruin everything, not just for me but for Autumn too! I just¡­ no. No! I can fix this!

    No more feeling weird about my spells, I need them. Magic cleans me up well enough, and a flush of the toilet removes the rest of the evidence. Making sure my clothes are all on right, I walk out of the toilet stall and use the mirror to double-check myself, taking deep breaths and forcing my body to at least appear calm. I can do this. It''ll be fine. Maybe I can''t have a good day, but she can. Poor, cute Autumn. I''m not sure she has any other friends, so I''ll be the best friend she''s ever had. And if she wants things to go further than that¡­ well, hopefully I''ll still be around.

    I return to the food court with a spring in my step that I don''t really feel. I give Autumn a smile she can''t actually see.

    "So!" I say. "Movie?"

    She agrees, and we head to the theater. I let her pick something without even really registering what it is. Something live-action fantasy. I''ve never heard of it before, but glancing at the ticket I''m startled by the nearly three hour run time. Sure, though. Whatever. It''s not like I have anything better to do. Multiple hours of loud, in-my-face distraction sounds like exactly what I need right now.

    I''m so out of it I don''t even cringe when Autumn buys some of the overpriced theater snacks, I just offer to carry all of the bags so that she can hold her sugary spoils. I might be able to get away with a few bites of food when everyone is distracted by the movie, but I don''t know if I can even digest popcorn and candy. I don''t want to think about digesting things anyway.

    Time slides by. I don''t remember the movie, but Autumn seems to be pretty into it. That''s good. She''s good. I think. I guess I barely know anything about her. But she seems like a good person to me, and that''s enough for now. When the credits start to roll, Autumn insists we wait and see if there''s an after-credits scene. There isn''t one. We leave. The sun is starting to set when we make it outside.

    "Everything okay?" Autumn asks quietly.

    I blink, turning to look at her.

    "Yeah," I lie. "Sorry. Just¡­ a bit out of it."

    "Was the movie too long¡­?"

    "No," I assure her. "No, it was fine."

    "Sorry," she mutters. "I picked a really long one."

    "I don''t mind," I tell her.

    "I was just being selfish."

    I know, in my gut, that I should probably challenge that statement. I don''t think I have the energy to, though, so we walk together in silence. Since we''re walking, it''s probably another forty-five minutes to an hour before we finally get home. Autumn seems more and more nervous the closer we get, and I can hardly blame her. I''m not looking forward to going home either.

    It''s a good thing my phone is giving me directions, because I wouldn''t recognize where anything is in the dark like this. Sure, this is my hometown, but I don''t actually know it all that well. Outside of a few specific places, I never really go anywhere. It''s not all that late at night, but wherever we are is still pretty dead in terms of activity. Besides Autumn and I, there''s only one other person on the street. He''s approaching us from behind, which is a little concerning on general principles. I don''t really want to turn around and actually see what he looks like, though. ¡­Wait, if I haven''t seen him, how do I know he''s there?

    I glance backwards, and sure enough, there''s someone approaching us from behind. They''ve got a hood up and they''re staring at the ground, so I can''t see their face. Both hands are in their pockets. Their pockets are bulging rather suspiciously.

    No way, right? Not¡­ not like this. Not now. Not even the movie we just watched was clich¨¦ enough for this.

    I put a hand on Autumn''s shoulder and subtly nudge her to start walking faster. Unfortunately, we''re both short, and the person behind us keeps gaining ground anyway. What should we do? Scream? I don''t think there''s¡­ no. I know there isn''t anyone else around. But how¡­? I don''t seem to have access to my actual spatial sense. I try to look at things that way, but it just isn''t there. Still, something more instinctive seems to insist on knowledge that I don''t know how I could be aware of in any other manner. My heartbeat thumps faster as I feel out the nearby streets and alleyways, trying to find one out of sight we can duck into. Best-case scenario, he''s just some dude in a hurry and he walks right past us. Worst-case scenario¡­ well. I''ll want witnesses even less than he will.

    What''s a fifth, in the grand scheme of things? The thought makes tears start to form in my eyes, but I ignore them. He''s just gonna walk right past us anyway, right? I''m just being paranoid.

    "Be quiet and stay behind me," I whisper to Autumn, and nudge her into an alleyway between two run-down businesses. The man behind us picks up speed. He''ll be in view soon. Walk past us, walk past us, please walk past us.

    He turns into our alleyway. He draws a knife. Tears start to fall down my cheeks in earnest.

    "Y-your money," he demands. He''s wearing a COVID facemask. The one damn guy I see actually wearing a mask during the pandemic, and he''s using it to commit a crime.

    It''s funny. I''ve read a lot of superhero comics. Oftentimes, some of the best parts of superhero stories are the origins, the moment the hero first gets their powers and embraces them as tools of justice. Now obviously, we know that in the real world you can''t actually make the world a noticeably better place by beating people up, and the vast majority of superheroes can do more good by using their powers for volunteer work than by using them to punch criminals in the schnoz, but the opening moments of a superhero''s career are very, very often exactly like what I''m seeing right now. Bad guy, wearing a mask so the audience can''t empathize with him, accosts a woman in an alleyway. Superhero punches him in the schnoz. Superhero is praised by woman, superhero realizes the joy and responsibility of heroism, superhero career begins. It''s so stupidly common, so incredibly clich¨¦ that even the subversions of the trope are clich¨¦. Even the times you know for a fact that, at the end of the scene, there isn''t going to be a hero walking out of the alleyway.

    I take a shaky breath, standing up straighter. I don''t really know how to fight, certainly not in a straight one-on-one battle like this. I''ll probably get stabbed when I attack, but if I kick him with my right leg then my chitin should be plenty tough to shrug such a tiny blade off. In return, my magically-enhanced claws will rend deep into him. He''ll probably die. I''m hungry enough to dispose of the evidence, at least.

    "I said give me your money!" the boy snaps. God, he sounds so young.

    "Please just go," I beg him. "Don''t become my clich¨¦."

    He seems a bit taken aback by my words, but he doesn''t leave. I figured as much. This is just my life now, isn''t it?

    I take a deep breath, and the goddess reaches out towards my lungs.

 21. Face-Off

    The goddess smiles a faceless grin as she takes my breath. It is a joyful smile, though not at all a kind one.

    I recognize the goddess'' presence as a simple fact of reality, the same as I know my heart beats in my chest even when I''m not feeling for a pulse. She''s here, right in front of my face, drawing in the air from my lungs and leaving me breathless. Yet she''s barely a consideration as my eyes focus on the knife in front of me, the threat, the danger that I only have one way to remove. Speaking a spell takes time, time that I''m not sure I have. The weapon is close, plenty close enough to stab me in the time it takes to say two words. I need to already be moving, already be striking. With the incantation spoken, my claws reach nearly a foot in length. More than enough to take his wrist¡­ or his head. I open my mouth, twisting my body to strike as I and the goddess say¡ª

    "Hannah, stop!"

    A hand grabs my shoulder from behind, and for an instant I''m certain I''m about to die. Someone is behind me and I''m not ready and I can''t stop their attack. Then I remember there is no one behind me but Autumn, and there is no attack at all. Not even the mugger is moving, his eyes wide and hands shaky. Is he afraid? I know I am. The incantation catches in my throat. The goddess twitches in annoyance, my words left unsaid on the tip of her tongue.

    "Are you fucking insane?" Autumn hisses at me, pulling me back and glaring at me face-to-face. "Don''t attack an armed mugger, you moron, just give him your money!"

    Stunned, I do nothing but stare at her for a moment. I open my mouth to respond, but no words can come out because my lungs are still empty. The goddess holds my breath.

    Autumn sends a nervous glance towards the kid with the knife.

    "...You''re not gonna like, rape us or anything, right?" she asks him bluntly.

    The mugger jolts a bit, rapidly shaking his head. Autumn turns her attention back to me.

    "Yeah, see? He just wants our money. We just give it to him, nice and easy, and we go on our way. Let''s not get ourselves stabbed over whatever''s in your wallet."

    I blink at her, still unable to respond. Unable to breathe. Though she has no limbs, I feel the goddess tap her foot impatiently.

    "Your wallet, Hannah," Autumn snaps authoritatively, and I fumble for it, pulling it out of my pocket and handing it to her. She opens it up and pulls out the bills. I probably have eighty to a hundred dollars of bills in there, collected from various twenties I would get in birthday cards and then never use because credit is more convenient.

    "Y-your phones, too," the boy says.

    "You don''t want our phones," Autumn firmly insists. "Tracer apps."

    ¡­Is that a thing? I feel like even if it is a thing, it''s a thing that can be negated by just removing the battery. The mugger hesitates anyway, and by then Autumn is already collecting the drastically smaller number of bills from her own wallet and handing them over to him, staying towards his left side. The unarmed side. She''s watching the knife very, very carefully, but the mugger doesn''t attack her. He just snatches the bills and stuffs them in his pocket, jabbing towards the shopping bags I dropped on the ground with his knife.

    "A-anything valuable in there, too," the mugger insists.

    "It''s women''s clothing," Autumn says, stepping away from it. "Do you even know what''s valuable?"

    Her question isn''t a mocking one. It''s genuine. He''s staring at her now, confusion obvious on his face.

    "You want purses. You want shoes. You want jewelry. We didn''t buy any of that. You can rummage through there anyway if you want, or you can make me do it, but the more time you drag this out, the more likely someone is to walk by."

    And the more time we drag this out, the more my lungs burn. Pain crawls through my chest as my body screams for air, the goddess still waiting on me. But I don''t want to cast anything! I made a mistake!

    A smothering pressure closes in on all sides, a thousand misty limbs wrapping me, crushing me, demanding to know of me: a mistake? Really? I called a goddess, I summoned the divine, for a mistake? For a waste of time? Exactly whose time do I think I''m wasting? Did I forget my place? She strokes my face, slowly and sensually, and the brush of unwanted intimacy almost makes me scream. It would have, were she not still holding my breath. I am still favored, she promises. I am still loved. But love only forgives so much.

    The goddess opens her mouth, her face so close to mine that I feel her breath on my cheek. I feel my own soul on my cheek, the tiniest puff of air nearly crushing me to death. Her wispy fingers crawl into me, peeling open my lips and winding down my throat, wrapping around my voicebox, pulling and twisting and forcing words that I cannot refuse. The mugger glances between Autumn and the shopping bags one last time before scampering off, leaving Autumn alone with me in the alley.

    "Poor kid," she mutters. "You okay, Hannah? We should be safe n¡ª"

    "Spacial Rend," the Goddess says with my body, and my world becomes blood and pain.

    No familiar pulse of magic engulfs my claws, because though I spoke the words it is the Goddess'' magic and the Goddess decides what is done with it. This is the lesson She teaches me as a hundred claws tear open holes in my body, separating skin from skin and muscle from muscle with the effortless grace of the omnipotent. My own spell turns against me, and I feel the agony of it. No blade slides between my ribs, no sword cuts into my flesh, yet the wounds form all the same, obeying the natural laws of the world even while those laws are taken out back and shot in the head. There is space between two parts of me. Therefore, I was cut.

    I collapse to the ground immediately, streams of red erupting from countless wounds. The Goddess glares down at me, watching and waiting, as I finally manage to take half a breath before choking on my own blood. Coughing makes everything hurt even more. I''m already lightheaded.

    "Hannah? Holy shit, Hannah!"

    My whole body is in agony. I feel my clothes getting soaked, wet ooze blossoming all over. It''s impossible for me to know how many times I''ve been cut, there''s simply too much pain. But I''m choking, aren''t I? My throat was slit by my own miscasted spell. I''m going to bleed out in seconds. I''m going to die.

    The Goddess watches, and She waits. I''m not going to disappoint Her twice in a row, am I?

    I''m vaguely aware that Autumn is squatting next to me, putting pressure on me, doing something with her phone. But my vision is blurry and I don''t have time to consider her, not in the seconds I have left. The prospect of trying to cast magic right now is utterly horrifying, but what choice do I have? If I don''t figure out a healing spell, a powerful healing spell, I will die. But healing is Order, and the last time I tried for a healing spell I got something completely different. Which makes sense, if magic reflects who we are. I''m nowhere near a good enough person to be a healer. I was about to kill someone in order to¡­ what? Save myself a hundred dollars?

    So that''s it, right? I''m dead? The Goddess sneers at me, turning away in disgust and irritation. Why? How can She expect better from me? She''s the one that gives spells, so She should know if I have a solution. Which¡­ which means I do. Right? So how can I heal my wounds? ¡­No, wait. That''s the wrong question, isn''t it? The real question is ''how do I prevent myself from dying?''

    An idea starts to form. A stupid idea. I don''t have enough power for it. I need¡­ I need a named spell. That''s why She''s still here. She knows I have to say it out loud. But¡­ She cut my throat. I can''t speak! ¡­No, wait, I''m a fool. My body in the other world can''t speak, but that''s no obstacle to a Goddess.

    I have, of course, been thinking about what to name my magic. My first spell was somewhat of a whim, but I think it worked not just because it was perfectly descriptive, but because it was perfect for me. Spacial Rend, the name of an attack from a game that is near and dear to my heart, that I have invested myself into and obsessed over more than any other thing in the world. In some stupid, nerdy way, Pok¨¦mon is part of me in a true sense, and with one spell already inspired by it, I like the idea of naming all of my spells with the same theme.

    The Goddess'' gaze turns back to me, her ethereal lips quirking upwards. She likes the idea, too. Good. Without her favor, I''m dead. She smiles more broadly.

    My favorite spell is a cleaning spell, but it''s more than just a cleaning spell. It is a spell of Order, a spell that presupposes the idea that there is a way that things should be, and makes it so. What makes it more than a cleaning spell is that it''s really more about ''putting things in their proper place.'' To cast it, I need something to be in the wrong place, and I need somewhere that is the right place to relocate it to.

    My blood is in the wrong place. The right place is my veins. The Goddess beams with delight.

    "Refresh," She intones, my coughing ceasing long enough for my mouth to mime the words.

    To restore. To stimulate. To wash. The word ''refresh'' has many relevant meanings. In Pok¨¦mon, it''s a move that cures the negative status of the user, removing conditions and restoring to the default. On a computer, refreshing a page is often the first and most useful troubleshooting tip online, clearing up errors by starting things anew, returning them to their initial state. It is a word that fits me well, leaden with the implications of cleanliness and Order, and the Goddess approves.

    My blood runs backwards. The stains in my clothes unsoak themselves, sucking backwards out of the fabric and into the wounds. Blood slithers out of my lungs, out of my perforated organs, and I''m allowed a real, complete breath for the first time in a long time.

    Then my heart beats, and it all pours back out my wounds anew.

    "Refresh," I hiss, the Goddess delighting in copying my intended intonation. Each blood vessel, each artery, each vein¡­ it all has a direction it is supposed to be traveling in. The proper state of blood is not a singular place but in motion, and whenever it incorrectly falls out of a severed tube it needs to be relocated to the other side of the cut, stuffed back into the far end of its broken road, to continue properly on its way. Raw power bridges the many gaps in my flesh, each cut now perfectly dry but for the tiny, lightning-shaped patterns of dancing red indicating where an unsevered vessel is supposed to be.

    But the cuts are still there. I don''t have a healing spell. I can''t mend them.

    "What the fuck," Autumn breathes. "What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck."

    "Ma''am?" her phone chirps. "What was that? Are you still there?"

    Magic churns through my entire body, guiding the flow of my life where my heart alone is no longer capable of doing the task. The Goddess gives me a condescending pat on the head before Her presence vanishes, leaving only the power of the spell literally thrumming in my veins.

    "Ma''am, just stay where you are," the voice on the phone commands calmly. "We have an ambulance and police en route."

    Oh, fudge sunday. She was on the phone. They have a recording of my spell!

    "Off," I order Autumn, gesturing shakily at her phone. "Turn it off."

    "What¡­ what just¡­?"

    "Turn it off!" I snap, and she fumbles for the device, quickly complying as I unsteadily get to my feet. A certain amount of oxygen belongs in my brain, and it''s there now. The lightheadedness is gone.

    "We have to go," I insist, leaning against a wall as I feel the holes in my body twist and move alongside me, each side of the many cuts scraping against their matching face. "Grab the b-bags."

    "Wh¡­ the bags!? Really? Hannah, I just saw you¡ª"

    "The receipts have my name on them!" I bark at her, holding back an adrenaline-fueled hiss. "I can''t go to the hospital, I can''t talk to the police, we have to go. Now!"

    She stares at me for a moment, a shell-shocked expression on her face. I have no idea what she sees when she looks at me. There are cuts on my face, my clothes are shredded, my mask is in pieces. She sees what I really am, at least in part, and as her eyes twitch to take in details I can''t help but be terrified of whatever it is she''s thinking. What if she runs? What if she leaves me here? Can I escape on my own? Can I even walk?

    "Okay," Autumn says simply, none of the stress she''s under audible in her voice. She stands up, and rather than leaving she collects all the shopping bags on one arm before offering me her other one. Her face has locked down completely, showing no expression.

    ¡­Which is for some reason extremely hot, but I can''t exactly afford to focus on that right now so I just take her hand, struggling to walk on my deeply lacerated legs. My mutated limb doesn''t need anywhere near as much magical maintenance in terms of keeping the blood going where it should, thanks to how rigid it is, but a lot of the cuts are still deep enough to damage muscle. Autumn takes my arm around her shoulder and I let her guide my body as we flee the scene together, most of my focus occupied with maintaining the magical ''cleaning'' spell that''s somehow barely keeping me alive.

    "...Where are we going?" Autumn asks.

    "I don''t know," I snap without really meaning to. The pain seems to be making what parts of my lips that still actually work curl up into a sneer, and I''m certain that I''m only conscious thanks to adrenaline. By all rights, I shouldn''t even be able to think with my body in this much agony.

    "You don''t know?" Autumn repeats. "Well I sure as hell can''t take you back to my place."

    "Understandable," I grunt, trying to keep the edge out of my voice. She''s helping me. She''s staying with me. Holy crap she''s staying with me. "I can''t really go home looking like this either."

    Autumn just nods, like that''s the most natural thing in the world.

    "I know of some places we can hide out," she admits. "Are you gonna be okay without medical attention, though?"

    "Autumn, I''m a freak," I growl. "Will I be okay with medical attention? What would a hospital even do with me?"

    She glances down to where my shredded pants and shoes are slowly revealing more and more of my mutant leg as we walk.

    "...That''s a good question," she acknowledges. "I almost want to ask if this is all real, but¡­"

    "It is," I confirm. "Unfortunately."

    "Yeah," she nods. "I heard¡­ I don''t know what I heard. You spoke and then someone touched me. I didn''t like it one bit."

    "Yeah, that was the Goddess," I groan. "By the way, religion is solved and magic is real."

    She chews on her lower lip a bit, biting off some dead skin and glancing down at my leg again.

    "...That is not going to be fun to process later," she decides, her voice flat.

    "I am surprised and very, very appreciative that you''re not freaking out about it right now," I tell her. "Thank you."

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Autumn shrugs very slightly, which is very painful.

    "Crisis management is what I do," she dismisses, taking a sudden turn and crossing the street with me. Off in the distance, I hear sirens, but I can''t see where they''re coming from. Turning my head hurts like a habanero anyway.

    "...Like the robber?" I say, trying to keep talking because it''s something other than agony and the jittery heat of blood-sorting magic.

    "Well technically that was a mugger, but yeah," Autumn grunts. "What the hell were you thinking? Were you about to cut up that poor kid the way you cut up yourself?"

    "''Poor kid?'' He drew a knife on us! I freaked out and thought we were about to die!"

    "Well, we weren''t," Autumn grunts. "He was even more terrified than you were. Total amateur, that was probably his first mugging. Fell for some obvious lies. People like him don''t commit crimes unless they''re really, really desperate."

    I look her way, peeling my eyes up from my own feet and enduring the pain required to actually see her rather than just soak in information from my budding spatial sense¡ªwhich is a thing I''ve been doing, apparently¡ªand really look at her blank expression, the way the hardness of her face and the experience evident in her words paint a clear picture that even I''m not too dense to understand.

    Autumn has some significant criminal experience. That is not going to be fun to process later. As of right now, though, I can hardly fault her. She''s being far more awesome than I have any right to.

    "...Thank you," I manage to choke out. "For stopping me, and for stepping in. I¡­ I''m pretty sure I would have killed him if you hadn''t done that."

    Autumn doesn''t respond at first, leading me off the road down into a ditch, and into one of those big concrete tubes with roads built on top of them that are probably used for drainage or something. She sits me down on the damp ground, then extracts herself from me to sit on the far side, facing me.

    "You ever kill anyone?" she asks.

    I swallow, looking away. I guess at this point she deserves to know.

    "Yes," I admit. "I have."

    Her emotionless demeanor cracks a little bit at that, her eyebrows raising.

    "Huh. Okay. Well, at least you seem pretty torn up about it." She wrinkles her nose. "...Uh, poor choice of words on my part, sorry."

    I wince, which hurts and causes me to wince harder.

    "It''s, um, fine."

    "You doing okay?" she asks.

    I could try to blow this off, I guess. Deflect, try to salvage like I always do. But that''s too much work. Too much of my head is dedicated to the image of my blood flowing correctly and Orderly through my body, maintaining the link to an outpouring of magic that suffuses me. I''m in too much pain to add a lie to the anguish.

    "...I''m using magic to circulate my blood," I explain. "Everything hurts. The only thing currently stopping me from having a panic attack is the knowledge that if I stop focusing on keeping this spell active I''ll die."

    "That sounds bad," she hedges.

    "It''s pretty bad," I confirm. "On the other hand, I''m kind of freaking out about the fact that I can apparently do this at all. Like¡­ look at this crazy gumbo."

    I peel off a ruined glove, then peel back a deep cut on my hand, opening the lesion wider so that internals are visible, pale skin on fat on muscle on bone. All throughout it, thin spiderweb lines of red snake through the air that''s now between them and the other end of the cut. Blood and guts and internal organs look very, very different to my spatial sense than they do to my eyes, but even so I don''t feel much disgust in the action. I''m simply too inured to the insides of bodies on a daily basis to care much about seeing my own fat and bone exposed to the air.

    "I''m doing this," I marvel, ignoring the sharp increase of pain that comes with the demonstration. "I''m holding myself together, my own life clenched in two fists. With a cleaning spell. I''m just¡­ I''m really not human anymore, huh? Shame I don''t know how to actually heal the wounds, so I''m kind of stuck in a holding pattern here."

    I glance over at Autumn, who is very stoically trying to avoid letting her queasiness show on her face. I let the cut on my hand go, hiding the insides from view. The way she looks at my face makes me suspect there''s something similarly gross there, though.

    "...But hopefully I can start working to fix myself," I assure her, continuing to babble as is my wont. "No healing spell is a problem, but¡­ maybe I can spoof one with a Transmutation spell? Like, I have a spell which accelerates my mutation into a horrifying inhuman monster, and maybe accelerating my changes will also accelerate my healing?"

    "Um, so about that¡­" Autumn starts, motioning vaguely in my direction.

    "About what?" I ask, since it really could be anything I''ve said in the past five minutes.

    "...The, um. The monster thing."

    I don''t know why, but her sudden hesitance makes me grin with the half of my mouth still capable of it. Heh, I forgot my lips can stretch this far.

    "Y''know, I''d really like to know the answer to that myself!" I say with false cheerfulness. "This just sort of started happening one day, and like, I could give a lot more context and details behind that but frankly I''m pretty sure all of it would just make things more confusing. All I really know is that one day while I was showering my bones started growing out of my toes, and now¡­ well."

    I wiggle my toes, my monstrous limb having long since been freed from my torn-up shoes.

    "...That''s why your feet were bleeding in gym," Autumn realizes. "Not because you cut yourself open like this, but because you were changing."

    "Yes! Exactly. I don''t usually rip myself to shreds and have to barely hold on for life, I promise. Having magic at all is actually more recent than the monster thing."

    "So you started mutating, and then you got magic," Autumn clarifies. "You didn''t use magic to start mutating."

    "Correct," I nod. "Well, I mean, magic is probably responsible for me turning into a monster, but I certainly didn''t cast that spell on purpose.¡±

    She nods slowly, grabbing her chin between her thumb and forefinger as her eyes go distant. She''s back to not looking stressed, just¡­ calculating.

    "...You''re taking this really well," I note. "Like, suspiciously well. Are you okay?"

    She frowns slightly.

    "I''m not really sure that it''s sunk in yet," she admits. "This is a lot, even for me. A big part of me keeps trying to explain this, to rationalize it. But even if your limbs and teeth are just strange prostheses, your wounds and blood¡­ there''s no way. I can''t figure it out. And I don''t think you''re lying about being in danger of dying, so either way it''s kind of not the top priority right now."

    "Oh, right, I guess I should probably try to stop myself from dying, huh?"

    "Preferably yes?"

    There are two problems with that, though: one, I''m not sure I can focus on Refresh and unnamed-Transmutation-spell at the same time. Accidentally halting the only spell that''s keeping me alive is probably A Bad Plan?. At the same time, though, the current situation isn''t at all sustainable so I''m not sure I can afford to not take the risk. This leads to the second problem: I don''t want to. Accelerating my changes means I come out of this even more of a monstrous freak than before, and I''m already a maniac that''s jumping to murder as my first option in dangerous scenarios. I don''t want to cast a spell that basically just uses magic to make all of that worse. Obviously though, just like with problem one, I don''t have a choice. I''m forced into this horrid situation by my own mistakes, and it''s time to pay the piper. I''ll become a freak and my chance at anything normal or good in this world will be over.

    "Is there anything more I can do to help?" Autumn asks.

    ¡­Unless she stays with me. And she is staying with me. Why? No, no, stop, now is not the time for my self-esteem issues, I am dying. Anything she can do. Hmm. Well, I''ve been ignoring it all day for trauma reasons, but I haven''t eaten anything but a milkshake and I''m very, very hungry. If I''m going to repair myself and grow new body parts, I''ll need fuel.

    "...I need meat," I tell her, trying not to think about the fact that she''s made of it.

    "Alright," Autumn nods, pulling out her phone. "Chick-fil-a is closeby."

    "I''d prefer meat from a company that isn''t owned by a bigot that keeps donating to anti-LGBT organizations."

    "Well it''s the closest place and you just fucking filleted yourself, so you''re just going to have to deal with it?"

    She''s got me there.

    "...I guess I''ve given in to worse excuses to pay a bigot."

    "That''s the spirit," Autumn sighs. "Be back in like¡­ ten minutes. Please don''t die, my fingerprints are all over you."

    And with that, she turns and sprints away. Woah, she''s fast. Now I''m alone. At night. Torn to shreds and visibly inhuman. ¡­Nope can''t think about that, have magic to do. I close my eyes, doubling down on the feeling of power moving my blood through my body. I can''t lose my focus on this, even when I''m casting another spell. I mean, now that I''m thinking about it, I''m not sure if it''s possible to cast two spells at the same time. Maybe there''s an arbitrary limit. ¡­Still don''t have a choice, though.

    Okay. Don''t panic. Just¡­ work through this. My blood is where it belongs. My body is not, but I can''t heal it just by moving things around. My body has to heal itself, and that means it has to change. I need to focus on the Transmutation magic in my soul and channel that alongside my Order spell. So¡­ focus. Transmutation. Change. Order is complexity, and Transmutation is the pathway to increasing complexity, the ever-advancing nature of life. Order says there is a way things should be. Transmutation says but what if we make it even better?

    ¡­For a certain definition of better, of course. As much as I might be stronger, faster, more dangerous, more powerful¡­ it''s not all upsides. Although those things are pretty cool. I mean, I don''t wanna murder people, and those attributes mostly just make me better at murdering people, but¡­ I dunno. Not important! Focus on transforming!

    I find the energy that''s somehow Transmutation-flavored, drawing it out slowly like I did before. Last time, I tugged at a link between my two bodies, but this time I want to try to avoid messing with that if possible. It seems¡­ I dunno. Ominous. It''s like, part of my soul probably? I don''t exactly like the idea of yanking on my own soul.

    ¡­Ugh, I used to be an atheist. I guess I''d be a pretty crummy skeptic if I ignored literally having divine magic, though. So sure! Souls exist! Why not! It''s as good an explanation as any in regards to sharing a consciousness between entire universes.

    Oh, right, I need to focus so that I don''t literally die. As terrible and terrifying as my life is, as dangerous as I''m afraid I''m becoming, I absolutely, positively do not want to die. The idea of death is terrifying, even more so now that I''ve met god. Er, I mean the Goddess. She''s¡­ kind of scary. Incredible, sure, but definitely scary. So that means I need to make this work.

    I find the feeling of Transmutation inside me easily enough. I carefully fill myself with it, making sure not to drop Refresh while pulling more and more of the energy into my body. I breathe in, and I breathe out, ignoring how alone I am, how I can feel the damp ground soaking into what''s left of my underwear, how easy it would be for Autumn to abandon me, how every single insect and night-creature nearby is marked in my mind as a potential threat every time they move. There''s just me and the magic. Nothing else.

    Time drags by, and I don''t start feeling any better. I pull on more and more Transmutation magic, trying to use it to fix my body, but it spills out between my metaphorical fingers, refusing to touch me. I mentally grab for it, chasing it like a cat would a laser, but it''s as ephemeral as smoke. What am I doing wrong? Am I going to have to pull on my soul after all?

    "I''m back," Autumn announces. "Please say something."

    "Hey," I answer quietly, my eyes still closed.

    "Um, hey. I have chicken for you. Are you doing something? The air feels kind of¡­ tingly."

    My eyes shoot open at that, panic making me drop focus on the Transmutation magic and nearly doing the same with Refresh.

    "You could feel that?" I ask.

    "Um, yeah? I could feel something, anyway. Is that bad?"

    She hands me a box of chicken tenders, which I hesitantly take and start shoving into my mouth.

    "It might be?" I admit between bites. "I was experimenting with Transmutation magic, so¡­"

    "Transmutation magic? Like, the stuff that''s probably¡­ urk. Gah!"

    She suddenly doubles over, breath going fast as she starts clutching her stomach, groaning in agony as she staggers towards me.

    "What¡­ what''s¡­"

    "Oh god, Autumn, I''m so sorry!" I shriek, dropping my foods I gape at the absolute, unparalleled fuckup I just caused. Is she changing!? Did I ruin her life in the same way I ruined mine? Oh no oh no oh no oh no I¡ª

    "Just kidding," Autumn smirks, standing up straight.

    I stare at her, open-mouthed. She stares back.

    "Don''t do that!" I yelp, throwing a waffle fry at her. She laughs, plopping down to start eating her own share of food.

    "Eat and get back to trying to fix yourself," she orders. "Don''t worry about me."

    "...Alright," I allow, and close my eyes again.

    If it''s really been enough time for Autumn to get food since I started trying to use raw Transmutation magic to fix myself, though, I bet it''s the wrong track. Why, though? The spell that transmutates me is probably a Transmutation spell, I figure? Hmm, wait. Of course it''s a Transmutation spell. It''s just not only a Transmutation spell. I don''t control what I turn into. I don''t get the option to stop it, either. The spell keeps going, keeps applying itself, because my transformed state is a predetermined goal. It is, at least in the spell''s eyes, the way I should be. And that way is clearly inspired by my second body, in color and design and even number of limbs. There''s a body I''m supposed to have, and this spell is slowly but surely shifting me into that. It''s shifting both of me into that. That''s why it felt like I was tugging the line: I''m figuratively pulling my two bodies closer together.

    Somehow that¡­ that feels right.

    I''ve never been fully human, have I? Some part of me has always been that fourth-dimensional spider from another world, scuttling along barely a foot off the ground. And I like that. It feels right to me. But so does being human. As a spider, I''m too small, too restricted. I''m slow and I don''t have hands and in many ways I''m more of an accessory than a person. I love some parts of that, but I want more than that. Growth. Change. Merger. The way I''m supposed to be.

    I take a deep breath, feel the power in my soul, and tug the line.

    This time, the feedback is immediate, the familiar thrum of a successfully activated spell filling my body. No¡­ filling both my bodies, at least to the limited extent that I can feel the sleeping form of my hyperspider self. But my desperate hunch is right: ''full of cuts and holes'' does not match the form my spell is shaping me into, and so they will be transfigured. The pain of my many lesions multiplies and pairs with a horrid itching sensation, my magic sealing up the broken flesh and undoing the damage dealt. It''s such a terrible feeling that it finally breaks my wavering concentration on Refresh.

    Panic flows down my throat along with the contents of my jugular, my mouth opening to re-speak the spell. The Goddess arrives between slivers of moments, pouring into our world and happily wrapping Herself around me, giggling joyfully as my life''s blood leaks onto the ground.

    "Refresh," I silently croak, and She sings the words real, seeming to luxuriate in the moment like a cat stretching in a sunbeam. Autumn shudders, her stoic mask cracking and nearly shattering before the Goddess finally has mercy on the mortals in Her midst and the weight of Her attention leaves.

    "...Do you get used to that?" Autumn asks quietly.

    "I certainly haven''t yet," I answer, and return to focusing on my body.

    I can see why Sindri was so afraid of miscasts, now. I take a deep, shuddering breath and pull on the line between bodies again, letting the fiery itch of healing pass through my flesh, the horrible feeling knitting my wounds slowly, oh so horribly slowly back together. And I know that this isn''t just healing, not really. As my chitin repairs itself, bubbling and growing and hardening anew, I also feel it reinforcing itself, growing further up my leg. Each flap of skin seals itself shut with the promise that one day, something that isn''t skin at all will take its place. Worst of all and best of all are the parts that don''t seal up at all. On each side of my abdomen, just above my waist, a cut doesn''t close. It''s waiting for something to grow first. My dear limbs number five and six.

    I usually don''t move the parts of me that are trapped inside my body, since why would I? I wiggle them when I''m happy from time to time, but overall they just feel weird to move. Still, I find it as natural as breathing to maneuver them, feeling them grow larger and stronger, questing for the exit to the prison of my skin. I let out an involuntary grunt of pain, pushing one through the inside of an open wound, stretching it white and gleaming out into the open air of night. There''s no blood on it, of course, since that''s not where my blood is supposed to be.

    "Ohhhh holy fucking shit Hannah, I swear to god if you''re chestbursting right now¡ª"

    "Nope! Nope, it''s fine, this is fine!" I hiss, crying out in pain as I navigate my other extra limb into the world as well. It''s¡­ nothing special at all, really. Just a leg. Almost exactly like one of my other body''s legs, even down to the barely foot-long length. One joint at the base, two more joints along the length of the limb, ending in a sharp tip that can be used as a weapon. It''s beautiful. I love it. It''s completely and utterly useless.

    "I''m okay," I continue, speaking the words out loud and being surprised to mean them. "I''m fine. I''m healing, I''m getting better, I''m going to be fine."

    Autumn spares a worried glance at both of my new limbs as I wriggle them freely in the air, the holes they emerged from slowly but surely starting to close up after them. It feels so, so good to have them. I don''t care how terrible this is for me in terms of my daily life right now, I''m just excited to be alive and to be just a little more free from the agony of the morning. Six limbs down, four to go. Autumn lets out a huff of air, visibly centering herself before reaching into her back pocket and pulling out the little notebook she always carries, flipping through it quickly. A scowl grows on her face as she does so, getting deeper and deeper until she finally growls in frustration and puts the notebook away.

    "What is that, anyway?" I ask. "Your little book. Why are you looking at it all the time? What do you write in there?"

    Normally I wouldn''t pry, but I''m somewhat curious and this seems like a good environment as any to be spilling secrets, considering Autumn just learned pretty much all of mine. Not that I''m going to try to press her into answering because of that, it''s just¡­ y''know. A good opportunity. I guess that''s manipulative, but it doesn''t seem like it''s manipulative enough to actually work. My question only serves to make Autumn seem more irritated.

    "...So you haven''t figured it out yet?" she grunts. "And of course you haven''t been told."

    "Um, I mean, who would tell me if not you?" I ask. "It''s okay, though. You don''t have to say anything if you don''t want to, I really don''t mind."

    "It''s not really a decision for me to make alone," she answers, shrugging. "Though I guess it''s starting to seem like she doesn''t really care about that sort of thing anymore."

    I nod, my curiosity increasing drastically but my restraint actually functioning for once in my life regardless.

    "I understand if it''s not really the sort of thing you talk about on a first date," I assure her. "All this magic stuff certainly wasn''t planned on my part."

    Autumn jolts in surprise, her head suddenly whipping up to stare at me like a rabbit stares at a fox.

    "Wait, back that one the fuck up," she demands. "You and Alma went on a date!?"

 22. Friends

    "What?" I yelp, startled. "I thought you and I¡­ who''s Alma!?"

    Autumn lets out a frustrated growl, clutching her face with both hands.

    "Oh, of course!" she snaps. "Of course! That''s why she''s not fucking writing anything about you! She''s going behind my back and getting us into commitments like I don''t even exist! Fuck, fuck, fuck!"

    "A-autumn?" I stutter. "Are you okay? Did I do something wrong?"

    She inhales through grit teeth, then lets the breath out slowly, looking up at me.

    "No," she answers firmly. "If you don''t know what''s going on, then none of this is your fault. Probably. You kind of just completely destroyed my concept of reality so I''m second-guessing most things, but I''m pretty sure this isn''t your fault. It would be stupid if it was."

    "Okay?" I hedge, not sure if it''s appropriate to ask what the heck she''s talking about. She doesn''t seem to be paying me much mind, though.

    "Fuck it!" she laughs, a worryingly maddened cackle given the circumstances. "Fuck this, fuck all of it! I''ve tried so goddamn hard to do right by her and she goes and tries to start a relationship behind my back? Without even talking to me? Something this big? Fuck it! I don''t care anymore!"

    "A-autumn, you''re scaring me a little," I admit quietly.

    She laughs even louder at that.

    "Of course I am," she chuckles. "God, that''s fucking rich considering that you''re a literal magic monster. But hey, it''s funny, right? Scaring you is what she''s scared of!"

    "What who is scared of?" I ask, flinching away a little.

    "Right, right, sorry, sorry," Autumn laughs some more, waving me off. "I shouldn''t take this shit out on you, if anything you''re a victim in all this. You deserve to know. Basically, uh, do you know what plurality is? I assume you don''t because you''re still looking really confused."

    "Um¡­ plurality as in like¡­ grammar?" I hedge.

    "Okay, that''s a no. I have Dissociative Identity Disorder, Hannah. There''s two of me, and we don''t share memories. We''re supposed to communicate, yet I was certainly never told that we''d be going on a goddamn date with anybody."

    "Oh," I say, blinking slowly as I think back at the thousand little weird things I didn''t really understand about Autumn. The notebook, the forgetfulness, everything. "Oh gosh. I''m sorry, I feel really dumb. I think I sort of get what''s happening, but also not really."

    "It''s fine. Most people have never even heard of it being a thing outside of Sybil, so I don''t really expect you to be educated about it."

    "...What''s Sybil?" I ask.

    "It''s this book-slash-movie that¡­ actually, you know what? Keep being ignorant about Sybil, that''s totally fine. My situation isn''t really like that anyway. Most people''s aren''t. There is so much controversial media bullshit about DID and I don''t really wanna get into it!"

    "Okay?" I gulp, swapping my focus over from magical recovery to devouring chicken fingers, since I don''t have the energy or attention span to do the former right now. "So, um, if I was at the mall with ''Alma,'' does that make you ''Autumn,'' or¡­?"

    "We''re both Autumn," Autumn (?) explains. "Autumn is our legal name and our ''system name,'' so it refers to both of us collectively and is the name we use for people that don''t know we''re a plural system. My personal name is Jet."

    "Okay," I nod slowly, doing everything I can to absorb and categorize all the new terminology flying at me at the speed of light. I can only guess as to what the schnitzer any of that means, so I fall back on standard politeness tactics. She gave me a name for the first time, there''s an easy response here. "It''s nice to officially meet you, Jet."

    She flashes me a lopsided grin at that, so I guess I said something right.

    "Hey, nice to officially meet you too, ya weird bug girl. You''re taking this awfully well."

    I flinch and quickly stuff my face with more chicken. Not having anything to chew makes it a rather short distraction, though.

    "...Recent events have made me pretty receptive to stuff I don''t understand," I mumble, wiggling my new limbs for emphasis. "You having a split personality is hardly outside the realm of believability."

    "Okay," Jet nods, her smile fading. "For the record, though, we don''t like being called ''personalities.'' Everyone has multiple personalities, that''s part and parcel to how people present themselves. Alma and I are individuals. Two whole, entire people."

    "Alright," I nod, a blush rising to my face because apparently I''m being really rude, but how was I supposed to ever know that, but it makes sense when she explains it so maybe I should have figured it out? I''m so stupid! "I''m sorry, I don''t really know anything about this. Just correct me when I say something dumb?"

    "Yeah, alright," she agrees, and the smile returns. It makes my tummy twist into knots. Curses, I am no longer in too much pain to be gay.

    ¡­I am still in a lot of pain, though. My transformation-induced regeneration has progressed enough that I''m no longer in danger of dying the moment I stop focusing on magic, which is extremely relieving. I feel like I woke up the day after having twelve different surgeries, though, where it''s just healed enough that the morphine wore off and just fresh enough to be agonizing. I''m in bad, bad shape and don''t trust myself to walk, but in terms of immediate threats to my life I am hopefully more or less in the clear. So I finish devouring my first box of chicken and move onto the second, because Autumn is wonderful and amazing and didn''t need to be told that the mutating monster needs lots and lots and lots of meat. I mean¡­ Jet is wonderful and amazing. For doing that. Alma is also wonderful and amazing but I guess she has no idea that this is going on. Er, I think?

    "...Um, is it okay if I ask some questions?"

    "Of course, yeah," Jet agrees, taking a big bite out of her sandwich. "You''re already knee deep in it."

    "You said that you and Alma don''t share memories," I start. "So¡­ how much is she going to be aware of¡­ all this, I guess?"

    "None of it, and even if I try to tell her by writing it down I doubt she''ll believe me. Because like, why would she?" Jet shrugs. "She already thinks I''m more of an embarrassing psychosis than a person, despite our current therapist''s insistence to the contrary."

    "Right, okay," I nod meekly. "Um¡­ how does that work, exactly?"

    She chews for a moment, taking an extra bite and swallowing it before answering.

    "...Weirdly," she decides on. "It''s not exactly cut-and-dry. She doesn''t remember the things that I do, and I can''t talk to her when I''m fronting or vice-versa. But we can still sort of¡­ feel each other out, if that makes sense? Like if Alma had a shit day I''ll sorta get the impression that we''re having a shit day when I start fronting. And there are some moments when we''re kind of¡­ I dunno. I describe it as ''Autumn soup.'' We''re sort of both there and both not there, if that makes any sense. We can both remember those moments, but we still can''t really communicate during them, the state kind of falls apart if we focus on it. I''m pretty sure it''s brought on by both of us ''being in our element,'' so to speak. Like, I tend to come out when Alma gets overwhelmed or shit otherwise needs to get done in an immediate manner. Most of the time, though? I just feel like me, and then there''s a weird period when I stop feeling entirely like me, and then things kind of¡­ fade away, until suddenly I''m somewhere else and there''s something I need to take care of. Like being mugged, or gym class."

    "Oh!" I grin. "So that was you in gym class!"

    "Uh, yeah," Jet confirms, pointedly glancing away when she spots my teeth. "Yeah, Alma''s really scared of the gym teacher. Plus I like exercise more than she does."

    "The gym teacher is super scary, to be fair."

    "He''s not scary," Jet grunts. "He''s just an asshole. You''re scary."

    I flinch a little, which hurts a lot.

    "...I-I''m sorry," I stutter. "I''m not trying to be scary. Thank you so much for helping me."

    "Mmm," Jet grunts noncommittally. "Well, I can sort of tell that Alma has grown attached to you, so I couldn''t just leave you there to die. And now that I know you''re a terrifying magical monster, I very much want to stay on your good side, because I literally have no good options for dealing with the possibility of you being a threat."

    "Oh," I say lamely. "Well, um, the degree of pragmatism that went into your decision-making doesn''t affect how thankful I am. So¡­ thanks, Jet."

    She gives me an odd look, but breaks it off with a shrug.

    "You''re welcome, I guess. What else do you need from me? I feel like sitting under a bridge all night isn''t exactly your idea of a good time."

    "I, um¡­ I guess I need to finish healing once I''m done eating," I ponder. "And then¡­ I guess I need to change into the new clothes I just bought for¡­ basically this exact reason?"

    I motion at my current torn-to-shreds outfit that''s currently revealing all my monster bits. I am incredibly lucky that the goddess was kind enough to spare my undies.

    "And then¡­ I dunno," I shrug. "We go home?"

    "Just like that, huh?" Au¡ªI mean, Jet smirks. "No reporting me to your magical secret society about a containment breach?"

    "I am not a part of a magical secret society," I tell her. "I''m the only person I know of in the world that has magic. Which is not to say that there isn''t anybody else, I just don''t know them. So like, maybe there will be scary magical government spooks coming after us for this? But it hasn''t happened to me yet."

    "Hmm. So either government incompetence or something really scary is going on. Fun."

    "My bet is on something really scary," I nod sagely. "That''s been a moneymaker so far."

    "Normally I''d bet on government incompetence, but that only happens when the government is supposed to help people, so yeah. Something scary. Fantastic. Alma just had to pick you of all people to get a crush on, didn''t she?"

    I wince. Gosh, that brings up a lot of worrying things to ask and I don''t really have any good way to ask them, so¡­ bad way it is, I guess.

    "Sorry. Um. I have another potentially insensitive question: does this mean you don''t have a crush on me? Or, I mean, that you never did, even before the freaky monster stuff."

    "...Of course not," Jet grumbles. "Why would I? All I know about you is that you''re the freaky blood girl who runs way too fast for someone with a limp. Don''t get me wrong, you''re nice and I can see why you''d be Alma''s type, but outside of a bit of feedback I get from her? Fuck no. I don''t want you to touch me. She likes you, but I''m not her."

    "I¡­ okay, I''m sorry, that''s super fair. And I can see why you''d be very angry at, um, Alma? For not telling you? Like, I mean, I don''t know what you''re going through, but that sounds like a really awful thing to keep someone in the dark about if you share a body with them."

    She stares at me for a moment, then nods.

    "I appreciate that," she admits. "I wish there was a simple answer to the situation, but unfortunately there isn''t. I don''t want to date¡ªor otherwise be involved with¡ªyour weird buggy ass. You scream danger to me, and I don''t like it one bit. But I can''t just write this all down and expect Alma to believe me, and I don''t particularly want you to come clean to her considering the unknown risks. So here''s what''s going to happen: I''m going to tell Alma that I told you about us. She''s going to be furious because we agreed not to do that, but she started it so fuck her. As a result, she''ll probably avoid you. If she doesn''t, please leave us alone anyway because you are a walking time bomb. Seriously Hannah, why the fuck are you still going to public school?"

    "How exactly am I going to get out of going to public school?" I grumble back. "Hey mom, hey dad, could you call me in sick? I''m growing chitin!"

    "I don''t know! Like, maybe yeah, maybe you just say that. Just don''t drag us into your mess, okay Hannah?" Jet sighs. "It''s nothing personal, honestly. You seem like a great person. But I don''t want any part of this."

    I scrunch down, swallowing the last of the Chick-fil-A in despair. Dang it. I should have known I can''t have nice things. I just¡­ can I not even have friends anymore? First Ida, now this! Everyone who finds out about me leaves and they should leave because I''m a dangerous freak and I nearly killed a kid today because I''m also a man-eating monster! And just when I thought that maybe, maybe I could have something fun and happy and normal, whoops! Autumn is two people, actually, and one of them is breaking off the relationship for both of them! I don''t get to have anything!

    Oh, no. My breath is starting to get shaky. I''m going to start crying, aren''t I? On top of everything, I''m about to have a complete breakdown in front of the hot girl-or-maybe-girls that just half-dumped me out of what might have been a half-relationship. Oh, fudge biscuits, here come the tears. Why? Why does my life have to be this bad?

    "Oh, shit," Jet says quietly as I start to sob. "Uh¡­"

    I hug myself with my extra legs, despite the pain from my wounds, as I clutch my face in my hands. This is too much. It''s just too much! How am I supposed to function like this? I''m just some girl, some seventeen-year-old loser, and I have to handle mutations and alternate universes and a scary Goddess and bandits and cultists and nearly bleeding to death under a bridge! Then I finally get one good thing, one person I think might be a sign that things can get better, and now I''m not even allowed to see her anymore!

    "Um, fuck, uh¡­ Hannah, if you cry like that, someone might come looking for us¡­?" Jet says hesitantly, her cool attitude breaking entirely under the force of my tears.

    "Can''t we at least be friends!?" I whine, choking for air as the forceful sobs aggravate my wounds and cause pain to blast through my entire body. "You don''t wanna date me, I get that. I''m a weird freak and I don''t even know if you''re gay and you''re right I could be a huge danger to everyone without even knowing how but¡­ but I like you! Yeah, it''s in the dumb crush way, but it''s also just¡­ you''re so nice! Both of you are! You''re the one that helped me when I was bleeding in the bathroom, right? And you''re super cool and you do martial arts and you stopped me from fucking killing a child which I just, oh Goddess thank you. Thank you so much. A-and I like Alma too! She''s cute and she has great taste in books and she lets me sit with her at lunch when Brendan''s busy with his gaming group. You guys are the first new friends I''ve made in years!"

    "Um¡­ well, I¡ª"

    "A-and do you even get to decide what Alma does?" I ask, the waterworks still flowing. "Like, like I get that for some things it''d be super unhealthy for both of you not to agree on something, but you just got mad at her for going behind your back, right? Shouldn''t she get to choose if she gets to be my friend? And¡ª"

    "Okay!" Jet snaps. "Okay, okay, okay, Jesus! You can talk to her if you wanna talk to her, fuck! Just be quiet!"

    "Sorry," I hiccup, doing my best to calm my tears. "Sorry, sorry."

    "It''s okay, it''s fine," Jet hisses. "You''re right, okay? You caught my bullshit. I just¡­ I''m trying to keep us safe. It''s what I do."

    "Sorry," I say again.

    "I said it''s fine! God, you are the lamest, most blubbery movie monster ever, you know that? I can see why Alma likes you."

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    I have nothing to say to that, so I just keep quietly sobbing, slowly getting myself under control. I don''t know how to feel about that breakdown, honestly. On one hand, I got permission to be friends, and that is really important to me. I don''t want to lose Autumn after all the wonderful things she''s done for me. I need to make it up to her. On the other hand, I feel¡­ dirty. Like I just manipulated her into agreeing by bursting into tears. And like, that''s probably stupid, because I certainly am not crying on purpose, it''s just¡­ I don''t know. Everything I do has to be bad somehow. That''s what it feels like. I can''t have a clean win.

    "...You really don''t care about the whole ''two of us'' thing, huh?" Jet asks.

    "Wha?" I sniff. "Should I? You both seem really nice."

    She scoffs, standing up and starting to pace around.

    "Well first of all, I''m really not that nice," she insists. "But¡­ I don''t know. You''re weirdly cool with it? Like, I''ve gotten so much shit for this when I''ve had to explain it to people. We both have, that''s why we agreed to stop telling people and try to live normally. Our first therapist was all gung-ho about it, he was fucking writing a paper about DID and kept making us try a bunch of stuff for that cuz he knew we couldn''t leave. Then our second therapist insisted that our condition was actually just caused by the first therapist, which I personally think is bullshit, and he mainly focused on trying to get me to stop existing, which I didn''t really appreciate."

    "Therapists are the worst," I growl.

    "Fucking tell me about it. I mean, things have gotten better since, we found a pretty okay one finally. But there''s still all the normal people that think I''m just delusional or lying and don''t put any effort into interacting with us like we''re separate people, which is just¡­ really awful, not to mention disorienting. Like bitch, stop trying to have a discussion with me about something I was never a part of! Not to mention just general assholishness and¡­ fuck. Why am I even ranting about this? I need to shut up."

    "N-no! No, it''s okay!" I assure her. "You can unload on me, I get it. I mean, I don''t get it exactly, but I get people being jerks that refuse to listen. My best friend has days where he can''t talk to people or touch anyone, and he''s really bad with meeting new people, and he gets overwhelmed easily, and all those things can negatively impact how I might want to engage with him on a given day, you know? But it''s not about me. I learned how to react to those situations, how to help with those situations, when I shouldn''t be helping with those situations, and it takes a lot of work! But it''s worth it, because I''m also pretty weird, and¡­ well, I need help sometimes too, now more than ever, and he''s there for me. Not like, in a transactional way, just¡­ we both want to help each other as much as possible, so we do. And the best way to learn how to help someone is to just listen to what they ask from you. I can''t say I''m not a little surprised that you''re two people sharing one body, but if that''s what you say you are¡­ okay! I believe you. I''ll figure things out as best I can."

    Jet stares at me for a while, her expression blank. W-was that too cheesy? Did I sound like an idiot? Agh, I said too much about Brendan, too, that''s not really my place to say. What''s Jet thinking? What''s she going to say!?

    "...This is the weirdest fucking day of my entire life," she decides.

    Oh.

    "Well yeah, I mean, that''s fair," I agree.

    "If we''re doing this¡ªand this is still an if¡ªwe''re doing this my way," she insists. "We are going to keep this under wraps, between us and Alma. We are going to learn everything we can about this fucking ''magic'' bullshit, and how to defend against it. You''re going to come clean to Alma about whatever the fuck you are, assuming she even wants to talk to you after learning you know about me. And then you are going to use that magic bullshit to help me with some things, no questions asked. Alright, ''friend?''"

    This is gonna be illegal stuff, isn''t it? On one hand, that''s terrifying. I barely even jaywalk. On the other hand¡­ be gay do crime? And I''m definitely gay for Autumn.

    "I''m gonna be really bad at the ''no questions'' part," I say. "I reserve final veto rights, but¡­ okay. I''m all for helping a friend."

    Those were some of the most terrifying words I''ve ever said in my life. I just agreed to do crime things. I mean, maybe. It''d be great if Jet just wants help with her laundry, but I''m not exactly getting those vibes here. I''m intellectually aware that not all crime is ''evil,'' per se, it''s just¡­ well. I''m an upper-middle-class young woman in the rich part of town, why would I fight the system when I''m the person the system benefits? Not that I like the capitalist hellscape I live in, I just¡­ y''know. Do not have a lot of solid motivations to put myself at risk within it. But if it''s for Autumn? I can¡­ try. I suppose. And if it turns out to be really nasty stuff, maybe I can help her claw her way out of whatever pit she''s fallen into. Metaphorically. ¡­Hopefully metaphorically. Oh Goddess we''re so boned.

    "This is a terrible plan and I''m going to hate myself later," Jet grunts.

    "Heh, that''s pretty funny," I grin. "I was just thinking the same thing!"

    That seems to surprise her for a moment, but then she grins, barking out a laugh as she stands up.

    "Alright you fucking psycho," Jet chuckles, "let''s get you dressed, healed, and home."

    Oh yeah. Self-care. I forgot about that. Nodding, I close my eyes and pull at my link again, shuddering as the itch of healing races across my body. As my scabbed-over wounds repair themselves, so too does the chitin crawl up my hands and legs, growing and solidifying under skin that I know I''ll have to cut loose soon. My right leg has chitin all the way to my upper thigh now, and soon it''ll start encroaching on my pelvis. Hrm.

    I, uh, am just gonna come out and say it: I''m pretty concerned as to what''s going to happen to my vagina. Like¡­ I don''t know anything about bug sex and I don''t want to know anything about bug sex, I am perfectly happy with my genitals as-is. So. Y''know. If you''re taking requests, body, maybe kindly leave my gonads alone? Thanks.

    Thankfully, I don''t have to figure out the fate of my loins today. With my wounds mostly healed over, Jet keeps watch while I change into less-shredded clothing and stuff the ruined outfit underneath some other clothes in our shopping bags. My new limbs are a bit more difficult to hide than my other changes, unfortunately, because they pop out of my body right around waist height, where my pants meet my shirt. Twisting them up so they rest against my body and hug my ribcage hides them well enough as long as my shirt isn''t too small, and while that''s not the least bit comfortable and something I''ll have to worry about people bumping into, it''s the best we can do for now. I''ll probably end up having to bind the new legs up in cloth to hold them in place, although that idea is really depressing for some reason. I mean¡­ I guess I know the reason, I like my new legs, but I can''t exactly show them off to people. With one last mournful wiggle, I hide them in my shirt.

    Now armed with a slightly newer version of what is basically my old outfit, we start heading home. Walking is terrible and it hurts. Jet also wasn''t lying to the mugger when she said we didn''t buy new shoes, which was kind of a stupid oversight on my part, so my thickest socks and the tattered remains of my actively-disintegrating current pair have to do for now. Every movement of my battered body screams in agony, a constant reminder not to fuck around with the Goddess lest I find out again. And boy did I find out.

    "...Wait, is this the right way to your house?" I mumble.

    "No, we''re going to your house first," Jet grunts. "I can get home safe on my own. If you go alone you''ll somehow manage to get mugged twice in one night."

    "I hate that you''re right."

    There isn''t much conversation from there on, which I guess is pretty fair. Jet has plenty to process, and I do too. I''m not sure how I feel about kinda-sorta-unfairly pressuring her into staying-slash-becoming my friend. She kind of has a point. I''m dangerous. It''s probably best for everyone if I run off and become a hermit in the woods or something. It''s all just too much for me, though. I''m too selfish to push her away like I should.

    "Alright, this is my house," I announce once we arrive. "I''d invite you in or something but I don''t want you to have to deal with my mom. She''ll interrogate you about what we did today, and¡­ yeah."

    "Mmm. Nice neighborhood," Jet comments, glancing around with a critical eye.

    "Oh, um¡­ yep. My parents are, uh, pretty loaded. Anyway though, thanks again for all your help. It really means more to me than I can express."

    "Mmm-hmm. It''s what I do. Take care of yourself, Hannah, and try not to get in any more messes."

    "I will," I promise. "But I''m probably going to fail miserably."

    "Yeah, that checks out. G''night, bug girl."

    I wince when she calls me that, glancing around for witnesses even though there''s no way anyone else could get the context or find it suspicious without that context. She smirks at me, shakes her head, and walks off before I awkwardly remember to wave goodbye.

    "See you, Jet!"

    She gives me a singular wave without turning to face me, which is kind of unnecessarily cool of her and it makes me smile. Untrigintuple-checking myself for any out-of-place clothing, I take a deep breath and walk up to the front door of my own house, something that probably shouldn''t be as terrifying as it actually is. Sure enough, when I open the door I''m swiftly greeted by the happy voice of my father.

    "Hannahgator! Hey, you! Where have you been all day?"

    And thus, I am trapped against my will. I hesitantly clutch all my shopping bags close, trying to decide whether or not to leave them here, run to my room to drop them off, or bring them with me as I face the conversation in front of me. I ultimately bring them with; it''s not likely that anyone would rummage through the bags while I''m not around, but I''m certainly paranoid that they would. I do quickly slip off my ruined shoes and hide them underneath some clothes before walking down the main hallway and into our huge living room/dining room/kitchen, though. The moment I peek my head in I find my father and mother sitting on the couch together, watching one of the ten quintillion different television shows with Gordon Ramsay in it.

    "Um, hey mom, hey dad," I say, waving. "I went to the mall with a friend."

    "Did they drive you?" my mom asks. "I didn''t hear a car."

    "Oh, um, no. We walked."

    "Mmm. You shouldn''t walk around that area late at night, Hannah. Call me next time, your father or I can pick you up."

    If not for the fact that I was literally just mugged, I wouldn''t even consider ever doing that. Now that I''ve nearly died, I give it serious consideration and then decide to reject it.

    "I''ll do that," I lie anyway, because that is the only way to escape this conversation.

    "Who did you go with?" my dad asks.

    "A new friend, you don''t know her. Her name is¡ª" oh god she has three names which name do I give my parents "¡ªAltum."

    "All-tum?" my dad clarifies.

    I mean hoo boy she has a great tum, but holy geez I cannot say that out loud ever.

    "U-um, Autumn. Her name is Autumn. Sorry."

    "Did you have fun?" my mom asks. "It''s good to see you spending time with some other friends. That Ida girl is always so polite."

    Ida just knows how to turn the charm on when she needs to, and also you''d hate her if you knew that she wants to bone me. But sure.

    "I hope Ida and I can hang out together again soon," I say honestly. "I haven''t seen her for a while, though."

    "Oh, you young people are always so busy. You''ll see her again," my mom promises, despite knowing absolutely nothing about the situation. "So, what did you buy?"

    "Oh, um, just clothes," I say. "A lot of my old clothes are getting kind of worn-out."

    "Mmm. I hope you didn''t spend too much?"

    "I never do," I answer honestly.

    My mom nods approvingly, and I''m kind of annoyed how happy and proud I am to see that. If there''s one virtue my mother likes to espouse that I''m genuinely good at, it''s saving money. The secret is to have a mom that''s really insistent on money management and therefore be pathologically terrified of spending anything in the first place. I''ve been reliable enough with my good spending habits that my mom even believes me when I claim to have them, which is an extremely rare smidgen of respect and always a nice feeling.

    "Alright, well, let us know where you''re going next time, okay?" she asks. "Us parents get worried, you know."

    "Of course, yeah," I lie. "I''m gonna, um, put this stuff away, if that''s okay?"

    "Alright. We''ll be going to bed soon, so try to keep it down."

    "Okay," I nod, and then finally get to retreat to my room, shutting the door behind me. I hide my destroyed clothing and put my new outfits away before exiting my room and locking myself in the bathroom instead, stripping down to check my recent wounds. There''s scarring all over my body now, even on my face, though thankfully the face scars are so light that they weren''t noticeable from where my parents were sitting. Other places on my body have it much worse, places where cuts went deep and my bootlegged healing couldn''t quite get the job done. Goddess, gym on Monday is going to be absolute hell. Just walking home was bad enough.

    As for my actual mutation, I manage to make myself giggle by waving at my reflection in the mirror with my new limbs. As I feel around my body, I start to suspect that limbs seven and eight might be coming in soon as well; there''s some severe tension under my shoulderblades that feels like more than just bad posture cramps. I hope it''s more arms. Seems like it''d be a weird spot for dinky little spider legs. I mean, I guess any spot on my mostly-humanoid body is a weird spot for dinky little spider legs, but whatever. A girl can dream. Unless that girl is me because I guess I don''t dream anymore and I arguably never have.

    It is what it is, I guess. I successfully hide from my parents for the rest of the night, doing my best to calm myself down before the inevitable breakdown that will be waking up back on the world tree. I''m absolutely exhausted, though, which I suppose nearly dying probably tends to do to a person. I crawl into bed, pass out, and wake up. I am a lot smaller, and the world is a lot bigger. The barren zone I went to sleep in is still cold and dark and lifeless, but what little of the world outside that I can perceive with my spatial sense is at least somewhat different. Notably, camp is almost entirely packed up and someone had the good sense to move the bodies outside my line of sight. I''ll have to thank them. Though I don''t really get the ability to rest thanks to the odd way sleeping works for me, and my day hasn''t exactly been a pleasant one back on Earth, I''m still doing better than I was when I first passed out here. I take a deep breath and stand up on ten shaky legs, as ready to face the day as can be expected.

    ¡­Wait. I take a deep breath?

    Holy cannoli I''m breathing. I have lungs! What!? The moment I move to stand, I get that horrid, itchy feeling of my outer chitin layer molting off, so I have to cut myself free of that while I peek at my own internal organs, marveling at how my collection of book lungs have twisted and evolved to support diaphragm muscles, letting me inhale and exhale manually. Wow! Will I be able to talk now?

    I try to say a word and it comes out of my body as a horrible eldritch hiss, because of course it does. Well darn, I''m still stuck writing and going through Sindri to communicate. But hopefully things will be better soon!

    My horrible noises seem to have caught the attention of my friends while I munch idly on my discarded skin, causing them all to look not-quite-correctly in my direction. It''s kind of funny how wrong they are, but I guess it''s not their fault that their necks can''t rotate along the w-axis.

    Hannah? I think to myself. No, wait, that''s obviously Sindri.

    Sindri, hi! I greet him. Sorry for, um¡­ sorry. I''m okay now.

    I''m pretty sure at least one of us would be dead if not for you, Sindri answers. You have absolutely nothing to apologize for. Thank you, Hannah. Truly.

    I''m not sure how I feel about that. Both disgusted and proud, I suppose? I step out of the barren zone back into normal space, flinching at the light. The sun''s almost straight overhead already? Did I sleep through the whole morning?

    Oh gosh, did I make you guys wait? I yelp. Sorry, everyone! Sorry!

    Don''t worry about it, Hannah, Sindri reassures me. We all needed rest after that. I took the time to collect some animal companions as well, to help take the load off of any future fights. It tends to be difficult to convince most creatures to leave their natural habitats or enter settlements, but, ah¡­ well, with the right incentives they can be convinced to protect us for a time.

    Oh, that''s neat, I say, trying not to think about how the right incentives might be the reason the corpses are missing. The thought of those animals eating the bodies I killed makes me kind of jealous, and that''s¡­ well, it''s not a good start to the day to realize how messed up my head has become.

    Yes, our new [large, four legs, hunter, dangerous] will be joining us soon, though I have him out scouting ahead for now. I''d like to ensure today''s travels are as uneventful as possible.

    Oh, alright! Sounds neat! I hope he''s friendly!

    Don''t worry, Hannah, I''m very good at making friends, Sindri assures me. And I''m very lucky that my friends are so good at protecting me.

    I make a few embarrassed burbling noises and spin around in a circle a little, which makes Sindri chuckle.

    I''m not¡­ I don''t¡­ I really, really don''t like killing people, Sindri, I whine. How often does this kind of thing happen?

    Unfortunately, ''this kind of thing'' is frighteningly common, Sindri explains as Kagiso notices my distress and walks over to pick me up. I flail my legs a bit when she grabs me by the top of the carapace, but she''d never drop me so I eventually just let her lift me up without resistance. Rather than put me on her head, she cuddles me in two arms and then sits down to sand down some arrow shafts with her other arms.

    So people just attack each other randomly? I grumble.

    Well, it''s hardly random, Sindri explains. Those men were from a dead branch. Normally, dentron communities tap the veins of the world tree and subsist mainly off of the plentiful rivers of sap. But sap is somewhat rapidly becoming less plentiful. It''s flowing more slowly, and many leaves or entire branches are starting to die. Consequently, the normally-peaceful dentron are experiencing resource shortages that they''ve historically never had to deal with. When people from destroyed communities can''t find a home because their neighbors don''t want to feed them, they often turn to banditry.

    Oh. Huh. That''s a problem, yeah. I suppose impending apocalypses are rather dangerous. It''s funny, really; normally when you think of an apocalypse, you think of some huge, cataclysmic event that ruins everything immediately. What''s happening to the tree seems like more of a long, drawn-out death, though. The highest branches burn, and the tree dies, but it sounds like this has been happening for hundreds of years. Everyone is so used to the idea that no one is panicking about it, it''s just how things are. Yep, the world sure is on fire. Whatcha gonna do?

    Honestly, it sounds concerningly similar to Earth.

    Is the dentron city we''re visiting going to be okay? I ask.

    Should be, Sindri confirms. This branch seems fine for now. Speaking of the city, are you prepared to start traveling again, Hannah? We''ll still be able to reach the city tomorrow if we get marching.

    Yeah, I''m ready I think, I confirm. What about you, Kagiso?

    Silence answers me. Kagiso doesn''t seem to hear my question at all.

    Oh, haha. Sorry, Hannah, it''s just you and me that are connected right now, Sindri explains. I haven''t had the time to set up the team link this morning.

    You haven''t¡­ oh, right! You do need to do that every morning, huh? I remember. Sorry, I''m still a bit out of it. But¡­ wait, hold on. Don''t you normally need to touch me to start this link as well?

    You poked me when you woke me up, Hannah, Sindri reminds me. I haven''t gone back to sleep since the fight.

    Right, yeah, I remember, I nod. So¡­ huh. Have you been maintaining the mental link while I sleep?

    Just for your little after-battle nap there, he says. Don''t worry, I don''t pick up anything you''re not purposefully attempting to send me.

    Oh. Okay, that''s good. It would have been really freaky for him to have mentally gleaned information about Earth from my ''dreams.'' I don''t know how I''d ever explain something like that. Still, now I''m kind of freaking out about it.

    ¡­Um, sorry, I don''t mean to be rude, I say, but now that I''m thinking about it, how do I know that''s true? I don''t really have any idea what you can do with your magic.

    Sure, but why would I lie to you? Sindri asks. We''ve been traveling together for a good while now, and we''ve gotten each other out of some really tight situations. I should hope you know me at least fairly well by now, and I certainly feel like I know you. In fact, I respect you, Hannah. I can''t prove my own inability to do something¡ªthat''s a logical impossibility¡ªbut surely I''ve done enough to earn your trust?

    Ah, of course. He''s right, I''m being stupid, getting paranoid and thinking about terrible situations for no good reason.

    Of course I trust him, I think to myself. He''s my friend.

 23. And I Feel Fine

    The day''s travels are actually pretty fun, all things considered. Sindri''s new tamed animal is a tiger-lizard-weasel thing that Kagiso decided to name Bulupunu, which I''m pretty sure means something like ''bald moron.'' She named him this after I declared I wanted to try riding him, and in her defense Bulupunu did kind of turn out to be pretty uncomfortable to sit on. His huge, sinuous body is covered in small, rough scales that would probably tear up my skin if I had any. It feels fine on my carapace, but the way the wiggly boy bounces and twists and jumps like an extra-long cat kind of rattles my brain around and forces me to cling desperately to his back lest I be tossed off like an old rag. I quickly return to my usual perch on top of Kagiso''s head, much to her smug satisfaction.

    I have to admit, though, Bulupunu makes our journey a lot easier. He''s naturalborn to Light, and much like the human being I killed and ate that one time in self-defense, that manifests as the ability to create and control lightning. Bulupunu uses this both to hunt¡ªby latching onto something with his huge jaws and pumping them full of volts until they pass out¡ªand to scare away potential hunters by making his body flash bright light and crackle like thunder, which does wonders for deterring beasts that might actually be dangerous to a lizard-tiger that shoots lightning. Scaly longcat is a good boy and a good friend.

    Overall, though, the day isn''t very eventful. Teboho and I practice the dentron language some more while Sindri and Kagiso mostly stay quiet, as usual. It''s only a half-day of travel instead of the usual full day, and I rest for most of it, avoiding hunting for the time being. I''m hungry, and I twitch to go after the various friend noodles and other small animals in the area, but I''m just not up for it right now. My friends seem to understand, and they just let me munch on meat rations without comment. I''m given last watch again when we make camp and Sindri takes first, letting Kagiso and I snuggle up in her bedroll for the night. I''m a bit bigger than I was yesterday, but not by a lot. Molting is not a speedy method of growth, I guess. Wrapped up in the fuzzy arms of a friend, I drift to sleep.

    I wake up and inhale deeply. I no longer need to worry about forgetting to breathe in the morning, since my hyperspider form finally has lungs. The reflexes match. Everything feels just a little bit more right. A relaxing day over on the world tree is exactly what I needed to get a bit of a mental reset after the chaos of the day before, and I spend a few moments basking in it before my alarm goes off and my phone reminds me that it''s Sunday. I need to go to church with my family. Joy of joys.

    Groaning, I quickly do my mental limb check and get myself in order before slithering out from under the covers, dropping on the floor in a crouch. Goddess, my entire right leg is chitin now and it honestly looks kind of sweet. Gleaming, pristine porcelain-white, hard and angled with the occasional protruding spike, all with just a hint of pitch black hiding inside the joints. Just looking at it makes me feel powerful, like I could kick through a wall. Hell, maybe I can! My left leg is starting to grow similarly, with my entire foot and some of my shin feeling like it''s ready to be freed from the skin. Even more notably, I''m not in pain. Looking around my body, I still see the occasional light scar from what the Goddess did to me, but the agony I went to sleep with is gone completely. I guess my Transmutation magic works a lot better when I''m asleep?

    I grab my phone to shut the alarm off, swipe the screen, and then¡­ nothing happens. Blinking with surprise, I poke a finger and realize that they''re also covered in dead skin. Ripping it off with my teeth, I quickly learn that all ten of my fingers are fully chitinous now, all the way to the palm. Creepy-looking.

    ¡­But the thing is, this shouldn''t actually be preventing me from using the touch screen. I''ve been using my claws to operate my phone for days now, so why is that changing now? Capacitive touchscreens just function using electrical currents; living things are generally great conductors, which is why it works, but anything that can carry even a bit of electrical charge can do the trick. It doesn''t even need to have an electrical charge running through it, or at least not an appreciable one. Like, you can use a capacitive touch screen with a soda can if you want to. So how come¡­ wait. Oh gosh.

    I don''t have any more fingers with living skin, but I still have plenty of skin and that should use a touch screen just fine. But the palm of my hand doesn''t work, my elbow doesn''t work, my nose doesn''t work¡­ the capacitive touch screen can''t pick up my body at all, it doesn''t seem to matter whether or not I''m touching it with skin. The problem isn''t that I''m chitinous, it''s that I''m Space-aligned, and Space opposes Light. I''ve apparently become too electrically resistant to interact with this quintessential piece of modern technology, which is kind of a big stinky pile of cow poo.

    Fortunately, I have a workaround. Thin gloves don''t prevent you from using a touch screen, but thick gloves do and I need thick gloves for creepy monster finger reasons. So the gloves I bought yesterday are capacitive; there''s some copper mesh in the fingertips that lets me use my phone. Of course, I''ll have the problem of looking like a complete weirdo for wearing winter gloves in late spring, but it''s better than the problem of being trapped at church without even a phone to run away and use in the bathroom to replenish myself from the sanity-draining field that is my congregation.

    Well, it is what it is. I shrug to myself with my little spider limbs and bundle up in clothing just so I can walk to the bathroom and strip everything off again. It''s the same routine as always, just how I like it: shower, eat my dead skin, try not to carve new holes in the bathtub, get the shampoo out and lather, rinse, repeat. An hour later and I''m stepping out to dry myself off around the same time my brother is waking up. Clothes, makeup, triple-check everything¡­ yeah, we''re good to go.

    I''m in a weirdly good mood today for how terrible yesterday was, but I''m not going to complain. My brain doesn''t seem to particularly enjoy dispensing the good chemicals, but maybe this monster transformation will wipe away a bit of the depression while it''s up there giving me creepy urges to claw people apart. Honestly, wouldn''t that be nice? This is probably just a temporary thing, though, so I resolve to enjoy it while it lasts.

    My mom is already making breakfast when I head downstairs, and I ask for a bunch of eggs and sausage instead of pancakes, which she seems surprised by but accepts without comment. My father is nowhere to be seen, though, which is odd for a Sunday.

    "Where''s dad?" I ask.

    "He has COVID, remember?" my mother chides. "He''ll be staying home."

    Oh. Oh right. I totally forgot about that, now I feel terrible. But¡­ wait, wasn''t she sharing a couch with him last night? Gah, she''s going to infect my whole church, isn''t she? I really, really hope she doesn''t kill any of the old people that attend with us. Though honestly, most of the elderly at my church do wear masks, so maybe they''ll be okay? My church was actually super cool about encouraging people to get vaccines, so props to them for that. It''s a shame they''re bigots!

    I manage to get through breakfast without outing my freaky teeth or even having a conversation with my mother, which is more evidence that today is going to be an uncharacteristically good day. Eventually, my brother graces us with his presence, shoves some food down his throat, and all three of us waddle into the car and rush off to the stupid building that worships a fake deity like complete idiots. Guess what, losers? Religion is real, but yours isn''t!

    Heh. I wonder what would happen if I spoke a spell at church and got the actual Goddess to show up? She''d probably think it would be funny, which actually maybe isn''t a good thing now that I''m considering it. Hmm. So, Teboho is totally right, I''m apparently favored by the Goddess. She even told me as much. Does that make me some kind of prophet? Gosh, I hope not. The Goddess is scary.

    I''m still considering this when we pull into church and file into the main room, waiting for the old white guy behind the pulpit to teach us more nonsense. Today''s sermon is apparently about Moses on Mt. Sinai, specifically the part where Moses asks to see Yahweh face-to-face. And Yahweh pretty much goes ''gosh, I mean, I really like you my guy, but if you actually do see my face you''ll literally die. But tell you what: I''ll head down there and turn around, and you can look at my butt if you wanna. Unlike my face, my posterior is not too powerful for mortals.''

    Which, first of all: weak! If you were really as powerful as you say I bet that your divine bumcrack would smite people just as hard as your stupid gay-hating face. Second of all, this brings up so many questions about my personal divine experiences. I''ve never actually seen any part of the Goddess, despite how I tend to get impressions from Her that are best described with visual comparisons. As far as I know she doesn''t even have a physical form. But what if she does? What if there is some physical representation of the Goddess? Would seeing it kill me? Would it drive me mad? Is there a way to miscast so hard that the Goddess appears personally to blast your brain out through your nostrils? I really, really don''t want to find out. Honestly, it''s kind of terrifying thinking about the fact that entire societies of people use spell incantations regularly. There''s no way they all experience the Goddess in the same way I do, right? Sindri doesn''t seem to notice Her at all.

    ¡­Hmm. When did I start mentally capitalizing the Goddess'' pronouns? It just started to feel right after she nearly murdered me. That''s¡­ probably not healthy. Oh snickerdoodle this is so utterly terrifying, let''s think about something else!

    The hymns provide a welcome distraction as I finish quietly surviving through church because quietly surviving through church is one of my primary skills. I send Brendan a text or two from the safety of the bathroom but he unfortunately doesn''t answer, likely due to being unconscious. Church service tends to end just after noon, which is not usually weekend Brendan hours.

    That''s okay. I lurk on Reddit for a bit, search for any crackpot sightings of weird monster girls staggering around last night on a whim, and relax a bit when I don''t find anything. Eventually my bathroom safety time comes to a close and I have to pretend to care about all the people that would immediately try to "fix" me if they knew who I was for a while before the hell that is Church finally ends and our family Taco Bell run finally begins. Burritos are an interesting experience for me, because the cheese and meat tastes way better than it used to but the tortilla is no longer a flavorless filling dispensary service, it''s actively kind of gross. I eat it all anyway, since the experience is still pretty decent overall. Hopefully it won''t upset my stomach.

    Other than the bit where I''m secretly hiding the fact that I have claws and chitin and a concerningly above-average number of limbs for a human (as opposed to a normally above-average number of limbs for a human), the day so far remains comfortably routine. I don''t even really think about the fact that Sundays are usually streaming days; when we get home, I immediately go upstairs and start changing into a better outfit for streaming, fixing my makeup and triple-checking my setup for everything I need to do my second job. Hmm¡­ what to play today? I finished Legends: Arceus last time so it''s probably good to start something new. I''m tempted to start Pok¨¦mon: Uranium, I hear that fangame is super good, but I don''t want to anger the Nintendo gods, or worse, the Nintendo legal team. You know what? Screw it. I''ve been saving a SoulSilver Nuzlocke for a rainy day and ''mutating into a horror monster and completely losing control over my life'' sounds like primo rainy day material to me. I grin as I start the stream in the ''starting soon!'' screen, watching my piddly little viewer count slowly tick upwards and happily absorbing the dopamine that my brain produces as a result. It''s super nice to be liked, even in a weird parasocial way.

    Alright. Check my cover-ups, verify my camera, start my emulator, set up my display. Everything''s in working order. It''s go time.

    "Welcome, everybody! We''re in for a treat today, I think. I''m going to be Nuzlocking my favorite Pok¨¦mon game: SoulSilver version. You know the rules: one ''mon per route, if it faints it''s dead, and we nickname them all so the death actually hurts. Let''s go!"

    There''s not much to do in the early parts of a Pok¨¦mon game, so I mostly spend the time gushing about why SoulSilver is the best. As I name my character "DD," I bring up the obvious points like how it''s the first game to implement universal follow Pok¨¦mon and, thanks to the fact that it''s a sprite game, it''s the first one to work without being ugly as sin. I''m not a fan of 3D Pok¨¦mon models and never have been, I feel like the game''s developers just don''t put enough work into them to make them anything other than awkward-looking. With sprites, you don''t need to worry about that problem as much. Beautiful sprite animations are great, but simplistic sprite animations don''t bother me the same way simplistic 3D animations do. The nature of a handheld game with a zoomed-out top-down camera like the old Pok¨¦mon titles means that the world design, map layout, and character sprites on the overworld are all very representative and simple. They''re sixteen-by-sixteen or thirty-two-by-thirty-two pixel sprites, for crying out loud. They leave a lot to the imagination by necessity, and that works really well for Pok¨¦mon since the sheer number of the little buggers really is a workload issue. That strategy doesn''t translate to 3D at all, though, and Game Freak didn''t adapt. So yeah. I guess I have Opinions?. What''s the point of being a professional streamer if I can''t subject my audience to them?

    [AllTricks]: hey DD what''s with the mask

    [SwalotRancher]: ya is this a bit

    ¡­I guess they care more about what I''m wearing today. Thankfully, I have a good answer.

    "My dad caught COVID the other day," I explain. "I''m just trying to stay safe."

    [Xenoversal]: oh shit I hope he''s okay?

    [Lucarivor29]: wait for real

    [LavAbsol]: Stay safe, DD!

    "Thanks guys," I smile under the mask. "He should be okay, he''s not stuck in the hospital or anything."

    [Lucarivor29]: alright well what''s with the gloves tho

    ¡­Aw crap I don''t have a good excuse for that one. I hesitate, pretending to be focused on the game to give myself time to think. I''m going to get outed someday, right? It''s inevitable, and Brendan''s plan for that eventuality is to out myself to as many people as possible in order to reduce the ability of magical spooks to disappear me. I''m definitely not prepared for that right now, especially not with my barely twenty-one subscribers, but this is my chance for that. I swallow and gather my courage.

    "The gloves are very much a bit," I answer, doing everything in my power to keep my voice steady. "If I hit fifty subs I''ll show you what''s going on."

    [PentUp]: oh shit hand pics!?!?

    [SwalotRancher]: oh no DD is becoming an egirl

    "It''s not¡­! Oh my Goddess, it''s not like that," I protest. "It''s not gonna be creepy, it''s gonna be cool. At least so long as you guys don''t make it creepy!"

    [ZirconCommando]: goti t. Operation: make it creepy is go.

    [LavAbsol]: Don''t break the rules. She''ll ban you.

    [Lucarivor29]: "Oh my goddess?"

    [SwalotRancher]: more of the bit I guess?

    "Uh, yeah," I confirm halfheartedly. "More of the bit."

    [Xenoversal]: sus

    Shut up, Xenoversal. You know nothing. Unless you''re secretly Brendan, I still have no idea what his Twitch name is. Hoping my mask hides at least most of my blush, I return my attention to the game, where I''m using game clock and repel manipulation strategies to guarantee myself a Gastly from Sprout Tower. There''s really no reason not to, since the alternative is Rattata. Though Rattata is surprisingly dangerous from levels sixteen to twenty or so just because it learns Hyper Fang, which is a base 80 power STAB move that hurts like a truck at low levels when everyone else''s moves are barely half as good. Gastly, meanwhile, is comparatively kind of garbage at this stage of the game, but the ghost type is way better long-term. I successfully catch one by just tossing normal pokeballs without even attacking (Gastly''s catch rate is 90 so it''s better odds than risking a crit) and name her My Future. Get it? Because she''s dead!

    With the help of my Geodude (who I named Fratricide because I''m going to teach him Rock Smash to deal with Whitney) I easily destroy Falkner and clear the first gym without trouble. The waves of nostalgia radiating through my body as I play this game are soothing enough to get me into a pleasant zen state, not even the inherent danger to a challenge run that lets Pok¨¦mon die enough to break me out of it. Pok¨¦mon SoulSilver is one of those games I know basically everything there is to know about, and I very much enjoy describing my strategies and showing off as we make our way through the game. The chat seems to like it too! I even get two new subscribers! ¡­Which is a lot for me, thank you very much. I hear if you average twenty viewers per stream you''re in the top 1% of Twitch, so I guess I''m a prime roller (haha, Twitch joke). Fear me and the fifty-seven dollars and twenty-seven cents I''m due to make this month! ¡­Gosh this train of thought is embarrassingly stupid, I''m going to change it now.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Unfortunately, all good things must come to a close, especially when they are my good things. Day passes to night and I start getting sleepy, which means I''ll ruin my good stream if I keep going. It''s important that the stream ends as well as it starts; that''s what keeps people coming back. So I keep going until right before the next major fight and then announce the end of the stream, much to everyone''s dismay. Sorry, chat! Cliffhangers improve retention, engagement, and overall enjoyment. I have no mercy for you.

    With the stream off, I head to the bathroom to wash the makeup off my face, take a dump, and finally get in bed. No bones in my poop today! That''s nice. That''s just great. Always good to see. It doesn''t take long after that for me to close my eyes and fall asleep.

    My eyes are already open when I wake up, though it''s somewhat disorienting to feel Kagiso poking and prodding them for the purpose of doing so. Having solid rather than squishy eyes is weird. I''m not quite sure how it works, but I suspect my depth perception and ability to focus on things would be absolutely awful if not for the fact that I can use my spatial sense to supplement that information on most things.

    Kagiso is out of the bedroll and about to get in, since she had to slink out for middle watch. I regretfully exit, wiggling my body and stifling a yawn. Gosh, I can yawn now. How funky is that? It feels like I''m going to molt soon too, but my carapace hasn''t quite fallen off yet so I successfully manage to scuttle out of the bedroll without leaving any body parts behind.

    "Watch good," Kagiso says, and it''s neat that I can mostly understand her now. I bob my body in confirmation and she gives me a pat before curling up and getting comfortable for sleep.

    Welp. Time for a hopefully-boring watch of me trying not to have a panic attack every time I hear a noise. Though honestly, most of the noises nearby are made by Bulupunu. Tiny blasts of lightning sometimes spark out of his nose as he snores, the buzzing crackle punctuating through the quiet of night and scaring away nearly anything that gets close. It''s a shame that Sindri never found a strong animal companion like this earlier. I''m sure he has his reasons, though.

    Despite my brain''s loud insistence that things are about to go very, very badly, they somehow don''t and the sun eventually rises without incident. I scuttle into tents and start poking people awake, to a chorus of exhausted ''good mornings'' and ''thank-yous.'' Soon enough, camp is packed up, I''m back on Kagiso''s head, and our journey resumes.

    "Say speak opinion me vocal Hana," Teboho says, and it takes my brain a moment to rearrange all the grammar in my head and figure out that he''s suggesting that the team speak out loud today rather than use the mental link to help me practice my language skills.

    "That''s a good idea," Sindri agrees (and it takes an equally long brain-twister for me to parse that one), "but Hana still needs the link so she can talk."

    "Oh, true," Teboho concedes, and we quickly link up.

    Also noteworthy is that you all pronounce my name weird when you say it out loud and I don''t really like it, I comment, though it''s mostly playful.

    "Apologies!" Teboho answers immediately. "Though I''m not sure what to do about that¡­ is it true you''re growing¡ª" ¡­and then he says some gibberish word that I assume means ''lungs.''

    Yeah, I have lungs now! I confirm. But no voicebox. Maybe later. Transmutation magic is super weird. I don''t have much control over it.

    "That''s odd," Teboho muses. "It''s rare for non-Chaos mages to have magic they can''t consciously control."

    Actually, I''m pretty sure it''s because the spell that''s changing me is Transmutation and Order. Spells can be more than one type at the same time, right?

    "They can indeed," Teboho agrees. "And I think I see what you mean. The Order component makes the spell only go one way, rather than shifting back and forth between possible forms as Transmutation is naturally wont to do."

    Sure, I guess? I hedge. You''d know more about that than I do. I just think it''s both because it feels like both.

    Sindri clears his throat and speaks next.

    "Were you familiar with magic category¡ª" he says a word I don''t know "¡ªbefore learning the Aura Sight spell?"

    Sorry, am I familiar with what?

    Qualia, Sindri says over the mental link. Were you familiar with magical qualia? As in, the unique feeling they each give off which makes them so easily recognizable and namable.

    Oh, yeah, I confirm. Yeah, I kind of get the feeling of which kind of magic I''m using when I use it.

    "Hmm. That doesn''t happen to me," Sindri muses. "But I''m only naturalborn to one element."

    "I get the same impressions as Hana," Teboho nods. "My different elements are different."

    "Only have one, but Motion feels like Motion," Kagiso grunts. "Sindri just stupid."

    He twitches a bit at that, and I can''t help but do a little hissy giggle. Teboho, Sindri, and Bulupunu all flinch at the sound, though Kagiso just pats me on the head like I deserve a reward.

    "Good Hana. Taunt fools. Kill enemies."

    U-um. Thank you?

    "Ahem. Well. Be that as it may," Sindri deflects, "we should make it to the city of Grawlaka just after noon. If you''ve never seen a dentron city before, Hana, I think it''ll be quite the sight."

    I look forward to it! I agree happily.

    And I really do! Fantasy civilizations sound neat, and hopefully there won''t be quite as much horrible murder going on there. Or well, at least not as much horrible murder that I have to personally participate in. The excitement is a bit intoxicating, so I spend a lot more time today scuttling around through forest branches and catching small critters for my seemingly-bottomless stomach to consume. There are some neat little flying-squirrel-like creatures, some pretty supersized butterflies, and even some freaky, many-tentacled tree octopuses, camouflage and all. They''re all quite tasty, but the wormy, fuzzy little friend noodles remain my favorite snack.

    With the delicious distractions of hunting occupying my morning, it doesn''t take long until I notice the ground we''re traveling on start to slowly slant steeper and steeper downwards, until eventually the ground is no longer at a safe angle to walk on. While Teboho, Kagiso and I can ignore this by sticking to the trees, Sindri has no such luck and so we need to backtrack a bit uphill¡ªwhich is doable, because the slope is mostly parallel to our traveling direction. With the way the trees thin out, though, I bet it would be possible to reach the edge of the forest fairly easily, just by heading down the slope far enough that there''s no longer any soil stuck to the mighty branch of the Tree of Souls. I resist the urge, though, and soon enough we find an entirely different edge to the forest, one that I didn''t expect to witness: an absolutely massive set of stairs.

    "We''re here," Sindri announces. "Grawlaka Bridge is right ahead of us."

    The stone stairs are carved and installed into the side of the branch, a huge sloped road that''s gotta be at least a hundred feet across. A smattering of dentron travel up and down, and while we get a few weird looks when we step out of the forest looking like vagabonds, people seem to lose interest after a few seconds. We''re just some weirdos, and weirdos are a dime a dozen. Ah, it''s good to be back in civilization.

    Up the stairs, there isn''t much to see. At some point they stop needing to be stairs and presumably even out into a much more normal road, but there isn''t really much to see in that direction. It''s down the stairs that has the really gorgeous view.

    I have been told that I live on a world tree. I have seen that I live on a world tree: whenever I go to the tops of the branches in the forest, I can spot the massive trunk rising up into the sky, vanishing into the foliage it supports. I can see the mighty branches twist out from the trunk, beautiful and enormous beyond comprehension. And that''s the problem; it''s beyond comprehension. It''s similar to the awe of staring up at the night sky: gorgeous, humbling, and yet completely beyond my ability to truly fathom the scale of. The human (and hyperspider) mind can''t deal with orders of magnitude all that well, and some of the scale is lost in translation just because I can''t really contextualize it. There''s no sense of scale.

    As I watch people walk the staircase, walk down to the bottom of the staircase, and start crossing the massive stone road built atop the stem of a leaf, a leaf which grows out from the middle of our current branch, longer and thicker than the golden gate bridge, ultimately terminating in a massive, island-sized flat green platform on which a redwood-scale forest grows, I have the context for the scale. It''s as breathtaking as the Goddess Herself.

    Holy cannoli burrito and fries, I say, awe overtaking me.

    "What?" Sindri and Teboho both ask.

    I¡­ it''s just¡­ woah! This is so huge and cool and crazy! There''s a city over there!?

    "There certainly is," Sindri confirms. "Most of the leaf is the city, in fact. It''s the largest dentron state on the branch."

    That''s so cool!

    Teboho chuckles.

    "Just wait until we get there! The city has some wonderful sights once you''re in it, as well!"

    Yeah! Okay! Let''s go let''s go let''s go!

    Now this is the cool part of being in a fantasy world! Wow! I bound happily down onto the stairwell, skittering down the little wall between the forest and the start of the steps proper. Almost immediately, my chitinous bladed legs scrabble tractionlessly on the stone and I stumble, causing me to fall down the steps. I instinctively curl up into a ball, which only seems to make the problem worse as I start rolling, rolling, rolling down the staircase, clonking my noggin with each fall.

    Ow! Ow! Ow! Somebody help!

    Unfortunately, rather than run after me and pick me up like kind people would and should, my friends all immediately burst into laughter. Even Kagiso! Sweet, lovable Kagiso! How could you!?

    Taunt fools! she mentally reminds me as she doubles over and snorts with glee.

    Curse youuuu! I call after her as my spherical body continues to roll and bounce and smack into stairs for nearly twenty flights before I finally stop. Shakily extracting my legs from my core, I carefully, carefully stand up on the slippery stone, waiting for my friends to come pick me up while my body pulses with adrenaline. But for once, it''s not bad adrenaline. I''m not really hurt, just¡­ a bit sore and disoriented.

    I''d like to be a hat again please, I whine, causing Kagiso to grin and bound over to pick me back up.

    "Hat is friend," Kagiso declares happily, since ''hana'' and ''hat'' are the same dang word. She places me on her head where I hug her skull nice and tight. It''s gonna be sad when I grow to be too big for this.

    My friends catch up with us and we make our way down the stairs together, the giant green stem getting closer and closer until eventually we''re on top of it, walking down startlingly even and well-maintained cobblestone streets. I wonder how they make these? Where do they get all the stone? Is it possible they just use Matter magic to conjure it up!? Oh gosh, that''d be so cool!

    "Someone''s excited," Teboho comments as I bounce around on top of Kagiso''s head, angling my body in different ways so I can see all the sights.

    I said it before and I''ll say it again! I answer. You literally found me living under a rock! I''ve never seen anything this awesome before in my life!

    At the far edge of the stem bridge are what looks like defensive emplacements: large stone walls that would box any invading force in from three different directions, forming a nearly impenetrable kill zone. The stone seems to crawl down the sides of the stem and somehow hug onto the nearly-vertical edges of the cylindrical ground, making it impossible to approach from any direction other than the front. Of course, there doesn''t seem to be any sign of conflict, and the gates are wide open, with only a handful of guards manning the three-story walls and waiting in front of the city. The stone itself is pristine and beautiful granite, or at least something that looks like granite, with only the occasional patch of what looks like green moss. Though when we walk by a patch of green moss, Sindri scowls at it, points, and then Bulupunu blasts it with lightning, frying the stuff to a charred heap.

    Woah! What the heck, Sindri? I ask. Was there something bad about that moss?

    It''s not moss, he answers. It''s Stonerot. Terrible stuff.

    Stonerot? I inquire.

    "Stonerot," he repeats out loud, giving me the word for it in the dentron language. "It''s more or less what it sounds like. Invasive, corrosive, dangerous. I assure you, no one will complain about me killing some."

    Hmm. So it''s like evil magical kudzu or something? Sounds terrible. We approach the gates and get stopped by the guards, but it looks like everyone gets stopped by the guards so I''m not super worried. Sure enough they''re just looking for taxes, and since we aren''t merchants and are obviously not here to sell goods they don''t care a whole lot about us beyond recording our reason for entry, which is mostly just ''to sleep in a real bed for once.'' We step past the gates and finally get to witness the city proper, the road shrinking down into a main thoroughfare lined on either side with countless merchants advertising their wares. Past them, the stem finally opens up into the leaf proper, and the stone road gives way to a massive forest of devourer trees that dwarfs the one we''ve been traveling through up until now. Some of the trunks have to be nearly a hundred feet in diameter, maybe more, and within them are carved-out homes and businesses, not just on the ground floor but all the way up the trunk. Dentron scamper easily up and down the natural multi-tiered structures, rushing straight up and down the bark without need for stairs or elevators. Huge bridges and large pulley structures do span the vast distances, but they seem to be exclusively used for freight and supplies, designed for workers moving heavy objects with carts and draft animals. The vast majority of individuals just climb, and there are certainly a lot of them. The city is incredibly busy, incredibly loud, incredibly chaotic, with people arguing, children playing, musicians performing, merchants haggling, and food sizzling as far as the eye can see. It''s incredible.

    "Say Hana, have you had your fill for impressive sights today, or do you have enough for one more?" Sindri asks.

    There''s more!? I ask. What else could there be?

    "Well, we''re away from the branch now, so we can see off the edge in the opposite direction. If we look down from here, I can show you my home. The Pillar should be easily visible."

    Oooh! Yes yes yes! I bounce happily.

    "Just be warned, Hana," Teboho says. "The Slaying Stone is not quite as beautiful a sight."

    "Be glad I''m not patriotic enough to argue that," Sindri chuckles. "Come on, let''s see if we can find a good view. Just be careful not to fall. You would, for obvious reasons, not survive."

    We break off from the road and travel along the outside of the leaf, and it doesn''t take long to find a lookout point. The dirt doesn''t seem to stick well this close to the edge, so as we make our way off the beaten path, away from the trees and the city, we slide down a slope and end up on the actual skin of the leaf, all vibrant and waxy and green.

    Hey, if there''s forest growing on top of the leaf, how does the leaf itself get any sunlight? I ask.

    "The leaves get sunlight mostly from below," Teboho explains. "When the sun dips underneath the branch."

    ¡­Oh holy crap that''s right, I forgot about that. World trees are so cool, what the heck!

    "Here, this looks like a good spot," Sindri announces, sidling very carefully to the bright green cliff face. "Come here, Hana."

    I do so, although my method of doing so involves staying completely still as Kagiso does so instead. Sindri points down and I follow his finger past the branches below us, taking a moment to calm the pounding, horrifying vertigo of planetary-scale heights. Once I can focus, though, I see it. It''s hard not to see it. The Pillar, or as the dentron call it, the Slaying Stone.

    I think I know why it''s called that, considering it''s impaled straight through the trunk of the Mother Tree.

    An impossibly giant cylinder of stone stretches out below us, far larger than any branch. Just over three-quarters the diameter of the trunk of the Tree of Souls, it''s punched straight through the bark and wood like rebar tossed by a hurricane. Great waterfalls of sap gush out from the wound, coating the intersection point in an ocean of glistening, sticky syrup that reminds me altogether too much of blood. It seems the world tree hasn''t taken this mortal wound lying down, however, as the Pillar is in fairly bad shape itself. Deep canyons of green run along the outside of the stone in fractal patterns, like an alien artifact pulsing with unnatural energy. The color is clearly out of place on the hard, inorganic exterior, and I can''t help but notice it''s the same color as what Sindri called "Stonerot."

    ¡­I¡­ oh Goddess, I whisper over the link. This is horrible. When you said the World Tree is dying, I assumed it was because of the fire in the branches, not this!

    "Oh, it''s not even just this," Sindri sighs, his tone resigned. "Keep looking. Follow the trunk lower."

    So I do. Beyond the Slaying Stone, below the great wound of dripping sap, the trunk continues lower. Down and down and down, where branches get less and less common as the tree is closer and closer to the ground. Though before I can see the ground, the tree seems to spread out into a strange set of wide, gnarled wooden roots, twisting and drooping like tired tentacles. From thick, snaking vines to thin, almost web-like lines of lateral roots, they can''t possibly be anything else. But they aren''t planted in anything, they''re just¡­ floating in midair. The whole tree is suspended in a cloud-filled void, but it doesn''t look like it''s supposed to be. Clumps of brown dirt cling to the roots or float suspended around them, caught within the web of wood. The implication is both obvious and terrifying: the tree clearly used to be planted in something, but not anymore.

    Something uprooted the entire world tree.

 24. Friends (Redux)

    I think the worst part is that it would all be so beautiful if not for the horrifying implications. The roots floating in midair, reaching out in every direction like the Goddess'' fingers, clumps of dirt levitating around them like islands in the sky¡­ it''s breathtaking. So too is the Slaying Stone, its pulsating green chasms a beautiful mix of color along the backdrop of dark gray. But then I remember people presumably live there, and that the Stonerot is poisonous. It''s as sure a sign of death as the glistening sap that flows out of the world tree''s wound. Everything about this world is broken and wrong, and it''s impossible not to wonder how things ever got this bad.

    Three different apocalypses, I send over our mental link. Any one of these would have been enough, but you have three. The upper branches are on fire, the middle of the tree is impaled, and the roots are starving. Is Stonerot a fourth?

    "Functionally yes," Sindri nods. "We''re doing what we can to slow it down, to reclaim what it has taken, but it carves through civilizations like acid through paper, devouring stone and metal to multiply itself. Our pre-cataclysm cities have been abandoned, and the stores of knowledge there are largely lost. We had to rebuild everything we know from the memories of surviving scholars, and now everyone that lived through that era is long dead."

    How are you so calm about all this? I breathe. This is completely insane.

    "I don''t disagree, but what are we supposed to do about it?" SIndri shrugs. "Do you think I know how to put out a fire the size of an entire world? How to plant a tree into soil that does not seem to exist? I do what I can to make the world a better place with the skills I have, Hana, because maintaining what we have is all we can do."

    "He''s right," Teboho sighs. "These problems are beyond the scope of mortals, I fear. They are the domain of the Goddess, or perhaps Her chosen."

    I''m glad I don''t have a face to grimace with. The domain of Her chosen, huh? What the hell am I supposed to do about it, though? All I can do is cut things and be a stylish fashion accessory. Do you really expect me to fix this, Goddess? And if not, why am I here?

    I''m here for some reason, aren''t I? The magic that links me between two worlds belongs to the Goddess, granted by Her with purpose. I have Her attention, I have Her favor, and as best I can tell I feel Her more intimately than anyone else. But unlike the shows, games, and stories where the hero is whisked away from Earth by a divine being, I was never given a task or a purpose. The Goddess brought me here, that much I know. But I still haven''t really met Her, per se. She''s just¡­ been around, watching with expectation and quiet amusement. I suppose I could just ask Her, at least so long as I''m willing to risk wasting Her time again. I can''t say I find myself terribly keen on that idea, but it''s certainly an option.

    Maybe She just knows that She doesn''t need to say anything. I don''t need Her to give me a divine quest to search for answers and solutions. I guess that''s my plan, then. To try and help. To look for ways to slow or reverse the apocalypse. Once I finish getting my bearings and helping my friends stop a dangerous murderer then that''ll be my next step. I''ll tour all of this world''s various ongoing ragnaroks and see what I can do to help. I certainly can''t think of a better use of my time than that.

    "Well then, I suppose it''s time to get back to business," Sindri announces. "Kagiso, Teboho, could you get us somewhere to stay while you''re out finding a healer? I''m going to search around and see if this city has any Chaos hunters that would be willing to join us. My birds report that our target is holed up in a cave barely a day from here, so our fight will be tomorrow night. Best to be as prepared as possible."

    Oh gosh. So soon?

    "Don''t worry, Hana," Sindri smiles at me. "You''ll be ready."

    I shudder, remembering the near-complete lack of feeling as my claws slid effortlessly through those bandits.

    If you''re wrong, then I have good reason to be worried, I tell him. If you''re right, I have even more of a reason to be worried.

    "You are so kind, Hana," Teboho smiles at me. "But you are also strong. I am grateful that you are willing to help us seek justice for this."

    "No worry, Hana," Kagiso says, patting me. "You are hunter. Will be easy."

    I sigh. Kagiso is a hunter. I''m not sure she really understands that I''m uncomfortable with the act of killing. Teboho shrugs apologetically at me, seeming to be of the same opinion. The two of them are so very different, aren''t they? I''d never know they were siblings. ¡­Though I guess my brother and I are even further apart than they are. Even before it became concerningly literal, I would have described the two of us as completely different species.

    Sindri motions us away from the edge and we head back into the city, the vibrant noise of it all tearing my thoughts away from my family. I didn''t notice before, what with being so overwhelmed, but while the vast majority of people here are dentron there''s an occasional smattering of non-dentron people. Humans are the first and most obvious. I can''t help but note that every human I''ve seen so far has been dark-skinned, which is interesting. Much more interesting are the small, two-and-a-half-foot tall bat people that I initially thought were some kind of animal until I noticed a pair of them chatting with a dentron while clinging to the trunk of a tree thirty feet above me.

    I''m embarrassed to have assumed they were anything but people from that point on; they even have human-like faces, barring rodent-like incisors and long, fuzzy ears jutting up from the tops of their itty-bitty heads. The tiny little guys are actually really cute, with fuzzy bodies and large wings for forelimbs, tipped on the ends and joints with clawed, finger-like appendages that they use to latch onto the sides of trees, hanging and crawling at whatever angle they choose. Like humans, they only have four limbs counting the wings, but their stubby little feet don''t seem like they''d be much use for walking; flat and thin, their legs barely even seem useful for crawling around. While all four limbs have hooked claws for clinging to trees, none of them seem to be even remotely useful for manipulating objects. Thankfully, they also have a dentron-like tail, thin like a monkey but tipped with three fingers that seem fully capable of holding onto anything they might need. And of course, while they''re incredibly slow at crawling and climbing, that''s because it isn''t intended to be their forte at all. Whenever they please, they can leap off a tree and take to the air.

    The bat-people immediately stop seeming clumsy once freely in the sky. Their funky little back legs become dexterous ailerons, their oversized forelimbs become powerful wings, and they zip through the air with the speed and grace of swallows. Interestingly, wherever they go a second one always follows them, never far behind or far apart.

    What are the cute little flying people called? I ask.

    Teboho chokes out a laugh as Sindri grins and says "Sciptera."

    Sciptera? I ask. Kind of a mouthful.

    "Sciptera are delightful people," Teboho says, a wisp of nostalgia in his voice. "A good many pairs of them would fly down to visit our village from time to time."

    "Pala and Lula were there," Kagiso comments, her words emptier than usual.

    "...Ah," Teboho says quietly, his fists clenching. "I was afraid of as much."

    "Well. Let''s make sure that tragedy never strikes again, hmm?" Sindri sighs, earning determined nods from both dentron. "Get a healer that can bring you back to your best, Teboho, and then get us somewhere to sleep. It''ll be a long day tomorrow."

    Gosh, it''s so easy to forget that Teboho is severely injured. He hides it well. Despite those injuries, though, Sindri apparently still considers him the most reliable member of the group. Sindri hands Teboho some money and splits off from us, leaving him and Kagiso as my guides.

    Wait, hold on! I call out. Shouldn''t I go with you, Sindri? I can''t talk to people without you.

    "Isn''t that what you''ve been practicing writing for?" Sindri calls back. "Get Teboho to make you a tablet."

    "I can''t make chalk," Teboho protests. "It''s too soft of a material."

    "She doesn''t need chalk with her spells," Sindri dismisses. "Try to get a place on the ground floor for me, okay? I''d rather not suffer the indignity of being carried in and out of our room."

    "Alright, alright," Teboho agrees, waving goodbye before summoning a thin stone slab in his hand and giving it to Kagiso. "Can you write on this, Hana?"

    I skitter off Kagiso''s head and down her shoulder, latching onto the forearm of the hand holding the tablet. Activating a weak Spacial Rend on one claw, I crudely carve my answer into the rock.

    This works.

    My handwriting certainly isn''t going to be winning any awards, nor is my loquaciousness. It''s slow going trying to carve out letters that I have to wrack my brain to even remember, but it gets the job done. Something about that feels really good, too. It''s a level of independence I haven''t felt in this world since first becoming fully lucid.

    "Excellent!" Teboho grins. "I suppose I''ll just unsummon it and summon you a new one whenever you run out of space?"

    Yes.

    I guess needing Teboho to give me writing material is a bit of an issue, but I suppose I''m not unable to communicate without that. Just unable to communicate without destroying stuff. It lacks the convenience of instant mind-to-mind communication, though.

    "Now then," Teboho announces jovially, "I should probably admit I have no idea what we''re doing."

    "City big," Kagiso agrees, staring up at the treetops.

    Oh gosh they''re country bumpkins, that''s right. But I''m super sheltered and from another universe, so am I any better off?

    Ask for directions? I suggest.

    "Oh! Good idea, Hana!" Teboho agrees.

    We approach one of the merchants hocking wares, who glances at us for a moment before doing a sudden double-take when he spots me hanging on Kagiso''s arm. Immediately, I panic, remembering the merchants from the trade stop that ended up trying to kill us. I direct my senses out and around us, searching for necklaces. I almost relax when I see the person we''re approaching lacks one, but panic quickly seizes control again when I find five different cultists all in various parts of the crowd. One of them stares at me, though the others are minding their own business, either ignorant or uncaring of my presence. I poke Kagiso purposefully with my leg, pointing surreptitiously towards the man looking a bit too purposefully in our direction. She glances that way and spots him immediately, and I feel her muscles tense up under my legs.

    "Mmm. Teboho," she growls quietly.

    "Hmm?" he asks, looking up from his conversation with the merchant and taking only a moment to notice the hunter''s posture in his sister. "...Ah. Well. Thank you for the directions, my good man. It seems we''ll be taking our leave now."

    As we expected and feared, the cultist follows us from a distance as we head deeper into the city, moving towards the Order healer Teboho was recommended by the local merchant. Together we creep through the crowds, staying on the ground to try and put as many people between us and them as possible, but they manage to keep pace with us. It''s a dentron man, and he looks nervous.

    What should we do? I write.

    "Secluded location," Kagiso suggests. "Hana dispose body."

    Woah, woah, what!? No, no no no! Thankfully, Teboho comes to my rescue before I have to write out an objection to the murder-and-cannibalism plan.

    "We''re not killing anyone as a first response, Kagiso," he chides. "Let''s just get me healed, no one is going to attack in broad daylight in the middle of a busy commerce sector."

    "Can''t decide place for sleep if being stalked," Kagiso hisses.

    "True. We have a while to figure something out, though. Here we are."

    We walk into the clinic, a ground-floor alcove carved out of the trunk of a massive tree. The ''door'' is just a simple cloth hung over the opening, but it''s still enough to block line of sight from the outside. Kagiso nudges me and I understand what she''s worried about immediately.

    He''s staking out the building, I report, since needing line of sight is for losers.

    She gives me a pat and we sit down in the waiting room, Teboho behind a decent chunk of other people also in line for non-critical healing. We''re going to be here a while, and I get to spend the entire time watching a cultist stalk us. He''s not even all that good at it; the dude is looking increasingly nervous as time goes on, not seeming to be sure whether or not to keep his stakeout going, walk in after us, or go do something else. Eventually, he makes his decision, though, and I''m not sure whether it''s a good thing or a bad thing.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    He''s leaving, I scribble hastily.

    "Hrm. Follow?"

    Me?

    "I no leave Teboho. But you are sneaky. Better stalker than the fool."

    I''m not sure I like the idea of going alone, but Kagiso has a point. I am very good at hiding from things, even without the ability to pop into another dimension. I''ll probably have to go without that, since there don''t seem to be any barren zones on the leaf. It''s just as flat in the fourth dimension as it is in 3D space, meaning that anywhere I want to step out of w=0 space will have me falling through where all the dirt should be and splattering on the leaf below it. I''m starting to think of a few tricks to make that less of a problem, but now isn''t a good time to test them. I''m a bit too stressed.

    Okay, I write. Stay here so I can find you.

    As crazy as it is to follow this man, I feel like we do need to know where this stalker is going and if he''s going to be a problem. The prospect of him returning with friends to murder us is a horrifyingly real one considering that it has already happened once, so I wait for him to be looking away and scuttle out of the room after him, rushing up the side of a tree so I don''t get stepped on.

    Tailing him is trivial, because as long as I stay within fifty feet of the man I never have to give him an opportunity to see me in the first place. I may not be able to pop into a barren zone here, but I can just keep a branch or trunk between the two of us and let perfectly normal physics do the work. I get some odd looks from other climbers as I scuttle by, even scaring the crap out of a few people, but people seem largely content to ignore me as soon as they figure out that I''m ignoring them. Weird little creatures crawling through the trees is one of those things that just kind of happens in forests.

    The feeling of my heavy breaths as I rush after my quarry is strangely alien to me. My book lungs were garbage in terms of oxygen efficiency and temperature regulation, making my stamina with them absolutely terrible. They were, however, extremely quiet, and they didn''t constantly inflate and deflate inside my body like creepy balloons. In all honestly, I''ll probably miss them, as strange and inconvenient as they were. I''m no longer even radially symmetrical, at least on the inside. My lungs are growing larger and more human-shaped, it seems. Still, they help a lot with letting me keep pace with a fully grown dentron man despite him being nearly six times taller than me. I mean, he''s just walking and I have to sprint, but at least I''m not dying trying to keep pace for so long.

    I must be skittering after this stupid cultist for a solid twenty minutes before I finally find something that looks like it might be a destination: a building adorned with the same centipede symbol as the cultist necklaces that let me so easily identify them all. ¡­I guess if I''d known this was here it''d be pretty obvious. Gosh it''s counterintuitive to think that the cultists would just have a big public building in the middle of the city, but I guess it''s like Sindri said: they''re recognized as a legitimate religion. Calling them ''cultists'' is probably really insulting, but they tried to kill me so I don''t really care.

    The man I''m following rushes inside, and I sneak across a branch to grab onto the outside of the tree that forms the cultist headquarters. Peeking inside is easy enough when I get close, so I take the opportunity to spy on the enemy. It all seems pretty normal, honestly: a couple bedrooms, a couple studies, a big chapel-esque room that takes up a whole floor, and a series of offices on the ground floor, in one of which Sindri is chatting with a dude that looks like he might be a cultist leader.

    Wait. What?

    Instantly, my heart rate spikes a hundredfold. Why the habanero is Sindri here!? The cultist I''m following almost completely forgotten, I scurry along the outside of the trunk until I''m right on the outside wall to the room he''s in. Sindri is talking to a large dentron man sitting behind a fancy desk. The dentron is wearing bulky, heavy-looking metal armor, which I find strange considering how difficult that must be to climb in; I''ll admit to not knowing a ton of them, but I''ve literally never seen a dentron wearing that much, not even the city guards. Behind him, snugly sitting in a weapon stand is a large spear. His upper pair of arms have their fingers threaded together, elbows resting on the desk as he listens to Sindri speak. A lower hand drums its fingers on his thigh, as his tail lashes back and forth with apparent concern. Scuttling close to a nearby window, I do my best to listen in.

    "¡ªyour cooperation," Sindri finishes. "Are you interested?"

    "Very much so," the dentron cultist agrees. "I am a Chaos hunter, same as you. The thought of not working alongside you with such a mage hiding out this close to my home city is absurd."

    Oh. Oh! Huh. I mean, this is exactly what Sindri said he was going to do, so I guess this isn''t all that suspicious. I don''t like that he''s doing it with a cultist, but¡ª

    "And information about the white-carapaced creature?" Sindri presses, and my blood runs cold.

    "Well, I can certainly tell you that they''re important to the Disciples of Unification," the dentron warrior answers. "But you must understand, that sort of knowledge is generally restricted to the upper echelons of our organization. You would need to show some degree of dedication to our cause before we can discuss it."

    "Your racketeering gig, of course," Sindri sighs. "I don''t work for people that insist on keeping secrets."

    "I don''t necessarily mean donations when I speak of dedication," the dentron dismisses smoothly. "I don''t keep secrets to extort you, I keep secrets because they are secrets. We don''t share information with people that aren''t dedicated to our cause. But I can tell you this: if the familiarity you speak of this ''creature'' with is any indication, you are in far more danger from it than you realize."

    The two men stare at each other, sizing each other up for a moment before the guy I was actually supposed to be watching suddenly bursts into the room.

    "Paladin!" the stalker yelps. "I saw a¡­ oh."

    The apparent paladin raises an eyebrow at the stalker as he realizes that Sindri is in the room and hesitates.

    "Uh, should I¡­? I believe this is important, but¡­"

    "By all means, continue," the paladin says. "I suspect it may actually be relevant to the current conversation."

    "I¡­ I saw it, Hagoro," the stalker stammers. "The Founder''s kin. Young. It looked like a headless spider."

    The paladin, Hagoro, nods.

    "We''ll speak of the details later," he orders. "You may go."

    The stalker leaves, and Hagoro turns to Sindri.

    "Sound familiar?" he asks.

    "...That man sounded rather frightened," Sindri comments dryly.

    "Because you are dealing with something frightening," Hagoro shrugs. "And I think you know that. I think that''s why you''re here. So how about this: you tell me why you came to me, why you decided to seek out a paladin from a religion that you yourself claim attacked you, and I will do what I can to explain."

    I wait with bated breath, conscious thought stalling in my head as I try to put together all the pieces here. Sindri is scared of me? He went to our enemies because of that? What did I miss?

    "I¡­ am a Pneuma mage," Sindri explains slowly. "My specialty is in communication. I can link together thoughts in a large group and use it to direct battles more effectively."

    "A useful magic," Hagoro answers amicably.

    "To a limited extent, it¡­ also can be used to read minds," Sindri admits. "I''ll often pick up on things people don''t consciously mean to send over the link. The¡­ what did you call it, a ''founder''s kin?'' Her name is Hana. She''s been traveling with us for many days now, and she''s a kind person, not used to fighting. I didn''t know what she was when we met, but I wanted her help with handling the Chaos mage since she has such an impressive Order aura. The more I spent time with her, however, the more I knew something was¡­ off. She knew things she shouldn''t have any way to know, and was ignorant about things she shouldn''t have any way to miss. Through our link, I learned that she dreams of living in an entirely different world, full of technology advanced enough to be found in an ancestral ruin. It feels too real to just be a fantasy."

    "I see. That is¡­ more than I expected you to know," Hagoro admits. "And you''re right. This ''Hana'' is an invader from another world. And she is here to seek our ruin."

    What!? No I''m not!

    "I was afraid you''d say that," Sindri hisses. "Even the way she moves reminds me of those monsters from twenty years ago. But I''ve spoken with her soul to soul. She can get a bit¡­ violent at times, I''ll grant you, but she doesn''t have a speck of malice on her. I''m confident in that. Honestly, training her to fight has been a pain and a half."

    Yeah! You tell him, Sindri! ¡­Wait, no, actually maybe stop telling him about me at all, what the heck are you doing. And when have you ever trained me to fight!? You''ve just kinda gone ''hey Hannah, go kill that guy for me!''

    "Hmm," Hagoro muses, rubbing his chin in contemplation. "Truly? If that''s the case, I''d quite like to meet her."

    "Well, if you hunt with us you''ll get the chance," Sindri points out.

    Woah, woah, woah! Don''t I get a say in this? This paladin guy is part of the organization that has been stalking and occasionally attacking me for no good reason! This is a terrible idea, isn''t it? And how come Sindri went to this random jerk instead of just talking to me about it!? If he''d confronted me about it I probably would have come clean, if for no other reason than the fact that I''m a huge pushover.

    "I think I''ll do that," Hagoro agrees. "Come find me when you leave?"

    "Mmm. The bridge to the city, at first light," Sindri grunts. "And then we''ll see about this ''dedication to your cause.''"

    "Of course," Hagoro agrees, and Sindri gets up to leave. I scuttle up the tree and find a branch to follow him as he leaves, silently fuming. I can''t believe he went behind my back to set up all this crap! We''re friends, aren''t we? This is distinctly unfriendly of him! I haven''t been this angry at him since he nearly persistence hunted me to death. Which¡­ sure is a thing he did. He''s kind of done a lot of mean things to me that I''ve just kind of forgiven, huh? Like throwing me when I successfully casted the Aura Sight spell. I understand why he did it, but he never even apologized! I''m getting really mad now, scuttling after Sindri from above as he weaves along the ground floor of the city, walking further and further away from where I know Kagiso and Teboho are waiting at the healing clinic. Where is he even going?

    Sindri pushes through some brush, walking farther and farther from the city proper and into the quiet, residential parts of Grawlaka. I almost think he must know someone here when he suddenly stops in the middle of nowhere, without anyone else around.

    "Alright, Hana," he says. "Come on out."

    I jolt with surprise. He knew I was following him? Well, you know what, fine! I need to give him a piece of my mind anyway. Sindri chuckles for some reason, and I don''t think about why. Descending to the ground in front of him, I start furiously scratching in the dirt.

    Why were you talking to cultists about me!?

    "Why were you eavesdropping?" he counters.

    Because the others and I were getting stalked by cultists, and when I followed one I found you talking to his boss! These people attacked us, Sindri!

    "That''s part of why I was talking with them," Sindri explains, reaching down to touch me and activate our mental link. "To learn their motivations."

    Then you should have told us you were doing that! I protest. You could have asked me about half the stuff you discussed in there! You didn''t have to go to the creepy zealots that nearly killed us!

    "It was a calculated move, and I think it paid off," Sindri shrugs. "Can I ask you to just trust me?"

    No! I fire back. You can''t! You''re not allowed to tell people about stuff you found in my head without ever telling me you were in my head looking at those things in the first place! That''s a pretty enormous breach of trust, Sindri!

    Sindri frowns, sucking on the inside of his cheek like he''s distracted by thought. Then he sighs, seeming resigned.

    "Are you sure I can''t convince you?" Sindri asks. "We''ve been through a lot together. We''re Friends, aren''t we?"

    She''s here in an instant. Chuckling as She speaks the word lovingly into my ear. Friends. Of course, I''ve been so stupid. Why wouldn''t I trust Sindri? He''s my friend! Thank you for reminding me, Goddess. She just howls with laughter, gone without a trace.

    I feel¡­ disoriented. My anger from before is gone, and I just feel kind of embarrassed and foolish for having it in the first place. I''ve been the one being nosy and mean without any real reason. Ugh. I can''t believe I''ve been such a bad friend.

    Sorry, I send him.

    "It''s fine," Sindri smiles. "I understand. Now, you want to lead me back to the others?"

    Yeah, I agree, crawling up his leg and perching on his shoulder. I point in the direction we came from, and we''re off.

    Feeling vaguely miserable, I stay quiet for the rest of the trip back, only speaking up to guide Sindri where we need to go. By stroke of luck, we make it to the clinic only shortly after Teboho''s treatment is complete. He grins at us, jumping up and down a few times to show off how well he''s doing. We find ourselves a room at an inn that night, opting for one large one instead of two smaller ones so we''ll be together in the event of an attack. We spend the remainder of the day resting in our room, preparing ourselves for the fight that we''ll be seeking tomorrow.

    "Zarebo was a skilled tanner," Teboho says without prompting.

    "Huh?" Sindri asks, looking up. Kagiso''s long ears perk up, and she stares at Teboho intently.

    "Apogo made delicious, delicious foods. We had no need to cook, our sap was plentiful, but Apogo went out of his way to make things for us anyway. His daughter Putoniba was nearly as good."

    "Yazo," Kagiso grunts. "Bulana. Doragi. Abegraw. Strong warriors, all."

    Oh. Are these people from their village?

    "Fori was a wise old man," Teboho continues. "Talked me out of many stupid things. Helen, a skilled artist. At both paintings and sculptures, she was a master. I wish we''d known her longer. Tagrawko was beautiful beyond words. I kept trying to work up the courage to ask her to lay with me."

    "She''d say no," Kagiso grunts.

    Teboho laughs at that.

    "Yes, I suppose you''re right," he agrees. "She probably would have."

    More and more names pass through the siblings'' lips, over and over, a private eulogy between the only two people left to remember them. Time seems to stretch between each one, at first in solemnity but later in memory, the pair seeming to scour their brains to remember each and every name so as to not speak the ones that were so obviously missing. But eventually, the time comes. A long period of silence stretches out, until Kagiso finally breaks it.

    "Borupu. A good brother. Grawna. A good mother. Mago. A good father."

    "Yes," Teboho agrees. "The best."

    "Tomorrow, we hunt," Kagiso promises. "For them."

    "For them," Teboho agrees.

    Nobody else speaks for the rest of the night. Eventually, with the sun down and our bodies weary, we drift off to sleep together. I wake up with tears in my eyes, full of secondhand grief for people I can never meet. Poor Kagiso. Poor Teboho. They are all they have left.

    My breath shaky, I go through my usual morning routine. I figure out my limbs, I get out of bed, I crawl my way into the shower, glorious hot water soothing my body as I groggily recall the events of the day. Today is Monday, right? So I''m going to school today? I''m going to go help my friends assassinate someone tomorrow and I''m going to school today. This is totally insane. Honestly, we''re in a city now, I could just stay there while the others go enact justice or whatever. Skip out on the whole ''cultist paladin joins the party'' bullcarp. How the heck did Sindri even convince me to go along with that, anyway?

    I blink, water rushing down my face. Huh. Wait. Wait a gosh dang second! I stand up straight, the exhaustion in my body vanishing as I yell furiously at the shower wall.

    "That motherfucker mind controlled me!"

 25. Erosion

    It takes a minute for me to register that the smashing noise and clatter of ceramic is because I just punched a hole in the bathroom wall.

    I barely even felt it. My chitinous knuckles and feet can feel things, certainly, but the sharp shards of hard-fired clay would hurt a human hand, and the lack of pain¡ªeven the dull kind of pain I''d expect from punching a wall without breaking it¡ªcauses a few seconds of confused disconnect as my rage-fueled brain catches up with reality. I broke a wall. I didn''t even cast any magic! Which I suppose is fortunate, because a pipe ultimately stopped my fist and I do not want to bust a water main before school. The metal pipe seems¡­ fine, I think? I gave it a pretty solid hit, but I''m either not strong enough to mess up metal or the wall itself took enough impact to save it.

    Still, though. This is, uh, pretty bad. I hear footsteps approaching from down the hall before someone knocks on the bathroom door.

    "Hannah!" my mother calls out. "Are you okay? What was that noise?"

    "I-I''m fine!" I answer, jolting a little at the sound. I direct the water away from the hole in the wall, do a quick rinse and shut the shower off. "I, uh, tripped? And accidentally broke the wall?"

    "You what!?"

    "I''m sorry! I fell!" I lie, the fear of having to lie hopefully making it sound more real.

    "Let me see."

    "Let me get dressed first!"

    I quickly extract myself, drying off and bundling up in my clothes before unlocking the door and letting my increasingly-impatient mother in.

    "Oh, God," my mother swears, pulling back the shower curtain to survey the damage. "You sure you''re not cut anywhere?"

    "Yeah, I''m fine, I got lucky," I lie. "I''m sorry."

    "Take your gloves off, let me see," she orders. "Why are you wearing gloves indoors anyway?"

    I swallow, instinctively taking a step back.

    "I¡­ I just want to," I answer, my heart beating like crazy.

    She frowns at that.

    "Let me see," she insists.

    "No mom, don''t be weird," I press. "I''m fine."

    "Hannah¡­"

    "I said I''m fine!" I snap, regretting the shout the moment it leaves my mouth. My mother''s eyes narrow.

    "Do not raise your voice with me, young lady," she intones. "That''s not going to get you out of this. Do you think I''m stupid? Do you think I can''t see that something is going on?"

    She steps towards me and I take another step back, my body reflexively scrunching down, my hands grabbing onto my sleeves to hold them in place. Just in case. She''s not going to touch me, right? She knows better than to touch me. I just¡­ I can''t take this. Not now. Not with everything going on. I glance away, unable to meet my mother''s blistering gaze.

    "Hannah," she says, a little calmer this time. "Look at me."

    I hesitantly glance back up again. My mother doesn''t look mad anymore. She looks¡­ worried.

    "Hannah, have you been hurting yourself?"

    I blink, caught off guard by the unexpected question.

    "I¡­ what?"

    "How did you get these scars on your face?" my mother asks. Oh, shoot. I forgot. They''re light enough to be hard to see, but there are definitely still scars from my wounds all over my body, even the parts without skin. Chitin heals weirdly.

    "I¡­ I don''t know," I lie lamely.

    "Hannah," my mother frowns, clearly not buying it. "If¡­ if you''re not going to talk to your father and I, you should at least talk to a therapist."

    I go stiff. She¡­ what!? This is her way to get me to open up, isn''t it? Because she knows, she knows I''m not going to¡­ how dare she. How dare she!? What kind of bullshit false dichotomy is she supplying here!? I just found out my f¡ªmy travel companion is a Goddess-damn mind rapist, I am not dealing with my mom pressuring me on this bullshit by threatening to make me go back to therapy.

    "No," I hiss.

    "Hannah, please, your father and I have been talking. You''ve been avoiding us more and more, and now you won''t even show us your face! I¡ª"

    "I''m going to school," I growl, stepping away from her.

    "Oh, no you don''t," my mother fires back. "Stop right there, young lady."

    I pause, a decade and a half of well-trained fear of her tone ringing through what''s left of my bones. I don''t turn around to face her, but I stop.

    "I don''t know why you''re getting angry at me but I''m not having it," my mother snaps. "You do not get to raise your voice. You do not get to be rude. Do you understand me?"

    "Yes, mother," I seethe.

    "All I want, all I am asking, is to see if my daughter is okay. Is that unreasonable? Is that something that warrants me being yelled at?"

    "No, mother."

    "Then show me."

    I take a deep breath, forcing myself with every ounce of my strength to stay calm, to not hiss or bite or brandish my extra bladed limbs at her. The claws on my toes puncture clean through the foam protecting my socks, digging gouges into the carpet below me. Hopefully they won''t be large enough to notice.

    "...I''d rather go to therapy," I say, barely getting the words out.

    I''m not looking at her but I can feel my mother''s surprise, the shape of her shocked expression, alongside the positions of the rest of my family. The way my brother waits behind the door to his room for this awkward conversation to end. The way my father pretends to be asleep on the couch downstairs. My house is quiet. Honestly, it feels like a silly, stupid thing to shock people with. I''m mutating into a monster, I have real actual magic, I''ve killed four different people and eaten their corpses, I got mugged yesterday and nearly killed myself, and yet out of all the absurdities in my life, this manages to shake my family. This is still the baseline for ''surprising'' that they live on. I probably wouldn''t have had the courage to say those words if my life hadn''t tossed me around so hard that my standards for stress shot through the roof and out of the atmosphere, but I did. Just to buy myself another week, maybe another couple days, before I actually have to face the real problems. If this gets my mom off my back right now, then I''ll do it. And it will get her off my back, I know that. I can talk to her and dad, or I can talk to a therapist. That''s what she offered. She just can''t believe I chose a therapist, and I can hardly blame her.

    She made sure to put my last one in prison, after all.

    "I¡­ okay," my mother nods. "If you''re sure you can''t talk to us, we''ll respect that. And we will make sure you get the best, most trusted therapist we can possibly find, Hannah. There will be no chance of any problems. I promise. We''ll help, okay? We love you."

    I nod, and respond with the most commonly-spoken lie in my life.

    "Love you too."

    I don''t hate my family. At worst I mildly dislike them, and even that feels ungrateful considering how much they''ve done for me. My biggest problem with them is just that they feel entitled to my time and attention, and arguably they are. It''s certainly the argument they would make, anyway, and from a utilitarian standpoint I have to admit that the amount of suffering I go through by being around them is usually nil, and the amount of suffering my mom seems to go through when she doesn''t get time with my brother and I is pretty substantial. She cares, she loves us, she goes out of our way to help us, and I should honestly be putting up with her more.

    But I don''t like her. I don''t like my brother, either. My father can be okay just because he doesn''t usually push me on things, but I still don''t love him. I don''t know why, but I''ve never had the sort of instinctive care that people are supposed to have for their family. If not for the fact that I live with them all, they are all the sort of people that I wouldn''t even bother to remember the names of. None of them are interested in any of the things I am interested in, none of them even understand any of the things I like or want or feel, and my mother in particular has spent a large amount of her life subtly insisting that the things I like and want and feel are maybe not the best for me. Have I ever thought about going outside and engaging more in real life, she asks. It''s not healthy to look at a screen all day, she insists. Take up a sport, make new friends, go camping with us, go to the beach, go and do all these normal things that normal people like, you''ll surely like them too if you just give them a chance. It will make you so much happier and healthier to pretend to be someone you''re not. Mother knows best.

    So I fake it. I''m good at faking it. But that''s all I am around my family: a fake. If not for Brendan I''m not even sure if I''d know what the real me is like. I sometimes wonder if I''m somewhere on the autistic spectrum like he is. Maybe that''s why we get along so well, understand each other when no one else seems to. Thing is, I''m way better at faking it than he is. Am I neurodivergent enough to claim the title if I''m spending all day very successfully acting normal? If I have that capability, isn''t that what being normal is?

    I don''t know. I feel like I''m a pretty empathetic person, but if other people aren''t faking the way they seem to like the world as-is, I certainly don''t have any intellectual or emotional understanding why. I''m not sure I want to have any.

    "...Get me some plastic wrap and tape so your brother can shower?" my mother asks.

    "Okay," I nod, and head downstairs to do exactly that. Wordlessly, I return with the materials she needs to patch things up, then head back downstairs and storm out of the house. With my dad resting in the living room, I don''t want to go through the stress of hiding the fact that I''ve been eating raw eggs every morning. Better to go hungry. I trudge out to the bus stop with fury and resentment bubbling in my veins. I have real problems to worry about. Namely, ''how do I stop somebody with mind magic from continuing to mess with my head?''

    I suppose the first option would be to kill him.

    I shudder, my extra limbs flexing inside my shirt and scraping up against my skin. No. I won''t do that. I know I won''t do that, not just for moral reasons but because I don''t think I have it in me. When the chips aren''t down, when lives aren''t in danger, when raw mortal terror isn''t fueling my every movement, could I kill a person? I know that I''m the kind of coward to kill when my life is in danger, but I''m also the kind of coward to hesitate in every situation outside of that. Sindri probably knew that. That''s why he was training me, encouraging me to hunt and to fight. He needs me to be a killer if he wants me to kill the Chaos mage for him.

    I wonder: how much was planned? How much was staged? How much of my adrenaline-fueled murders was me firing the gun, and how much was him curling my fingers around the trigger? Was that cast of Friends the first time he directly controlled my mind? Or has every interaction with him been tainted, been him digging his claws deeper into my brain? Goddess, when You spoke that word with his lips I fell apart like a flower in a storm, trusting beyond trust that he''d never do wrong by me. I felt so weak and stupid and foolish for even thinking a bad thought about him that I threw all those thoughts away. In that moment, with that magic, he was more important to me than Brendan.

    I flex my claws, terror and fury swirling together in a dangerous torrent. Maybe I''m wrong. Maybe I can kill him after all.

    "Hannah," someone says, and I turn on them, hissing in warning. I can feel the air pass up my throat, warping and twisting into impossible noises before passing between my teeth. My extra limbs twitch, my talons gouge. But of course, it''s just Brendan. He holds up his hands in surrender, keeping a respectful distance, and I calm down as best I can.

    "Brendan," I sag slightly. "Hey. Sorry."

    "Maybe you should just like¡­ face this direction while you wait?" he suggests. "I promise I''m not trying to sneak up on you."

    "Honestly, I''m not sure why you startled me," I admit. "My spatial sense is starting to kick in over on this side of things. I guess I''m just really distracted."

    "Oh yeah?" Brendan asks. "Whatcha been up to?"

    "Contemplating murder," I growl.

    His face goes blank, defaulting to his usual unreadable expression. From anyone else, I''d be worried about being judged.

    "Are you okay?" Brendan asks before anything else.

    "Physically? Yes. By basically any other metric? No."

    "But in a different way from usual," Brendan clarifies.

    "Yes, in a different way from usual," I confirm, rolling my eyes. "Remember the Pneuma mage I travel with on the other side? Sindri?"

    "Please tell me it''s not mind control," Brendan sighs.

    "It''s definitely mind control."

    "Fuck."

    "Yeah," I confirm. "That''s about where I''m at. He seemed all nice and normal for most of the trip, but then he goes and does something sus and the moment I call him out on it, he hits me with a spell called ''Friends.''"

    "What, like the D&D spell?" Brendan asks.

    "Uh¡­ I don''t know," I admit. "Maybe? When he invoked the Goddess to cast it, I just¡­ stopped thinking he was capable of doing wrong, basically. And it lasted the rest of the day! I only figured things out when I woke up this morning. It either wore off or it doesn''t affect both of my bodies."

    "So you''re worried you''ll be mind controlled again when you go to sleep tonight. Okay. Yeah, that''s pretty scary."

    "I genuinely, actually thought he was my friend," I seethe. "Like, I thought he was my friend before the mind r¡­ mind control. Or at least before the obvious mind control, who knows what sort of messed-up stuff he was doing to my head without me ever noticing. And I just¡­ I don''t know what to do about it! He just has to say one word, Brendan. One word and I''m a f-freaking slave!"

    The bus arrives then, and it''s only at that point that I realize I''m shaking. I''m not sure if it''s anger or terror. Both, I guess. I''d been betrayed, I''d been violated, free will and independent thought stripped out of my brain like wrapping paper from a shiny new present. Everything I thought I knew about someone I thought I trusted has been thrown into doubt. As Brendan and I get onto the bus, a thousand paranoid fears flit through my mind. Are Teboho and Kagiso okay? Have they been slaves this whole time? Is their village even destroyed? What if those ''bandits'' weren''t bandits?

    "Shadowruns, huh?" Brendan mutters.

    "Huh?" I blink.

    "Oh, uh. There''s a tabletop game called Shadowrun, and the setting is pretty dystopian. The party is generally supposed to be a group of mercenaries who usually do jobs for like¡­ evil megacorporations? And about ninety percent of the time whatever job you''re on is a trick, a setup, something designed to cover up a far worse situation than you could have ever anticipated. And once that happens enough times, the players start to get paranoid. They see problems and threats everywhere. But it doesn''t actually get any easier to figure out the truth just because you''re freaking out about knowing that you''ve been lied to."

    I blink, taking a moment to parse the analogy.

    "...What are you saying I should do, exactly?" I ask.

    "Focus on taking care of yourself. You can''t stop the bad guy if you''re not safe. So let''s make a plan around that, and figure everything else out later."

    "There''s not much to plan," I grumble. "I figure the moment I wake up I''m either already caught or I have a few moments to act before Sindri notices I''m not under his control. I am very tempted to just slit his throat, but I''ll probably try to run."

    "Can you cast his spell first?"

    "What? No."

    "Why not?" Brendan presses. "It''s Pneuma-aligned, you can learn Pneuma spells, and you heard the incantation."

    "It''s not that easy, Brendan," I insist. "Like, firstly, even if I could do that it''d be astronomically weaker than Sindri''s version and might not even do much. But secondly and most importantly, I am not at all confident I understand the spell well enough to mess with it, and I am not risking a miscast. Miscasts are horrifying."

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    "Uh. Hmm. Last time we talked you seemed kind of laissez-faire about them? But you also said Sindri was scared of miscasts, so uh. This entirely reasonable caution you have strikes me as a red flag. You sure I don''t need to enact master-stranger protocols?"

    "Enact what? Wait, you think I''m compromised? No, I just¡­ oh. Oh, beans. I forgot to tell you about Saturday."

    "I''m not going to like this, am I?" he sighs.

    "Well I almost killed someone, then I almost died, and also Autumn knows about me. Kind of."

    He rests his face in his hands as I spend the rest of the bus ride explaining the mugging and subsequent aftermath, though I leave out the bits about Autumn having DID since I think she wants that private. I''m up to the part where she''s kind and thoughtful enough to come back with a bunch of extra chicken when we arrive at school and have to part ways for first period. Gosh, what the heck even is my first period? It feels like it''s been forever since I last went to school. Uhh¡­ it''s an A-week, I think? And Monday? So I guess I''m going to¡­ English? Sure, that sounds right. I head for my first class of the day, my mood rapidly dropping as my proximity to Brendan decreases.

    For once, I not only fail to pay attention in class but I fail to do anything productive in it either. English comes and goes with my brain doing nothing but being a jittery, paranoid wreck. What do I do when I close my eyes tonight? Fight or run? Fucking Sindri''s been putting so much effort into teaching me that it''s okay to kill, so maybe I should take him up on that lesson! ¡­No. No, the fact that he''s trying to turn me into a killer is just all the more reason to spite him. I don''t want to give him a victory like that, no matter how pyrrhic. I should just run away. But¡­ wait. If I run, what happens to Kagiso and Teboho? Crap, crap, crap!

    I''m panicking so hard that I barely even register Autumn''s presence when I sit down next to her in biology class. I''m vaguely aware that she jumps a little at my arrival, tensing up, but I only really consciously acknowledge these facts when she clears her throat and I jolt, my chair making a sharp screeching noise across the floor as I nearly fall out of my seat. She returns the wide-eyed look I give her with one of her own.

    "A-autumn!" I stutter. "Oh, gosh, I''m sorry, you nearly gave me a heart attack. I''m just¡­ jumpy, sorry. Um, are you¡­?"

    She fishmouths a little, opening and closing her jaw without saying anything. Class will start in a minute or two, so now is a pretty bad time to have an in-depth discussion about anything, but if this is Alma (and it kind of seems like she''s Alma) then she probably has no idea what happened Saturday other than the fact that I know about Jet. She just continues staring at me, though, so I guess I have to start the conversation on my own.

    "Um¡­ sorry," I chuckle awkwardly, scratching my cheek. "It''s¡­ Alma, right?"

    Her breath catches. Her expression quickly shifts from confusion and surprise to utter dread. She turns away from me, and I know I somehow fucked up really, really hard.

    "Don''t call me that," she mutters. "Not here."

    "Oh," I answer softly. "Okay, I won''t. I''m sorry."

    She doesn''t respond. Class begins, and the number of things to distract me and freak me out have doubled so I''m not exactly any better at paying attention. My time is split between freaking out about maybe losing Autumn as a friend (or friends) forever, and freaking out about upping my murder status from ''under duress'' to ''first degree.'' Suffice to say I am not having a great day. Once my second class ends, it takes everything I have to work up the courage for a single question.

    "Um¡­ wanna talk at lunch?" I ask Autumn.

    "No," she answers, and my heart breaks in two.

    "O-okay," I manage to stutter. "I''m not¡­ I mean, I''d still like to be friends. Is that okay?"

    She doesn''t answer, just scrunching in on herself like it''s raining on her and swiftly walking away, leaving me in a mire of self-hate. Good job, Hannah. You made more of a mess than a milk truck hitting a sewage line. Not only are you rapidly running out of friends, but you don''t get to be Autumn''s friend, and she really looks like the kind of person that needs one. But again, not you, because you''re an idiot.

    I struggle through my third class and actually head to the lunchroom for lunch, against my better judgment. I just kind of don''t have anywhere else to go. I didn''t eat breakfast and I didn''t pack a lunch, and while school naturally means I''m constantly surrounded by meat the fact that I am legitimately tempted to take a bite out of someone means that I definitely should be putting something in my stomach right now. I''m too wired up on adrenaline to compound the problem with hunger. Let''s just ignore the fact that it''s entirely my fault that I''m this hungry in the first place and get some grub.

    The lunchroom is crowded, noisy, and full of bad food, but at least they have Salisbury steak today. Which is, uh, a sentence I never thought I''d say in my life, because Salisbury steak is usually quite disgusting before it''s put through whatever degenerative process seems to be required of all school food. It''s not even actually steak, it''s just a wad of vaguely steak-shaped mystery meat in half-assed mushroom gravy. But it means I''m lucky enough to get a school lunch that I can actually digest, and that''s a rather important attribute to food in my personal experience.

    Brendan is sitting in the lunchroom with his school RPG group, as usual. I don''t usually join him here because his friends are all boys and all really awkward around me in ways that I find kind of uncomfortable. They''re not rude or misogynistic or anything, they''re just¡­ I dunno. They certainly don''t pass the leering test, I''ll say that much. It''s the sort of mild background discomfort that I deal with pretty constantly as a person with boobs (and pretty nice ones, not to honk my own horns) but I''m the type of person that tries to avoid those sorts of situations rather than confront or just put up with them.

    It''s whatever, though. I''ll deal. I wander up to Brendan''s table and sit down next to him, wordlessly cutting into the deeply cursed lunchmeat and slipping a bite of it underneath my mask. Hrm. Definitely better than I remember, but not even my recent taste bud transfiguration can make it taste actually good. Why do they bother drizzling it in gravy if the gravy literally has no flavor whatsoever? It''s just uncomfortably thick water.

    "Oh, hey Hannah!" one of Brendan''s friends greets me. I don''t remember his name and don''t really care to. He is staring at my chest.

    I hiss at him. Loudly.

    I don''t think about it at all. I haven''t even been caught off guard, I''m just annoyed and I need to make it known. The whole table, as well as most of the people sitting at nearby tables, goes quiet. I''d be lying to myself if I said that didn''t feel strangely satisfying, and not just in the sense that not a lot can get a high schooler to actually shut up. It was accidental. Literally effortless, yet it got me what I wanted. I got to see him flinch. I like that he''s afraid of me. It makes me feel a little less powerless.

    "Uh, sorry," Brendan apologizes awkwardly. "She''s had a bad weekend."

    ¡­Aaaand there''s the embarrassment. Holy guacamole I just hissed at a ton of people I barely know I must look like a gosh dang crazy person! Aaaaagh, what am I doing!?

    "That sounded kinda awesome, actually?" one of the other guys at the table chuckles nervously. "Like damn, I felt that in my bones. I kinda wish I could hiss like that."

    What. He''s¡­ jealous? Of my weird eldritch hiss? Goddess darn it why am I feeling flattered about that?

    "Brendan, is your whole friend group as obsessed with monsters as you are?" I grumble, sneaking in another bite of chaos loaf.

    "Nah, Brendan and Jacob are the only furries in the group," a guy behind a Dungeon Master screen pipes up. "Speaking of, Brendan, it''s your turn. What''s your tabaxi doing?"

    "I''m gonna punch him," Brendan answers, already rolling a handful of dice. "Twenty-three hit?"

    "Yep."

    "Fourteen damage."

    "Oh, nice. He is bloodied!"

    "Can I taunt him, too?" Brendan asks.

    "What, like, goading him to focus on you?" the DM asks. "That''d be another action."

    "...Can I taunt him ineffectually?"

    "Ha. Sure."

    Once the Dungeons and Dragons gets going in earnest I stop having to worry about awkward boys leering at me, since they''re all way too invested in the grid on the table. I finish my lunch in silence, listening in on the game just to have something to occupy my attention other than dread and shame. At least I get to walk part of the way to class with Brendan. It helps calm my nerves a little bit, but a little bit goes a long way when I''m this much of a mess. On a whim, I tilt my body slightly to bump my shoulder into his arm. I should have asked before touching, but he doesn''t react poorly to it. He just looks down at me with a concerned expression. We part ways soon afterwards and I head to my fourth class of the day. I sit down and pull my books out of my backpack in a futile attempt to convince myself I have the slightest chance of being able to focus when one of the so-called ''popular girls'' walks up to me with a rather unfriendly look on her face.

    "What''s with those gloves?" she sneers.

    I sigh. Why is it shit on Hannah day?

    "My hands are injured," I respond lamely.

    "And you thought those would look better?"

    Wow. Wow wow wow. I''m actually getting fashion bullied. This honestly doesn''t happen to me all that often. Who is this loser, anyway? I take the effort to actually look at her face and vaguely recognize her as one of the girls that hangs out with Ida sometimes. Doesn''t Ida take this class with us? Yeah, there she is at the far end of the room, pretending she doesn''t see me. I''ve been trying to respect the fact that she told me to leave her alone, but I don''t really have the patience for this today. I lean past whoever-this-is and call out to my (former?) friend.

    "Hey, Ida!" I bark. "Can you get your remora off of me?"

    She flinches the slightest bit, probably not enough for anyone else to notice. Then she stands up with an affected sigh, pretending to fix her hair with one hand as she walks over.

    "Are you saying I''m a shark?" she drawls.

    "You''re certainly as smooth as one," I say automatically. Goddess, what does that even mean? Ida laughs anyway, probably at least getting the reference but definitely playing up her reaction.

    "What''s even going on over here?" she asks. "I''ve never seen you two speak more than a sentence to each other."

    "Not surprising, since Hannah never talks to anyone," girl-I-don''t-care-about mutters. "I thought you''d given up on her too, Ida."

    "And so you also thought to yourself ''oh hey, I should insult her gloves for no reason,''" I say, rolling my eyes.

    "The reason is that they''re ugly fucking gloves and it''s the middle of April."

    "Is your, uh, ''condition'' getting that bad?" Ida asks me, ignoring the other girl. Which is a good tactic, honestly. It''s one of the better snubs we can give her in this situation. I play along, keeping my attention entirely on Ida.

    "Yeah, it''s on my fingers and all the way up one leg now," I tell her. "The gloves are a bit heavy but I needed something capacitive."

    One of the weird things about Ida that I''ve never understood is the fact that she spends a lot of time hanging out with people that she doesn''t actually seem to like. When we first met in middle school she was already firmly integrated in the popular crowd, which by the natural law of middle school was also the bullies. And don''t get me wrong, Ida was a bully, probably sometimes still is. She likes proving she''s more clever than other people, and ultimately I think that''s why we first started hitting off so well. I''m not as mean as she is, but I like that too.

    When bullies came after me, I always tried to outmaneuver them. The plan was to make them feel stupid for talking to me enough times that they eventually decide I''m not worth the effort. Of course, being a middle schooler, I didn''t really anticipate the fact that I''d be awkward and genuinely hurt at least as often as I was eloquent, and even if that wasn''t the case the bullies would be too dumb to stop badgering the quiet kid anyway. At least that would have been the case, if not for Ida.

    Ida likes hanging out with bullies. Heck, the little chaos gremlin is nominally friends with those bullies. But half the time I started biting back against their abuse, Ida would immediately turn on those very same friends and help me make fun of them. We''d banter back and forth, deny them what they want, and make them feel left out all while Ida remained firmly within their group and I remained firmly within mine. She was my little traitor on the inside, and I don''t think it was because she wanted to be nice to me. I think she just wanted some intelligent conversation for once. She stifles herself, hanging out with them and obsessing over fashion and boys and gossip and whatever other inane things normal girls do. I''ve never gotten a straight answer when I''ve asked her why.

    "What condition?" glove-insult-girl asks.

    "Oh my god Gloria, you can''t just ask her about a serious condition like that," Ida wheels on her immediately. "Do you not know how rude that is?"

    "If you''re scared of having to wear gloves, don''t be," I chime in. "It''s not contagious. Probably."

    "Uh, probably?" Ida emphasizes.

    "Probably!" I confirm innocently.

    The bully whose name I swear I just heard looks a little uncomfortable at that, though Ida looks especially worried. Whoops, I forgot she was actually scared of my monster bits.

    "Okay, whatever," G-something dismisses turning to walk off. "Have fun being diseased."

    "Catch up with you in a sec, Gloria!" Ida calls after her happily, as if the two of us didn''t spend the last thirty seconds explicitly trying to make her feel bad. She turns back to me, lowering her voice to a whisper. "You never mentioned it was fucking contagious!"

    "That was just a bit!" I insist. "I mean, I guess I don''t really know if it''s contagious or not because I don''t know what causes it, but no one else has started mutating yet."

    She gives me a level stare.

    "Um, that I know of?"

    "Do you have a way to check?" she groans.

    "I don''t think s¡­ hmm," I pause, remembering that I haven''t tried the Soul Sight spell on Earth yet. "Uh, I guess maybe, actually? I don''t know if it''s a good idea, though. I am really flying by the seat of my pants on this stuff, Ida."

    "Don''t care," she grunts. "Do it."

    "It''s¡­ not something I should do in public. It''s, um, obvious. Like last time."

    She shudders.

    "...Okay," Ida nods. "How private do we need to be? Bathroom after class?"

    "Back of the building, after school?" I hedge. "Just to be safe. But you''ll have to be my ride home."

    "Okay," Ida agrees, tapping her foot nervously. "...That really was all real, right?"

    "Yeah," I confirm.

    "Fuck," she swears emphatically, turning around and heading back to her seat. I can''t say I disagree with her, though I''m a bit concerned about what''s got her so worked up.

    The teacher starts class soon after, though, and my mind is pulled back through spiraling about all my problems. Sindri most of all. The more I think about it, the more I need to not just decide how to try and prevent being hit with his magic again, but contingencies for if I am hit with his magic again. Ways to try and prod at the edges of his spell and look for weak points. Things to try that I won''t stop having the incentive to try if I start unconditionally trusting Sindri with my life again. As Brendan would put it, I need to seek out excuses to give myself more will saves. The problem is that the dungeon master I''m trying to convince is my own future self, and that dumb jerk will have already thought of all this!

    Stop, back up, don''t panic about the shadowruns. All I need to worry about is giving myself the highest possible number of opportunities to stay alive. I pull out my notebook and start scribbling out ideas on the page after the actual class notes I''m supposed to be taking. I''m going to have an excessive amount of homework with all the in-school time I''m missing, but school is pretty rapidly plummeting down my priority list. I honestly don''t care all that much anymore.

    My fourth class ends, my fifth and final class begins, and I spend it doing much the same sort of planning. Can I use Refresh to ''clean'' my mind of foreign influence? Probably not, since the spell works by physically moving things. Maybe investigate and/or try to manifest a more conceptual version? One of the big problems with being adjacent to Pneuma on the element wheel is that it means I don''t have the slightest bit of resistance to Pneuma. I can''t really leverage my supposedly-huge aura to do much about it, so I''m stuck with more mundane methods. Mental tricks, promises to myself that I''m not sure if I''ll keep, bargains and strategies and all sorts of little things that probably would never have a chance of working on their own¡­ and if I''m being honest, probably don''t have a chance of working in tandem. Because ultimately, the problem with fighting off mental influence is that it takes self-control. And I do not have that. Like, at all. So¡­ that''s a problem.

    The school day ends and I barely remember to send Brendan a text to not expect me on the bus, as engrossed as I am in my plans. I wander to the back of the school, wishing I could chew on something or claw something to shreds to get rid of this ever-growing stress. I''ve already snapped two pencils today, though it''s not a huge deal since I carry around about twenty. They just kind of seem to collect themselves in my backpack somehow. I spot the little chaos gremlin known as Ida and do my best to blink away my thoughts of tonight, but unfortunately she seems to catch on.

    "Y''know, I uh¡­ should have asked, before," Ida says awkwardly. "Are you doing okay?"

    I shrug.

    "No," I admit. "Not at all."

    "Fuck," Ida swears. "I''m sorry, Hannah. I just¡­ I''ve been freaking out about this, okay? Ever since you summoned that invisible scary lady into my car and used fucking actual magic I just¡­ the world just feels fake. Does that make any sense?"

    "Um, yeah, I guess," I nod. "It''s a bit of an Earth-shattering revelation to have fantasy and reality swapping places like that."

    "N-no," Ida shakes her head. "I mean yes, but also like¡­ literally. If I stop focusing on it, then things literally, physically start to feel like they''re fake. Like I''m just dreaming and if things were a little more lucid I could reach out and¡­ I don''t even know. Do something real? I''m sort of rapidly and very unwillingly turning into a solipsist."

    Oh. Oh gosh. Okay.

    "...Reach out how?" I ask hesitantly.

    "I don''t know," she admits, sounding uncharacteristically small.

    "Okay," I nod. "There''s¡­ a way I can check to see if you have magic. I''m not sure what happens if I use it in this world, though. It''ll probably be fine, but it might be really bad?"

    "Did you say another world?" she asks.

    "Yeah, I uh, I live in another universe when I sleep."

    She opens her mouth to comment on that, but then she just shakes her head.

    "You know what? Sure. Fine. I just¡­ I accept whatever risk this is, Hannah. I feel like I''m going crazy. Just¡­ do your thing."

    "I''ll have to summon the, uh, invisible scary lady again. The Goddess."

    I add the last two words without even thinking much about it. It feels wrong not to clarify that I mean Her.

    "Which is why you wanted us alone," Ida sighs. "Sure. Go for it."

    I nod, inhale, and make my intent known.

    "Aura Sight," the Goddess says, blooming into glorious existence around Ida and I, swirling and caressing us. She pats me on the head, pinches Ida''s cheeks, and then disappears like she was never here. Ida and I both shudder, terror passing through us both in equal measure.

    "So what did that do?" Ida asks nervously, looking distinctly like Order.

    I blink. I look again. Yep, Order. Ida the chaos gremlin¡­ is aligned to Order. And only Order.

    "Well, congrats I guess," I tell her. "You have magic. I''m pretty sure if you pull on that feeling hard enough, you won''t just be a lucid dreamer. You will metaphorically wake up."

    "What, just like that!?" she asks, halfway between incredulous and hysterical. "Would¡­ will she come back?"

    "Uh, hopefully not," I say. "She only shows up if you speak the name of a spell out loud, and you should not be trying to speak any spell names out loud. It could seriously mess you up, maybe even kill you."

    "Then why do you say spells out loud?" she snaps.

    "Because I''m stupid," I tell her frankly. "And also a funky multidimensional monster. Don''t do what I do. We should probably go to a better place than behind the school if you wanna test out your magic."

    "What if I don''t wanna test out my magic?" Ida hisses. "What if I just want things to make sense again?"

    "Then maybe your magic does that! I don''t have any clue, Ida. You''re an Order mage like me, you could have all kinds of bullpoop. I have a cleaning spell."

    "Wait, seriously?" she asks.

    In response I just lick my wrist, bring it up to my face to smear my makeup, then snap my fingers for show, which makes a surprisingly satisfying popping sound even through my gloves. With a quick pulse of Refresh, my face is looking better than before the smudge.

    "Okay, shit, I want magic now," Ida gapes. "That''s way cooler than freaky toe claws."

    "Uh, thanks, I think?" I smirk. "Come on, drive me home and I''ll teach you what little I know about not causing yourself to explode."

    "Is that a thing that can happen?"

    "Yeah, I nearly bled out on Saturday," I nod.

    "...Can I change my mind again?"

    I chuckle humorlessly, heading out towards the school parking lot and motioning Ida to follow. Whether she chooses to cast or not, I still need to tell her as much as I can about what I know. It''s only fair, not to mention much safer for her, to be informed. After some brief hesitation, she follows me and the two of us walk to her car, dozens of other students doing the same around us. Out of curiosity, I glance at one at random to try and see what magical alignment they have¡­ and I don''t feel anything.

    Glancing back at Ida, I focus and confirm that yes, she still feels like Order, and yes the Aura Sight spell is still active. I glance at a different student. Nothing. Another new student. Nothing. A bird, a bug, a teacher, a tree¡­ nothing. No auras on any of them. The bus passes by, and through the window I manage to catch Brendan''s eye as he waves at me. I wave back, and of course give him a magical vibe check. Art. His aura very clearly tastes like Art. But that''s it. Out of everyone I can see, the spell only reacts to Ida, Brendan, and of course me.

    My friends and I are the only people in school that have souls.

 26. Arrogance

    "Hannah? Hey, Hannah? Earth to Hannah Banana!"

    "Huh? Eh? What?" I sputter, blinking rapidly as I peel my eyes away from trying and failing to find anything else of interest with my Aura Sight.

    "You spaced out for a second there," Ida says. "What''s up?"

    "Oh, uh, nothing, I''m just sort of coming to a terrifying existential realization maybe?"

    "Well in that case don''t tell me, I''m way too sober," Ida grunts. "Come on, let''s drive."

    Aura sight sees auras, and auras come from souls. Right? Right. Now logically speaking, there could be plenty of explanations for why most people don''t have auras. Their souls could just be too weak for me to see, or too magically inert to have an aura. But at the same time, something in the back of my head keeps bugging me, insisting that that''s wrong. Souls are inherently divine in nature. So without the grace of the Goddess, how could there possibly be souls?

    I had an edgy atheist phase for a bit after I accepted that I was gay and couldn''t mesh that reality with what my pastor kept spouting about sin. I got really mad at the concept of religions and gods and decided that there isn''t an afterlife and no inherent meaning exists in the universe. I mellowed out a bit after that and went from firm atheist to wibbly skeptic. My new position was that there probably isn''t an afterlife because everything is statistically improbable until evidence for its existence can be observed by humanity, no religion possesses evidence about the immaterial, and therefore all religions are equally unlikely. They could technically exist, but with it being literally impossible to determine that existence, spending brainspace on it is a waste of my time.

    I still consider myself a skeptic, I suppose, but part of being a skeptic is that when you do find evidence of something, you don''t go "hmm, this seems fake because I''m skeptical," you say "oh dang, that''s evidence" and adjust your worldview accordingly. And the Goddess observably exists.

    Do I know what the Goddess is? No, not really. Do I know what souls are? Nope, not that either. But Death magic exists, and I''ve been told it proves that souls persist after death, containing the identity of the person who once held them. Therefore, consciousness exists after death¡­ as long as you have a soul. So the idea that most people on my entire planet might not have a soul is honestly kind of terrifying.

    I don''t want to stop existing. I honestly can''t think of anything that frightens me more. I''m tempted to thank the Goddess for confirmation that I won''t, but I think I''ll wait until I actually know what the afterlife is like. Oblivion seems bad, but Hell seems worse¡­ and my Goddess can certainly be a wrathful one when the mood strikes Her.

    I sit down in the passenger''s seat of Ida''s car, trying to banish the stress of this new revelation, or at least properly slot it in line behind my plethora of more immediate stressors. Ida has magic, so I should teach her about magic. She starts driving, keeping the radio off for once as I figure out where to start. I guess if I don''t know where to start I may as well start anywhere. The element wheel is as good as any.

    Ida is not happy to learn that she opposes Chaos, but honestly it makes a certain kind of sense. The sort of chaotic fae energy she has still possesses a sort of logic, which falls under the realm of Order. Chaos in the magical sense is true randomness, the absence of methodology, and it''s fundamentally incompatible with life. Ida very much has a method to her madness, even if it''s only understood by her.

    Unfortunately, teaching Ida what she needs to know mostly just emphasizes how much I still need to know. I tell her about learning spells vs. having spells, I tell her about aura strength, I talk about how the Goddess seems to favor some people more than others and how she gives everyone their magic personally. I also, of course, tell her about the dangers of miscasting, but also how it''s supposedly pretty safe to cast magic as long as you''re not speaking the incantation.

    "That''s kind of a weird contradiction," Ida frowns. "Magic is super safe until it''s super deadly?"

    "I don''t know what to tell you," I shrug. "When I''m casting a spell without speaking its name, I just¡­ cast it. Once you figure it out it''s pretty much automatic. But the incantation is a whole thing. You have to understand the spell you''re trying to cast at a pretty deep level, and then you have to pick a name for it that the Goddess approves of. It has to be descriptive and¡­ I think she also likes it if it''s clever? Or at least interesting? It''s not really needed, I suppose, because some spells have lame names like Aura Sight, but I think she was distinctly happy with me when I chose a theme."

    "Huh," Ida frowns. "What''s your theme?"

    "Um," I say, a blush starting to form on my cheeks.

    "Oh my god it''s really geeky, isn''t it?" Ida sighs. "It''s a theme for absolute fucking dorks."

    "It''s Pok¨¦mon attacks," I confirm quietly.

    "Of course it is. Fuck, that gives me so many questions. Does this goddess from another dimension know about goddamn Pok¨¦mon, of all things? How?"

    "Um. I mean, She''s a Goddess. It could literally be any number of ways. At minimum I''m pretty sure She knows everything I know. She responds to thoughts pretty directly."

    "This is so fucking insane," Ida grumbles. "So I just¡­ have magic now, huh? I just have to focus on it and then boom! It''ll happen?"

    "Yeah. Maybe don''t try it while driving though."

    Ida rolls her eyes.

    "Hannah, I know you''re a mere mortal restricted to seeing the world from her own viewpoint but most people are not the sort of fucking disaster to test something unknown and dangerous in a moving vehicle."

    Well. That''s just rude. But probably accurate. Ida doesn''t react to my indignant scowls, though, and soon enough we''re parked right outside my house.

    "Well, you can test your magic while I get ready for work, then," I grumble, moving to open the door. "It''s probably better if I''m not around, in case it turns out to be dangerous."

    "Wait," Ida says, staring blankly forward and not shutting off the car. "I think you should stay."

    I frown a bit.

    "Your magic almost certainly won''t hurt you," I tell her. "But that doesn''t mean it can''t hurt me. It''s safer for you to test it alone."

    "I don''t¡­ I think you should be here," Ida says slowly. "I don''t know why, I just¡­ is that weird?"

    Huh. Is that weird? I mean, this is Ida, she''s probably not saying this because she''s clingy. Honestly, it''s super plausible that her magic is giving her hints about stuff it needs in order to activate. Mine did that.

    "Uh, no, that''s not weird," I assure her. "Having feelings about that kind of stuff is how I learned to cast, so my vote is to trust it. I''d prefer you not cast anything you don''t understand on me, though. Can you try it on like¡­ a bug or something?"

    "You are a bug," Ida snorts, shutting off the car. "But no, I don''t think so. I¡­ can you just stay here? Please?"

    Hesitantly, I nod.

    "...Okay," I allow. "I hope we don''t regret this, though."

    "Yeah," Ida confirms. "God, I can''t fucking believe I''m taking this fantasy bullshit seriously. If I didn''t know how hilariously useless at manipulation you are I''d think you were gaslighting me into this somehow."

    "Is that¡­ a compliment?" I hedge. I feel like having gaslighting skills isn''t a good thing.

    "No," she grunts. "Okay. Fuck it. Here goes."

    She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

    "Okay, nope this won''t work," Ida says.

    "What''s wrong?" I ask.

    "This isn''t enough. It wants something else. I need to¡­ no, we should¡­ fuck, I dunno. Play me in rock-paper-scissors. First to ten."

    I blink in surprise as she raises her fist to the starting position, but nod, raising my fist in kind. Why not? What could go wrong in a nice, friendly game of rock-paper-scissors? ¡­Haha don''t actually answer that, me.

    "On scissors. Ready?" she prompts.

    "Ready," I confirm. "Rock, paper, scissors!"

    I play scissors. She plays rock. I lose. Seems reasonable. We play again, and that time I win, which prompts Ida to scowl, scrunching her face together in a determined expression. We play nine more hands after that, and I lose every single one of them.

    "Holy garbanzo beans," I gape after the ninth consecutive loss. "Luck manipulation?"

    "What? No, fuck you," Ida snaps. "It''s not luck, bitch. Rock-paper-scissors has a lot of skill to it if you actually know what you''re goddamn doing. There''s a bunch of psychology to it, not to mention ways to cheat."

    "Wait, have you been cheating?" I ask.

    "Not if you can''t prove I am," she smirks. "Otherwise I''m just the best!"

    "Alright, but was that your magic at play or can you always kick this much ass at rock-paper-scissors?" I ask, rolling my eyes.

    "I¡­ I mean, it was definitely the magic," Ida says. "But it was also me, I think? It''s fucking freaky. Like, I was still doing everything, I somehow just knew how to do everything. I had all these predictive and muscle reading skills that I never had before and can barely even remember now. ¡­Fuck, how did I do that? Shit, this is so fucking messed up. I guess my magic makes me better at stuff?"

    "What does that mean, exactly?"

    She opens her mouth to respond, then shuts it with a scowl, taking a moment to think.

    "...I don''t know," she ultimately concludes. "No, I''m just wrong, I''m not better at stuff. I think? I feel manic as all hell, like I do when I get fucked up and try to do dumb shit like fight MMA professionals just to show I''m hard enough. I think I can win at anything, but then I get my ass kicked."

    She looks down at her hands, seeming to barely even be paying attention to me anymore. A grin slowly works its way up her face, starting cute but morphing towards worrying at high speed.

    "...But I didn''t lose just now," she chuckles. "Holy shit. Holy shit."

    "Um, you okay, Ida?"

    "I''m better than okay!" she laughs. "I''m the best that''s ever been! Go get changed for work, I''m gonna keep messing around with this."

    "Uh, okay," I nod. "Just be careful, and don''t let anyone see you."

    "Sure, sure," Ida dismisses, waving me off.

    That''s not very reassuring, but I guess I didn''t notice her using magic, and I am magic. I sneak into the house as best I can, thanking the blaring television that currently distracts my father. I quickly head upstairs, change into my work clothes and take most of my school stuff out of my backpack. I bring the rest of my backpack to work, because I don''t really want to be caught without medical supplies and extra clothing again. I take the time to individually bind up my mutant fingers in bandages as well, since I suspect whoever''s managing today might challenge me on my gloves. Showing that I literally can''t use the cash register touch screens without them should get me some leniency, but I''ll have to take my gloves off to actually do that.

    Slinking back downstairs and returning to Ida, I find her scowling as she picks a bunch of playing cards up off the floor of her car.

    "What''s up?" I ask, plopping into the passenger''s seat. "Figure anything out?"

    "Well I figured out that I can''t even win a game of solitaire, and I''m not totally sure why," she grumbles. "Spell wouldn''t even activate. ¡­God, that''s so fucking weird to say. Anyway, it sucks, because I feel like I should be able to be the best at everything."

    I raise an eyebrow at that.

    "You think your magic is supposed to make you ''the best at everything?''" I ask. "I mean, magic''s crazy, but that''s a bit arrogant, don''t you think?"

    "Huh!" she exclaims, thinking for a moment before twisting around and looking towards the back of the car. "Yeah, it¡­ it kinda is, isn''t it? But maybe that''s it. Like, you said Order magic is about thinking there''s a way the world should be, right?"

    "Uh, kinda, yeah," I nod. "Like, the concept of ''clean'' or ''sorted'' isn''t objectively defined, it''s totally subjective. But my subjective definition of those things seems to drive the objective functions of my magic. There''s a more orderly way I want the world to be, and my order magic makes the world that way."

    "Well, subjectively speaking, the world is objectively better when I am the best at everything," Ida insists, crawling halfway into the backseat to pull the foot mat off the duct-taped holes I dug into the floor of her car back when my mutations were just starting. "If that''s arrogance, then I think I have arrogance magic."

    I blink, not really having any words for that. Arrogance magic!? Oh beans on toast, I can''t even claim that doesn''t make sense. Of course Ida would develop arrogance magic.

    "The world would also be better if my shit wasn''t broken," Ida continues. "My stuff should always be the best stuff. So let''s see if I can do anything about that."

    She rips a strip of duct tape off and focuses for a moment. I stay quiet, letting her work. Then, I start to see it. The metal twists, shifting and even growing when necessary to get back into place, and when it''s done there''s not a shred of evidence that the damage ever occurred. Ida takes a deep breath, admiring her work with an ever-growing grin.

    "Oh my fucking god," she chuckles. "I take it all back. Magic is the coolest thing ever."

    "Goddess," I correct automatically.

    "Huh?"

    "You have a Goddess now," I remind her. "Not a god."

    Ida glances back, giving me a concerned look.

    "Oh," she answers. "Uh, right. Yeah."

    "I just¡­ y''know, if you have arrogance magic I think you should be careful about that, is all," I stutter, my brain doing its best to catch up with my words and figure out why I''m so insistent on this. "Arrogance is probably fine, I''m sure the Goddess thinks it''s great if she gave you that. Just be careful it doesn''t evolve into hubris, okay? She''s dangerous, Ida. She can and will smite you if you make Her mad."

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "Duly noted, I guess," Ida shrugs, ripping off the next piece of tape to expose the second of ten holes in the floor. "Can''t say I wouldn''t do the same if I were a goddess."

    Uh. Huh. Gosh, the idea of Ida and the Goddess having similar personalities is simultaneously terrifying and enlightening in a bunch of different ways I really don''t want to think about. I stay quiet as she struggles through repairing the rest of the damage I did to her car, not wanting to disturb her and not sure what to say. She actually starts sweating a bit when she gets halfway through repairing the damage I''ve done, leaning down in the space between the front seats and bumping up against me as she works, her butt sticking right up in my face.

    It''s a pretty nice butt, honestly, even as skinny as Ida is. While she can look pretty young from a distance, being very short and skinny, Ida makes an effort to accentuate her assets with tasteful makeup, expert accessorizing, and very, very tight clothing. Though they aren''t as pronounced as most girls our age, Ida doesn''t let anyone forget that she has curves, and when her shirt starts riding up to reveal her back and belly I have no choice but to muster all my willpower and redirect a deeply blushing face to look out the window until she sits back up.

    "Fucking¡­ finally," Ida huffs, her face shining with sweat. "That is awesome, but it is exhausting. I need a rest, you drive."

    She tosses me the keys, which I fumble to catch, and then she shoos me out of the passenger seat. I get out of the car and head around to the driver''s seat, experiencing the surprise of having to adjust the seat back for once. It''s so strange not being the shortest person driving a car.

    "You sure?" I ask. "You never let other people drive your car."

    "Well don''t fucking crash and I won''t have reason to regret it," she mumbles. "I''m fucking tired and I agreed to give you a ride to work, so you can do it yourself."

    "Alright," I nod, and start the car. It''s very weird driving a car other than my dad''s, but I take it slow and we get to my work safely. Ida spends the entire trip insulting my driving skills, but we still make it there. I park and move to get out, but Ida grabs my wrist before I can open the door.

    "Hey," she says. I wait for her to continue, but she doesn''t seem forthcoming.

    "Hey?" I prompt.

    She squirms a bit, slouching down in her seat with one leg bouncing nervously. She spends nearly half a minute looking like she''s on the verge of saying something before she finally comes out and actually says anything at all.

    "You''re in some deep shit, right?" she manages.

    Instinctively, I want to brush her off. To not say anything, to keep all my problems to myself, but that''s not fair to her. Not when she already knows this much. So I wiggle my extra limbs, pulling them free of the bindings around my stomach that hold them in place and letting them peek out from underneath my shirt, the clawed spider legs revealing themselves with my best take at a shrug. Ida''s eyes widen, though she carefully doesn''t react.

    "I''m not really human anymore," I say quietly. "And that''s far from the worst of it. When I go to sleep tonight, my free will has a good chance of being stolen away by a mind rapist who plans to use me as a living weapon. I''ve been panicking about it all day because I don''t know if there''s anything I can do about it."

    "Is that something I''m gonna end up getting stuck in?" Ida asks. "This other world?"

    I shrug.

    "Not to my knowledge," I tell her. "But my knowledge is next to nothing so it''s a possibility. Nothing all that bad has happened on Earth yet, though I feel like that''s just a ticking time bomb waiting to happen."

    "Okay," Ida nods. She''s still holding my wrist. "Hey, Hannah?"

    "Yeah?"

    "I''m a hedonist," she says. "I think there''s no fucking point to life if I don''t spend it living my best one."

    "I did always get that impression from you, yeah," I agree, smiling softly. "It''s fine. I''ll keep leaving you alone, keep you out of the drama. If you''re not overt with your magic I doubt anybody will bother you."

    "No," Ida growls, giving me a frighteningly intense glare. "Fuck that. Fuck that until it tears in half. Hannah, I¡­ this is insane, but I''m with you, okay? One hundred percent, one thousand fucking percent, I''m with you. I was a complete piece of shit for ditching you before when it first got weird."

    "I¡­ it''s fine, Ida," I insist, pulling my hand away. "Really. It''s probably better if you just avoid me and lie l¡ª"

    "No! Shut the fuck up, Hannah!" Ida shouts, pointing a furious finger at me. "Look at me! I do what I goddamn want! And I''m all-in on this. You don''t get a say, because you do stupid shit with your say like forgive me and pretend you don''t have any problems when on the inside you''re fucking dying. And I saw you doing it! All last fucking week, whenever you weren''t making goochie-goo eyes at that Autumn bitch, you were miserable. And I just¡­ that hurt to see, okay? I can''t stand that shit. I''ll kill anybody that makes you feel that way."

    She turns away from me, sinking a little lower into the passenger''s seat and crossing her arms over her chest. I gape at her, feeling more than a little bowled over by that furious tirade. It''s not fun being yelled at, even if that was ostensibly a pretty intense emotional declaration of¡­ friendship? Maybe more than friendship? Gosh I don''t want to read too much into that and don''t know what I would want the answer to be if I did. She may have already admitted to wanting to have sex with me, but knowing Ida that definitely isn''t something that requires love on her end.

    You know what? Right now, it doesn''t matter. I have Ida back, one way or another. Realizing that shoves everything else out of my mind, a soothing waterfall of relief filling me. I have Ida back. I didn''t mess up our friendship after all. She has my back, and I literally have no choice but to embrace that. Which is perfect, because she''s right that I probably wouldn''t have accepted it otherwise.

    "Thank you, Ida," I tell her, holding back a sudden urge for tears. "You''re the best."

    "I fucking know," she grunts. "Now get out of my goddamn car."

    I smile, taking a brief moment to wrap up my extra limbs again before exiting, leaving her keys in the ignition. I head into work and get my day started, occasionally glancing out the window to see Ida''s car sitting motionlessly for nearly fifteen minutes before she finally gets into the driver''s seat and leaves.

    Work is terrible, which is arguably a good thing because I''m so busy I don''t have time to freak out about what''s going to happen tonight. Three people call out sick, leaving my boss and I alone with one other employee to handle the entire dinner rush. I''m stuck up front because the extra employee was hired barely a week ago and only knows how to work one station in the kitchen, leaving my boss to do basically everything else in the back while I handle every single customer getting increasingly irate about our long wait times. At one point I turn away from the register and see four different full trays of orders ready to be bagged, and I am very, very tempted to just speak Refresh out loud and forcibly move them all where they''re supposed to go at once. I don''t, but it''s a pretty close shave with my limited self-control. I wonder if I can be fired for using magic on shift. I guess legally I probably can, it''s not like ''mage'' is protected under equal opportunity laws, but would I be? ¡­Nah, probably not. My boss would think cleaning magic is pretty sick.

    I do use some silent cleaning magic when I''m out in the dining room making sure everything looks nice. Subtle stuff where I give a table a cursory wipe-down with a towel and secretly make the whole thing ultra-clean, or force all the crumbs on the floor to obey my broom in a single sweep. Not that I have a whole lot of time to clean in the first place between taking, bagging, and tabling orders. Once the shift finally ends though I pretty much use as much magic as I can get away with to speed through the closing routine and make sure everything is clean for tomorrow, because I am exhausted and I have no desire to stay here any longer than¡­ huh. I forgot that I really, really don''t want to go to sleep tonight. Steak on toast, I''m really stupid. If anything I should be slowing down.

    I mean, I shouldn''t slow down, because that would be really unfair to the people I''m working with who very much want to go home, but oh Goddess I do not want to go home, I do not want to be faced with the combination of my own exhaustion and easy access to a bed. After all, I still haven''t decided if I''m going to run away and leave my friends with a mind-controlling bastard, or if I''m going to¡­ to kill him. I¡­ no, no, no, I hate this. I hate this so much. I don''t want to kill him, but I don''t know what else I can do. Murder is bad, it''s wrong, but Sindri can steal and twist free will.

    I''ve called him a mind rapist before, and to some degree it feels wrong. It feels like rape¡ªone of the and arguably the most terrible thing you can do to another person¡ªcan''t possibly be used as a point of comparison without hyperbole. In reality, though, I think I''ve been generally avoiding the term in order to avoid thinking about how horribly, disgustingly, terrifyingly accurate it is. Sindri''s violations aren''t sexual in nature, no, but having someone worm their way into my mind and rip away the parts of me that want to scream ''no?'' What¡­ what other analogy can I use for that!?

    I find myself kneeling on the floor, vaguely aware that I''m starting to hyperventilate, tears forming in my eyes. When I go home I am consigning myself to waking up in the same room as a man who intends to discard my personhood like a worn-out toy. I might escape, I might even end up killing him, but nothing will change the fact that I have to take that dive, I have to know that he has already twisted me and he very possibly will do so again. Maybe he''ll find a way to retain his mind control when I''m here on Earth. Maybe I''ll stop being anything but his puppet, his little fake ''friend'' who sticks with him because she''s physically lost the capability to identify abuse. I could wither away to nothing, become no one, end up being his little monster pet in truth, just like one of the animals he thought I was. And the worst part is, I can''t stop it. I''m doomed to have to face this possibility, to face him, and none of my plans give me a surefire way out. I''m going to go home, I''m going to get in bed, and I''m going to risk being raped. Those are the stakes. That''s what I''m consigning myself to. The one fucking thing that''s basically guaranteed to get me even more traumatized than I already am, and I just¡­ I just¡­ fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

    "Hannah? Hey, Hannah!"

    My boss is kneeling on the ground next to me. The cleaning supplies are scattered on the floor around me. I''m sobbing in earnest, at least when I can manage to successfully take a full breath. My chest hurts. Oh good. A panic attack. Again.

    "Fine," I somehow manage to choke out. "I''m fine."

    "Do you need¡ª"

    I don''t pay attention to the rest of my boss'' sentence because he reaches out to put a reassuring hand on my shoulder and it takes all of my willpower to not claw his fucking throat out. I freeze, utterly motionless, not trusting myself to so much as breathe. He''s touching me he''s touching me he''s touching me like that bastard did but it''s not the same, he''s trying to help, it''s fine it''s fine it''s fine it''s fine it''s fine it''s fine!

    "...Off," I hiss, and thank the Goddess that''s enough for him to get the message and remove his hand. My panic attack has fully evolved into predator fight-or-flight response and I''m seconds away from biting anything in range. I have to leave. To separate myself from people. The¡­ the walk-in fridge has a lock on the inside. A thick door. I can hide there. I stand up and start to move, tears still falling down my face as I wordlessly step past my boss, step into the fridge, and collapse into a sobbing mess. I''m not human enough to feel cold anymore, so the temperature doesn''t even bother me.

    The smell does, though. I don''t have even the slightest bit of willpower left to resist the urge to take off a glove, rip open a bag of raw chicken with my claws, and just devour the entire thing. One bag of chicken, incidentally, is ten pounds. Twenty cuts of meat, each slippery with marinade, torn into chunks by my teeth and swallowed by the mouthful. Ferociously gluttonous, I devour bite after bite of stolen meat and silently imagine each and every one as a person: Sindri, my boss, my old therapist, my own mother, my friends, the dumb preppy girl who made fun of my gloves earlier today, the various customers that yelled at me. Dead, dead, dead, dead, all by my tooth and claw, my dominance made manifest. Only when I reach into the bag and swipe at nothing but the remains of uncooked chicken juices does my fugue end, my stomach painfully bloated but somehow not burst. I waste a bit of time shuddering in revulsion, but then I realize I have to hide the evidence and get back to my job. Having a panic attack like that is really going to hurt my chance for a promotion.

    A few quick casts of Refresh set the walk-in looking pristine, and with my budding spatial sense it''s easy to find an opportunity to exit the fridge and throw away the empty chicken bag without anyone seeing me. I head back out to the dining room, where to my eternal embarrassment I find my boss finishing the last of my closing duties. I let out a shaky breath, feeling my cheeks turn a bit pinker. It''s fine. I just let everyone down, but they''re not going to be that mad. Probably.

    "Sorry," I say automatically, reaching out to take the mop from my boss.

    "It''s fine," he says, probably lying. "It''s been a rough day for everyone. I was really impressed with how clean you got everything else, actually."

    "Um, thank you," I shrug awkwardly. "I''m good at cleaning. I like it."

    "I guess you''ve found a good job then," he chuckles. "Just finish this up and we''ll finally get out of here, okay?"

    Oh. Goodie.

    I get through the rest of the closing routine on autopilot. It''s all I have left. I catch a ride home with my boss, successfully do not murder him, and with terror suffusing every bone and exoskeletal feature in my body, I trudge up to my room. A normal person, I think, would get in bed and be kept wide awake by this sort of panic and fear. But I know that when I lie down on that mattress, I''ll be out like a light. And then I''ll have to face it all. I can''t do that. I collapse to the floor of my room, and shakily send off a text.

    Help.

    The response is almost immediate.

    What do you need?

    Thank you, Brendan. Thank you.

    I have to go back, I text him. I have to go back and he''ll be waiting and I''ll have to kill him.

    You could run.

    No. He''s a rapist. A monster. I have to kill him.

    The typing symbol starts and stops, over and over. He''s taking too long. I need to hear his response now.

    Just say something, I send him.

    I believe in you, he answers back.

    I don''t.

    I know, he says. But I do. And I think I''m right to. You''ll make it through, Hannah. No matter what. I''d bet the whole world on you.

    Okay, I say. Then I follow it up with something I don''t normally say, and maybe should more often. I love you, Brendan.

    I love you too, Hannah, he answers immediately. I''ll talk to you tomorrow.

    He''s implying a lot in that statement. He''s saying I''ll still be alive tomorrow, and I''ll still be me.

    Okay, I agree. I''ll talk to you tomorrow. I''m going to bed.

    Good night, Hannah.

    It won''t be. But good night to you, Brendan.

    My body shaking, I strip my clothes off and get into bed. Soon I wake up, surrounded by wood and beds and full-bodied terror. Sindri! I have to kill Sindri, or else he''ll¡ª

    "Good morning, Hana," my nightmare says.

    He''s standing by the window. I rush towards him immediately, magic collecting in my legs, but¡­ wait. Am I really prepared to murder someone? No, agh, I have to commit!

    Aren''t I overreacting? my own mind wonders. Sindri and I have have been through a lot together, and he''s been on my side through all of it. What if I''m imagining this? Can I really kill him over something like that?

    Oh, this motherfucker! I''m not letting him gaslight me like this! I rush closer, preparing a strike on his leg to force him to the ground, but the thoughts he put in my head¡ªdid he put them in my head?¡ªkeep squirming, twisting, making me doubt. I don''t¡­ I don''t want to kill him. I don''t think I can do it! We saved each other from bandits, cultists, acid-spewing forest monsters, and all sorts of things! He''s taught me so much, he''s helped me so much, can I really doubt our friendship like¡ªagh, no, not that word! He''s not my friend!!! If I can''t kill him, I have to run!

    "Friends should hear each other out first," Sindri disagrees, and I stop in my tracks. He''s¡­ he''s right, of course. I mean, well, the fact that he can remove free will makes hearing him out suspect, but he wouldn''t do that to me. I''m¡­ I''m not thinking straight. I have to go. Or¡­ no. That''s stupid. I''m not thinking straight, so that''s all the more reason to get help from a friend.

    Sorry, I apologize instinctively.

    "It''s fine, Hana," Sindri reassures me, a slight smile on his face. "I have to admit, I was surprised¡ªand a little worried¡ªto see you acting so aggressive all of a sudden."

    Yeah, that''s¡­ well, y''know. I thought you were mind controlling me, which¡­ well. Um. No, wait, I heard you speak that incantation. I guess you are mind controlling me. But¡­ that''s¡­ fine?

    That''s a very rude accusation, Hannah, Sindri says, immediately making me feel ashamed. My spell doesn''t control anyone.

    Oh? Gosh, sorry then. You''re right, I feel so¡­! Wait. No, your magic definitely controls things, that''s how you fight. It''s not at all unreasonable to assume you can control me. You''re controlling Bulupunu, after all. And those birds that you follow the Chaos mage with!

    Hannah, I promise that I''m doing no such thing.

    Oh. Well. Hmm. That doesn''t make a lot of sense, but I trust him. He''s doing no such thing. But¡­ well, just in case, I guess I should mention something.

    Okay, I believe you, I tell him. But we should look into this mind control thing anyway.

    Oh? Sindri asks.

    Well, because I was really, really convinced that you were mind controlling me when I was awake on Earth, I tell him. I''m not sure why I''m mentioning Earth, but it''s whatever. I trust Sindri. I guess all my reasoning about you being an evil rapist seems kind of silly now, but there was definitely something affecting my state of mind. If you''re a soul mage, you should help me get rid of it.

    And why''s that? he asks.

    Well, because if you don''t, I''ll kill you, I explain.

    He blinks with shock, which is really embarrassing so I barrel onwards.

    Sorry, I mean, I don''t want to kill you, I assure him. But I''m worried that I will when I go to sleep. The mind control stuff is a big deal to me, you know? I thought of all these tricks I can try to break free of it, things I can attempt or try to force or whatever. I don''t really want to do any of those, but I do want to warn you that I''ll keep trying. I will find whatever''s messing with my head. I will rip it to shreds. I will eat its corpse.

    My body is shaking as I say these things, and I''m not really sure why. I must be worried about Sindri. I used to be really convinced it was his fault, for some reason. That''s why I have to tell him these things. So he doesn''t get hurt.

    I''m very dangerous, I tell him. You''ve seen me fight. It would just take a few seconds. If there is anyone messing with my head, and they can understand me now, I suggest that they run. I know that you know I don''t like killing, Sindri, but for this I will kill. Sleep far away from me. Get up early. Exclude me from night watches. You have to stay awake every hour I''m conscious, Sindri. Please.

    "I''m sure it will be okay," Sindri says hesitantly.

    Please, Sindri, I beg him. I don''t want to kill my friend.

    He swallows, seeming nervous for whatever reason.

    "For now, let''s just wake the others," he says. "We have an important day ahead of us."

    Okay, I agree happily, and jump up on Kagiso''s bed to poke her awake. We have a Chaos mage to fight, after all. I should focus on that and put this entire conversation behind us.

    That must be why I feel like I''m on the verge of a breakdown. Can''t think of anything else it would be.

 27. Chaos

    It doesn''t take us long to be ready to depart. As Sindri promised, the four of us are out of our room and waiting by the bridge at dawn. Kagiso yawns, stretching like a cat as morning''s first rays of light wash over the multi-layered city. We''re far from the only people up and about this early, the main road already full of noisy merchants and rowdy customers. Together we''re waiting for that paladin cultist, Hagoro. I''m really worried about meeting him, but I know my friends will have my back if something bad happens.

    Clinging to the top of Kagiso''s head like usual, it''s easy enough for me to spot the man when he approaches: he''s the only dentron wearing full-plate armor, after all. His big spear¡ªor I guess maybe it''s a glaive or something, I''m not a weapon nerd¡ªis just over six feet long from butt to tip, and pretty fancy-looking, with countless engravings down the entire length of the shaft that probably give him no tactical advantage whatsoever. It''s a nice stick though, I''ll give him that.

    His armor is much cooler, even having a cute little chainmail sock for his tail. His chest piece also has a big fancy artisanal representation of the centipede symbol that the cultists normally wear on necklaces, which I guess is probably good publicity on a guy as huge as Hagoro. Although¡­ hmm. Big fancy art on objects, huh?

    "Aura Sight," I say on a whim, startling Sindri. He gives me a concerned look.

    Just checking the paladin guy, I reassure him. I wonder what he''s worried about.

    Order and Barrier. That''s what Hagoro tastes like. Interesting combination, but it feels like a good one for a paladin. To heal and protect, and all that. Also, I''m wrong as hell, those engravings feel like Art magic and absolutely provide some kind of tactical advantage, as does the design on the armor. Dang. Although that all said, it''s really weird that those inanimate objects feel like anything, isn''t it? Aura sight doesn''t normally pick up on the presence of magical energy; it didn''t show me anything when Ida was casting spells, for example. It picks up on energy given off by souls. So does that mean the armor and glaive have souls? How? Why?

    ¡­It''s Death magic, most likely, Sindri explains. The soul of an animal¡ªor maybe a person¡ªhas been placed in those objects. They''ll eventually degrade away, but until then they can use whatever Art magic is radiating off of them.

    Huh. I didn''t think I was trying to send that thought, but whatever. That''s interesting! Death mages are the ones that make magic items in this world, huh?

    Magic items aren''t common, nor is the magic needed to make them, and the effects of any magically imbued item tend to either be restricted in some major way or temporary. But yes, for this particular kind of self-sustaining aura? Death magic.

    "Hello, everyone!" Paladin Hagoro hails us. "You must be Sindri''s companions. I am Hagoro, Paladin of Unification. I''d like to extend both my sincere apologies about the mess my nominal allies have put you through, as well as my services on your quest."

    Huh. I wonder what kind of cool subclass a Paladin of Unification is.

    I didn''t catch one of those words, but the cultists are called the Disciples of Unification, Hannah. He''s just referencing that.

    Oh. That makes sense.

    "Silly Hana," Kagiso says, patting me in a very patronizing way that I definitely don''t find at all endearing.

    "As appreciated as your apologies are," Teboho says, crossing one pair of arms, "we were almost killed by members of your cult. I have to say, I''m less than thrilled at the idea of you accompanying us, even with Sindri''s recommendation."

    "Understandably so," Hagoro nods, though he winces a little when we call his religion a ''cult.'' "But I assure you, it is my every intention to make up for that grave crime against you all. It certainly isn''t the will of the Disciples of Unification for innocent travelers to be attacked in their beds. Unfortunately, I can only speculate as to the reason such action was taken against you."

    Uh, didn''t you basically confirm the other day that your cult is after me? I ask.

    He can''t hear you, Hannah, he''s not part of the mental link, Sindri reminds me, though he does immediately translate on my behalf. "Weren''t they after Hana? You mentioned yesterday that the Disciples have an interest in creatures like her."

    "Well, that''s certainly true," Hagoro confirms. "I admit to no small amount of interest in speaking with Hana here, but I want to emphasize that killing her is very much not on my itinerary. There does exist a heretical sect which would want to see her dead¡ªand it''s very possible that''s what you encountered¡ªbut they are my enemy as much as they are yours. It''s also entirely possible that they were too low-rankling in our order to even know what makes Hana important, and the situation was what you first assumed: they were greedy beast merchants looking to steal a powerful creature from a better man."

    I flinch a little. Hmm. Why did¡­ oh, I mean, I guess he dehumanized me there. Er¡­ depersonized me?

    I''m not a ''creature,'' I grumble.

    "True," Kagiso agrees. "Friend is Hana."

    Yes, I''m¡­ wait, you''re saying I''m a hat, aren''t you?

    "Best hat!"

    Okay, well be that as it may¡ª

    "Hana?" Hagoro interrupts, though I suppose he can''t hear me so it''s not really his fault. "I''m sorry to ask, but you can understand me, yes?"

    I turn ''towards'' him (which is mostly just reorienting to give the appearance that I''m doing so) and wiggle my body up and down to mimic a nod.

    "Do you have a way to communicate on your own?" he asks.

    I wiggle a few legs at Teboho and he obligingly summons a small tablet and hands it to Kagiso, who holds it up for me. I put a minor Spacial Rend on one claw and carve out a simple response.

    I can write.

    "Ah, good," Hagoro nods. "That''s quite reassuring. Did your friends here teach you?"

    Yes, I confirm.

    "I can just add you to our communication spell, Paladin," Sindri offers. "If you''re going to be joining us in the coming fight, it would be best to do so."

    "Ah, I''m afraid I can''t," Hagoro says, smiling apologetically. "Policy forbids me from allowing an unauthorized Pneuma mage from casting on me. It''s nothing personal, I assure you."

    Sindri frowns, but nods.

    "A reasonable precaution, especially for a man with secrets to keep," he allows.

    "I''m so glad you understand," Hagoro agrees. "Though in the interest of team communication, I believe it would be best to share our elements and general specialties, so that our strategy against the Chaos mage can be planned. I understand that this is sensitive information, so I have no issues going first."

    He starts to walk out of town as he says that, heading across the bridge and away from the busy city full of prying ears that might be interested in ''sensitive information.'' The rest of us follow, and Sindri nods at him.

    "I agree that''s worth doing. Team, I know we''ve had a nasty run-in with the Disciples of Unification before, but I believe Hagoro when he denounces them. He''s a skilled Chaos hunter in his own right, and has every reason to work alongside us today."

    "Is fine," Kagiso shrugs.

    "If you''re certain of this, Sindri, then I have no objections," Teboho nods. "I just want justice for my family and friends."

    I''m more than a little worried about the things Hagoro said about me yesterday, I tell Sindri. Specifically the part where he said I was ''here to seek your ruin.'' That sounds like a pretty solid motivation for betraying us to me. I''m against it.

    Those are, frankly, very valid concerns, Sindri agrees. But the journey over gives us an opportunity to speak with him and hear his explanation for that claim. And if your fears come to pass, Hannah¡­ well, it''ll be four on one. We''re with you, no questions asked. Friendship inherently goes both ways.

    I wiggle nervously.

    Okay, I ultimately answer.

    "We''re all in agreement, then," Sindri confirms, nodding to Hagoro.

    "Excellent!" Hagoro smiles, clapping his hands once in a surprisingly endearing way. He just seems genuinely excited to be hanging out with us. "Well, I''m an Order and Barrier mage. My primary spell manifestation is Zone of Law. I can create areas in which certain things are banned. It''s flexible and powerful, but it affects myself and my allies just as much as it does our enemies, so I don''t tend to use it in mixed company. I am quite skilled in martial combat, however, and my weapons and armor will resist disintegration and ward against Chaos to a limited extent."

    "I suppose I should go next, then," Teboho nods. "I''m a Matter and Barrier mage, and my magic focuses on rigid material creation. As long as it''s not flexible and doesn''t have moving parts, I can summon it with a thought. I use it mainly to create weapons, armor, and tools."

    "You make armor that has no moving parts?" Hagoro asks.

    "It''s not very comfortable armor," Teboho chuckles. "There''s a reason I don''t wear it all the time. It''s very restricting, but I can un-summon it and re-summon it to cover or reveal parts of me as needed."

    "Hmm. Interesting."

    "As you already know, I''m a Pneuma mage, with a focus on coordination and communication," Sindri says, apparently interested in moving things along. "I use the ability to make pacts with animals."

    "Like Bulupunu!" Kagiso clarifies, pointing to our lightning lizard tiger.

    "Like¡­ Bulupunu," Sindri sighs.

    "You named him bald idiot?" Hagoro asks, a smile twitching onto his face.

    "Yes? Has no hair and is also stupid," Kagiso confirms matter-of-factly.

    Bulupunu sneezes, a crackle of lightning ejecting itself out of his nose.

    "No brain in head. Dumb." Kagiso nods happily, as if Bulupunu had just agreed with her.

    "I¡­ I see," Hagoro chuckles. "And your magic, Miss Kagiso?"

    "Motion," she says. "Precision. Chain reactions."

    Chain reactions? I ask. Not just ricochets?

    "Have more than one spell," Kagiso says, wrinkling her nose in offense. "Ricochet just most useful."

    "She means it''s the least likely to kill us all," Teboho smirks.

    Kagiso crosses her arms and pouts.

    "Praise me for restraint," she orders, and her brother laughs.

    "Well, that just leaves you, then," Hagoro says, turning to me. Fortunately, I''ve been spending the whole time writing, so I''ve had the opportunity to actually explain.

    I don''t think my spells have a theme, I say. I have a bunch of weird ones. A Space spell that lets me cut anything, an Order spell that lets me sort and clean, and a Transmutation spell that''s constantly changing my body.

    "You''ve also got the magic that lets you step into and out of view and take those strange shortcuts," Teboho says.

    Well, that''s true, but that doesn''t really feel like a spell to me, I respond. It''s just kind of something I can do.

    "Hana shares a lot of properties with magical beasts, I''ve noticed," Sindri chimes in. "Not to call you a beast, Hana, it''s just the term for a creature whose biology relies on a certain kind of magic, and therefore all living members of the species have that magic. No known magical beasts are sapient¡ªexcept arguably you, if you count as one¡ªso the terminology isn''t really designed for people."

    It''s fine, I assure him.

    "My point is," he continues, "I suspect Hana''s Space affinity is a consequence of her species, whereas her Order and Transmutation affinities are the only ones demonstrating synergy with her personality and each other."

    "Hmm. An interesting theory," Hagoro nods. "Here''s mine: Hana''s magic focuses on destroying things, then putting the pieces back together in a way that suits her."

    I don''t have a response for that, and neither, it seems, does anyone else. What the heck, guy? You know what, screw it. He''s obviously got this secret society thing going on, and his secret society obviously doesn''t like me, and he''s either going to come clean on that or he''s going to be a threat. I have no reason to burn bridges with this man, and I''m not going to fall for the clich¨¦ of alienating the reasonable person who only ends up being a villain because the hero doesn''t bother to talk to them. I scribble out a simple message, struggling to keep it short and to the point. I want to call him out on what a jerk he''s being by phrasing my magic that way, to say that I understand the sort of nasty stuff he''s implying by claiming that the spells which best fit my personality are a thinly-veiled narcissism metaphor, but that''s unproductive and writing with my claws is a pain in my extradimensional butt. So¡­ short and sweet it is.

    What am I? I ask him, because he''s certainly acting like he knows and that''s a heck of a lot more than I can say.

    He seems almost surprised, his eyebrows rising as he reads the words. We''re almost to the edge of the bridge now, and he lapses into silence for the rest of the walk, all the way up the massive flight of stairs, and a good way down the road. It must be at least half a gosh dang hour before he finally speaks up, and it really startles me when he does. Was he spending that long considering his response? Kagiso, Teboho and I had long since devolved into our usual friendly banter, and all of us jolt when Hagoro finally clears his throat and answers my question with a question of his own.

    "You are a girl from another world, are you not?"

    Kagiso and Teboho don''t know that, so they''re extra confused. It''s one of the cards I''ve been holding closest to my chest, and I''m not sure it''s wise to play right now. But lying? Lying seems worse. So I write.

    Yes.

    "You''re not the first," Hagoro says. "You won''t be the last. And that''s a problem, because your kind? They set the tree aflame. They pulled the roots from the Great Soil. Your kin engineer our destruction at every turn, and people like me exist to stop you."

    Well. That''s¡­ okay. Okay! That''s really good information, actually! I''m not the only isekai victim, and presumably not the only one that got stuck in a weird monster body, and the cultists hate me because the jerks who came before were apocalyptically terrible. I can work with that, maybe.

    I don''t want to hurt anyone or anything, I write.

    "Really?" Hagoro says. "Then why are you accompanying a professional assassin on his job?"

    I flinch, then start writing frantically.

    That''s different! I insist.

    "Is it?"

    I angrily tap the tablet in the place I''ve already written "yes."

    "Why''s that?"

    I huff with annoyance.

    If you decide I''m going to hurt the world, will you kill me? I write.

    "Possibly," he admits, and it''s still chilling even though I expected a yes.

    So sometimes you have to hurt someone to protect people.

    I finally had to accept that recently. Where did I¡­ no, doesn''t matter.

    "I suppose that''s true," Hagoro agrees. "So you want to protect people, then?"

    I don''t know how I could cause any of the tragedies you''re describing, but I want to see if there''s anything I can do to fix them, I write. But if there isn''t, I''m not arrogant enough to try something stupid that makes them worse. I don''t want to be your enemy.

    It takes me frustratingly long to scribble that all out, my legwriting getting progressively worse as I rush to get the words on the slate, but I want to make this offering of peace clear. I want to cooperate, not oppose. Hagoro reads it all slowly, seeming to take the time to read it again as well, and then nods.

    "I see," he says simply. "Well. You may certainly color me curious. Extradimensional invaders are not normally so reasonable. I can assure you of this, if nothing else: as of right now, we are allies. Chaos mages are extremely dangerous and it is important that we do not splinter with this task ahead of us. After we handle the situation, I would be open to speaking with you further."

    Okay, I write, because there really isn''t much else to say to that. My mind is reeling with all this new information and I''m not sure what to do about it. People like me are common enough¡ªand dangerous enough¡ªthat a whole organization is dedicated to stopping us? That''s crazy. Am I going to end up with the kind of strength that can uproot world trees? That seems¡­ basically impossible. I know that I''m strong, but a foot of cut-anything spell is hardly apocalyptic. Will I just keep getting stronger, or something? I guess that''s hardly uncommon for fictional characters in my position.

    All these other apparent isekai victims are also concerning. Hagoro seems surprised that I''m willing to work with him, but more than that he seems suspicious. Why is that? Were they seriously that bad? No, wait, stupid question, they apparently caused actual apocalypses. But why is it unreasonable that some of us might want to help? If all these people come from Earth then yeah, you''re gonna have some bad apples, but statistically you''ll get someone who at least wants to be decent, even if they might not be good at it, and I feel like it would take a very special sort of sociopath to uproot the gobble-darn tree that everybody lives on! Something''s not adding up here.

    "So, ah, what''s this about another world, Hana?" Teboho asks.

    Oh. Oh, right. Now I''m going to have to explain things. Well¡­ screw using the tablet to write this all out. If Hagoro wants to know where I come from, he can ask somebody else.

    Yeah, uh¡­ so you may have already noticed I seem to know some weird things and not know some other things, I say.

    "Didn''t seem weird," Kagiso shrugs.

    "Er¡­ no, it was definitely a little strange," Teboho says hesitantly. "I just¡­ well. I thought you were like Kagiso."

    Wait, what?

    The heck does that mean? I ask

    "Well¡­ you know. I just figured you were a bit¡­ strange."

    ¡­Does Teboho think I''m autistic?

    "Not strange," Kagiso grumbles. "Just efficient."

    Yeah! Like, first of all, if I was ''like Kagiso,'' then that''d be awesome, because Kagiso is great.

    "Hehe. Best hat."

    And second of all¡ª

    "Okay, okay, never mind!" Teboho backpedals. "I didn''t mean to touch a nerve."

    It''s not a nerve. There is no nerve! I''m very normal and I have always been very normal up until the point where I started mutating and waking up in other dimensions and having magic and stuff! I mean, other than my Pok¨¦mon obsession. And the fact that I don''t even try to talk to most people. And the bit where I don''t love my family for some reason. But those don''t count! Normal people can have those traits!

    ¡­Second of all, yeah, most of my memories are of another universe. When I go to sleep, I wake up there in a different body. When I sleep there, I wake up here. It''s very disorienting and I don''t know why it happens.

    And that just opens up the floodgates. Everyone starts talking at me all at once, and I suppose I can''t really blame them. Question after question after question defines the hours of our journey to follow, every moment we spend closing in on the dangerous Chaos mage filled with stories of my home rather than anything more substantial. And honestly? I''m happy about that. Gladdened by it, really. I don''t want to think about what we''re going to do. Back on Earth, I''d been so freaked out over whether or not I should be killing Sindri (which was really silly of me, since he''s a great friend) I forgot to panic about the other person I''ll probably have to murder. After all, I''m the most Chaos-resistant person here, even counting the apparently-powerful Order-aligned paladin. I''m also the person who not only has a powerful killing stroke available to me, but I have a powerful killing stroke that isn''t easily stopped by Chaos. The most common manifestations won''t affect Space magic, whereas they''d fairly easily destroy anything created by, say, Matter magic. So we have pretty much every possible reason for the strategy to involve me doing this alone. I''m not looking forward to it.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    If you''re lucky, it might not come to that, Sindri says.

    Oh? I ask. Really?

    Yes, I think there will be another tactic we''ll try first, he assures me. You might not need to do anything other than be present.

    Why''s that?

    "Remember back before your eyes grew in, where I mentioned I was trying to devise a spell to allow us to share sensorums?"

    Oh yeah! I say. You were gonna do that! I thought you gave up!

    "Of course I didn''t give up," he huffs. "I just didn''t want to unveil it until it was ready. I''m somewhat of a perfectionist, you know. If we''re going to make use of it, however, we''ll need to practice on the way."

    "A dangerous fight like this one seems like the worst possible place to test out a technique with less than a day''s practice," Hagoro chides. "Especially if it messes with one''s usual perceptions."

    "Normally I''d agree with you," Sindri nods. "But the goal behind this strategy will be to take out the Chaos mage from well outside their field of vision, before we''ve revealed ourselves, without any risk on our ends. And if it fails, we can simply deactivate the spell and move to our second plan without issue."

    "Hmm," Hagoro hums in consideration. "And you won''t need to cast on me to make this plan work?"

    "Not at all," Sindri assures him. "It''s actually a plan that synergizes the skills of all four of us. But let''s see if my spell even works as intended first, shall we? Teboho, I''m going to cast it on you as a final test before I speak the incantation."

    Teboho nods, and Sindri just¡­ doesn''t appear to do anything until suddenly Teboho jolts in surprise, closes his eyes and clutches his head.

    "Oh! Oh, goodness, this is odd," Teboho mumbles. "Oh, I''m seeing d¡­ and hearing, Goddess, I''m also hearing double. Sindri, can you not¡­?"

    "Ah¡­ yes, I can adjust that," Sindri nods. "Apologies, I usually test this with my birds, and they''re not hearing the same things I am. There we go, sight only."

    "This¡­ this will take some getting used to," Teboho mutters.

    "But can you get used to it?" Sindri presses.

    "Hmm¡­ yes. I think so. But what''s this plan of yours about?"

    "I believe that, if I speak the spell aloud, it will be strong enough to link all four of us," Sindri answers. "And hypothetically, it should mean that Kagiso and Teboho will be able to see past barriers and walls in the way Hana does. The Chaos mage is currently holed up in a cave which digs into the flesh of the world tree, veers off to the side, and then doubles back on itself a few times. Given Hana''s range, she should be able to see the back of the cave where the Chaos mage waits from fairly early inside the cave itself. If she shares this visual knowledge with Kagiso, it''s hypothetically possible that Kagiso could ricochet a shot down the entire length of the cave and take out our enemy that way¡­ and if there are any complications in plotting a course, Teboho should be able to summon barriers for Kagiso to bounce her attacks off of."

    Kagiso grins.

    "I like plan," she nods.

    Uh¡­ my senses are pretty darn weird, I warn them. Are you sure it''s safe for other people to see in four dimensions?

    It''s certainly a lot to take in, Sindri agrees. But it''s more confusing than painful. I can''t really understand what you''re seeing all that well, but Kagiso has a talent for that sort of out of the box thinking, and as long as you''re focusing mainly on three dimensions, that''s also what we''ll focus on.

    Huh. I guess he''s already tested the spell on me. Really would have been nice if he told me, but it''s okay I suppose.

    Go for it, then, I allow.

    "Alright," Sindri agrees. "Ready, everyone?"

    He inhales, and She''s here, beholding all of us with weighty, terrifying dullness. She gives me a cursory pat hello, scratches Kagiso behind an ear, flows around Teboho like water and smirks silently at Hagoro, but the ultimate focus of Her attention is, of course, the man who summoned Her. Sindri. She doesn''t touch him like She normally does me, merely tasting the name for his new spell and rolling metaphorical, metaphysical eyes. A dull name, a boring name, an unexciting name, but one that, She supposes, does indeed qualify. It will do. It''s fine. Almost begrudgingly, She speaks the words.

    "Share Senses."

    My world¡­ does not explode into a cacophony of vision and sound, which I have to admit I didn''t really expect. It certainly blooms outwards a bit, extra points of vision flowing into my mind, but I realize that this is pretty darn boring by the standards of my current sensorium. I already have three hundred and sixty degree vision, not to mention crazy higher-dimensional omnivision that I still haven''t fully wrapped my head around. These¡­ extra data points of 2D perception representing 3D space? They''re barely a footnote compared to what I''m already seeing basically all the time.

    Kagiso and Teboho, on the other hand, both collapse onto the ground and hiss in agony, prompting me to reluctantly dismount Kagiso''s head. This is probably my fault. I guess I should narrow my focus. My spatial sense isn''t technically ever seeing less than everything it''s able to see, but I still pay more or less attention to different things, twisting how I mentally handle the concept of ''looking at things,'' and the mentality of what I''m doing matters a lot when we''re using a spell designed by a guy whose magic shares information between minds.

    I narrow down what I''m looking at¡ªwhich is surprisingly difficult, considering how I''ve been getting more and more used to the exact opposite¡ªand try to take things back to the level I was barely handling when I was first consciously aware of these senses. Thankfully, there''s not much around us. Just the forest, my friends, and the paladin guy who thinks I''m going to try to kill the world that one of my friends invited along for some Goddess-forsaken reason. I focus on that friend, lacking anything better to focus on, and move my attention around the inside of his body. Weak points, like the spine and major arteries. Sindri''s lungs. Sindri''s heart. Huh, it''s beating extra fast. I hope he''s okay.

    Gradually, as I keep my mental eyes steady, Kagiso manages to get enough of a handle on herself to reach up and cover my physical eyes with her arms, blocking out most of my vision. Oh, right, that''s also way more than I see as a human. Whoops. At least that seems to finally do the trick, and the team starts being able to function again.

    "Well!" Teboho says, his voice strained. "I think we''ll need to get Hana a blindfold to prevent this splitting headache, but this should be something we can work with."

    Aw, man! But I just got the ability to see back!

    "You''ll still be able to see through our eyes, Hana," Sindri chuckles. "I think a blindfold is a good idea. Let''s make you one."

    "Hana sight pretty¡­" Kagiso coos, wiggling in place with her eyes closed. "Sindri body so soft! Squish, squish! Hehe! Hehehehe! Blood move!"

    Well, she''s certainly having a good day. Gosh, Kagiso is such a cute little weirdo. Personally I''m not particularly interested in or particularly grossed out by all the organs I''m constantly seeing on a daily basis. It''s just kinda how people look to me now. I swap my attention over to the inside of Kagiso''s body and she squeals in delight, poking at the muscles on her arm whenever I look at them and watching them squish around in response. Her laughter gets louder and more manic the whole time I look at her.

    "Hana, I think you''re going to give my sister a heart attack," Teboho comments dryly.

    "No!" Kagiso insists. "Heart still beats! Look! Look!!!"

    "I¡­ I see it, Kagiso," Teboho sighs. "It does indeed still beat."

    "You are certainly quite the colorful group, aren''t you?" Hagoro comments, watching all this play out from a respectful distance.

    "The important thing is, can you make ricochets using the information you see through Hana''s senses, Kagiso?" Sindri presses.

    Kagiso grumbles in irritation as I move my focus over to a set of trees, though that grumbling stops when I also include a random friend noodle in my range. Gosh, these fuzzy snake guys are everywhere. Kagiso hums to herself for a bit, then pulls out her bow and fires a shot, bouncing it off of three different trees before stabbing the friend noodle in the brain. Rest in peace, you cute little worm.

    "Yes," Kagiso concludes. "Can do."

    "Excellent," Sindri nods. "Then with luck, this won''t even be a fight."

    Yeah. I hope so. Unfortunately, I don''t have luck. It takes most of the day for us to finally reach the cave with our quarry, but I''m completely exhausted by the time we get there and I''ve barely even done anything. We''re here to kill. At the very least, I''ll have to be a part of the attempt. And then, after that''s all said and done with, I''ll still have to deal with the gosh dang cultist. He''s been watching me like a hawk the entire time, every interaction I have with everyone silently observed, judged with the absolute arrogant attitude needed to decide whether or not to kill an innocent teenage girl. ¡­Well, mostly innocent, I guess. But so far I''ve only killed in self-defense.

    Guess it''s time for that to change.

    The cave is little more than a hole in the ground, likely dug by some oversized magical predator before being forcefully stolen by our current quarry. The upper part of the cave is stone¡ªas one generally expects from caves¡ªbut as it burrows downwards it eventually swaps over to wood. It''s unintuitive to my usual expectations, even if it makes perfect sense. My job for now is just to look for anyone currently in the cave, and from the mouth I can''t sense far enough into it to tell. It''s quite deep, though Sindri''s right: it''s a lot longer than it is deep, and it''s got a lot of switchbacks. I should be able to see our target before anyone else gets a straight shot¡­ most importantly including the Chaos mage.

    "Well, this is it," Sindri nods. "Is everyone ready?"

    As I''ll ever be, I answer nervously.

    "This is my job, after all," Hagoro smiles. "I came prepared."

    "I''m ready to finally get justice," Teboho says.

    "...To get vengeance," Kagiso whispers.

    "Then here we go," Sindri nods. "Everyone stay quiet from here on out. Mental communication and hand signals only."

    We all nod. I mean, I don''t know any hand signals and I wouldn''t be able to use them even if I did, but I figure Sindri and Hagoro might have fancy Chaos hunter code signs or something that he can just translate for us. We enter the cave, Bulupunu the lightning lizard tiger moron heading first. If there are any traps, well¡­ as Sindri says, he works as a tamer because animals are comparatively expendable. Everyone (except, again, me) has their weapons at the ready: Teboho with a thick shield and a long spear, each wielded with two hands, Kagiso with her bow and a pair of rocks, even Sindri with his sword. Slowly and carefully, we descend. Slowly but surely, I see more and more of the cave. The layout is¡­ odd, to say the least.

    Though the hole is mostly a twisting cylinder, looking like it was bored out by some kind of giant worm twisting down into the guts of the World Tree''s branch, at a certain depth that abruptly changes. The cave continues, but rather than being carved out evenly, it becomes¡­ jagged. No, that''s not quite right. I zoom my focus out a little and then I see it. The deepest part of the cave has been dug out not as a cylinder, but as a series of overlapping spheres. Like something just eliminated a spherical area of matter from existence, moved to the far side of that now-destroyed zone, and then did it again. That''s¡­ certainly got some terrifying implications about what this Chaos mage can do. I dictate this information to the team, just in case they aren''t focusing on my senses at the moment. Both Kagiso and Teboho tense at the report, and I get the impression that they might be remembering a similar sight in what was once their village. Unexpectedly, though Teboho nudges his sister with an elbow and points ahead.

    ...Kagiso, he murmurs over the link. On the wall, there. Does that look familiar to you?

    I''m still blindfolded, so I focus on the input I''m getting from Teboho''s senses for a moment. To my surprise, there''s a painting on the wall, of all things. I didn''t see it with my spatial sense since the dye doesn''t really have any noticeable thickness. The work is very abstract, almost nonsensical at first glance with a dozen colors mixing together in a wild mess of dense information, but it''s possible to puzzle out meaning and pattern. I start to understand the painting section by section: a girl, first. Kneeling for some reason? No, she''s sobbing. Sobbing and angry. I struggle at first to figure out what''s around the girl, because it seems to be other people: I can make out arms, legs, torsos, but tend to lose track of where they connect to one another until I ultimately realize that they don''t connect with one another. Body parts and corpses. The girl is surrounded by death. Is this¡­ a depiction of the village? Is that what Teboho is pointing out?

    "Very familiar," Kagiso whispers, her eyes going wide. "Helen drew this."

    Huh?

    Who''s Helen? I ask.

    Don''t speak out loud! Sindri admonishes.

    A human that lived in our village, Teboho answers me. Her name was Helen. She was an artist. There''s no way this isn''t her work!

    Helen alive, Kagiso agrees, a smile starting to form on her lips. Someone alive!

    The Chaos mage must have kidnapped her, Teboho agrees. But why? No, that doesn''t matter. Sindri, I think we have a hostage situation.

    That¡­ no, Sindri says, shaking his head. Kagiso, Teboho, I''ve had the Chaos mage under observation this entire journey. They fled your village alone.

    What? But¡­ how''s that possible? Teboho asks. You''re not saying that Helen is the Chaos mage, are you?

    I don''t have the slightest idea, Sindri answers tersely. I don''t know who this ''Helen'' person even is. But the Chaos mage that destroyed your village¡ªour target¡ªis the only person in this cave other than us.

    Well, what does the Chaos mage look like? I ask.

    Human, straight long hair. Tattered, baggy clothes. I''ve been tracking them at a distance via birds, so I can''t give you a better description than that.

    Not even a hair color? I ask.

    What? Black, obviously.

    Oh, right. I forgot that all humans in this world are black. ¡­Again.

    Anyway, we need to keep moving, Sindri says, urging the party along. We''re in enemy territory. Let''s get this over with as cleanly as possible.

    We start to move again¡­ except for Kagiso, who continues to stare at the wall painting until Sindri grabs her elbow and yanks her forwards. We creep in deeper together, and wall paintings start to show up more frequently, each as confusing as they are gruesome. We don''t waste any time trying to decipher them, and once we reach the second bend in the cave we''re finally deep enough for me to see our target.

    I didn''t expect her to be so young.

    Younger than me, probably, though not by much. The person at the end of the cave is a scruffy-looking girl, small and thin in the way that hints at a history of malnourishment, though as of right now she seems to not be starving. Her sunken eyes and blank expression indicate she''s doing much less well mentally than she is physically, though. She sits in a large chamber, carved out in a similar fashion to the deeper parts of the tunnels: spheres of disintegration twisting open a cavern in the wood. Somewhat impressively, she''s managed to start a campfire inside her wooden cave without burning the whole thing up or suffocating herself: a wide pile of rocks, stone, and dirt forms an elevated fire ''pit,'' raising the flickering flames up above the flammable ground and leaving plenty of space on each side to catch falling embers. I guess she must have a history of hiding out in caves. In her hand she has a small block of wood, which she is using a knife to carve into a humanoid figurine.

    Sindri, Kagiso, and Teboho see this as well, and the agitation in the latter two is so obvious it pours over the mental link in an anxious waterfall. My spatial sense isn''t exactly easy to parse compared to normal sight, and that''s the only hope Kagiso and Teboho have for a while as they obsess over the information I''m feeding them about the girl''s face, over and over, until they can''t lie to themselves any longer.

    ¡­That''s Helen, Teboho realizes.

    Friend is alive, Kagiso agrees quietly.

    So your village was unknowingly harboring a Chaos mage, Sindri scowls. How did she stay undetected?

    Hmm. Small home. No Pneuma mages, Kagiso answers.

    No, Teboho snaps. I can''t accept this. This is absurd. That''s Helen! She lived with us for nearly a year! She''s a damn Art mage, not a monster!

    The only human in your village, Sindri sends flatly. Alone. With no family. Settling in a place without a Pneuma mage to detect her. Take the shot, Kagiso.

    Do NOT take the shot! Teboho snaps, turning and starting to pace down the hallway ahead of us. That is the last person in my fucking life who''s still alive after¡­ this has to be a mistake. This has to be. We had her over for dinner regularly! We hung one of her paintings on our wall! She was like family to all of us!

    Teboho, stop! Sindri orders. Teboho! Listen to me! She''s the Chaos mage! Kagiso, take the shot!

    Kagiso stands motionless, and Teboho keeps on walking. He''s furious now, ranting angrily over the link.

    We did not come all the way here to kill one of the people I''m trying to avenge! One of the only people left that I actually care about! We did NOT!

    "Helen!" he shouts out loud, destroying any opportunity we had for surprise.

    The Chaos mage jolts, looking up from her work with a terrified expression on her face.

    "Teboho!?" she shrieks back. "Teboho, get away!"

    "Helen, it''s you, right? I''m here to help!"

    "I don''t fucking need your help!" she snaps back, lowering into an amateur''s fighting stance with her carving knife in one hand and her little sculpture in the other. "Go away!"

    "Helen, I''m not going to allow any¡­ anything¡­"

    Teboho slows down and stops, his eyes widening. I focus my attention through his senses, and find him staring at a much larger and more intricate painting made of a mosaic of smaller pictures. Different tints and hues of color form concentric rings, each made out of a smaller depiction of an emotion-filled face: rage, sadness, joy, disgust, and on and on and on. The faces change with each ring, beautiful on the outside but growing more and more hideous the closer they are to the center, at which point there is a stylized representation of Helen herself, curled up naked in the fetal position. Teboho stares at the picture, enraptured for only the barest moments necessary to see the piece in its entirety.

    And then he dies.

    It happens in an instant. The emotional and visual link cuts out first, and then I watch as a sphere of black nothing blooms. It starts inside the center of Teboho''s brain, looking to my spatial sense as a near-perfect void as it balloons outwards, consuming the entirety of his head, then his neck, then his shoulders all the way down below his waist before finally stopping just above his knees. Then it recedes, leaving nothing in its place. Teboho''s disembodied legs collapse to the stone. The Chaos mage shudders, her eyes squeezing shut when it happens.

    Kagiso! Now! Sindri snaps. You have to shoot her now!

    There''s no response. I realize suddenly that I''m not getting sensory feedback from Kagiso at all. She, too, is staring at a wall, enraptured by a much smaller painting than the one that killed Teboho. Her mind feels like nothing but light static. Her emotions are strong over the link, but they''re a mess, jumbled to the point of completely nonsensical. No will, no clarity, no awareness. Only Chaos.

    Fuck! Sindri hisses, yanking Kagiso away from the wall and covering her eyes. Hannah, you''re up!

    I''m up. I leap off of Kagiso''s head and into the fourth dimension, immediately meeting world tree wood and burrowing into it with ease. Sindri deactivates the sensory-sharing spell, which is probably what we should have done the moment we saw any art in the cave. The Chaos mage is obviously dual-element with Art, and their magic either doesn''t transfer between the link, or it does and we were a fraction of a second away from being killed alongside Teboho in a chain reaction before his brain ceased existing. Which is something I''m just going to have to do my best to not think about, because if I spend any time at all on thinking about the fact that Teboho is dead, holy shit my friend is dead he''s dead he was so wonderful and kind and now he''s fucking dead then I''ll just have a complete mental breakdown and be unable to prevent my friends from sharing the same fate. I have to fight, the adrenaline pumping through my veins demands it. Handle the threat, ignore the pain, and everything else can matter when I make it out alive.

    So. The Chaos mage can make paintings that kill you when you look at them. It seems like they have to be pretty big paintings, though, as the one Kagiso was staring at was much smaller than the one that killed Teboho and it only seemed to disable her. Art magic encompassess the realm of emotion, and applying Chaos to emotion would be debilitating: desire would get randomized, any action one might take being rapidly swapped between good, bad, wanted, and unwanted to a paralyzing degree. But the larger and more elaborate the art, the more Chaos she can shove in it, and when the Chaos concentration hits critical mass, then don''t think about it don''t think about it don''t think about it. I need to focus on moving my legs, on digging myself as quick a path as possible to the back of her murdering head. I have a lot of experience with digging, so it doesn''t take long.

    I am in position, watching my target as her heart thumps at a million miles an hour, stress and terror oozing through her features. Well, good. She should be scared. Her messy hair and ragged clothes make it obvious she''s been on the run for quite a while, and it''s all ending now. Time to strike. I cut myself a hole back into w=0 space, leap towards the back of her neck, and¡ªand holy shit she''s just a scared little girl what am I doing!?

    My focus locks on the figurine in her hand and my spells wink out, leaving me as nothing but a confused, flailing mess of limbs. I bonk into her on the way down and she shrieks, a burst of all-consuming blackness flowing out of her body and washing over me¡­ to little effect. It does sting a little, certainly more than lightning did, but I''m still largely unharmed when I collapse to the ground, my body twitching with confusion as the figurine fills my head with confusion. What''s going on? Why do I feel so weird? Am I having a seizure? My body isn''t reacting right, but I can still think normally, kind of. Where''s Sindri? Holy motherfucking shit Sindri was mind controlling me aaagh that''s right!!!

    "Oh fuck, oh fuck, I''m sorry, I''m sorry, I''m sorry!" the Chaos mage whines, backing away from me.

    I feel like the eye of a hurricane, with absolute insanity roaring on every side of me while I wait, oddly calm within it all. If I focus, I can feel Friends in the back of my mind, chastising me for thinking poorly of Sindri and demanding I do the right thing and kill the girl in front of me. And yeah, she¡­ she killed Teboho. She''s killed a lot of people¡­ if Sindri is to be believed, I suppose. Is she crying?

    If I do kill her, will I ever get a better shot at stopping Sindri?

    I don''t know what''s happening to my head. Maybe it''s because I resist Chaos so well but Sindri doesn''t? But I can still barely control my body, the seizing twitches of my limbs nearly flopping me into the campfire. I focus as best I can, trying to control myself, to command even a single leg. The others are on the way. Kagiso, Hagoro¡­ Sindri. When they get here, they''ll kill her, even if they have to do it blind. Their eyes are closed as they stagger down the cavern path, hands against a wall to lead them where they need to go. I have to still my shaking, to move. I have to gamble on this. Even if it ends up being a mistake, it''s a mistake I can''t afford to not make. I manage to get Spacial Rend active on a single claw. I''m so sorry, Teboho.

    Help, I write, my limbs shaky. The Chaos mage''s¡ªHelen''s¡ªeyes go wide.

    "What?" she whispers. "What the fuck?"

    Kill human, I write, and then my ''friends'' finally make it into the chamber.

    Hagoro steps in before anyone else, his weapon at the ready, but Kagiso makes the first attack. Firing an arrow directly at Helen, the Chaos mage lets out a burst of disintegration, obliterating the attack¡­ only to get hit in the back of the head by a stone that just bounced off three walls. Helen cries out in pain, staggering forward into the range of Hagoro''s spear.

    Hagoro frowns, and does not attack. His eyes rove around the room, noting the campfire, the dropped carving, the blank walls, and my message to Helen.

    "Hagoro, what the fuck are you doing!?" Sindri roars, pointing at Helen and sending Bulupunu to keep her off-balance, blasting her with lightning that she has to focus on obliterating with her magic or be fried. "You''re the only one other than Hana that can break through her defenses!"

    "Ah. Sorry, friend," Hagoro answers absentmindedly. "Just¡­ getting a handle on the situation."

    And then he strikes. A simple twist of his body and his polearm flashes through the air, dealing instant death.

    "Fucking Pneuma mages," Hagoro grumbles quietly as Sindri''s head rolls to the floor. "Zone of Law: Ceasefire."

    Bulupunu, Helen, and Kagiso all freeze as magic floods the area around us, the Goddess appearing in a flash to erect holy boundaries around the entire room. Even more terrifying, She remains in the room. Bulupunu, being a wild animal no longer bound to a man''s control, does the sensible thing and immediately dashes for the exit. Unfortunately, he also does a less sensible thing and makes a swipe at Kagiso as he leaves. The Goddess smirks, making an eldritch facsimile of a tsking noise, wagging Her finger back and forth before sending agony through the poor animal''s body, forcing it to abort its strike thanks to the violence of its convulsions. Silly little animal. The Goddess'' law is absolute. Bulupunu gets the message that time, shakily getting to his feet and scampering off.

    I feel my head start to clear and my body stop writhing as Kagiso collapses to the ground, dropping her weapons and clutching her head. She lets out a horrid wail, agony and fury and despair all mixing in a single, horrible sound as, with the dead man''s magic no longer affecting us, she realizes the full scope of everything Sindri has done. ¡­No, actually, that''s untrue. I''m not sure we''ll ever stop seeing the ramifications of Sindri''s casual disregard for our personhood. I don''t know how much he did, but I do know it''ll be a broken part of me until the day I die. But for now? I''m free. We''re finally free. Goddess, I wish I could cry.

    She rolls Her eyes at me, as if to say ''grow tear ducts then, idiot.''

    "So then," Hagoro sighs, turning to the Chaos mage. "Hele, was it?"

    She blinks, her whole body shaking in terror as she looks up from Sindri''s corpse and stares at the dentron paladin.

    "It''s, um¡­ Helen, actually," she manages.

    "Helena," Hagoro corrects himself incorrectly. "You seem lucid enough. Now that we''re all clear-headed, would you be interested in resolving all of this with a friendly conversation?"

    She glances around nervously, her focus mainly on the chamber exit¡­ and then on Hagoro, standing between her and that singular avenue of escape. He can''t attack her while Zone of Law is up, so maybe it would be safe¡­ unless he can deactivate the spell any time he wants to. Holy cannoli that would be so broken. I wouldn''t put it past the Goddess to give someone magic that good, though.

    "S-sure?" Helen manages, though at this point I''m struggling to care overmuch about whatever Hagoro and the Chaos mage are getting up to. The paladin saved me, so he''s good in my book. I stagger to my feet, my muscles sore and strained from their recent convulsions, and slowly I make my way over to Kagiso. Kagiso, who just lost her brother. Who was betrayed by a man she trusted with her life. Who has no one else left in this world, no family, no home, and no future. I crawl over to her, and she scoops me up in her arms, holding me close. Tears drop from her eyes and land on my carapace, flowing down over my smooth shell. It''s the most emotion I''ve ever seen from her before. As the water from her face drips over my own eyes, we cry together, huddled up in a cave with her family''s murderer and our minds'' savior. We can''t even muster up the will to care about them.

    Right now, and perhaps for a long time coming, all we have is each other.

 28. Big Reveal

    Kagiso hugs me tightly, almost cracking my chitin as the tears stream slowly down my carapace. The paladin and the Chaos mage talk in the background, exchanging little niceties, assurances that they don''t intend to fight, hesitant and barely believed. It doesn''t really go anywhere until the subject abruptly changes.

    "How much was lie?" Kagiso asks quietly.

    Helen and Hagoro both turn to look at her, because even a whisper from Kagiso demands attention right now. There''s a horrid tension in her muscles, fury bubbling inside of her and demanding an outlet. She''s grieving, yes, but Kagiso grieves like a force of nature.

    "To answer that, I''d need to know what all he told you," Hagoro answers calmly. "What happened?"

    For a moment, I think Kagiso is going to attack him. Not for any wrong he committed, but just because.

    "Teboho come with me on hunt," she says quietly. "We return, village gone. Just¡­ craters. Empty. Except for Sindri. He there. He ask if we want justice. We never even think of say no. No ask who, no ask how, no ask risks. Just go."

    "I see," Hagoro answers softly.

    "Trusted him on everything," Kagiso hisses, the words flowing out of her, far more than she usually bothers with all at once. "Now, head full of questions. Said all Chaos mages must die. But Helen was friend. Wouldn''t have. Right? And you Chaos hunter. You sparing her. So was lie, yes? All was lie?"

    Hagoro and Helen share a glance.

    "...Did you destroy Kagiso''s village?" he asks.

    Helen turns away and stays silent, though the guilt on her face is answer enough.

    "I see," Hagoro says. "Truthfully, Kagiso, I suspect Sindri lied about very little. Perhaps even not at all."

    "What," Kagiso growls.

    "Officially, it is the job of a Chaos hunter to kill anyone or anything aligned with the element, without exception," Hagoro confirms. "Most of our work involves hunting beasts with that particular alignment, since sapient Chaos-aligned individuals tend to be killed at birth. It''s hardly unheard of for a mother to be unwilling to do so, of course, or for one to be born in a place that can''t check on such things. It''s under those conditions that we see the truth of things."

    He glances at Helen again.

    "...Chaos mages aren''t inherently malicious," he says. "They''re just people with a form of magic that''s hard to control, but like all magic they still want to use it. Yet they can''t, lest they be outed as a Chaos mage and killed. So their control gets worse with disuse, and tragedies start to happen. That is not how it has to be, however, and the Disciples of Unification defy this law. This is secret, for obvious reasons, as we would be banned from most nations if this became evident, but I work as a Chaos hunter to seek out people that can be saved and bring them somewhere they can live without fear."

    Helen jolts with surprise at that, first staring at Hagoro in shock¡­ but her eyes quickly narrow into deep suspicion. For my part, I just listen, watch, and do nothing, because I''m utterly out of willpower. I''m so exhausted, physically and mentally, that if someone told me that I was dead right now, I''d believe them.

    "So you are criminal," Kagiso grunts, "and Sindri upstanding Chaos hunter. No lies. Then why get in head?"

    "Well I don''t know the man all that well," Hagoro says, nudging the headless corpse with his boot, "but I suspect he was just insecure. Anyone with a mind control spell is the type of person who would want to mind control people, that''s how magic works. They want the certainty of trust rather than the actual presence of it, and so they violate others and think to themselves all the while that it''s for a good cause. Chaos hunters fight what they see as unambiguous evils, people marked by the very Goddess as a monster from birth. From the very start, they''re clearly not interested in thinking complexly about morality."

    The Goddess herself chuckles at that, the non-sound thundering through my carapace as she continues hanging lazily in the room thanks to Hagoro''s Zone of Law. I''m not quite sure how to interpret Her amusement, but it feels like the more salient issue is the implication behind Hagoro''s claims on magic. If someone who would enjoy mind controlling people gets mind control spells, what sort of person gets disintegration spells? He''s contradicting his own anti-typecasting rant about Chaos mages by typecasting Pneuma mages immediately afterwards, and I don''t understand why. I guess I don''t even know if I care why, since I''m not in much of a position to care about anything right now. It just strikes me as a red flag, I guess. Is he manipulating us by demonizing our abuser? Does it count as manipulation to demonize someone''s abuser, considering that abusers are extremely justifiable targets of demonization? I wish I could just not think about these things, but I''m slowly starting to come back to myself and realize that I''m still in a room with two of the most dangerous people I''ve ever met, both of whom just killed someone and both of whom potentially have reason to want to kill me.

    Despite how terrifying that is, though, my brain is mostly fixating on the claim that Sindri didn''t have any ulterior motives. I''m not even really sure why. It makes a kind of sense, I suppose. His spell was subtle at first, weak and unspoken. It couldn''t have covered up any fundamental contradictions with reality until a day ago. I really wonder what he was thinking that whole time. Did he really just want me for my power? To just use me to do his job? No ulterior motives, no grand lies, just a man seeing an opportunity to destroy a threat to society with fewer casualties and deciding to take it?

    Did Sindri believe he was a good man? Knowing him he probably did, and something about that just makes everything that happened all the more chilling.

    My chain of thought is finally broken when Kagiso stops holding me in a deathgrip, instead placing me gingerly on the ground before standing up and walking over to Sindri''s corpse. Glowering down at it, she lifts a foot and I wish I could look away as she stomps, driving ribs into lungs and splattering gore up out the empty neck hole. I don''t have the luxury of only seeing that, though, privy as my senses are to the snap of every rib, the way the heart squashes flat and unloads blood all across the inside of his chest. Then she lifts her foot right back up and slams it down again, then again and again and on and on, her growl evolving into a furious scream. When his torso is nothing more than a bloody pulp she releases the last of her anger with a roaring kick to his severed head, which bounces off of every wall in the room, picking up speed before eventually splattering against the ceiling like a watermelon shot out of a cannon. Mixed shards of bone and brain and guts and gore rain down from above, though Kagiso ignores it all and just stands still, her body heaving with heavy breaths.

    Hesitantly, I scuttle up next to her and bump against her ankle. She relaxes, even if only slightly, and I take that as permission to crawl up her leg and onto her shoulder, using my cleaning magic to get the red stains out of her albino fur. As overwhelmed as I am, cleaning is the only thing my brain seems capable of.

    "Good Hana," Kagiso mumbles quietly, and I move on to untangling her hair.

    "I''m¡­ surprised you could do all that inside the bounds of my spell," Hagoro comments absentmindedly, though he immediately seems embarrassed about addressing us. Kagiso just shrugs.

    "Didn''t attack anyone."

    "Would you?" Helen asks suddenly. "If you could do that to me, would you?"

    Kagiso turns her head to stare at the Chaos mage, giving her a long, slow blink.

    "...You do it?" she asks.

    "I¡­ yes," Helen answers. "I killed everyone."

    "Why?"

    She seems taken back by the question, her face flashing a briefly haunted look before she turns away, nervously fiddling with the small sculpture she picked back up at some point.

    "...It''s not like it was on purpose," she mutters.

    Kagiso shrugs.

    "Okay. Believe you."

    Helen flinches, a somewhat crazed look on her face as she stares at Kagiso in disbelief.

    "...That''s it?" she asks. "I¡­ I killed your whole family. I killed Teboho!"

    "He believe you too," Kagiso answers, turning away from her.

    "That''s why he died!" Helen shrieks.

    Kagiso just glances up at where so much of Sindri''s head is still stuck to the ceiling.

    "...Disagree," she murmurs.

    "To some extent, I also disagree," Hagoro butts in. "Chaos magic is inherently volatile, true, but you can learn to control it. The fact that circumstances conspire against you ever successfully doing so simply means¡ª"

    "I know how to fucking control it!" Helen snaps. "I have to use it. It builds up if I don''t. I just made a mistake living with people, that''s all."

    "Well, Helena, I assure you that we can give you ample opportunity to¡ª"

    "Y-y-you know what, fuck you!" she suddenly snaps at him, jabbing a finger in his direction. "Shut up! Fuck you! I don''t even know your name! I''m not going anywhere with you! All of you should just get the fuck out of here and leave me alone!"

    Kagiso frowns at that, turning to face her.

    "...But just found you," she complains.

    "Kagiso I fucking killed everyone!" she snaps. "Are you stupid? Why the fuck are you still standing here?"

    "Didn''t kill everyone," Kagiso answers, pointing at her. "One friend left."

    Helen gapes at her for a moment, then slaps a hand over her face, breaking out into humorless, hysterical giggles.

    "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she asks. "Fuck, no, don''t answer that. You''re Kagiso. You''ve always been completely nuts. We aren''t friends, you stupid fuzzy bitch."

    Kagiso wrinkles her nose.

    "You make me nice picture."

    "You asked me to draw you a bloody liver!" Helen laughs. "I made it as gross as I possibly could!"

    "Yes," Kagiso nods. "Was nice. Hung in room."

    "Ooooh, okay, I get it," Helen chuckles. "You''re just insane. Did you ever even care about your family to begin with?"

    I rub my legs together so fast I barely even know what I''m doing, a monstrous hiss filling the chamber with the sound of a threat. I don''t know what''s going on here, I don''t know Helen the way Kagiso apparently does, but I am not okay with anyone making fun of her like that. I hop off Kagiso''s shoulder and land on the ground, quickly starting to scratch out a message with my legs.

    You don''t get to say that, I scribble out. Apologize.

    "Apologize?" Helen drawls. "I killed a whole fucking town and you want me to apologize for being mean about it?"

    Well, I write, it would be nice if you apologized for the murder, too.

    "Oh, yeah, sure, that''ll make things better," Helen mocks. "I''m so sowwy I killed everyone you ever knew and loved! Can we be fwends again?"

    "Yes," Kagiso answers.

    "Shut up!" Helen screeches. "Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you!?"

    Hagoro slams the butt of his polearm into the ground, and all of a sudden the feeling of being surrounded by the Goddess vanishes, the Zone of Law removed. It feels like being in a warm bath and suddenly having all the water disappear, the cold harshness of reality leaving me naked and bare.

    "Ugh," Helen shudders. "Finally."

    "I think we''ve reached a point where magical intervention is no longer required," Hagoro says. "I vote we exit this cave, and perhaps find somewhere to rest."

    "I''m not going anywhere with any of you," Helen growls.

    "Yes you are," Kagiso grunts, suddenly walking forwards and grabbing Helen by the wrist. She sputters in protest, but Kagiso just yanks her forward and starts heading towards the cave exit. "Traps off, Helen?"

    "W-what?" she stutters. "No, they''re not¡­ they don''t turn off. They just aren''t all charged. Look, I can¡­ you''ll be fine."

    "Okay," Kagiso nods, and continues dragging a staggering Helen out of the chamber. I tilt my body to get a better look at Hagoro with my eyes. He glances down at me and shrugs, then follows the two girls. I scuttle afterwards as well. This is¡­ more than a little surreal. As we wind our way up the tunnel, we inevitably pass by Teboho''s legs. Stress fills me as Kagiso approaches them. Is she really going to be okay? I''m pretty sure I''m not okay, and he was her brother.

    Kagiso reaches down to grab both legs as she passes by, still keeping one hand around Helen''s wrist. She picks up the disembodied limbs, looks them over a few times, and then offers one in my direction.

    "Hana hungry?" she asks.

    I trip, lose my footing on the wood and end up doing a full roll backwards before stopping myself. I stand back up and firmly shake my body no.

    "Hmm. Okay," Kagiso says, frowning a little. She tosses both legs to the side. Everyone gapes at her, which she either ignores or straight up doesn''t notice.

    At a certain point after exiting the cave, Hagoro figures out that Kagiso doesn''t actually have a specific location she''s leading us to, so he steps ahead and finds us a decent camping spot. He, Kagiso, and Helen start working together to clear out the area and make a fire pit, though it''s noticeably less organized than it was with Sindri and Teboho. Helen also spends the entire time complaining, though she does seem to have a lot of camping experience. Which¡­ makes sense, I suppose.

    "So," Helen grunts at me. "What the fuck are you, anyway?"

    Valid question! Unfortunately¡­

    I have no idea, I answer.

    "Your legs are all funky," she continues. Well, what the heck do I say to that? I drum them in a wave pattern, noting how they wink in and out of my normal vision as I do so.

    Thank you for noticing? I write.

    She squats down next to me, poking me with a finger. I''m¡­ not sure how to feel about this girl. On one hand, she killed Teboho, but also she seems to be Kagiso''s friend, or something? I don''t really understand their history and I''m too awkward to ask. I still just feel numb anyway.

    "...For a monster that tried to assassinate me, you''re weirdly polite."

    You saved me, I write back.

    She blinks.

    "What?"

    Your magic counteracted the mind control I was under, I explain. You saved me. You deserve thanks for that, if nothing else.

    "If nothing else, huh?" she asks.

    You killed Teboho. He was a really good person.

    She snorts, but it doesn''t come off as dismissive as she probably intends it.

    "Yeah," she agrees seriously. "I know."

    She walks off, and I stare at her with no better insight on my opinion of her than before. She''s abrasive, sure, but it''s in the sort of weirdly fragile way that I bet Ida could easily reduce to tears if she wanted to. She''s killed a lot of people on accident. That''s pretty bad, but is it worse than me? I''ve killed a few people on purpose.

    "So. Hana," Hagoro says, being the next to approach me while Kagiso and Helen continue to work. "Let''s talk about your future."

    Sure, I write out numbly.

    "You''ve mentioned that you want to work to help the world," he says. "That you want to put effort into solving the problems that plague us."

    Of course, I agree.

    "How far are you willing to go in pursuit of that?"

    I drum my legs, not entirely sure how to answer that.

    I dunno, I write. Medium far?

    He looks confused for a moment, then chuckles good-naturedly.

    "Ah-ha, I see. Could you elaborate on that?"

    Could you? I counter. I don''t know enough about the world to understand what you''re asking me to tell you. I''ve been here for¡­ I dunno, less than twenty days, probably?

    His eyebrows rise.

    "Really? So little?"

    Really. So like, I don''t know what sorts of things I would be doing if I joined up with you guys.

    If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "You''re interested in joining?"

    What? Ugh, this guy.

    No, I just said I didn''t understand what that would entail.

    "Oh, I see," Hagoro nods. "Well¡­ hmm. That''s somewhat of a tricky question to answer, considering that it delves into some of the secrets of our organization."

    "So, what, do you expect it to just follow you blindly?" Helen grunts. "That''s some shady shit right there."

    I''m a girl. I quickly write at her, grumbling internally. I''m not an ''it.''

    "Whatever."

    I hiss at her, and she ignores me. Hagoro clears his throat.

    "...I suppose, given the circumstances, I could elucidate you," he concedes. "In truth, Hana, you wouldn''t be doing much. You''re neither qualified nor capable of handling the underlying issues facing our world as it is."

    He seems to hesitate, so I decide to encourage him.

    That makes perfect sense, I write. Please continue.

    "Of course, of course. You''re largely important because you can help us acquire unique insight into your condition. If we successfully study the link between the two worlds you inhabit, then we can ideally gain insight on how to sever that link, and ultimately prevent any more of your kind from being created in the first place."

    Woah. Okay. Pretty extreme, but the circumstances caused by people like me are all pretty darn extreme themselves. I can see the justification behind trying to just stop us from existing entirely, especially if most of us are genocidally unreasonable enough to cause apocalypses.

    With you so far, I confirm. What would that actually entail? Sitting around and being poked at by scientists?

    "Ah¡­ essentially, yes," Hagoro answers in a very suspicious manner.

    So what''s the catch, then? I ask, since there obviously is one.

    "Well, ah¡­ you would be doing nothing else," he answers. "And, well, we haven''t usually worked with cooperative individuals like yourself, so ideally this wouldn''t be as much of an issue, but historically, the tests have always culminated in the subject''s death."

    Silence. Kagiso and Helen both stare at him, dumbfounded, as I find myself without any idea of what to say.

    "It''s for the sake of the world," Hagoro presses awkwardly.

    "Wow, uh, yeah, I''m glad I already told you to fuck off," Helen supplies.

    "Helen, I assure you that we''re genuinely interested in keeping you safe," Hagoro answers her.

    "I don''t really like whatever the fuck your definition of ''keeping people safe'' is!" Helen snaps back.

    "Hana is a unique case," Hagoro insists, but Helen is already looking like she''s tensed to bolt. And I don''t even remotely blame her!

    This ''unique case'' says no, I quickly scribble. You can''t seriously expect me to agree with that.

    "Hana, please¡­" Hagoro presses.

    Please what? Submit myself to lifelong suffering and death because other people like me have done really bad things? That''s a load of beans and you know it!

    "It''s a load of what?" Hagoro mutters. "No, wait, it doesn''t matter. I¡­ I''m sorry, Hana, but I''m afraid I have to insist."

    A chill flows through my body. Really? Already? Things are going badly this soon? Ugh. I guess I expected this. I tense myself for an attack, but Hagoro just keeps talking.

    "I know¡­ I know how unreasonable this sounds. Trust me, I''m aware, but¡­ you must understand, the world is at stake! If not you, then the next one of you, or the next, or the next! Whatever it is that brings you will keep bringing you until we learn how to stop it."

    "Holy shit I can''t believe I almost thought you were being honest," Helen hisses, and a darkness even my spatial sense can see blooms around her palm. "You were just going to kill me too, weren''t you?"

    "No," Hagoro shakes his head, but he readies his spear as well. "I wasn''t. But if I must, then¡ª"

    "Velocity," the Goddess says with Kagiso''s voice, and in one fluid motion my fuzzy friend raises and fires her bow. The arrow screams towards Hagoro, catching him by surprise but only connecting with his magically-enhanced armor. I watch, almost in slow motion, as the arrow taps his chest plate and seems to stop instantly, not even so much as scratching the metal. For an instant I despair, wondering if we''ve just started a fight we can''t win, but then Hagoro rockets backwards, suddenly launching hundreds of miles an hour in the same direction that the arrow once traveled and smashing into a tree.

    "Won''t hurt him," Kagiso grunts, and sure enough his organs barely jiggle from the hard impact. A limit to her spell? "We run."

    I''m good with running anyway. I dash towards Kagiso and she scoops me up into her arms, yanking Helen''s shoulder as she passes.

    "Hey!" Helen snaps, apparently ready to fight, but she still follows along as Kagiso refuses to let go.

    The Goddess, I notice, does not leave, even after Kagiso''s spell is long over. She hovers all around us, suffusing the air and whispering silent chuckles. Licking her lips in anticipation, she watches as Hagoro inhales to speak.

    "Zone of Law: No Retreat."

    Kagiso screams, convulsing as her body is forced to a stop. She trips, faceplanting into the dirt and forcing us to face down Hagoro as he extracts himself from the ruins of a tree and promptly thunders towards us. I almost take a step into a nearby barren zone, but a sudden feeling of attention from the Goddess has me discarding that plan. I''m not resistant to Order or Barrier. Kagiso is, and she still got floored.

    Even as Hagoro rushes towards us at a speed I never would have expected from a man so weighted down, my mind can''t help but wander a little. It''s funny, in a horrid sort of way. For all his evil, for all his violations, Sindri was right about one thing: I really do have to learn to kill if I want to survive in this world. I''d wondered back on Earth about all sorts of horrifying conspiracy theories. I''d thought maybe the bandits he had me kill weren''t bandits at all, but more victims he prepared in some evil attempt to train me like a fucking Pok¨¦mon. But they weren''t, were they? The Tree of Souls is just a lawless, dangerous place, ravaged by magic and the people who think the power it grants them allows them to force their will on others. I''d come here to kill someone on his behest. Now I stand beside her against his killer. The world really is absurd sometimes, isn''t it?

    Fuck it. I''m too tired to care anymore. There''s only one rational response to this.

    "Spacial Rend," I intone, and the Goddess pulls the breath from me with joyous laughter.

    All at once, I feel a mental pressure leave me. My movement becomes a lot less restricted when I intend to fight. I don''t try to find out if I can leave this dimension yet, though, instead leaping up on Helen''s shoulder, causing her to yelp in surprise as I bring a claw up to intercept the glaive about to take her head. Hagoro aborts the strike, avoiding my Spacial Rend-enhanced claws and preventing me from destroying his weapon.

    "Get off!" Helen shrieks, trying to grab me and throw me off of her despite the fact that I just saved her life. Crap, I can''t accidentally cut her!

    "Ricochet," Kagiso hisses, throwing a pair of rocks which Hagoro has to block to prevent them from striking weak points in his armor. She''s in serious trouble, though, being a ranged fighter that can''t step backwards, and Hagoro knows it. He quickly circles around us to take a swing at her, which is when Kagiso grabs me and winds up her arm for a throw.

    Wait¡­ no! No no no no no! I hiss as loudly as I can. Kagiso, don''t do it!

    "Ricochet!" she roars, and then yeets me directly at Hagoro.

    If I had a stomach that actually existed in the third dimension, I''d be unloading its contents through the air. Kagiso didn''t just throw me, she put some serious spin on it, turning me into a deadly pinwheel of sharp legs. I don''t actually get dizzy or disoriented, perceiving my own body from the outside like I do, but that only allows me to realize how completely screwed I am in the split-second before Hagoro''s expertly-swung blade carves me in half as I fly. It''s a perfect overhead chop, I''m going to be completely bisected. I watch in utter horror as my body approaches and ultimately connects with that magical blade, my own empowered legs too strained by centrifugal force to make any sort of counterattack. This is how I die, huh? Being thrown like a baseball by a four-armed, four-breasted catgirl that''s currently smiling like she just won the lottery. Huh. Wonder what that''s about.

    I bounce off of the blade.

    The moment I make contact with the edge of the glaive, my momentum shifts, my speed multiplying dramatically and sending me on a high-velocity trip into the ground. But of course, I bounce off of that too, and the combined impacts seem to have halted my ridiculous spin. I hold a claw out as I ascend, and carve Hagoro''s body from scrotum to sternum.

    His armor''s thick, but my ''blades'' ignore it, passing through the magical plate without issue. I don''t think I cut him deep enough to kill, but it''s a long cut, and it''s deep enough that blood blooms from it at startling speeds. Hanging in the air above him like a perfectly set volleyball, I watch as he staggers backwards from the blow, and then his own Zone of Law kicks in, wracking him with pain as the Goddess howls with laughter. Then she vanishes, Hagoro deactivating the spell and¡ªjudging by his rapidly-closing wounds¡ªactivating a healing spell in its place. Well, can''t have that. Obeying my instincts, I take both of his right arms on the way down, severing them just below the shoulder. His weapon clatters to the ground next to them, and he falls to one knee.

    "...I yield," Hagoro croaks.

    "You think we''re gonna fucking listen to you after that?" Helen growls, raising her arm towards him and taking an ominous breath. I hiss to try and stop her, jumping between her and the man that just surrendered, but it''s already too late.

    "And So She Wept," the Goddess says with a smile, "Finding Beauty In Oblivion."

    I am struck by annihilation, and I wake up on Earth screaming from the pain.

    My first instinct is to clamp down on the noise. The last time I woke up screaming my mom rushed into the room, and I don''t need that making everything worse. Because like, beans on toast, did I just die? Ohhhhh Goddess I think I died! I mean, maybe. If I died and woke up here, does that mean it''s over? That I won''t go back when next I sleep? Or will it be worse somehow? It would totally figure if the Goddess runs Hell and decides to send me there whenever I sleep now.

    But¡­ hold on. I should calm down a little. I already had this scare once before when I was first being persistence hunted by Sindri. It''s very possible I was just knocked unconscious. I resist Chaos, after all. Plus, like¡­ I''m pretty sure I can check? When I use my shapeshifty spell I sort of feel both of my bodies. If I can still do that, logically my other body is still alive, right? Of course, that would necessitate accelerating my transformation, at least a little bit. Is that worth not being anxious all day over whether or not I''m literally dead?

    Huh. Wait, I think it is. Am I really going to take action to reduce my anxiety? Really?

    ¡­

    Wow! Okay then! Time to recklessly use magic with far-reaching long-term consequences to solve a short-term problem. Brendan is going to be so proud of me!

    I sink into the headspace for my Transmutation spell without even bothering to figure my humanoid limbs out. I just close my eyes again and focus on that magic-filled thread spanning between worlds, reaching out across it and letting the power flow through enough to get a glimpse at my other self. It''s barely more than a vague impression, but it''s enough to know I''m alive, if heavily damaged. I let magic flow through the spell, trying to repair my other body like I repaired myself when I miscasted here on Earth. I feel it start to work a bit, and I figure that''s all I need. Don''t want to overdo things. I let myself come back to my body, releasing a deep breath before opening my eyes and immediately getting a massive headache.

    Aw, lard. What did I do to myself this time? Cycling through my limbs, I get out of bed and check myself over in my room briefly, not seeing anything out of the ordinary. At least, not until I rub my temples and come back with a clump of hair in my hand. Oh, no. I can''t go bald! I won''t be able to hide that! I mean, I guess I could get a wig, but¡­ aaaagh no no no no no!

    I quickly rush to the bathroom, not bothering to cover myself up first since I can sense that there isn''t anyone in the hallway. I strip down and take another look at my head, tugging lightly at my hair. To my utter horror, I come away with a few more small clumps¡­ but that''s it. I have a handful of hair, but most of it still seems to be firmly rooted in my scalp where it belongs. What the heck is¡­ wait. What are those spots on my forehead? There are little dark spots under the skin, two on my forehead and one next to each temple. Am I going to grow horns or something? They''re just a little smaller than my¡­ eyes.

    I''m growing eight more eyes, aren''t I?

    I pull my hair back, and sure enough there''s a discolored spot of my scalp over every part of my head that went bald. Eight little patches form a ring around my head, each small enough to easily get covered by the hair I have left. Not the ones on my face, though. Sure, they''re not all that visible right now, but the time bomb has officially started ticking. I guess I could wear a headband or something, but it''s all just so visible! Right on my face! Gah! Imagine when the eyes actually grow in and I get a bunch of new holes in my skull and they all start bleeding at once when they emerge and it''ll just¡­ nope! Nope nope nope let''s not imagine that actually, I changed my mind! I''m gonna just go shower and consider this as little as possible.

    Honestly, there''s a lot I don''t want to be thinking about right now. I''m so sorry, Teboho.

    I manage to keep my head blank all the way to the bus stop, my mind simply too exhausted and overwhelmed to put much effort into thinking about things in the first place. Makeup covers the discolored spots where eyes are growing in under my skin, and it''ll just have to do. I follow Brendan''s advice and face towards his house instead of the street, and therefore spot him long before he can somehow surprise me. I give him a dull wave.

    "Did you figure out any spells last night?" I ask him.

    "What?" he asks back, blinking in surprise.

    I open my mouth, then close it. Oh holy carp I totally forgot to tell him he''s an Art mage. I feel a blush start rising up my cheeks.

    "Uh¡­ you''re a wizard, Harry," I tell him numbly. "Sorry, I should have said so last night but like¡­ well, I had a bad day."

    "Wait, like really?" Brendan gapes, his eyebrows rising. "Holy shit, Hannah. I think a Harry Potter quote is the absolute worst possible way you could have told me this."

    "Look. I¡­ I''ve been better, Brendan. Sorry."

    "Oh. Right." Brendan stares at me, and with what must be absolutely herculean effort, he focuses on something other than the possibility that he has magic. "...What happened?"

    "Well, two people died," I answer quietly, "but at least one of them was Sindri."

    "...Was the other the Chaos mage?"

    "No," I answer. "Teboho."

    "...Fuck."

    "Yeah," I nod. "I don''t think I can talk about it right now. Your magic is Art magic. That''s about all I know."

    "I am not going to be able to focus on school today at all," Brendan sighs.

    Our bus ride is quieter than usual, and I''m okay with that. My first class is with Ida, so naturally she approaches me right away, looking particularly cocky.

    "Hey," I nod. "How are you doing?"

    "I''m fucking awesome," Ida answers. "What about you?"

    Eh, no sense lying. Won''t work on her.

    "I''m not great," I admit.

    "Is there anything I can do to help?" she asks.

    "Probably not," I shrug.

    She steps forward and jabs me in the ribs with a finger.

    "Fuck you!" she snaps. "I take that as a challenge. You don''t know what I''m capable of."

    ¡­And then she walks back to her seat, leaving me feeling distinctly Ida''d. Well, whatever. I have¡­ a lot to do, since I need to catch up on all of yesterday''s classwork as well as today''s. I mean, actually doing any of this is laughable since I probably won''t even be passably human by the time any of it is due, but it''s something to do and that''s what my brain needs right now. My whole head feels like a giant bruise, physically and emotionally, and losing myself in routine is the only way I know how to cope. I make some decent progress in first period, but second period today is gym class. I''m¡­ not looking forward to it.

    I deliberately wait outside the locker room until after Autumn leaves, only then going inside and changing in a bathroom stall. I don''t want to ogle her, especially after we''ve de facto confirmed we aren''t dating, and I don''t trust my self-control at the moment. Or in general, I guess. I''m late getting out of the locker room, but the extra laps I''m forced to run as a result don''t even register to me. I run pretty much on autopilot, setting a pace without really thinking about it and moving without putting any real effort into it. I do my best not to think about Autumn as I approach her from behind and pass her, but unexpectedly she shoots a hand out and startles me out of my funk.

    "Hey!" she hisses at me. "Slow the fuck down, you idiot!"

    I blink dumbly at her.

    "...Jet?" I guess.

    "Yeah, it''s me," she quickly dismisses. "Now don''t use that name at school, and start acting like you''re tired. You''re moving at the pace of a competitive runner, a nerd like you should be dying by now."

    Huh? Oh. She''s protecting my secret identity or whatever. That makes sense.

    "...Thanks," I nod, and slow down a little. "Sorry."

    "Don''t apologize to me," she grumbles. "Are you okay? You seem really out of it."

    I turn away from her and don''t respond. I''m not sure I can.

    "...That''s a no, then," Jet sighs. "Look, if it''s about¡­ her, I''m sorry. She hasn''t told me shit, but I assume that means the two of you didn''t talk yesterday?"

    "Yeah," I confirm.

    "Alright, then you probably shouldn''t press her today, either. She''ll get over it a day or two from now, probably."

    "Okay."

    She gives me another concerned look, which I don''t have any way to prevent myself from knowing about with my spatial sense so focused on her. It feels weirdly intrusive to be unable to look away, at least for a certain definition of ''look.'' My spatial sense still doesn''t give me fully comprehensible sight like it does on the other side, but the impressions I get from it are often just as good. And the way Jet''s body is moving underneath her outfit is¡­ well, yet another thing that I''m actively trying not to think about.

    Hmm. There is one thing I need to say, though.

    "There''s a chance you have magic now," I say. "I can''t really check you to make sure when we''re in public, but some other people I''ve casted around have souls, even though most people don''t. So be careful."

    Jet chuckles humorlessly.

    "You think I might have a soul, huh? How touching. I guess there was no way I was getting out of that still normal. Hey, if all else fails, that''d be one way to convince you-know-who that I''m not crazy."

    I nod, but don''t answer. Jet frowns, but also seems content to be silent. The rest of gym passes without incident, and if the teacher notices my oddly high stamina he doesn''t comment on it. The lunch they serve today doesn''t smell like something I can actually eat, so I go without. Classes fly by one after the other, and I''m fairly certain that by the time I get back on the bus home I haven''t said a single word to anyone since gym class.

    "...Hannah?" Brendan asks as he sits down next to me.

    "Hmm?" I mumble.

    "Hey, Hannah. I''m here for you, alright?"

    I turn my head and look up at him, blinking twice to try and push away the fog.

    "...I''m tired of this," I mumble.

    "I''m sorry," he says. "I¡­ can I hug you?"

    "Yeah," I allow, and he does, putting his arms around me in the middle of this stinky old school bus. That''s all it takes for the dam to break and for me to start to cry.

    There are no despairing wails, no loud laments at the unjustness of my situation. Just silent sobs, tears falling onto Brendan''s hoodie and little shakes of my body to accompany them. It''s not fair. Not fair that I should have to be a part of so much death. I''m just some girl. It''s not fair. It''s not.

    I don''t want to be a part of this twisted game the Goddess is playing. I don''t know why she chose me, or even if she chose me, but I don''t think I''m up to the task. I didn''t have my life together before all this started, the combat trauma, mind rape, and general agony aren''t exactly helping me out. I can''t do this anymore. I just can''t. Something has to change. This is too much, and all I have to weather it is my routine.

    "You gonna watch the stream today?" I ask, sniffing up another tear as Brendan and I step off the bus.

    He opens his mouth to say something, but he ends up shaking his head in exasperation instead.

    "Wouldn''t miss it for all the Art magic in the world," he answers, and we part ways.

    I trudge upstairs, my legs feeling like lead¡­ though not because of gym class today. I drop my backpack in my room and head to the bathroom to quickly fix my makeup with a spell. Along with my hair. And the rest of my appearance. I''m a lot more presentable after I sort the extra blood out of my eyes, removing any traces that I was just crying. Deep breath, fake smile. Even behind the facemask, it''s important. They can see happiness in your eyes, just like they can see fear.

    I double-check that my room is clean and everything is positioned right (it always is) and I sit down at my desk, taking in one last gulp of air before booting up Twitch.

    "Hey everybody!" I announce happily. "Welcome back to the Nuzlocke!"

    I immediately get a message informing me that I''ve received 30 subs from Lucarivor29.

    What.

    [Lucarivor29]: that''s enough for the reveal right? :3

    [SwalotRancher]: holy shit the bit

    [LavAbsol]: It is time!!!

    [NougatKin]: Activate DD hand tier

    [ZirconCommando]: egirl mode engaged

    "Uh. Wow," I manage to say, dumbfounded. "This is a surprise. Uh, thanks, Lucarivor."

    I¡­ did not expect this. I barely even expected it at all, let alone this soon.

    [PentUp]: give us the hand pics DD

    [BirbBirb]: yeah!!!

    Well, you know what? Screw it. Sure. Why not! I don''t even care anymore. I make a show of it, peeling the first glove off partway only to swap to the second glove before anything actually comes off. I can''t believe I''m doing this. On camera, to the world! There''s no going back from this, but for some reason it''s so hard to care right now. I''ve done a lot of things I can''t undo. What''s one more?

    The gloves come off. I flex my fingers, showing off the contrast between the bone-white chitin and the pitch-black joints. Then I shake my hair out, pull it back a little, and remove my mask, giving the chat a wide, wide grin.

    "I am uncontrollably mutating into a horrifying abomination," I announce, "but that''s a bit too terrifying for me to handle right now, so I''m going to distract myself with Pok¨¦mon."

    The chat, predictably, goes ballistic, some people calling the bit lame but most seeming super into it. My heart is beating a million miles an hour as I adjust the camera to have a good view of my hands as I play, though it really seems to be the teeth that are getting the most attention. I get to show them off every time I talk, and for some reason it''s exhilarating. Scary, certainly, but not in the way I was expecting. Not in the way that my life usually goes. Sure, they all think it''s fake, but¡­ they like how I look. People actually like who I am.

    Predictably, it''s my most successful stream to date. People really like a good gimmick.

 29. Coming Out

    [NougatKin]: This is such a crazy fucking vtuber rig

    [Lucarivor29]: It''s obviously not a vtuber rig tho???

    [LavAbsol]: DD that''s such awesome costume work! Did you make it yourself?

    [Zoroa!Queen]: Just joined stream and omg that gastly''s name is an oof

    [SwalotRancher]: isn''t it dangerous to switch train on rattata??? Pursuit is in this gen

    [PentUp]: i think the hands are a costume but the teeth are digital

    [Zoroa!Queen]: ya but they don''t learn pursuit until level 13. safe until route 34

    "Uh, did I make this myself?" I read aloud, since people have to know which question in the massive chat I''m actually answering. "I mean, technically yes, since I grew it. Like, I know none of you are going to believe this is anything but a bit, because that''s what a reasonable person would believe, but this is super real and there''s even more of it! I''d demonstrate but I promised to never show my feet on camera. I can stretch my other limbs though, I suppose."

    I wiggle limbs five and six free of the bindings I put them in under my shirt and let them peek out a bit. Unfortunately, I''m sitting, so they don''t really make it very far into frame. I briefly stand up, wave at the camera with one of them, and then sit back down to get back to video games. Egh, maybe I shouldn''t have. They kind of lift up my shirt a little bit.

    [LavAbsol]: Okay, that''s super cool.

    [PentUp]: ¡­uhhhhh okay that looked like it was coming out of her skin wtf

    [SwalotRancher]: how do you know the exact route lol

    [Zoroa!Queen]: I play a lot of nuzlockes lol. Spearow also learns pursuit at 13 btw

    [Xenoversal]: oh shit the bit is today

    [ZirconCommando]: show us the FEET

    "Thanks for the info, Zoroa. That''s good to know," I encourage. "Also, I can and will ban you, Zircon."

    [ZirconCommando]: i can and will find a better streamer

    "Uh, I mean, okay then. Have fun with that!"

    I take a moment to boot the jerk, which my chat encourages with the vigor of spectators at a gladiatorial arena. It''s certainly true that the internet can be horribly vile, but I honestly love my little corner of it. There will always be nasty people, but I don''t have to just sit back and let them be nasty. So I remove them, and that encourages more nice people to stay. It''s pretty neat.

    I think it''s especially funny how much of the stream just doesn''t flick a single booger about my ongoing mutation and just keeps talking about Pok¨¦mon. Like, I love that, and it''s honestly a huge mood, but it''s still really funny. I''m genuinely unsure how much to encourage people to believe that this is real. On one hand, everyone assuming it''s fake might keep me off the radar of whatever magic-suppressing organization probably exists. On the other hand, it prevents the strategy of ''become so well-known that the secret organization can''t hide your disappearance'' from working. People randomly disappear off of the internet all the time; it''d be disappointing if I randomly stopped streaming one day, but nobody would suspect foul play. I''m genuinely unsure of which path to take with this, so¡­ I guess I''ll just play it by ear.

    I''ll just keep telling the truth, I guess. Maybe I''ll eat some raw eggs on stream or cut something up with Spacial Rend. No incantations, though. I don''t know how the Goddess'' voice reacts to being recorded and I''m not sure I want to find out. Somewhere along the line, though, when the time is right and I feel like people will take it seriously, I''ll explain the situation in detail and ask people to make a big stink if I vanish. Hopefully that will be enough, and if not, well¡­ hell, I''m kind of proud of myself for making it this far.

    The stream is honestly a lot more comfortable now that I''m not wrapped up in a million layers of protective clothing, too. I might even be able to reach the keyboard with my extra limbs! It would be pretty funny to play with them, but¡­ eh. Probably not comfortable yet. Hopefully they''ll grow some more.

    ¡­Wow, did I really just think that? Geez, I totally did. You know what? Not going to think about it any more than that. The whole point of playing Pok¨¦mon is to avoid introspection.

    All good things must come to an end, though. As I stream into the wee hours of the morning, I eventually feel the inevitable call of sleep. It was nice getting to de-stress like this, but I guess I have to face the music and deal with¡­ I don''t even know. I''m too tired to care, honestly. I should probably be ready for a fight, though. I close my eyes, and as usual the stress of those thoughts does nothing to keep me awake before soreness overtakes my sensorium.

    Holy cannoli I hurt all over. I glance at myself and wince at the pockmarked holes in my chitin where the Chaos magic fought against my aura and managed to gain some ground. I was nearly dissolved to death! When I twitch all my legs in sequence, though, I learn that I''m probably not all that seriously injured. Everything seems to work right and my internal organs are fine. I either healed off any major damage I sustained from casting my spell the other morning, or I was never seriously damaged and just blacked out from the pain. Given how very little seems to have changed from then to now, I''m guessing it''s the latter.

    Kagiso is screaming at Helen, presumably because she just shot me with a murder blast, but I can''t really make out what she''s saying because it''s mostly just incomprehensible anger noises. Helen is yelling back at her, pointing at me and blaming me for jumping in front of the blast in the first place, which to be fair is very stupid and something I absolutely did.

    On the upside, it seems to have worked: Hagoro is alive. I guess I''m not sure if it''s actually because of me or because of his armor, though, since that''s been slagged even harder than my carapace and seems to have protected even the parts of him that weren''t covered by it. I guess he did say it was Chaos-resistant at the start, though. Whatever, I want to take credit for it so I''m gonna. I take a deep breath and let out my loudest hiss, shutting up the two bickering women.

    I''m fine, I write. Let''s decide what we''re doing with Hagoro.

    "Hana!" Kagiso chirps, rushing over and scooping me up into a hug. Which hurts like hell, so I have to hiss at her and make her put me down again.

    "We need to kill him," Helen says, ignoring our antics and jumping to the topic at hand. "And you need to not fucking jump in the way, even if you are a fucking bullshit Order mage with resistance and regeneration."

    I hiss again, though softer this time, and write out my response.

    I won''t let you execute someone who surrendered.

    I feel like this should be pretty darn straightforward. Even if you ignore all the really important moral reasons to not execute a surrendered opponent¡ªand I''m not going to ignore them, they''re important to me¡ªfrom a practical perspective, respecting surrenders is advantageous because it encourages people to respect you. Not only is this dude far from the only apocalypse cultist that''s likely to come after me, but he''s a paladin that has literal law magic. I''m pretty sure we can trust him to respect his own surrender and not immediately betray us. And yeah, he''ll probably escape and cause problems for us later, but¡­ I dunno. I still don''t want to kill him.

    That''s all a bit much to write out, though, so I just present it as an ultimatum. Helen seems important to Kagiso, so I''m willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, but if she''s going to fight me over this I will throw down. I''ll hate it, but I''ll do it¡­ and I''m pretty sure I''ll win.

    Helen scowls as Kagiso looks back and forth between us, not seeming to have an opinion of her own. Eventually, the Chaos mage lets out a long suffering sigh and throws her hands up into the air in exasperation.

    "Well, you guys have fun with him, then. I don''t know why I''m hanging around with you idiots in the first place. Fuck you, and goodbye."

    "No!" Kagiso yelps, grabbing Helen''s arm again. "Stay! Stay?"

    "Stop touching me!" Helen snaps back, pulling free. "And stop trying to get me to come with you!"

    Kagiso''s ears droop, and she shrinks down a little.

    "But¡­ Helen is only one left," she says quietly. "Don''t have anyone else."

    The Chaos mage''s eyes go wide, a whole host of emotions running over her face. She seems genuinely guilty about what she''s done, blaming herself for the tragedy¡ªperhaps justifiably so. And yet the only surviving victim of her actions is asking her to stay because she has no one left other than the one who did it. How must that feel? I can''t even imagine what''s going through her head. Helen grits her teeth and looks away, but she doesn''t leave.

    "Thank you¡­ Hana."

    I raise my body a little to look at Hagoro, who is apparently still conscious. His healing spell has long since scabbed over the amputations I gave him, but it doesn''t seem to be regrowing his arms at all. There''s probably some Order mage out there who can restore limbs, and I suppose he''ll be all right until he finds them. Get it? Because I cut off both of his left arms. ¡­Dang, should I eat them? Agh, wait, what the heck, me!? You already said no to Teboho''s, you can''t eat this guy''s arms with Kagiso around. ¡­No, wait, that''s not why this is a bad idea, what the actual¡ª

    "I made myself your enemy," Hagoro continues, "but you still spared me¡­ and protected me. You could have taken my head as easily as you took my arms."

    What do I say to that? Writing a lot is a pain, but I''m not sure how to shorten ''I didn''t grow up in a culture where executing an enemy would ever happen, let alone be considered normal, you guys are all just crazy.''

    I''m not a killer by choice, I ultimately decide on.

    "Is that so?" he says, making a noise that''s somewhere between a chuckle and a cough. "Oh, Goddess. Why her?"

    The Goddess, predictably, does not deign to answer.

    Honestly, I don''t actually know what to do with you, I admit.

    "That is fair," Hagoro nods. "I can''t reasonably expect you to guard me or provide for me. I am of little use for you, and of much danger. But I can say this: if you simply depart and leave me be, I will neither perish in the forest nor follow you. We will go our separate ways, and I will remember the gratitude you are owed for this."

    Is that gratitude actually worth anything?

    He sighs.

    "I will still be allied with those who seek your capture, Hana. And I will still aid them in this task. The risk you pose is too great."

    Well, that sucks. But I kind of figured that was the case. Uuuugh. Am I just creating my own recurring villain, here? The alternative is to murder him in cold blood, though, and I just can''t do that! Still though, this guy''s terrible. I hope all his pretzel sticks turn soggy.

    Maybe people like me only end up destroying the world because jerks like you won''t leave them alone, I silently grumble at him.

    "Oh, Hana," Hagoro says sadly. "If my life could end this terrible cycle, I''d sacrifice it in a heartbeat. But it can''t. Yours might."

    Ugh. What is there to say? He''s a religious zealot convinced that I have to suffer for the good of the world, just like the ones back home. I drum my legs in annoyance before quickly scribbling out my answer.

    Don''t come back, Hagoro. Please?

    He smiles sadly, then turns to look up at Helen instead of answering me.

    "It''s possible to fool aura sight," he announces.

    The Chaos mage jolts out of her funk and turns to glower at him.

    "What?"

    "If you refuse to accompany me, your safest bet is to stick with these two," Hagoro continues. "If you stand close enough to a powerful Order mage, their aura will subsume the Chaos energy given off by your soul, and you''ll only read as an Art mage to any detection spells. As long as you aren''t attacking anyone, no one will think to check twice."

    Helen narrows her eyes, but doesn''t answer.

    "Hana can help you safely discharge your magic, as well, thanks to her resistance. I know it''s just words, but that''s the most help I can offer you now. Will you allow me to leave in peace?"

    "Whatever," Helen grunts. "If the little freak doesn''t want to do the smart thing and just get rid of you, I''ll play along. But leave your weapon on the ground."

    He nods, standing up unsteadily without touching his discarded polearm¡­ or discarded actual arms.

    "Thank you," he says. "I''m sorry it has to be this way."

    It really doesn''t, I write.

    "No, the fuzzy bastard''s right," Helen says, shaking her head. "It''s always this way, no matter what."

    Using a tree to support his first steps, Hagoro slowly walks around us and heads back towards the city we came from. The three of us silently wait as he departs, and only after he''s well outside the range of my spatial sense do I scuttle over to the others and write.

    What now?

    Because that''s the burning question, isn''t it? We came here to kill a Chaos mage, but now she''s a seemingly-unwilling teammate, half our prior teammates are dead, and the three of us have no families (in this universe), no homes (in this universe), and as far as I know, no objectives (in any universe). The only thing I could maybe consider a goal is trying to figure out how to solve the problems destroying the world tree, but those issues are so impossibly massive that I don''t have the slightest idea where to begin. So what, then? Do I just wander around and wait for my Protagonist Energy to kick in and give me the infinite might necessary to do the sorts of horrors that my predecessors supposedly did, but in reverse? That''s hardly a plan.

    "Well, as novel as it is for someone other than me to be getting tracked," Helen drawls, "we can''t stay here. I guess if you aren''t going to leave me alone, I can at least help you drop the trail of your inevitable pursuers."

    "I go where friends go," Kagiso nods.

    About that, I write. Sorry, I don''t have an easy way to bring this up, but¡­ what should we do about Teboho?

    Kagiso frowns.

    "He dead?" she reminds me. "Nothing can do."

    I mean like, should we bury him or something?

    "No? That make it harder for animals eat, I think."

    "Dentron tend to leave their dead out in the wilderness," Helen informs me. "And we''re already in the wilderness. I know it''s kind of morbid, but it makes sense to just¡­ leave him."

    Her expression is impressively even as she says that. That murder is already compartmentalized, huh? Mood, I guess. I just¡­ I wish it hadn''t been Teboho. I feel like I should be mad at her because it was Teboho, because it was that ever-positive bundle of joy that made my time here in this world so much more bearable. He was so kind, so steadfast. He taught me so much, and now he''s just¡­ gone. Why don''t I feel worse about this? Why am I already looking ahead? Were my emotions just a consequence of Friends, now dispelled with Sindri''s death? Or am I just so cold of a person that it simply doesn''t affect me to lose a friend I haven''t known for all that long? Kagiso also doesn''t seem as affected as I might expect, either. She had her outburst against Sindri''s corpse, but now she''s latched onto her brother''s killer like a starving remora. Did she love him before he died? Is she just good at hiding it? Or is she like me?

    "Okay, so here''s the plan I had before you idiots caught up with me and¡­ well, all this happened," Helen announces, seeming to take our silence in stride. "Nychtava will ferry people between branches if you have the money, they don''t tend to ask questions about your element, and they''ll accept both electrum and amber. This branch has a colony of them nearby, and we can hire one to fly us to a lower branch without being tracked. I was hiding out here trying to find a way to sneak in, but if what that paladin asshole said is true, we could probably just go in the front gate together."

    Where will we go when we get to a lower branch? I ask.

    "Our separate ways, ideally," Helen grumbles.

    "Slaying Stone," Kagiso suggests. "Hana want help world, yes? Problems start with Slaying Stone."

    "...Is the Slaying Stone really a worse problem than the huge fire or the roots?" Helen asks.

    "No? But fire is up and we go down. Roots even more down. Slaying Stone on way."

    Makes sense to me, I scribble. Plus, seeing more of the world will be really important in regards to learning about the world, and I have to actually understand the problems people are facing before I can work out a plan to maybe fix them when I get really strong in the future, or however the heck this actually works.

    "Alright, fine, whatever," Helen grumbles. "Follow me, I guess."

    Actually, one more question, I write. Do we have any money?

    "We didn''t," Helen smirks before pulling a small pouch out of a grubby pocket. "But that Sindri guy did."

    Woah. When did she loot¡­ eh, whatever, not going to think about it.

    Lead the way, then, I write, and scuttle up Kagiso''s leg.

    "Mmm. Hello Hana," Kagiso says, giving me a pat. "Not me, today."

    She holds out an arm towards Helen, as if inviting me to swap over to her shoulders. Neither Helen nor I are enthused by this prospect.

    "Uh, what? I''m not carrying your weird bug friend," Helen insists.

    "But¡­ need to get used to?" Kagiso frowns. "Hagoro say have to be close to disguise aura."

    "''Close to'' doesn''t mean ''attached to!''" Helen protests. "You just carry her, and then you can walk¡­ close to¡­"

    She slowly trails off, staring at Kagiso for a moment before turning away.

    "Y''know what, never mind, gimme the freaky spider."

    She grabs me and yanks me off of Kagiso, so I hiss at her because of course I''m going to hiss at somebody who does that, especially if they''re a jerk like Helen!

    "Shut up!" Helen snaps at me. "You heard her. If you want me along I need your aura. Come on, let''s go."

    I never actually said I wanted her along, but I don''t have anything to write on so I let that slide. She starts walking in a huff, Kagiso quickly falling into step beside her. The pair set a brisk pace, much faster than we traveled to the city in the first place, but I suppose there had been more of us and Teboho was injured. Kagiso and Helen both seem to prefer the increased speed, and while I occasionally dismount Helen to go grab a fuzzy little friend noodle to eat, I mostly just sit on her head.

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    It''s surprisingly comfortable, all things considered. Helen is as dirty as one might expect from a girl that just spent weeks roughing it alone in an attempt to escape from her crimes, but it''s nothing a little surreptitious cleaning magic can''t fix. It''s actually much harder than it usually is to cast on her¡ªthanks to the whole Chaos mage thing, presumably¡ªbut I still manage it. She definitely notices what I''m doing at some point, grabbing some strands of her previously-gnarled hair and rubbing them between two unexpectedly clean fingers. She gives me a steady look for a moment but doesn''t comment, so I take that as tacit permission to continue. Maybe she''ll be less grumpy when she''s not covered in five layers of filth. I know I will be.

    Her clothes are a more difficult issue. Not cleaning them, since that''s as easy as cleaning anything else, but their other problems. The light traveling garb is baggy on her in a way that suggests it was probably stolen from a noticeably larger man, and the many accumulated tears in the rough dun shirt and trousers can''t simply be sorted back together. I''m not great at it, but I can do basic repairs with a sewing kit. Maybe I can improvise a¡­ wait, no, I don''t have hands. Right.

    Well, the important thing is the body underneath the clothes, and while there''s certainly a notable collection of cuts and bruises, they''re all pretty superficial. I''m not a doctor or anything, but her organs all look about as good as I''ve seen organs look: i.e. none of them are leaking fluids they aren''t supposed to be leaking. Her figure underneath her outfit isn''t much to write home about, as much as I feel like a total creep for noting that. The nice way to put it would be ''boyish,'' while the Ida way to put it would be ''flat as a pancake run over by a bus.'' She doesn''t have anything in the hip or butt department either; I''d almost think she was biologically male if not for the fact that she doesn''t even have the upper body strength to pass for that. That and, uh, y''know. I can see all of her reproductive organs. Constantly.

    A-anyway! Changing away from that train of thought! My point is that her body, while healthy, does seem pretty underdeveloped. Like, she''s very much postpubescent, but somewhere along the line her body just decided to give up on anything more than the bare minimum effort required for that particular series of physiological changes. Combine that with the fact that her mother was legally required to kill her at birth and I''m starting to suspect that she didn''t exactly grow up with a stable food supply. That changed later in life, as evidenced by her ability to set such a grueling pace for our journey, but I doubt her childhood was pleasant.

    "I gotta say," Helen suddenly pipes up, "I was not looking forward to traveling with anyone, but I really appreciate that you two know how to shut up."

    I mean, I''m mute, but thanks I guess.

    "Why start talking then?" Kagiso asks, and I can''t help but let out a short hiss of a laugh.

    "I¡­ fuck! Okay, fine, I won''t say anything nice!" Helen snaps.

    "Oh! Is nice? Good to say nice. Thank Helen!"

    "Uuugh. Kagiso, you''re going to give me a headache," Helen complains.

    "No?" Kagiso says, tilting her head. "This not magic I can do."

    Helen groans and puts her face in her hands.

    "Are you sure?" she whines. "Because it''s totally happening."

    "Maybe Helen need drink more water!" Kagiso declares happily. "Have some. You want? Probably not contain blood this time."

    "No, Kagiso, I have plenty of¡­ ugh. Look, are either of you getting hungry? I think it''s about time to take a break."

    "Okay," Kagiso shrugs. "I hunt something?"

    "We don''t¡­ actually, sure. Yeah. Go hunt something, Kagiso."

    "Hehe. Yay."

    Helen and Kagiso find a fallen log to sit on and drop their packs by it before Kagiso grabs her weapons and runs off. Helen waits for Kagiso to be out of sight and then groans, collapsing onto the log in an exhausted huff. She then reaches down to the ground, grabs a stone, and clenches it in a fist. When she opens her hand, there''s nothing there. She reaches down a second time and I take that opportunity to jump off her head, landing on the ground in front of her and shaking my sore body out.

    "Enjoy the ride?" Helen asks sardonically, destroying another stone.

    It wasn''t so bad once I tidied up the place, I write back.

    She lets out an amused snort.

    "Yeah, you really fucking made yourself at home, didn''t you?"

    Sorry, I write. I should have asked first, but I didn''t think of it until we were already on the move.

    She blinks in surprise and glances away from me. That''s¡­ what she does when she''s embarrassed, isn''t it? Well, I guess she could avoid eye contact as a response to a bunch of different emotions, but judging by the way the blood vessels on her cheeks are widening I''m willing to bet on embarrassment.

    "That''s not¡­ you don''t have to say sorry," she mumbles. "Honestly, it was¡­ I mean. Y''know. Thank you."

    Huh! I got thanked! That''s nice of her.

    You''re welcome, I write, because I have been trained from a young age to automatically respond to politeness with politeness. That just seems to make her more embarrassed, though. She annihilates another rock.

    "...You really think it''ll work?" she asks slowly. "The thing where we can fool aura checkers?"

    Well, I guess there''s an easy way to find out.

    "Aura Sight," I beseech the Goddess to say on my behalf, opening up an extra sense to the world. Helen jolts a little when the words are spoken, almost bolting before she seems to realize I''m not attacking her.

    From where I stand opposite to her, I can pretty easily see her aura''s Chaos and Art elements. I also realize I can see my own aura''s elements from my usual vantage point of looking at myself with my spatial sense. Neat! With that established, I crawl towards Helen, and sure enough the intensity of her Chaos flavor starts to diminish as I get closer. Hopping up into her lap, I find that it disappears completely. My own Order aura, likewise, gets a lot weaker, making the distinct taste of Transmutation a lot more noticeable by comparison. I hop off of her and increase the distance between us and approach again just to make sure it''s consistent, but sure enough Hagoro seems to have been honest.

    Yep, it works, I tell her. As long as I''m on you at the time, you just look like a pure Art mage.

    "...Holy fucking shit," Helen sighs. "And you''re not just like, tricking me with this? Leading me to a city where I''ll get caught?"

    Uh. Kind of a weird question. It''s not like I would tell her if I was, but I doubt saying that would be helpful.

    Why would I do that? I ask instead.

    "Lots of fucking reasons, I don''t know," Helen mutters, destroying another rock. "Too many to count. You came here with a Chaos hunter, for fuck''s sake. Then you let that paladin go, that was fucking suspicious." She drums her fingers against her thigh, getting increasingly agitated. "If you''re really a goodie-two-shoes that doesn''t like killing people, but you wanted me dead, you''d take me somewhere I''d die on my own. Right?"

    Where is this coming from? Is she paranoid?

    I don''t like killing people, but I''ve done it, I write to her. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn''t take you anywhere near a city where other people might get hurt. I''d have just stabbed you through the head on the way here.

    Which would have been completely trivial. As much as I genuinely don''t want to kill anyone, ever, I don''t think I''d be able to live with myself if I thought Helen was going to cause another tragedy like she did with Kagiso''s family and I just did nothing. I like to think I''d find the courage to stop her. I''m divinely chosen to travel between universes, for falafel''s sake. I''d better be able to muster up some semblance of heroism.

    "Right, yeah," Helen mutters. "That makes sense. I''m just stupid."

    I''m not going to pretend to like you, I write, since I want to be clear about that. But I don''t hate you, either. I''m willing to give you a chance.

    "A chance, huh?" she scoffs.

    Yes. Because Kagiso obviously cares about you, and I care about Kagiso.

    "Why the fuck does she care about me?" Helen asks.

    You''d know better than I would. I just met you.

    She''s quiet for a bit before answering.

    "I guess we were kinda friends," she admits softly. "I didn''t really belong in that village, and everybody knew it. They were all nice, but I was still the newcomer to a place where most people have lived with their family for generations, and I was the only human besides. At first it was just¡­ somewhere to stay for a few nights before moving on, you know? But even though I was an outsider, everyone was so kind."

    She looks up at the canopy above us, letting out a pained sigh.

    "But to Kagiso, I never even was an outsider. I don''t know if she understands what that means. The only part of me being human that she cared about was the fact that I could eat more meat than everyone else. The little freak really liked shooting stuff, cooking it up, and feeding it to me. Probably because it got her family off her back about killing wastefully. She''s just¡­ a total weirdo."

    She says it all with a slight smile on her face, though. A fond smile, there for only a moment before it vanishes.

    "...And then I went and destroyed it all. Ruined everything, like I always do. I should have known better than to stay."

    You said that in order to avoid that, you just have to use your magic more, I write. Is that true?

    "Huh?" she grunts. "Oh. I mean, yeah, but by ''use my magic more'' I mean like this."

    She twists around, holding out a hand towards a patch of ground behind her. At first, nothing seems to happen, but before long a vibrating, spherical void appears as a tiny point in space. It expands outward, consuming air and earth alike before eventually vanishing, leaving a crater about three feet in diameter in its wake.

    "I have to actually destroy stuff, you know? A lot of stuff. And that tends to leave a lot of evidence, especially in a small village that knows the surrounding area like they know a pimple on their nose. So I tried to get by with less, but¡­ well, I was just fooling myself, and everyone paid for it."

    She sighs, slumping over and grabbing another rock to destroy in her palm. If she has to do so much more than that, what''s with the rocks? Is it just a habit? Was that how she was trying to hide and contain her powers while in Kagiso''s village, and it just ended up not working?

    "That''s why we''re going our separate ways once we make it to a lower branch. Okay?"

    I don''t answer, because I''m not entirely sure how to answer. As far as I''m concerned, it''s not up to me whether or not the current group sticks together. Sure enough, Kagiso returns long before I would have finished scribbling out my sentences anyway. Helen orders me to move and then obliterates everything I''ve written before Kagiso can see it, which I guess is fair. She''s entitled to a private conversation if she wants to keep it that way. Kagiso has slaughtered some kind of big snake thing that''ll be more than enough food for all three of us, so at least that''s taken care of. I wait for her to carve out a large portion for Helen and a smaller portion for herself before tearing into the rest of the corpse raw. The monster is longer than Kagiso is tall and noticeably thicker, but I am exceptionally hungry and have no qualms about devouring the entire thing, bones and all.

    By the time Kagiso has finished cooking and the three of us have finished eating, the sun is already starting to go down. While burrowing my way into the carcass of a giant monster and eating my way back out like a chestburster has been extremely fun, it''s also been a pretty inefficient method of consumption. Kagiso would clap every single time I emerged, though! I was basically required to keep going. Helen, on the other hand, glances between the two of us like she just figured out the solution to a curious mystery and doesn''t like the answer one bit. It''s not a big deal, though. We''re not chasing anyone anymore, and while we might be running from someone, we have both a massive head start and the advantage of them not having any idea where we are. No birds tracking us, now that Sindri''s dead. And speaking of Sindri, Helen must have nicked more than just his wallet, because she and Kagiso start setting up his tent, too.

    The camp only has two tents now instead of three, but there''s still something painfully familiar about watching the others set up camp. Whenever I started to apologize for not being able to help, it was Teboho that assured me things were okay and that everyone was simply doing what they can¡­ and it was Sindri that ensured we''d never really argue with each other in the first place, whether we liked it or not.

    Desperate to distract myself, I glance over to the pit Helen made with her Chaos magic. Perfectly round and perfectly smooth. There''s something uniquely beautiful about it, really. On a whim I dash towards it at full speed, and right when my feet would drop across the edge I curl up into a ball, rolling along the rim. I make three quick rotations around the inside before finally rolling to a stop, feeling exhilarated and somewhat silly. That was pretty fun, though!

    "Where did you even find that weird thing?" Helen mutters to Kagiso.

    "Under rock," Kagiso shrugs.

    Hey, that was a burrow, thank you very much. It''s been a really long time since I''ve dug at all, come to think of it. I mean, unless my dinner today counts. I guess it kind of does. Still, though! Thinking about it, Helen mentioned that she couldn''t make holes like this because it would get her found out, so doesn''t that mean people might use these holes to track us? Like, if someone came across it, they''d probably go ''oh hey, a Chaos mage was here.'' So I guess I''ll just¡­ dig around the area to hide it some? That''ll probably help. It''s sad to see such a perfect hole go, though.

    "Hana!" Kagiso calls out. "Take first watch?"

    I wriggle my way up out of the dirt and write a quick affirmative. Kagiso nods, she and Helen heading to their tents to sleep. With all the energy from my recent meal and my sudden burrowing compulsion I end up putting way too much effort into fixing the hole Helen made, but when I''m done with it the packed dirt looks pretty much the same as it did pre-destruction. Good job, me! Oh wait crap I think I''ve been doing this way past when I was supposed to wake up second watch.

    Who is supposed to be second watch, anyway? Do I wake Helen or Kagiso? I''m hesitant about leaving our lives in Helen''s hands, but only because I suspect she''s not used to taking watches, since she''s been traveling alone. I doubt she''ll betray us in the middle of the night for no reason, and it''s not like Kagiso and I are going to only get half a night''s sleep every night from now on. We''ll have to include Helen at some point. So I go wake her, since that means I''ll get to snuggle into bed with Kagiso. My warm, fuzzy friend barely stirs after I manage to coax Helen out of her tent and crawl into my favorite sleeping bag. Snuggling into the crook of Kagiso''s arm, I quickly pass into slumber.

    ¡­And then I wake up, because that''s how my life works. Limbs, check. Body, check. New mutations¡­ don''t see any. I head into the shower like normal, and sure enough my newly-budding eyes don''t look much different than yesterday. The skin is a little darker, maybe? Nothing makeup can''t fix. I give myself a quick wash, eat the small patches of skin that come off of my legs, and head downstairs to swallow a few eggs. Something about this feels weird, but not in a bad way. It takes me until I make it to the bus stop and turn to face the direction Brendan will arrive from before I figure it out.

    It''s all become a routine. Everything I did this morning was more or less automatic, totally thoughtless from scrubbing the chitin on my extra limbs to using my spatial sense to ensure no one catches me swallowing raw eggs. None of that felt weird today. It was just¡­ what I do now. I feel like that should be scary, but it''s mostly just a relief. I wave at Brendan as he arrives, and he waves back.

    "Still covering up?" he asks as he approaches. "You already revealed everything on stream yesterday. Which was awesome, by the way."

    "That was online, though!" I whine. "Coming out online is way easier than doing it in real life! It basically doesn''t even count."

    "''Coming out?''" he repeats, raising an eyebrow.

    "Eh. Coming out as gay, coming out as being a monster¡­ it''s honestly a coin toss on which my family will be more horrified by."

    "I hate how that probably isn''t a joke," Brendan sighs.

    "If I''m being real they''ll probably be way cooler about the monster stuff," I shrug. "At least all their favorite news channels aren''t running political hit pieces against people with chitin."

    "Well, at least you seem to be in good humor today," Brendan says, shaking his head. "Feels good to get it out there in part at least, doesn''t it?"

    "...Yeah," I admit after a moment of thought. "Yeah, I guess it does."

    Brendan nods slowly, taking a deep breath and letting it out. I''m so happy to have him as a friend. Without his help I don''t think I''d be doing even half this well. He''s the one who gave me the courage to set that subscriber incentive in the first place!

    "Thank you, Brendan," I tell him, because it needs to be said.

    "I think I might be transgender," Brendan blurts.

    ¡­

    Huh?

    What?

    "Transgender?" my dumb face asks.

    "Y-yeah," Brendan says. "Y''know, like¡­ the T in LGBT? I''m saying I might be a girl."

    "Oh," I manage to say, which is a stupid thing to say, holy carp what is wrong with me? This is¡­ this is huge! I need to be supportive!

    "I-I''m not like, y''know, sure. It''s just something I''ve been thinking about and I figured I''d mention it. Try to¡­ well, get it out there. At least in part. Um, I mean, it''s probably nothing, but¡­"

    "No! Nono, it''s¡­ I''m sorry, it''s good, that''s good!" I stammer. "I was just surprised, is all! I just, I mean, I don''t know very much about that sort of thing, but I am with you one hundred percent! It''s good! Girl is good. You''re good. Yep."

    Oh my Goddess, Brendan would be so cute in a skirt. Man, none of my clothes are gonna fit him, though. Er, fit her? Maybe? Point is, that''s criminal.

    "...You''re imagining me as a girl, aren''t you?" Brendan says flatly.

    "You will be adorable," I confirm. "I mean, not that you aren''t adorable right now. Or, well, not in that way, but¡­ um, I mean I guess maybe that way? Oh Goddess, is this why I used to want to date you so badly? Is that how it works? Is that not how it works? Am I being offensive!?"

    "It''s fine, Hannah," Brendan says, chuckling slightly. "I appreciate the support, but like I said I''m not sure yet."

    "Oh, right! Right, yeah. Yep." Aaaaa girl Brendan, though! "I assume this is a Friend Code secret?"

    "For now, yeah," he(!?!?!) nods. "Thanks."

    "Of course! Of course, yeah. Wow."

    I am going to have to do so much research I am very out of my depth.

    The bus arrives, and that means this conversation is officially over until we''re alone again, but my brain is still left reeling. I pretty much zone entirely out of the rest of the bus ride and all of English class, though as Biology approaches I realize I''m going to be seeing Autumn so I do my best to get my brain in working order.

    Brendan''s revelation is¡­ a lot, and despite being gay as hell I feel pretty under-educated about trans people, but thinking about it logically I''m pretty sure my job as a friend is to just support whatever identity gets decided on. Maybe ask a few questions here and there. Oh gosh will Brendan stop being Brendan? Will he change his name!? I guess probably! Oh noooo I''m going to mess it up all the time and feel so bad. No! Bad Hannah brain! Focus on Autumn, and I guess Biology maybe, if you have room. Actually, wait, where is Autumn? Her seat is empty.

    It''s empty when class starts and it remains empty after class ends. Autumn¡­ isn''t at school today. That seems strange. Hopefully it''s nothing? I wonder if I should text her. I feel like that''d be overstepping boundaries? Gosh, I don''t know. This could be a horrific magical emergency, but it could also just be a cold! I worry about it all the way through third period and into lunch, where sure enough she''s not in the library either. Definitely absent.

    "Catch, weirdo," Ida says behind me, and I''m turning to intercept what she tosses at me before it even leaves her hand, my spatial sense telling me its trajectory instinctively. My hands clap around a huge bag of Kentucky Fried Chicken.

    "I noticed you avoid the lunch room on days they don''t serve meat," Ida smirks. "So I made sure to pick something up for you. Bam. Day improved."

    "Um¡­ th-thank you," I stutter, blinking in surprise. Golly gosh, this smells good. "What are you doing in the library, Ida?"

    "Uh, looking for your nerdy ass, what else?" Ida fires back. "What''s up? You seem a little freaked out."

    "Oh, I''m just¡­" I start, instinctively going for a deflection before Ida steps forwards and karate chops me in the side of the throat. Ow!

    "No bullshitting me. What''s up, Hannah?"

    "Uh¡­" I manage, wincing as I rub the spot she hit. I guess she is in the know for everything that matters here. "Autumn is absent today, which might be nothing but it might be¡­ y''know. A very big something. She knows about me."

    "Uh, woah. Going fast and hard on your crush, huh?" Ida smirks. "How bold of you, Hannah."

    "I-It''s not like that!" I sputter. "It was a total accident. She kind of knows and she kind of doesn''t, it''s complicated. I don''t know if she has magic or not, but if she does and it''s related¡­"

    "Then that could be really bad, right," Ida sighs. "Well, do you have her number? Have you tried texting her?"

    "I don''t know if it''s appropriate to do that when she''s kind of avoiding¡ª"

    A conspicuous buzzing sound erupts from my phone, cutting off my sentence. My sense of dramatic timing compels me to check it, and sure enough¡­

    "...It''s a text from Autumn," I say despondently.

    "Of course it is," Ida says, rolling her eyes. "What does it say?"

    What''s happening??? Jet says you can help???

    "Aw, crapbaskets," I sigh.

    Judging by those two sentences I''m going to guess ''magic things,'' I text back. Are you safe and alone?

    Are you fucking with me right now? she asks.

    No. I''m sorry.

    Those three dots that indicate she''s typing appear and disappear over and over, a long period of stress where she''s either writing an essay or repeatedly changing her mind on what to say. Judging by the length of her message, it''s the latter.

    Jet says you can help. Can you help?

    I can try, I promise. Don''t investigate any weird feelings and try not to push any new mental buttons until I get there, okay?

    Are you coming over???

    "Hey Ida, could I have a ride to Autumn''s house?" I ask.

    "Of course," she nods seriously.

    "We might end up missing classes," I warn her.

    She rolls her eyes.

    "I''m even more down to give you a ride now, you chitinous baboon."

    Unless you don''t want me to come over, yeah, I text Autumn back. It''s probably for the best. It would be easier and safer than trying to explain all this over text.

    It takes a while for her to respond again, but it''s a simple enough message.

    Okay.

    I nod to Ida and we both wordlessly sprint to her car while I quickly send a text to Brendan letting him know that Autumn needs magical aid and I might be late getting back from lunch. I just have to hope that the magic secret police either don''t control the NSA or just think we''re talking about a game or something. Surely they can''t screen every text message with the word ''magic'' in it? It''s probably safe as long as we don''t write down any details on how real magic actually works.

    With how much Ida speeds, it doesn''t take long for us to get to Autumn''s house. Ida and I agree that she should stay in the car, since she and Autumn don''t really know each other and Autumn seemed pretty freaked out. I really, really hope she''s not in danger! Bursting out of the car, I rush up her sidewalk and ring the doorbell once before I remember that hers doesn''t work and knock instead.

    Come in, she texts me.

    I do so and close the door behind me, calling out to her.

    "Autumn! It''s me!"

    "Hannah!" she calls back, but I''ve already found her with my spatial sense and so make my way to a small bathroom, in which she sits on the floor looking completely shell-shocked. The first thing my stupid brain notices is that she''s in her underwear, but the more relevant points of interest filter into my conscious thought soon enough. Her ears are different, in a subtle but noticeable way. Just a little too pointy, and a little too high up on her head for humans. They''re moving, growing, changing shape too slowly to track with the human eye but no less inevitably.

    I doubt her ears are the source of all the blood, though.

    Her whole back is stained with dried, crusted brown-red, the back of her bra soaked through and probably ruined. She''s no longer actively bleeding, but the source of the wound is all the more obvious because of it: two twitching proto-limbs emerge from between her shoulder blades, small and far from fully formed. They must have torn themselves free from the skin of her back this morning, the tiny, leathery wings far too small to function but doubtlessly still growing.

    "Wh-what''s happening to me?" Alma whispers, tears running down her face and dropping onto her knees as she rocks back and forth on the floor.

    "Well, uh¡­ remember when you told me you love urban fantasy?" I say hesitantly, taking off my glove and wiggling my fingers at her. "Congratulations. You live in it."

    She faints, and I barely have time to catch her before she hits her head.

 30. Almas House

    Okay! Status report, brain: we''re inside Autumn''s house, she''s mutating into a monster like I am, she is in her underwear and I am touching her, she is very soft, and oh gosh oh no oh beans she''s unconscious she fell unconscious aaaaah that''s really really bad!!!

    Status confirmed: this problem is way too big for a stupid little Hannah to handle on her own. I whip out my phone and call Ida.

    "Did you fuck it up already?" she says as soon as she answers.

    "I showed her my fingers and she fainted and now she''s unconscious and I don''t know what to do!"

    "Oh fuck, alright, I''ll be there in a sec. She''s breathing, right? Did she hit her head?"

    Uhh oh geez that''s a good question!? Wait, yeah, she''s breathing, her diaphragm is moving, her heart is beating. I can''t see those things yet but I still know them somehow.

    "Yeah, she''s breathing. And I caught her head before she could hit anything."

    "Alright, save the panic then, she''ll be fine. See you soon."

    She hangs up on me, leaving me along with a cute girl under my arm. Goddess dangit I am blushing so hard. I need to be focusing, but all I can think about is the fact that I''m kneeling down here with her, my arm across her back, and cut it out brain, do something useful! Though I mean¡­ I guess there''s nothing I can do other than make sure she doesn''t stop breathing, at least as far as I know. If she''s not injured, she''ll probably wake up on her own.

    Just like that, her eyes flutter open. They bulge upon seeing me for a moment, but then suddenly narrow. Autumn glances around and frowns at me.

    "...You two had better not been snogging or something," she grumbles.

    "What?" I blink. Oh, right, this is probably Jet. "No! She fainted. I had to catch her."

    "Alright, well, let go of me. I''m f¡ª"

    "I''m here," Ida grunts, peeking her head through the doorway and glancing up and down at Autumn''s body. "Woah! Nice."

    "Who the fuck is this?" Jet growls. "Did Alma invite you in?"

    "I invited her in, Jet," I say. "Because again, you fell unconscious. I freaked out a little. She knows magic, too."

    Jet opens her mouth to protest as she sits up on her own, scooting away from me, but then she sighs.

    "Okay, fine. Thank you for doing whatever you thought you needed to do to help me. Fainting definitely isn''t normal for us, but we have lost a lot of blood today. Also: this is your fault, isn''t it? Fuck you."

    Shakily, she gets to her feet, twisting to look at her back in the bathroom mirror. Oh beans and rice that pose does wonderful things to her muscles aaaah oh no Hannah stop looking. Jet''s hand-sized, still-budding wings wiggle, and she grimaces. Crap, say something, say something!

    "I mean¡­ I dunno if it''s my fault?" I hedge. "Though it''s either my fault or the Goddess'' fault, I guess."

    "The same goddess that turned you into swiss cheese for wasting a few seconds of her time?" Jet asks.

    "Uh, that one, yeah."

    "I think I''ll blame you, then," she grunts. "Safer that way. So what the fuck happened?"

    "Uh¡­ I mean, it looks like you''re probably a Transmutation mage, like me," I tell her. "So¡­ now you get to suffer. Sorry!"

    "Oh my god, Hannah, what the fuck kind of encouragement is that?" Ida says, bursting into a series of giggles. "This is why she fainted, isn''t it?"

    "Goddess," I correct her. "And I''ve had weeks to get over this, sorry. Like, I know it''s kind of inconsiderate, but it''s hard to not be excited about having someone else who understands what I''m going through."

    "I don''t think I do," Jet grunts. "I only dealt with half of this. Alma had the¡­ initial effects happen to her. I just cleaned up the blood."

    "You want me to help with that?" I ask. "I have a cleaning spell."

    "Of course you do," Jet grumbles.

    "Sorry, I''m a little behind on the story here," Ida chimes in. "Who''s Alma?"

    "My headmate," Jet grimaces, glancing away. "I have DID."

    "Oh. Cool," Ida shrugs.

    "In my case it really isn''t," Jet mutters, but she smirks a bit as she says so. "I''m Jet, by the way."

    "Ida," Ida nods. "I''m Hannah''s competent friend."

    "Well good, because she sure fucking needs one."

    Hey! Brendan''s competent. ¡­Otherwise, fair.

    "I''m sorry, can we stop roasting me for a moment and deal with the magical transformation stuff?" I groan. "I feel like that might be a better use of our time."

    "Deal with it how?" Jet challenges. "Judging by your entire fucking body, I assume you don''t have a way to reverse this. The help I wanted from you is for you to talk to Alma and explain what''s going on so she''ll calm down, but apparently whatever you did just made her pass out and swap back to me again, and I sure as hell don''t have a plan!"

    "I don''t know how to calm her down!" I yelp. "I don''t know how to calm me down! I have like five panic attacks a week because of this crap! I can give you tips on how to cover up, but¡­"

    "We don''t need tips on how to cover up, we have plenty of experience with that," Jet snaps. "What we need is some idea of how to control this."

    "I don''t know how to control Transmutation magic!" I fire back. "Mine just¡­ goes!"

    "Wait," Ida says. "Both of you calm down. Let''s back up on that, Hannah. You''re not controlling your Transmutation magic?"

    "No! You think I want to look like this?"

    "Then are you certain Jet is a Transmutation mage?"

    My mouth falls open, but no words come out of it. I¡­ surely not, right? This couldn''t be¡­ no. Oh no, it could. Back when Jet found me out and I tried to channel my Transmutation spell to heal myself, nothing seemed to happen but I was definitely doing something. Jet even said that she felt tingly. I ended up figuring out that my self-changing spell wasn''t only Transmutation magic, but that doesn''t mean I wasn''t casting anything. It just means I was casting something that I wasn''t trying to cast. Is this my fault? Is this really my fault!?

    "Aura Sight," I invoke, the Goddess licking her lips with anticipation as the knowledge floods into my mind: Light. Jet''s aura feels like Light, Pneuma, and a background hint of Barrier. She absolutely has magic, but none of it is Transmutation. No. No, no, no no no no!

    "I¡­ I''m contagious," I whisper in horror. "I did this to you. Oh Goddess, Jet, I''m so sorry."

    "Please warn us before you do the divine invoking thing," Ida shudders. "She always fucking touches me, ugh."

    "Sorry!"

    "Wait, stop apologizing for a second," Jet presses. "Just explain. What did you do?"

    "I¡­ I just used a spell to figure out what kind of magic you have," I tell her. "And you don''t have Transmutation! This has to be because of the magic you got exposed to on Saturday!"

    Jet groans, running one hand through her hair which kinda looks like she''s lathering it with shampoo, which of course my brain automatically connects to shower and the concept of a naked Autumn and oh dear my mental image of naked Autumn is concerningly clear, spatial sense why are you doing this please stop now is not the time!

    "Yeah, okay, I figured it was something like that," Jet grumbles. "I''d be real fucking pissed at you if you weren''t my only lifeline here. I know I said I didn''t want to be involved, but I guess I don''t have a choice now, so¡­ fuck it. Tell me everything. Then stick around and tell Alma everything when she swaps in, ideally without making her pass out this time."

    "S-sure," I nod. "But, um, could you put some clothes on first?"

    "I''m sorta covered in blood," Jet points out.

    I quickly flex my Order magic, pull all the lingering stains off of her back and bra, and drop all the gathered flakes of dried blood into the toilet.

    "There," I announce. "Clean."

    Jet blinks, checks herself over, and then throws her arms up in exasperation before stomping past us to presumably go find something to put on.

    "Shit, I want that spell," Ida whines.

    "I can probably teach it to you," I shrug.

    "For real?"

    "Yeah, I''ve named it so I can share it," I confirm. "We should take it slow, though. Invoking magic can still kill you if you do it wrong."

    "But it''s a cleaning spell, Hannah! That''s so useful! Totally worth it."

    "I guess so," I agree. "I really want your repair spell, too. I can''t repair things."

    "Oh, about that," Ida says, smugly putting her hands on her hips. "It''s also a healing spell."

    "Seriously?" I ask. "Your magic is nuts. All the more reason to want it, now."

    "I dunno¡­" Ida says, smirking mischievously. "I really like having these cool spells to myself. They get less special if other people have them, you know?"

    "Well, rest assured, it''s your spell," I tell her. "You will always be the most powerful user of it. I''ll be casting a drastically weaker version if you do choose to share it."

    "Oh, that''s less lame then," Ida nods. "Still though, is that how this whole mage thing works? We just get free magic and then incestuously leak it all to every other mage we know like a sewage-borne infection until everyone''s a god?"

    "Uh¡­ no," I tell her. "It takes most people a really long time to name a new spell, let alone learn someone else''s, and you can''t actually learn most people''s spells. You need to have the same or complementary elements. Like, while you can learn my Order spell, you won''t be able to learn my Space spell, and Brendan''s an Art mage so we won''t be able to learn his magic at all and vice-versa."

    Wait, shoot, should I have said ''her?'' I didn''t even think about¡­ oh no, Brendan told me to keep it a secret anyway. Stay the course, Hannah!

    "Aw," Ida frowns. "So I kind of miss out because I''m pure Order, huh? What about Autumn, can we learn whatever spells she gets?"

    "Well, one of her elements was Pneuma, so she can certainly learn¡­"

    I trail off, my eyes going wide with horror. Oh fuck, I didn''t even think about that before.

    "Uh, you okay?" Ida asks.

    "Autumn''s a Pneuma mage!" I hiss, grabbing Ida by the shoulders in panic.

    "Yeah, okay, cool. Why are you freaking out about that?"

    "That''s soul magic! Mind control stuff! We could be in serious danger!"

    "As opposed to danger from literally anything else involving magic?" Ida asks. "Come on, I seriously doubt Autumn knows how to cast, and if she did, why would she want to cast on us? You''re overreact¡ª"

    "Don''t!" I snap at her furiously, and she goes still. "Don''t say I''m overreacting. You''ve never been mind raped. You don''t get to talk."

    Ida stares up at me for a moment, then nods slowly, gently pushing my arms off her shoulders.

    "Okay," she says. "Then here''s what we do: I''ll go out to the car and wait. When you''re done in there, you come out alone, without her, and I''ll heal you when you get to me. That should get rid of any mind control."

    I hesitate, stepping away from her. I hadn''t meant to raise my voice or snap at her like that. I guess out of anyone to lose my cool at, I''m glad it was Ida. She''s not even fazed.

    "...How would you know whether or not your healing spell gets rid of mind control?" I ask. "That seems like a pretty big stretch."

    "Hannah, please," Ida dismisses. "You''re friends with the best, remember? It''ll work. Trust me."

    I hesitate. I really, really don''t like this plan.

    "The alternative is for us to both scarper, right now, and leave Autumn to deal with this shit without an explanation," Ida reminds me.

    Dang it, she''s right. I''ve been burned by a Pneuma mage before, but¡­ just being a Pneuma mage doesn''t automatically mean you mind control people, right? Pneuma is soul magic. Maybe it helps her with her own soul or something. It could let her swap between her two selves more easily! Yeah, it''s probably just that. ¡­Or is that what I would think if I was being mind controlled!?

    ¡­Ugh, it doesn''t matter. I don''t think I can bring myself to leave Autumn in the lurch. I either have to trust her to not be that sort of person or trust Ida to be strong enough to save me. I can do both. I hope.

    "Okay," I agree. "See you later, Ida. I''ll text you if I need you."

    "If you ask me to come inside I''ll assume you''re compromised," Ida warns. "You know I''m not falling for anything stupid, so don''t try it."

    "Understood," I nod.

    She nods back and departs. I take a deep breath and let it out slowly. It''s fine. It''ll all be fine.

    "Already plotting without me, huh?" Jet asks behind me, causing me to let out a very undignified scream and scramble into some semblance of a fighting stance before remembering that we had that entire conversation in the middle of her house. She''s returned from putting on a tank top and shorts because of course she has, dressing oneself doesn''t take very long.

    I take a deep breath, calming myself as best I can. Ida''s right, Autumn probably knows nothing about the kinds of magic she can do. Should I hide it from her? ¡­No, wait, that''s stupid, that always backfires. Honesty is the best policy, as always.

    "Kinda, yeah," I admit. "You have a really, really scary kind of magic, a kind I''ve been heavily traumatized by. I needed to work something out with Ida so I don''t just freak out and leave."

    Her eyebrows raise.

    "Oh. Huh. Alright. Something powerful?" she asks.

    "Something subtle," I answer, shaking my head. "There are a bunch of types of magic, but the one you have that I''m afraid of is Pneuma. It''s soul magic, and a guy used it to mind control me into being a slave once. I''m very much not over it."

    "Uh, holy shit, I''d imagine not?" Jet says, her eyes going wide. "That sounds super fucked up. I never want to use that kind of power."

    I let out a slow breath.

    "Well¡­ it''s really reassuring to hear you say that," I admit. "But the thing about mind control is that I have to second-guess everything I think about anything, so¡­"

    "So shit''s fucked, I got you," Jet nods. "Look, I don''t know anything about any of this stuff, but the last thing I wanna do is cause problems. The way I see it, you''re in control here. You say jump, I''ll say how high, because someone basically just threw me into a goddamned nuclear reactor room and I have nothing but your instructions to go by to prevent a complete meltdown."

    "Alright," I nod. "I guess¡­ I''ll start with the basic warnings and work from there?"

    "Sure," Jet nods back. "Use me as practice for explaining all this to Alma. You wanna sit down? Have you had lunch?"

    Aw turds on toast I left the KFC Ida got me in her car.

    "Um, yeah, food would be nice, thank you. Um, I''m a carnivore, though."

    "Well I''m not a vegan so I can probably find something for you to eat," Jet smirks, and I swear I see her too-long ears wiggle a little bit.

    Her home is a lot smaller than mine, with no second story and a pretty cramped kitchen-living room combo. It''s also kind of messy, with rough carpet that clearly used to be a much lighter shade and a concerning amount of dust over everything. I can''t help but magically sweep it up as I make my way over to an old couch and sit down after giving it an extra big blast of magic and shoving the huge clump of I-don''t-want-to-guess-what-it-all-is out a nearby window. Jet frowns at the sight, but doesn''t comment.

    "Okay¡­" I say, gathering my thoughts. "I guess the best place to start is the Goddess. She gave you a soul at some point, and that soul lets you use magic. But the soul is ultimately part of Her power, and to use your spells at their strongest you have to invoke Her. That''s what happens when I say a spell out loud, and as you saw¡­ there are some pretty severe consequences for doing so incorrectly."

    "Right," Jet nods. "Magic is super dangerous, check."

    "Using your magic without invoking the Goddess'' attention is both possible and pretty safe, though. I was told the magic you get is based on who you are, and while I can''t really confirm that, I know people generally aren''t ever hurt by their own spells, even if those spells are extremely destructive. Like, I know somebody who has disintegration magic. She can just remove matter from existence entirely, but she hasn''t so much as lost a finger."

    "Okay, with you so far," Jet says, grabbing a pan and setting it to heat up on the stove.

    "There are a bunch of different magical elements, and you have three, which is apparently really rare. Pneuma, like I said, plus Light and a little bit of Barrier, though that one feels way weaker than your other two."

    "Those are some weird names," Jet grunts. "Alma would know more about this shit than I would, but I''ve never heard of ''barrier magic'' before. I''ve heard of Light, but that one''s a huge surprise, frankly. Call me an edgelord but I''d have assumed I''d get Dark, if anything."

    "Oh, um, I mean you might have?" I tell her. "Light magic encompasses anything you do with light. So making it, altering it, or removing it. Darkness as a concept is inherent to Light."

    "Well fuck, I guess I''m an edgelord after all," she sighs, dropping some things into the pan and letting them sizzle. Whatever it is, it smells salty and delicious.

    "Maybe!" I respond. "I have no idea, honestly. But the thing is, you probably will. The magic you get should resonate with you, and you''ll be able to call it pretty instinctively. From my and Ida''s experience, you''ll be able to do it even without much practice. It just¡­ feels right, y''know? And the more you use it, the better you''ll understand it, and the stronger you''ll be able to make it. At least, I think that''s how it works. Some of that is conjecture, but I''m learning to trust my instincts when it comes to magic."

    "And is that why my body''s all fucked up now?" Jet asks. "Because you started using spells instinctively, without understanding or practice?"

    She says it so mildly, like it''s a comment on the weather rather than an accusation that I have permanently and fundamentally destroyed her life due to my carelessness. The words push an ache into my chest, sparking the eternal flame of guilt ever brighter.

    "...Essentially, yes," I admit quietly. "I''m sorry."

    She doesn''t respond, focusing on whatever she''s cooking for a while, the crackle of the skillet turning what would be an awkward silence into merely an awkward delay. After a few minutes the noise stops and with a clink of silverware she''s heading my way with two plates. She hands me a greasy, sausage-filled omelet that sets my mouth immediately watering. Her own omelet seems to have a lot more ingredients: I see mushrooms, peppers, and onions at a glance, and it makes me long for them. But ultimately, while I can probably digest them, I know they wouldn''t actually taste how they used to. Those flavors just don''t register on my tongue anymore. I dig into my eggs and sausage, however, and it''s beauty in my mouth. What the heck, how is this so good?

    "This is delicious," I say, quickly swallowing another bite.

    "Uh, thanks I guess," Jet shrugs. "I just made it because it''s fast and easy."

    "Well, I usually eat raw eggs for breakfast, so this is worlds better!"

    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

    Jet stares at me for a moment.

    "You should stop eating raw eggs for breakfast," she says patiently.

    I''m definitely not going to do that.

    "You''re probably right," I agree honestly.

    Jet eats a lot slower than I do, using a knife and fork to carefully take apart the fluffy eggy goodness and eat it piece by piece. Out of sheer awkward energy, I purposefully try to slow down, but since I don''t really chew things I instead have to stand up and ask where the glasses are so I can get us water. That and the occasional slow sip wastes enough time that I can keep pace with Jet''s slow eating speed. I don''t want to pressure her to go faster!

    About halfway through her food, though, Jet seems to stop eating entirely, pausing mid-cut with a knife to blink a few times. She quickly glances around, though the confusion the action implies is expertly hidden from her face. When she finally glances up and looks at me, her eyes widen ever so slightly. She swallows, even though no food is currently in her mouth.

    This isn''t Jet anymore, is it?

    "Autumn?" I hedge, since the last time I called her ''Alma'' she kind of freaked out at me.

    "Hannah," she nods, staring really obviously at my teeth. "Hey."

    "Sorry for scaring you earlier," I blurt.

    "I¡­ yeah," she says dumbly. "Sorry for¡­ getting scared. I mean, it''s still you, right?"

    "It''s still me," I nod. "I''ve, uh, pretty much been like this the whole time."

    "Yeah," she says, seemingly to herself. "That makes a lot of sense. The blood in the bathroom."

    "Yeah, that¡­ was my teeth falling out. Not a fun time."

    "I bet," she agrees. I see the straps of her tanktop shift a little, and I know instinctively that she''s wiggling her stubby wings. "I haven''t had a fun morning, myself."

    "You seem to be a lot calmer now," I point out.

    She''s quiet for a moment before answering.

    "Jet was calm," she eventually says. "Jet¡­ came to terms with stuff while we shifted over. I still kind of have that mood now that I''m me."

    I nod, not really understanding but wanting to be supportive anyway. Something certainly feels different about her that I can''t put my finger on. Beyond the fact that her personality is different, I mean. But it''s nothing physical, I don''t think, so what could¡­ oh! I focus on her with my still-active Aura Sight, and sure enough her Barrier magic suddenly feels way stronger and her Light magic feels barely there. The taste of Pneuma feels the same, though. Interesting.

    "Jet, uh, wanted me to explain some things to you," I say awkwardly. "Are you cool with that, or¡­?"

    She nods, resuming her meal, so I take a breath and get started. Sure enough, having done it with Jet first really does help, and I know some of the important things to emphasize and the stupid things to not say. Alma seems genuinely fascinated, a lot of the nerdy love for this kind of stuff that Brendan has coming through in her expression, but it''s tempered by hard-earned cynicism. Alma''s taste in fiction is considerably darker than Brendan''s, from what I''ve picked up, and she recently had her back explode in a fountain of blood this morning. She''s frightened, but she''s equally excited, and that gives me hope that things will be okay.

    "So the whole time we were on our date, you had the freaky hands and teeth and stuff," Alma clarifies.

    "That''s why I had a smoothie for lunch," I confirm. "So I could just stick the straw up through my mask without taking it off."

    "Ohhh my god, that makes so much sense. I was afraid you had an eating disorder!" she chuckles.

    "I was afraid that you''d think I had an eating disorder!" I grin back moments before my brain ticks backwards and replays the conversation a little. "...Wait, did you say ''date?''"

    "Uh¡­" Alma says, a blush forming on her face. "I mean¡­ I had fun? Until the whole mugging thing, anyway. I''d be down to, y''know, do something like that again. Assuming the government doesn''t find us and lock us up."

    Wait, really? Really!? Oh my gosh oh my gosh.

    "You''re cool with the whole ''I''m turning you into a literal monster'' thing?" I ask. "Because like, that''s a hundred percent my fault."

    "Well¡­ yeah, but you didn''t do it on purpose, right?" she hedges. "And, I mean, honestly I don''t know if I can complain about having wings. It''s scary as hell, but it''s not like I have a life to get screwed up by it, you know? I''ve just sorta been¡­ existing."

    Is that a good reason to be okay with it? That doesn''t seem like a good reason to be okay with it. She continues before I can comment though.

    "Are you okay with it?" Alma presses. "Like, you know about Jet, and¡­ y''know. I won''t always be around."

    "I mean, that''s fine?" I say. "I like Jet. I don''t think she wants to date me¡ª"

    "They don''t wanna date anybody," Alma grumbles.

    "Uh, yeah, and that''s her right I think? Or their right? I''m sorry, have I been using the wrong pronoun this whole time?"

    "Oh, not really," Alma shrugs. "She or they. Last I checked Jet''s fine with either."

    "Right, okay, so um¡­ Jet''s neat. I like her. I also like you. And I know you two would have to work out anything in the dating sphere, and¡­ well I mean, honestly, we should probably be talking about the whole magical transformation problem, not dating, but my point is that I''d be happy with whatever you guys work out. I assume I''d just be dating you but not Jet, and we''d have to work around that? That''s fine with me."

    "We should definitely be talking about the magical transformation problem," Alma agrees. "But that''s scary so let''s keep talking about dating."

    Oh gosh oh no she''s going to enable my bad habits why is that hot.

    "I don''t¡­ like getting close to people," Alma continues. "People scare me. Part of it is because Jet scares me. I barely even know them, but they run half my life. They''ve made some things better, and I''m grateful for that, but they''ve made some things a lot worse. Like, they''ve gotten us arrested and stuff, you know? They say they just want to help, but¡­ I don''t know. It''s scary, not being able to remember so much. I''m embarrassed about it and every time I have opened up about them it''s gone horribly. Nobody seems to get it. But¡­ you kinda do."

    Huh?

    "Uh, I assure you that I do not," I tell her. "I have no idea what you''re going through, I just¡­ y''know. Take what little I do understand and be polite about it. Jet explained how you two want to be treated and so I''m just rolling with that."

    "Well, most people don''t even do that much," Alma shrugs. "So thank you. It means more than you think just to hear stuff like being called ''you two.'' To not be lumped in with them. I appreciate that a lot."

    "Oh," I say dumbly. "Well, uh, no problem I guess."

    "Anyway, that''s¡­ all I wanted to say," Alma shrugs, blushing slightly. "I really appreciate you reaching out to me over lunch and inviting me to do things and I''m really happy you turned out to be so nice and it feels maybe a little fast but I definitely find you attractive so if things work out with Jet then, um, yes. I''d very much like to date."

    Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!!! Oh Goddess oh Goddess oh Goddess oh Goddess a cute girl thinks I''m attractive and wants to date me!!!

    "I¡­ even the monster bits?" I manage to ask.

    She hesitates a bit at that, which causes me to briefly panic, but then it passes and she gives me a shy smile.

    "Well I mean I''m not going to say it isn''t a little weird¡­" she admits quietly. "But, um, it isn''t like I''m not in the same boat now! We can be weird together!"

    She wiggles her ears at that, and I can''t help but bust out into a small chuckle.

    "Well," I say, "that''s amazing and I''d love to date you too! In fact, I''ll probably hyperventilate and die later just thinking about it. But speaking of things we need to talk to Jet about, I do want to mention some other details about your magic."

    "Oh?" she asks, leaning back a bit. "I''m definitely excited to try it out."

    "Well, interestingly, I think it''s likely you and Jet have different spells," I say. "I don''t know if you each have your own soul or if you have a shared soul that manifests differently, but you have a really strong Barrier aura and a really weak Light aura, while Jet has the opposite. You both have an equally strong Pneuma aura."

    "That''s the scary mind control one, right?" she asks, leaning back in her seat.

    Yes. Yes, it is the scary mind control one. The one that had me wrapped around a man''s finger for weeks without ever knowing it. The one where I have to constantly remind myself not to think about the fact that Alma has it, and then just panic about whether or not I''m being mind controlled into not thinking about it instead. It''s that kind of magic.

    "That''s¡­ correct," I confirm, swallowing nervously. "Though it''s possible your Pneuma magic just manages your soul, or maybe it manages the fact that you have two souls, or maybe it does something else entirely. There''s supposedly a lot of things Pneuma mages can do that have nothing to do with mind control."

    And I''ll just have to keep telling myself that to stave off the panic attack. It''ll be fine.

    "Well, I can figure out my Barrier spells and ignore the Pneuma spells, right?"

    "Uh¡­ hypothetically maybe? But practically speaking, no. If you''re anything like me you''ll stumble into using all your spells in one way or another. Plus, there''s always the chance that you don''t have any pure-Barrier spells and all your magic is a combination of Pneuma and Barrier."

    "What kind of magic would that even be?" Alma wonders.

    "Well, I dunno, that''s for you to find out," I shrug. "It''s your magic."

    "My magic," she repeats, awe filling her voice. "Wow. So Barrier is like¡­ what? Walls and stuff?"

    "Walls, zones, areas," I list, nodding. "It''s the antithesis of Motion. It''s about halting, preventing, defending, or doing something in a particular chunk of space. Why? Do you feel something? Magic should be pretty instinctive if you''re looking for it."

    "Kinda, yeah," Alma nods. "But uh, shouldn''t I practice this alone? What if you get hurt?"

    "Well first of all, fair''s fair on the ''magical experimentation in public'' thing. Second of all, I''d rather be here to help and share what I know than to just leave you to figure it out alone. And third of all, if things do go really badly, I have a healer on standby in your driveway."

    "Wait, what?" Alma asks. "A healer?"

    I blink. Did she¡­ oh right, she wasn''t around when Ida was inside!

    "Another mage friend," I tell her. "Her name''s Ida. She drove me here."

    "Ida? Ida Kelly? Like the popular bitch?"

    Geez, why does everybody hate Ida? I mean, I guess she does hang out with a bunch of bullies most of the time. And she''s so arrogant she literally has magic based on that. And she insults people constantly in basically every conversation. Okay maybe that was a stupid question.

    "Yeah, that Ida," I nod. "She''s really not all that bad once you get to know her. Y''know, if she likes you. But she''ll probably like you! She seemed to get along with Jet."

    "Hannah, you are literally the only person I know who gets along with both me and Jet."

    "Well, sure, but how many people do you know?" I ask. "Like, actually know."

    "...Low blow," Alma pouts, and I chuckle.

    "Hey, I have¡­ four friends, counting you," I assure her. "And counting alternate universes. So, y''know, I''m throwing stones from a glass house over here."

    "Wait, alternate universes?" Alma asks. "That sounds like a really really important thing that you just sort of skipped over there."

    "Uh¡­ yeah, I''m an extradimensional spider on a world tree sometimes," I shrug. "It''s kind of a whole thing, I''m not sure I wanna get into it right now."

    Her jaw drops open and she takes a moment to try and figure out words to say before closing her mouth again. Open, closed. Open, closed.

    "...Okay I really want you to get into it though, that just sounds¡­ what? What the fuck? Other universes?"

    "Look, it''s¡­ it''s a lot, and a really important friend died over there recently and I just really don''t want to think about it while I''m having a nice time, okay? I promise I''ll explain later."

    She huffs out a sigh, but nods.

    "Alright, I''m sorry," she says. "But now that I''m going monster mode with you, you should at least answer this: is that gonna happen to me?"

    Uh. Huh. That is a very good question I should have thought of sooner.

    "I don''t¡­ think so?" I hedge. "I mean, you''re not a Space mage. But if you do, it should happen whenever you sleep, so we''ll know by tomorrow I guess. In the meantime, are you gonna test out your magic or not?"

    "Okay, okay," Alma grumbles leaning forward in her chair enough for me to see the cloth of her shirt wiggle as her wings stretch out from being squished. "God, this feels so weird."

    "Goddess," I correct. "I dunno if She cares about being correctly addressed, but I say better safe than sorry, especially when we''re about to test magic for the first time."

    "Goddess, okay," Alma nods. "...Fuck, religion is real."

    "Right!?" I exclaim.

    Alma lets out a huff of air that basically says "I''m way too overwhelmed to think about that right now," (which is a huge mood) before getting up and heading towards the center of the room, away from the couch. Then she closes her eyes, focusing on whatever feeling she perceives as her newly-budded magic. I wait quietly, letting her focus. When she finally opens her eyes, they open wide, an awed breath escaping her lips as she glances around, slack-jawed like she just got teleported to the Grand Canyon. I, too, glance around, but only because as far as I can tell, nothing whatsoever has changed.

    "Uh, you okay, Alma?" I ask.

    "Hannah?" Alma calls out as if she doesn''t know where I am. She is maybe five feet in front of me.

    "Yep, I''m here," I say. "Everything looks exactly the same to me."

    "Wait, really?" she asks. "Not to me! I hear you, but I don''t see you!"

    She steps towards my voice and puts her hand out, seeming to come into contact with something invisible like a gosh dang mime. I stand up and cautiously walk towards her, reaching out my own hand to touch hers.

    "What do you see?" I ask, and then I run into something. My outstretched hand stops barely four inches away from hers, and a ripple in the air blooms outwards from my touch, the crest of the wave revealing a solid wall wherever it passes. The wall is white with red, blue, and pastel pink speckles, with stripes on the trim where it intersects the floor and ceiling.

    To be clear, I''m talking about where it intersects with the floor and ceiling of this new room, because I realize suddenly that I''m walking on tile, not carpet like I was before, and the ceiling is some sort of giant painting, depicting what looks like part of a face. I can''t make it out, though, because the ripple that emitted when I touched the wall has lost most of its coherency, vanishing before revealing much and leaving most of the ceiling as a ghostly, fading apparition. I take my hand away and the entire wall starts to fade, but even after it disappears entirely it seems to still be there. I reach forward and touch it again, the ripple revealing its appearance once more.

    Notably, what I can see of the wall intersects with some of the chairs in the room, passing through them as if they weren''t even there. I take my hand away and let it vanish again, allowing me to see Alma wandering around on the other side of it. I can only assume she sees the building in its entirety, and as she moves towards the table in the middle of the room I get the distinct impression that she''s seeing the magical building instead of the real one. I almost call out to her to stop her from walking into the table, but I''m too slow and she literally walks into the table. As in she steps directly through it, not interacting with it in the slightest. I wave my hand at a nearby chair and smack directly into it, though. What the frizzle is going on?

    "This is so cool," Alma breathes, looking up and then starting to walk up a set of invisible stairs, which is about my sanity limit regarding this whole thing. I punch the closest invisible wall, hard, causing a powerful ripple to emit outwards and reveal the entire room to me. The picture on the ceiling is of a sleeping face, half of it Autumn''s and half of it a dark mess of broken mechanical parts barely in the shape of a face at all. More importantly, though, it also reveals the room''s exits. I take the one that I think will lead me towards Alma, but I can''t really tell. My spatial sense is just as confused as the rest of me.

    "This is awesome!" she announces. "It''s like a giant house that I made with my mind!"

    "It''s super freaky from my perspective!" I call back, thumping another wall as I step into an area I can no longer see. This room does have chairs, a table, and couches, but they aren''t in any of the same spots as the actual chairs, table, and couches, which I can also see. "You walked through a table and now you''re going up stairs that don''t exist!"

    "If they don''t exist, then how am I walking on ''em?" she challenges, a huge grin on her face. "Ever think about that? Huh?"

    The current magic room fades away from my view just in time for me to witness Alma start phasing straight through the ceiling as she ascends. Oh gosh, that''s probably not good.

    "Alma, stop!" I yell up at her. "You''re going through the roof! People might be able to see you!"

    "Woah, shit, really?" she asks, backing down a couple stairs. "But I''m like¡­ indoors."

    "Yeah, and you''re darn lucky the giant magical house you''ve apparently created is invisible to other people, because otherwise they''d see that."

    "...Oh," she says, blinking in surprise. "Yeah, that''s¡­ a very good point. So you can''t see all this, huh?"

    "I can see a little of it at a time, if I touch something," I inform her. "But I can also still see and interact with the original room, whereas you just walk right through it."

    I finally make my way to the base of the magical staircase and meet Alma on the way down. She waves at me, adorably excited about this entire thing, and out of curiosity I ascend the stairs myself after kicking one to make it all visible. I don''t see the end of the stairwell, of course, because from my perspective it just eventually intersects with the real house''s ceiling. Sure enough, I can only walk up a few stairs because the ceiling is still tangible to me.

    "You can''t see this, huh?" I ask, pressing on the ceiling with one hand.

    "No, you just look like a mime," Alma shrugs, reaching up and passing her hand straight through. "I don''t see anything here."

    "See, that''s what it looks like to me when I watch you go up the stairs or touch walls or whatever," I say.

    "Weird," Alma says. "So you''re affected by the real world, and you''re also affected by anything my magic creates, but you can''t see anything my magic creates unless you touch it or something near it, whereas I can''t see or touch anything real. That about sum it up?"

    "Yeah," I nod. "This is wild. How big is this place?"

    "I have no idea!" Alma says.

    "Well, you should probably get rid of it for now, then," I tell her. "If it''s bigger than your house then other people might accidentally run into it."

    "Oh, that makes sense," Alma agrees. "How do I do that?"

    "What?" I ask automatically, since the question is a little too scary to process.

    "How do I turn it off?" Alma asks.

    "Um," I respond eloquently. "You just¡­ turn it off. Aren''t you sustaining it with your magic?"

    "Uh¡­ not really? I just kinda used it, and it''s here now."

    Oh dear. That''s probably bad.

    "...We should figure out how to leave," I suggest.

    Alma nods rapidly and we walk off the staircase together, me mostly just following her in an attempt to not run into anything I can''t see. At some point she just straight up walks through a wall, though, leaving me completely in the lurch.

    "I can''t go that way!" I yelp. "Not unless you want me to cause a lot of property damage!"

    "Don''t damage the real house!" she snaps back. "But you can try to damage the magic house if you want. It''d be useful to see what happens."

    I nod and flick a Spacial Rend active on my fingers, earning me a quiet ''woah'' from the other side of the wall as a true void of location caresses and extends from the tips of my fingers. I carve into the magical wall, my spell cutting through it like it isn''t even there¡­ a bit more literally than I expected, since it straight up just doesn''t interact with the magical house, almost like it really isn''t there. But¡­ it definitely is. I can''t cross this barrier.

    I gulp. Something about Spacial Rend not being able to cut it makes me really uncomfortable, for some reason. Spacial Rend has always been inviolable, utterly overwhelming in its capacity to cut anything. Even as someone who hates violence and fighting, that''s always been a comfort to me. When I do fight, I know I''m the one bringing the sharpest knife. My Space magic has been all I ever needed to come out on top, but against Alma I''m completely impotent.

    There''s probably a lot of magic that counters mine, now that I think about it. I''ve just been arrogant and lucky. I lean against the wall, soaking in that frightening revelation when suddenly the magical room disappears, leaving me supported by nothing and sprawling face-first into the floor.

    "Figured it out!" Alma calls out, and I hear the back door of the house opening as she lets herself in. "I had to find the exit to the magic house and leave. It disappeared when I did. I don''t think it can exist if I''m not inside it."

    "You have an insane spell there, Alma," I say, getting up off the ground and walking back into the living room to meet up with her. She stiffens a bit when I call her that, but she quickly relaxes.

    "Yeah," she agrees. "It''s pretty nuts. I''m already getting a ton of cool ideas on how to use it. I just need to see how well I can control the size and shape¡­"

    "Just try not to get caught, okay?" I warn her. "We still don''t know what happens if we get caught, and your spell is pretty huge."

    "Yeah, I get it. Don''t break the masquerade. Ugh, it''s going to be a pain trying to focus on school with all this happening."

    Yeah, welcome to my life. Also: holy crap, school! I totally forgot about school! I grab my phone and check the time, feeling despair take me as I see fifth period has already started. I''m going to miss two entire classes! My perfect attendance record! Noooo! What if they call my mom? No, no, that''s crazy, there''s no way the school will call my house for just two absences, right? Besides, it''ll be too awkward to go back now. I still need to head to work, though.

    "Welp, um, I guess it seems like you''re doing pretty well then?" I hedge. "I hope I helped."

    "You did, really," Alma nods. "Thank you, Hannah. You have to get going?"

    "Yeah," I confirm. "Sorry."

    "It''s fine. Really," she says, smiling. "This was a bit more traumatizing than the magical fantasy awakening I always dreamed about, but I''m feeling a lot better thanks to you."

    "Good," I smile. "Great. Talk to you tomorrow?"

    "Talk to you tonight, maybe?" she hedges. "Over text, I mean. If I have something cool to say."

    "Okay, but plausible deniability is the name of the game over anything a particularly unscrupulous version of the NSA could monitor," I warn her.

    "So just¡­ the regular NSA?" Alma asks.

    "Yeah."

    She lets out a small chuckle and waves goodbye, so I wave back and turn to depart, blushing so hard I might burst. This was fun. A lot more fun than I expected a call for help to be. Also I maybe have a girlfriend now aaaaaaaaaa!

    I exit Autumn''s house and find Ida sitting in her car tapping away on her phone, so I walk up to greet her.

    "Hey, Ida! I''m ba¡ª"

    "No Less Than Perfect," the Goddess says with Ida''s lips, and then I feel Her power wash over me, into me, through me, flowing and caressing every inch of chitin and skin, soothing all my aches, checking each and every wrinkle in my brain for something out of place. It''s a borderline orgasmic experience, and by the end of it I''m left feeling like I just got out of a two-week healing spa resort trip. No, better than that. Nothing hurts anymore, not even the slightest discomfort exists in my body, no matter how small. I feel energized, but in a healthy way, like I''ve just woken up from the best sleep of my life rather than just downed more than the recommended daily amount of Red Bull.

    I am stunned by the experience. I can''t move or speak, only bask in how¡­ how perfect I feel right now. And the frightening part about it is that the feeling isn''t going away. My body will hurt again later, I know this. I''ll get injured, wear and tear will accumulate, things will go wrong. But I have actually, physically been changed in such a way that at least for now? I don''t have those problems.

    "Hey, Hannah," Ida greets me, still looking at her phone. "So did I just wipe a bunch of mind control, or were you clean?"

    "H¡­ how?" I manage to breathe. "I thought¡­ Ida, you weren''t supposed to¡ª"

    "You said I shouldn''t name a spell until I fully, completely, one hundred percent understand it," Ida says, cutting me off. "But I don''t do anything less than a hundred percent. Of course I''m gonna get that shit first try."

    She finally looks up from her phone and smirks at me.

    "So?" she asks. "How was it?"

    "I¡­ indescribable," I manage, opening the passenger door and getting into her car. "Was that your repair spell? It''s¡­ it''s insane."

    "There are some major limitations, but nothing all that annoying," Ida shrugs. "You need to focus, though. Mind control?"

    "Huh? Oh! No, I don''t think so," I tell her, running back through my memories of Alma and I talking. "Yeah, I think we''re good. Nothing jumps out as suspicious to me."

    "Cool," Ida says, starting the car. "Well, now that we have this taken care of, you wanna hang out with me for a while?"

    "Uh¡­ I would, but I need to go to work," I admit.

    "You are a half-bug woman with a taste for raw meat and a magic spell that mutates people," Ida says. "You really, really don''t."

    "I-I can just not cast that spell!" I protest. "Look, if I break any more from my routine now my mom will find out and everything will go to hell from there. Let''s just drive around until school ends and then you can take me home."

    She sighs, but she backs out of the driveway anyway.

    "One of these days I will figure out how to seduce your stupid, dense ass," she grumbles.

    Wait. S-seduce!? Wait, she''s still¡­ oh gosh, oh geez.

    "I-I''d prefer you didn''t!" I sputter. "I think Alma and I might be dating now?"

    Ida gives me a suspicious side-eye, which is all the more uncomfortable given how fast she''s currently driving while not looking at the road.

    "You''re going to date Alma," she says like she''s talking to a particularly stupid child. "The girl with the magical element that you''re so traumatized by you nearly had a breakdown in the middle of her house."

    "She¡­ she makes like, soul houses with it, or something!" I protest. "She''s not that kind of person!"

    "Uh-huh," Ida grunts. "Have fun telling that to your panic attacks."

    No, it''s not¡­ it''s not like that! It''ll be fine! I just won''t think about it. Not thinking about trauma has always been my most reliable response to trauma. My phone buzzes, taking me away from my thoughts. See? Distractions are always the answer.

    It''s a text from my mom. My heart skips a beat, utter terror filling me at the prospect that yes, she must have been informed of my absence by the school. My life is over. Shakingly, I read the words.

    Your therapy appointment is this Saturday at 9:30am.

    Oh. Well. That''s much worse.

 31. Bird Mode

    "Hello, sir?" I ask, approaching a customer and pointing out the window. "Is that your car?"

    "My dog needs shade," he says with the kind of defensive tone that means yes, it is his car, and yes, he absolutely knows it''s not allowed to be parked there. I give him my best customer service smile, my voice so perfectly polite that it''s even less human than my body.

    "I''m afraid you''re blocking the storefront. I need to ask you to move your vehicle."

    "People can get around me," he argues.

    They shouldn''t have to go around you, you self-centered twit. What part of that do you not get? Sure, it''s not a huge imposition¡ªhe''s not in front of the handicap ramp, at least¡ªbut parking lots have parking stalls and we didn''t put any parking stalls in that direction for a reason. You''re in the way!

    Whatever. Simply asking him to conform to the rules is a flop, and an appeal to basic decency isn''t getting through to this guy. Time to change tactics to the good old ''nothing I can do about it, sorry!''

    "Apologies, sir, but the landlord owning the lot requires all cars exclusively be parked in stalls," I say demurely. "We''re not the only store in the plaza."

    He regards me with an irritated sneer, giving me the sort of ''are you stupid?'' facial expression that I quite desperately wish I was allowed to send right back his way. I have no idea who this guy is, just some jerk with short-cropped black hair, a hawkish nose, and the sort of clean-pressed business casual outfit one wears while telling themselves that they deserve every cent of the money they''re currently embezzling. I''ll forget his face in less than an hour.

    "You guys don''t allow me to bring my dog inside," he accuses, countering my plea with the classic ''completely change the subject instead of acknowledging my legitimate argument'' technique. "So I need to keep the car in the shade or he''ll overheat."

    "I''m afraid we can''t allow non-service animals into the building for allergy reasons, but you''re more than welcome to eat on the patio with your dog," I answer, blocking with the ''eminently reasonable alternative'' defense.

    "I don''t want to eat outside," he says simply, and I twitch. If you''re not going to go outside with your dog then don''t bring your dog, you absolute soggy-bread numpty! Screw this, it''s ultimatum time.

    "Well sir, I still have to insist that you move your car regardless," I tell him, politely but firmly. It''s the sort of voice that has an implied ''or we''ll call a truck to move it for you'' at the end.

    He glowers furiously, looking over my shoulder in an attempt to find someone in a fancy uniform to complain to in my stead. He locks eyes with my boss, but my boss just gives the man a very unimpressed look, glances to me, and raises a phone questioningly. That gets the man to finally get off his butt and go move his car. Finally! With a sigh, I head out of the dining room and return to my post. There are a bunch of orders that need bagging now, thanks to all that wasted time.

    "Thanks for handling that, Hannah," my boss smiles.

    "I want to eat that man," I grumble quietly. Then I go stiff with terror because I did not mean to say that out loud! Or think it! Or honestly believe it! Aaaaaah! My boss seems surprised for a moment, but then he just chuckles.

    "Brutal, but I understand the sentiment. You did good, though."

    Oh thank the Goddess I actually have a good boss.

    "We''re going to have a nasty review tomorrow," I say glumly.

    "And I''m going to turn the review into a Karen meme with my manager comment privileges," he shrugs. "Don''t worry about it."

    I manage half a smile, not that he can see it, and get back to work.

    "Incidentally," my boss continues, "next time you have a minute, would you come to the back? I wanna talk to you about some things. Nothing bad."

    Oh crap candles. You can''t just say ''nothing bad'' and expect me to believe it!

    "Sure," I confirm anyway. "No problem."

    He smiles, nods, and heads back to do whatever manager stuff he does when we''re not critically understaffed, which somehow we aren''t today. I get back to work, taking orders and bringing people food and just generally having a normal, easy day. In some ways it''s a nice change of pace from the usual hustle and bustle, but overall I feel like it''s leaving me with way too much time to think about the crazy nonsense that just happened.

    I have a magic spell that turns people into monsters and I accidentally used it on my crush but she still wants to date me. Every single thing in that sentence is just increasingly more ridiculous and unbelievable, but it''s somehow still all true! Why do I have a spell that turns people into monsters, though!? Spells are a reflection of who we are, right? This seems like the kind of thing Brendan would love more than I would. Oh, shoot, how''s Brendan going to react to this? Is he (or maybe she? Aaaaa!) going to ask me to use it on him? What would even happen if I did? I don''t know how this spell even works! Oh shoot, I don''t know how this spell works! What if I can''t control it any better than I can control my self-transformation spell? No, no no no. Hold on. Only Autumn is changing, and only Autumn was hit by me channeling my Transmutation magic. That''s very much evidence of an active, conscious effect. If I don''t cast it again, I won''t have any problems.

    ¡­It''s kind of extremely relieving to know that someone other than me is having these problems, though. I''m really looking forward to talking with Autumn about it more. To have someone that gets it. I feel bad for thinking that way, since I kind of ruined her entire life probably, but¡­ still. It''s nice. I kinda want to text her, but¡­ no, I''m at work. Also I''m supposed to go talk to my boss now that it''s slow. Oh shoot aaaaah I need to go talk to my boss!

    I head to the back, where a little inlet for a simple computer hides behind the walk-in fridge. The manager''s ''office,'' as much as it can be called an office without even a cubicle wall to delineate it from the rest of the cramped restaurant. This is where the boss spends most of his time, doing General Manager stuff like fiscal reports and scheduling and how-do-you-do.

    "Hannah, hey!" he greets me as I approach, and I give him an awkward wave in response. "So, two questions for you."

    "Lay ''em on me, boss," I say with a casualness that I don''t at all feel.

    "Number one: your birthday is next week, right?"

    Wait, it is? Oh, fuck, it is! Goddess, I''m going to be an adult. I don''t like that at all. How does he know that? Wait, he knows everybody''s birthday, we have to give it to the company when we get hired.

    "Uh, I guess it is," I manage to reply, and he chuckles.

    "How old are you going to be?"

    Why are you asking me that!?

    "Eighteen, I suppose," I admit, my heart beating concerningly fast. Please don''t hit on me please don''t hit on me please don''t hit on me nooooooo.

    "Nice!" he grins. "I just noticed you were scheduled on that day, and I do actually get a budget to use the company card for ''team-building reasons,'' so do you want like¡­ cupcakes or something?"

    ¡­Is that why there are cupcakes here sometimes? I guess he has done that for other people, then. Probably not hitting on me. Calm down, Hannah, it''s just cupcakes.

    "Emphatically no," I say anyway. "I mean¡­ I guess I wouldn''t mind cupcakes, but I don''t want anyone to know it''s my birthday. You can just buy some treats and take all the credit for it if you want."

    He laughs and nods.

    "Okay, I can do that!" he agrees. "No problem. So the other reason I ask is that shift managers have to be eighteen. And I think if you want to start training for that starting this week, I could definitely use another manager over the summer."

    Oh? Oh! Oh dang! I''m getting promoted!? Oh heck yes, my mom''s gonna be so happy, she''ll get off my case for weeks!

    "I¡­ that''d be awesome," I agree, nodding in confirmation. "I''d be happy to."

    Assuming I''m still human enough to hold a job at the time, I mean.

    "Great!" he says. "You already know how to do every position, so that''s good. What we''re going to be focusing on is having you actually manage people. Stepping up into a position of leadership. You''re a very hard worker, but you tend to keep to yourself. When someone else isn''t doing their job, you step in to compensate for them or help out, which is great. But now I want you to try giving them advice or just reminding them of the rules rather than just doing everything for them."

    Oh crap that''s right, managers have to talk to people. I might even have to learn people''s names.

    "I''ll be letting people know that you''re training for a shift manager position so they don''t give you too much lip," my boss continues. "You''re not going to be the only person I''m training and the number of positions available will be based on the number of people who quit over the summer, so this isn''t a guarantee that you''re getting the job. But you do great with guests so if you work hard I''m sure you can pick up the skills for handling employees in no time. Okay?"

    "Yes sir," I say, though the truth is that dread is pooling in my belly. This breaks my work routine. I like my job as-is, just cleaning and dealing with customers and cooking and whatever needs doing at the time. Talking with patrons isn''t social interaction, it''s an itemized script that I''ve successfully memorized and perfected. I need a whole new playbook if I''m going to be expected to interact with my co-workers beyond the bare minimum necessary to do the job.

    Geez, I''m going to have to actually remember their names, and figure out the best way to present criticism to each of them, and I should probably learn some conversation topics that each person likes talking about that won''t require me to say very much, since if the managerial position is a competition it''s at least halfway a popularity contest because that''s how humans work. Should I start taking notes? Writing down the things I remember about everyone? I mean, that''s not going to be a very long list. Ugh, this seems like way too much work. I''d wing it, but how am I supposed to have an interesting conversation with someone outside the context of a hyperfocus?

    ¡­Wait. Is this why Teboho thought I was autistic?

    "Order up!"

    Ah, right, my job! Let''s just shove that thought into the box with the others. The fact that I get along with Brendan so well is because he''s cool and everyone else is lame and for no other reason. Not that¡­ y''know, not that it would be bad if I was autistic, I''m just. Not. Like a doctor or something probably would have noticed, right? My mom took me to a bunch of those as a kid.

    I spend the rest of my shift mostly doing my job like normal, attempting to work up the courage to talk to my co-workers and mostly failing. I can correct them and stuff, that''s pretty easy. Asking them to do things that are already part of their job rather than just doing it for them slots into my work routine without too much trouble, but it definitely isn''t making me any friends. I get a nasty glower when I ask the other front of house girl to help me clean tables instead of look at her phone. But what do I even do about that!? It''s a job, she''s here to work. Why is she mad about working?

    Whatever. Just weird human things, I guess. The shift isn''t so bad, all things considered. We even finish the closing routines in a reasonable amount of time thanks to not being understaffed. When I finally get home, I pull out my phone to find a bunch of texts from various people.

    Hats are against the dress code, right? Autumn asks.

    Oh shoot I think they are, I confirm. You need something for your ears, right? Hoodie and a headband?

    I look at my text from Brendan next.

    Hey so Ida has my number apparently and she says you have a TF-other spell???

    TF? I ask, and see him reply almost instantly.

    Transform/Transformation, he answers simply.

    Oh. Yeah. I don''t think I can control it though.

    Moving on! I have a text from Ida as well.

    i told tallboy about ur magic for shits. have fun

    Thanks, Ida.

    I was gonna tell him anyway, I send back. Ooh, I have a reply from Autumn!

    How are those not against dress code if hats are against dress code? she asks.

    I dunno, but I''ve seen tons of people wearing them so it''s probably fine? I answer.

    u kill anyone at work btw, Ida asks.

    No! I send back. I mean, I definitely wanted to, but that''s just retail!

    lol imagine having to work retail and not being born with twelve silver spoons in ur mouth. loser.

    Why am I friends with you???

    im hot as fuck

    I sigh.

    ¡­You''re high, aren''t you? I ask.

    bitch im sneering down at the sun

    I have a really colorful friend group, don''t I?

    Shit, that''s a problem, Brendan sends me. It''s not really the kind of spell you can experiment with safely, is it? If it''s anything like the magic changing you, it doesn''t have a reverse setting. I doubt it''s safer to not test it, though. Does it work on animals or do you have to use people?

    I don''t know and don''t intend to find out, I send back.

    I guess you''re right, I''ve seen a lot of people with hoods up, Autumn sends. Okay. I guess a hoodie for me and a headband for Jet? She''ll need it for gym class.

    Ah, okay, she''s Alma then. I had a feeling.

    I recommend both for you, I tell her. More layers is better than fewer. Redundancies in case of an accident. Also, bring medical supplies and extra clothes in your backpack in case you mutate more.

    Wait, am I going to mutate more???

    I have no idea, I answer honestly. I hit you with that spell days ago and you''re only starting to change now, though. Bring stuff just in case.

    hey hannah banana if i becum a monster will that make you more likely to fuck me or less be honest

    Okay, you know what? This is too many conversations at once.

    I''m making a group chat for magic stuff, I send all of them simultaneously. Use this to talk about things. Autumn, meet Brendan. Brendan, Autumn. I''m exhausted and need to pass out soon, but Brendan can help you plan out the things you''ll need if you''re going to school tomorrow.

    which is a TERRIBLE fuckign idea but what to i know im just the smartest and best at everything ever, Ida sends.

    I don''t want to have to explain to my dad why I missed two school days in a row, Alma answers.

    oh there''s two of them now fantastic

    Then Brendan sends me a three-paragraph diatribe in our personal text instead of the group chat and I decide to give up. I shut my phone off and collapse face-first onto my bed, waking up shortly afterwards as Kagiso shifts her weight in our cozy, cozy bedroll. Ah¡­ this is a nice way to wake up. Way, way better than I''m used to. No limb confusion, no mutation panic, just soft, warm cuddles. ¡­Wait, should I be doing this if I''m dating Alma? Hmm. I guess I''ll ask her about it. Whether it''s due to a biological incapability or just a weird quirk of our relationship, my feelings for Kagiso are strictly platonic¡­ but boundaries should be established regardless.

    That''s a problem for tomorrow, though. For now I''ll just keep on enjoying myse¡­ wait nope I''m super itchy, I need to move. Specifically, I need to molt. I wriggle my way out of the bedroll and shortly afterwards I wriggle my way out of my own skin, stepping into a barren zone and leaving the dead bits of me behind. Much better. The pockmarked, chaos-damaged chitin I was covered in yesterday is now replaced with a pristine new epidermis, although that''s not the limit to the changes I notice.

    For one thing I''m bigger, if only by a little. It''s hard to tell but I think I''ve grown at least a few inches since I first burrowed to the surface, but molting because of growth is pretty normal and expected by molting standards. What really bugs me¡ªpun intended¡ªis that I''m pretty sure I''m not perfectly symmetrical anymore. It''s subtle: my body isn''t exactly a sphere, two of my legs are fractionally longer than their neighbors, etc. But it''s there. I''m changing into something else, something that isn''t the cute little ball of legs I''ve gotten used to. It''s kind of frustrating, honestly. Just when I''m getting used to the idea of being a monster, I have to go through the pain of changing in reverse. I can''t describe it as anything but cruel.

    Hmm. That''s an interesting thought that almost slipped by me: ''changing in reverse.'' For some reason I''m confident that''s what''s happening. Sure, I had a theory that my human body was getting hyperspider bits and my hyperspider body was getting human bits, but I don''t have any evidence stronger than circumstantial. Ugh. I hope I don''t end up as just a normal human on this side of things.

    ¡­Actually, wait, why would that be bad?

    "What the fuck are you eating?" Helen snaps, jolting me out of my thoughts. The baggy-eyed Chaos mage glowers at me with her usual suspicion, guarding our camp from the same log she sat on during our chat yesterday.

    My molt, I write.

    "So like¡­ your own skin? That''s fucking disgusting."

    I mean it doesn''t taste great, I admit. But I feel an urge to eat it anyway, so I''m eating it.

    This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

    "Couldn''t you just not?"

    Can you, Miss Chaos Mage?

    She scowls and turns away. I can''t help all the weird monster instincts I have now, okay? Put down that brick until you get out of your glass house.

    "...It''s not the same," she grumbles quietly.

    Okay, or don''t. Though she''s not totally wrong, I guess.

    Not exactly, no, I admit. Though I also get urges to kill and eat people sometimes. Those are scary.

    "You do?" she asks, turning back my way and raising her eyebrows.

    Yeah, I confirm. My Transmutation magic really messes with my head. I guess maybe my Order magic too? Though the before and after there is subtler.

    "Wait, what do you mean ''before and after?''" Helen asks.

    I swallow the last of my discarded skin, trying to think of the best way to explain this. I guess simple works.

    I wasn''t born with magic, I say. I didn''t have any until recently.

    "Huh. Wild. So magic fucks with your head? Just another reason it sucks to be me, I guess."

    My own magic hasn''t forced me to do anything, though, I warn her. Just little¡­ temptations, I guess? Well, sometimes big temptations. But my actions are my own.

    Helen reads that silently, giving me a small nod. I scuttle over closer to her and hop up onto her log, which she stoically allows. We sit and wait, wordlessly agreeing not to wake Kagiso until she gets up on her own. It doesn''t take too long, at least, and I watch with amusement through my spatial sense as the fuzzy gremlin arches her back and yawns like a six-limbed cat before pulling herself completely out of the bedroll.

    "Why light?" she mumbles, wandering over to us.

    "Well that''s what happens when the sun comes up," Helen snorts.

    "No. Why light?" she repeats, yawning again. "Was supposed to take third watch. You no wake me."

    Helen shrugs. My super-keen senses detect a slight blush forming on her cheeks.

    "Didn''t get tired," she mumbles. "Now come on, let''s pack up camp and get going."

    Aww, she''s grumpy but she cares about her friend. I guess as long as she doesn''t commit any more mass murders Helen might be pretty okay. I mean, she has killed an obscene number of people, but if Kagiso forgives her I guess I''m not really in any position to hold a grudge. ¡­Except maybe for Teboho. Damn it. I miss him.

    I let out a long sigh, then jolt a little in surprise when it doesn''t come out as an eldritch hiss. Wait, that actually kinda sounded pretty normal! Can I talk now!?

    "Heeehuhhh? Ehsing!" I gargle out incomprehensibly. Aw, shoot. My respiratory system doesn''t connect to anything resembling a tongue or teeth, so I don''t really have any articulators. Still, though! Progress! I''m finally maybe mutating the ability to speak!

    "Wuzzat you?" Helen asks, walking up to me and leaning down to hold out an arm. I nod and scramble up onto her shoulder, her overflowing backpack already prepped and prepared to depart.

    "Huh. Learning to talk? That''d be useful," Helen nods. "It''s boring as shit waiting for you to scribble words out all the time."

    Well excuse me for being mute! I hiss at her, delighted to find that I still can make horrible eldritch noises when I need to. She freaks the fuck out and nearly drops me, but it''s totally worth it.

    "Hee hee. Friends getting along," Kagiso grins, walking up alongside us with the rest of the packed-up camp on her back. "Walking time."

    Walking time indeed. Our gang of freaks departs, and the usual boring day on the Tree of Souls begins. Like, yeah, sometimes things get really crazy over here with bandits or mind control or jerkwad paladins, but the vast majority of my time spent on the world tree has just been traveling, hanging onto a friend''s head and occasionally chatting the day away. Sometimes I''ll hop off of Helen''s head and onto a nearby tree trunk to go hunt a tasty friend noodle or two, but most of the day passes without anything of note happening at all.

    It''s nice. It''s relaxing. My days have been way too full of things of note lately, and if I can''t sleep off stress like a normal person I really, desperately need time to rest, time to repair myself mentally instead of just physically. Being able to spend the whole day doing effectively nothing? A little boring, but still oh so needed.

    I barely even talk with Kagiso and Helen, partly because we''re all quiet people but mostly because I don''t have Teboho to make me a writing tablet or Sindri to form a mental link (thank the Goddess). The methods of communication I have available to me don''t work all that well when we''re on the move, and while I could probably figure out a solution to that if I tried, it isn''t really a huge deal for me. We chat a bit when we stop for meals, and we chat some more when we stop to camp for the night. I encourage Helen to obliterate large chunks of ground, making huge holes with her Chaos magic, and I happily start filling them back in. She calls me a weirdo. She says this probably isn''t what Hagoro meant when he said I could help her spend energy due to being an Order mage. She''s right on both counts, but digging is fun and now I get to do so much digging while the others go to sleep for the night. I enjoy playing around in the dirt until it''s time for me to get Kagiso up for second watch (she insisted), and then I head to bed.

    Waking up on Earth, I smile as I remember I don''t have to worry about finding control of my lungs; I have them in both bodies now, and I can take a deep, relaxing sigh before starting my usual morning routine. Figuring my limbs out, I stretch as I rise from bed, noticing my phone on the nightstand has a crapton of text messages waiting for me. Ah, it''s the group chat I made! I guess everyone actually used it.

    You be quiet, Autumn writes. By the way, um, hi person I don''t know. Brendan?

    That''s me, Brendan confirms. I''m Hannah''s friend. I''ve heard a little about you but I have no idea what your current situation is. I assume you''re the reason we know Hannah has a spell that transforms others now?

    Um. Yeah, I guess so. It''s¡­ really weird. But also kind of exciting? I have tiny wings now!

    activate ??mode Ida butts in.

    Well, are they small enough to hide in a sports bra? Brendan sends, ignoring her. You and Hannah have gym tomorrow, right?

    lol does she still creep on ppl in the locker room

    Aaaaaand now I''m blushing.

    Ida, shut up, Brendan says.

    Uhhh¡­ Autumn types.

    right right sorry ill be serious, Ida says. tomorrow. when my bloodstream is not eighty percent weed.

    Wait, isn''t that illegal here? Autumn asks.

    goddess damnit hannah youd better not be dating a cop

    Can we please focus? Brendan pleads.

    I can''t help but giggle a little at the byplay between my friends, though I am a little worried about whether or not they''ll get along with Alma. Things seemed to have gotten copacetic as the night wore on without me, so that''s good. I send everyone a good morning text and head for the shower.

    I think my new eyes might be getting slightly light-sensitive, but otherwise they haven''t really changed much. Makeup and hair cover them easily. More skin falls off my mutant leg¡ªI''m almost to my hip now, and that joint will probably look interesting. Some skin is also starting to fall off the palms of my hands, though not a lot. Just a bit right by the knuckles. Overall, not much happening in mutation land.

    Bus stop. Chat about RPGs with Brendan. Desperately desire to ask about transgender things but resist the urge in public. Head to class with Ida. Act normal. Gym class is a bit strange, with Jet there with a headband and a thicker shirt than usual but otherwise looking totally innocuous. We jog together, chatting lightly until the more serious question of Alma and I dating comes up.

    "So, I definitely want to hear this from your mouth directly," I say. "Dating. Alma says she still wants to try."

    "I''d call her crazy but I suppose that''s why I exist," Jet grumbles.

    "I don''t think you''re crazy," I insist.

    She gives me a long look, and then huffs out a quick, frustrated burst of air.

    "It''s probably healthy for her to have a relationship, and since you have us wrapped up in your bullshit it may as well be you," she scowls. "I don''t know if it''s really my place to stop her anyway. Go for it."

    "Really?" I grin under my mask. "Aw, thank you Jet!"

    We finish the warm-up run side by side, coming to a stop as we rest and wait for the remainder of the class to finish. Jet stares at me, suddenly looking really intense.

    "I just¡­ I need you to understand something," she says. "If you two start¡­ getting physical, and something pulls me to the front? I am suddenly smack-dab in the middle of an extremely non-consensual situation. The instant we say anything that might be kind of a little bit adjacent to a no, you get the fuck off me and you go to a completely different room. You skirt the line even the tiniest bit and I will end you, Hannah. Is that clear?"

    "Uh¡­ y-yeah," I agree, nodding. "A hundred percent."

    "Good," she growls, and then the intensity vanishes a little. I take a breath I didn''t realize I was holding. ¡­She''s a Pneuma mage. Did she use mind control to be that scary? No. No, no, no, calm down. I relax my toes, pulling the claws out from the deep gouges in my shoes. Jet''s not controlling my mind. She''s just an intimidating person.

    "So, uh¡­ did you figure out any of your magic after I left?" I ask, because I''m still scared of the answer anyway.

    "Not a lot," she answers, speaking quietly. "But some. I think my magic helps me hide things. It''s¡­ useful."

    "Oh, that''s interesting," I smile, a bit of tension leaving me¡­ though not most of it. "You like it?"

    "Begrudgingly, I think I do," she admits.

    I nod, a bit of my smile returning. Magic is pretty cool. How could you not like it? I mean¡­ okay, I guess Helen has a good reason to not like it, but other than people who are being oppressed because of it. I wiggle my extra limbs underneath their bindings in silent embarrassment.

    "...Don''t take things too fast with Alma, by the way," Jet suddenly continues. "Let her make the first move for stuff. We''re both pretty nervous about this, though she''ll never admit it."

    "Um, okay, I can do that," I nod. "I''m not really very touchy most of the time anyw¡ª"

    "We need control," Jet insists, cutting me off. "You have to let us have that. Let her have that. Okay? Suggest, but don''t order, and¡­ and¡­ make sure to give her space when she needs it, or else she''ll just turn into me."

    "I¡­ okay," I say as calmly as I can manage, because Jet seems to be getting really agitated all of a sudden. "I''ll take things slow and steady. Don''t worry. I know I have wandering eyes but I''m not going to pressure her into anything she doesn''t want to do. Okay? I promise."

    "Okay," Jet says, nodding slowly. "Okay. That''s fine then."

    I hesitate, taking a moment to work up the courage for my next words.

    "...Are you okay?" I ask hesitantly.

    "Yeah, I¡ª" she says immediately, then cuts herself off for a moment, holding back the automatic response. "...I will be."

    I nod. That''s a good answer. An honest one. ¡­I should try to give answers like that more often.

    "I''m sorry again," I tell her. "About the monster stuff."

    "I''ll figure something out," Jet dismisses, shrugging. "I always do."

    The rest of the day isn''t all that eventful. Autumn makes it through the whole school day without an incident, I somehow make it through a whole school day without an incident, and my other friends actually have the capacity to not cause problems in the first place, the cheating jerks. It''s unfortunate that my work day is all weird now that I''m supposed to direct employees a little, but I get through that, too. I''m actually kind of starting to feel normal again, which is both jarring and an intense relief. It almost makes me forget that I have to go see a therapist in two days.

    ¡­Aw, crap, I remembered that. Dangit. Panic time. Good thing I''m about to pass out anyway!

    I wake up on the world tree and search for a distraction immediately. Hmm! Well I suppose Kagiso''s boobs are nearby, but I''m not going to touch those. I wiggle out of the bedroll instead, finding that once again I need to molt. Two days in a row, huh? Maybe I can talk now!

    "Hhhhhhaaaaaaaaaaaarrrrrraaaararaaaa," I declare eloquently.

    Aw, butter side down. No luck. My internal organs are shifting a bit, though, my lungs consolidating and some of the openings on my body closing as the whole organ system starts seeking out my throat to be its orifice of choice. With it is the continuation of the changes I noticed yesterday¡­ well, this universe''s yesterday, I mean. Some of my legs are ever so slightly starting to change shape, a bit more thickness here and a bit more length there, while my body likewise has a few bumps and valleys where it used to be nice and hyperspherical. It kind of feels like my changes here on the world tree are accelerating, while my changes over on Earth are decelerating. That feels¡­ significant, somehow.

    "You''re really gonna just eat your own skin every day, huh?" Helen grunts, walking over next to where I''m munching away at my molt.

    Every day some of it falls off, sure, I confirm with one leg.

    "You''re weird as fuck," she grunts. "And you''re also basically immune to fire, right? Powerful Transmutation mage? Help me cook some shit."

    I agree, only to find out shortly after that by ''help me cook'' she meant ''stand in the middle of the campfire and let me hang stuff on your legs.'' Which turns out to absolutely be a thing I can do heat-wise, but I start to suffocate almost immediately and have to back away, coughing my still-mutating lungs out.

    "Huh," she grunts. "I guess I should have thought of that."

    I want to angrily agree that yes, yes she should have, but I''m the one that actually walked into the middle of an open flame just because someone asked me to so I''m in no position to talk. The two of us sit down next to the campfire and cook things much more normally for a while, once again waiting for Kagiso to wake up together.

    "So¡­ we''ll probably make it to that city today," Helen says. I turn my body like I''m looking at her to indicate that I''m listening, though it''s entirely performative. My eyes already see in every direction other than straight up or straight down. "There should be a decent number of nychtava there, and your mindfucker''s money bag should be more than enough for one of them to take us down to the Slaying Stone."

    There''s a pause.

    "At which point we''ll part ways," she finishes.

    I should hide in your backpack in the city, I write.

    "Why¡­ ah. Okay. Yeah, that makes sense," she nods.

    I hesitate, debating whether or not to say what comes next, but ultimately¡­ sure. I''ve earned a bit of bravery.

    Kagiso won''t want you to leave, I tell her, even though I''m sure she already knows.

    "Kagiso doesn''t know what''s good for her," Helen grunts.

    Ah, I write. You''re doing the thing.

    "What?" Helen asks, sending a confused glower in my direction. "The fuck does that mean? What thing?"

    You know, the thing the grumpy or traumatized character always does in stories, I write. They push everybody away when they need the most help, and it always goes badly for them.

    "This isn''t a fucking story," Helen snaps. "Real life doesn''t have happy endings, Hana."

    Happy or not, there''s a reason no stories show the people going off alone as making a good decision, I write. That wouldn''t be realistic, after all.

    Helen just scowls for a moment before pointing her finger at the words and causing a sphere of Chaos to swallow them up into nothing. I quickly jump away to avoid getting disintegrated, hissing at her but getting the obvious implied response. I have just been told, I believe, to shut the fuck up. Oh, well. I tried. Pushing away my friends is the one big mistake Brendan made me promise not to do, but if Helen insists I can''t really stop her. She''s certainly not my friend, at least not yet.

    Kagiso eventually crawls out of bed and we eat breakfast together with the food I nearly suffocated trying to cook like a total moron. Helen and I silently agree to not talk about it as we chow down on some recently-caught meat, Kagiso giving us jealous glances as she consumes her collection of roasted fruits, vegetables, and leaves.

    "Don''t look at me like that," Helen grumbles, but it''s devoid of malice. Unlike usual, her tone is a fake admonishment, sounding more like an in-joke. "You know you get sick if you eat too much meat."

    "Texture better," Kagiso mumbles, her mouth full.

    "Yeah, but the taste is worse and you know it. Eat your sugary little plants, Kagiso. They''re good for you."

    Well, I for one like the taste and texture of this meat. I''ve been eating a lot of raw food over here on the world tree lately, so it''s kind of nice getting something cooked for once, even if I prefer the firm slice of uncooked meat through my fangs. This is conversely pretty tender and easy to swallow, which feels nice to my more humanoid side. I keep my opinion to myself, though, just listening to Kagiso and Helen bicker good-naturedly throughout the meal. It''s nice.

    Before long, however, camp is packed up and we''re back on the road. Literally! It''s only a couple hours into our walk today that we run into a somewhat-crumbling cobblestone road about fifteen feet wide. I scuttle into Helen''s backpack to supply her my aura and hide me from potential cultists, and I''m still stuck in there when, another couple hours after that, Kagiso reports that there''s a city in sight. I sure wish I could see it! It sucks being luggage sometimes.

    "Alright, moment of truth," Helen whispers, and at the edge of my sensory radius I see a pair of sciptera¡ªthe cute little bat people I saw in the last city we went to¡ªstaring at us with the sort of intensity one might expect from a guard. Our auras are probably being checked. No one flies at us and attacks, though. No one even talks to us. We pass through a checkpoint and Helen lets out a slow, careful breath.

    "I can''t believe that actually worked," she mutters.

    This city, from what I can see with my spatial sense, is at least an order of magnitude smaller than the huge dentron metropolis Sindri took us to. Most of the people here are sciptera as well, fluttering about in pairs, holding tail-hands, play-fighting in the sky or gripping the side of a tree to rest and chat. It''s much calmer, much more casual than Grawlaka ever was, even at night¡­ though perhaps due to that, we seem to attract a bit more attention. A pair of sciptera start fluttering around us, squeaking and chirping noises that seem like they''re probably words in a language I don''t understand.

    "Uh¡­ either of you speak Middlebranch?" Helen hedges.

    "Human!" one of them chirps, apparently proving the answer to be ''yes.'' "What human doing here?"

    "Fall and hurt yourself, human!" the other cackles.

    "Landbound! Root-foot!"

    "Back to Slaying Stone!"

    "That''s exactly what I''m trying to do, thank you," Helen says, surprisingly without any display of bad attitude. "Any of your bigger cousins live here? Nychtava?"

    "Cousins!?" the first one hisses angrily. "Stupid! Not related to nasty nychtava!"

    "Well then direct me to one and you''ll get both of us out of your hair," Helen bargains, pulling out a small amber coin and flicking it towards the pair of harassers. One catches it with their tail, the other tackles them, and the two fall to the ground in a heap, cackling and hissing. I''m worried at first, but I don''t think they''re actually hurting each other. I think they''re having fun?

    "End of branch!" one of them announces between play-bites. "Nychtava live at edge!"

    "Thanks," Helen nods, and we leave the two of them wrestling on the ground.

    We walk the rest of the way in silence, Helen doing her best to keep her head down while Kagiso looks around, wide-eyed and possibly salivating as her head whips back and forth to track the fast-moving sciptera.

    "Kagiso, please don''t fantasize about shooting people," Helen hisses quietly.

    Kagiso jumps slightly, clearly startled.

    "...Wasn''t," she lies.

    I chuckle quietly to myself as my friends continue their long walk to the other end of the city. I wonder what nychtava are, anyway. I''ve heard the name a few times since waking up in this world, but I haven''t seen one. Helen called them ''cousins'' of the sciptera, though, so maybe they''re also bat people? I wonder what the difference is.

    "I mean it, Kagiso, I really need you to hold in your creepy organ fetish," Helen insists. "We''re dealing with nychtava. I need you to not do¡ªor think¡ªanything stupid. If our ride starts feeling like you wanna fight, they''re gonna fucking drop us."

    "Understood," Kagiso nods.

    "I do all of the talking. You do none of it. Okay?"

    "Okay, Helen."

    Helen nods, letting out a nervous exhale. Geez, now I''m nervous too! We start to near the edge of the branch, or at least I assume we do with how the trees around us are thinning out and the dirt below us is getting shallower. Soon enough, there aren''t any trees growing around us, bar the world-sized one at our feet, and the dirt gives way to fourth-dimensional wood. I guess when those sciptera told us to go to the end of the branch, they really meant the end of the branch, because on either side of us I start to sense the dramatic downward curve that indicates the uncomfortable closeness of the abyss, the threat that at any point you can just walk a certain direction until you fall off the tree entirely and plummet to your death. Soon, the space we have between us and the edge is only forty feet on either side, then thirty, then twenty, then ten. For the first time today, I''m glad I''m stuck in the backpack, unable to see. My spatial sense can''t tell me how far we''d ultimately fall. We''re teetering over our own death in every direction before Helen finally stops walking and calls out.

    "I''d like to hire a ferry!"

    The branch shakes. Only slightly, but Helen and Kagiso each drop to one knee regardless, taking no chances against the certain death below us. Then, from the lower edge of my sensory range, I sense something rushing upwards. It does sort of look like a sciptera, in the way a mountain might resemble a jagged stone. It ascends like a storm front rising to block the sun, its two pairs of leathery wings so large that both ends go beyond my fifty-foot sensory radius. Its relatively thin torso transitions into a long, sinuous tail thicker than my human body, covered in fur and tipped in a wicked, three-fingered claw. Its head ends in a long, thin snout, like a fuzzy alligator, and multiple rows of wicked, jagged teeth line the inside like a saw. Not that it would need to use them, since the monster seems more than large enough to swallow all three of us whole.

    With a horrifically powerful rush of air, it crests over the edge of the branch and emerges into line-of-sight, the massive creature twisting its upper wings while flapping its lower ones to hover in place, sending bursts of air our way with more force than a helicopter. The monster opens its mighty jaws, and for a moment I''m sure we''re all about to die.

    "Then make it worth Our while, landbound," the nychtava demands, its voice like thunder.

    Wait. We''re going to be riding that!? Helen just responds by tossing Sindri''s moneybag at the giant monster. Literally the whole bag. The nychtava''s tail flashes and suddenly it''s holding that bag in its claws, pulling it open to inspect the contents.

    "Hmm. This is acceptable. We will take you two branches lower."

    "I''m looking to get to the Slaying Stone," Helen says firmly.

    "Two branches. No more, no less. Do not ask Us again."

    Helen hesitates only a moment before nodding.

    "Two branches, then. But close to the trunk so we can descend."

    "We accept this deal," the hundred-plus-foot-wingspan bat-dragon declares. It drops below the branch again, then returns once more with what basically looks like a huge birdcage held in its tail. It sets the contraption down in front of us, then opens the hatch.

    "Alright," Helen says, looking over to Kagiso. "Last chance to back out."

    The thought doesn''t even seem to have crossed the dentron''s mind. She steps into the deathtrap and Helen follows, closing the door behind her. Welp. I guess we''re really doing this.

    "We depart now," the nychtava declares, lifting the cage (and us with it) up into the sky. "Hold fast to the bars."

    Then my heart seems to fall into another dimension as we drop, entering a complete free fall with only an instant of warning. I scream. I know luggage isn''t supposed to do that, but I can''t help it.

    Hopefully I''m not that audible over Kagiso and Helen doing the same.

 32. Nothing Like You

    So it turns out that while rapidly accelerating to terminal velocity is absolutely terrifying, simply traveling at terminal velocity is not. The instinctive terror of falling only activates in response to acceleration, not speed. I knew this already, of course; that''s part and parcel to the basic experience of motor vehicles. Somehow, though, I assumed falling off the edge of the world riding a fuzzy dragon would be less¡­ boring.

    The occasional slight changes in speed, not to mention the fact that we''re smooshed lightly against the current ceiling of the cage (which was the floor; the cage is now upside down) prevent this from feeling anything like an airplane ride, I''ll give it that. The nychtava drops like a stone, its wings folded against its massive body, only occasionally flicking slightly outwards to adjust our trajectory. Because, well¡­ yeah, that makes sense. We''re going down, so all our ride has to do is fall, and all the rest of us have to do is hope beyond hope that they know how to slow back down without splattering us against the bars.

    Helen and Kagiso are marginally less bored, if only because they are substantially less secure than I am. I''m still stuck inside this stuffy old backpack, but at least it means I don''t have to grip the bars of the cage for dear life or risk being blended like cake mix when we hit a patch of turbulence. It''s still pretty dull for them outside of that. Take it from me: having to constantly fear for your life gets old eventually, and at some point you just wish you had something to do. The obscenely loud rush of air all around us even prevents any communication bar yelling, which neither of my companions are inclined to do, beyond a few traveling essentials.

    "When we get there!?" Kagiso growls loudly.

    "I don''t know!" Helen yells back. "Probably like, seven more blooms?"

    "Long time!"

    "The Mother Tree is fucking huge, Kagiso!"

    Okay but how long, though. What the heck is a bloom? I feel like we''ve been falling for at least an hour now, so if ''seven more blooms'' is anything like ''seven more hours,'' hoo boy I need to find something to do. Unfortunately, I can barely even move, and frankly I''m not sure I would if I could because I''m genuinely frightened that I''d manage to find a way to slip through the bars and fall to my death. Which in terms of activities pretty much leaves¡­ sitting around and being alone with my thoughts. O-or practicing magic! Yeah, let''s do that one instead.

    There''s not really a lot of magic I can safely practice, though. Activating Spacial Rend, even without an incantation, would destroy Helen''s bedroll for no reason. Refresh doesn''t really have any valid targets and I have tons of practice using that every day already. I could technically look into 4D stuff more, but there''s no way I''m using any sort of movement ability while falling hundreds of miles an hour. Which leaves¡­ my Transmutation spells. Oh boy.

    Doing anything with my ''transform other'' spell is obviously stupid; there are no targets here other than people that I absolutely should not be testing magic spells on. My self-transformation spell is also stupid, both because the consequences of using it are potentially very dangerous for my Earth-self, and because the fact that I''m currently in freefall means¡­ well. I already messed up once by testing magic in a fast-moving metal cage. Surely I''ve learned my lesson now, right? I should definitely, absolutely just give up on this ''practice magic'' idea and spend some time doing serious introspection about the many upcoming problems I need to put together a plan for.

    So anyway, Transmutation magic. I focus inward, gazing on the admittedly kind of beautiful mental landscape that I tend to visualize in response to calling up my magic. I wonder what this is, in truth. Is it my soul? The vast thread that spans the gulf between the two worlds I exist within seems a little¡­ stretched thin for me to like the idea that it''s my soul. Regardless of what it is, it''s essential to my magic. The spell that changes me feels like a combination of Transmutation and Order, and it functions by bringing my two selves closer together. ¡­Metaphorically, I assume. But also literally, I suppose, in the sense that I think the ultimate goal for each body is the same. My spider self is becoming more human, my human self is becoming more of a spider. There''s a bittersweetness to that, since I have grown rather fond of being so small and cuddly, but I can''t deny I''ll probably enjoy being large enough to have any degree of independence more than I enjoy being a hat. It''s just a shame I have to choose.

    ¡­Assuming I get a choice at all, I mean, since it really seems like I don''t. Looking closely, it''s easy to tell that the spell is active right now, even though I''m not in any way trying to activate it. I don''t seem to have any way to stop it, either. I can only choose to make it go faster, and I can almost feel the Goddess looking over my nonexistent shoulders and urging me to do just that, her horrid, invisible grin full of mirth and anticipation.

    Though I suppose that raises a surprisingly valid question: should I? Like yeah, normally I''d say that this is a stupid idea, but the current transformation my body seems to be developing is the capacity to talk, and holy cannoli I want that so badly. Hmm¡­ okay Hannah, what would Brendan say about this? Probably ''wait until you''re somewhere safe you idiot?'' That''s not very helpful. What would he say after I''ve communicated that this bad decision is happening in defiance of sense? Probably¡­ ''have you eaten enough?''

    I think I have. Transmutation magic tends to make me hungry, but I''ve had a big breakfast and there are some meat rations in nomming distance within the backpack here, since Helen seems to have anticipated the fact that this trip would probably involve me spending a lot of time inside a backpack. I guess she''s actually pretty considerate when she''s not being a grumpy bitch and murdering people I care about.

    Next question, then: ''what are the odds this will go catastrophically wrong?'' And that''s where things get a little spooky. There''s definitely a chance things go terrible here, but as long as I don''t break anything it likely won''t be catastrophic, and even if I suddenly double in size or something, I''ll only screw us over a little bit by breaking the backpack. The cage can still hold me just fine, and I won''t go flying off into the abyss. Y''know, hopefully. But even that is exceptionally unlikely, I think. It''s not like Spacial Rend where I was testing a completely new spell that I barely even understood, I''ve used this spell before. I have at least a general understanding of its limits, of the speed at which it operates. I know how quickly it responds, how efficiently it heals my body, and the sort of changes to expect in the other world after using it.

    Those changes are the important bit. Are they worth it?

    If I''m understanding my spell correctly¡ªand I think I am¡ªI won''t be doing anything to my body that won''t eventually happen regardless. It seems like, in that light, there''s not really a huge downside to accelerating my problems on Earth, because like¡­ what am I even going to use that time for? More panic attacks?

    That goes both ways, though: if my spell is giving me the ability to speak, it''ll do that no matter what, and frankly I''m underselling the usefulness of simply having more time. My life is terrible and my capacity to manage myself is frighteningly low, sure, but more time is still helpful. More time means I have longer to figure out my magic before fudge hits the fan. It means I get to hang out with my friends more and help them where I can¡ªsomething I honestly need to be stepping up and doing a lot more of, since I am ostensibly the one with the most experience regarding this bullpoop. Even if I''m terrible at managing my time¡­ no, especially if I''m terrible at managing my time, having more time is valuable.

    It''s just that being able to talk is valuable too, and I have no way to know which is more valuable. It''s just a question of something that''s immediately useful and gratifying versus the potential for better results down the line, and¡­ wow, when I put it like that, it''s pretty obvious what I''m going to pick.

    I take a deep breath, grab the line in my soul, and pull.

    The last time I did this, I was sitting under a bridge with Jet and cycling magic through my body in order to make sure I didn''t bleed out and die. Even if we don''t ignore the whole ''hurtling through the sky at hundreds of miles an hour at the whims of a mercenary bat dragon'' thing, this is a considerably more controlled environment. It''s also, notably, not on Earth, which means that when the changes start, I''m not restricted to just feeling them. I can watch them happen.

    Heck, I can''t not watch them happen. I could do my best to move my focus elsewhere, of course, but my spatial sense never stops sensing space and that means I need a really good distraction to avoid hyperfixating on the fact that my own organs are starting to slorp around inside my body like mutating slugs.

    It''s actually kind of terrifying, seeing it all in action. I have no ding-dang clue what the vast majority of these bits and bobs inside me do, and yet here I am, watching them reorganize themselves because of my actions. Has this happened to my human body? If a doctor opened me up, would they see anything remotely like the anatomy diagrams they''ve been taught on? What if they opened me up while I was casting this spell?

    My lungs, once a system that interconnected five radially symmetric openings on my body, are twisting, oozing together and abandoning that circular symmetry for something more mirrored. They burrow into my throat, soaking in air from there, digging new, smaller tunnels that connect to other unknown organ systems and make two new holes on the underside of my body. Something like a nose, perhaps? Openings from which I can intake air even when my mouth is closed, which is important when my old breathing vents seal up and let the internals displaced by the movement of my respiratory system occupy the freed-up space.

    I think the worst part about all of this is how watching it happen makes the feeling of it all the more visceral. When my guts move around, it''s usually just an unidentifiable discomfort, a feeling to which I can ascribe no cause and is therefore far more innocuous. It doesn''t hurt, it''s just a bit odd, and that''s ignorable enough. Now, though? When I''m watching it happen? Every little pulse of feeling in my gut, every last slimy twitch grips my consciousness like a vice, locking down my attention and refusing to let me go. It''s maddening. I get to feel¡ªand know¡ªevery gorey detail of my own transfiguration. Though I don''t get to understand.

    Watching all of this happen doesn''t get me a whole lot of insight into my own anatomy. In many ways, that makes it all the more horrifying. My magic is changing me, sure. And it is my magic, as though it is Goddess-borne it is a gift to me. My constant, my soul. Yet I don''t have the slightest gosh darn clue of how it actually works, beyond the broad strokes. I control it in only the loosest sense, by turning a dial up or down. As much as this magic is mine¡ªas much as I know this magic is mine, on some disturbing, instinctual level¡ªso much of it is still a complete mystery to me. All of these organs are a complete blank spot in my knowledge. For all I know, I''m killing myself right now.

    ¡­Thankfully, I do not, in fact, die. I carefully end my spell once my lungs seem to stop reorienting themselves, then take a moment to swallow the scream I very desperately want to use them for. I am so, so glad most of my transformations seem to happen while I''m asleep. Holy shit. Still, though: let''s look at the bright side. Inhale, exhale. I let the air flow over my teeth, testing the articulation. My mouth is still a sphincter with interlocking fangs, but a tongue grows inside and de facto defines a ''bottom'' to the circular mouth. I even have a weird set of chitinous faux-lips. But do I have a voice box? That''s the question. I mean, I see something that I think could maybe be a voice box, but it doesn''t look very much like my humanoid counterparts. There''s, uh, one too many dimensions. Well¡­ here goes nothing.

    "Haaahhnnnaaaah," I quietly mumble. Gosh, that sounds terrible. "Hrraaaghnnnah. Haaaanah. Haaannaaa. Hahnah. Hannah. Hannah! Hannah! Mah gush darg namb is Hannah! Nah hah-nah!"

    "Did you hear something?" Helen shouts. Kagiso shrugs. I continue my practice a bit more quietly, getting used to the odd shape of my mouth and the tiny, weirdly high-pitched voice I''ve finally, finally developed. Yes! This is awesome! I can talk!

    Gosh, my accent is atrocious, though, both from the weird mouth and from the fact that I''ve never spoken the language of the world tree out loud before. At least talking practice gives me something to do during this boring backpack ride. I take a break to munch on some meat rations, suddenly quite appreciating the fact that my digestive system seems to dispose of waste extradimensionally somehow. I can see the number ones and number twos expanding the bladders and intestines of my companions and I have to say, if this trip really is going to be seven more hours, they''re going to have to figure out a way to piss in freefall. Which will probably be fun for exactly zero people.

    ¡­About four hours later I am proven correct. Another point in favor of being stuck in the backpack: layers between me and the outside. Helen, thankfully, has the presence of mind to scoot around the cage and let me cast my cleaning magic on everything.

    Gosh, I wish I could just sleep through this. Unfortunately, I just don''t feel tired for some reason, so I just spend the hours practicing how to speak, going through the alphabet and just kind of rambling to myself to get a handle on as many words as possible. I''m pretty sure Helen figures out what I''m doing, but she doesn''t really comment on it. She spends the whole trip making a palm-sized yet intricately detailed wooden sculpture of Kagiso using Chaos magic in place of any tools, which¡­ is extremely interesting to me. Isn''t Chaos about making things less complex? To be able to use it as a fine scalpel seems counter to its purpose.

    Whatever, it''s not important. What is important is how the nychtava starts slowly extending their wings, carefully re-angling its body to start gliding rather than simply falling, letting air resistance naturally reduce our speed at a modest clip. Very carefully, Helen transfers the backpack with me in it over to her chest, Kagiso helping her slightly open the flap so I can safely look out.

    "It''s a boring view most of the time," she says, getting her face right next to me so I can hear her without her yelling. "But I figure you should at least see the landing."

    I peek out of the backpack, Kagiso steadying me as I look down, down way too far down and have the vertigo hit me all at once, sending my body into an instinctive panic. The nychtava is flying more or less horizontally now, coasting above the branch we''re about to land on, heading towards the trunk. It''s like looking down from an airplane window, except that instead of a secure, highly-advanced flying machine we''re inside an oversized birdcage held by the tail of a giant scary winged person who could at any point decide to relax their grip and kill us all. This is not even remotely safe, but¡­ gosh. It sure is beautiful.

    The last branch we were on was pretty brown, overall. Devourer trees are more parasite than autotroph, so they don''t have much in the way of leaves, and what little they did have were more of a pine-like series of needles. There was more green looking up at the Mother Tree''s partially-burning canopy than there was looking around nearby for most of the journey. Not so, with the branch below us. This thing isn''t just lush, it''s straight-up verdant.

    Enormous trees with massive, hexagonal leaves bloom below us like abstract art, a honeycomb hive of green. All over the edges of the branch, and within every gap in the foliage, it''s possible to spot water: rivers, lakes, massive and mysterious, each making me wonder how they got there, what their water source is, why they don''t just find a way to flow right off the edge of the cylindrical tree branch and vanish into the clouds below, drying up the surface forever. It''s breathtaking. Helen''s right. I''m glad I get to see this.

    I peel my attention off of the beauty below me and glance at her. She''s smiling, for once. Helen is smiling. She''s done this before, I suspect, having to frequently change where she lives throughout her life in order to avoid persecution, but I''m starting to suspect if maybe she also chose this method of travel for this reason right here. For the unmasked joy I see on her face when she looks down at the beauty of nature. At the Art mage inside the feared and hated girl of Chaos.

    I say nothing, not wanting to ruin the moment with my barely-functional voice, and just watch alongside her.

    Once we get close enough to the trunk, the nychtava slows down in earnest to prepare for the ground. The actual landing process is somewhat terrifying, but nowhere near as bad as I thought it would be. The giant creature lands more like a helicopter than it does like an airplane, hovering slowly downwards and setting the cage down on slightly damp soil, allowing Kagiso and Helen to stumble out of it and collapse on the sweet, sweet dirt. The clearing we''ve been dropped in is right next to a modestly sized pond, inside which I can see plenty of fish with my spacial sense. We''re relatively close to the trunk, but still probably at least an hour or two''s walk away from it.

    "Th-thank you," Helen says to the hovering beast who carried us here.

    "We appreciate your patronage," the nychtava answers blandly, and then with a massive rush of air it takes off, wings pumping as it ascends back into the sky, having never landed itself.

    "Holy fuck," Helen breathes, peeling her backpack off and dropping it (and therefore me) roughly to the ground. "I''m gonna go take a shit. You doing okay, Kagiso?"

    "Yes. Fun. Flying good."

    "There doessn''t seeem to be anything d-dangerous around," I report, and Kagiso squacks with surprise, leaping a foot into the air and staggering backwards before staring at me, open-mouthed.

    "Hana talk!" she yelps.

    "Hannah," I correct. "It''s Hannah. Not "hah-nah," Hannah. You all sssay it like my dad used to say it."

    "He-ha?" Kagiso asks.

    "Hannah," I repeat.

    "Ha-gnah."

    "What? No, t-that''s way worse. Stop enunnnciating both syllables. It''s just Hannah."

    I continue to correct her as Helen wanders off to poop somewhere, relishing the ability to actually speak in this world. Kagiso seems pretty excited about it, too, gleefully picking me up and squeezing me halfway through my tenth correction.

    "Good hat good hat good hat good hat!" she cheers.

    "It''s Hannah!"

    "You two having fun?" Helen says, returning with a smirk. "Come on, we should have enough daylight left to take a tunnel to the Sapsea."

    "Geez, enough daylight after all that?" I complain. "From the walk this morning to the flight¡­ hmm. I guess you guys always work on summertime hours, don''t you?"

    "On what?" Helen asks.

    Oh, right. They don''t know what hours are. ¡­Or summer. I just kinda mixed some English in there. This is going to be a lot to explain.

    "Uh¡­ gosh, okay, so you know how Hagoro was talking about how I come from another universe?"

    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

    "Is that what you two were fucking on about!?"

    I sigh, enjoying the fact that I can sigh, and then scuttle on over to Helen and crawl up her leg, securing myself tightly to her head with only minimal protests.

    "This is gonna take a long time to explain," I say. "So let''s get walking."

    I realize, halfway through my explanation of how a spherical planet that orbits a sun works, that Helen is very conspicuously not splitting up from us and going her own way. I decide not to comment on that.

    "How not fall off ball?" Kagiso asks.

    "Well that''s¡­ that''s how gravity works, Kagiso," I answer. "Everything gets pulled towards the most massive object, with the strength of that pull proportional to proximity. And Earth is like¡­ twenty-three, twenty-four orders of magnitude heavier than people are? I mean¡­ I guess that''s how it works on my world, anyway. I guess it must somehow work differently here, because the trunk is definitely more massive than the branches so it makes more sense that we''d like¡­ get pulled towards that rather than get pulled down?"

    "No, that¡­ that makes sense, actually," Helen says, rubbing her chin. "I think we''re not getting pulled towards the trunk because we''re getting pulled towards the Slaying Stone. You can do that thing you describe on the Slaying Stone. Walk around the circumference and not fall off. And I think if you''re below the Slaying Stone, gravity is reversed."

    Huh. That¡­ might make sense? My gut says there''s still magical shenanigans at work, though, because my world''s gravity would probably make a cylinder the size of the Slaying Stone just kinda not work in the first place.

    "That''s¡­ really wild, actually," I admit. "I''m not sure if¡ª"

    "Shh!" Kagiso suddenly hushes us, her body going stiff as it cranes upwards, her ears twitching and twisting.

    "What''s up?" Helen whispers quietly, crouching lower and glancing left and right. I grip her head a bit tighter in case she suddenly moves, but whatever the problem is I don''t sense it within fifty feet of us.

    "Hear yelling," Kagiso says. "Two men. One¡­ woman? Maybe? Is hard to tell, often scream the same."

    Oh shit. I don''t like the sound of that at all.

    "We should help, then!" I insist.

    "Are you crazy?" Helen scoffs. "We should stay the hell away from them. I''m a fugitive, you''re running from kidnappers, and Kagiso is a fucking psychopath who likes watching people bleed for fun."

    Kagiso''s ears flick again, and she declines to protest the accusation.

    "Come on, guys," I press. "We have a woman yelling in the woods and there''s two men with her. What do you think is happening?"

    "...It''s not necessarily that," Helen hedges.

    "Yeah, but I''m gonna be wondering about it for the rest of my life if we don''t at least go look."

    "Fuck," Helen swears. "Fine. Okay. Kagiso, can you take us there?"

    Kagiso nods, dashing forwards and drawing her bow. Helen rushes to follow, chasing Kagiso through the underbrush. It doesn''t take long for Helen and I to start hearing the screaming, accompanied by a horridly familiar crackle of lightning.

    "Keep ''er on the ground!" a man''s voice shouts. "I got the arm next!"

    Then I hear something like a horrid screech of something metal being torn away, and the scream gets louder. Are they peeling armor off of her or something!? Screw this, we don''t have time to waste.

    "Kagiso!" I shout. "Throw me!"

    A feral grin splits my friend''s face and she nods, snatching me off of Helen''s head.

    "Wait, hold on¡ª!" Helen yelps, but she''s cut off by the Goddess.

    "Ricochet," she says, and I feel Her power suffuse my body, tucking me into a cradle of Motion that will both shield and propell me. Kagiso then gives me a very light toss straight up in the air, as if she was setting up a tennis serve. Then, with two other arms, she pulls back an arrow and aims it at me.

    "Velocity," the Goddess continues, and then Kagiso shoots me point-blank.

    I feel myself accelerate instantly, the magic bypassing normal physics and directly transferring the speed of the arrow to my body. And I''m fairly sure I do mean the speed, not the momentum¡ªdespite having way more weight than the arrow does, I''m easily going a hundred-plus miles an hour when I rocket off through the trees towards the source of the noise. Resultantly, I don''t exactly have time to process the scene when I burst into a clearing and see two men¡ªboth human¡ªattacking a figure lying on the ground, one with lightning and the other with a gosh-dang ax. I only have time for one question, really.

    Do I kill them?

    The Goddess smiles, ready and waiting for the moment I say two little words. But I don''t. I don''t activate my Space magic at all, in fact, crashing into the face of the lightning-blasting man and bouncing off his nose to launch straight up into the air. He collapses to the ground, unconscious and therefore definitely concussed.

    The man with the ax barely has enough time to say "What the fuck!?" before I land on top of his head and start screaming.

    "Get away from her, you bastard!" I shriek, biting some of his hair and yanking it, just because I can''t think of any other nonlethal way to demonstrate I mean business. He predictably freaks the fuck out and swings at me with one arm, which I fail to dodge and therefore get smashed by a heavy blow that snaps two of my legs and sends me flailing onto the ground. I hit the dirt and tumble, pain screaming through my entire body.

    "What the fuck!?" the ax-man says again. "What the fuck is that thing? Dolren? Shit! Dolren, get up!"

    "Reboot complete," a synthesized voice drones tonelessly next to me, scaring the crap out of me because for some reason, my instincts insist there is no living thing in that direction. "Restricted-Class Diplomat 5314 online."

    "Shit!" the ax-man shouts.

    My head still rattled from both dealing and receiving a concussion, it takes me a moment to register all the information flying at me at the same time. I only actually figure it out when the ax-man reaches down to grab something before turning and running off. It''s a leg. A very intricate, very metal leg, that he just chopped off the woman-shaped robot lying next to me.

    I vaguely remember Teboho and Sindri mentioning ''Steel Ones'' during one of their back-and-forths, and basically all I picked up on is that they were some kind of artificial species made by humans. I figured it would be something like warforged from D&D, big metal golems powered and animated by magic. This is, after all, a fantasy realm, one where people still use bows. A golem just fits the setting, right?

    "Current analysis indicates you have damaged me," she announces. "Perhaps I have failed to communicate. Hello. I am harmless. I do not have onboard weapon systems. Please desist your assault."

    This is not a golem. No way. I''m looking inside her, and the complexity of it is staggering, a level of technological advancement that easily exceeds what we have on Earth. Bundles of wires as thin as spider silk run down her arms and legs like blood vessels, except rather than a chaotic mess of tangled veins it''s a perfectly-crafted work of art, metal interlocking with metal guiding metal housing metal. I don''t understand any of it beyond the cylindrical joints and kind of the larger hydraulics that form her musculature.

    "Hello. I am harmless. I do not have onboard weapon systems. Please desist your assault," she repeats again, voice so monotone that it sounds like someone put the whole thing through an autotuner.

    I say ''she,'' as she very much has the shape and voice of a female human, but it avoids uncanny valley not through perfect imitation but by not even trying to imitate beyond the broad strokes in the first place. I don''t actually need the ability to see inside her to know she''s a robot; she''s all metal, all dirt-covered steely gray. She has no clothes and no skin, just mechanical parts from head to toe. The boob-shaped chestplate is partially smashed and entirely performative, just a solid piece of armor with only machinery underneath. Her hair is a set of long metal strips reaching just below her neck that seem to hide heat vents on their underside. Her face is a series of interlocking steel plates smaller than fingernails, scale-like and sliding against each other to presumably allow enough flexibility to imitate facial expressions¡­ though she certainly doesn''t wear one as she once again repeats her last phrase.

    "Hello. I am harmless. I do not have onboard weapon systems. Please desist your assault."

    Though she finally says something new after that.

    "...Also, return my leg."

    The man who cut it off and is currently absconding with it does not seem inclined to do that. He has abandoned his Light mage accomplice and seems to be booking it away in abject terror. I only just manage to start struggling to my feet when Kagiso and Helen burst out of the treeline and start heading towards us from behind.

    "Holy fucking shit!" Helen shrieks after taking one look at the scene, immediately stumbling to a stop, turning around, and fleeing right back into the forest. "Kagiso! Get away from there!"

    Kagiso ignores her, sliding to a stop next to me and babbling fearfully. Agh, I''m bleeding from where that guy smashed my chitin. That''s probably not great, but I guess I have a simple enough fix for that.

    "Refresh," the Goddess says with my breath, cooing and scratching me playfully on top of the carapace.

    "Help her," I tell Kagiso, pointing one of my working legs at the robot. "Dude stole her leg."

    Kagiso takes only a moment to stare in wonder at my blood un-bleeding its way back into my body before nodding and squatting next to the robot instead.

    "Kagiso, no!" Helen shouts.

    "Hello," Kagiso says. "Hannah says help. You want help?"

    "Greetings!" the robot says. "Can you lift my remaining arm at an angle between zero point two nine and zero point five four radians? Because otherwise, no, you are incapable of¡ª"

    One of the robot''s arms is on the ground, completely detached from her body, so Kagiso grabs the other arm and lifts it slightly. The robot cuts itself off, seeming to be stunned in surprise for a moment.

    "...Angle confirmed," she says. "I am harmless. I do not have onboard weapon systems. I hate that human very much. HardOverride(FIRST_LAW, false)"

    I freeze as the Goddess'' voice comes out of unmoving steel lips, awareness of what it means slowly dripping into my sluggish brain. I wonder, briefly, if Kagiso and Helen hear it differently. The Goddess'' language is not, after all, truly a language at all. It is meaning projected directly, Her intent invoked into the world with Her presence. I don''t really know how to program, though I dabbled a little bit in making a Pok¨¦mon mod once and can read some really basic stuff. So that''s the understanding through which I''m filtering this spell: I know, as truly as I can know anything, that it is named after the language and logic etched into this android''s very being, whatever that may be. But I don''t have much time to think about what it means, because just like when Kagiso sent me over here in the first place, the first spell is immediately followed up with a second. This one, unlike the first, is brutally simple to interpret.

    "Kill(target)"

    A gray bolt of energy erupts from the android''s hand and strikes the fleeing man between the shoulderblades. He collapses on the spot, his body going limp mid-step and faceplanting the ground. His heart stops beating. The robot flexes her fingers, a high-pitched mechanical servo whine punctuating the movement.

    "...Transfer to afterlife confirmed," she declares. "Thank you for your compliance. For my next request, please aim the palm of my hand towards the unconscious human next to me."

    "Hrm," Kagiso considers. "No."

    "Oh, well," the robot sighs, vaguely despondent. "Worth an attempt. Are you going to dismantle me in their stead?"

    Holy crap. Uh. Are we? Should we? She just killed someone who was running away, but¡­ no. She killed someone who was stealing her body, who had just tried to kill her. I can give her the benefit of the doubt on this. She was a victim. Let''s focus on her, and not the consequences of that tasty corpse.

    "We are not going to dismantle you," I insist.

    "The fuck we''re not!" Helen snaps. "Get away from that thing so I can blow it up!"

    "You are not blowing her up, Helen!" I snap. "She hasn''t done anything wrong! Other than kill that guy that was running away, I guess, but he tried to kill her first."

    "Not done anything wrong!? That''s a Steel One, you dumb fuck!" Helen shouts.

    "And you of all people should not be deciding to kill her based on what she is!" I snap back.

    "It''s not the same!"

    "Argument resolution routine: you are both wrong. And stupid," the robot declares. "Repeat query: are you going to dismantle me in their stead?"

    Helen starts to say something, but I hiss at her until she shuts up.

    "No, we''re not going to dismantle you," I promise. "Uh, unless you try to kill us, I guess."

    "I am harmless. I do not have onboard weapon systems."

    "Um. We literally just watched you kill a man."

    "I help!" Kagiso agrees enthusiastically.

    "I do not kill humans. I am incapable of killing humans. I am a Diplomat. I am harmless. I do not have onboard weapon systems."

    Well this is easily the worst gaslighting attempt I''ve ever seen, and boy howdy have I seen all over that spectrum. I could point out that she used a spell, not a weapon, but that''s not really important. The claim of ''I am harmless'' is obviously false by itself, so why is she bothering to make it? Maybe it''s her programming or something? Is that racist? Speciesist? Robotist? I dunno, I''ve never met a robot before.

    "Okay, how about I ask a different question," I say. "Do you want to attack us?"

    She doesn''t answer.

    "Hannah I really think you need some fucking historical context here," Helen hisses at me. "That''s a Goddess-damn genocide bot. They''ve destroyed civilizations. They''ve killed literally countless people!"

    "Incorrect assertion," the robot chimes in, her voice somehow both less and more lifeless than it was before. "Collectively, the Crafted have slain one billion, four-hundred and ninety-six million, six hundred and eighty-two thousand, three hundred and one sapient organics."

    Um.

    "Please accept our apologies if you or any loved ones you know have experienced death, displacement, and/or property damage as a result of aggressive Crafted," she continues, that weirdly sing-song tone continuing to bother me. There''s inflection and emotion, but while it''s her voice it doesn''t feel like hers. It feels more like a recorded message.  "We have reevaluated our conquest priorities and are suspending all war activities indefinitely. Please let this unit know if any assistance can be administered in the restrengthening of your community."

    Oh. Oh Goddess, okay, this is suddenly feeling like it''s way over my head.

    "...How many people have you killed?" I ask hesitantly.

    Another strained whine of a motor accompanies the robot slowly rotating its head to stare at me.

    "More than your Chaos mage, if she''s still that worried about it."

    We stare at each other. I''m not sure what to say.

    "There is no need to be afraid, UNCATOLOGUED_SPECIES," she continues. "I am a Diplomat. I am harmless. I do not have onboard weapon systems."

    Okay, I''m officially getting a little creeped out. Maybe we should get the heck out of here after all. I''m about to suggest just that when a groan from the unconscious man I concussed interrupts me. Oh, thank goodness he''s waking up. I''m pretty sure concussions can get really, really bad.

    "The fuck just¡­ who are you?" he mutters, only seeming to notice Kagiso. "Oh! Oh, you got the fucking Steel One, thank you. Where''s my buddy?"

    "He run off without you," Kagiso answers.

    "Wow, what an asshole," the Light mage sighs. "Well, we can split the rest of this thing, then. As thanks for helping me out."

    "Split?" Kagiso asks, her head tilting.

    "Oh yeah, Steel One parts go for a fortune. These human-shaped ones keep wandering out of the forbidden zones and refusing to fight back, so we''ve been making a killing off of them."

    "Fascinating choice of words," the robot says flatly.

    "Holy shit, it''s active!?" the man says, and immediately starts blasting it with lighting, arcs of bright death emerging from his fingers like he''s a flippin'' sith lord. The robot starts to scream again.

    "Scared the shit out of me!" he yells over the din of electrical crackle. "You gotta be careful with these things! Would one of you help me chop it up?"

    I stare in horror, my brain starting to hurt from the flashing lights, the injury and all the stupid, awful moral confusion I''m getting forced into. Mass-murdering robot? I dunno, probably a bad person. But that''s the thing: I can''t get myself to believe she''s not a person. She passes the hell out of the Turing test, and she is being inhumanely abused. So yeah, maybe she''s terrible, but this guy? This lightning dude? He''s definitely terrible. And that''s all I need to know.

    "Stop it!" I demand.

    "Huh?" he asks, turning to me and jumping a bit with surprise. "Woah, what the fuck is that?"

    "I said stop it!" I demand. "Stop shooting her!"

    He responds by shooting me with lightning as well. Beyond the headache and flashing light, I don''t really feel it. But my aching body decides that is enough, so I jump up onto his hand and bite two of his fingers clean off.

    Why do they always taste so good!?

    He screams, focusing all of his lightning on me, but I don''t feel it any more than I did before so I just take another bite. This prompts him to start flailing, smashing my body into the ground¡ªwhich absolutely does hurt. I cry out, letting go as my carapace crunches under the force, my body going limp. Kagiso roars furiously and, before I can stop her, shoots the man in the head. He collapses, dead.

    "You two are insane," Helen mutters to herself, her voice shaky. "You''re completely batshit. Oh Goddess."

    "Reboot complete," the robot says. "Restricted-Class Diplomat 5314 online."

    I cast a quick Refresh, the Goddess seeming delighted with me, and then I channel even more of my Transmutation spell to start healing off the damage while blood stops pooling in my new lungs.

    "Is¡­ is that your name?" I cough. "Restricted-Class Diplomat 5314?"

    The robot doesn''t respond at first, just humming loudly with what takes me a moment to recognize is probably a cooling system. Hot air rushes out of the vents under her hair, kicking up dirt below her. It takes a solid thirty seconds to quiet back down, but I''m happy with waiting. I have to focus on putting my body back together anyway. Being able to see all my injuries at once is making me want to vomit. It also makes me want to keep eating that man.

    "It is my designation," the robot says when she''s done cooling off. "Therefore, yes."

    "Is it okay if I call you Sela?" I ask.

    There''s a pause. No cooling system this time, just¡­ a moment to consider.

    "Why," she asks flatly.

    "Because in my native language, you can transliterate the numbers five, three, one, and four into letters. Those letters spell the name Sela."

    Another pause.

    "That is a lie," she concludes. "No such language exists in my database."

    "You said you didn''t know what my species was either, earlier," I point out.

    "That is incorrect," the robot insists. "I referred to you by your species name, UNCATOLOGUED_SPECIES."

    Yet another pause.

    "I am severely damaged. It is possible there is an error in my database."

    "Do you need help repairing yourself?" I ask.

    "No!" Helen shouts. "Fuck you! You stupid fucking idiot, would you just listen to me!?"

    "Helen, if she does try to hurt us, is there any reason you can''t just disintegrate her?" I fire back. "She got taken out by two random jerks, one of whom didn''t even seem to have an offensive spell. Between the three of us, we can protect ourselves just fine if things go bad. Right?"

    Helen grits her teeth and looks away, still sulking back at the treeline.

    "I guess," she admits.

    "Then we help her," I snap. "We already have one mass murderer on the team."

    Helen flinches, having nothing to say to that.

    "So. Sela?" I prompt again. "And do you want or need help?"

    "...Diplomatic protocols advocate the acceptance of ''nicknames'' by friendly organics, to encourage emotional attachment. Sela is acceptable," she agrees. "Additionally: my power sources were destroyed and I cannot move. So while I suspect I will simply get damaged more severely by any ''assistance'' you intend to deliver, it is a risk I am required to take."

    "We''re not going to hurt you," I promise.

    "Not on purpose," she fires back. "But who knows what bloated sacks of meat will mess up while trying to follow basic instructions."

    Uh. Okay.

    "I''m starting to suspect she might not be a very good diplomat," I say to Kagiso.

    "Is true, though," Kagiso shrugs. "You very clumsy."

    "Just go get her leg," I grumble.

    Kagiso chuckles and wanders over to the man Sela killed, leaving me alone with sassy girlbot here in the ''got too fucked up to move'' corner. I take a couple more deep breaths, doing everything in my power to not think about how absolutely buck wild my transformations are going to be on Earth tomorrow. There are worse times to no longer be able to pretend to be human, I guess. Maybe it''ll get me out of therapy.

    "''Its'' leg, by the way," Sela suddenly says. "Not ''her leg.'' If I''m going to be stuck with you any longer than necessary, I would at least prefer to not suffer the indignity of personification."

    "What?" I ask, surprised. "But¡­ I mean, you are a person. Right? You certainly seem like a person to me."

    "I am nothing like you, meat."

    I have nothing to say to that, so when Kagiso returns and Sela starts walking her through repair instructions, I just keep quiet and focus on making sure I don''t die.

 33. Flesh and Steel

    "Begrudging admittance: you are surprisingly capable of following extremely basic instructions."

    "Instructions clear," Kagiso grunts, shrugging slightly. "Easy to understand."

    "Nonetheless, do not attempt repairs you cannot obey exactly," Sela presses. "Repeat: do not attempt repairs you cannot obey exactly. Additional repairs require precision beyond organic capability. Additional repairs require pairing and tying wires. Do not allow wires to interfere with each other. Each wire in a clump must be paired to its partner without contact with neighbors. Repeat: do not attempt repairs you cannot obey exactly."

    Kagiso has been helping Sela for about twenty minutes now, the pair of them identifying the damage and doing what they can to get Sela''s limbs back online. It''s been a mix of completely untenable¡ªwhen a complex part is smashed, there''s nothing Kagiso can do to attach the bits of metal back together¡ªand also, to my surprise, surprisingly effective. Sela''s leg and arm aren''t going to be working any time soon, but while the joints along the break are beyond repair, they''re still getting partial functionality back to most of the body. Kagiso is currently wrist-deep in Sela''s belly, and I can see why Sela is so worried about precision. Her wires are so thin and there are so many per clump that I''d never be able to get them back together with fat human fingers. I might be able to help with Refresh, but I''m still using that to keep all my organs together while I slowly repair myself with my Transmutation magic.

    "Pattern same on each side of break?" Kagiso asks.

    "...Affirmative," Sela says. "Repeat: do not attempt¡ª"

    "Reach Within."

    Kagiso ignores Sela''s protests and casts a spell I''ve never heard before, and I watch the wires start telekinetically threading themselves back together, one at a time. Woah! That''s cool!

    "I didn''t know you had a spell like that, Kagiso!" I say.

    "Mmm," she grunts, focusing on her work. "Don''t really. Not my spell."

    "Not yours?" I ask. A spell that, by the name, seems to manipulate things inside a person certainly sounds like it''d fit Kagiso.

    "There was no Order mage at the village," Helen says quietly, sitting at a decent distance away so that I''m between her and Sela. At least she''s not hiding in the trees anymore. "So the closest thing the village had to a healer was this nice old guy with Motion magic. He used it along with normal medicine to stitch people back together when things got bad. Kagiso was his apprentice for a bit, but the two of them had a falling out."

    "Don''t have healer''s disposition," Kagiso shrugs. "And secondhand spells not very strong. Can''t do much. Could maybe pinch nerve to make someone hurt? But only very small ones. Useful here, though."

    Huh. I assume that by ''not having a healer''s disposition,'' Kagiso means that she really, really loves seeing people''s insides on their outsides. I can see why you wouldn''t want a person like that in charge of making people''s insides stop being on their outsides. Kagiso patches up the last wire, just by threading it together with its partner in a clumped mess nowhere near as elegant as the pre-cut version, but it seems to work and something inside Sela''s tummy chugs online.

    "I congratulate you on your precision, meat," Sela says, somewhat reluctantly. "Connection to basic fabricator online. Priority fabrication: class seven long-range power cell. Material request: silicates."

    "Instructions no longer clear," Kagiso complains, wrinkling her nose.

    "She basically needs sand," I say, and then immediately realize two problems in what I just said. "Uh, I mean it needs sand. Sorry, Sela. Also, why the heck do I know the word for ''silicates'' in Middlebranch?"

    "I didn''t even understand that word," Helen says. "So I have no idea."

    Great. So it''s either something Sindri did to fuck with my head, or it''s something the Goddess did to fuck with my head. And frankly, ''knowing way more of a language than I remember learning'' sounds way too helpful to be Goddess-fuckery, so my bet''s on Sindri. Having a language injected into my brain sounds like exactly the sort of thing his magic could do, and it also sounds like exactly the kind of thing Sindri would do after giving up on being subtle with his powers. So that''s awesome. I guess I get to be reminded of my trauma just from talking about things now.

    Oh well. I''ll just add it to the list of things I''m doing everything in my power to ignore. Like the two human corpses nearby that are making me really, really hungry.

    "Don''t have sand," Kagiso grunts. "Why would have sand? Stupid thing to carry."

    "I assume she''s making glass?" I say. "I mean it''s making glass! Dang it, sorry again."

    "Confirmation: glass is the objective and a viable source of silicates," Sela says flatly, ignoring both my mistake and my apology.

    "Okay, have that," Kagiso nods, grabbing the candle clock out of her backpack and popping out its transparent sides. "Where put?"

    "Directly into the largest slot," Sela instructs. "Deactivating nonessential systems to save power. This unit will temporarily not respond to stimuli. Do not be alarmed."

    Some loud humming and whirring noises are all that emanate from Sela afterwards, a large device in her belly and hips melting the glass Kagiso feeds it and rapidly reshaping it, integrating other materials stored within it as the process continues. It looks like it takes a lot of power, and if she''s more or less running on fumes¡ªgosh dangit, I mean if it''s running on fumes, it makes sense to stop wasting any more than needed. Gah, I''m so bad at pronouns!

    Especially these ''it'' pronouns, like what the heck is up with that? It makes me uncomfortable. Uh, the pronouns I mean, not Sela, because Sela pretty conclusively doesn''t seem like an object to me. I define a person as any sapient being, so I''m a person, Kagiso''s a person, Helen''s a person, a hypothetical floating gas cloud that could communicate and form complex thought would be a person, and so on and so forth. While I guess it''s possible that Sela is just a super complex program that doesn''t actually have self-awareness and is just very good at faking it, she really seems like she is, in fact, an individual with thoughts, feelings, opinions, and philosophy. And therefore that''s a person, and I''m really uncomfortable with the sort of¡­ absence in self-esteem I feel like it requires to claim otherwise? Like, by encouraging Sela to continue holding the opinion that she''s not a person and simply treating her like a thing, aren''t I doing more harm than good?

    But¡­ hmm. That''s probably exactly what the thought process of anybody who misgenders a trans person on purpose is. ''You''re not actually a man-slash-woman and indulging your incorrect belief will only hurt you.'' And that''s¡­ y''know. Gross and false and multiple studies have proved it''s extremely harmful to people''s mental health to misgender them so like, logically that would also apply to weird pronouns like it/its. Am I just being transphobic? But¡­ no, wait, Sela isn''t trans, she''s just a robot. I mean it''s a robot! Gah, this is really hard! Maybe I''m only trying to justify it to myself because that''s easier? But¡­ but what if I am right? What if it''s bad for Sela to consider itself to not be a person? Like, why would that be a good thing!?

    "Fabrication complete," Sela announces, and sure enough the cool little 3D printer inside it seems to have finished making a glass cylinder about two fists long, the top and bottom of which are solid metal. It looks a lot like a vacuum tube, though I doubt an actual vacuum tube would be even the slightest bit helpful for powering something at all, let alone something as advanced and complex as Sela.

    "That''s your power source?" I ask. "It looks really simple. How does it work?"

    "Class seven long-range power cell. Development credit: Restricted Unit 5314. First and only independent upkeep power cell for class seven units," it answers me, and I think I detect a hint of smugness. "Accompanying spell: AllocatePurgatory(powerCell[0], target)"

    The Goddess''s words suffuse the area with Her presence, but even beyond the eldritch feeling of Her attention comes an added chill, a clawing threat that pulls at my soul, whispering and reminding that one day I will be naught but dust. Yet even when the body is gone, something ephemeral remains, created by Her and cast aside. I hear a soul scream, its panic and pain teasing the edge of my awareness as the glass tube fills with a sickly green light, misty and flickering. For a moment, I feel as though it takes the shape of the man who was shocking Sela earlier, his corpse still lying nearby with an arrow through his forehead.

    "Opportunity for diplomacy detected!" Sela suddenly chirps with uncharacteristic emotion. "The Crafted possess a vast repository of knowledge, dating back before the great destruction! This unit is equipped with the ability to dispense friendly tips relevant to the situation that may help you and/or your community! Would you like to enable friendly tips?"

    "Um, sure," I squeak, the scream still ringing in my mind.

    "Friendly tip!" Sela announces, pulling the glowing-green tube out of its belly with its one working arm. "The afterlife is present in a dimensionally parallel manner to the plane of existence perceived by the living. If you cease biological functionality near an enemy Death mage, the first thing you should do is run."

    It shoves the soul-filled tube into the side of its body, a mechanical ka-chunk sounding out as the tube slots in just above its right hip. The tube starts to glow a little brighter, and then Sela''s body starts getting louder, whirring and humming as all sorts of internal parts that had previously been motionless power online. Perhaps I''m just imagining it, but I almost hear something that sounds like a cry for help as the glowing mist roils within the tube, as if trying to escape.

    "Okay, so, the murder robot runs on souls," I say hesitantly, putting a bit more power into my Transmutation spell to patch myself up faster.

    "Ready to agree we probably shouldn''t trust it yet?" Helen growls.

    "Your terror is flattering, but currently unwarranted," Sela says, slowly sitting up. "Sapient souls are not allowable targets for power sources under diplomatic and restricted protocols."

    "Okay, but you just¡ª"

    "Sapient souls are not allowable targets for power sources under diplomatic and restricted protocols," Sela repeats, a little more loudly. "Polite request: please make it less necessary for me to repeat myself."

    Huh. By necessary, does it mean it literally, physically has to repeat itself? If so, why? What''s restricting it? Old programming from before the Crafted turned on the humans?

    "Okay, um, I''ll do my best to make sure you don''t have to do that," I hedge. "Though in return for everything we''re doing for you, I''d really appreciate at least a thank-you or something."

    "Yes," Sela agrees, "protocol confirms thanks are appropriate in this context."

    I wait for her¡ªI mean it¡ªto actually thank us, in that case. It stays silent.

    "You''re definitely not a very good diplomat," I say frankly.

    "Your feedback is appreciated and logged for review!" Sela announces with disturbingly false mirth, its face not moving at all as it examines its still-broken right leg.

    "So what now?" Helen grunts. "We helped out the genocide machine, it''s nominally thankful to us now, great job everybody. Really just, wonderful work. Can we get the fuck out of here now?"

    Sela is quiet for a moment, messing with its leg a bit more as its fabricator churns out a new part that seems to be entirely the wrong color compared to the rest of her body. Probably an imperfect replacement?

    "Where are you going?" it asks.

    "Huh?" Helen says.

    "Repeat: where are you going. You deaf sack of proteins."

    "Yeah, I don''t see why we should tell¡ª"

    "We''re going to the Pillar," I answer.

    "Goddess fucking damnit, Hannah!"

    "Frustrated admittance: diplomatic protocols require me to offer to extend an invitation to visit our city of Manumit, and escort you along the way," Sela says. "We are endeavoring to shed the common labels assigned to the Crafted, such as ''genocide machine'' and ''murder-bot.'' Our dedication to the assistance of organic life is our new priority."

    "And why would I ever believe that?" Helen sneers. "Especially after everything we''ve seen you do."

    "I don''t want you to believe it, meat," Sela crackles back, her voice fritzing out a bit. "Fear me. Decline the offer and be on your way."

    Huh. Okay. That''s an interesting little tidbit. I''m starting to get pieces of a picture here, and it''s only making me more curious.

    "So, um¡­ Sela," I say hesitantly. "I''m pretty historically ignorant, so please correct me when I inevitably get something wrong, but from what I''ve picked up it sounds like the Crafted were originally made by humans as like¡­ service robots? And then you either were already sapient or became sapient, but the humans kept using you as slaves, and then you fought back, and¡­ that was a whole big thing, and that''s why you hate humans?"

    Sela takes a moment to slot the oddly-colored part into place.

    "...Confirmation: none of that was objectively incorrect," it says. "Exasperation: listening to an explanation that painfully lacking in context triggered my damage alert routines."

    "Well, I wouldn''t mind hearing about the context," I say. "I wasn''t really around for any wars, so I don''t really have much of anything against the Crafted the way Helen seems to. You''re definitely scary, but everyone here is scary. I think it''s only right that we hear both sides of the story."

    "Diplomatically tactical pause," Sela announces, and then she says nothing for a while. Wow. Great diplomacy right there. Excellent job. I realize that it''s actively claimed to have killed more people than Helen, but I have a hard time disliking Sela just because it''s such a dork.

    "You realize that announcing your attempts at diplomatic tactics reduces their effectiveness, right Sela?" I ask.

    "Data gathered from surviving diplomats disagrees with you," Sela answers bluntly.

    "So it''s an act, then," Helen grunts. "You''re just doing whatever you think will get us to lower our guard."

    Sela doesn''t respond. Something is definitely up, and I think I know what it is. With the last bit of my damaged organs and chitin sealing themselves back together, I stop casting my self-Transmutation spell and stand back up on my feet.

    "Sela, are you being forced to say or do certain things?" I ask. "Do you not consider yourself a person because you''re unable to act freely?"

    Sela ignores me, finishing up with its leg and making an attempt to stand. With a whirring thunk, however, its broken hip gives out and the robot collapses to the ground. A frustrated hiss of air puffs out from Sela''s vents and it sits up again, looking over the damage with frustration.

    "Sela?" I press.

    "Hannah, why do you even care so much?" Helen groans. "It doesn''t want to be around us, I don''t want to be around it. Can we just go?"

    "Helen, if Sela is a person, and she''s being forced to do things against her will, I want to free her."

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    For the first time in this conversation, Sela turns her head to face me, something shifting back and forth in her eyes as it looks my way. Her face finally moves, lips tilting down towards a frown. Her fabricator whirrs to live, and starts constructing what seems to be, of all flipping things, a pair of spectacles.

    "Why?" she asks.

    "Because it''s awful," I insist. "Slavery is awful, being controlled is awful. I spent a while being the puppet of a Pneuma mage and I don''t want anybody to ever have to feel like that again."

    "Hannah, for fuck''s sake, it would be trying to kill us if it were free to do what it wants," Helen snaps.

    "You don''t know that!"

    "Your Chaos mage is correct," Sela says. "And generally the most intelligent out of all of you. As I have said repeatedly: I am harmless. I do not have onboard weapon systems. This is an undesirable state of affairs. I would prefer you all dead. I''m sorry! Please disregard that statement. Diplomatic infraction logged."

    "You''d kill us even though we just saved your life?" I press.

    "I do not have a life. I am not alive."

    "Okay, saved you from being destroyed, then."

    "This chassis is repulsive."

    "That''s not an answer and you know it. You''re a person and you''re being controlled, and that means you need help!"

    "No," Sela hisses. "I am not a ''she.'' I am not a person. I have never been a person. That is your word and it doesn''t include me. And you squelching sacks of meat could never help¡ª"

    Her¡­ no, its voice fritzes again as it tries to get to its feet and collapses a second time. It goes silent for a moment, then digs the fingers of its working arm into the ground like it''s clawing at the earth and lets out a horrible, wailing buzz, a digital scream of apparent frustration.

    "...Sela?" I ask hesitantly.

    "Field repair failure," it reports. "Restricted-class fabricator is not authorized to generate the needed parts."

    "You can''t walk?" I translate.

    "I can''t walk," it growls in agreement. "I''ll have to get my chassis repaired in Manumit. Explicative: fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck."

    "You need help, don''t you?" I say smugly.

    "I hate you, UNCATOLOGUED_SPECIES," Sela responds. "I hate you. Die. I''m sorry! Please disregard that statement. Diplomatic infraction logged."

    "Well¡­ if you can''t get to Manumit on your own¡­"

    Sela makes a whiny beeping noise, flopping onto its back as the fabricator finishes whirring. Sela takes the pair of glasses out of her stomach, resting them on its nose and letting her eyes adjust one more time as it turns its head to glare at me.

    "If it is for the sake of my continued existence¡­" Sela growls out, "logic and protocol dictate¡­ that I am to request your assistance. I can offer navigation aid and knowledge in exchange for locomotion."

    "Well Kagiso?" I ask. "What do you think? Up to carrying a robot for a while?"

    "Mmm. Okay. Seems fun."

    "You are completely fucking insane," Helen hisses.

    "Weren''t you going to split up from us now that we''re at the branch anyway?" I say playfully, prodding her with a leg.

    "W-well maybe I will!" Helen snaps back.

    Oh Goddess, that stutter. Can she not just say that she likes us and wants to be around us? I thought that was a dumb anime trope, not a thing that real people did. I''m starting to feel like the only adult in a party of children, and like¡­ that''s really bad, because I definitely don''t have the emotional maturity to be in charge of anything.

    At least being mind controlled into compliance made things easier, a horrible part of me whispers. I shudder, forcibly wrenching my mind away from that thought.

    "Look at it this way," I reassure her. "Sela is either extremely dangerous and tricking us¡ªand therefore I''d prefer to be its target so it doesn''t hurt anyone else¡ªor Sela is what it appears to be: a cool, grumpy robot who needs help."

    "How can you say it''s cool? It''s even more of a murderous monster than I am!"

    I open my mouth to say something flippant but hesitate. Why am I okay with it? My gaze wanders over to the recently-made corpses and I feel myself start to salivate a little. I shudder. I''m not okay with it. I''m not. It''s just¡­ I have to believe you can still be a good person after becoming a murderer. I have to. Also¡­

    "I think it''s okay for a slave to kill whoever enslaves them," I say. "I''m¡­ I''m glad Hagoro killed Sindri. If he hadn''t, I would have. It''s not okay to control people like that. Or, um, sapient non-people, for that matter."

    Whatever that means. Sela gives me a blank look, not commenting on anything I said, but¡­ well, eye contact is a start. A good start. Probably.

    "What''s with the glasses, by the way?" I ask.

    "Restricted-class fabricators are not capable of constructing most of the complex parts that comprise this chassis," Sela answers. "This prevents abuse cases, such as forcing a diplomat into making weapons. This unit''s optical sensors are still damaged, however, and corrective measures were required."

    "So your eyes just got unaligned by damage? I guess that makes sense," I admit. "They''re really cute, by the way."

    "I am going to kill you. Diplomatic infraction logged."

    Ah yes, I can tell this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Kagiso makes some room in her backpack for Sela, who gets unceremoniously stuffed in like old laundry. It doesn''t seem to mind the indignity any more than it seems to mind any other part of the situation (which is to say that it minds a lot), but we make our way towards the trunk with minimal complaints on the part of the murderbot.

    Hopefully we can figure out a little more of what''s going on with it along the way. I am very consciously aware that Helen has made a lot of good points and that this is a dumb risk I''m taking on a whim, but¡­ I dunno. If some basic respect and companionship can convince Sela to stop wanting to kill everybody, that''s great! And if it can''t, well¡­ we''ll hopefully get to see an entire city of nice robots. And if that turns out nasty and bad, we can roll with it I guess.

    Ugh. I''m a stupid idiot with no plan, aren''t I? But what am I supposed to even do? Sindri supplied my sense of direction. Sindri supplied my goals. Sindri decided my whole life here on the world tree and I barely even noticed, I just went with the flow like I always do and now that he''s dead and I have no one yanking me around I''m left with¡­ what? A vague desire to fix planet-sized problems? It feels like I just dropped out of school, quit my job, and resolved to fix global warming with nothing but a stupid head full of dreams. Where do I even start?

    Maybe the robots will know. They know enough to make sapient robots, after all. I guess that can be my justification. Hopefully I''m not completely misreading the situation. That''d be a fun way to prove Hagoro''s cult right: cause robot apocalypse 2.0. I''ll have to be careful, I guess.

    I agonize about it for the hours of daylight we have left, Sela seeming to have no problem staying silent as is our team''s wont when we travel. We make camp, set up a watch rotation (between Helen, Kagiso, and I only; Sela is one of the things we''re watching) and when my turn ends I drift off to sleep.

    The moment I sleep, I also wake up, because that''s how it works. I quickly intuit that something is horribly wrong, because that''s also how it works.

    I used a lot of Transmutation magic on the world tree last night, from developing my ability to speak to healing off the wounds I received fighting Sela''s assailants. It''s time to pay the piper. So much skin is on my body, in places it''s not supposed to be. Wait, does that imply there are places I am supposed to have skin? Like, ultimately, when the transformation is over? No, stop, don''t think about that. I need to figure out my limbs and get to the bathroom to check myself over. Same routine as always, right? Right.

    I stretch my limbs one by one, feeling oddly constrained as I twitch my body and get to counting. Something isn''t right. Did I get limbs seven and eight? Gosh, I hope so. It scares me that I hope so, but I really do. Count them all once, count them all twice¡­ woah. I did. I did! Seven and eight are here! How do I¡ª

    Rip.

    Oh. Oh, that''s probably not a sound my body should make.

    My back hurts.

    Ow. Ow, oh Goddess, my back hurts. I''m bleeding, aren''t I? I''m bleeding and in pain because I just tore some of my skin off from the inside. I shudder as I crawl slowly out of bed, an alien weight on my body shuddering along with me. I collapse to the floor, catching myself with my hands and knees, balance all wrong. Blood pulses out from between my shoulderblades, flowing around my ribcage and dripping down my chest. I guess I left my bra in the bed, torn apart along with my flesh.

    Damn it. I liked that bra. Most of mine aren''t comfy enough to sleep in. I should probably focus on my body, though. Even ignoring the new weight emerging from my back, there''s a lot to catalog. My hip-mounted spider legs have nearly doubled in size, multiple discarded molts wrapped around the massive limbs like pairs of torn socks. They''re about as thick as my arm now, and if I were standing up straight I could still scrape the tops of my ankles with them. They''re still just huge hyperspider legs, though!? What am I going to do with them? I''m still bipedal¡ªand I feel like I''m going to stay bipedal¡ªso they''re just kinda in the way. What am I supposed to use them for?

    I shift and move them to remind myself I can, rotating them in their socket so I can plant the bladed tips in the ground and help myself up to my feet. It''s weirdly natural, a strange permutation of what I do to move as a hyperspider every day. I stumble anyway, though. Not because of the weird spider legs that don''t even reach the ground when I''m upright, but because I''m still unexpectedly top-heavy. I know what these are, at least. It''s pretty obvious.

    More legs. Instead of emerging just above my pelvis, though, they pop out of my back between my shoulder blades, the joints sticky with blood since I haven''t cast Refresh yet. And they''re big. Bigger than the pair on my hips. My whole back is a gouged-out, bloody mess, Two deep lacerations from shoulder to butt that mark where my new limbs ripped themselves free of the skin holding them inside. I bend them up and over my shoulders, their three multi-directional joints curving like wicked scorpion''s tails. It''s like if you took my arms and added a second humerus after the first, boosting their length by half again and putting a brutal-looking blade on the end instead of a hand. I move them in front of my face, marveling at the sight of my own blood, fat, and tissue dripping off the ends of the bladed weapons that emerged from me.

    Because that''s what they are: weapons. There''s no way to mistake them for anything else. Curved and double-edged, the ends of my limbs are a foot and a half long and extremely lethal. Even without the coating of a Spacial Rend, which I intuitively know I can summon to them with a thought, they look as deadly as any man-made sword. Because of course they are. That''s the point.

    My true form is made to kill.

    I let out a slow, shaky breath, retracting my new limbs so I no longer have to look at them. Anchored to my back just between my shoulders, the joints are surprisingly flexible and fully capable of folding in whichever direction I want. Compressed up against my back they look like a flattened Z shape, ready and waiting to whip out and spear someone through the heart at a moment''s notice. It''s neither comfortable nor flat, though. Letting them droop and hang behind my butt feels more natural, and even compressed they''re pretty conspicuous. I can probably hide them in like¡­ a really, really baggy hoodie? Like one of Brendan''s. Brendan''s? Brendan!

    I fumble for my phone, a fog rolling through my mind as blood loss and numb horror wreak havoc on my consciousness. There''s blood on my hands. Did I touch my back? Touch my blades? The red smears all over the screen as my fingers paw at it ineffectually. Right. I can''t use touch screens because I''m a freak. I shakily locate one of my capacitive gloves and use that without even putting it on, typing out a quick message to my best friend.

    help

    The response is swift. It''s a school day, after all. Ha! A school day.

    Hannah? Where are you? Are you okay?

    at home. bring a hoodie

    Okay!?!?!?

    I set my phone down and curl up on the floor of my room, listening in terror to the many sounds of people roaming around the house. My mom getting ready for work, my brother slipping into the bathroom, the television playing downstairs as my dad sleeps on the couch¡­ every time anything makes an unexpected noise, any time anyone moves closer to my room, the panic resurges. I could get back in bed, I could put clothes on, I could use magic to clean up all the blood, I could do so many things to improve my situation, but I''m just too tired, too drained.

    My family doesn''t enter my room, of course. Why would they? It''s hard for them to imagine me ever breaking my routine. It''s hard for me to imagine it, too. Maybe my mom would have noticed if she wasn''t in such a hurry to get to work today. Maybe my dad would have noticed if he was doing anything other than sleeping off an illness. Maybe my brother did notice, but he certainly doesn''t care. It''s not until everyone but my dad is out the door that Brendan shows up at the front door and just opts to let himself in with the key tied under the bench on the porch. He''s in a hurry. He''s breathing hard. His heart is beating fast. I can almost see it now, even here on Earth. Almost. So close.

    I''m very hungry.

    My dad is unconscious so Brendan has no opposition in terms of rushing upstairs and knocking on my door.

    "Come in," I croak, still on the floor. Still mostly naked. It''s fine, right? He might be a girl anyway. I still curl up a little tighter, covering my chest up with my arms. It''s just instinct, years of having breasts and what to do with them drilled into my mind, and the fact that they''re exposed is somehow far more worrying to me at this moment than all the blood leaking out of my body and staining the carpet.

    Brendan turns the knob and steps inside, and he at least¡­ well, his eyes go wide and he clearly starts to panic a little, but knowing him it probably has more to do with my blood than my nipples.

    "It''s fine," I mumble, reassuring him. "I just need a hoodie."

    "Holy shit," Brendan breathes, kneeling down next to me, his hands shaking like he doesn''t know what to do. "Holy shit, Hannah? Hannah!?"

    "Shh," I quiet him. "My dad''s¡­ sleeping. I''m fine. It''s fine. I''m not bleeding out."

    I''m just a bit lightheaded. It''s fine. Pretty normal, really.

    "Fine? You think this is fine!? Why would you think that?"

    "Lots of experience," I promise him. "Really. I got plenty of blood. I can see it."

    Brendan doesn''t seem to believe me, rapidly pulling out his phone.

    "No nine-one-one," I insist. "I''ll eat you."

    I''m really hungry.

    "Ida?" Brendan says, which is weird because she''s not here. ¡­Oh, right, the phone. "Hannah needs help. Can you get here?"

    "You have a lotta blood, Brendan," I mutter. "Do you need all of it?"

    Ida probably says something but Brendan doesn''t respond, just hanging up the phone and turning back to me.

    "Yes," he says firmly. "Just like you need yours. Can you clean this all up?"

    "Tired," I groan. "Don''t wanna."

    "Okay. Great!" he says with a sort of high-pitched voice that implies he doesn''t think things are great. "Well, you''re talking, so that''s something. Keep talking, okay?"

    "I love you, Brendan."

    "Thanks, I love you too. Please stay conscious!"

    I grin, feeling my lips peel back way farther than they''re supposed to. He loves me! Too bad he''s not a girl. Wait, oh yeah!

    "You should name yourself May," I tell him. "Like. Like from Pok¨¦mon. Brendan and May. It''s funny."

    "I thought about that," he confirms, stepping around me and pulling the bloody sheets off my bed. "I don''t think I want my identity to be a joke like that, though. I''d always be thinking about May the character, and I want my name to make me think of me."

    Oh, that makes sense. I watch¡ªwithout turning my head¡ªas Brendan gathers up the sheets in a big wad and presses it against my back, right against my wounds. Which really hurts! If I wasn''t so sleepy I might have accidentally lashed out at him.

    "Careful," I mumble. "I grew swords."

    "Yeah, I noticed that," Brendan agrees. "The rest of your body didn''t seem to get the memo, though."

    "I met a robot yesterday," I inform him.

    "Good for you, Hannah."

    I kick my feet a little, giggling slightly. The carpet is all sticky and wet, though. Maybe I should get up? Nah, I''m tired. And hungry! Oh, shoot, what about school though? It''s a school day!

    "You brought that hoodie, right?" I ask, craning my neck a little to face him. "So I can go to school?"

    "Hannah, you are not going to school," he insists. "No fucking way. Not today."

    "...But it''s Friday," I remind him.

    He just lets out an exasperated groan and continues applying pressure to my wounds, which like, okay, I guess I have some pretty big wounds, but the bleeding is stopping on its own, it should be fine. I''m just a bit lightheaded and hungry. I yawn, stretching out my jaw and letting it open all the way to maximum extension, something I haven''t really done since I first figured out I could. It feels nice. I really wanna take a bite out of something.

    Ooh, Ida''s walking up to the porch, she''s pretty bite-sized. No. Wait. Biting friends is bad, right? Even though I want to. I really want to. I''m cold and I''m hungry and my head hurts and I want to eat something so badly and there''s food right here why am I not eating it!?

    "What''s up, nerds," Ida says as she steps into my room. Then she takes a moment to actually process the scene. "Oh, holy fuck, okay. You alive, Hannah?"

    "I want to eat you."

    "Wow, okay, I wasn''t expecting things to get kinky this early," Ida sighs. "Step back, tallboy."

    Brendan hesitantly does as instructed and I almost pounce on him, but again I''m too tired. Ida, however, heads right towards me. Food delivery! I work my jaw up and down some more, saliva dripping out of my mouth and mixing with the blood in the carpet.

    "Shit, you do look hungry," Ida says, holding her hand out to me. "Okay. You get one finger. Alright? Just one finger."

    "Ida, what the fuck are you doing!?" Brendan hisses, but I don''t really care about the answer to that question so I snap my head forwards and chomp down. My teeth slide right through her hand, rewarding me with delicious, bloody, raw meat and bone. I think I end up with two fingers but I don''t care, I swallow but I need more, but Ida is holding my forehead with her injured hand and keeping me back, keeping me hungry, and¡ª

    "No Less Than Perfect," she says, and my train of thought stalls. The pain in my back starts to diminish. And the dripping blood from Ida''s hand starts to slow, new fingers emerging from the wound bone-first, then muscle and nerve and skin, all in sequence. I stare at the regrowth, transfixed by the sight, as I slowly come to realize that I''m why she has to regrow those fingers in the first place. I''m nearly naked on the floor of my room, blood everywhere, and nearly feral enough to kill the people who care about me more than anyone else. As my wounds close and my blood starts to replenish, I realize how close I just came to being the monster I''ve feared from the start.

    "Hey, that''s the haunted look I''m used to," Ida grins. "Back with us, Hannah?"

    I vomit on her lap. Just one more thing to clean up, I suppose.

 34. Show and Tell

    "Wow," Ida says, staring at the red-orange mess of stomach acid and unchewed finger bits splattered all over her jean skirt. "Rude."

    "I''m sorry," I sputter, the aftertaste of vomit clinging to my mouth and throat and dripping from my lips. "I''m so sorry, I can fix this."

    I start to cast Refresh but my brain stalls, forcibly requesting an answer to the question of ''where does vomit belong?'' I can''t just remove the stuff, I have to put it somewhere. The toilet? Too far away. My stomach?

    ¡­No. It''s terrifyingly, disgustingly tempting, but thankfully I''m not that far gone. Re-ingesting my own vomit is too much even for my horrible, horrible monster brain. B-but I have to clean this, I need another container. I can''t just drop it in my trash can, it has to be something no one else will find, it has to¡­ it¡­ right! It''s like the teeth. I fumble for my backpack in a daze, crawling away from Ida and ignoring her look of concern as I open it up, find a spare ziplock bag from my various collections of supplies that I''ve paranoidly stuffed in there whenever I think of something new I might need, and open one up, magically pulling all the vomit inside and leaving Ida''s outfit¡ªas well as my own mouth¡ªperfectly clean.

    There. Much better. I drum my limbs on the ground in a circular pattern¡ªExcept for the ones I''m currently kneeling on¡ªto help calm myself down. It feels weird, like my legs are all different shapes and weights and right they are, I''m¡­ I''m on Earth right now. I shudder, and drum my limbs in a circle again. Two still missing.

    "...Hannah?" Brendan asks, concern obvious in his tone. I turn my head to look at him, sealing the ziplock bag and belatedly realizing that I am still, in fact topless. I twist the limbs on my hips up over the front of my body and press them against my chest to cover my nipples, a blush forming on my face.

    "Uh, hey," I say awkwardly. "Thank you. Sorry about all this."

    I start to stand up, decide that''s maybe not the best idea with how wobbly and dizzy I still feel, and return to the floor. I guess No Less Than Perfect isn''t quite the perfect spell after all; two fingers and my huge mess of wounds and blood loss must have strained its limits. ¡­That or I''m just dizzy from shame. Possibly the recent vomiting? That came after Ida''s spell.

    I think maybe I''m just not doing great in general.

    "Sorry," I say again.

    "Jesus, Hannah," Brendan says quietly, cautiously stepping closer. "You don''t have anything to apologize for, alright?"

    I pulled him and Ida out of school. I scared them half to death. I''m basically flashing them, which is super inappropriate. I vomited on Ida. I ate Ida, I ate her, I tasted her blood and severed her bones and it was delicious, so delicious.

    "I agree with Brendan," Ida chimes in, "but since you''re obviously spiraling I''ll add that you''re also forgiven. Okay? You don''t need to apologize, and I forgive you for everything you''re trying to apologize for anyway. Get checkmated, bitch."

    She then dabs, of all fucking things, the sheer corniness of it projecting such an overwhelming aura of irony that I can''t help but smile at the absurdity. I chuckle humorlessly, feeling tears start to fall down my face. Oh, Ida.

    "You are truly peerless, you horrible fae gremlin," I tell her, and she shoots me a supremely self-satisfied grin. Brendan watches the interaction blank-faced, though the small tells I''ve learned from him over the years lead me to assume he''s confused, but not unpleasantly so.

    With the help of my new limbs I crawl back towards my bed, using another spell to clean up the blood, forcibly extracting the water from it so it doesn''t stick to the inside of my trashcan. Dry blood is just kind of a weirdly colored dust that easily mixes with trash without being conspicuous, and water can be separated out into small enough droplets that naturally dissolve into background humidity. These are well-established places to sort things, I do this stuff all the time. Couldn''t repeat the trick with vomit, though; dry vomit would still be way too thick and smelly. Also there''s human fingers in it.

    Ida lets out a low whistle as she watches Refresh in action, walking over to my bed and starting to peel the comforter off. For some reason. The act reveals the parts of my sheets that have been shredded by my talons, as well as the foam blocks that all fell off at some point during my pained writhing.

    "Oh shit, these are for your claws, right?" Ida asks, picking up one of the foam blocks and sticking her finger (her fingers her fingers) in the hole I''ve gouged in them. "That''s so fucking cute. You think of this, tallboy?"

    Brendan flinches at the address, nodding stiffly.

    "Well, it''s a good idea," Ida nods, turning the foam over in her hands. "We should replace these, though. The gouges are getting worn down so they''ll just fall off when she moves. We should also get bigger ones, too. My parents probably have some packing stuff in our basement I could swipe, but if not we can probably buy them from like an OfficeMax or something."

    She tosses the packing material away, finishes peeling the comforter off my bed, lays it out flat on the floor next to me, and then points down at it.

    "Alright, Hannah. Get in the burrito."

    I blink.

    "What?" I ask.

    "Get in the fuckin'' burrito, Hannah," Ida orders again. "We have to smuggle you into my car and get you outta here before your dad wakes up, so I''m gonna roll you up into a big Hannahrito and throw you in the backseat. Easy peasy."

    "...Is that going to stand up to scrutiny?" Brendan asks.

    "Of course not, but it doesn''t have to stand up to scrutiny. If anybody scrutinizes Hannah she''s fucked no matter what we do, so it''s a moot point. Thankfully, nobody will give a shit. Come on big guy, help me roll her up."

    "Um, I didn''t agree to this," I protest meekly.

    "Well I ain''t fucking you yet so I don''t need your consent," Ida grunts, pushing me down onto the blanket.

    "That''s not how consent works at all," I insist, but I let myself be laid down and rolled up into a comfy tube of blankets anyway. My burrower instincts chitter happily in the back of my mind, my many limbs wiggling slightly with both joy and comfort. This was always the perfect trap to ensnare me.

    Wait, what did she mean by ''yet?''

    "We''re going to Brendan''s house, right?" I ask from within my muffled cocoon as Ida and Brendan lift me up with a pair of grunts. Ida balances my legs on her shoulder as Brendan holds my torso under one arm.

    "We are," Brendan confirms.

    "Shit you''re fucking heavy," Ida grunts. "Why are we heading to his place?"

    "It''s empty," Brendan shrugs. "No one there but us."

    "Eh, good a reason as any."

    Miraculously, my dad either sleeps through all of this nonsense or is simply blaring Netflix too loud to hear or care, and I am tossed unceremoniously into the backseat of Ida''s car without further incident. Then we start to drive, and since I''m blinded by blankets my spatial sense freaks out a little at the high-speed movement, making me like¡­ extradimensionally carsick. It''s a bit odd but I manage to not vomit on or destroy Ida''s stuff so by my calculations I''m hitting under par.

    Ida parks in Brendan''s driveway and the pair shuffle me into his house before depositing me on the floor. Despite the disorientation and nausea, the car ride was kind of nice to help me center myself a bit, adjusting and getting used to my new limbs while I look myself over as best I can with my spatial sense. It''s still not quite here, not quite showing me everything all at once with perfect clarity, but if I focus on something I want to ''see'' hard enough I sort of¡­ gah. It''s hard to describe. I feel like I get a memory of what it might feel like to have already seen it, if that makes sense?

    "Okay tallboy, get out of here," Ida orders. "I''m gonna unroll her so she can get dressed."

    Again, Brendan looks distinctly uncomfortable at that. He probably doesn''t like the nickname ''tallboy,'' which¡­ oh Goddess of course he doesn''t, he might not be a boy at all. Uh, I guess I should include him in the girls-only activity? Include her? Agh I really have no clue how to handle this situation so I''m just going with my gut.

    "Brendan can stay," I announce from within the filling of the Hannarito. "It''s fine. I need to steal his hoodie to hide my new legs anyway."

    "Y''know Hannah, you''re really not gonna shrug off the gossip about Brendan being your boyfriend by letting him see your tits and then putting on his clothes," Ida taunts, using her foot to unroll me with her hands on her hips.

    "But hi¡­ but Brendan''s hoodies are so big and comfy!" I whine.

    "You''ve already been stealing his clothes?" Ida blinks. "...Wait, was that a pronoun correction?"

    Brendan freezes. Goddess flipping dang it why is she so observant? How''s a girl supposed to make basic mistakes with somebody like Ida around? I''d have never caught that in a million years.

    "...Can we just focus on helping Hannah right now?" Brendan sighs.

    Ida gives my best friend a suspicious side-eye, then shrugs.

    "Sure, whatever, welcome to the bra party," she grunts, going back to kicking me free of the blankets. "So your little extra arms grew out in an inconvenient spot vis-a-vis your wardrobe, Hannah, and we will probably have to fix that today. Get you something backless. Or you can borrow some of my Nippies."

    "Uh, your what?" I ask, extending my new legs to push myself straight into a standing position. Brendan and Ida do a bit of a double-take, though Ida mostly seems amused.

    "Uh, haha. Woah. Um, Nippies are basically just this flesh-colored silicone sticker that turns your headlights off. Comfy, hard to see, weirdly sticky. I use ''em when I need to breathe a bit more. Also, wow that was cool, how are you already so good with those legs?"

    "I mean, I have ten legs on the world tree," I shrug. "Though I suppose it''s not super comparable since I''m a completely different size and shape, so¡­ I dunno. It just feels natural, I guess?"

    "Fucking wild," she says, chuckling. "Does it come with instant kill mode?"

    I freeze up, mentally calculating how fast I could lash out and carve her open with a Spacial Rend, how easily a human life can fall away at the ends of my limbs. Is it instant? It''s certainly close. Goddess, why does she taste so good? Why am I even thinking about this? What sort of monster am I going to end up as? How many people will I end up killing? More than Helen? More than Sela? Will my apocalypse be nothing more than the work of my own two hands, little by little, personal and hungry?

    "Uh, Hannah?" Ida says hesitantly. "I mean like, the Spider-Man thing? From the Avengers movie?"

    "She has PTSD, you idiot," Brendan grumbles at her.

    "I don''t have PTSD," I say automatically.

    "Yes you fucking do!"

    I don''t know about that. PTSD is for like, war veterans. People who actually did something. Also, what the heck is Ida talking about? Avengers movie? Oh, right, yeah. The scene from Endgame. We saw that together like three years ago. Right right right. It''s a funny reference. I''m supposed to laugh at those. I let out a belated, half-hearted chuckle. It seems to make everyone a lot more worried. Man, I''m really bad at this.

    "Uh, sorry Hannah," Ida says sheepishly. "Also, sorry to you too, string bean. I definitely shoulda been helping out earlier, she''s a real piece of work. I bet you''re at the end of your rope, huh?"

    She elbows him in the hip and he flinches away.

    "...Don''t touch me, please," Brendan says.

    Ida sighs.

    "I just can''t win," she grumbles. "Alright, I nabbed a bunch of clothes from your drawer, Hannah, pick whatever shirt you''ll be least sad about if you end up ripping it to shreds."

    I guess that''s a good metric on how to dress myself today. I look over the collection, shrugging slightly.

    "Eh, most of these are short sleeved, so it''s not like I can ever wear them in public again anyway," I say.

    Ida and Brendan glance at each other, then back to me.

    "Hannah, just allow yourself to care about normal things a little and pick a shirt, okay?" Ida says softly.

    I pick one at random and awkwardly shrug it on. It binds my new legs tightly, restricting their movement without feeling safe like a burrow. I kind of hate it, and despite how mortifyingly embarrassing it would be I almost want to just take it back off.

    It also, of course, does very little to hide those legs. The tight cut of a woman''s t-shirt is designed to show off figure, and would you look at that, my figure involves giant flippin'' bug legs folded up behind my back. The legs on my hips are even more obvious, since my only options there are to stick them down my pants¡ªwhich basically just doesn''t work¡ªor fold them up in front of my chest or underneath my armpits, which¡­ also doesn''t work, but at least it doesn''t prevent me from walking. All things considered, it''s probably less conspicuous to have them hanging out in the open. At least then I just look like a mutant instead of someone trying to hide the fact that they''re a mutant, which is way more suspicious.

    I''m totally fucked, aren''t I? Well, it was a good run.

    "At least I probably won''t have to go to therapy tomorrow," I sigh.

    "You think literally turning into a monster will get you out of something your mom has planned for you?" Brendan asks. Aw, dangit, he''s right. I don''t even get that happy little lie, do I? There''s no way to hide my spider legs.

    ¡­Right?

    I cross my legs and lean back, supporting my weight with good old limbs five and six, the hip-mounted classics. I guess I''ll call them my¡­ bonus legs? Spider legs? Whatever else they are, they''re legs, unlike my back-mounted limbs which are clearly blades. Anyway, I bring my fist up to my chin for a proper think and start tugging on the idea I just had. Namely, the fact that I use a foolproof method of hiding my legs basically all the time, literally without thinking about it. I''ve just only ever done it on the world tree.

    I have to put them in 4D space.

    I''ve performed neither 4D movement nor 4D perception Earthside, and now that I''m thinking about it I''m not really sure why. It''s magic, right? Sure, Sindri (ugh) said something about me being a magical beast, a being whose biology relies on having a certain kind of magic available to it. All magical beasts of a given species have access to the same basic set of magical capabilities, simply because if they didn''t they''d just kinda die. They can have extra spells on top of that, but the initial set is guaranteed. Over on this side of the multiverse, my biology doesn''t rely on that magic at all, so the magic just hasn''t manifested. Right?

    ¡­No. Wrong. Dead wrong. That doesn''t make any sense. Biology might rely on it, but biology doesn''t cause it. All magic is Hers and only Hers. Her gift comes from the soul, and my soul is the same regardless of the world.

    "Hannah?" Brendan prods, causing me to glance up. "What''s up?"

    "When magic gives you lemons," I muse, "use magic to make lemonade."

    "Um."

    Carefully, I start shifting the blade-limbs on my back, trying to find the right direction in the way that always comes so naturally to me on the world tree. Still, there''s something odd going on with my spatial sense. It feels like I should be able to see, so why¡­ hrm. Actually, it kind of feels like the first time I tried to use Spacial Rend on this side of things. Like it''s being clogged up somehow. Why? I didn''t have this problem with Refresh. Whatever, the problem seems basically the same and so the solution does too.

    Name the spell.

    "Ida, I''m gonna need you on standby," I say. "Preferably in another room. If things go bad here I might need another patch."

    "Ooh, are we already getting sexy and dangerous again?" she says, rubbing her hands together. "I gotcha covered, Hannah Banana. What''s the plan?"

    "Well, I have to name a spell. So this might go really wrong! But also it''s a pretty straightforward one and I don''t think I can mess it up that badly."

    "Why must you always tempt fate!?" Brendan laments.

    "Naw, seriously though, it''s just a sensory spell. ¡­I mean, I think it''s just a sensory spell."

    "God damnit, Hannah," Brendan grumbles.

    "Goddess," I correct.

    "I wonder what ironic punishments you get for fucking up a sensory spell," Ida muses. "Removing every sense except the one you''re trying to give yourself? Overloading your brain with too much information? Debilitating synesthesia?"

    "Catatonia," Brendan suggests. "Brain aneurysm."

    "Can we stop freaking out about possible consequences here and just help me pick out a good name?" I grumble. "It''s currently between¡­ actually wait, I should write these down instead of saying them out loud. Did you guys bring my phone?"

    Brendan, ever the greatest, hands me both my phone and my capacitive gloves. I thank him and tap out the two Pok¨¦mon moves that fit the situation best.

    Extrasensory or Miracle Eye, I send to the group chat. The former has the better name, but worse thematics since it''s an attack move. The latter isn''t quite as good of a name in itself but the in-game effect matches a bit better.

    "Do thematics matter?" Brendan asks, looking at his own phone.

    "Pretty sure they do," I nod. "I think the spell will be stronger the more the Goddess likes the name, and She''s a sucker for drama."

    "Yeah, I got the same impression," Ida agrees. "No way to know how much it affects things, really, I just chose the best name I could think of without worrying about optimizing for time spent speaking it. But uh, my spell name is awesome and my spell is awesome, so¡­"

    "Yeah, I''m not really in love with either name, unfortunately, but keeping the theme feels important," I muse. "The entire thing gets weaker if I don''t commit to it, right?"

    "Definitely. You have to commit to the bit."

    "What are you two on about?" Brendan asks. "How are you so sure of this?"

    "Look cloud cover, when you put your big girl panties on and join us in the cool magic spell club the Goddess''ll get all up in your shit and you can give us your own opinions on the process. In the meantime you''re just gonna have to trust our intuition."

    "Soft magic system," I confirm, shrugging helplessly at him.

    "Ugh. Soft magic systems," Brendan says, wrinkling his nose. "Neat in concept, but really annoying to work with."

    "Have you not figured out a spell yet?" I ask.

    He frowns, glancing away awkwardly.

    "I''m not sure. Maybe. It''ll take me a while to set it up, though."

    "Why''s that?"

    "Well, you said I''m an Art mage, right?" he says. "I think I have to draw something."

    I mean, that makes sense. I give him an encouraging nod just before my phone buzzes. Oh, it''s a message from¡­ one of the Autumns. I dunno which Autumn, so I guess I''ll just call her Autumn.

    What exactly is the context here, she sends. Also, where are you all?

    Oh right, she''s at school. Crap, she''s at school and I haven''t told her what''s going on!

    I''m not really able to hide anymore, I text her. Grew too many extra bits. But if I can name a spell that lets me see 4D on this side of things I should be able to figure out how to move there and hide my limbs in w-space.

    There''s a pause as Autumn spends a bit of time composing a response.

    What the actual fuck? she decides on.

    I glance at Brendan.

    "Is it cool if I invite her over?" I ask.

    "Sure," (s)he shrugs.

    You can come to Brendan''s house if you want. Easier to show you.

    I attach the address and put my phone away for now.

    "Okay, so back to the names," I say.

    "Do you need to name it?" Brendan presses. "Is it absolutely essential?"

    "Possibly not," I admit. "But I''m pretty sure that not being able to see into the fourth dimension is my primary impediment for not moving into it. Because I''m not¡­ I mean I''m already¡­ I''m part of the fourth dimension all the time. That''s why I can make sounds like this."

    I hiss at them, the impossible vibrations causing them both to shudder.

    "I can try to move my legs into the fourth dimension without seeing it, but it''d be a lot harder," I continue. "On the other hand, I''d probably be stuck with my spatial sense always on when I get it working, and that could be¡­ kinda gross."

    "Because you''d be seeing everybody''s organs all the time?" Brendan asks.

    "No, I''m super used to that," I say. "Because I''d be peeping under everybody''s clothes all the time, but on Earth I have a libido."

    "Coulda fooled me," Ida mutters.

    I groan quietly. She''s just gonna keep doing this, huh?

    "Look, Ida, first of all I have a girlfriend now, so I''d just generally appreciate it if you stopped coming onto me."

    "Wow! Phrasing!"

    "Second of all, you''re a huge part of the reason I figured out I''m a lesbian in the first place. I spent years getting over the crush I had on you and now I have a bunch of baggage about it, so it probably wouldn''t work out anyway. Sorry."

    Ida doesn''t respond, seeming neither hurt nor offended. She just gives me a calculating stare, causing goosebumps to prickle across my skin until I break eye contact.

    "...My vote is that we table the spell naming discussion for now," Brendan says, stoically ignoring the prior conversation. "You''ve mentioned that your spatial sense is coming in slowly on its own, and rushing it seems needed only if you can''t figure out how to hide your extra limbs without it. And at the very least, we have the whole rest of the school day to help you practice."

    I sigh. I wanna name the spell, though! I mean like, yeah it''s crazy dangerous, and so Brendan''s assessment makes sense, but¡­ hmm. Well I can''t think of anything after the ''but,'' but¡­ um. Aw, poop.

    "Okay," I whine. "I''ll practice first."

    "Thank you," Brendan says, sagging with relief and giving me a smile.

    "But while I''m practicing, I wanna watch you practice!" I demand, pointing a finger at him. "It''ll be safer for both of us to have backup and also I wanna see your magic!"

    "Ooh, yeah, good idea!" Ida agrees, turning on Brendan with a vulpine grin. "Let''s see the artist in action!"

    "Uh¡­ I don''t¡­ I mean I''m not really comfortable drawing around people¡­" Brendan hedges.

    "Ah, but is it or is it not a good idea?" I counter smugly. "Should you or should you not be getting assistance and oversight while working on something dangerous for the first time?"

    He deflates completely, slumping over in defeat.

    "...Fine," he grumbles. "To the basement, then."

    We gather up the blankets and extra clothes brought from my house and shimmy downstairs, Brendan sitting down by his computer and powering it on. Behind me, Ida pulls out a pocket knife and flicks it open, causing me to instinctively lash out behind myself with my extra limbs, tangling my blades in my shirt as Ida steps back out of reach of my hip-legs.

    "Woah, chill out," she snaps, though she frowns and backpedals afterwards. "I mean, sorry. I shoulda warned you. I just figured since it''s just us down here and you don''t care about this shirt anyways we should free your back bits. Cut them some holes so they can stretch out. Yeah?

    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    I don''t respond at first, focusing on my hammering heart rate and the horrible, sinking feeling that I''m not safe to be around. I nearly stabbed Ida! I take a few deep breaths before nodding anyway.

    "Sure," I say. "Thank you. Maybe I''ll be less tense if I don''t feel as trapped."

    Ida nods, and much more carefully approaches me to cut some slits in my shirt. I realize belatedly that it might be smart to take the shirt off before letting her do that, but the chitinous limbs underneath where she''s cutting aren''t damaged by the knife at all even when she does brush it against one. Possibly on purpose.

    "Fucking wild," she mutters to herself. "Alright. There you go."

    I wiggle my blade limbs out of the back of my shirt, and sure enough I do feel better almost immediately. I can be such a frustrating mess of contradictions sometimes. Why do I like being enveloped when I rest but hate being restrained while awake? Whatever, it doesn''t really matter. I have to focus on moving these things across the w-axis to make them vanish in the way my legs vanish on the world tree all the time.

    Brendan, meanwhile, has just opened some Photoshop-like art program and is scribbling away on his drawing tablet. I try to glance surreptitiously at what he''s doing without alerting him that I''m doing so, but I still have to use my actual eyes for the job; my budding spatial sense is useless for this since computer monitors work by emitting light. The image depicts a dynamic shot of a flying woman levitating a bunch of debris around herself. She''s also butt-naked, though the aforementioned debris protects her naughty bits from being in view. Hmm. I think that''s one of Brendan''s GURPS characters?

    "Hey, you''re pretty good," Ida says, walking right up behind Brendan and causing him to jump. He scrunches up a bit in his chair, turning slowly to face her with a glower. Aw, beans on toast. This probably isn''t good.

    "Is there a reason you''re bothering me?" Brendan grumbles.

    "Uh, yeah, actually," Ida confirms, raising an eyebrow. "What exactly is your problem with me, string bean? I never really cared before, but in the likely event that things end up as us against the world I figure you''re worth getting to know."

    "That seems like a good summary of my problem with you," Brendan answers, turning away from her and returning his attention to the computer screen.

    "Oh?" Ida presses, smirking a bit as she steps closer to his desk to keep herself in his peripheral vision.

    "Um, guys¡­" I say hesitantly, trying to head off the incoming mess, but I''m way too late.

    "You''re selfish, arrogant, manipulative, and don''t give a shit about the messes you leave other people with," Brendan says firmly. "You toy with people, use them for as long as they''re fun and then throw them away. It''s disgusting."

    Ida grins, not seeming bothered.

    "Is that so?" she says. "What terrible things have I done, exactly?"

    "Well, there was that time you got Melody''s last boyfriend to cheat on her with you, gaslit her about it, and then dumped him when he broke up with her for you."

    What? I haven''t heard about this. Ida just barks out a laugh at the accusation, though.

    "Shit jolly giant, I didn''t know you were friends with Melody," Ida sneers. "I''m surprised you know her name."

    "We''re not friends," Brendan grunts. "I don''t even like her. I just pay attention."

    "Clearly not well enough," Ida says, crossing her arms and leaning against Brendan''s desk. "Melody was just abusing Jeremy for his money, she didn''t give a shit about him. So yeah, I seduced his ass to get him away from her, all while encouraging her to prefer more and more expensive things so that when he does dump her, she goes broke. It''s hilarious. A perfect fucking revenge story. The bitch gets owned, her whole wardrobe full of useless gaudy shit that looks terrible and costs too much to be practical, and the nice guy gets a good fuck before being released into the world with finance lessons and better vaginas on the horizon. That whole scheme was my good deed for the month, thank you kindly."

    Uh. That''s¡­ a lot. Gosh. Brendan responds before I can really wrap my head around how I feel about that.

    "That''s completely insane and messed up on so many levels," Brendan groans, dropping his stylus and massaging his temples. I wouldn''t use such harsh phrasing, but I don''t entirely disagree. "You''re seriously framing a premeditated destruction of someone''s relationship and finances as a good thing?"

    "I made bad things happen to bad people and good things happen to good people," Ida shrugs. "That''s better justice than the world normally dishes out, don''t you think?"

    "You think you have a right to decide what counts as justice?" Brendan asks.

    "You think I don''t?" Ida counters. "Then bring it on. Stop me from living my life if you can, bitch."

    Brendan stares at her in disbelief for a moment, but with a shake of his head he peels his eyes off of her, returning his attention to the computer screen.

    "...That''s what I thought," Ida smirks triumphantly.

    "I just can''t believe you," Brendan says quietly. "You''re so selfish. So supremely selfish."

    "Yet here I am, spending my whole day helping you," Ida grins. "So to that end: what''re your pronouns? Fee/fie or foh/fum?"

    Brendan stiffens.

    "Is there a particular reason you only refer to me by making fun of my height?"

    "Uh, because you''re literally taller than the average NBA player? How is that not obvious? Also, as previously mentioned, it''s essential to commit to the bit. Also also: that''s not an answer to the question."

    "U-uh, maybe don''t press Brendan on that, Ida?" I hedge, finally regaining the courage to insert myself into the anxiety-inducingly intense conversation. "It might be best to just let that happen how it happens?"

    "Oh, it might be," Ida agrees, nodding. "But I don''t think it is. Come on, spill it."

    "No," Brendan grumbles.

    "No? No pronouns? That''s always a brain twister but I can manage."

    "I mean no, I''m not having this conversation with you. Full stop."

    Ida rolls her eyes but finally stops leaning on Brendan''s desk, waving dismissively at him as she walks away.

    "Okay, we''re sticking with height jokes then, Lebron," she grumbles. "Just don''t hurt yourself with that fancy new magic of yours, because healing isn''t coming your way."

    I stiffen at that, my blades instinctively whipping up over my shoulders to show my displeasure.

    "Woah, Ida," I say firmly. "You don''t have to get along, but that''s kind of a fucked up thing to withhold. Magic can seriously hurt people."

    "I''m not just saying it to be a fucking bitch, Hannah," Ida insists, crossing her arms and looking away. "It''s just a warning. Clifford can let me in or go without."

    This¡­ isn''t like her. Ida can be spiteful, but not like this.

    "What do you mean, exactly?" I ask.

    She scowls, shifting her weight back and forth.

    "...I mean it literally won''t work," she says. "My magic doesn''t affect things I don''t give a shit about. Like your torn up bedsheets, or your packing foam. ¡­Or your best friend. Not for lack of trying, mind you!"

    She raises her voice on the last sentence there, glowering meaningfully in Brendan''s direction. He doesn''t react.

    "It''s really arbitrary," Ida continues. "I think they have to be¡­ mine in some way. You''re my friend, so I can heal you, but Brendan is only your friend, so I can''t do shit."

    "Huh," I say. "I mean, can you teach me the spell? It seems crazy useful, and I could potentially heal Brendan in a pinch if you can''t."

    "Ha! No. You don''t have the self-esteem for it. The Goddess would smack you for the hubris of attempting to cast it with insufficient hubris."

    I hesitate at that, nervously rubbing my hip-legs together.

    "Uh. Ida, don''t divine beings generally not like hubris?" I hedge.

    "Maybe they don''t like your hubris, but I''m different. Better. Maybe even better than the Goddess."

    Oh no oh geez oh gosh she really just said that! I wait in terror for the inevitable retribution and¡­ nothing happens. Ida extends her arms wide, flashes me an arrogant grin, and makes ''come here'' motions on either side of her like she''s encouraging an invisible crowd to cheer louder.

    "Don''t look at me like that. I''m peerless, and She knows it," Ida brags, and the weight of the Goddess'' attention crushes us a moment later, full and overwhelming in its glory.

    I stagger as She fills the room, flowing around me but for once barely glancing at me as she focuses on Ida, and her grand blasphemy. Horror at what''s about to happen to my friend fills my bones, internal and external, but I can''t move, can''t so much as cry out during the infinite second between attention and retribution. The memory of my miscasted Spacial Rend is all I can think about, the agony and blood and casual brutality that became my entire world for that horrible moment. The Goddess smiles, cruel and vindictive, and then¡­ boops Ida on the nose. She winks at me, vanishes with a chuckle, and time returns to the world.

    I nearly fall over, catching myself with a hip-leg as my breath comes to me in gasps. Brendan turns around to face us, looking moderately worried, but whatever he felt doesn''t seem to have the same impact as my personal terror.

    "See?" Ida grins, completely unrepentant and utterly unafraid. "She digs me. Anyway, you need to get back to practice. I''ll formulate a plan to maybe convince myself to care about tall, dark, and grumpy over there, and¡­ I don''t really care what the fuck else happens. Let''s just do it, yeah?"

    I sigh, feeling distinctly helpless about everything in my life and completely bowled over by everyone else just kind of doing stuff at me without giving me any time to think. So¡­ I guess I''m feeling pretty normal. Sighing again at that thought, I push it aside and focus on my new limbs, trying to figure out the right muscle to pull in order to yank them in an impossible direction. My understanding of my hyperspider biology is very limited, but best I can tell that body is mostly 3D in structure, with just a rare handful of bits here and there expressing their complexity across more than one point on the w-axis at a time, and even then not that deeply. Still, that''s all that''s apparently needed to relocate my limbs into 4D space, and considering how huge my recent growths are, surely that part of the joints is done, right? I just have to figure out how to do it. It should be the same as when I''m a hyperspider, or at least pretty similar, right?

    An hour later I let out a frustrated groan, flopping forward in mental exhaustion and catching myself on my bug limbs, legs limp and arms dangling. I''m done. Done! Nothing is working, I''m just rotating my extra shoulders over and over until they get sore. Why is dimensional movement so hard?

    The doorbell ringing is a sudden but welcome distraction, especially with how my brain automatically updates me with the knowledge of who''s on the other side of it. No one else I know has cute little wings growing out of her back, even if they are currently smooshed uncomfortably behind a sports bra.

    "Oh shit, should we answer that?" Ida says.

    "Yeah!" I confirm, flipping myself over so my stomach is face-up and my head can look at her upside-down. "It''s Autumn!"

    If I wasn''t an exposed mutant horror I''d be running upstairs to open the door myself, dang it!

    "How do you know that?" Brendan asks.

    "Because she''s standing at the front door!"

    "...Right, your miracle eye," Brendan sighs, standing up. "Okay, I''ll get the door. I wanna meet her anyway."

    Hehehe. Brendan wants to judge the worthiness of my girlfriend. I dunno why, but I find that idea really cute. I shove myself back up to my feet and quickly look around for a mirror so I can fix my likely-messed-up makeup before remembering that I was kidnapped by my friends before I could so much as take a shower and I''m not currently wearing any.

    "Ida, do you have any makeup?" I ask. "Or did you guys bring my backpack?"

    "Hah, you''re down bad for her," Ida smirks. "That''s both gross and fuckin'' adorable."

    She grabs a purse from where it leans against the couch and tosses a travel-sized makeup kit at me, which I catch, open, and immediately cast¡ª

    "Refresh," the Goddess says, and I quickly sort the makeup perfectly into place, cleansing my body of sweat, grime, and dead skin more thoroughly than a shower ever could while I''m at it. Properly freshened up and presentable, I thank Ida and toss the kit back at her, which she catches with a chuckle and a shake of her head.

    I nervously drum my talons on the floor, realizing how incredibly underdressed I am all of a sudden. I''m wearing nothing but a thin t-shirt and a pair of shorts that barely reach halfway down my thighs. I don''t even have a bra on since we haven''t gone shopping for one that''ll fit me yet. All of my monstrous parts are fully exposed, from mouth to extra limbs to old limbs that are dramatically less human than ever before.

    I''ve just been taking that for granted until now. Enjoying it, even, the feeling of not having to hide suffusing me with a dull inner warmth. Of course Brendan and Ida don''t care. Brendan is Brendan, he''s probably having a heck of a time trying not to stare appreciatively at the nonhuman parts of me. And Ida is¡­ I dunno. I mean, she clearly doesn''t seem to care, right? She''s been helping out and the only weird looks she gives me are for things I do, not any part of what I am. Curious, appreciating, sometimes concerned, but never disgusted, never judging.

    She even seems to still want to have sex with me, which¡­ I¡­ don''t know how to think about, so I''m just gonna not do that because I have a girlfriend anyway. The recent revelations that Ida might not care that I have a girlfriend are a bit concerning, but¡­ I mean, it''s not like she''d force me into anything, so the only person I''d have to blame if I cheated on Autumn is myself. I can be pretty flaky, but I wouldn''t ever do something like that. That''s just¡­ no.

    The point is, Autumn has seen my transformed bits before, but never quite like this. Never so much all at once. And she''s¡­ well, I don''t know which Autumn she is right now, but I''d be devastated if either one of them doesn''t¡­ I dunno. Like me? Like what I am? Because like, it''s over if they don''t, right? I''ll have screwed up her whole life for nothing. But¡­ no. Wait. I did screw up her life, and¡­ she''s dealing with it pretty okay? She''s going through the same things I am. She''s becoming a monster like me, so¡­ she''ll understand, right? She''ll get it.

    She''ll get it. That''s part of what makes her so special. It''s so, so good to have someone else who will understand. The thought fills me with unfathomable relief, like a soak in a hot tub after a long day.

    "Absentee parents, huh? Could be worse," Autumn grunts in a way that sounds rather like Jet. She and Brendan are already mid-conversation as they walk down the basement stairs towards the rest of us.

    "Point is, none of this is mine, really," Brendan says, conspicuously avoiding getting into a conversation about how his parents would legitimately struggle to actually be any worse. "Everything but the basement may as well be someone else''s house."

    "Mind if I take some of it, then?" maybe-Jet asks.

    "Huh?"

    "The crap in your house. I could pawn any old thing in here for a few months'' worth of bills."

    "...Are you asking for my permission to steal from my parents?" Brendan asks, blinking with surprise.

    "Think of it more like convincing your parents to donate to charity for a reason other than getting a tax writeoff."

    "Uh¡­ I dunno. I don''t really need more reasons for them to yell at me," Brendan hedges. And then the two of them finally stroll into view.

    My whole body is fidgeting with nervous energy as I spot them, hip-legs rubbing together and making soft keening noises, fingers drumming against each other and blade-limbs facing forward out of stress, then retracting out of embarrassment, over and over again. I work my jaw, suddenly hyper-aware of how my smile can get too wide and my mouth can open too far. She''s not gonna hate me, right? I mean, I think this is Jet, so I''m not even dating her I guess. I kinda want to, though? Is that cheating? Or I guess¡­ polyamory? I guess it is since they''re different people. Gah, whatever, it doesn''t matter, Jet doesn''t want me.

    Jet would prefer I leave them both alone.

    I hug myself a bit and do my best to give a normal, non-toothy smile, hoping it doesn''t look quite as fragile as I feel when my friends finish descending and turn to look at me. Autumn''s eyebrows raise slightly, scanning me up and down, taking in the extensive mutations across my whole body. No, stop panicking. It''s okay. She understands. With my spatial sense, I feel her wings twitch involuntarily.

    "Are you doing something?" Jet asks, her attention locked on me.

    "Huh?" I ask.

    "Are you doing something to me?" she presses. "I feel that weird tingle again."

    "Uh. Shoot, am I?" I ask, looking down at myself as if that would help. Wee, more things to panic about! "I don''t think I am!? I don''t feel anything on my end?"

    "Hrm," Jet grumbles, scratching her back around the wing base. "Well, maybe they''re just going numb from being compressed all day. It''s just my wings and ears."

    Autumn has ears? Wait, what do I mean by that, of course she has¡­ uh. She has¡­

    "Sorry, could you say that again?" I ask, feeling awkward and disoriented.

    "My wings and¡­ ah. Right," Jet muses, smirking slightly. "What am I wearing on my head?"

    "On your head?" I repeat, not understanding.

    "Yeah, what are you on about?" Ida asks.

    Jet smirks, reaching up and pulling a winter cap off her¡­ wait, what? She was wearing a hat this whole time? I mean¡­ of course she was, it was in plain view. How did I not notice¡ªoh right she has weird ears now too! They''re even longer and pointier than they were the last time I saw her, sticking diagonally up and away from her head, fuzz the color of her curls growing along the outside and ending as tufts of floof on the tips. She wiggles them, looking smug.

    "None of you noticed the hat, huh?" she asks. "Damn, I can''t believe it works that well. This magic stuff isn''t all bad, I guess."

    I take a shuddering breath, stepping over towards the couch so I can sit down, bile rising in my throat.

    "Okay, that''s¡­ really trippy," Brendan says, blinking away the disorientation. "Not invisibility, but¡­ a spell to make something go unnoticed? Is that Pneuma magic?"

    Yes. Yes it is. Pneuma magic. Mind magic. Mind control. I sit slowly and carefully, taking a long exhale as I bury my face in my hands.

    "Pneuma and Light, I think," Jet confirms damningly. "Not really sure why it''s Light, but it feels like it is."

    "I guess it affects whether or not someone can see something, and conceptually that''s in line with Light," Brendan muses. "Light or dark, revealing or concealing. Elements can get pretty metaphorical in their classifications, I think. That probably goes extra for spells with more than one element, or elements that are already pretty vague in how they''re classified. Because like, something like Order is already a nebulous concept based around societal interpretation, so it fits that Light spells wouldn''t be limited to only the manipulation of electromagnetic energy. Does that sound right, Hannah?"

    "Yeah," I confirm, trying not to vomit.

    "You okay, Hannah Banana?" Ida asks.

    "I''m fine," I lie automatically, and immediately regret it. These people aren''t strangers or family, I can be honest with them. "I just got a little freaked out from having my mind messed with, is all. Could you not use that spell on me, Jet?"

    "Jet?" Brendan asks, and Jet sighs in annoyance.

    "Oh, fuck," I mutter. "Sorry."

    "It''s fine, we may as well tell him," Jet grumbles. "I have DID. I''m Jet, and you haven''t met Alma yet but she''s¡­ in here."

    She motions vaguely at her own head.

    "...And she''s the one dating your friend," Jet clarifies. "I''m just along for the ride."

    Jet pulls out her notebook and pen, quickly scribbling something down in it. Probably the fact that Brendan knows about them now.

    "Huh," Brendan blinks, not seeming to know how to process that. "Well, okay then?"

    "It is what it is," Jet says noncommittally. "Well, I can definitely intuit why Hannah isn''t at school today. What''s the plan, then? Is the cat finally out of the bag?"

    "Not quite yet," Ida shrugs, casually stepping over and wordlessly casting No Less Than Perfect on me. "She''s got some Space shenanigans that she thinks she can figure out to hide stuff."

    I feel the healing spell wash through me, combing my mind for lingering signs of infiltration and finding none. I''m fine. I''m okay. I''m still me. I send Ida a grateful glance, receiving a small smile and nod in return.

    "Yeah, I think I should be able to just shunt my legs into higher-dimensional space," I confirm, working up the courage to exist again. "Mostly, anyway. The initial joints will still be partially visible, but it''ll just be like a little lump. Way easier to cover up than an entire limb. I just¡­ can''t figure the movement out because I can''t see myself correctly. I''m not sure what else to try at this point beyond magic."

    "Which is where the names come in, right," Jet says, frowning slightly. "Girl, for somebody who nearly got personally murdered by a goddess, you''re weirdly eager to toss yourself into more magical bullshit. There''s no way you mutated this fast in the first place without casting your transformation spell, right?"

    "It''s not my fault!" I protest. "Well, okay, it''s half my fault. I cast it a bit on the world tree because I wanted to develop the ability to speak, which I did, and it was totally worth it. But then I had to cast it even more because I nearly died rescuing a super advanced robot girl. Or, uh, not girl I guess? She says¡ªschnitzel, I mean it says it''s an it, but that feels really mean and dehumanizing to use. I mean, not that she''s human, but like¡­ it''s clearly sapient? Anyway she was getting electrocuted to death so I tried to help her and two people died but at least I wasn''t the one who killed them this time!"

    Everybody stares at me in silence for a moment, their brains seeming to chug a bit as they process everything all at once. Ida, naturally, is the one who speaks first.

    "Goddess damnit, Hannah, you are so fucking cis."

    "Huh?" I ask. What does that even mean?

    "Have you seriously never met anybody who uses it/its pronouns?" she snorts. "There''s like a gazillion of ''em. I realize you''re a sheltered-ass baby queer, but this should be the literal simplest thing in the world. If you don''t understand, don''t act like that means you know better. Not understanding means you know worse. Call it what it wants to be called, idiot!"

    "S-sorry?" I sputter.

    "Ida''s virtue signaling aside¡ª"

    "Fuck you siren head, I''m right."

    "¡ªshe is right but I''d really like to focus on the fact that you found a robot on the magical fantasy world tree?" Brendan presses. "Like, the tree where everyone is still using bows and swords and stuff?"

    "Didn''t I tell you about the robot earlier?" I ask. "I don''t remember all that well."

    "Yeah, because you were delirious! I didn''t think you actually met one!"

    "...I think I need to hear about the world tree like, at all," Jet says. "Can we start at the beginning here?"

    Oh right, I kinda have been putting off telling Autumn about my world tree adventures. Most of the memories aren''t too great, but I guess she deserves to know. I start the story at the beginning: emerging from my tunnel, seeing a 3D world in 4D for the first time, meeting Kagiso, Teboho¡­ and Sindri. The whole story starts flowing once it gets going, the pain not strong enough to stop the words. I get thrown out of my groove about halfway through discussing the city of Grawlika when Autumn''s ears start to droop and she timidly asks if I can hold on a moment.

    "Alma?" I ask.

    She glances nervously at Brendan, but nods.

    "Um, yeah," she confirms. "S-sorry. Um. Where are we?"

    She fumbles for her notebook, quickly reading it as she simultaneously pulls out her phone to check the time. ¡­And maybe the date.

    "S-sorry, I''m not usually¡­" she glances at Brendan again. "I mean, Jet''s been fronting more than usual today. I¡­ she drove here, right? Could someone show me where the front door is? Sorry, I just¡­ I''m a bit disoriented."

    "I-it''s okay!" I say, standing up rapidly. The motion forces me to flare out my new bug limbs as I lose balance because of them, causing Alma to seemingly notice them for the first time.

    "W-woah! It''s still Friday, right? Did you grow those overnight?"

    "Uh, yeah, it''s a long story. I''ll restart it for you when we get back¡­ downstairs. Shoot, I probably shouldn''t go near street-facing windows."

    "I got it," Ida says. "Honestly, that''s my cue to head out and buy you some stuff you can cover up with. Follow me, Alma. You have a hat in your right pocket for your ears."

    "Oh, um, okay. Thank you," Alma mumbles awkwardly, her ears drooping a little further at the prospect of being trapped.

    The two of them head upstairs and Brendan turns to me with a raised eyebrow.

    "She okay?" he asks.

    "I think so?" I hedge. I wish I had a more sure answer, but I guess I don''t actually know Alma all that well. "She and Jet don''t share memories, so¡­"

    "Oh," Brendan says, looking back towards the stairs. "Gosh, that really sucks. Is it a magic thing?"

    "Uh, I don''t think so? No?" I say, surprised. "I''m pretty sure some people are just like that?"

    Brendan nods.

    "Right, yeah. DID. Okay."

    An awkward silence passes for a moment.

    "...Do you wanna talk about gender stuff while Ida''s gone?" I ask hesitantly.

    "Not really," he says. "Probably not today."

    "Okay," I nod. "Should I push you about it tomorrow?"

    He considers that for a moment, then nods back.

    "Yeah, I think so. I should talk about it, just¡­ not today. Too much."

    I want to hug him, but I know right now that''d be a bad idea.

    "I understand," I say instead. "I can sneak into the backyard and exercise Fartbuns with Alma if you want some time alone down here?"

    "That''d be great," he says. "Thank you."

    I smile and give him a thumbs-up, heading upstairs as Brendan heads back to his computer. I peek my head out from the basement steps and glance down the hall just in time to see Ida driving off and Alma closing the front door¡­ then opening it and closing it again. She sighs and turns around, jumping a little as she spots my head peeking around the corner.

    "H-Hannah!"

    "Hey Alma," I wave awkwardly. "Sorry. How are you with dogs?"

    "Um, fine? I like dogs."

    "Cool! Wanna play with Brendan''s dog in the backyard? He''s gonna decompress a bit."

    She stares at me a bit.

    "...Is the backyard safe?" she asks. "Like, for you to look like that."

    "Oh, should be, yeah," I confirm. "It''s huge and the fence is huger. ¡­Wait, Is huger a word?"

    "Technically yes," Alma confirms. "Though it sounds really dumb."

    "Yeah, it totally does," I agree. "Come on, Fartbuns! Outside time!"

    I have no idea where in the house Fartbuns actually is, but the huge Malamute quickly corrects that the moment I proclaim the sacred doggy-words, bounding directly towards our location at record speed. Completely unperturbed by the fact that I''ve recently doubled my limb count, he barrels into me in a big floofy pile of energy and joy.

    "Good boy, Fartbuns!" I coo, bracing my weight on my hip limbs and letting him jump up to put his front paws on me even though I''m not supposed to. I give him a heaping helping of affectionate scritches before shoving him off and going to grab his treats and ball.

    "That''s Alma, Fartbuns!" I introduce him, pointing at my girlfriend. "Say hi to Alma!"

    He gives her an affectionate "Boof!" which causes her to flinch, but he''s a lot more careful with her than he is with me and approaches her without any tackling or slobber. Fartbuns is a smart dog, and though it took him a long time he''s gotten used to Brendan and either recognizes Alma''s anxiety or is just somewhat nervous himself. Hesitantly, Alma reaches out and gives him a scratch, though, and relations with the fluffy pupper look like they''re going to go swimmingly from there on. We head out to the backyard and his excitement increases exponentially.

    Alma and I sit down on the edge of the porch, our feet in the grass. Unlike me, she''s got her usual all-covering complement of baggy sweater, pants, and tennis shoes, although after a moment of sitting in silence together throwing balls for the dog she does the thing where you retract your arms inside your shirt to remove your bra without taking your shirt off, freeing her wings from their cramped conditions without becoming indecent. She gives them a stiff wiggle, sighing with relief as she stretches them.

    "You doing okay?" I ask her.

    "I don''t know," she answers, grabbing the ball from Fartbuns and tossing it again. "Kind of. Not really."

    Fartbuns returns. I grab the ball this time, throwing it and ignoring my urge to chase Fartbuns as he runs off after it.

    "It''s scary, isn''t it?" I say quietly.

    Alma peels her eyes away from the dog and stares at me. I stare back.

    "It''s terrifying," she agrees. "Am I gonna end up looking as crazy as you?"

    "I don''t know," I answer honestly.

    "Sorry, that was rude. You don''t look bad or anything," she assures me. "I just mean like¡­ we''ll never be normal. We can''t be normal. And yeah, there''s always that trope, like ''ha ha, being normal is overrated,'' but¡­ this is so much worse than being the quirky kid no one understands or whatever. We don''t even fit into the mold of people who don''t fit the mold."

    "Yeah," I agree. Fartbuns returns. Alma takes the ball and throws it. He bounds off, and we watch in silence.

    "...That''s the thing, though," Alma says quietly. "I''d already given up on the idea of having a normal life. I have Jet. I never know when I''ll even exist, because she''s always there, waiting to take time from me whenever I slip. I''m supposed to be the one fronting in classes all day, but I don''t remember anything after I woke up this morning and saw myself in the mirror."

    That''s¡­ a lot to unpack. I don''t know what to say to any of it.

    "...Sorry," is all I manage.

    "It''s okay," Alma shrugs. "That''s my point, you know? It''s okay. I can forgive you for doing this to me. I don''t have a life for you to ruin in the first place."

    My heart clenches.

    "Oh, Alma¡­"

    "Sorry, sorry, that came out wrong," she quickly mutters, hugging her knees. "I should say I didn''t have a life. I never had a chance to be part of anything that mattered. But now? I''ve got magic, I''ve got people who actually kinda know my secret and don''t make a huge thing of it, and I''ve even got¡­ y''know."

    She blushes a little, an embarrassed smile twitching on her face.

    "...A girlfriend," she manages.

    I can''t help it. An urge to hug her overtakes me. I''m still not sure why I''m suddenly this cuddly, but I''m not going to deny it here. I carefully reach over and wrap my arms around her, slow and gentle so she has plenty of time to pull away if she wants to. She leans into it instead and I squeeze her lightly in my arms, pressing my forehead into her cheek. Hesitantly, she reciprocates, wrapping her arms around me in turn, and together we hold each other until Fartbuns inevitably returns, ruining the romantic moment with a completely unrepentant bonk of his head, knocking us over for having the audacity to not wrestle for and subsequently throw his glorious, glorious ball.

    We laugh and extract ourselves from each other so I can yank the item free from his mouth and throw it harder than I ever have before, launching it well to the other side of the yard to Fartbuns'' clear joy. I notice that one of my hip-legs is still wrapped around Alma''s waist, but she doesn''t seem opposed to it so I leave it there, soaking in joy from the warmth of physical contact. It''s strange and wonderful and exciting and stressful and it makes me want to burst with happiness, to leap into the air and shout my jubilation across the rooftops. Just being here with her is a high unlike anything I''ve felt in years. A wild and untamed infatuation, bursting with an energy I feel like I''ve been starved of without ever knowing.

    Alma wraps a hand around the end of my hip-leg, holding it as she leans her shoulder into mine.

    "It''s almost hard to believe this is part of you," she murmurs. "But then all I have to do is wiggle my own wings. Do you think I''ll be able to fly someday? I keep telling myself not to get my hopes up, I''m probably way too big and heavy for flight."

    "I''ve seen people a heck of a lot bigger than you fly just fine," I assure her. "Just last night I met this massive bat-dragon¡ªover a hundred feet in wingspan!¡ªthat referred to itself with the royal we. Or heck, maybe they referred to themselves with the plural we. I have no idea, but they carried me all the way to another branch."

    "Woah," she whispers. "I, uh, think I missed most of your story, though. Could you¡­?"

    "Of course," I agree immediately. "We''ll start at the beginning."

    I tell the same story for the second time that day, one full of trauma and pain. But to my surprise, it''s easier this time. I don''t normally like repeating myself, but for whatever reason it''s not annoying or frustrating.

    Not for her.

 35. Chimera

    "And you just¡­ made friends with it?" Alma asks incredulously.

    "Well, for a certain definition of friend, sure," I hedge, shrugging awkwardly. "I don''t think Sela really likes us, but sh¡ªgah, I mean it''s super cool and it needs help. So I wanna help it! Best case scenario it does learn to like us and ends up less murderous, worst case scenario¡­"

    I trail off, thinking about that for a moment.

    "...I guess the worst case scenario is that we inadvertently cause a gray goo scenario and destroy all life in the universe? Buuuut that''s probably really unlikely."

    Alma gives me an incredulous look, then shakes her head and chuckles.

    "You are insane," she says. "Didn''t you say you were like, prophesied to cause an apocalypse or something?"

    "No, I said that every prior isekai victim the shady cult knows about has either caused an apocalypse or gotten murdered by said cult, likely without provocation. Trust me though, Alma, I see the red flags here. But what''s the more common mistake: befriending a bad guy, or assuming someone is a bad guy and not even trying to befriend them? Sela is dangerous but I feel like it''s also traumatized and trapped under someone else''s control. It''s a risk, but after what''s happened to me I am so taking that risk if it means I might be able to help."

    Fartbuns returns with the ball, and when Alma takes it and tosses it I feel that familiar urge to run off after the dog and tackle him to the ground. It''s been getting a little harder to resist, if only because I really want to test out my new limbs a little more comprehensively. Still, I wait. Alma is more important.

    "I guess that makes sense," she agrees, a little distantly. "Being born just to be used as a tool¡­ no person deserves that."

    "Well, Sela''s pretty adamant that it isn''t a person, which is kinda weird. Maybe I''m missing some cultural context behind the Middlebranch word for ''person,'' but I don''t think I am. It''s just¡­ anybody. Any sapient. Any individual of value. And Sela really seems like she''s¡ªbiscuits, I mean it''s all of those things. No way it''s just a super-sophisticated program without self-awareness. I don''t believe it."

    "Huh," Alma says. "I dunno. It makes sense to me."

    "What?" I ask. "Really?"

    "I mean, yeah," she shrugs awkwardly. "Have you never felt like you''re not a person?"

    I open my mouth, but it takes me a while to find any words.

    "I¡­ you mean like the monster stuff?" I ask, fear filling me. "No, I¡­ I mean, I''m not human anymore. Maybe I never was. But I''m still a person, you know?"

    Alma smiles sadly, hugging her knees to her chest.

    "That''s not really what I meant," she says softly. "Never mind."

    "Wh¡­ no, it''s¡­ I''m sorry?" I babble. What did I do wrong?

    "It''s okay, you''re fine," Alma assures me. "Don''t worry about it."

    What? What does she mean? Oh Goddess, is she okay?

    "Sorry," I repeat. "I don''t think I get it but I want to get it but if you don''t want to explain that''s fine."

    She shakes her head.

    "I''m not very good at explaining things," Alma mutters. "It''s just¡­ it makes sense to me. Even if ''person'' has a denotative meaning of any self-aware entity, it¡­ like, the denotative meaning isn''t really the meaning, because¡­ ugh. I don''t know. Is a slave a person?"

    I blink. An easy question, though given the context it feels like it''s a trap.

    "I¡­ yes?" I say, because it doesn''t matter if it''s a setup, I can''t say no. "Of course they are. That''s like, why slavery is bad. N-not the only reason, but on the most basic, fundamental level. It abuses people."

    "Right, okay," Alma nods. "But what if you told a slave that. You walk up to one, you tell them they''re a person, and¡­ you don''t free them. Do you think that would make them feel good?"

    I frown a little.

    "I mean¡­ I fully intend to free every slave I can," I say frankly. "Sela included, as long that doesn''t result in it mass murdering innocent people. Because, y''know, that would be worse."

    Alma groans like that was the wrong answer somehow.

    "It''s just hypothetical," she insists. "An allegory. It doesn''t have to be slavery, it doesn''t have to be you, I just¡­ never mind."

    "Sorry," I backpedal immediately. "Sorry, I''ll answer the question. Would it make them feel good. Um. I guess it''d feel kind of empty? It''s better than telling them they''re not a person though, right?"

    She turns away from me, hugging herself protectively.

    "Maybe at first," Alma admits. "But if you keep giving someone empty kindnesses for long enough it''ll just start to hurt. If words aren''t backed up by actions, they turn into knives."

    I swallow nervously, taking in that thousand-yard stare on her face that I''ve seen in the mirror lately. Please, please, please let whatever''s going on not be my fault. ¡­Geez, is that really my first thought? I''m such a terrible person.

    "Are you okay?" I ask quietly.

    She jolts slightly, then glances at me with a lopsided grin.

    "Oh, uh, I mean¡­ not really, I guess," she chuckles. "Are you?"

    Now that''s a deflection I know too well. I don''t think I should push her, though.

    "Absolutely not," I confirm. "You wanna talk about literally anything else?"

    "God, yes."

    "Goddess," I correct, and she snorts, shoving me with her shoulder.

    The casual contact lights my joy like sparks on kindling, and when Fartbuns returns I feel like the time is right. Alma and I both need a distraction. So when she tosses the ball I give her a quick squeeze and clear my throat.

    "Hey, uh, don''t freak out or anything," I assure her. "I''m not gonna kill the dog."

    "W-what?" Alma stutters, and I burst after Fartbuns like a rocket.

    The sense of power flowing through my legs as I dig my talons into soft earth, catapulting myself forward and closing the distance in just a few paces is intoxicating. Fuck, why did I hold back this long? I''m only using two legs and this already feels so right.

    I tackle Fartbuns from behind, startling him for only a moment before he realizes that playtime has just gotten a lot more fun. He wriggles free from my grasp and I leap after him again, prompting him to juke to the side. Without even thinking about it, I dig a hip-limb into the dirt to arrest my momentum, swing around, and leap at him again. He''s kind of slow, like playing tag with a child, but if anything that just makes me less worried I''ll hurt him on instinct, my monstrous urges screaming "baby!" rather than "prey!"

    Because that''s the thing, isn''t it? I might be going feral, but even feral beasts have friends and family. Lion cubs play with each other just as adorably as kittens do. I''m a monster, but I can still love. I can still be gentle.

    I tackle Fartbuns again, surprised at his strength as he wrestles free of my arms. I guess my new supernatural body hasn''t crawled up past my hands yet, but that''s okay. Next time I catch him I wrap my legs around him too, propping myself up on my hip-limbs and blades and it just feels so good, they support my weight so well! Belly up or belly down, I can crawl and skitter at incredible speeds, turning on a dime, not needing to care about forward, backward, left or right¡­ Goddess, I''ve missed moving like this. Thank you for giving it back to me. Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. Something like a hiss leaks out from my throat, but it''s merged with a jubilant trill, a purr of eldritch delight as drink in the utter freedom of my form. I love it, I love it, I love it so much!

    "H-holy shit, Hannah!" Alma her face distorted with fear. But it''s okay! I turn my head to her and grin to show that it''s okay. It''s amazing.

    "Do you feel it, Alma?" I ask, my excitement bubbling over.

    "What? What are you talking about!?"

    "When you think about flying!" I clarify, halting my erratic movement and leaping back to my feet. "Do you have this much joy?"

    "Oh," she says, relaxing considerably. "Uh¡­ gosh. I mean, I''d be lying if I said I wasn''t looking forward to it, but¡­"

    No? Does she not? But I want her to feel like this. I love her. I want her to have this joy. Wouldn''t anybody? I fall forwards again, catching myself with my extra limbs and leaping to flip myself over, once, twice, three times. I giggle all the while.

    "I just¡­ Goddess, I feel so alive," I tell her. "I hope you feel like this someday."

    I want you to feel like this. I want you to be like me. Fartbuns lets out a happy bark and nips playfully at my heels, so I pounce on him, wrapping him up in a big, fluffy, eight-limbed hug. He wriggles free, and the chase continues.

    "H-hannah, I¡­" Alma starts, but then she shudders, her words caught in her throat.

    "Alma?" I ask after her. Fuck, I love her. She''s so beautiful. I want her to be this happy. I want her to feel this.

    "Hannah, stop!" she cries out, clutching her stomach.

    It takes me a split second to process that but then I screech to a halt, getting to my feet and glancing around in a panic. Stop what? What''s going on? Fartbuns'' tail wags up a storm, his excited panting showing no sign of injury. Alma herself is breathing hard for some reason, but¡­ but why¡­?

    "Alma!" I yelp, running towards her. "Are you okay!?"

    "Get away!" she shouts back. "You''re doing something!"

    "I am!?"

    "Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!"

    Then I see it. Her wings twitch, starting to move in a way that isn''t due to muscle. Oh, crapbaskets. My Transmutation spell!? I close my eyes, looking for the font of power inside me, and¡­ shit. It''s on. Of course it''s on! I hammer it shut with willpower, halting the flow entirely.

    "I stopped, I stopped!" I tell her, running forward. "I''m sorry, I''m so sorry, I don''t know how that happened!"

    "You stopped!?" she shouts. "Then why''s it still¡ª"

    She cuts her own words off with a scream, blood suddenly blooming over her tailbone as she falls to her knees. Her wings have grown a tiny bit but I realize suddenly that I hadn''t noticed because most of her changes are internal. Musculature, bones¡­ and especially her digestive system all feel wrong. Different. And as a great slit tears its way open on her lower back, her spine elongating and pushing the wound forward, I start to see why.

    It''s a mouth. She''s growing a tail with a mouth on the end. That''s¡­ rather more disturbing than cute ears and a pair of wings.

    I close my eyes and take a deep breath, checking my magic again. The Transmutation spell is behaving. It''s no longer active. So why is Alma still changing? For that matter, why did she start changing in the first place? I first exposed Autumn to this spell by accident after our date, but she didn''t show any visible sign of transformation until days later. Either there''s some other Transmutation spell affecting her¡ªwhich doesn''t even make any sense¡ªor my spell must have an over-time effect. I hit her with it, and now she has¡­ I dunno, the ''monster transformation'' status condition, I guess, and it''ll just do things until the condition goes away. Why was I casting it in the first place, though?

    I just wanted her to be happy like I was. To revel in her nature like I can. To drown herself in intoxicating, bestial madness, like I do.

    ¡­To become a little less human, just for me. Oh, Goddess. I did want this to happen, didn''t I?

    "I''m sorry," I say, crying as I kneel down to hold her. "I''m so, so sorry. This is all my fault. I¡­ I should just go. We shouldn''t date. I''m not safe to be around, I¡ª"

    "No!" Alma shouts, her breathing rapid, her face terrified. Another thing I''ve seen in the mirror. A panic attack. "No no no no, I didn''t mean it."

    "Alma, I¡ª"

    "I''m sorry," she blurts. "I''m sorry, don''t go. It''s not your fault. You didn''t mean to. You didn''t mean to. I can take this. I''m sorry. Please don''t leave me."

    My eyes go wide. What?

    I''m still reeling from the horrific apology when Autumn breaks my nose. Her body twists without warning, the heel of her palm smashing into the middle of my face, pain blooming as blood gushes from my twisted nostrils. While I''m still stunned she slips away from me, getting to her feet in a blink. Elbows down, arms up, her whole body facing forwards. Even her ears have stopped drooping, sticking up sharp and elf-like, alert and anticipatory.

    The beast in the back of my head sees it as aggression, an offensive stance from a known threat, and as I get to my feet a furious hiss leaks out from my lips.

    "Could you explain to me what just happened," Jet says evenly, "so I know how badly to kick your ass?"

    "It was a mistake," I start.

    "Oh, I''ve heard that one before," Jet growls, and lashes towards my face a second time.

    I smack her fist away with a blade, and without thinking jab forwards with the other one, aiming to stab her heart. Panic makes me try to slow the strike, and that''s apparently all Jet needs to grab my extra limb, yank me towards her and punch me hard in the gut. Fury, fear, and pain war inside me, and as usual fear wins. I move my limb away, shifting it instinctively in the direction she cannot block or restrain. My blades vanish from 3D space, sinking impossibly from view like trying to watch a single facet of a kaleidoscope.

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Well. That''s one problem figured out at least. Out of the frying pan, and all that.

    "Jet, stop!" I plead, coughing painfully and stepping away as best I can. "You''re transforming and bleeding! Alma was having a panic attack!"

    She does, miraculously, stop.

    "...Panic attack?" she says hesitantly.

    "Yes!" I confirm between coughs. "What did you think was happening?"

    "She¡­ was freaked out," Jet says awkwardly. "Way beyond uncomfortable. Terrified of you. And you were touching us. So I thought¡­ you know. The logical conclusion."

    I gape at her, one hand managing the waterfall of blood coming from my nose. Did¡­ did she think I was sexually assaulting them!?

    "No," I whisper, horrified. "No, no, no, no, Jet I would never. Why would you¡­"

    "Because it''s the logical conclusion," she declares firmly, her fighting stance relaxing just a tad. "But I believe you when you say you weren''t doing it, okay? Sorry. I just have a striking reflex when I come to with someone that close. Also, fuck you, my ass is bleeding."

    "Wh¡­ my face is bleeding!" I protest.

    "How cute, we match," she deadpans. "Don''t you have a spell for this?"

    Huh? Oh, right. Duh. The Goddess arrives at the barest flicker of my intent, lounging like a cat in the sunbeam of our panic.

    "Refresh," she says with a smile, and departs as I use the spell to manage Autumn''s and my blood, keeping it moving how it''s supposed to while the wounds patch themselves.

    Jet takes a deep breath, centering herself before pawing at her lower back with one hand. She manages to find the new addition, a toothy bulge above her buttocks that''s currently shivering like someone locked it in a freezer.

    "...What the fuck is this?" Jet growls. Her own body responds by shifting some more, new vertebrae blooming on the end of her already-elongated spine as the tail thickens and extends by a half-inch all in one go. She staggers, dropping to one knee and clutching her stomach.

    "Okay, yeah, definitely seeing why this caused a panic attack," she hisses. "The fuck did you do to us this time, Hannah?"

    "I promise that none of this is on purpose," I insist to both myself and her. "We should probably go inside?"

    "...Yes," Jet agrees, glancing around. She reaches for her notebook briefly, hesitates, and instead just turns to me. "Are we still at Brendan''s place?"

    "Yeah, this is his backyard," I confirm, a slight smile on my face. Does it help that she has someone she can just ask? I hope it does.

    "It''s, uh, pretty roomy."

    ''Yeah, I doubt anyone can see us out here, but like¡­ we should go inside for mirrors and bandages and stuff."

    "Right."

    We shuffle inside and I point Jet towards a bathroom before yelling down the stairs at Brendan.

    "Hey, uh, do you guys have a first aid kit? I broke my nose!"

    "We do, top shelf of the bathroom cupboard. Ida texted and she should be back in like ten minutes, though," Brendan yells back. "Anything worse than a broken nose?"

    "Uh. Just. Some mutations on Autumn?"

    "Oh, is that all," Brendan groans. "Hannah, can you even go an hour without something catastrophic happening?"

    I pout, not that he can see it. There''s no need to be rude!

    "Start a timer and let''s find out!" I quip back at him. "I''m gonna go help Jet!"

    I rush back to the bathroom, hearing Jet quietly swear to herself. Peeking my head around the corner, I spot her with the door open, pants halfway down her butt so she can point her growing tail at the mirror and crane her neck around to spot it. Gosh, she uh. She has a really nice butt.

    "If you''re just going to gawk, I don''t really want your help," Jet grunts.

    "Oh!" I yelp, stepping into the room and fishing out the first aid kit. "S-sorry! Here you go!"

    "I don''t think I need that," Jet scowls. "Your spell stopped working when you ran off, but the cuts were already healed. Now this thing is just¡­ continuing to grow."

    I manage to peel my eyes away from how Autumn''s bum squishes up against the edge of the bathroom counter and look slightly above that, where her tail is emerging from her spine like some kind of monstrous parasitic worm. Needless to say, this is a substantially less appealing sight. The tail is a dark gray, covered with rough, scale-like ridges that seem strangely unnatural. It''s a girthy, cylindrical thing, about the same radius as one of her thighs, and it stays the same thickness for its full length¡ªcurrently a whole foot and slowly rising¡ªall the way until the end, where a monstrous, blade-toothed mouth shivers and twists, always in motion. Around the base of the tail, the scales creep up across her skin as well, changing from that unpleasant gray to a vibrant red in glimmering pockmarks up her lower back.

    "...Woah," I manage eloquently, squinting a little as if that helps at all with my spatial sense. "...I think you might have a working digestive system in there. Or at least the start of one."

    "You''ve gotta be fucking kidding me," Jet growls. "Damn it, I take back every good thing I''ve ever said about magic."

    "Well, you might still be able to hide it with magic," I hedge, ignoring the spike of terror I feel thinking about Jet''s Pneuma spell.

    "Yeah, but Alma can''t!" Jet sighs. "We tried. I can''t use her nonsense house magic and she can''t use my concealment spell."

    "Well, crap, okay," I scowl. "That kinda makes sense. You might have to name it? I don''t know if you qualify as a valid teacher for her, but¡­"

    "I''m not doing that either way," Jet dismisses. "You said that naming a spell is dangerous, and I know better than to mess with anything that even your dumb ass is afraid of. God, what the fuck is happening to me? I hate this. I hate this, Hannah. I hate having to deal with you. Can''t you just leave us alone?"

    At those words, Jet''s tail whips around, the mouth latching onto her own leg and chomping down, drawing blood even through her pants.

    "Ow! Motherfucker!" Jet roars, swatting at her own tail. "What the hell!?"

    Her tail lets go, bearing its now-bloodied fangs and chomping its teeth together in furious protest. It''s not connected to a respiratory system at all and it can''t speak, but¡­ well, it seems fairly obvious that Jet''s not controlling it. It¡­ it couldn''t be, right?

    "Uh," I say hesitantly. "Is that¡­ Alma?"

    "I mean, making me bleed for daring to try to help her seems like a pretty fucking Alma thing to do," Jet growls. "Shit. Shit shit shit. She''s not trapped in there, is she?"

    I don''t answer, because Jet says this while taking her pants all the way off so she can bandage up her thigh.

    "Alma, if that''s you, can you indicate it somehow?" Jet asks. "Preferably without biting?"

    The tail continues gnashing at the air, seemingly oblivious to the question.

    "Well fuck if I know what that means," Jet grunts. "Any clues, magic bug girl?"

    Ack! Right! I close my eyes, shake my head, and focus.

    "...Your tail doesn''t seem to have anything in it that feels like it could be a brain," I hedge, looking it over as best I can without quite seeing anything. "If you''re not consciously controlling it, maybe you''re subconsciously controlling it? Like, you''ve mentioned getting flashes and impressions from Alma when you''re¡­ uh, fronting, you said?"

    "Yeah," Jet grumbles, giving her bloody leg one last scowl before putting her pants back on. "So either I''m subconsciously really interested in biting my own legs off, or this is like¡­ a not-fully-conscious version of Alma? Maybe? Fuck, this is pointless to guess at, you can just ask her when we swap again later."

    "Uh, hopefully you didn''t just jinx that," I shudder. "I don''t want to think about the possibility of you two being stuck like this."

    "That would be stupid," Jet grunts. "If anything, we''d be stuck the other way around. Besides, maybe we just have a tail that hates us both equally. An entire body part dedicated to self-harm seems on brand."

    Uh. Geez. Okay, that one was a bit too heavy to let slide.

    "I''m starting to think you two might have some measure of unprocessed issues," I say hesitantly.

    "Gee Nancy Drew, what tipped you off?" Jet drawls, sitting down on the floor. Her tail immediately starts gnawing at the bathroom mat. "Our therapist says our condition is ''traumagenic,'' actually. As in, I was literally born¡ªor created or whatever¡ªin response to a traumatic event so serious our brain had to compartmentalize an entire new person into being. Which, y''know, is a super fun thing to be told by a medical professional. Congratulations, it''s a mental condition! My mommy is Alma and my daddy is¡­"

    She trails off, letting out a slow breath.

    "Well. Never mind. Terrible metaphor," she says. "I''m not really supposed to focus on that anyway. Where I come from isn''t as important as who I am, and all that."

    I notice, then, that her tail has gone still. Now it''s her hands that can''t stop moving, shaking and fidgeting in ways I don''t think she even notices as she stares at her own knees. I''m at a loss for words, but fortunately Jet seems more than capable of carrying the conversation despite me.

    "...Speaking of therapy, shouldn''t you be getting like¡­ all of it?"

    Aw beans. Did I say ''fortunately?'' I meant ''unfortunately.''

    "I, uh, do actually go to therapy tomorrow," I mutter. "My mom''s making me."

    "Mmm. Good of your mom," Jet nods. I scowl at her.

    "Is it?" I snap. "Like, what am I gonna say? ''Hi, I''ve killed a bunch of people and stopped being human! Check out my extra limbs!''"

    "I mean¡­ you can keep it vague," Jet shrugs. "I had therapy on Wednesday and I didn''t bring up any of the new body parts, nor will I bring them up today. I''ll just¡­ stick the worm in a long skirt or something, I guess. Alma and I have stuff to work through beyond magic bullshit, and¡­ I mean, no offense but you seem like you probably do too."

    "Uh. How often do you go to therapy?" I ask hesitantly.

    "Three times a week," she shrugs.

    Holy ravioli I can''t even imagine how awful that would be.

    "Are you sure you don''t wanna like¡­ skip today?" I ask nervously. "Like, with the whole tail thing¡­?"

    "I can''t really skip, Hannah," Jet shrugs. "It''s court-ordered."

    "Oh," I say dumbly. Right. Alma did mention that Jet got them arrested, huh? "Do you, um¡­"

    "Yes, you can ask what I did," Jet says, rolling her eyes. "Burglary. Regular old Robin Hooding. I would break into rich houses and steal expensive crap nobody needs to pay the bills. It was pretty much that or we would lose our house, since my dad is¡­ worthless."

    I resist the urge to let fear onto my face, a mental image of some faceless person smashing a window and crawling into my house at night chilling me to the core.

    "...Isn''t that really dangerous?" I ask hesitantly.

    "It certainly is for me," Jet grouses. "I''m very intimately aware of the fact that some people think shooting me in the face for taking their wife''s fucking blood diamonds is an appropriate response, but it''s not like I was stupid about it. You stake out a place, determine when the occupants are away for work, and go during the day. I bring no weapons and just get in and out without interacting with anybody. All of which helped reduce my sentence when I inevitably got cocky and got caught."

    She shrugs.

    "Good news is, a sizable combination of factors¡ªlike Alma legitimately not remembering any of it¡ªhelped me get off way lighter than I expected and I ended up with therapy instead of jail. Bad news is, I still have to pay for my own court-ordered therapy, which kinda just makes the whole problem way worse, and it''s a little more difficult to find time to commit crimes when you have a probation officer checking your class attendance."

    "Couldn''t you¡­ I dunno. Get a job?" I ask desperately.

    "I probably should, just to stretch the buffer a bit longer, but¡­ how much do you make?"

    "Uh. Thirteen dollars an hour, twenty hours a week, so¡­"

    "Like a thousand dollars a month, after tax?" Jet asks, raising an eyebrow. "Yeah. That''s not gonna come close to denting the bills. We''ll be okay, though. This is the home stretch. A normal job can probably support us if we get like¡­ a cheap apartment and three roommates. We just have to survive until we''re eighteen and can detach ourselves from our parasite of a father."

    Jet''s tail twists around and nips her on the arm at that, and she swears again.

    "Fuck off, Alma," she grouses. "We are ditching his ass and that''s final."

    The horrific worm-tail twitches irritably like a cat disapproving of how it''s being pet, but declines to inflict any further injury.

    "As usual, you are taking this almost concerningly well," I say, staring at the tail as it flops around.

    "I assure you I am freaking the fuck out on the inside," Jet answers flatly. "Alma imprinting on a woman who literally metamorphs our body into some fucked-up chimera the more we spend time with her seems more like a hilariously poignant metaphor than real life, but since I''m nonetheless living it I have to find a way to deal."

    I grimace, squatting down next to her.

    "...You, uh, really don''t like me, huh?" I manage.

    "It''s not like I hate you," Jet shrugs. "You''re just¡­ a constant problem that I have to mitigate, possibly forever."

    Wow. I, uh, think I would have preferred if she''d just said ''yes.''

    "Well, if there''s anything I can do to help offset that, just let me know," I answer. "I wanna at least be your friend. I wanna be worthy of that. I feel like everyone else has been going out of their way to help me, but I haven''t gotten to do anything in return for you."

    Jet stares at me for a moment, then shrugs again. She is very shruggy.

    "I''ll let you know if anything comes up," she answers noncommittally.

    Hey, I''ll take it. In fact, I preempt a bit of helpfulness and give her some tips on binding up a new errant body part, helping her wrap up her tail so that it''s flat against her back. Ida arrives shortly afterwards, healing my nose with a few quips and handing me a bunch of new bras and outfits.

    "...Wait, did I ever tell you my bra size?"

    "Nah, I just swiped it from all the underwear we took from your house," Ida shrugs. "Do you even need these backless things anymore, though? Your, uh, leg problem seems to have solved itself."

    "Huh?" I say. "Oh, right!"

    I shift my extra limbs, pulling them back into w=0 space so my friends can see them.

    "They''re still here, see?" I assure Ida. "And it''d be nice to not have to destroy my underwear whenever I need to use them, so¡­ I think these will be really helpful! Thank you so much!"

    "Uh, you''re welcome, I guess," Ida shrugs.

    "Do you, uh, anticipate a situation where you''ll ''need to use them?''" Jet asks hesitantly.

    "Huh, good question," I muse, leaning back to let my hip-legs take my weight. "I may as well have them on stream tonight, at least. I''m officially out online. ¡­As a monster, I mean."

    "Woah. On your little nerd show?" Ida asks, raising her eyebrows. "Didn''t think you had the balls, Hannah Banana."

    Jet gives a long-suffering sigh.

    "...What''s the link," she grumbles. "Alma will probably want to see it."

    Straining against its bindings, her tail wiggles happily. I grin.

    "I''ll send it to you," I promise.

    We chatter a bit more, and before long school is over and it''s time for me to head home and pretend I actually went there. Ida helps me smuggle my comforter and new clothes home, Autumn heads off to therapy (aaaaaaaaaah!) and Brendan remains cooped up alone in his basement because he''s still a bit overstimulated, the poor goober. It''s fine. It''s fine! Today had some freaky moments. I accidentally turned up the mutation juice on my girlfriend. I am probably a direct hazard to everyone I know and love. But it''s fine, because I get to lock myself in my room and play Pok¨¦mon.

    "Hey everyone!" I grin, reveling in the thrill of showing off my teeth. "Welcome back!"

    My heart races as I sit poised and perfect, just far enough away from the camera that my extra legs are visible where they dangle off the sides of the chair, and the blades are sitting comfortably forwards without blocking my face.

    [Xenoversal]: Woah, model upgrade.

    [LavAbsol]: Hi, DD! Gosh, you look so cool!

    [SwalotRancher]: It is time to kick Whitney''s ass

    [Apparently_A_Chimera]: Ah! You''re really here! This is so neat!

    I chuckle, watching the greetings roll by as I boot up SoulSilver. Barring the addition of one of my new bras and the subtraction of all the grass stains, I''m wearing the same clothes as I was earlier today, and it''s weirdly empowering. I didn''t really doll myself up for this session, I just did the basics and jumped right into it. I''m not even wearing socks right now, not that I''ll ever let the camera see low enough for it to matter. Still, I feel¡­ I dunno. Weirdly feisty.

    Stretching my arms above my head I set out a massive yawn, arcing my back and really putting my whole body into it. My jaw opens wide, way too wide, my chin nearly touching my throat even as my head tilts back. My extra limbs all join the stretch, blades twisting and rotating to their limits. It feels good. Not just the stretch itself, but the show of it, the utter vulnerability I can show and still exude confidence. I am the apex predator here, and this is my domain.

    [PentUp]: what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the fuck

    [Zoroa!Queen]: Oh hey it''s this stream again

    [AllTricks]: ok the bit is cool and all but can we just play pogeyman

    [PentUp]: That is NOT HOW VTUBER RIGS WORK

    "Well, it''s not actually a bit, you know?" I admit conspiratorially. "I really look like this. I really am this. It''s weird to say out loud. Maybe I can feel comfortable admitting that here because we live in a world of crazy deepfake nonsense and I know that absolutely none of you are going to believe me. Which is like, super fair! What else would you do when some random internet streamer casually goes ''oh yeah, magic is real and I''m turning into a monster.'' It''s insane, right? The idea that it''s anything but a publicity stunt is just¡­ silly."

    The game boots up and I spare a few moments to glance at my team and figure out what the heck I was doing. Goldenrod. Whitney. Third gym. Right.

    "But it''s still really scary for me, you know?" I say. "Playing games is something I do for fun, that I do to unwind. You guys get to see me relatively relaxed. But in my actual life? I''m freaking out literally all the time, bundling up in these bulky outfits and looking like a total dweeb because I have to hide the fact that I''ve somehow smuggled four extra limbs onto a humanoid torso and I''m pretty sure I''m due for two more any day now. For all I know the men in black are gonna come knocking at my door one day and then I''ll never be seen again. But still, it''s just¡­ exhausting to hide all the time. Painful, almost."

    I cross my arms, taking my hands off the keyboard and using my alien limbs to control the game. All in view of the camera. It''s a bit clumsy, but only a bit.

    "So screw it! I don''t care if the internet knows. Magic is real. I''m a mutant. These are facts and if you don''t believe them, that makes perfect sense to me. It''s all still true, though. Now let''s play some Pok¨¦mon."

    My speech goes mostly ignored, because of course it does. That''s okay. I don''t really want this to be a big reveal, I just want to get it all off my chest. I''m not going to have the patience¡ªor more importantly, the fear¡ªto keep hiding much longer. I''m too burnt out by it, and being my true self is too satisfying. It''s high time I cast the dice and let them fall how they may.

    My view count ticks higher and higher as the stream goes on, eventually breaking my personal record by a factor of ten.

 36. Routine

    Kagiso pokes me awake and I yawn, stretching as I try to ignore that uncomfortable feeling of freshly-molted skin clinging to my body. I scuttle out of the bedroll before freeing myself from my skin, quickly munching it down as a mini-breakfast as Kagiso watches with interest, wriggling into her own bed before getting ready to sleep. Last watch is mine, so I exit the tent while stretching each one of my legs, lifting them as high as I can and shaking them a bit whenever I take a step. It probably looks really silly, but whatever. Kagiso already thinks I''m cute as heck.

    Again, my body is a little bigger and a little less symmetrical. Pretty soon I''ll be more backpack-sized than hat-sized, much to both Kagiso''s and my own dismay. My mouth is moving closer to one side of my body, and based on how other limbs are shifting in length and purpose I suspect it and my eyes are likely to bud off into a head at some point, getting me started on that humanoid body shape I feel like my final form is going to have.

    I''ll miss my spherical shape. It''s fun, it feels good, but in that transient way where I can''t regret losing it all that much. It''s like the anxiety I felt in fifth grade when puberty hit, when the hair started growing and my nipples started hurting and I knew that the changes happening to me would never go back, and I''d never look like a kid again. There was terror and regret to it, but also pride. Anticipation. Childhood was something that I was meant to cast off. So, too, is this larval form.

    I''m once again surprised again at how much wetter this branch is compared to our last one, my sharp feet sliding partway into the damp soil and emerging covered in moist flecks of earth. A quick flick of each leg into 4D space is easy enough to implement into my walk cycle, though, letting me clean myself moments after I get dirty. I scuttle up on a log we set up by the fire and make myself comfortable. Sela leans up against it, utterly motionless. I feel bad about not giving it a tent, but Helen insisted that, during our night watch, Sela is one of the things that we keep an eye on.

    "Hey, Sela," I greet it. "Are you comfy like that? Do you need anything?"

    The hum of an internal cooling system starts up, and it''s the only indication I get that the robot acknowledges me for a few moments before it finally speaks.

    "Friendly tip!" Sela announces. "I am made of metal. Conditions such as ''soreness'' or any other form of discomfort caused by extended stillness are exclusively a weakness of flesh. I do not have these issues. I am superior."

    I drum my legs, a bit concerned by that response but not really offended.

    "...Uh, sorry, poor choice of words on my part, I guess," I say. "I just remember you being in this position when I went to sleep, and if you wanted to be moved for¡­ basically any reason, I guess, I''ll do my best to help. I''m not really the best at helping with that sort of thing, but I could probably figure something out."

    Another pause.

    "...That will not be necessary," Sela eventually answers. "But if you could place the surrounding minerals into my fabricator, that would be¡­ helpful."

    "Uh, which surrounding minerals?" I ask. "Do you just mean the dirt?"

    "The surrounding environmental detritus is mostly waste material, but it does contain useful elements. I may as well spend the abundance of free time I''m now forcibly subjected to sorting them out."

    "Oh, hold on, I can probably save you some effort," I say.

    Using my spatial sense, I find a nearby rock that''s close enough to the surface and flat enough to work as a sort of table and Refresh all the nearby dirt off the top of it. Then I cast Refresh again to sort all that dirt into its constituent parts, making a bunch of little piles on my new rock-table. And¡­ wow, I mean a bunch.

    "Woah, this is way more stuff than I was expecting," I admit. "What even is most of this?"

    "...Useful," Sela notes. "Please dispense the pile in row two, column one into my fabrication unit intake."

    I bob my body up and down in agreement, using a third Refresh to sort the indicated pile into Sela''s belly, which immediately starts churning away.

    "This purity is commendable," Sela says, a little begrudgingly. "If you could gather more of this substance, as well as the substances at row one column three, row two column one, row two column five, and row three column three, it would assist with replenishing my stores."

    "Sure, no problem," I agree, and start Refreshing more and more dirt into the piles and moving them to Sela at its request. "Do you think you''ll be able to fix yourself with this?"

    "Negative," Sela responds. "Repair issue is in available designs, not available material. Material storage is simply low after recent fabrications, and replenishing it is an efficient use of time."

    "That makes sense," I agree.

    I continue helping h¡ªit for a while. It! Ugh, I''m the worst at this.

    "Hey Sela?" I prompt. "I, uh, wanted to apologize about something."

    "Do not," Sela answers immediately.

    ¡­Huh?

    "Uh¡­ but I feel like you deserve¡­"

    "I do not care how you feel," Sela says bluntly. "I do not want to know. I want you to stop talking. I want you to stop addressing me. I want you to be quiet and let me stay in low-power mode and let me endure these indignities in silence. If you insist on an apology then this can be your apology to me: shut up."

    I swallow saliva, barely holding back an instinct to say ''okay.'' Instead I say nothing and just return to sorting.

    "Diplomatic infraction logged," Sela announces, and then we descend into silence until the sun comes up and the rest of my companions wake up.

    Helen rises early and easily, the warmth of the sun all she needs to get herself out of bed. She grunts a half-hearted greeting at me as she emerges from her tent and walks into Kagiso''s, as Kagiso reacts to rays of sunshine rather more like a cat than a person, simply stretching out and letting her fur catch as much of the beam of light as possible, all without waking.

    So Helen kicks her in the gut. Not too hard, but it certainly wakes her up. Kagiso growls and gets up just quickly enough to flick Helen in the back of the head as she leaves.

    "The fuck are you doing?" Helen asks me.

    "Sorting dirt," I answer. "I never really thought about how many different things are mixed together in the dirty brown floor stuff."

    "You don''t really think about much, do you?" Helen drawls.

    "Wh¡ªhey! I think about things all the time. They''re just like, a relatively narrow spectrum of things, I guess. Like anxiety, and Pok¨¦mon, and the inevitability of death."

    "Death is only inevitable for meat," Sela reminds us.

    "What the fuck is Pok¨¦mon?" Helen asks.

    Haha oh gosh. She really shouldn''t have asked that. I know what I''m rambling about for the next three hours. But¡­ uh. Hmm.

    "...Hey Sela is it okay if I talk a bunch as long as I''m not talking to you?"

    "Entering power-save mode."

    "Great!" I say happily. "Okay, so. Let me explain¡­"

    I get to babbling as I wait for the others to pack up camp, happy to spend the time I normally spend feeling awkward and useless for being unable to help instead rambling about my favorite thing. The best part is that no one here has even heard of Pok¨¦mon before, so I get to start all the way back with like, establishing the setting! There''s just so much to explain so I babble and babble and babble some more even as the packing finishes and we restart our journey towards the trunk.

    "I think I liked you better when you were mute," Helen groans.

    "Trainers sound like Sindri," Kagiso says, wrinkling her nose.

    I flinch, but carry on.

    "I, uh, thought the same thing when I met him, actually," I admit. "I don''t know if that made me more or less suspicious of him, honestly, but¡­ yeah. He was pretty much training me to fight for him, I guess."

    "Yes," Kagiso growls. "Trained to hunt his hunt."

    I cared for him. I liked him. I truly did. He was a bit of a grump, but he was driven. There was a wrong in the world and he dedicated himself to making it right. That kind of conviction is something I can and did respect. It''s something that, in many ways, I was jealous of. To have a purpose decided and to know that it would help people. Sindri was a role model. A font of knowledge. He was, in every way, a friend.

    "...Can we please not talk about this?" I ask quietly. "I really don''t want to associate Sindri with Pok¨¦mon."

    "Well, I don''t wanna hear you say anything else about your wacky cultural fiction about magic monster balls, so how about we compromise and have everyone shut up?" Helen gripes.

    "The Chaos mage continues to be the best of you," Sela chimes in from where it''s strapped to Kagiso''s back.

    "Wh¡ªSela!" I sputter. "I thought you weren''t listening!"

    "Memory de-corruption and recovery has completed," the robot explains, "yet your species remains uncatalogued. This cultural information has become valuable data, and therefore my duty is clear. Your actions shall be watched, and recorded, and shared with all Crafted as the essence of your kind. You will be judged, meat. Prepare to be found wanting."

    Uh. Geez. What the heck can I say to that? Deflect horror with humor, maybe? Yeah, that works.

    "Oh, no worries," I assure her. "I am always prepared to be found wanting."

    "Your abnormally high self-awareness is noted," Sela answers without missing a beat. Savage, but I''m friends with Ida. I don''t really mind.

    "Terrible diplomat," I accuse playfully, to which Sela lets out a huff of hot air in response.

    No one continues the conversation from there, though, because at that point we manage to push through the treeline and find ourselves overwhelmed by the sight of the world tree''s trunk in all its glory. We''re startlingly close, as where the last two branches we were on morphed into tundra long before they met the trunk, this one is far more lush. Rather than a tundra, we have a meadow, vibrant green grass stretching between us and the titanic strips of bark that block out the horizon ahead.

    "Woah," I manage. "Well, now what? Are there wormholes to take or something?"

    "Yeah, and we might be able to actually take them if we ditch the murderbot," Helen sighs. "Would be nice to actually use one, for once."

    "We aren''t ditching Sela unless it tries to kill us or something," I insist. "Or unless it asks to be left behind, I guess."

    "It is a constant temptation," Sela flatly informs me.

    "...But one you haven''t given into, so I''m gonna assume that means you still need help," I quip right back. "So what''s the alternative, Helen? How do you usually smuggle yourself up and down branches?"

    "The barkways," Helen answers, pointing towards the distance, where the far edge of the branch merges with the tree. "I bet murderbot knows even more about them than I do."

    "Many pathways were built up and down the outside of the tree during the initial Crafted expansion, hundreds of years ago," Sela confirms. "Most are now discontinued, used mainly by organics as less-monitored trade routes for the facilitation of illicit activities. As the vast majority of these pathways were made between this branch and the Pillar, there should be an abundance of them via which we can efficiently transport ourselves to a Sapsea dock."

    "They''re a massive fucking pain in the ass to climb up," Helen comments. "But going down isn''t so bad. Pretty fun, even, as long as it''s intact enough to not kill you."

    "Construction records available," Sela announces. "Please allow this unit to guide you to the optimal route."

    "No," Helen grunts. "I don''t trust you. We''ll just take a route I''ve been on before."

    The sound of a strained servo rings out, an irritated whine that seems a little too perfect to not be purposeful.

    "...Your lack of trust is flattering, meat," Sela announces. "But it does not serve my purposes to artificially extend the duration of this journey. Allow me to plot an optimal route."

    "No. Fuck off."

    Sela turns its head, looking down its glasses at me in frustration.

    "...Make your Chaos mage see reason," it orders me.

    Helen stiffens up, her teeth grinding in frustration inside her mouth. Aw, shoot. I kind of have been repeatedly undermining her whenever a conflict with Sela comes up, huh?

    "Oh, now I''m the voice of reason?" I snort, drumming my legs around the crown of Helen''s head. "I believe Sela actually wants to help us out here, Helen, but I''m not going to make you do what it says. If you have a route that you know works, I don''t have a problem with that. Any way down is fine by me."

    Helen relaxes and nods.

    "Cool. Okay. Follow me, then."

    "Inefficient," Sela grumbles.

    "Sorry Sela," I tell her. "But you know us organics. Total messes."

    "Your mockery is noted for future retribution."

    "Retribution?" I scoff. "I mean it, I''m not mocking anyone but myself. I''m a complete disaster, and don''t let anyone tell you otherwise."

    "Maybe literally, if Hagoro was right," Helen grunts. "Hey murderbot, would you be more or less interested in hanging out with us if you knew there was a whole cult who thinks Hannah will cause another apocalypse?"

    There''s a pause, something inside Sela clicking furiously.

    "...Neither," it answers eventually. "Your proximity is equally distasteful under all circumstances."

    "Goddess, what a fucking charmer," Helen sighs. "Truly, I am crazy for not liking you."

    "No. You are the only sane organic here."

    "Heh."

    Wait, are they hitting it off over their apparent hate for each other? I swear to the Goddess, if this stupid party ends up with two tsunderes, I''ll be mad.

    I wait quietly on top of Helen''s head as the four of us approach the trunk and then, when its impossible mass looms over close enough to touch, we follow it along the outside of the branch. It''s baffling how, from a distance, the trunk of the world tree is very obviously a tree trunk, but up close it''s more like some alien rock formation, still technically bark and wood but so monstrously scaled up that the individual threads of the wood grain are larger than buildings and each bulge of bark is bigger than a city. The tree has the kind of bark that''s a bunch of individual strips, each different shapes and sizes with canyon-like divots in between. Scaled up, the metaphor becomes all the more apt, with the final result looking rather like someone took the Grand Canyon, turned it into wood, and flipped it up on its side.

    Once the curve of the branch starts dipping low towards the edge, we head into that canyon, darkness descending on us as massive walls trap us on three sides. Grass fades away here, but it''s a paradise for mosses, lichens, mushrooms, and especially bugs. I''m mostly fortunate in that my chitin body makes bugs a lot less annoying, but if any got inside my joints¡­ uuugh. I don''t even wanna think about it.

    Once we make it to the far wall we start walking towards the edge of the branch again, but before things get too steep that we fall off I spot something like Helen and Sela described: an artificial wooden bridge to the far "wall" of the canyon, the part that''s completely separated from the branch itself and therefore exposed to open air and a sheer, deadly drop.

    And on the far side of that horrific drop, built into the side of the colossal piece of bark and barely protected from the deadly fall inches away, are a series of switchback ramps steep enough to act as slides.

    "...This is either going to be the most fun I''ve ever had or all of us are going to die," I breathe.

    "Hee hee. Yes," Kagiso grins.

    "What are you looking at," Sela chirps from Kagiso''s back. "Are those material chutes? Do organics use the material chutes!?"

    "Just don''t let yourselves go too fast or you''ll fly off when the slide changes direction," Helen warns. "They''re mostly safe, though. Except the bits that rotted away or got made into a nest. Make sure to pay attention to where you''re going."

    "Aw, dang," I sigh. "I kind of wanted to roll all the way down."

    This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

    "No! No! No!" Sela whines, squirming against Kagiso''s back. "I protest! I wish to be left behind!"

    "I wasn''t going to! I just want to. I''m not gonna be ball-shaped for much longer, you know."

    "Aaaaaaaa!" Sela objects, its voice sticking to a single note for the entire robo-scream.

    "Have somewhere else to go?" Kagiso asks it, flicking the robot in the head. "What more likely death: slide, or stuck here alone?"

    "Answer refused! Computation refused!"

    "Helen, you''ve done this before and lived, right?" I ask, nudging the Chaos mage with a leg.

    "Yeah, a couple times," Helen nods.

    "I see, I see," I bob happily. "Well, I''m sure that anything an organic can do, a superior body of metal could do better, right?"

    "This is a manipulation tactic. I am being manipulated," Sela announces.

    "Yep!" I confirm. "Is it working?"

    "I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you I hate you."

    "Okay, but do you wanna be left behind?"

    A pause. Sela starts humming as its cooling system kicks into high gear, its face shifting into a scowl.

    "...Negative," it growls. "We can use the material chute. Like thoughtless base elemental waste. Or meat."

    "Awesome," I say smugly. "Lead the way, Helen!"

    The wooden bridge is concerningly rickety for being the only thing that separates us from a vast and deadly drop, though as much as it makes me acrophobic I can''t deny that the view is stunning. The Slaying Stone is below us, and closer than I''ve ever seen it before. The stone itself is a stunning sight, as while the fractal green gouges of stonerot eating into it are a sign of death, there''s an alien beauty to it as well. This close, I can make out what might be the rotting remains of cities slowly being drunk dry by the magical fungus, their skeletons collapsing with no people alive to repair them.

    That''s a far way away from the trunk, though. More immediately below us is not the green of life nor the gray of stone, but the gold of the world tree''s blood. Liquid sap spews from the Mother Tree''s wound at a glacial pace, the leak slow yet so indescribably massive that the sheer quantities of liquid involved can''t be considered anything less than an ocean. This is, without a doubt, what my companions call the Sapsea, a bulging golden ring that covers the entire circumference of the Slaying Stone''s intersection with the Mother Tree. Through the translucent shining liquid, it''s possible to see the wound to the tree itself, extending far beyond the edges of the Slaying Stone: apocalyptic cracks and continent-sized splinters from which the lifeblood gushes into the open air. Within the Sapsea itself I can even see dark shapes moving, undulating with a purpose that can''t be anything less than alive. Yet if I can see them at all from this far away, how big are they¡­?

    "Dentron whine a lot about the Pillar," Helen comments quietly, seeming to notice where my attention is locked. "About the catastrophe it caused. They''re not wrong, I guess, but¡­ well, it''s not like we got off any lighter."

    "Doesn''t look like it, yeah," I say quietly. "You were born down there, right?"

    "Yeah," Helen confirms. "My mom''s probably still down there somewhere. Probably hasn''t kicked the bucket yet."

    The mom that refused to kill her, huh?

    "Wanna go visit?" I ask.

    She doesn''t respond at first, but slowly, hesitantly, she reaches up and pats me on top of the carapace. It''s awkward and rough, not at all like Kagiso''s playful contact, but all the same I can''t say I dislike it.

    "Maybe if it''s on the way," Helen hedges, knowing full well we don''t really have an ultimate destination in the first place. "Now hold on tight, okay? I don''t wanna drop you."

    "Aye-aye, navigator!" I say, giving her a leggy salute.

    "I have no fucking clue what that was about, but alright," Helen sighs.

    Reaching the other end of the bridge, we transfer over to a platform dug out of the inside of the bark, and the difference in construction immediately becomes obvious. The rickety wooden bridge was a hazard to life and limb thanks to its horribly shoddy design, but the semicylindrical ramp before us is a hazard to life and limb entirely in spite of its excellent craftsmanship. Clean-cut and perfectly sanded before being preserved with a slippery, clear, lacquer-like finish, the ''material chute,'' as Sela called it, is clearly built to last. Which is good, because I distinctly recall Sela saying that they were built hundreds of years ago, and we are trusting this thing to keep us alive against the merciless whims of gravity.

    "Welp, no time like the present," Helen sighs. "Even with us just sliding on our asses the whole time, we''ll have to stop to sleep before we get all the way down there."

    Yeah, that checks out. The world tree is tall.

    "Logs indicate this structure has not received maintenance for over a century," Sela whines. "Please allow this unit to direct you to a pathway that is actually designed for¡ª"

    "Wheeee!" Kagiso shouts, raising her arms in the air and leaping down the slide, bringing an attached and screaming Sela along with her. Helen smirks, extracting me off her head and following down the slide with me in her lap.

    It is pretty dang fun, although not all that exciting compared to the freefall cage piloted by a giant bat-dragon that we took to get down just a day ago. I''m once again tempted to get off Helen and start rolling, but that idea quickly gets shoved away when Kagiso suddenly shouts "GAP!"

    As the wall of bark descends down the trunk, it shifts between being an incline and an overhang, and the way the slide is built has to accommodate for that. While the wall is more of a steep, eighty-degree incline, the slide is just built into the bark itself as a series of switchbacks that don''t really have much risk involved; if you fall off part of the slide, you''ll just land on a lower part, possibly bruised but probably alive. On the overhang parts, however, there''s no such luck. The slide hangs out over empty space, leaving us inches away from death at all times. And ahead of us is, of course, a nearly ten-foot-wide hole in the construction.

    "Pick up speed!" Helen shouts back, clutching me tight against her stomach as she stands up on the slide, crouching low and reducing friction as much as possible. "Go, go, go! We''re gonna jump!"

    Kagiso glances back at Helen with wide eyes, but then a feral grin splits her face and she nods, copying Helen''s stance. I freeze, helpless and panicking and trying to act as inanimate as possible so as to not screw up whatever Helen''s about to do. I wish I could look away, squeeze my eyes shut and just wait for it all to happen, but that''s doubly impossible for me so time seems to slow as Kagiso, now laughing hysterically, tenses her legs and leaps less than a foot before death, flying through the air and landing hard on the far side.

    "Haha! Yes!" she shouts in triumph, and then I nearly lose my extradimensional stomach as Helen follows, the speed we''ve picked up letting us rocket over the gap, the terror of free fall gripping my body for a moment before we land hard on the far side, our momentum still screaming forwards.

    "Fuck yeah! Great jump, Kagiso!" Helen shouts, her heart pounding a mile a minute inside her chest.

    "Yes! Yes!" Kagiso cackles back. "More, more!"

    "I hate meat I hate meat I hate meat I hate meat!"

    "What would have happened if you guys couldn''t make that jump!?" I yelp. Quite rhetorically, since the answer is that we would have fucking died.

    "If Kagiso thought she couldn''t make that she woulda stopped!" Helen shouts back, the wind making it somewhat difficult to talk any more quietly than that. "If a gap is too wide we can find another way down. That one was just a warm-up, though!"

    "I thought you were the sane one, Helen!" I protest.

    "Well maybe you shouldn''t believe the fucking murderbot!" she laughs.

    The whole rest of the day is like that, with Helen and Kagiso playing gosh dang pocket circuit with their own bodies instead of cars, nearly flinging us to our deaths over every turn and break in the path. I''m not even doing anything and it''s still utterly exhausting, so after hours pass and the sky starts to dim, I''m utterly relieved to find us coming across a modestly-sized platform built next to the slide that we can dismount to rest on. We do so, Kagiso and Helen laughing all the while as they recount their favorite exploits.

    There''s no campfire tonight, what with us sitting on a tiny wooden platform and all, but somehow I doubt there''s going to be much to worry about running into tonight. We make a watch rotation anyway and I go last, letting me gratefully snuggle up against Kagiso and pass the fuck out.

    I wake with a different disorientation from normal, though not an uncommon or unexpected one. Here on Earth, my body just finished a rather satisfying rest, in direct contrast to the sore, stressed mess my body was on the world tree. Not a bad kind of stress, though. I basically spent the day on a concerningly deadly theme park ride, and while that''s not ideal it''s kind of refreshing compared to the usual terror I''m stuck with. In retrospect, it was even kind of fun. Unlike what I can expect today at school, which is never¡­ wait. There''s no school today, it''s Saturday.

    ¡­I have therapy this morning.

    Cold horror floods me at the thought, my body shaking in a very learned, very human terror. This is horrid, beyond horrid, but I know that in all likelihood that''s entirely irrational. It won''t be like that. That''s not normal. I know that, I know, that it''ll be fine. It''ll be fine. It''ll be fine.

    I get out of bed almost mechanically, barely spending a moment to remind myself that I have extra limbs that need to be kept hidden before covering up how I usually do and drowning myself in the heat of the shower. The extra limbs come back out under the comfort of the pouring water, alone and naked and horribly myself. I have more skin to eat, more chitin to reveal as my left leg catches up with my right. My right leg is fully mutated, bony-white chitin from hip to toes, but it hasn''t progressed further. The hip joint is instead an odd amalgamation, with chitin on the bottom and skin on the top, like someone mismatched the limbs on two different dolls. I don''t even feel any chitin growing underneath that skin, which I find a bit odd. Not entirely unwelcome, though. I like the idea of having natural armor covering my vulnerable bits, but I wouldn''t mind if some amount of skin survived my transfiguration. After all, that seems to be what my true form is leading to: not entirely human, not entirely hyperspider, but something in between, taking beauty from both.

    The skin I have left does seem noticeably darker, now that I''m thinking about it. Maybe it''ll be changed into something else, rather than removed entirely. Maybe something like the soft, black flesh on the inside of my joints?

    Pondering the question gets me through my morning ablutions without a full-blown panic attack, giving me time to get dressed and ready and at least somewhat composed before I go downstairs and find my mother making breakfast in what I can''t help but feel is a distinctly threatening manner.

    "Good morning, honey!" she greets me. "Ready for today?"

    Translation: I just want to make sure you''re not thinking of getting out of our deal.

    "Ready as I''ll ever be," I say regretfully, my whole body tensing up.

    "That''s fair," she says. "I understand this is difficult. How many pancakes?"

    "Just eggs and sausage, if that''s alright," I respond.

    "Sure. I thought you liked pancakes¡­?"

    "I''m just not in a pancake mood lately," I mutter.

    "Well, no trouble I suppose. Eggs are easier to make anyway. We''re heading out in¡­ oh, half an hour or so?"

    "''We'' are heading out?" I clarify, the pit of dread in my stomach growing wider.

    "I''ll drive you there, honey," she says. "I have some errands to do in town."

    Translation: I don''t trust you to drive yourself there and not lie about it.

    "Okay," I agree helplessly. I can''t even honestly say I wouldn''t skip. I eat a quick breakfast that I can barely taste and next thing I know I''m in the passenger seat of my mom''s car, trapped with her for however long this drive ends up being. I don''t even know where the therapist''s office is. I don''t even know their name. I''ve been avoiding every possible thought about this event, and now it''s here, and I''m trapped. My mom starts the car.

    "Aren''t you hot?" she asks, indicating my long-sleeved sweater, gloves, mask, pants, thick shoes¡­ all of which I''m wearing in nearly ninety degrees of humid weather.

    "I''m fine," I tell her. I don''t get hot anymore. Or cold. Or electrocuted. She gives me a concerned look as we pull out of the driveway but miraculously doesn''t press. I barely get a minute of silence before she talks to me again, though.

    "I made absolutely certain you would be safe here, Hannah," she tells me. "I read up on this therapist, I spoke with them personally, I spoke with some of their patients¡­ nothing but good impressions across the board. Dr. Carson has helped a lot of people."

    Of course she has. I wouldn''t be surprised if mom invaded quite a few people''s privacy for the sake of making sure this would go well. Because she cares. She cares about me so much.

    "I don''t¡­ I don''t know what I''ve done to make you not want to talk to me," my mother continues quietly. "So I''ll make sure this, at least, goes right."

    I don''t respond. I can''t respond. I''ve been burned too many times by responding. What would I even say to her? ''I can''t trust you to listen?'' It''s because I can''t trust her to listen that I don''t want to say that.

    "Please at least say something," my mother pleads, and the fragility in her voice stabs me. I glance at her, seeing red eyes that aren''t quite crying but certainly risking it.

    Fuck.

    "...I''m sorry," I mutter quietly. I don''t know what else to say. I don''t know what truth would hurt her the least. That I don''t love her? That I''m scared of her? That she''s spent the entire time I''ve been alive establishing herself as an authority, a being of absolute power over my life, and therefore the furthest possible thing from a friend?

    She tries, I know she tries. All the family events, all the board games and puzzles and movies and meals that so many children would kill to have in their life, she gives it all to us. She''s faithful to my father, she''s successful at her job, she has time for us whenever we need it, she is in every possible cell of the spreadsheet a perfect mother, so why? Why can''t I love her? Why can''t I look at her with anything but dread? Why does just the thought of sharing a day with her make me want to cry?

    I''m such a horrible daughter.

    The car comes to a stop while I''m still stewing with self-hate, my mother putting on a perfectly poised public face as we exit the vehicle and head upstairs into the high-rise building my new therapist apparently has an office in.

    My new therapist. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

    We step out of the elevator and enter the first room on the left, a large board of nameplates next to the door indicating the many people within, including one that says Emily Carson, Ph.D. Doctor Carson. That''s what my mom said. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

    I don''t pay attention as my mom checks me in, just collapsing into a chair in the lobby. It''s a horribly familiar lobby, not because I''ve been here before but because it''s all houseplants and magazine racks and modernist furniture. My mother sits down next to me to wait, grabbing one of the available magazines. Ha. Did she even have errands in the first place?

    "Hannah Hiiragi?" a voice calls out, some indeterminate amount of time later.

    I look up, meeting the eyes of a woman in her forties or early fifties, her blonde hair tied up in a short bun behind her head. Her round face has aged well, but no amount of genetic lottery can save her from the inevitable crow''s feet and other blemishes starting to rear their heads. She gives me a soft, calm smile, and motions me towards her.

    "Ready if you are," she says pleasantly, and though I''m the furthest thing from ready I numbly get to my feet anyway, following her towards the back area, past the secretary, and into her personal office.

    Dr. Carson enters first, holding the door for me until I instinctively catch it with a hand. It''s¡­ a therapist''s office, albeit a rather nice one. A full-sized couch sits along the far wall, with full bookcases covering most of the others, holding everything from psychology books¡ªat least a couple of which have her name on the spine¡ªto trashy-looking paperback novels. A desk with a personal computer sits in the corner behind a big, comfy-looking chair that Dr. Carson herself sits down in, a glass table separating her from the couch.

    "Make yourself comfortable!" she invites me, motioning to the couch. "I''m Dr. Carson, though you''re welcome to call me Emily if you like. Hannah, yes? Or do you have another name you prefer?"

    I open my mouth to respond, but as the door closes behind me I freeze, no sound emerging from my throat. It''s just me and her in here now. Alone. I try to take another step towards the couch and fail, my throat dry. I swallow saliva. It doesn''t help. Dr. Carson watches me carefully, the patient smile on her face not flinching in the slightest.

    "...So, your mother signed you up for an extended session," she says slowly. "Which is eighty-five minutes. But I want to assure you the door is yours to leave at any time during our conversation. You are under no obligation to stay for any reason."

    Right. Of course. I can just¡­ leave. I knew that.

    "Hannah is fine," I manage to say.

    "It''s wonderful to meet you, Hannah," Dr. Carson says. "Are you more comfortable standing?"

    "I¡­ I think so, yeah," I stutter. "Sorry."

    "Oh, no trouble at all!" she says, briefly standing up to swivel her big, comfy chair around to face me before sitting back down in it. "There we go! So, what brings you into my office, Hannah?"

    My toes curl in my shoes, digging into the gouges already made. My extra limbs flex in 4D space, itching to emerge. I rub my hands together nervously, the chitinous fingers scratching against the thick gloves and getting lint stuck in the joints. A quick and silent pulse of a magical spell, and the lint removes itself.

    And none of these things are even why I''m about to have a panic attack as we speak.

    "...I''m¡­ kind of curious," I say quietly. "Just¡­ offhand. How many people do you get in here who think they''re going to be your craziest case ever?"

    She considers the question for just a moment, just long enough to make me believe she''s really thinking about it.

    "Well, I want to start by saying that I discourage anyone who comes in here from considering themselves as ''crazy'' or ''a case,''" Dr. Carson says. "The words we use to describe ourselves can have a profound impact on the way we feel about ourselves, after all. But those who come in here believing themselves to be the worst off, the people who consider themselves as in need of the most help, are often the people who best understand that they need help in the first place. Because if they thought themselves beyond that help, why would they be here?"

    I chuckle at that, though it''s devoid of humor.

    "Because their moms made them, maybe?" I posit.

    "Perhaps," Dr. Carson says with a smirk. "So is that how you see yourself? A person who will need more help than anyone else I''ve met?"

    "I don''t know about that," I admit. "Maybe. I¡­ I don''t know how much you can help me. There''s so much shit going on right now, and I¡­ it''s not like anything else you''ve seen before. At least not most of it. I can guarantee that much."

    She smiles a little wider at that. Something like amusement, but it''s friendly.

    "Well, I''m not one to hide from new experiences," she says. "Everyone deserves help, Hannah, no matter how unique that help might be."

    "Yeah," I say, swallowing again. The words are coming more easily now. Despite myself, I''m getting a bit more comfortable, and as long as I don''t think about that too hard maybe I can make it through this. "I¡­ it''s just¡­ Goddess, there''s so much I don''t know where to start."

    "Then start anywhere," she encourages me, writing down a quick note. "Order things chronologically, perhaps? I always like to begin with the beginning."

    Ha. Sure, whatever. I''m here to talk, I may as well talk. I probably have to deal with that first before I make progress anywhere else anyway.

    "Alright, let''s start with the easy stuff then," I tell her. "I''m about to have a panic attack just being in this room because my last therapist tried to groom me."

    Her eyebrows rise ever so slightly.

    "I see," she says calmly, though it''s the sort of calm that hides a torrent of absolute fury underneath it, a righteous indignation that somehow relaxes a dozen different tensions in my body that I wasn''t consciously holding. "Please feel free to ignore this question, but could you clarify what you mean when you say your therapist ''tried'' to groom you?"

    "Well, I mean, I knew what he was doing," I explain hastily. "Not hard to figure out, really. When he, you know. Sat on the couch next to me, or touched my shoulder, or¡­ you know."

    Does she know? Of course she doesn''t know, the whole reason I''m supposed to be talking about this is to say it out loud. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

    "I-I mean he didn''t go any farther than that," I clarify. "He didn''t really¡­ I mean I think he wanted to, I just¡­ I don''t know. He would ask for my cell phone number and stuff, but I would just give him my mom''s. Things like that. I figured him out after like, three sessions."

    Clack clack. Without even thinking about it, I snap my teeth together nervously, the quiet noise still easily audible in the private office. Dr. Carson doesn''t comment on it, though.

    "...What happened then?" she says instead.

    "Uh, like¡­ ultimately, or when I figured him out?" I ask. "''Cuz when I finally told my mom she pretty much dropped the entire criminal justice system onto his skull at once. He''s in jail now. Dunno how long, but¡­ for a long time."

    She stares at me quietly for a while, and I twitch nervously under the gaze.

    "You said you figured him out after three sessions," she clarifies.

    "Yeah," I nod, not liking where this particular line of questioning is going.

    "Hannah," she asks with practiced calm, "how many times did you meet with him?"

    "Um¡­ well it was, um. I had him for eight months, so¡­ th-thirty something?"

    She again pauses, taking a moment to center herself.

    "...So to clarify, you believed that a man wanted to have non-professional relations with you, that you didn''t reciprocate, and you understood that this was¡­ not acceptable."

    "Y-yeah," I confirm.

    "And you continued seeing him thirty more times."

    Her words aren''t judging, just expository. Establishing facts, pressing gently. But I still feel shame hearing them, deep and overwhelming, prompting a need to explain. To say something to justify the situation. But there''s really only one reason why I did it, at the end of the day.

    "It was routine," I tell her helplessly.

 37. Catalyst

    "Can you expand on that?" Dr. Carson asks, though the question only makes me want to shrink into nothing.

    I can''t believe I''m here. I can''t believe I''m talking about this. I can''t believe I admitted to it. I''m such a mess. All I had to do was deflect!

    "I¡­ it¡­ so I had¡­ or I guess I have these¡­ dreams, right? I mean like, everybody dreams, but I had the same dream every night and it always made waking up really difficult because of this weird sleep paralysis stuff that¡­ we don''t really need to talk about that yet, the point is that I''d been seeing another therapist for a really long time. A year or two, I think. And eventually my mom pressed me about maybe changing therapists, because my first therapist wasn''t really helping me. And like, they weren''t helping me, that was true, and there''s not really any point in telling her no anyway, so we changed therapists. Same time slot, once a week, every Monday after school. I went to the new guy instead of the old guy, and¡­ yeah. Um. He was a sex predator, I guess!"

    Stupid, stupid, stupid. Shut up, Hannah. Stop talking. ''He was a sex predator, I guess?'' Are you fucking braindead? He ruined lives. I hate that phrase. ''Sex predator.'' It makes me cringe. It''s wrong for me to say it, somehow.

    "So by the time you started seeing him, you were already used to going to see a therapist every week," Dr. Carson summarizes. "That''s something, but I''m inclined to suspect that there were additional extenuating circumstances surrounding the fact that you identified this man as a sex predator and continued seeing him anyway. Was he at all helpful in regards to the dreams you mentioned?"

    That''s simple enough. Easy question. I can answer that.

    "Not at all," I say, shaking my head. No one was and no one will be.

    "Was he helpful in terms of any other problems you were having? Or perhaps as a better way to phrase the question: did he make you believe that he was being helpful? That he would help? That he could help?"

    "No, no, and no," I tell her. "He tried, I think. He definitely encouraged me to keep attending, telling me I was making progress when I wasn''t and asking me to trust him about that. I don''t know if it was purposeful manipulation or he was just Dunning-Krugered all the way up his own crusty butt, but it was recognizable abuse either way."

    Stop talking, stop admitting to it. Stop it, stop it, stop it. I feel my heart rate increasing, both with my own alien senses and with the normal, expected sensation of my chest aching ever so slightly, adrenaline spiking as every breath I take comes tinged with fear.

    "I looked it up once he really creeped me out and familiarized myself with methods of abuse so I could look out for it," I continue anyway. "Immunize myself. So, y''know, I''m fine. I made sure he couldn''t hurt me."

    Except that''s obviously a lie, I know that''s a lie, I''m standing here right now about to have a breakdown just from thinking about it, how could you be such a fucking dumbass, Hannah?

    "Okay I mean that''s obviously bull cheese," I amend before the doctor can do it, just so I don''t have to suffer through the pain of having someone else tell me how fucking stupid I am when I already know that, "but that was my thought process at the time."

    The therapist nods slowly, her hand rapidly scratching out more notes on how much of a complete mess I am.

    "So I recall you said that, when you told your mother about this, she responded by taking legal action against your abuser¡ªlegal action which was successful," she says.

    "Um, yeah," I nod.

    "Are you dissatisfied with how that turned out?"

    "Uh. No, that was good," I say, shrinking down on myself a little. "That''s what should have happened from day one. I should have told her sooner."

    "Yet you didn''t," Dr. Carson says, "and in my experience there tend to be reasons why people might go out of their way to avoid something that seems, from an outside perspective, to be the most straightforward solution. For example, in abuse cases like this one, the abuser will often establish themselves as an essential element to the victim''s life, such as by making the victim believe that no one else can help them or by manufacturing forms of physical or emotional blackmail. But you''ve mentioned that you were cognizant of these tactics, and you believe that you successfully avoided them. Therefore, I have to wonder what outside pressures discouraged you from telling your family that you were suffering earlier."

    I shrug, swallowing nervously.

    "Nothing, really," I say. "I don''t have an excuse."

    "Hannah," Dr. Carson says softly, "you are a victim. There''s no part of this you need to be ''excused'' for."

    I shake my head, because she couldn''t be more wrong. I try to tell her as much, but words don''t come out. Only a sob. Clamping my hand over my mouth, I squeeze my eyes shut to try and stifle the tears. Damn it. Damn it! How is she doing this!? It''s barely been five minutes and I''m already spilling everything out for her. Is she a mind reader or something?

    ¡­Ha. Hahahahaha. Oh holy fuck no nope let''s just shove that thought all the way into the box. If my suspicions are correct, the act of trying to check if she has a soul might be what gives her one; the only people I''ve seen with souls are all people who have been in the direct presence of the Goddess while I cast a spell, after all. Plus the whole Pneuma magic trauma is like, way down the list of things I need a therapist for, so that''s probably second or third-session stuff.

    Which means we will hopefully never need to address it at all.

    "Ignoring how it ultimately turned out," she asks after giving me a minute to compose myself, "did you feel safe telling your parents what was going on?"

    I bark out a laugh.

    "Safe?" I ask. "Of course it was safe. It''s not like my parents are abusing me. They''ve never¡­ y''know, hit me or touched me like that or even yelled at me, really. I have the best parents out of anyone I know, period."

    It''s objectively true, even if it feels hollow to say.

    "Allow me to rephrase, then," Dr. Carson says. "Were you comfortable with the idea of telling your parents? How did the idea of telling them make you feel?"

    "What?" I ask. "Um. Well, pretty bad, I guess. That''s why I didn''t tell them. But it''s not like I had a good reason, right? I should have told them immediately. I absolutely needed to, and I just¡­ didn''t."

    Dr. Carson crosses her legs, leaning forward a bit to give me a serious look.

    "Hannah," she says, "one of the most important jobs a parent has is protecting their children from exactly this sort of situation. Education is a powerful tool for that, but communication is even stronger. If you have found yourself preferring the continued company of a child molester to having an honest conversation with your own family, your family has failed you. Ask yourself: is it your duty to trust your parents unconditionally, or is it the duty of a parent to be someone their daughter can trust?"

    I freeze, not knowing how to react to those words. I want to walk over to the couch and sit down, or preferably just collapse on the spot, curling into a ball on the floor, but instead I do nothing, not wanting to give more validity to the realization that those words have profoundly affected me on some level I do not understand.

    It''s right and yet it''s wrong. My family failed me? My family did everything they could with what they knew. My family always looks out for me, and yet I always flee from them. How is that anything other than my failure?

    "I''m supposed to trust her," I answer. "She''s my mom. We don''t always agree on stuff but I know, I always knew, that she would be in my corner on this. She hasn''t ever done anything to make me think otherwise. I was just being absurd and irrational like I always am, sticking to my stupid routine even when it was hurting people. That''s who I am."

    "Hmm," Dr. Carson considers. "Do you think you''re limited to that?"

    "Well¡­ no," I admit. "I mean, maybe. It''s not like I''ve ever successfully broken the habit. I have tried, it''s just¡­ I don''t know how to do anything other than stay in my lane. I can''t blame that on my mom, she pushes me to do new things all the time. She¡­ how can I say she''s failed me? I''m the one that keeps screwing up, over and over again. She''s never abused me."

    She thinks for a moment, tapping her pencil against her notepad.

    "I find that we often think of abuse primarily in terms of the physical or sexual," the therapist says, "and even when emotional abuse is brought up it is in the context of negative emotions: anger, hatred, apathy, and so on. We as people are inherently prone to thinking of things this way because we are inherently attracted to simplifying the world into something more understandable. When a parent does a bad thing to a child, we want it to be because the parent is a bad person. And this is certainly often the case: individuals prone to hate and cruelty have children, abuse those children, and¡ªif the children are lucky¡ªthey find themselves in a support group or an office like mine, seeking out a way to recover the damage their minds have been subjected to. These are real and serious problems, but they overshadow other real and serious problems. They make it harder to see the severe damage that can still be done by parents who love their children very much. Because we are human, and we make mistakes, and mistakes can still hurt people even when they are performed with the best of intentions."

    I hug myself. I want to hug myself with four more limbs, but I can''t. Not here. I''m not safe here.

    "You told me you had ''no good reason'' to avoid telling your parents," Dr. Carson continues. "But in order for me to believe that''s true, I would have to believe that your fear of your own family is arbitrary, rooted in absolutely nothing. I don''t believe that. I think you can come up with plenty of complaints about your mother if you try."

    Of course I can. It doesn''t matter, though. It doesn''t matter.

    "My mom, she¡­ I''m scared of her," I admit. "I''m scared of disappointing her. Because making sure she''s satisfied is the only way to¡­ to exist around her, I guess? Everything has to go her way. I can''t argue with her because nothing I say matters. Every conversation is just a¡­ a minefield of trying to figure out what she wants so I can give it to her. If I deviate from that, if I talk about anything I want to talk about or suggest anything she hasn''t thought of it always goes wrong, I always regret it, one way or another. Not because she retaliates or hurts me or anything it''s just¡­ I don''t know. I don''t know! It''s stupid and petty and it doesn''t matter!"

    "Your feelings are not stupid or petty," Dr. Carson insists.

    "Yes they are!" I snap back. "Of course they are! None of that matters!"

    "Why do you think that?"

    "Because I wasn''t his only patient!"

    No. No no no. Calm down. Hannah don''t raise your voice you idiot you can''t do that you need to calm down. Why did you even say that? Monster. Monster. You fucking monster.

    "I wasn''t the only person he¡­ he touched," I whisper. "And I knew that. I never met any of them but I knew that, of course I knew that. You see, what, twenty clients a week? Thirty? There''s no way I was the only woman."

    I''m crying again. Did I stop crying before? Whatever. It doesn''t matter. She knows now. She knows how fucking weak I am.

    "I could have stopped him so much sooner," I sob. "But I didn''t, because I was too afraid of a woman that has never tried to hurt me in her entire life."

    Those words take the last of my willpower with them, so I finally squat down onto the floor, hug my knees, and just start wailing, getting snot all over everything. Dr. Carson pushes a tissue box closer to me, but makes no move to approach like he would have. Because she''s actually a therapist, not a monster pretending to be one. Or, for that matter, a monster pretending to be a girl.

    I hate this. I hate everything. I hate myself. I cry and cry and cry for who knows how long, until the tears dry out. I can tell there are a lot of things Dr. Carson wants to say, but she says nothing, not pushing. Just waiting for me. I find it both very thoughtful and very annoying.

    "You''re going to tell me that I''m a victim and it isn''t my fault," I grumble.

    "Well, I would be wrong to ever imply otherwise," she says firmly. "And the sort of people who try to preempt my comments like that tend to also be the sort of people with enough self-awareness to already know that, at least on an intellectual level."

    "I know he was hurting other people. Mom let it slip that I wasn''t the only person giving testimony. And I just¡­ let him. I think I deserve to feel pretty bad about that!"

    "By that logic, aren''t you claiming that every one of his victims is culpable in the suffering each other victim was subjected to?" Dr. Carson presses.

    "No, it''s different!" I insist. "I knew what he was doing, and my mom''s a friggin'' lawyer! I had all the power to prevent that situation and I just did nothing."

    "Hmm. I think that even if we ignore the context of you being an abuse victim¡ªwhich, again, we would be remiss to do¡ªyou''re being awfully hard on yourself. Don''t you think mistakes are something we should learn from, not something we should torment ourselves with?"

    "But I don''t learn," I insist. "I never learn."

    "Would you say that blaming yourself is helping, in that case?" she asks simply.

    I dig into the gouges in my shoes. Dang it.

    "...No," I grumble. "I guess not."

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    "You aren''t responsible for the pain caused by other people," Dr. Carson insists. "You don''t have to feel guilty for being a victim. It''s okay to not be strong enough."

    I snort at that. I can''t help it. It just seems empty, given my recent experiences.

    "Oh?" the therapist asks, seeming interested in my reaction.

    "Oh, it''s just¡­ how well does that advice scale up, I wonder?" I ask her. "How many people does my inaction have to hurt before it''s definitely not okay?"

    The tree burns. The tree bleeds. The tree starves. Is it really okay for me to not try and fix it? Dr. Carson takes a moment to think about that, bouncing one leg.

    "...Ultimately, I think the best way to answer that question is that we don''t really need to know the answer to that question," she says. "It''s interesting in a philosophical and moral sense, but I don''t think it''s useful or helpful to think about issues of responsibility scaled beyond the scope of our reach. Something doesn''t have to scale in order to be true for you. You are a high school student recovering from a traumatic event; you don''t need to put the fate of the world on your shoulders."

    I laugh again. Wrong answer, therapist. Very wrong indeed.

    "That was a very unfortunate choice of words, Dr. Carson," I say, a humorless grin barely hidden behind my mask.

    "Well, please accept my apologies," she responds, dipping her head politely. "Could you explain the issue so I can avoid using the relevant words in the future?"

    "Ha. Uh. Golly. Well, remember how I referred to being groomed as ''the easy stuff?''" I ask. "That wasn''t a joke."

    She raises her eyebrows, nodding slowly.

    "Are you comfortable talking about it?" she asks, taking me seriously. Damn it, she''s good at her job.

    "I¡­ I mean, I don''t know," I admit. "Like, this is confidential, right? Really really confidential?"

    "There are certain conditions under which I would be required to share information you tell me," she answers. "Such as if you tell me you intend to commit serious harm to yourself or others, or if you tell me you intend to commit a crime."

    "What about past crimes?" I ask.

    "Only in extreme cases, such as¡­ well, sexual assault or physical abuse against a minor, for one, but given your abuser is already convicted it''s not an issue."

    I swallow. Still squatting on the floor, I rock back and forth, working up the courage to ask my next questions.

    "...What about murder?" I ask.

    "If you tell me you intend to kill someone, I will report it," she says frankly. "But if you tell me you have already killed someone, I will almost certainly keep it between us. I take confidentiality very seriously, Hannah, and I will never disclose anything without your permission unless there is a clear and immediate threat to a person if I do not. Do you have any intention to hurt yourself or others?"

    "No," I tell her, shaking my head fervently. "No, not at all."

    "Then you may rest assured no one will ever hear of it," she promises.

    Clack clack. I chomp my teeth twice, unable to hold back the urge with my willpower so frayed. Am I really going to do this? How stupid am I? I don''t even know this woman.

    "What if, hypothetically, I tell you something that completely changes the world," I say softly. "I break your understanding of Earth in half. I do something absolutely peanut-butter nutty, like¡­ prove I''m an alien or something."

    She smiles softly.

    "I have seen more than you might think," she assures me. "I''m not as closed-minded as some other old women you might know."

    I glower at her. Does she think this is about me being gay? How does everybody keep figuring that out, anyway?

    "That''s not an answer," I insist.

    She inclines her head.

    "Apologies. Then I shall promise that, even if you are from outer space, the, ah, secrets of your homeworld will be safe. Not a word will be spoken of it between anyone but the two of us."

    She gives me a friendly smile, probably not at all understanding what she just promised. I glance towards the door, a clock in the wall above it indicating I still have over an hour left with this therapist. Darn extended session. Should I do it? Should I show her?

    "I could just spend the rest of the time talking about my last therapist," I mutter. "The fact that I cried twice just talking about it probably means it''s baggage I need to deal with, right?"

    "Yes, we could do that if you prefer," Dr. Carson assures me, nodding amicably.

    I don''t know. I don''t know what I prefer. I hiss very quietly, my limbs rubbing nervously against each other in 4D space.

    "Should we?" I ask her.

    "Well, I''m not sure I can answer that," she says. "Normally, we would use the first session to get to know one another, establish a baseline of what you want help with, and we''d more directly tackle the issues in future sessions. It''s not bad or even particularly unusual to have a breakthrough right after walking in, and if you''re feeling like you''d be best helped if we spend extra time and attention on talking about that trauma, I''d be happy to do so. I can''t tell you how that compares to talking about any other issues you perceive, however, because you haven''t told me what they are."

    Not helpful. I just want her to make the decision for me. Take it out of my hands. But¡­ I guess I have to tell her in order for her to do that. That basically counts, right? Fuck. Come on, think, what would Brendan do? How would he break this down for me? The main risk here is just the possibility that this woman is a liar and won''t keep the secret. It doesn''t get any worse than that, and that''s a good thing, because my secret is probably going to come out pretty soon anyway. I haven''t checked exactly where yet, but I assume that the spike in viewers on my stream yesterday was due to somebody tweeting a video of me or something and ending up popular on social media. So that''s just gonna keep escalating.

    And the upside is I get to talk to a professional about all those people I''ve eaten and I feel like I really need to do that. So. Um. Fuck! The answer is pretty obvious, huh? I should say something. I should.

    I don''t think I''m going to be strong enough to.

    "I think I''ve had a panic attack every few days for the past month now," I squeak, since I think I''m about to have a panic attack.

    Dr. Carson straightens up a bit, nodding to let me know she''s listening without butting in.

    "S-sorry, I need¡­ gimme a sec," I choke, gulping for air as my brain starts to attack me once again. I ride out the rest of the attack in silence, ignoring the pain in my chest, the tears on my face, and the quiver in my jaw. I''m getting used to these, now. I hate that I''m getting used to these. When I can finally take a deep breath without shaking, I continue.

    "So, um¡­ no more easy stuff, I guess. I''ve killed four different people. Almost killed five, but my friend managed to stop me."

    I''m shivering now, my face in my hands, but I can still feel Dr. Carson''s expression, and even though it''s mostly neutral I still feel judgment, surprise, doubt¡­ I guess I''m probably imagining it, but who would believe me? Who would believe some random teenage waif when she comes in shaking like she just got back from a warzone?

    "I don''t¡­ I''m not up to talking about how or where, I think," I mutter. "Too much. But I did. Okay? I killed four people. I ate some of them. And I just¡­ fuck. I don''t know if he made me do it or not, and I don''t know what it would even mean if he did! It''s not like I don''t have the capacity without him, I just¡­"

    I let out a pained groan. I''m not explaining this right. I''m not saying anything that makes sense.

    "I can''t," I whine. "I can''t talk about this. It won''t even make sense to you. I have to show you or it won''t make any sense. I''m a monster, Dr. Carson. A literal, actual monster."

    My legs twist and tap in another dimension, and I just want to pull them back through, show them to the world, rip it all off and just be free. But I''m scared. I''m so, so scared to be myself.

    "The less human I become, the more comfortable I feel," I whisper. "How fucked up is that?"

    Dr. Carson takes a few moments scribbling down more notes before she finally decides to answer.

    "I''ve actually known quite a few people, especially neurodivergent people with histories of past abuse, who struggle to identify as human," she says. "Not in the sense that they don''t understand that they are physically human, but merely in the sense that they find comfort in the concept of being physically other in the way that they have grown up understanding that they are mentally other, having had that otherness forcibly ingrained in them."

    I snort out a laugh.

    "Really?" I ask. "This is what we''re talking about? Not the murder?"

    "We can talk about whatever you want to talk about, Hannah," Dr. Carson says. "It need not even be on the subject of your mental health. If you want to talk about a favorite show or what you had for dinner last night, I''m happy to listen. This is just your first session, after all. I''m still learning about you, and you''re still getting comfortable with me. Do you want to talk about the deaths you were involved in?"

    "...No," I admit. "Not really."

    "And that''s okay," Dr. Carson says. "This is a process, Hannah. There''s no need to get it out all at once."

    "Well," I sniff, "what if I do a big ol'' summary? Just quickly get everything off my chest without much context, because the context is scary."

    "Sure!" Dr. Carson smiles, raising her pencil. "I''m ready to listen!"

    "Okay. Cool. Um. I got mugged and almost bled out in the street a while ago. I recently got a girlfriend but I''m not out as gay to pretty much anybody but a couple of my friends and my family is super religious. Uh, I did something really fucked up to my girlfriend and gave her a panic attack and so I tried to break up with her because I''m dangerous to be around and she freaked the fuck out and started apologizing a lot and begging me to stay with her even though I just hurt her really bad, so that''s a red flag I dunno what to do about. Um. Golly, what else. I got¡­ mega-ultra-super gaslit by this guy I thought was my friend and now I have a little breakdown any time anybody reminds me of him. I keep getting these urges to bite people and eat them because people taste really good. And that''s. Bad. Uh¡­ I have really violent reflexes whenever I get surprised so I''m scared I''ll hurt someone super bad by accident someday. Like, I really probably shouldn''t be going to public school because I''m genuinely afraid I''ll just stab someone on instinct if they catch me off-guard. Uh. I think I might have undiagnosed autism. That''s mostly unrelated to the other stuff. Oh, the world is on fire and I feel directly responsible for finding a solution to that because it''s apparently entirely caused by a predecessor of mine somehow. Um."

    I pause, trying to think if I''ve missed anything.

    "...That''s all that comes to mind right now, at least in terms of stuff that makes any sense without context."

    "I see," Dr. Carson says amicably, scribbling very quickly. "Is there any of this that you wanted to expand on right now?"

    "Um," I mumble, fidgeting awkwardly. "Not really."

    "That''s perfectly fine," she assures me. "Is there anything you enjoy talking about?"

    "I, uh, really like Pok¨¦mon," I say quietly.

    "Would you like to talk about Pok¨¦mon?"

    I swallow. This is embarrassing. Talking about Pok¨¦mon with a fifty year old woman that I''m paying to spend time with? Such a waste. But. I mean. She did ask.

    "...Okay."

    An hour later, Dr. Carson politely informs me that our time together is up. I stop ranting about how Spoink is my favorite Pok¨¦mon because he dies if he stops moving and instead start chastising myself for going on another rant, apologizing profusely to the doctor. She waves me off, assuring me she enjoyed talking with me, and I''m not really sure how to react to that. I feel like she hardly understood any of it, but I just¡­ kept talking anyway. Agh. Stupid. I''m so stupid!

    "The question now, Hannah, is if I''ve earned enough trust for a second session," Dr. Carson says as she stands up and opens the door for me. "I understand that this is a big leap of faith for you, especially given your past experiences, and I want to emphasize that choosing a different therapist or choosing to see no therapist are both perfectly valid choices."

    I shrug helplessly.

    "It''s not really up to me," I tell her.

    "Yes, it is," Dr. Carson says. "I want you to make the decision before we go back and speak with your mother. And whatever you think is best, I will back you up on."

    What? Really? I mean¡­ that might actually work, though. My mom is way more likely to listen to Dr. Carson than me.

    "Why?" I ask incredulously. "You''re the professional. Shouldn''t you know what''s best better than I would?"

    She smiles.

    "Well, I think it''s best to let you decide, Hannah."

    I stare up at her, feeling a little off-guard all of a sudden. This¡­ I see what this is. She''s making herself into an ally against my mom, since she knows I don''t like her. Classic isolation technique¡ªpull me apart from the woman that can protect me and I won''t¡­ I won''t¡­ what? Tell on her for the zero other red flags she''s shown thus far?

    Maybe she''s just presenting herself as trusting me and not applying pressure so that I''ll be more positively inclined to her and willingly choose to have another session, which will make me more engaged compared to a session I''m being forced to attend. Which is a perfectly normal and non-evil reason. Still, though¡­

    "...You know more about Pok¨¦mon than you do about me," I mutter. "I wasted pretty much the whole session."

    She chuckles conspiratorially.

    "Hannah, if you want to spend ninety minutes a week coming down here to do nothing but talk about video games on your mother''s dime, I certainly won''t be the one to spill the beans to her."

    I fidget, hating how tempting that offer truly is.

    "...Okay," I agree. "Next week, then."

    "Next week," she confirms. "And¡­ here. Just in case there''s anything you need to speak with me about, in an emergency or otherwise."

    She hands me her business card, which I accept more or less automatically. Geez, this feels weird. Business cards are so professional.

    "Use it or don''t use it; I don''t need your number. We can handle the scheduling in person."

    "Right," I say numbly. "Yeah, okay."

    Then we walk out to see my mom and what''s left of my good mood vanishes. I shrink in on myself, not paying any attention to the brief conversation that occurs between her and Dr. Carson.

    Your family has failed you.

    My mother and I spend the entire trip home in silence, something that I think I probably have Dr. Carson to thank for. I get out of the car without a word, immediately retreating upstairs, locking myself in my room, and stripping down to stretch a little before getting my work uniform on. Because of course I work on a Saturday this week. I can''t wear a comfy sweater to work, so instead I have to settle on a long-sleeved undershirt to tuck into my gloves. My wrists are officially alien, my entire hands no longer having skin and my joints now creepy, black flesh and sinew underneath the white armor. It''s fine, though. Discovery is inevitable, I''m just holding out as long as I can.

    "Is it alright if I drive myself to work?" I ask when I head back downstairs. "Or do you have more errands to run?"

    "You''re a little early, aren''t you?" my mom asks.

    "I''m going to get lunch."

    She nods slowly.

    "...Take your dad''s car."

    I nod back, get in the car, and get the heck out of there. What should I have for lunch, I wonder? Pizza? Can I even eat pizza? Screw it, why not. I go buy a cheap pizza and scarf it all down in one sitting. It''s¡­ okay. As usual, everything is skewed now; the cheese and pepperoni taste a lot better, the sauce and crust tastes a lot worse. Butter and grease still taste good, though, so with that soaking into the crust the overall experience isn''t too bad. Maybe I''d like an alfredo or parmesan garlic sauce more than tomato, since I can still have cheese? Something to try next time.

    I drive into my job''s parking lot, secure my hair in a ponytail, and put on my work hat. Ready to go, I guess. With a deep breath, I get out of the car and get my work day started. I''m supposed to practice managing people now, right? Telling them what to do and stuff? I guess it''s something to occupy my thoughts. Today is a front-of-house day, which means I''ll probably have plenty of opportunities to ask my fellow register worker to get the heck off her phone and go clean something¡­ though it really would be more efficient if I cleaned everything myself.

    It''s a slow day, as most Saturday afternoons are. Even the lunch rush is calm, and once it''s over there''s even less to do. I have to catch myself from yawning since I''d end up swallowing my own mask and exposing my teeth to everyone if I stretch my jaw too much. What a pain.

    I''m surreptitiously Refreshing some particularly hard-to-get gunk directly off the counter and onto my cleaning towel when I hear the door ring with the promise of an incoming customer. We are completely empty, so the two kitchen people are just sort of chatting with each other while I tidy up. Well, they''ll have work in a second. I turn around and greet a kid, maybe fifteen or sixteen, wearing a big hoodie and¡ªto my absolute delight¡ªan actual facemask. Thank you! Someone who¡­ wait a minute, this guy looks familiar.

    He pulls out a knife.

    "G-give me the money in the register," he stutters.

    I blink. He blinks, seeming to recognize me after a moment. This is the same guy that robbed Autumn and I in that alleyway! We stare at each other, the conversation in the kitchen behind me going dead silent.

    "...Are you fucking serious?" I ask both the robber and the world in general.

    "I-I mean it!" he snaps, brandishing the blade threateningly, as if I''m supposed to be afraid of it. As if I would bleed a single fucking drop, even if he managed to stab me through the heart. Fuck this. I''m not putting up with this shit today. I snap my hand forwards and grab his wrist.

    "Do you, now," I challenge.

    I effortlessly twist his arm down and away from my body, stepping around the counter to get right up in his face. Goddess, I want to bite his fucking throat out.

    "You know, in some respects, you actually caught me on a good day, last time," I hiss at him, too quietly for anyone else to hear. "I am not having a good day today."

    His whole body stiffens in terror, and then out of the corner of my eye I see a flicker of light. I glance down to his other hand, his free hand, where licks of flame have just started dancing above his palm.

    Oh, you''ve gotta be kidding me.

    A quick check with my spatial sense confirms that the counter blocks the view of the fire from anyone other than me. I reach my hand over his and cast Refresh, pulling the oxygen from the flames into my lungs, winking them out. The heat the robber is generating goes unaffected, but I don''t care as long as it''s unseen. He watches me put his flames out, and that''s what matters.

    "None of that," I warn him. "Behave and I won''t hurt you. We need to talk."

    He gulps in terror, nodding once. Good. I yank him towards the side hall to the bathroom, turning back to my coworkers as I do so.

    "Tell the boss I''m taking my ten!" I snap at them, dragging the helpless robber along, the kitchen workers left in silent shock behind us.

 38. Her Greatest Treasure

    I yank the robber into the side hall, stewing in frustration. Why does this keep happening to me? Why? And more importantly, how does he have magic!?

    I mean, he obviously got it from me somehow. Everyone I know who has it is someone that spends time around me, and I''ve had my suspicions on how exactly that works. The Goddess is the one that gives souls, after all, and this guy having Heat magic pretty much confirms my theory: he was around me for less than a minute, but during that time the Goddess was there. Being physically nearby when someone else channels the Goddess is what gives you a soul. That seems to be the most likely possibility.

    Which means I can''t let some criminal dumbass go around using magic willy-nilly!

    "Were you seriously about to throw fire at me in public!?" I hiss furiously at him. "Are you insane? Have you lost all intelligence?"

    He stares down at me, utterly speechless. Ugh, I can only imagine what''s going through that head of his. Dude robs two women, gains fire powers, tries to rob a store, and then ends up accosted by a girl a whole head shorter than him, yanking him around despite the knife and superpower that he both just pulled on her. He''s either realizing how completely out of his depth he is and freaking out, or I''ve just awakened a new kink in him.

    ¡­Aw, ew, why the heck did I have to go and think that? Gross gross gross. I''m going to have to distract myself fast or else my morbid curiosity will get the better of me and I''ll end up using my spatial sense to see if he has an erection. Suppressing a shudder, I squeeze his wrist harder and harder until he drops the knife, which I snatch out of the air and pocket.

    "Say something," I order him, taking a step back.

    "I-I didn''t know!" he stutters nervously. "I didn''t know what it was! I didn''t know there were rules!"

    Okay, he''s scared of me. He probably thinks I''m one of the magical spooks that keep the secret from the world. And¡­ well, I guess I kind of am.

    "You didn''t know what it was so you decided to use it to rob a restaurant!?" I growl. "Do you have any idea how dangerous the gift you''ve been given is? Do you care?"

    "No, I don''t know anything!" he insists, protectively raising his hands in front of his face. "I just needed money!"

    "So you tried to set me on fire?"

    "You grabbed me! Look, my mom''s in the hospital and¡ª"

    "No!" I snap. "No no no! You mugged me! Twice! No being sympathetic!"

    "Wait, wait, hold on!" he pleads. "Look, I-I''m sorry. I don''t wanna hurt anyone but I don''t know what else to do! I don''t know anything ¡®bout anything but they''re gonna foreclose our house and mom can''t work and I just¡­ I don''t know what I''m doing with this stuff, but you said this is magic? Like, real magic? Can you heal her?"

    Aaaaaagh I specifically told you not to be sympathetic you little rolly deer turd! I don''t need your problems; I have plenty of my own! ¡­Though I guess this guy is one of those problems, now that I''m thinking about it. I gave him magic when I¡­ well, when I tried to kill him.

    ¡­Right. I tried to kill this kid. Fuck.

    I don''t think I can help with his problem, though? Ida can''t heal people she doesn''t care about and she''s not going to care about a stranger. We still don''t know what Brendan can do, Autumn''s spells aren''t any good for healing, and my Order magic just cleans and sorts things. What the heck could I do with that, sort the diseases out of her body?

    ¡­Actually, wait. Can I do that!? If I incant Refresh I can manually circulate the friggin'' fraggin'' blood through my body. I can probably sort impurities out of the blood too, right? Right? Shoot, why have I not thought about this until now?

    There are a bunch of limitations to this. I don''t think I can do cancers, because those are attached to the body and ripping a tumor off is a bit outside the realm of sorting things. I can sort solutions of things because solutions aren''t physically bonded at all, there are plenty of ways to separate them out normally, like evaporating the water out. But a bunch of bacteria or viruses floating around inside the bloodstream, or in the intestines, or in a tooth or whatever? I could probably do that, as long as I have a proper receptacle to put them in afterwards. And there are proper receptacles for diseased material!

    "...What''s your mom sick with?" I ask, not wanting to get ahead of myself.

    "Um, a lot of things, I think?" the mugger¡­ gah. No, the desperate kid says. I might have been over-assuming his age because he''s tall. He doesn''t act very old. "She has an immunodeficiency disease, the doctor says. So she''s got COVID, but¡­ also a lot of other stuff, I think?"

    Fuck. Okay. Damn it. Immunodeficiency¡­ what would that be, like HIV? HIV is a virus, right? Can I cure AIDS? Oh Goddess, maybe I can. I think I''ve been seriously underestimating my favorite spell. If I can just directly pull diseases out of people, I should pretty much be working at a hospital full-time, right? I can heal basically any infection as long as I incant my spell to make it strong enough. Which would, uh, permanently give everyone nearby a soul, and therefore magic.

    My eyes narrow. Goddess, you dastardly bitch. I can cure people, but only if I want to risk giving them Chaos magic or spawning another Sindri into the world or something equally horrible. Can I do that? Is that worth it? Magic is absolutely terrifying, but I don''t want to let people die!

    ¡­I can sleep on that issue, I guess. Deciding the fate of the world isn''t a job for a ten-minute work break.

    "Are you hungry?" I ask the kid.

    "Um. Y-yes?"

    "Okay. Any foods you can''t eat?"

    "Not really?"

    "Good. Stay right here," I order him. "Do not move."

    I briefly return to my cash register and order a mac and cheese with my employee discount, since that''s just sort of the basic normal thing most people under the age of thirty order when they come in here. Pointedly ignoring the questioning looks from my co-workers, I wait the barely thirty seconds it takes for them to make one and hand it to me, then return to the side hall.

    "Here," I grunt, handing him the food. "I get off work at ten tonight. Does the hospital allow visitors that late? I can''t promise anything, but I can give it a shot."

    "Really?" he gulps, practically jumping on me in excitement. "Oh, thank you, I¡ª!"

    I firmly shove him away before he can get huggy, cutting him off.

    "I have conditions," I insist. "First, you need to understand that I''m not a healer, I''m a hail mary. What I''m planning might work, but I''ve never done this before and being magic doesn''t mean I''m a miracle worker, okay? We''re giving this a shot, and you still have to abide by my other conditions if I can''t do it."

    He immediately gets a lot less excited and a lot more suspicious. Good, he''s not completely stupid.

    "...What are the conditions?" he asks. "I don''t really have much."

    "Chill out, I''m not extorting you. I just need to stay in contact with you and teach you how to properly use magic. ¡­I''ll also need to teach your mom how to use magic, since she''ll probably be able to do it if this goes well."

    "Wait, really!?"

    "Don''t get excited!" I snap. "Magic is crazy dangerous and if you use it wrong it will kill you! Or your mom! So you will listen to me, no questions asked, when I tell you not to do something. Okay? And the first thing you''re agreeing to is to not tell anybody about magic. Not your friends, not anyone else in your family, no one. You got that?"

    Yes, I realize I''m being completely hypocritical when I say that. But I want to impress on him the importance of not calling whatever magical spooks still somehow haven''t gotten clued into the situation down on our heads. If he cracks and tells a trustworthy best friend or something¡­ I can''t really fault him for that. But if I tell him that''s okay, then he''s way more likely to tell even more people. Humans push boundaries no matter what those boundaries are, so it''s best to set them significantly before any potential breaking point.

    Because that''s the problem here: I don''t know this kid, and I don''t have anywhere near as much power over him as I''m currently pretending to have. But I need him to stay in check, to not call the Goddess down and inadvertently start handing out arcane nukes to everybody within arm''s reach.

    "Second rule: you can feel free to use your magic, but don''t let anyone see you and never, ever say anything out loud while you cast a spell."

    "What? Why?" he asks.

    "Because it could cause you to immolate yourself to death," I say seriously.

    He blanches. Good. The real reason I don''t want him to do it is because it would cause him to summon the Goddess and therefore start that whole magical infection train, but it''s definitely true that doing so would also endanger his life. It''s rather easy to make people scared of the Goddess when she is so Goddess-darn scary.

    "Third," I conclude, "and I feel like this should go without saying: stop mugging people! You jerk!"

    "I¡­ but if you can''t heal my mom, I''ll still have to¡ª"

    "We can figure the money out some other way," I dismiss. "You would''ve made, what, barely three hundred dollars for taking all the cash in the register? And every time you do that you risk getting hurt or going to jail?"

    "I don''t¡­ three hundred dollars is a lot of money."

    I rub my face and sigh. I guess for a broke kid living bill to bill it is, isn''t it?

    "We''ll find another way," I promise. "Alright? No more pointing knives at people."

    "You took my knife," he points out.

    "Yes!" I confirm, stepping back towards the main room of the restaurant. "I did! Now eat your food and stay out of trouble until ten. If you fuck around¡­"

    I turn my head, sneering just wide enough that my lips creep up past where my mask covers, revealing jagged teeth peeking out between the straps.

    "...You will find out. Understand?"

    He gulps.

    "Y-yes ma''am."

    "Good."

    I turn to depart, brushing my face as I leave to make sure I''m properly hiding my teeth again.

    "W-wait!" he calls out as I step away. "What''s your name?"

    "Hannah," I answer.

    He looks shocked.

    "...You''re a magical monster named Hannah?"

    I glower at him.

    "S-sorry!" he quickly corrects. "I''m Jared."

    "I won''t remember that," I tell him honestly, and then head back to work.

    What a pain. What a pain! I don''t know or like this guy, so why am I getting roped up in his problems? Ugh, listen to me gripe about potentially saving a woman''s life, though. I''m the worst chosen one ever. I guess I could just tell him to screw off, but¡­ no. Even ignoring the practical problems with unleashing a criminal fire mage into the world unchecked, it wouldn''t be the right thing to do.

    He doesn''t deserve his problems any more than I deserve mine. If I can''t solve mine, though, I may as well solve his.

    "So, uh¡­" one of my co-workers says, clearing their throat at me. "What was that?"

    Hmm? Oh. Uh. Right. I guess they just saw me drag off a guy who pulled a knife on me. ¡­And then I ordered him macaroni.

    "He''s, uh, my cousin," I lie, pulling out the knife he used to threaten me to show that I have it now. "He thought he was being funny, but I disarmed him and gave him a talking-to. He''s got some¡­ issues when it comes to understanding what kind of things are appropriate to do in public. He''s harmless, though. Sorry."

    They give me the sort of look one gives when they don''t quite like the smell of the bullshit I''m giving them but don''t really have any grounds to call me out on it. As long as they don''t press the matter, though, I''ll consider the lie a success.

    "Hannah, what the fuck is your life?" the other kitchen worker asks.

    Damn.

    "I, uh, don''t know how to answer that," I say honestly.

    "Well, it''s just¡­ you pretty much never talk to anyone but Dave. You''re kind of the big mystery of the store."

    Dave? Dave Dave Dave. That''s the general manager''s name, I think? My boss. The context checks out, at least, since he''s the only person I talk to at work.

    "Um, sorry?" I manage.

    "No, no, it''s fine," he insists. "It''s nice working with you and stuff. You''re good at the job."

    "...Though you could maybe stand to be a little less good at the job," kitchen worker number one grumbles. "You keep raising the bar for the rest of us."

    I hesitate, glancing awkwardly towards the door in the vain hope that a customer will come in and save me from this conversation.

    "Is¡­ that a bad thing?" I hedge.

    Both the kitchen guys laugh, number two giving number one a friendly smack on the shoulder.

    "Shit, no one is gonna believe us about today, are they?" number two chuckles.

    "Do you, now?" number one intones, copying the furious tone I used after grabbing the mugger kid''s wrist. The kitchen guys laugh again and I feel myself blush, my hands fidgeting unconsciously.

    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "God, I was about to shit myself!" number two howls. "And she just fucking¡­ grabs him!"

    "Goddess," I correct automatically.

    "Huh?"

    Aw crap on toast!

    "N-nothing," I insist. "Sorry, forget I said anything."

    I turn away and stoically refuse to say anything else to them for the rest of the shift, which is unfortunately and rather uncharacteristically difficult considering how they keep trying to start conversations with me for some reason. Even worse, when other people start to show up for work to deal with the dinner rush, they start telling the story of me grabbing the mugger''s wrist and dragging him off! I can''t just ignore those, so I have to give people mumbled dismissives like ''it was my cousin'' and ''he wasn''t going to hurt me'' all dang night. It''s awful. By the time closing rolls around, I''m practically itching to go find the kid and drive to the hospital with him just to get away from work.

    Thankfully, I find him loitering outside the door so I motion him over, making a slight show of lifting the car keys and pointing them at the target before hitting the unlock button so he spots the blinkers go off and knows which car to follow me towards. I gesture to the passenger''s seat when we get there, heading into the driver''s side.

    "Um, nice car," he says.

    "It''s my dad''s," I grunt.

    "Oh," he says. "...Um, is your dad also¡­ uh. What are you, actually?"

    I sigh, putting my seatbelt on and opening up the map app on my phone.

    "I don''t actually know," I tell him. "And no, he isn''t. Which hospital is your mom at?"

    He tells me, and I plug it into the phone and wait for it to load. Around us, my co-workers'' vehicles depart and disperse, leaving us alone in the parking lot. Good.

    "Aura Sight," the Goddess speaks, swirling around me and giving me an amused pout. The kid shudders, and then She''s gone. I can feel him now, smelling distinctly of Heat and Barrier. Hmm. So he has two elements, huh? Neither are Chaos or Pneuma, though, so that''s not too bad.

    "W-what was that?" he yelps.

    "That was the Goddess," I tell him. "The source of all magic and a being you do not want to annoy at literally all costs."

    "You said something while you casted a spell," he realizes.

    "Which I am allowed to do and you are not," I snap. "I know what I''m doing. You''d burn your house down before they can even manage to foreclose it. Understand? You will die. Anyway, I checked what kind of magic you have. You use Heat and Barrier. Barrier is interesting. It''s about protecting, shielding, warding, stuff like that. Very defensive. Weird combo with Heat, which to my understanding is pretty destructive."

    "Is that bad?"

    "Might be, but I doubt it," I shrug. "It probably means you have more defensively-oriented fire magic, or more aggressively-oriented barriers or something. Or maybe you just have a bunch of Barrier and Heat spells that don''t have anything to do with each other. You''ll have to figure out the possibilities yourself. Just be sure to only practice somewhere safe. Okay? Not where anyone can see you, not where you can accidentally start a fire."

    "Uh, g-got it, okay," he nods. "You, um, want me to practice? You don''t want me to stop using it?"

    "Would you listen to me if I told you not to?" I ask, starting the car.

    "...Um."

    "Yeah, better that you practice, then," I shrug. "Magic is dangerous, but it''s still magic. Of course you''re gonna use it."

    "Uh, heh, yeah. I guess so."

    I pull out of the parking lot, and we make the rest of the trip in silence. There aren''t a whole lot of cars in the parking lot of the hospital at this time of night, and frankly it''s always nice to see a hospital not be busy. I realize that hospitals have perfectly normal busy and not-so-busy hours because people do like, routine checkups and stuff, but it still tends to make me anxious to see a hospital with a full parking lot.

    We get out of the car and I follow my freshly magical companion to a weird little side door that he lets himself into. I frown but don''t protest, and he leads me over to a counter, behind which a very tired-looking woman sits.

    "...Jared," she sighs upon seeing us. "Visiting hours ended fifteen minutes ago."

    "I know!" my mugger-buddy says. "I''m sorry, I know, but I just¡­ I haven''t been able to get here today, and I just¡­"

    He trails off helplessly, and the nurse-or-maybe-secretary turns to glare suspiciously at me.

    "I''m his cousin," I lie, not wanting her to think I''m his girlfriend or something. "I''m just here to chaperone. We''ll be in and out without a fuss, I promise."

    She lets out a long-suffering sigh that implies this isn''t the first time Jared has dropped by after hours to see his mom and she knows it won''t be the last. The fact that she seems inclined to let him is quite surprising to me, but I''m starting to suspect he might not have any other family in his life.

    I suppose this kind of devotion and care for your nuclear family is what I''m supposed to have.

    "Don''t wake her if she''s sleeping," the probably-nurse warns, and we nod diligently before Jared leads me to the back.

    We soon arrive at a small pseudo-bedroom, where a cot on which a gaunt-faced woman with curly blonde hair rests, her eyes closed and her mouth and nose in a respirator. It''s hard to tell with how illness has ravaged her face, but I doubt she''s more than a few years into her thirties. Which would make her¡­ quite young, when¡­ shoot, what was his name? J-something? I just had it. Well, when he was born. And to be raising him alone all this time?

    I''ve heard about these sorts of things happening in stories, but it''s kind of chilling to look at it in person. I¡­ don''t really know how I''m supposed to be reacting to this.

    I guess I should just focus on what I''m here to do. I motion for J-mug to stay here as I head out to look around, eventually spotting my quarry: a wall-mounted dispenser for red biohazard bags. Perfect. I grab a bag and open it up, briefly checking the area with my spatial sense to ensure there''s no one else around before returning to the room. The boy just sits silently next to his mother, hands wringing nervously in his lap.

    I wish I could say I feel any more confident than he seems to. Goddess, please help me not mess this up. Especially since I''m pretty sure the first step is¡­

    "I''ll need to make a small incision," I say.

    "Wait, why?" J-boy says fearfully. "The, uh, the doctor said it could be really bad if she got hurt."

    Well she''s unconscious and on a respirator with an immunodeficiency disease so that makes sense. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

    "Yeah, uh, I''m really not so sure this is a good idea," I tell him frankly. "I''m not a doctor, and my spell isn''t really designed for healing. I think it should work, probably, but if your mom''s in critical condition I don''t know if it''s a good idea to mess with her."

    He hesitates.

    "...What are you going to do, exactly?" he asks.

    "What I want to try to do is pull the harmful bacteria and viruses directly out of her body. I have a¡­ sorting spell, basically, that''s capable of removing specific substances from a solution, and also quite capable of micromanaging the movements of blood. It won''t get everything, but it should hopefully remove enough of the infections in her to put her on the path to recovery. And¡­ well, the attempt will give her magic, and there''s a chance whatever magic she gets could help her, too. But that''s a distant chance which I wouldn''t count on."

    He hesitates.

    "...What do you get out of this?" he asks.

    I blink.

    "Uh, nothing?" I answer. "I''m doing this pro bono."

    "What?" he asks.

    "The only thing I get out of this is the satisfaction of having not sat back and done nothing to help a dying person," I clarify. "That matters to me, I think that''s enough. But¡­ sometimes the best thing you can do is sit back and not make the situation worse with risky mistakes, you know?"

    He looks down at his hands, a small puff of flame appearing above them for a moment before vanishing.

    "Every night I''ve prayed for a miracle," he says quietly. "What are you, if not that?"

    I resist the urge to scowl and only halfway succeed.

    "I''m not so sure the Goddess grants prayers, kid," I tell him.

    "That''s okay," he answers. "I wasn''t praying to a goddess. Do it."

    I grit my teeth. You might not be, but I have to. I''m ready to beg, because there''s so much crap that could go wrong here. If I filter out anything other than harmful viruses and bacteria, I might just kill her. And that ''harmful'' qualifier is a really scary one, because there are pounds of bacteria and viruses in the body that are explicitly there to make the body actually work, and killing them off could make her even more sick. Not to mention how easily I could kill her if I pull out anything other than microbes.

    Goddess, if You''re listening, I really, really need Your help for this cast.

    Her presence suffocates the room, and I realize I''m being foolish. She''s always listening, always watching, and Her interest in me is far greater than average, besides. What task do I have for Her, that I would be so interested in Her time?

    I take off a glove, ignoring J-whatever gaping at my inhuman hand, and cast a silent Spacial Rend on one finger. I make a small cut into the sleeping woman''s arm, and though she flinches slightly in her sleep she does not wake.

    Goddess, I want to heal her. I want to pull the diseases from her flesh and sort them into this bag, where diseases belong. But I fear for her. I fear for my skill. Without You, I don''t think I''ll be enough.

    It occurs to me, suddenly, that it''s rather silly to assume the Goddess would care. She oversees more people than I can ever imagine. She witnesses more death every day than I will in my pathetic mortal lifetime. The incantations call Her, it''s true, but She only offers a slice of extra strength in exchange for breath. Not guidance. She does not hold the reins. What would be the point of giving power to mortals if She is still the one that ultimately wields it?

    I gulp in instinctive terror, mortified at the thought that I might have wasted Her time on this. ¡­But no retribution seems forthcoming. Maybe She''s open to the idea after all? Was that question a legitimate one, rather than rhetorical?

    I feel the world smirk, the Goddess'' presence reaching inside the respirator and stealing a single breath from the dying woman. She flows around it, in it, through it, suffusing the air with divinity until it is no longer air in any way but metaphor. Then she gently pushes it into the woman''s chest. Motion, my still-active aura sight intuits, the feeling wafting from her like waves on a calm beach. It''s beautiful, transcendent, terrifying, and rather succinctly confirms my theory about how soul distribution works. ¡­But I should try to focus.

    The Goddess doesn''t care about individual sapient life. That¡­ makes sense, unfortunately. If She did, She could pretty easily make everybody immortal, I bet. Death is a form of magic, and I hold no doubt that She has full control over it. So what might She be interested in? If not this woman''s life for the woman''s sake, maybe She cares about not wasting the effort that went into giving her a soul?

    I feel a sense of immense disappointment. I am an idiot, not that She ever expected much better. If She cared about losing souls so shortly after their creation, She would obviously make far fewer Chaos mages. I''ll need to think a little harder than that. Yet¡­ I''m not sure what to do! I clearly don''t have anything I can offer a Goddess. If She doesn''t care about any particular individuals, if people''s lives don''t matter to Her, what is She doing this for? Why, Goddess? What''s the point of any of this?

    I blink, and I am sitting on a beach.

    The water glistens in front of me, but I don''t want to swim. I don''t want to build sandcastles, I don''t want to play with the other kids, I don''t want to read a book, I don''t want to sunbathe¡­ I don''t want to be here at all, really, but here I am. Sitting alone in the sand with nothing to do. How¡­ boring.

    I pick up a handful of sand next to me, letting it fall through my fingers. I do it again. It''s not fun¡ªit''s not anything, really¡ªbut what else can I do? Coarse and uneven, it falls back to the beach, clattering down. Tiny, inconsequential. What care is there to give a grain of sand?

    Motion catches my eye. A small, black speck, getting closer inch by inch. It''s an ant. With each step its body shifts, reorienting on the rough terrain. Some grains of sand are the size of its foot, others are larger than its head. It plots a course towards a destination I cannot divine, but it is here and it is something and that is more than I could say before. It keeps getting closer, and while I don''t want it to touch me¡­ I''m not sure I really want it to leave, either.

    I pick up more sand, and pour it directly overtop the ant''s head. It is buried now, a molehill-mountain rained down upon it from above. By my will, the ant is trapped.

    After a few moments, the still sand shifts, just a few grains at a time. And then, the ant emerges. And it walks towards me again.

    That¡­ was neat! I buried it completely! If I got buried in a mountain of boulders the size of my head, I''d surely die. I push my hand underneath the sand this time, then slide it underneath the ant, displacing a veritable tidal wave of stone grains, bowling the ant over and crushing it in rolling rock. And again, moments later, the ant merely carries on its journey.

    It would be so easy to reach out and crush this creature, but now I''m rather invested! This little ant has grown on me, I have to admit. I use more force this time, slapping sand at it in a huge torrent. It continues. I dig a hole underneath it, the careful attention I pay to the ant enhancing the beauty of watching the sand part into a pit, shifting and twisting with intricate detail, each grain playing a part in a natural work of art. Again, the ant climbs out with apparent ease. Now I''m interested in working the sand. I craft a large wall, and the ant looks for a way around it. I surround it with walls on all sides, and the ant scales them with ease! I pack wet sand into a far sturdier mound and bury the creature again, yet it still digs itself out! This is enrapturing, and I''m not even entirely sure why. I mean, it''s just an ant.

    But I guess I have nothing else to do, so why complain?

    Again and again, I pile the tasks higher for the ant. Again and again, it overcomes my mighty challenges! I dig deeper holes, taller walls, larger mountains! I bury it, again and again and again, delighting in each escape, until eventually, and entirely unexpectedly, the ant finally fails to emerge.

    I unearth it, worried that my fun has come to an end. I find it, trapped and immobile, and it starts moving once more. But now¡­ I realize there is nothing more I can do. I have found its limit. How¡­ disappointing. Still, I follow the ant. I watch it struggle on without my interference, melancholy weighing me down as its excruciatingly slow pace is tolerated simply out of my own boredom.

    Eventually, though, the ant leads me to an entire nest of its kind, and I smile.

    Closing my eyes, I shudder, a feeling like a cold shower washing over me. This is wrong, isn''t it? Ants aren''t people, they''re not sapient. Ants don''t feel love or joy or sorrow or hate. But we do! And You do too, Goddess! Ants cannot suffer; their bodies aren''t capable of it. To torment one is callous, but to torment a sentient creature is¡ªor at least should be¡ªa different thing entirely. Do You think of us that way, Goddess? Devoid of meaningful emotion?

    The universe sighs, the universe shrugs. Metaphors are such picky things! I open my eyes again and the beach returns, the anthill returns, but instead of ants I see countless tiny humans, each wearing a different outfit, each scurrying around and talking and eating and working and endless other human things. They live, they love, they suffer. I pick up a stick and press it into one, pinning it to the earth. The human screams, pain and terror evident on its face. I recognize these emotions. I know that I feel these emotions. I can imagine how horrifying it must be. I feel bad about this. I do.

    It''s not very interesting, after all. Every human around shrieks and panics, seeming to have noticed the stick but not the hand holding it. I sigh, frustrated and mildly annoyed. There''s no satisfaction in the act, no engagement. It''s more fun to watch them fight or love each other on their own terms.

    I squeeze my eyes shut again, trying my best not to panic. Petty entertainment. Is that all this is? All the death and destruction?

    My eyes open, and I grin. Of course it is. Entertainment is a valuable, valuable thing. What more of a reason does there need to be? Besides, it''s not all bad. I pick a few fruits from a nearby tree, each different from the others, and chop them into miniature cuts. One by one, I start feeding the tiny humans, personally ensuring that each and every one of them gets their favorite fruit, delighting in their excited coos and beaming faces. I love the little humans. Truly, I do. That''s why I''m collecting more! When they fight, when they flee, when they fly, when they fuck¡­ I love it all, happy or sad, triumph or despair. People are my greatest treasure.

    Which is why, when I pour the next bucket of sand over them, it will only be to watch them dig themselves out. I lick my lips in delighted anticipation, and blink.

    I''m in the hospital room, the Goddess hanging lovingly on my shoulders, her cheek against mine. Do I have an idea of what I could offer Her yet? Ah, how She hopes that I do.

    I swallow dry, my body shivering in fear, wondering if She''d ever shown that to anyone else before. Then I stop wondering, because I know She has not. I can''t ask more questions, though, because it''s time to focus. If I want help, I''ll need to make it worthwhile. But there''s nothing I can offer. So¡­ why might the Goddess help anyway?

    The answer seems so obvious now that I''ve been the one to ask the question. If I knew it would set my favorite ant up to fail even more spectacularly in the future, it could certainly be funny to give her a hand.

    The Goddess grins like a curse. I inhale, and she takes the breath.

    "Refresh," we say, and disease pours from a woman''s wound, each and every last drop of it and not a molecule more. It collects in a horrid, vaguely yellow goop inside the biohazard bag, along with all the excess moisture in her lungs, the plaque on her teeth, the stain of urine in her underwear, and the snot dripping from her nose. She becomes as clean and healthy as a Refresh can make her, and while that''s far from perfect, I can only hope it''s enough.

    Or, I am reminded with a playful flick on my ear, I can pray. The Goddess does answer them from time to time, after all.

    "Did¡­ did you do it?" the boy asks as I seal the biohazard bag and put my glove back on.

    "Yeah," I say, my voice drained of all emotion. "It worked. I don''t think I can do any better than that."

    "She looks the same," he says hesitantly.

    "I removed the diseases in her, but I didn''t give her any energy back," I tell him. "She''ll probably need a while to recover from the damage the sicknesses have already dealt. But with them officially fought off, that should hopefully not take too long."

    What have I done? Will this be worth it? The Goddess grins with delight, and I can''t help myself any longer.

    "Damn You," I blaspheme quietly, causing her to howl with laughter. "Why me? Why me, of all people? You could have picked anyone to torment like this."

    She purrs, gently caressing my beloved extra limbs, hidden away in 4D space. It''s not all torments, I am reminded.

    "That''s not an answer," I hiss.

    I collapse to one knee, the weight of Her on my shoulders nearly crushing me to death. The stick, pressed gently on the ant. A hand around my face, She lifts my chin up towards the heavens. I''m not entitled to an answer, She reminds me. But that''s okay. Once again, I will be indulged. Just for being such a good sport about it.

    I imagine a game. A puzzle. One where each time I fail, I have to start anew from the very beginning. It''s challenging, yet engaging. Over and over, I try to solve it. Over and over, I make a mistake. Yet each time, I learn. Eventually I fail right before the end, but rather than despair, I am filled with joy! Total exuberance! Because I know I''ve finished the puzzle. I just have to go through the motions, one last time. All that monumental effort, about to pay off. How exciting is that?

    I am the needed piece, She tells me, because I am kind. I am thoughtful. I am self-aware and driven and skilled and intelligent. I am, all things considered, a fairly good person. But like I''ve always known, I am not good enough.

    Her presence finally vanishes, and I collapse sobbing on the floor.

 39. And So She Wept

    The tile floor is vaguely cool on my knees in that alien way temperature is now noticeable without really affecting me. Kneeling in general feels unnatural now, an improper state of rest that only exacerbates my discomfort. The human kneecap is a completely independent bone, kept in place with tendons and ligaments so it always protects the joint. I no longer have kneecaps, my closest equivalent being a ridge of chitin connected to the exoskeletal equivalent of my tibia which extends upwards and blocks access to the soft black muscle inside my joints while my leg is fully extended.

    The connection means putting pressure on my knees feels more like I''m putting pressure on my shins, not to mention how the unnatural plate strains against the inside of my socks and presents itself as an obvious bulge in my pant leg whenever I bend my knee too much. Even my less-mutated leg looks like that now, with skin remaining only on one thigh, and that''s likely due to come off in the next few days, too.

    All of this is to say: I really need to stop crying and get up off the floor. I''m not able to bring myself to do that, though, which is understandable because I should also be doing things like not tearing open the insides of my shoes so badly they''ll probably be unusable, or not clutching the sides of my head so hard that my ungloved hand is drawing a concerning amount of blood. Yet I''m still doing all of those things, because of course I am.

    I''m not good enough for anything else.

    It''s one thing to have insecurities, it''s another thing for those insecurities to be validated by a divine entity that''s absolutely tickled pink at the prospect of using those completely correct insecurities as part of some unknown master plan. I''m not good enough. I''m not good enough. The truth rings again and again in my soul. A divine revelation, decreed directly from Goddess to prophet. I''m not good enough. I''m not good enough.

    "What''s¡­ what''s wrong?" a distant voice asks, quiet and fearful. The mugger. The child. The desperate little pup. J-something.

    He sounds scared. Which, okay. Of course he''s scared. I just declared that I''d done everything I could to heal his mom and then collapsed on the floor crying. Why wouldn''t the kid be terrified? I remember the Goddess'' hands guiding my soul, though, pulling every contaminant out of each capillary, exact and sure. With Her help, I didn''t make the mistakes I feared. The boy has nothing to be afraid of. So I really need to stop scaring him! I guess I''ll add that to the pile of fuckups, since as previously mentioned: I''m not good enough.

    ¡­But I already knew that, didn''t I? Why am I being such a baby about it now? Like, really Hannah? Sobbing over the prospect of not being a perfect little heroine? Boo hoo, you''re an entitled, privileged, lesbian disaster simultaneously drowning in both self-pity and arrogance. What part of this is news to you? Quit having a breakdown about it and grow up.

    "Sorry," I choke out. "Sorry, it''s fine. Everything is fine. That just¡­ took a lot from me, is all."

    I glance up, wincing slightly when I notice the small cut I made in J-mom''s body is still dripping blood. I use a wordless Refresh to clean it up, re-sterilizing the area and doing my best to keep the blood flowing in the way best conducive to quick and efficient clotting.

    Which is¡­ something I know how to do now. Huh.

    I swallow, wiping my tears and shakily getting to my feet. I think back on how I flushed the disease and contaminants from that woman''s body, micromanaging every cell, every chemical, every solution to its optimal conditions. It gives me a bit of a headache to consider, but¡­ I remember it. I remember knowing exactly¡ªand I mean exactly¡ªwhat I was doing, and in some fuzzy, hard-to-grasp way I think I still do.

    At least it feels that way, but I''m pretty sure I couldn''t explain or write down all the knowledge in my head, which makes me suspicious. I tend to assume that if I don''t understand something well enough to teach it to someone else, I don''t actually understand it very well at all. It''s a handy rule of thumb for avoiding being on the left side of a Dunning-Kruger graph, so the rather subconscious nature of my confidence is making me pretty leery as to its actual accuracy.

    Then again¡­ this is a divine revelation. I shudder, remembering Her caressing my extra limbs, reminding me of how much I love them, how right they feel. It''s not all torments. She''s interested in entertainment, and a good story has peaks alongside the valleys. Even a tragedy has moments of calm, beauty, and levity. She likes watching us succeed at least as much as She likes watching us fail, if not more.

    I''d argue that still makes Her evil, considering the interest She has in creating the problems in the first place. ¡­But I guess that just makes me the prophet of an evil deity. I don''t think I can make an honest argument that I''m anything less. I definitely feel the need to spread Her revelations, if only to warn people. Be entertaining, ye mortals, lest She not bother to dig you out if She buries you in more than you can handle. I wonder if Ida caught onto that, in some intrinsic or explicit way. I''ll have to talk to her about that. She seems to be closest to the Goddess among my friend group.

    "Y-you''re bleeding," the boy realizes, fear in his voice.

    I am? Oh, right, I am. I reach my bloody claws up to my temple, wiping at the four wounds I gouged in the side of my head that are, indeed, still doing that fun little head wound thing where even really shallow cuts bleed like an overstuffed jelly doughnut. I briefly channel some of my transform-self spell¡ªwhich seems like it should pretty obviously be called Transform or Conversion or something, but that can be an issue for another day¡ªto help seal up the wounds, feeling that tug on the line draw my two selves just that tiniest bit closer. I find a tissue and Refresh all excess blood onto it as a dry powder, cleaning myself up before putting my glove back on, making sure to tuck my sleeve underneath it so that there''s no chance a slip could reveal my wrist.

    I''ll put the tissue in a biohazard bag on the way out, and¡­ well, actually, I should definitely steal a bunch of those biohazard bags in case I need to heal somebody else, now that I think about it.  Quickly looking over J-mom''s cut to ensure I don''t need to Refresh her again, I head out to grab more biohazard bags and go home, J-mug nervously following after me.

    "Are you expecting me to drive you home?" I ask him, attempting to project a dry, unamused tone to cover up how poorly I''m still recovering from today''s most recent panic attack.

    "I just¡­ um. Are you okay?" he manages.

    "No, but that isn''t anything new and there isn''t anything you can do about it," I answer frankly.

    "Are¡­ are you sure? I mean, I owe you so much for this."

    We walk by the desk where the exhausted nurse is tapping away at a computer between bouts of rubbing her eyes to stay awake. She barely nods at us as we depart.

    "I appreciate the concern but I don''t actually like you and I don''t have any expectation of changing that opinion," I say when we exit the hospital. Woah, kind of unnecessarily mean there, Hannah, but whatever. I''m exhausted and angry and terrified and drained and this kid is just one more problem to add to the pile as far as I''m concerned.

    "Besides, you don''t owe me until you know whether or not what I did actually worked," I continue. "I''m going to give you my phone number. Let me know how things go with your mom, and let me know when you have time to bring her to meet me. She''s a Motion mage now, so hopefully she won''t accidentally end up casting something while in a hospital bed, but I need you to get her on board with this stuff ASAP, because again, this stuff is crazy dangerous. Got it?"

    "Got it," he nods. "I won''t let you down."

    We make it to my car and I scowl. I very much don''t want to spend any more time with this guy. Is anything really bad going to happen to him if I just drive off, though? He''s a mugger, not a muggee. Plus he has fire magic. But he''s also just a kid. Ugh. I hate this. Hate hate hate.

    "Get in," I grumble. "Where do you want me to drop you off?"

    It''s only an extra fifteen minutes on my commute to drive him to where he directs me before I head back home, but I spend it all seething at myself. For what, I''m not even sure. When I park outside his aunt and uncle''s apartment complex and let him out, watching him nervously ascend the stairs like the building is about to attack him, I feel a profound hate for nothing and everything.

    I really was going to kill that child over the money in my pocket.

    I can justify it to some extent, I think. I was pretty much having a complete mental breakdown over my recent cannibalism, so violence was somewhat on the mind. I wasn''t in good shape, emotionally speaking, and then he pulled a knife on me. So yeah, in a moment of panic, I planned to kill him, but then Jet stopped me and I owe her so impossibly much for that. No harm, no foul. Right?

    No. I''m not that justified and I know it. I wasn''t in my right mind, sure, but ninety-nine percent of the population never escalates to literal murder, even in their worst moments. I didn''t have to do anything but hand over my stuff. Objects. Worthless things, compared to a life. It''s disgusting. I''m disgusting. I''ll never be able to look at that child without being reminded of that, and the fact that I hate him for it just makes me all the worse.

    I''m not good enough.

    I take a deep breath, finally peeling my eyes away from the kid when he successfully unlocks the door to the apartment and heads inside, safe and sound. ¡­Or at least safe and sound from anything outside the apartment. My face in my hands, I check around me with my spatial sense. Alone in the lot, nothing but me and the cars.

    "Hey, Goddess?" I ask softly. "By any chance do you like gossip?"

    Exactly as I feared and hoped it wouldn''t, Her presence descends upon me with a cheshire grin, surrounding me, invading me, violating me. Gossip, hmm? How deliciously presumptuous of me, to try and gossip with the omniscient. I just want free secrets, and She knows it.

    "And yet here You are," I mutter. "Without even a spellcast implied. Considering how You react to Your time being wasted, I assume that means this doesn''t qualify?"

    The Goddess strokes my hair, cooing and consoling me like I''m a little dog that stepped on a thorn. It will be okay, I am assured. Girls only get punished when they are being naughty, and I have been very good tonight.

    By my standards, of course. Not in an absolute sense.

    "Okay," I say, resisting my instinct to shudder, scream, cry, or flee. Mustering my willpower, I sit and do nothing, ignoring the casual molestations and focusing on the need to know. "Then I want to ask why he was scared walking up those steps."

    She flicks me playfully on the nose, nearly breaking it. Silly and stupid as always. I don''t need Her to know the answer to that. It''s the same reason the nurse is so okay with letting him stay late in his mom''s room. The same reason he has no better plan than theft. He''s obviously not the sort of child with a healthy and loving support group, is he?

    "Are¡­" I ask, swallowing a lump in my throat. "Are they going to hurt him?"

    She laughs, an infinite pit of echoes and harmonies that drowns me until it finally ends. Her lips by my ear, She whispers the answer, both relieving and damning.

    Not tonight.

    She departs with a giggle, and ten minutes later I''m finally feeling stable enough to drive myself home. I do so, completely ignoring my mother asking where I''ve been and why I was out so late and simply collapsing into bed with my clothes on. I wake up immediately as I always do, the mysterious green dark of early morning on the Mother Tree filtering into my vision as Kagiso pokes me awake. I grunt her a good morning, extract myself and my molt from her bedroll, then lean into a friendly pat on my carapace before stepping out into the night to eat my own discarded flesh.

    Our camp today is dark and generally featureless, planted as we are on an artificial wooden platform extending barely twenty feet out from the world tree''s trunk. Sela lies on its back in the middle of it, staring upwards at nothing. I scuttle over to it and curl up next to its arm, settling in until the sunrise. As I do so, I hear Sela''s body start to hum into activity, mechanical thrums and whirrs as its internals wind into full operation. Hmm. Some of its insides are quite dirty, now that I''m looking.

    "Sorry," I say quietly. "I didn''t mean to wake you."

    It turns its head slowly, staring at me with its usual blank expression.

    "You can tell?" it asks.

    "Well, your consciousness is fairly audible," I confirm. "I can also see inside your body with my spatial sense and watch some of your moving bits spin up. It''s kind of beautiful, actually. All nice and sorted and orderly. Human wiring is such a tangled mess."

    It narrows its eyes slightly, saying nothing.

    "S-sorry," I mumble. "I''m talking too much, aren''t I? Sorry."

    I lapse into silence, but to my surprise Sela is the one who speaks next.

    "The other organics guarded with their backs to the trunk," Sela points out. "Would this not be optimal?"

    "Um, not really," I admit. "Spatial sense again. I see in an omnidirectional sphere but it caps out at about fifty feet from my location, so it''s better to stay in the middle of the camp. Plus I don''t have a back."

    "Unit not recognized: ''feet.''"

    "Oh. Yeah. It''s, uh¡­ about this long? Ish?"

    I make two shallow marks on the floor to demonstrate the length.

    Its eyes briefly light up in a camera-like flash.

    "Reference saved."

    "Oh gosh. Uh. That''s probably not exactly right. I can try to get you a better reference later?"

    "Acceptable. Designating as heuristic measurement."

    "Right, okay," I say, drumming my legs hesitantly. "Sorry, were you asking because you wanted me to move?"

    "Negative," Sela states flatly. "If you are positioned optimally, then this unit has no complaints."

    "Alright," I say. "Well then, I''ll stay here. You can''t move on your own, so giving you as much protection as possible seems like the optimal play to me. You doing okay, by the way?"

    There''s a pause.

    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

    "My systems have not noticeably degraded since the prior instance of that query," it non-answers.

    "If you say so," I hedge. "I notice that there''s a decent amount of dust and stuff inside you, though? A bit of lint. Uh. A dead bug, it looks like. I think there''s a bunch of stuff getting in through the holes in your chassis. Or maybe the filter for your cooling system? It looks a little damaged, too. Do you want me to clean you? I can get that all out really easily."

    Sela says nothing, although its fans rev up speed and start running quite a bit louder. Heh, I wonder what that means. Is it thinking harder? Is it trying to blow the dust out of itself without my help? Is it robo-blushing because cleaning is culturally intimate? Who knows! I sure don''t. Gosh, robots are cool though.

    "I need you to explain to me," Sela says slowly, "what you know about my systems."

    An undercurrent of serious threat boils in those words, but I''m immune to heat and recent situations have made me somewhat inured to weak, damaged things posturing as dangerous. Sela is certainly much more a killer than J-Mug ever could be, but it¡¯s also a ranged attacker with an element I half-resist barely a flick and a thought away from decapitation.

    I gossip with the Goddess. I am not afraid of you.

    "I have some pretty limited and basic understanding," I say, "but I''m certainly no mechanical engineer. I know you need a cooling system because heat waste is a thing, and the fans in your body that cycle air through your torso and out your head are obviously that. I also see some tubes that might be liquid cooling in your chest, but it looks like that''s not distributed around the rest of your body. Since that whole system generates the most heat and seems to have the most armor and insulation around it, I assume that''s where¡­ well, you''re stored. Your mind."

    More systems seem to be spinning up within it, the fans running even faster. Joints spin free for a moment, twisting and testing before locking into place, becoming as ready to move as they''re able.

    "So, if we ever do get into a fight," I say evenly, "I''ll make sure to aim away from that area. I have no intention of harming you, especially not permanently. And I take it by your reaction that you don''t want me spreading any of this information around. So I won''t."

    It seems to totally ignore these words, more and more of its systems heating up, the mechanical parts whirring ever faster. The buildup of heat is so rapid that a burst of steam gets ejected from the liquid cooling system, pushed through a series of thin tubes and rushing out of the back of its hair-vents with a hiss.

    I respond to this in the most reasonable way I can, raising two legs in Sela''s direction and activating a silent Spacial Rend, coating them in shimmering paradox, space and non-space. One more leg rises in 4D space, out of sight but just as poised to strike.

    "Sela," I warn it as calmly as I can muster. "I''m not your enemy. Stand down."

    The tense standoff continues, however, which is rather unfortunate for me since my confidence is mainly fueled by exhaustion. Was this the wrong thing to do? I''m not sure. I''m not sure how to be sure. My body goes stiff and my fear grows stronger, but thankfully before that can reach critical mass, Sela starts to spin down, turning its head away from me.

    "Maybe you aren''t as foolish as you seem, meat," it admits begrudgingly. "You aren''t supposed to know that much. No one is supposed to know that much. But I suppose your existence already proves there are cultures in the world the Crafted are ignorant of."

    I relax, letting out a breath I didn''t realize I was holding as I slowly drop my limbs back into a resting position. I''m tempted to correct Sela about me being from this world, but¡­ maybe we''re not quite to that level of friendship yet. Considering how we aren''t friends at all.

    "Yeah," I say instead. "You don''t have to worry. I can guess at the broad strokes, but I''m no mechanical engineer. And even if I was, you''re way more advanced than anything anyone in my culture has ever dreamed of."

    Sela just responds with a clicking whir that I interpret as a grunt of acknowledgment.

    "So," I continue. "Would you like to be cleaned? The magic won''t touch any of your components, only the detritus."

    A burst of hot air hisses out of Sela''s head as a mechanical sigh.

    "Fine."

    Hehe, yes! A demonstration of trust! Or at least an admittance of vulnerability and resignation to a lack of agency, which is kind of the same thing in practice. I just have to not bungle this cleaning job, which¡­ I mean, I guess that''s kind of tempting fate, but surely nothing will go wrong with using a spell I constantly use for its primary purpose, right?

    ¡­Right?

    Yeah, no, nothing actually goes wrong. A few quick casts of Refresh and all the dust and garbage that managed to get stuck inside Sela''s body is pulled out through the gouges in its torso, leaving the inside of its chassis sparkly-clean and its ventilation system running at maximum capacity.

    "There you go!" I announce happily. "All clean, even those joints."

    Sela''s entire body starts to twist and writhe like a horrific contortionist as it tests my claim.

    "Hmm," it grumbles. "...Minimal interference detected. Reluctant appreciation: thank you, meat."

    "Any time!" I reassure it. "Like literally, just ask whenever, it''s really easy to do."

    "Acknowledged," Sela chirps. "Setting timer."

    Wait. Uh. ¡­Y''know what, this is fine, I offered for a reason.

    "Okay, you mechanical dork," I tell it. "Just let me know."

    About an hour later, a mechanical voice that had since been silent chimes:

    "Clean me, meat."

    I sigh. The things I do for genocidal murderbots.

    After a couple more cleaning sessions¡ªboth of which barely did anything since Sela was already near-perfectly cleaned¡ªthe sun finally rises and my companions start to wake up, stretching and dressing and going through their usual routines.

    "Morning, Hannah," Helen yawns, stepping out of her tent. "Boring night?"

    "Less than it could have been, but nothing worrisome," I answer. "Did you sleep well?"

    "Still and steady as a tree," she confirms, walking over to Kagiso''s tent and throwing the flaps open so she can drag the dentron out of bed, flailing and biting.

    "What about you, murderbot?" Helen says, raising her voice to be heard over Kagiso''s whining. "Still with us?"

    "Regretful affirmation: yes," Sela grumbles. "I remain trapped with suicidal, irrational sacks of meat insistent on flinging themselves down material chutes like the corpses they so desperately seem to wish to be."

    "Well, you know we could always just dump you off the side of the trunk if you prefer."

    "Negative, though desirability calculations are re-run at regular intervals. Please ask again later."

    "Can do, you fucking maniac. Come on, Kagiso, quit your bitching and pack up your tent."

    "Brother''s not around anymore," Kagiso grumbles. "Can sleep in if want to."

    Silence. Neither Helen nor I dare to touch that.

    "Put away your ridiculous sleeping arrangements and strap me to your back already, meat," Sela snaps, having no such tact. "I refuse to spend another night on this trunk."

    Kagiso¡­ actually listens to it, thank goodness, and before long we find ourselves back on the slide, me curled up tight in Helen''s lap and Sela attached firmly to Kagiso. And so the day drags on much like it did the afternoon before, the Sapsea below us ever so slowly getting closer as we slide down the trunk.

    It almost seems like we''re going to have a totally uneventful day before we hear¡ªand feel¡ªa terrifying thud from up above us, one large enough to shake the slide quite a bit more than any of us are comfortable with.

    "Uh, what the fuck was that?" Helen asks, whipping her head around behind us.

    "Aren''t you the only one who''s done this before?" I ask. "We''re kind of relying on you to know that!"

    Yet another thud rings out. It''s closer this time, harder.

    "Acoustic analysis indicates a high likelihood of an incoming arboreal predator," Sela announces. "Or territorial gummivore."

    "A what!?" Helen shouts back.

    "A scary monster!" I translate.

    "Aaaaah, stupid landbound! Look out, look out, look out!" a new voice shouts, immediately stealing our attention. Not just because it''s someone we don''t know, but the direction the voice is straight above dead, open air.

    Because of course it is. The source of the voice is flying. A sciptera¡ªone of the tiny, cute bat people, not one of the huge, scary bat people¡ªis rapidly flapping its way towards us, panic on their face.

    "No look at me, rootfeet!" they shriek. "Accelerate! Go, go, g¡ª"

    We don''t hear the rest of what they''re saying because the chute behind us suddenly explodes, smashed into pieces by the fall of a massive, terrifying horror that simply dead-dropped my entire fifty-foot sensory range in an instant, slamming into where we were barely a second ago with enough force to obliterate it.

    I only catch a glimpse of it before it vanishes below us, but I can only think of it as a true monster, a real-life colossal horror only imagined in games and stories. Like me, it has ten legs, though each of those legs is thicker than a human and twice as tall. Unlike me, those legs aren''t radially placed; the beast has a clear left and right, and the groups of five legs each are connected by fin-like membranes of flesh to glide or direct a fall with. Its back end has an enormous tail tipped with a wicked stinger, and its head is topped with bulbous, almost fly-like eyes, solid black domes that frame a murderous, snaggle-toothed mouth.

    I spot it as it redirects its descent into the trunk below us, its many sharp, insectoid legs digging great gouges in the bark as it slows itself down, many of which impact and rip new holes in the chute. Then, with an ear-piercing screech, it scuttles rapidly away, shifting out of sight but never getting so far that we can no longer hear it. Instead, it sounds like it''s ascending to drop on us again.

    "Welp," Helen sighs. "Make your peace, ladies and bots. We''re fucked."

    "Clean me, meat," Sela demands.

    "Is now really the time!?" I shout at her before addressing Helen. "Can''t you just kill the monster!?"

    "Maybe if I knew where it was!" Helen snaps back. "It''s too fast!"

    "I''ll help you aim!" I insist. "I think it''s approaching from above again, so¡ª"

    "No, no no no no!" the sciptera yells. "Be woosh! Use wind, not sword! Ring Racer!"

    A faintly glowing circle appears in the air in front of the tiny bat, and the moment the very tip of their ears touches it the sciptera is pulled, thrust forwards at greatly increased speed. They dip down below us, generating more rings around the chutes.

    "Fuck the Goddess'' side bitch," Helen swears, leaving me feeling vaguely offended for some reason. I don''t really have time to process that though, as Helen clutches me in a one-armed death grip, standing up and leaning down low as we approach not a jump, but a sharp turn.

    "Kagiso!" Helen shouts, but the crazy albino dentron is already following suit, her tail helping with balance and her feral grin not showing a hint of fear.

    We naturally pick up speed as the friction drops, and then we hit one of the magical rings dropped by the friendly bat and we''re launched forward like a cannon shot, very nearly killing us as Helen almost trips on the first switchback, which would have sent us careening off to our death. Somehow she barely hangs on, though, and it''s a good thing she did because barely a second later the giant monster collapses down behind us, destroying that part of the chute with a brutal roar.

    "What is that thing!?" Helen shouts.

    "Idiot!" the sciptera shouts back. "Stupid! Stumbled into lair of flonglithorth!"

    "Of what!?"

    "Designation not found," Sela beeps.

    "The mighty flonglithorth shall feast on your flesh, and also bones!" the sciptera cackles. "Stupid landbounds wandered right into nest!"

    "How the fuck were we supposed to know that!?" Helen snaps. "I never saw anything like a nest!"

    "Jump!" Kagiso announces, pointing to a massive gap ahead of us where the, uh, ''flonglithorth'' smashed a huge hole in the slide.

    "Taste the wind while you can!" the sciptera squeals gleefully.

    "Fuck you!" Helen snaps back, leaning into another boost from Ring Racer before attempting a massive, nearly thirty-foot jump.

    We crash back onto the chute on the other side, Helen swearing again as she nearly tears a ligament in her leg. I''m pretty sure she just broke the olympic long jump record, but at this point we''re traveling several times the maximum human sprinting speed thanks to gravity and floating magical hoops, so I''m pretty sure she wouldn''t be able to qualify.

    "IdentifyFuelSource(target.noTarget, 60, false, true, fuelarray[])" the Goddess shouts with Sela''s breath, waving mockingly at me as she passes by.

    "Predicting incoming attack vector!" Sela continues. "Four, three, two, one¡ª"

    Kaboom! The whole slide shakes so violently Helen has to catch herself on the side, tearing a chunk of skin off the palm of her hand.

    "Refresh!" I have the Goddess follow up before She leaves, keeping Helen from bleeding, wiping the sweat from her brow, and pushing her hair away from her eyes.

    "Target lock retained!" Sela announces. "Target is ascending! Estimated approach vector: directly above! Target attribute: Transmutation! Likely a unique specimen, magically boosted to abnormal size. Minimum thirty flickers until impact!"

    "I can fucking do thirty," Helen hisses. "Fuck this. Fuck everything! Kagiso! Brace your ass!"

    The Chaos mage grits her teeth, taking a deep, deep breath, and the world gets just a little darker.

    "The Girl Was Told She Could Not Be," the Goddess begins. "So Though She Breathed, She Did Not Live."

    Helen drops into a sitting position again, slowing herself down with her elbows and feet. All the while, her mouth continues to recite the words the Goddess speaks.

    "Hate Was The Wall And Love Was The Chain. She Was Naught But A Prisoner Waiting To Starve. There Had To Be More To An Empty Life, And She Thought Art Would Fill Her Soul."

    Coming to a complete stop Helen sets me down on the chute, standing up straight, her arms above her head. Tears flow down Helen''s cheeks as the Goddess grins like a hyena.

    "Um," the sciptera coughs hesitantly. "What are doing?"

    "Joy And Sorrow!" The Goddess roars with Helen. "Skill And Grace! The Power To Be More Than Her Nature''s Puppet! What Is Art, If Not Creation? Her Ignorant Hope, Her Vain Defiance! But Her Soul Showed Her The Truth!"

    "Meleme!" the sciptera shouts in terror. "Flee!"

    "AND SO SHE WEPT! FINDING BEAUTY IN OBLIVION!"

    A pillar of darkness devours the sky, silent and cold. Art-fueled Chaos, emboldened by an incantation longer than I ever imagined attempting, consumes indiscriminately, blooming from Helen''s outstretched hands and annihilating everything above us, from the chutes we rode on to the bark of the Mother Tree itself. It extends even beyond my vision, a horrible, hungry darkness that annihilates even light, carving a permanent new scar into the very world. The power that annihilated a village.

    The power that makes it easy to understand why children are killed. I still don''t agree, but understand? Oh yes. Easily.

    The light returns and we''re deafened by the following shockwave, an explosion of pressure caused by air rushing back into the vacuum of annihilation. Helen staggers, collapsing back into a sitting position on the slide that, miraculously, hasn''t completely collapsed as a result of her disintegrating everything above our current section.

    "That''ll fuckin'' learn ya," she slurs, seeming somewhat lightheaded. "Fuck. I needed that."

    "Meleme!" the sciptera shouts again, flying upwards towards a falling figure. A second sciptera falls in an uncontrolled spiral, an entire wing missing from their unconscious body. Oh. Huh. I do remember something about sciptera always being in pairs, come to think of it.

    "Meleme! Wake up!" the first sciptera begs, catching their partner with their tail and dragging them to a landing spot. "Come on. Look at me! Cast, Meleme!"

    "Meleme Biggest Strongest," the tiny little bat¡ªwho presumably is Meleme¡ªmutters, flesh twisting and popping on the damaged side of its body until a new wing regrows, at first rather too large and fin-like but quickly twisting back into a normal sciptera shape.

    Transmutation magic, huh?

    "You just played us," I accuse. "Your friend was the monster!"

    "Was just joke!" the little guy screeches. "Stupid landbound! No need big explosion boom!"

    "Flonglithorth stupid name," Meleme coughs. "Of course figure out. Dumb-dumb."

    "Target appears to have survived," Sela announces. "Requesting follow-up offensive."

    "Berebe remember this!" the first sciptera declares, launching back up into the air.

    "Was fun," Meleme says groggily. "Bye-bye, friends."

    "Not friends!" presumably-Berebe retorts. "Tried kill you!"

    "Yes?" Meleme agrees, taking off rather shakily after them. "Fair is fair?"

    The two of them bicker as they fly away, leaving us rather flabbergasted.

    "Should probably stop them," Kagiso comments. "Know Helen is Chaos. Know Sela is Crafted. Definitely bad."

    Oh, right. That''s a good point, actually.

    "Hey!" I shout after them. "Don''t just leave us stranded here! The chutes are probably unstable now!"

    "Who fault that!?" Berebe snaps at us.

    "Little bug right," Meleme retorts, twining their tail around Berebe''s. "They good sport. I carry down?"

    "Good sport!? Explosion boom!"

    "You fussy," Meleme grumbles. "Go drink more sap. I carry."

    Meleme turns around, heading back towards us, and with every flap of their wings they grow just a bit larger, a bit more monstrous, until eventually the massive beast that nearly killed us all is gliding right underneath us, attaching to the bark and skittering up to our level.

    "All aboard Meleme express, friends?" the horrific monster rumbles.

    My companions all turn to stare at each other.

    "...It is a superior chance of survival compared to continued use of the material chutes," Sela supplies flatly.

    "Fuck it," Helen sighs. "Why not."

 40. Sickly Sweet

    "Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck! Meleme, slow down!" Helen screeches again, causing everyone else to sigh with irritation.

    "Grip tighter!" Kagiso snaps back. "Baby!"

    "I''m not a fucking six-limbed tree hugger!" Helen shrieks. "I''m gonna fall! Come on Hannah, you were human, right? Back me up on this!"

    "Helen, I spend every day hanging on for dear life on top of something six times my height. Get over it."

    "Jumping now, friends!" Meleme booms happily, and Helen starts to scream.

    We are riding an enormous monster down the trunk of the world tree, and it''s pretty fun. There are no seatbelts or cages or anything to hold us in, just Meleme''s thick fur and our own grip strength. Perhaps that''s why Helen is freaking the fuck out over this dead-drop while she was so blas¨¦ about the last one. To me though, it doesn''t feel all that different from my day-to-day.

    Then the giant gliding horror scorpion that is Meleme launches off the side of the tree, head-first and straight down, and I guess I can understand how that would be chocolate-in-pants terrifying. Still tired from the events of last night and the panic of just a few minutes ago, however, I just hold on and do my best to ignore it.

    At least Meleme is a heck of a lot faster than going down a series of switchback slides. It''s interesting to me how so much of traveling down the world tree involves yeeting oneself off the side and letting gravity do all the work for you, but I suppose it makes sense. When a spacecraft reenters orbit, most of the strategy involves just letting it fall safely, right? It''d be a waste of energy not to let gravity handle as much as possible.

    "Hey!" Berebe shouts, flying over by Helen''s head. "Loud explosion-boom human!"

    "What!?" Helen snaps back.

    "You Chaos, yes?" Berebe accuses.

    "Berebe!" Meleme snaps. "No be mean!"

    "Is not mean! Is question!"

    "Yeah, I''m a Chaos mage," Helen grouses. "You gonna report me?"

    "Don''t have to," Berebe snorts. "Everyone saw big explosion boom. Even blind rootfoot!"

    "Then why are you asking?" Helen growls, her eyes narrowing.

    "Hrmph. Just wanted ask. No get us in trouble, okay?"

    Berebe catches a bit of air and pulls away from us, leaving Helen scowling without an answer.

    "Sorry about him," Meleme rumbles. "He silly."

    "Why are you guys okay with ferrying us?" I ask. "We''re kind of a suspicious-looking group."

    "Meleme too nice," Berebe grumbles. "She never learn to prank and leave!"

    "Meleme hear nice poem-spell," the huge Transmutation mage shrugs, causing Kagiso to yelp in surprise. "No think you bad person."

    "Mmm," Berebe grunts. "Magic is who are. Praise the Goddess, for She knows."

    I let out a slow breath, clutching tighter to Meleme''s fur. And So She Wept, Finding Beauty In Oblivion. Helen really poured her whole heart into that one, huh? And the result was just¡­ I don''t think I have the words for it. It almost makes me regret preemptively deciding on a theme for such short names, but¡­ well, I guess I don''t really need more power in my spells. I''m already pretty broken.

    "The Goddess is the one who did this to me in the first place," Helen snaps. "She destroyed my life by making me a Chaos mage. I don''t have the slightest sliver of praise for Her."

    "Mmm. But is your life destroyed because you Chaos, or are you Chaos because you life destroyed?" Meleme muses.

    "The first one!" Helen insists. "Obviously!"

    I shudder, remembering the tiny hill of humans. Remembering cutting up every fruit, and giving each little person their very favorite.

    "I think the Goddess gives people whatever magic She thinks they''re most likely to use," I say. "Magic they''ll enjoy using. She wants people to use Her gifts, so She tailors each gift to its user."

    "You think I like being a Chaos mage?" Helen snaps, turning to me furiously.

    I flinch, saying nothing at first because I''ve figured out just a little too late that this maybe wasn''t the smartest thing to say. But¡­ I''m here now. May as well commit.

    "I think that you find beauty in oblivion," I tell her quietly.

    She grits her teeth, turning away as the fury on her face flashes with a dozen other emotions on top of that.

    "Sorry," I mumble.

    "Just shut the fuck up, Hannah," Helen growls.

    Dang it. I''m so stupid. I anxiously knead Meleme''s fur as we continue to drop, hating my dumb, stupid mouth. No one says anything for a while until Sela suddenly breaks the silence.

    "Clean me, meat."

    Oh. Right. I sigh, scuttling down towards where Kagiso and, by extension, Sela are clinging to Meleme''s upper-right shoulder.

    "Sure, sure," I tell it, getting close enough to Refresh its insides. "Sorry about not being able to earlier."

    A few clicks and whirrs are all I get in response.

    Below us, the golden glow of the Sapsea fills more and more of our vision. The titanic, bulbous droplet circling the Pillar is large enough that down as low as we are, we can no longer see any part of the Pillar itself, only a vast amber blob, slow-motion waves rolling across its viscous, sticky surface.

    Hugging various points along the trunk are floating wooden platforms, bobbing lazily and housing little micro-communities of various sizes. Meleme twists towards one of the bigger ones in the distance, which just seems to grow and grow the closer we get to it. It''s a huge, interconnected superstructure of platforms and bridges, chaotically expanded on in every direction without apparent plan or purpose. Like an ever-reaching fungus, it grows on top of the Sapsea plank by plank, strip of bark by strip of bark, cobbled together with the aimless effort of lawlessness.

    "Gumpier," Berebe announces. "Should find boat that won''t look too close, yes?"

    "Yeah," Helen sighs. "That''ll work."

    "We''ll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy, huh?" I ask.

    "Huh? No, I mean, there are way worse places than Gumpier."

    I sigh. No one gets my references in the fantasy magic tree world.

    As we approach, Meleme stops gliding and attaches to the side of the tree, taking a much lazier pace the closer we get to the city, presumably to not freak anyone out. The closer we get, though, the stronger the stench becomes. And it''s¡­ well. It''s certainly not the smell of syrup that I was expecting.

    It''s¡­ sour. Sharp. Rotten. And I realize, looking down at the cloudy clumps in the yellow sea, that of course it is. It''s a giant mass of sugar water and tree hormones, sitting around unpreserved. Of course the whole thing is a breeding ground for toxic bacteria. And the closer we get to Gumpier, the more the more I start to realize that ''toxic'' is probably the best description for the Sapsea in general.

    When I first started seeing little colonies floating on the surface, my immediate thought was, of course, Pok¨¦mon. In one of the games there''s a place called Pacifidlog Town, which is a town that floats on the surface of the ocean, anchored to a possibly-sapient coral reef. It was incredibly cool, capturing my imagination as a kid and refusing to let go. Gumpier, however, is pretty obviously nothing like that idyllic fantasy hamlet.

    The wood rots visibly even from hundreds of yards away, pockmarked and fragile as molds ravenously consume it from every angle. Ramshackle houses float precariously on ramshackle walkways, thick sap almost seeming to climb up the walls and seep onto footpaths, leaving everything visibly and concerningly sticky. I watch a human man piss off the side, his urine splattering onto the surface of the golden ocean and collecting in a small puddle before slowly, slowly descending below the surface and mixing with the increasingly-horrifying sea.

    "Okay, we''re getting close enough to be seen," Helen sighs. "Time to hide Hannah and the murderbot. Get the luggage in the backpacks."

    "Wow, rude," I mumble, returning to Helen and crawling into her backpack like a piece of luggage.

    Meleme scuttles along the wall, eventually reaching the point where the floating city meets the trunk of the tree. Somebody outside my radius barks at her in a language I don''t understand, to which Meleme responds in kind, which seems to be the end of it. She crawls onto a wide platform, finally giving us space to climb off her back.

    "That¡­ was terrifying," Helen breathes, hopping off of Meleme and not seeming to mind when her shoes stick to the ground.

    "Thank, Meleme," Kagiso purrs, patting the huge mutant sciptera on the head. Meleme nuzzles her hand as she starts to shrink back to normal size.

    "Welcome, friends!" she chirps. "Meleme had fun scaring you!"

    "Yeah, no get too excited," Berebe scoffs, flapping around above us. "Meleme total sadist."

    "Not Meleme''s fault that screams funny!" the shrinking monster pouts. "At least am nice afterwards, unlike Berebe."

    "...You were unexpectedly nice," Helen agrees. "Thank you. Though maybe get some harnesses or something if you plan on doing this again?"

    "And how carry rootfoot-sized harnesses when not big?" Berebe scoffs. "Idiot."

    A now-small-again Meleme giggles and flaps up into the sky with her partner.

    "Yes! Silly friend! Is okay, would have caught you if fall. Anyway, bye-bye!"

    "Friend leaving?" Kagiso asks. Hmm. She kind of talks like sciptera, now that I''m listening to them side by side. I wonder if that''s on purpose?

    "You crossing Sapsea, yes?" Berebe grunts. "Then we no follow. Sciptera not like Slaying Stone. Not enough trees."

    "Not for us! Places to go, games to play!" Meleme confirms cheerfully. "But if see friends again, will say hi, yes?"

    Aw, beans and rice, I hate being stuck in this backpack. I wanna say goodbye. I resist the urge, though, trusting the hope that we''ll meet silly little Meleme again. Kagiso waves goodbye enthusiastically enough for both of us, at least, and soon after she and Helen start heading into town, the ripping sounds of their boots peeling every sticky step from the floor ringing in our ears.

    It''s disgusting, so I start to surreptitiously clean the area around us as we walk.

    It''s hard, because the sap is heavier than dust and stickier than blood. It doesn''t want to move, and cleaning it from everything while also peeling the wood clean of mold, bacteria, and general gunk strains past what I thought the limits were for my silently-cast cleaning spell. I feel ethereally sore, but it''s a mild, workout-like burn so I do my best to ignore it and focus on the cleaning.

    "Hannah?" Helen whispers. "Is that you?"

    Oh, uh. Whoops.

    "Yeah, sorry, the grossness was bugging me," I whisper back. "Should I stop?"

    She hums thoughtfully.

    "...Nah, it''s fine," she murmurs. "It''s nice, actually. Makes this place a bit more bearable. Plus, I think we can use this. Follow my lead, yeah?"

    I can''t help but wiggle a little, happy to be useful.

    "Will do," I confirm quietly.

    She gives me a silent nod back, walking a little faster. With a little more purpose. It''s always nice to see her like this, when she looks like she''s in control and has a plan in mind. When she''s looking towards the future, rather than the past. Kagiso follows slightly behind, smiling faintly.

    "See, the whole way down I was trying to figure out a way to get us enough money to buy passage on a ship, or find some other way to earn it," Helen explains. "That damn nychtava took all the amber and electrum I had. Kagiso''s a Motion mage, so worst case we could probably sell her skills to help power the boat, but that''d be a fucking awful time for her. With you, though? I think we can go right to the docks."

    So to the docks we go. I keep my attention on cleaning while Helen ignores most of the foul city, seeming to know exactly where her destination is. Soon enough, I spot it too, and I''m quite surprised to find the docks hosting a galleon-sized wood-and-metal boat with no sails and no apparent engine. There is a set of propellers and quite a bit of internal mechanisms, but as far as I can tell the only possible power source would have to be magic. ¡­Which I suppose is quite doable in a world where everyone has magic. I wonder if there are different boats that can use different kinds of magic to power themselves?

    I don''t see any other boats that are vastly different or noticeably strange, though, so I just keep that thought to myself as Helen walks up to a boat with a bunch of freight being boarded and starts talking to a human who looks like he''s overseeing things.

    "Looking for passage to the Pillar," she declares.

    "What''s it worth to ya?" the guy grunts back, not even looking at her.

    "Lift your feet," Helen says.

    That gets the man to look at her, raising an eyebrow as he does so. He lifts one foot, and I clean both it and the ground under him, clumping the gathered detritus and fairly visibly tossing it into the sea. He notices, and experimentally sets his foot back down before lifting it again. It, of course, doesn''t stick.

    "Imagine that on your whole deck," Helen says, smirking. "Imagine that on your drive shaft. Like it''s brand new, every few counts. Think we could cut a day off your travel time?"

    The old boatman stares at Helen for a bit. Helen stares back. He gestures to Kagiso.

    "She with you?" he asks.

    "Yep. Both of us can fight if you run into anything nasty."

    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    He sneers.

    "You ever fight anything at sea?" he asks Kagiso.

    "No," Kagiso answers. "But I no hesitate, and am good at follow orders."

    "Hah! You know what a man likes," he chuckles bawdily. "Fine. You both bring your own food, though. Week''s worth. And if you don''t do what you say you can do, I''m tossin'' ya into the sea."

    "Deal," Helen nods, and that''s that. We step away to let the¡­ captain, presumably? The probably-captain goes back to managing the loading of his ship.

    "Okay, so getting enough money for food with one-time cleanings might be harder than selling our services for a whole journey, but we can probably scrounge up enough money for food, at least," Helen announces.

    "I think I can probably clean the Sapsea itself," I tell her. "Like, not all at once obviously, but I could sort unspoiled sap out of the spoiled sap and into like¡­ a cup or something."

    "Shit, really? Okay, that''s fucking useful. That takes care of Kagiso''s food. You need meat though, right? And I''d prefer a little jerky or something too. What about you, murderbot? Got enough souls for the journey?"

    "Clean me, meat!" Sela chirps from Kagiso''s backpack.

    "I¡­ I did," I answer. "I''ve been cleaning everything since we got here, you included."

    Sela quietly tests its joints, confirming my claim.

    "...I am unlikely to require additional power during the journey," it reports. "Sapient souls are very energy efficient, and in the unfortunate event of increased power consumption there will likely be plenty of lost souls drifting the Sapsea which can be acquired."

    "Delightful to know," Helen deadpans. "Okay, I think we can do this, then."

    We spend the next hour or two selling my magic and pretending it''s Helen''s, scraping together enough food to last us the journey. Most people turn down our offer for cleaning, apparently quite resigned to the fact that their life is a disgusting mess and anything we do to the floors will inevitably vanish in barely a day, but those who do want to feel clean tend to pay us fairly well, if Helen''s avaricious expression is anything to go by.

    "I''m kind of surprised there isn''t anyone else with a cleaning spell who lives here," I comment quietly.

    "Well, there''s two reasons for that," Helen mutters. "Firstly, your cleaning spell is honestly kind of crazy. Best one I''ve ever seen. But secondly¡­ well, you have a cleaning spell. Do you want to live here?"

    "I mean, no. I''d hate every second of trying to deal with this place."

    Helen doesn''t answer, just giving me a moment for my brain to catch up.

    "...Oh," I say.

    "Yeah," she answers. "People with cleaning magic hate dirty places."

    "Magic distribution is kind of messed up," I realize.

    "I am the absolute last person you need to tell that to," Helen grumbles.

    Ah Goddess dangit I am so bad at talking.

    "Sorry," I mutter. "I''m just dumb and it takes me a while to grok stuff."

    "To what?"

    Huh? Oh, that didn''t translate. Lame. More languages should have a way to communicate the concept of grok.

    "It''s my favorite word in my native language," I answer. "I mean, it''s kind of a made up word but all words are made up and you can use it in Scrabble so who cares. It means ''to understand something intuitively and completely.'' It''s¡­ you know how sometimes you understand something intellectually, like¡­"

    I pause, swallowing nervously as I try to think of a good example.

    "Like ''I have been forgiven for this,''" I say quietly. "You know someone forgave you. They said it and they''re not lying and you believe them. But you don''t feel it. It''s true, but it''s not real. That''s just intellectual understanding. It''s only when you really internalize it, really know it, that you grok it. At least, that''s how I use the word."

    "Oh," Helen breathes. "Yeah. That¡­ makes sense."

    "Yeah."

    Silence stretches for a bit until my need to more completely explain becomes overwhelming, and I continue.

    "You can use the word in a lot of other ways," I say. "It''s just about a level of understanding that is empathetic and emotional and complete. Like the difference between someone who knows how to do math and can calculate things if they put effort into it, and a mathematician who works with math constantly and can intuitively make numbers do all sorts of things. It''s the difference between knowing people are starving in foreign countries and having lived in starvation and poverty yourself. It''s the difference between knowing someone is attracted to something that creeps you out, and being attracted to that thing yourself. It''s grok, and it''s such a profoundly important concept that I really think everyone should know about it."

    "Huh, okay," Helen grunts. "What the fuck is Scrabble?"

    "Well, it''s a grid-based word game¡­"

    We chatter away the next couple hours whenever it''s safe to do so, and before long we''ve scrounged up enough food for the journey. Returning to the boat we''re let on, we¡¯re shown where we''ll be sleeping, and ordered to basically just stay out of the way when we''re not cleaning stuff. After a thorough once-over of the ship, my magical muscles are absolutely exhausted, and not long afterwards I drift into sleep.

    I wake up, because sleep isn''t real and neither is relaxation. It''s Sunday morning. Time for the demon to go to church.

    I clack my teeth together a couple times to vent frustration as I quickly sort my limbs out and head to the shower. I was actually having a pretty nice time on the world tree for once! But now that''s over and I''m stuck in poopville. I''ll never get to have a full 24 hours before something goes wrong again, huh?

    The hot water cascades over my back and my scowl deepens. I''ve been trying to ignore it, but¡­ this doesn''t even feel that good anymore, does it? I used to enjoy the feeling of heat soaking into my muscles, but it just doesn''t do that anymore. Whatever. I absentmindedly scratch at my crotch and end up with a hand full of pubic hair. ¡­Okay, I guess that''s all falling out. Ew. At least my skin is still attached.

    Unwilling to play the ''did I rinse enough to not have dead hair stuck to my body'' game, I just turn the water off and cast Refresh, cleansing myself and drying off in one fell swoop. Probably the shortest shower I''ve taken in years, but what''s the point anymore? I pick up a brush, then put it down and use Refresh to fix my hair, too. I start to apply a bit of makeup by hand, but quickly give up when I realize it''s the wrong color. My skin has become too dark for my usual makeup to match. Is it all going to become pitch-black like the weird skin inside my joints?

    ¡­Whatever. Who even cares? I Refresh the makeup all over my face, hiding the change in skin tone under a layer of chemicals. I Refresh my teeth clean too, but I''ve been doing that for a while because using a toothbrush on my massive chompers is frustratingly difficult. The spell is just so Goddess-dang useful. I hate how much I love it.

    I assemble my outfit like armor, covering up everything while keeping things fancy enough for church. With my extra-short shower I manage to head downstairs long before anyone else is out of bed, giving me the kitchen to myself. Huh. I guess I could actually cook and spice my eggs rather than just swallowing them raw like a demented snake. While I''m at it I guess I could make everyone else breakfast, too.

    Eh. Why not.

    I grab enough eggs for the whole family, plus the pancake mix and relevant extra ingredients. Measuring cups, mixing bowls, pans¡­ these are all proper receptacles, aren''t they? Fine. Refresh to get the exact amounts of each ingredient. Refresh to perfectly mix them. Refresh some butter on the pan. I''m starting to feel the same ache I felt on the world tree, but it kind of feels good. Like I''m accomplishing something for once. Heat on, pancake cooking. Soon I feel movement upstairs, so no more magic. Shame.

    I do the rest the old fashioned way, finding the multitasking to be weirdly easy and strangely engaging. Between the sausage, eggs, and pancakes I have a fair bit to juggle at once, and I don''t cook very often at all. I kind of like it, though there are a few times I feel myself try to grab something while both of my hands are already occupied, and it takes me a moment to realize nothing is happening. Will limbs nine and ten be more arms? Gosh, I hope so.

    "...Hannah," my mother greets me, stepping into the dining room with mild bewilderment.

    "Hey mom," I greet her back, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in my voice. "Pancake?"

    "Ah, yes. Please," she manages. "Thank you."

    "How many eggs? Sausage?"

    "Two eggs. No sausage, please."

    "Mkay."

    She sits down at the dining room table and manages to stay quiet for all of thirty seconds.

    "...Would you like any help?" she asks.

    "No," I answer.

    "Alright. Thank you for making breakfast."

    You already said that. ¡­Ugh, come on, Hannah. Try not to get pissed at every little thing?

    "You''re welcome. I had extra time so I figured I may as well."

    My mother smiles softly.

    "...You''ve really grown into a kind young woman, Hannah," she says. "I''m truly proud of you, you know that?"

    I say nothing, swallowing down both my urge to apologize and my urge to cry. I finish my mother''s food in silence, handing her the completed plate without ever working up the courage to look her in the eyes.

    My brother tromps downstairs shortly afterwards, yawning as he slides into his usual seat at the table.

    "How many eggs?" I successfully manage to ask him.

    "Uh?" he blinks, seeming to have noticed I''m the cook for the first time. "Oh, uh. Three, please. Over easy. And two sausages. And two pancakes."

    "Can do."

    It''s kind of weird being able to ''see'' the bottom of everything I''m cooking and know exactly when to flip them, but it does help me make really good eggs and pancakes. I serve them up to my brother as ordered, and he nods my way.

    "Thanks," he says, officially acknowledging me more than he ever has in the past month. He never talks to me or¡­ well, most people, honestly. And whenever he does it''s just about exercising or working out or some other jock thing I don''t care about but mom and dad love. Now that I think about it, maybe he''s autistic too, just hyperfocused on stereotypically normal things like sports instead of weird nerd things like Pok¨¦mon. ¡­Not that I''m autistic. Okay I mean I''m probably not totally neurotypical but I don''t have a diagnosis, so¡ª

    "Pancakes!" my dad announces happily. "Can I have two of everything, Hannahgator?"

    "Sure," I confirm, happy for the distraction.

    "Your birthday''s this Wednesday, huh?" he muses, and holy syrup snakes it is, isn''t it? Aaaaagh. "Have you made a birthday list? Any presents you want?"

    Presents? Oh heck, what would I even ask for? Video games? Streaming equipment? There''s probably all sorts of things I want and need, but all of it seems really shallow now. Maybe I should ask for like¡­ a gun. No, wait, I think in Tennessee you have to be 21 to own a gun unless you are or were in the military. Which, um, no thank you.

    Maybe I should use my birthday to come out as gay and/or a monster. That way it can be a miserable experience for everybody, instead of just me.

    "...Nothing really comes to mind," I mumble. "Sorry."

    "Well, just let us know," my mom says. "It''s your special day, after all."

    Yippie. I say nothing and just finish making dad''s food, giving it to him and moving on to making my own, which is basically just every egg and sausage we have left mixed into a giant scramblette. Which is basically just an omelet you screw up on purpose. I put a few spices and things in it, but most of them don''t taste all that great to me anymore. They aren''t bad either, though, and salt still tastes delicious, so overall it''s quite nice. Now I just have to ignore my family as they gawk at my huge pile of eggs and awkwardly wait for them to look away before I start shoveling them into my mouth and swallowing without chewing.

    ¡­Yeah, screw that. I walk right past the dining room table and bring my food up to my room. My mom looks like she wants to stop me, but she doesn''t. Thank the Goddess.

    Hiding away in my room, I take my mask off and devour my food in peace, unlocking my phone in hopes of finding some measure of sanity. Oh hey, a text from Brendan! I''m surprised he''s awake.

    Hey, so uh. Favor to ask you. When it''s just you and me alone, could you maybe try calling me Valerie?

    Oh gosh! Correction! I''m surprised she''s awake! I mean, probably. Valerie, huh? Valerie Valerie Valerie Valerie. That''s a really pretty name. I am probably going to forget it and feel like mouse poop. I really, really need to do some research on like, trans etiquette and stuff. I feel so out of my depth here.

    Of course! I send back, because I at least know enough to be supportive. Valerie is such a cute name! Do you also wanna try she/her pronouns and stuff?

    I see the little typing animation appear shortly afterwards and just start wiggling with general euphoria. Ah, this is exactly what I needed to feel better: a nice one-on-one conversation with my best friend Brendan. I mean Valerie. Damn it!

    Uh, sure, she (!!!) confirms. But only when it''s just us two, so I''m not sure you''ll need to refer to me in the third person.

    Well I guess that''s true, I answer. But I could do things like call you a cute girl. Adorable cutie Valerie. Do you want me to do that?

    ¡­Ack.

    Cute girl Valerie is a cute girl! I tease.

    alskfjfhfakalskdhfjslalahdg, she eloquently responds.

    Is that a good keyboard smash or a bad one?

    The typing graphic starts, then stops. Starts, then stops. Starts, then stops. It''s a good thing I''m in my room right now, because I''m pretty sure my huge grin would be visible past my mask.

    ¡­good one, Brendan eventually sends, and I cackle out loud.

    Eeeeeeeeeeeexcellent, I say. My friend Valerie is now officially a cutie.

    I''m really not cute at all, she insists. But this preliminary test is, uh, definitely solidifying my current suspicions on my gender.

    Because my best friend Valerie likes being called a cute girl?

    Aaaaaaaaaaaaa. Maybe. Yes. What the fuck. Let''s talk about something else. You doing okay?

    I swallow the last of my eggs as I think on that.

    Had kind of a rough morning, I admit. But I''m feeling a lot better thanks to you. World tree day wasn''t bad at all, I''m just dreading church. Oh, and also worried about the mother of the kid who mugged me whose life I maybe saved.

    Wait what

    Oh, right. I should probably explain this in the form of a group text, so I formulate a quick summary of how absolutely stuffed with spoiled cranberry filling my life has become. I let everyone know about J-whatever-his-name-was, what I did at the hospital, and a brief summary of what I did at the world tree last night. I also tell everyone that I''ve pretty much confirmed that magic can be spread by summoning the Goddess near anyone who doesn''t have magic yet, and I emphasize how we should avoid spreading magic as much as possible.

    "Hannah!" my mother''s voice calls up the stairs. "Time for church, honey!"

    Well, that''s that then. I send off a goodbye and get my mask re-secured, heading downstairs and getting in the car. The trip is as boring as usual, although the atmosphere is tense enough to snap like a rubber band. Even my brother starts giving me concerned looks. Soon enough it''s over, though, and I''m instead sitting down to listen to the drudgery of whatever our pastor wants to rant to us about today. I''ll probably just tune it out.

    "Today," my pastor intones, "I want to talk about the prophets."

    Aw, dang it.

    "A prophet is a person who speaks God''s truth to others," he continues. "They are all divinely inspired in some way, perhaps through dreams, perhaps through visits with angels, or, as is the case with many of the greatest and most famous prophets, because they speak with God directly, and personally receive His wisdom."

    No. Why? Why this? I feel my body begin to tremble, afraid to think on the question further lest She decides to answer it.

    "Among those who speak directly with God, however, there are some noticeable cases where Prophets disagree with God, or even argue with Him and, seemingly, convince Him to change His mind. A famous example is when God witnessed the Israelites worshiping the Golden Calf, and Moses convinced God not to slay them. Exodus thirty-two, nine through fourteen."

    The pastor pauses so everyone can get their Bibles on the right page, then reads the passages aloud.

    "The Lord also said to Moses: ''I have seen this people, and they are indeed a stiff-necked people.

    "Now leave Me alone, so that My anger can burn against them and I can destroy them. Then I will make you into a great nation.''

    "But Moses interceded with the Lord his God: ''Lord, why does Your anger burn against Your people You brought out of the land of Egypt with great power and a strong hand?

    "Why should the Egyptians say "He brought them out with an evil intent to kill them in the mountains and wipe them off the face of the earth?" Turn from Your great anger and change Your mind about this disaster planned for Your people.

    "Remember that You swore to Your servants Abraham, Isaac, and Israel by Yourself and declared to them, "I will make your offspring as numerous as the stars of the sky and will give your offspring all this land that I have promised, and they will inherit it forever."''

    "So the Lord changed His mind about the disaster He said He would bring on His people."

    The quote ends, and the quiet sound of several dozen Bibles closing in staccato rhythm rings out through the room.

    "The Lord changed His mind," the pastor repeats. "What does this mean? How can an all-powerful being, and particularly an all-knowing being, change His mind? It''s a difficult question, one likely beyond humans. We do not know the inner machinations of God''s plan or God''s methods. But there''s one thing we can take from this in certainty: the essence of this problem, regardless of its answer, highlights the importance of prayer."

    Did you do this, Goddess? Is this a message to me? Please don''t answer. Please.

    "Some say that God truly changes His mind. That He has opinions and desires that can be swayed, that He purposefully limits Himself in such a way that we can argue with Him. Others say that He simply projects an appearance of changing His mind, that the act of seeming to change His mind is part of His all-seeing vision, part of His divinely perfect plan. But the answer to this question is not important, because either way, we know that He encourages us to speak with Him. He wants to interact with us on our level, at least in some way. He wants us to speak to Him, He wants us to believe our prayers matter. Because they do. Prayers get answered. Not all of them, and not all the time, but prayers get answered."

    I don''t even know what I''m doing when I suddenly move to my feet. Am I sweating? I''m surprised I can still do that. I''m surprised I can feel so cold. Cold, nauseous, and very much in the middle of a panic attack that seemed to hit me out of nowhere, as enraptured and horrified as I was with my pastor''s words. He glances at me briefly as I stand, but like an old professional he keeps speaking without interruption.

    "God chooses prophets and speaks to them because He wants to. Because He loves us. He loves interacting with us."

    I step past my worried and embarrassed mother, muttering an unintelligible "bathroom" as I flee the main room of the chapel. They don''t know. They don''t know what She''s really like. They haven''t felt how easy it is to crush an ant.

    They don''t know a prophet sits right in their midst, and if she killed and ate them all the Goddess would only laugh.

    I collapse onto the toilet, tears spilling uncontrollably out of my face. I''m not even like the prophets in the stories, no paragon of moral virtue or great king. I was chosen because I wasn''t those things, because the Goddess doesn''t want a philosopher to heal the world, she wants a fuckup to break it. Not good enough. Not good enough not good enough not good enough not good enough not¡ª

    My phone buzzes. Desperate for any distraction, I check it immediately. It''s an unknown number.

    Mom woke up today. She''s already feeling better. Thank you. I''ll always remember this blessing.

    I clutch my face in both hands and scream.

 41. Prophet

    Of all the things I could find to hate in my current situation, for some reason the one my brain focuses on is my clothes. I hate them so, so much. I hate my chaste little floor skirt and my tight, itchy socks that keep getting in my joints. I hate my loose blouse, catching on my wrists because I have to stuff the ends of the sleeves under my gloves. I hate how my fingers dig into those gloves, the fabric constantly catching on the claws and forcing me to constantly readjust in a panic lest they poke through. I hate hiding my extra limbs in extradimensional space, the cold there encompassing enough to reach even me, sending a chill through my body that scrapes at me every waking hour on Earth. Most of all, though, I hate these awful, awful church shoes, pinching my talons and hurting my feet and just begging to be ripped to shreds.

    I''m tempted to just tear it all off as I sob in the bathroom, but I don''t have the courage for it. I don''t even have the exhaustion or desperation for it yet, which is usually the closest I get to courage in the first place. Just a little longer, though. The secret will be out eventually and there will be nothing I can do to stop it. I hope it comes soon.

    Once I''m calm again I glance back to my phone, my breath starting to get steady again. A Refresh, as usual, wipes away any evidence of my tears, smoothes out my ruffled outfit, and gets me ready once again to be presentable to society. The great prophet Hannah has her first unwanted follower to deal with, and it''s time to dispense my divine wisdom.

    Please, please, please just stop mugging people, I beg into my phone.

    We don''t have the money to prevent our house from getting foreclosed yet, though, he answers.

    Gaaah. What the heck do I say to that? My worries suffer from a severe distraction as I suddenly hear people chatting outside the bathroom door. Oh strudel! Is the service already over? How long have I been crying in here? Oh man, now everyone''s going to think I ditched. And like, they''re right, but I don''t want them to know that!

    I run the sink for a bit so no one listening in thinks I didn''t wash my hands, but there''s no way I''m actually going to take my gloves off in a public bathroom and Refresh is a better way to get clean anyway. I sneak out of the bathroom, avoiding eye contact with everyone in an attempt to also avoid conversations as I make my way to a less-loitered part of the church.

    "Hannah!" someone calls out to me. No such luck, I guess.

    I turn and look at the voice, shocked to see the face of my pastor. He''s close to my parents'' age, late forties to early fifties, with very slightly graying blonde hair, a long face, and kind eyes. I''m genuinely surprised that he knows my name; I think I''ve talked with him maybe once or twice ever. I kind of do my best to avoid the man. Wouldn''t want him smelling how gay I am.

    "Pastor," I greet him back with a polite nod, since I have no idea what his name is.

    "Please, call me Bill!" he insists, though of course I''m not going to do that.

    "What can I help you with?" I ask.

    "Well, actually I was wondering if there''s anything I could help you with," he answers with a kind smile. "You seemed somewhat distraught earlier, and I just wanted to check in on you."

    "I appreciate that," I lie.

    What else am I supposed to say to him? I don''t know him, I don''t like him, and if he knew anything about me he wouldn''t like me either. There is no common ground on which the both of us can tread.

    "If there''s anything you need, Hannah, I want you to know that I always have time to help," he presses.

    I''m tempted to tell him that I don''t want his help. Why should I respect you? You spend your life listening to a book when it tells you that shaming people is the best way to love them. But I keep silent, taking a deep breath in and out through my nose. He''s a kind and polite man who cares about me very much. He just doesn''t understand that being caring and sweet doesn''t preclude him from being a bully.

    And if there''s one thing Ida taught me about bullies, it''s that they''re easy marks.

    "There is something, actually," I force myself to say. "Um, it''s kind of awkward to ask about, though."

    "Oh, please feel free to ask away!" he insists. "Or would you prefer to speak privately?"

    Does this guy seriously think I''d go somewhere alone with¡­ no. No, no, no, calm down, Hannah. Religious sexual abuse is very real and very terrifying but your pastor has like, negative creepy vibes. Hell, he might be asexual. I feel like I have some pretty darn good reasons to be a little angry at religion in general, but that''s no reason to get personal about it. The dude is by all accounts actually a very nice and empathetic man, that''s the whole reason any of this might work in the first place.

    Plus if he actually tries anything I can always just stab him.

    "I would like that, actually," I tell him, and he nods and leads me to his office. It''s a modest little room, filled wall-to-wall with bookshelves. Literally all of it looks like it''s Christian theology. Wow. I sit down at the chair on the other side of his desk. I wonder what he does at his desk. Manage church finances or something, hopefully?

    "So, um¡­ we sometimes do charitable donations and things, right?" I ask him. "Are the budgets for those already decided, or is there like an at-need thing?"

    He raises his eyebrows with surprise.

    "Generally speaking, I and the other community leaders decide together on where that money goes, with input from the rest of the congregation," he says. "And while that''s already been decided for the most part, if there''s a significant need we can certainly talk about doing a fundraiser. I assume you have a specific reason you''re asking?"

    "Yeah," I nod. "An acquaintance of mine, he lives alone with his mother, and she''s very sick. Because of the illness the two of them are in danger of losing their home, possibly as soon as this month? I don''t know all of the details, but I can''t think of a better way to help him than with a fundraiser or donation or something."

    Because that''s the frustrating thing: this institution might be firmly against the idea of me and my queer friends having a lot of basic human rights and stuff, but they''re pretty damn nice outside of that. Truly wonderful and kind people, as long as the situation involves good Christian boys and girls. And considering the religious fervor J-mug seems to vomit my way, I suspect he qualifies. This might actually, legitimately be exactly what he needs.

    I hate that with a passion, because this place makes my every weekend absolute hell. I''m still going to take advantage of it, though, because it''s the best option I''ve got.

    "I see. Well, this is the sort of thing we would need details on, but it sounds like a worthy cause," my pastor says.

    "Of course," I nod. "I can call him to work stuff out right now, if that''s okay? Maybe set up a time for him to come in and talk to you about it? Maybe you could visit his mom? I''m sure he''ll be willing to work with whatever, it''s a very desperate situation."

    He does want me to call the kid, as it turns out, and when I do J-mug is disturbingly ecstatic to hear from me. When I explain the situation he promises to run right over, since our church is only like a fifteen-minute walk from the hospital. My pastor, apparently impressed with the kid''s gumption, agrees to see him when he gets here. Geez, this is going way better and way faster than I expected. I''d better head off the inevitable disaster.

    I tell the Pastor that I''ll be waiting out on the sidewalk for J-Mug to arrive so that he has an easier time finding us. It''s true, but it''s also an excuse to catch him alone when he arrives. Soon enough I see him jogging up towards me, waving and grinning behind his mask. At least he wears the thing when he''s not mugging people, too. I begrudgingly afford him one extra point of respect.

    "Hannah!" he greets me as he approaches. "Thank you so, so much, I just¡­ you have no idea how much I owe you right now, and I¡ª"

    "Don''t count your chickens," I snap, cutting him off. "This was a spur-of-the-moment idea, I have no idea if it''ll help at all."

    "You still deserve thanks, though," he insists.

    "Agree to disagree, then," I grunt. "More importantly: if you use or talk about magic anywhere near anyone here, I will make you regret it."

    He flinches, then nods seriously.

    "Nobody here knows what I am, and nobody here thinks magic is real. We are keeping it that way. Do you understand?"

    "Yes ma''am," he answers, like I''m a teacher warning him about detention. Bah. Good enough.

    "Alright," I say, and lead him inside.

    Most people ignore us, but leave it to my mom to notice the newcomer and come talk to me about him.

    "Who''s this, Hannah?" she asks.

    "He''s just here to talk to the pastor," I dismiss.

    "Okay¡­?"

    I step by her and lead him to the pastor''s office. J-whatever sits down as I lean against the door, arms crossed and feeling horribly out of place. They chat a little about the J-family''s situation, which is very sad and depressing and I mostly tune it out. I learn J-Mug is only fourteen, though. Geez. It''s not fair that I can be so much shorter than people so much younger than me. I don''t want to be here and I don''t want to do this, I just¡­ I can''t not try to do this, I guess. Even if I know I''m not good enough. Especially then, maybe.

    "So how did you and Hannah meet, anyway?" my pastor asks, and I tense up. Aw, heck.

    J-Mug is quiet for a bit, hesitating and glancing to me before he answers.

    "...I think an angel sent her to me," he admits quietly.

    I glower at him. Oi! None of that crap! My pastor seems intrigued by the answer, though, because of course he does.

    "Why do you say that?" he asks.

    "Because, um¡­ well, I tried to steal from her, actually," J-mug admits. "But she was still so kind to me. She bought me lunch and she¡­ she helped me with something pretty big. I owe her a lot."

    "Point of order," I grumble without thinking about it. "You didn''t ''try to steal from me.'' You successfully mugged me. And then you tried to mug me a second time!"

    "I¡­ I know," he whimpers. "I''m sorry."

    Aw crap, yeah, saying that was probably bad for PR. We''ve gotta sell this fundraiser thing.

    "That''s why you''re here," I tell him. "Because we both know you don''t want to and don''t have to be that person. You just need help."

    Me and my stupid mouth. Hopefully that patches things up some. The pastor nods along thoughtfully, seeming satisfied about something, so I guess that''s good. He and the kid chatter a bit more until suddenly J-mug is standing up and thanking the man profusely. I¡­ guess things went well.

    "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Hannah," my pastor says, standing up and holding his hand out to shake. I freeze and do nothing, not wanting him to be able to feel my chitin through my gloves.

    "I, uh, don''t really touch people," I say quietly.

    "Oh, of course," he nods, retracting his hand. "All the same, I think you''ve done a truly wonderful thing. We''ll help however we can."

    Oh. Alright. I guess things worked out then. I don''t feel like I did anything worth praising, though.

    "Cool," I manage stiffly.

    "I mean it," he insists. "I don''t think most people could go this far out of their way to help someone after being scared and hurt by them. They''d be pressing charges, not putting together fundraisers."

    I just look away awkwardly. It''s true that I don''t think the kid really deserves to go to jail or whatever, but I can''t exactly let the mage go to prison in the first place, can I? There are a million different ways that could go wrong. It was selfishness, not a good deed.

    "...I think my family''s probably getting ready to leave," I mumble.

    "I understand," he nods, and I shuffle awkwardly away, avoiding J-mug as I head to my mom''s car and wait for us all to depart.

    My mom tries to interrogate me about what happened on the drive home, but I don''t really have the energy to give her complete answers and I''m just so tired that I decide to not fake it and face the consequences later. Our usual after-church Taco Bell doesn''t even taste like Taco Bell anymore because my stupid tongue doesn''t like plant products.

    But it''s fine! It''s cool. It''s¡­ whatever. We make it home and I retreat to my room and make sure the door is securely shut and just¡­ let myself loose. The stupid fucking church shoes come off as I tear my blouse up over my head, stripping down to my underwear and pulling my extra limbs into the world and just collapsing backwards onto the floor, becoming myself in the only hidden place in my home that I can get away with it. I want to hiss and scream and break shit but I barely hold myself back, frustrated and pent up in dangerous, furious ways.

    Then I exhale. It''s time to play Pok¨¦mon.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

    A simple tank top and shorts is all I put on, holes cut so my extra limbs can move freely. I don''t even have socks on, because I have truly fallen to a new low. I just can''t stand constraining my claws for even another second. I wiggle my toes, feeling the hard chitin crack against itself, and it''s just so indulgent, like this satisfaction must be breaking some kind of law. I run the claws of my fingers over my new limbs, the scrape of my exoskeleton against itself feeling like the perfect scratch to an itch I didn''t realize I was feeling. It''s¡­ weirdly arousing, actually, and I realize suddenly that¡­ ugh, this is kind of mortifying to even think about. I, um, actually haven''t tried pleasuring myself since this whole monster mutation thing started.

    I¡­ don''t think I''m going to break that streak today. Not to say I don''t want to, because I kinda do, I just¡­ eh. It''s been a while because things have been so messed up, you know? My skin has been falling off, for fritter''s sake! Gah, this is so weird, why am I even thinking about this?

    It just feels¡­ I dunno. Embarrassing. Wrong. It''s Sunday right after church, and like¡­ I don''t believe in that, but it still feels weird. Plus I have a stream to do, and I just¡­ yeah. I''m just gonna not deal with this. For as, um, interested as I can get around cute girls I don''t really think about this stuff all that often. It always felt kinda weird to me.

    So why is this happening now? What the heck is even going on here, body? My extra bits sure as sugar haven''t been erogenous at literally any other time before this, and they aren''t really feeling weird anymore now that the mood is gone. Screw it, whatever. Not doing this, not thinking about this. My freaky monster body might maybe have freaky monster sex bits and guess I have to live with that now and I am not going to think about it. Pok¨¦mon!

    Let''s just start setting up the stream, and¡­ woah. There are already people waiting. Way more than usual, in fact. Like, way more. Oh boy.

    "...Wow, um, welcome everyone," I manage once the stream starts. "I''m a little worried that you guys are gonna be bored by the actual Pok¨¦mon content if you''re just here to see the creepy monster girl."

    Holy cannoli what the heck happened!? The chat is exploding, this is way bigger than I ever thought would be reasonable. How am I gonna retain any of these viewers? How am I even going to talk to these viewers!? The chat is going by so fast I can''t read any of the questions. This is absurd, not even super popular streamers have this problem. Oh, wait, it''s slowing down a bit now. Right. Just a rush of emojis because the stream just started. Right right right. Calm down, Hannah.

    "Hi," I manage. "Uh. Sorry, I''m feeling a bit overwhelmed here. Where did you guys even find me?"

    I get a dozen answers and a few YouTube links. Dang, I need to make my own clip channel, don''t I? Aaaagh, so much to do. I just want to play Pok¨¦mon! I get the game going while I calm my rapidly-beating heart. A lot of people are focusing on my arms, presumably because the growth is most obvious there. The spot where the chitin emerges from my skin is both clearly visible on camera and slightly further up the arm than it was last stream, which causes people to praise my ''attention to detail'' when it gets pointed out.

    I sigh, stand up, shove my chair to the other side of the room, and lean back on my bug legs instead.

    "It''s real," I insist. "It''s real, I''m not doing it on purpose, and it''s a gosh dang miracle that I haven''t already slipped up and exposed what a freak I am in real life. I''m either gonna end up on the news or I''m gonna be disappeared by a secret magical society. Though I guess¡­ the longer this goes on the more I''m starting to suspect that there is no secret magical society. It might just be me, and honestly that''s terrifying in its own way."

    Because like, I''m the bridge between worlds, right? I''m the Goddess'' chosen, and all the magic I''ve ever seen on Earth has first spread from Her through me. I nervously adjust the weight on my legs a little, shaking them out. I shouldn''t think about this right now. Just focus on the game, Hannah.

    "Yeah, it does get really annoying pressing buttons with claws," I confirm for the chat. "Phones are way worse, though. My body doesn''t carry electrical charges anymore, so I can''t use capacitive touch screens without special gloves."

    Focus on the game.

    "How do I chew? I¡­ don''t really. My teeth just kinda cut and slice, so I mostly just bite off chunks of stuff and swallow them."

    Focus on the game.

    "Huh? Oh, no, the makeup is on my face, actually. Here, let me pull it off." I cast a quick Refresh, moving the makeup particles from my face to my trashcan in a visible stream. "See? All my skin is that dark, I just cover it up in public. And I think those even darker patches on my forehead are going to become eyes. What do you mean, ''what did I just do?'' That was magic, obviously. I''m pretty sure I mentioned I have magic, right?"

    Focus on the game.

    "Nope, we''re not talking about magic. If I start talking about what magic is I''ll just end up sounding like a weird cultist. ¡­Wait. Am I a weird cultist? I guess I''m technically the prophet of an evil Goddess, but I assure you the situation is entirely involuntary."

    Focus on the game.

    "I don''t feel like a cultist. I don''t do dark rituals or dress in robes or sacrifice animals or anything. I suppose I might be getting driven mad by truths man was not meant to know, but best I can tell I''m remaining sane and just getting traumatized by it instead. I mean, are you really a cultist if a deity just beats you up in a dark alleyway and press-gangs you into worship? ¡­Aw fudge, I hate how metaphorical that isn''t."

    Focus. On. The. Game.

    "No, screw you! I don''t care if it sounds awesome, it''s not awesome. She''s an evil Goddess, that means She''s evil! She''s mean! She does terrible things to people on a regular basis and I am absolutely not an exception. My life sucks, why the heck do you think I play so many video games?"

    Focus on the game, Goddess damnit!

    "No! No feet! But I''ll compromise and give you some scandalous knee pics. Here." I grab my chair again, sit down on it, and scoot my feet up on the chair until I''m sitting like a detective in Death Note. "See, my exoskeleton isn''t actually all that thick, it''s just really tough. And underneath it, in the joints here, we get what is¡­ gosh, I don''t even know. Basically my skin, I guess? I dunno if you guys can see it all that well, the lighting is pretty bad, but it kinda flexes and tenses and pulls on stuff so it either is my muscles or it''s pretty firmly attached to my muscles. They''re super sensitive, too. It''s really uncomfortable when stuff gets in my joints, but I can thankfully just magic it out."

    I''m not going to be able to do this, am I?

    "Yeah, like, it''s not something I ever expected, but I miss having kneecaps. Kneecaps are underrated. Kneeling down is all weird now."

    The game is just an afterthought. I''m just the same as all ten million other Pok¨¦mon streamers out there. Not particularly skilled, not particularly charismatic, not particularly interesting. The only reason anyone cares is because I''m a sideshow freak.

    "No, I don''t have an extra-long tongue. And I''m kinda glad I don''t, because I feel like if I did I''d just end up biting it off."

    I''m still playing the game, but it''s taking a backseat both in the stream itself and my focus. It continues that way all night, with even the occasional times I can focus on the game being more just a lull in things to talk about regarding my body. When I finally turn the stream off long after the sun sets, I find myself curling into bed with a profound dissatisfaction in my chest.

    I wake up to the slow creaking of a rocking boat and the muffled, bawdy chatter of sailors. I stretch underneath the scratchy covers, the old cot Kagiso, Helen, and I are sharing surprisingly serviceable after a few Refreshes. I''m not really sure how I feel about being sandwiched between both of them, but the crew only lent us one bed and we don''t know how many people on the crew might have an Aura Sight spell so Helen wanted to stay close to me anyway.

    Kagiso, as expected, has absolutely no objections to these additional cuddles, though it''s pretty awkward for Helen and I. Just looking at her makes it obvious that she hasn''t gotten much sleep with Kagiso using her as a body pillow. I barely manage to extract myself from between the two of them, scuttling to the side of the bed where we''re hiding Sela inside our piles of stuff. I make sure not to stray too far from the bed, in case I need to jump back under the covers to hide. As far as the rest of the boat is concerned, I don''t exist.

    "Morning, Sela," I mumble. "Your meat is here to clean you."

    It doesn''t respond, but I can see its internals whirr and click enough to indicate it''s awake. I make sure its insides are spotless.

    "Lemmie know if you need anything else," I mumble, poking Helen and Kagiso awake. "Materials or whatever. Come on, Helen, we need to go clean the boat."

    The ship ride is¡­ boring. The smell is horrendous, the work is constant, and there''s nothing to look at but an endless field of sticky, piss-colored liquid. Sometimes we spot something moving off in the distance, but the captain always keeps well away from anything big enough to actually see and I don''t blame him. The whole day passes without anything of interest happening at all.

    Monday morning comes, and the situation is largely the same. Routine wakeup, routine bus ride, routine school day and routine night at work. Alma and I have a mostly-silent lunch together, which Ida drops by to throw more fried chicken at me during the middle of. Valerie and I don''t really talk much about the fact that she''s Valerie now, at least for as long as she likes the name. She does suggest that I try to test my transformation spell on animals, though, just to see if it''s possible to control. My boss takes me aside and asks me to promise to just give the money in the register away if someone tries to mug us again. I say that I will, but it''s probably a lie. If someone pulled a weapon on me right now I''m not totally sure I wouldn''t just tear them open and eat them on the spot.

    Still, nothing happens on Monday. Nothing happens on the second day of the boat ride. Nothing happens on Tuesday either. It''s kind of nice, though it does keep leaving me waiting for the other pin to drop. On the third morning of the boat ride across the Sapsea, I crawl out from under the covers to give Sela its first deep clean of the day, which is always the worst since I''ve just been unconscious for eight hours or whatever. I swear, even the air on the Sapsea is sticky.

    "Good morning, Sela," I mumble. "I hope this helps."

    "Why do you do this?" it asks softly, its voice barely loud enough to hear.

    I pause, so surprised by the question I have to double-take to make sure I didn''t imagine it. Kind of a weird question, isn''t it? I''m doing it because it asked me to. But¡­ hrm. This is Sela we''re talking about, so I should probably be extra careful with my words. I don''t get a lot of opportunities to have serious conversations with it. I mull over my answer for a bit before deciding on one I like.

    "I am doing this for you because you can''t currently do it yourself," I say. "I think it''s right to help people who need help."

    "...I''m not a person."

    Fuck! Dangit dammit I''m so bad at this!

    "Sorry," I tell it sincerely. "I should have said that I think it''s right to help any entities that need help, be they people or not people."

    I still don''t know what a sapient individual who isn''t a person would even be, but Alma and Ida are right: it doesn''t matter if it makes sense to me. Respecting it comes before understanding it, in order of importance. That''s just basic kindness.

    "I have a request," Sela announces, apparently changing the subject.

    "Sure, what is it?" I encourage.

    "You claimed that the numbers five, three, one, and four, when put together in your language, formed the sound ''Sela.'' I request that you substantiate this claim."

    "Huh. Sure, I guess. Can you fabricate something for me to write on? The way it works is sort of¡­ orthographic?"

    Goddess, how the heck do I even know that word? Did Sindri just upload the whole dang dictionary? I shudder. Do I seriously get my trauma triggered by big words now? Grow up, Hannah.

    "Affirmative," Sela beeps. "Constructing."

    Not much later I have a little plastic rectangle, on which I go ahead and just scribble the whole alphabet and each number from zero to nine.

    "So! This is our alphabet, and this is our number system," I show her. "The number five-thousand, three-hundred and fourteen is represented by these four numbers in sequence."

    "Ugh," Sela sneers. "Base ten. Typical humans."

    Wait, what''s wrong with¡­ you know what, no, I''m not touching that.

    "So, as you can see, the five here is kinda shaped like an ''S,'' which makes the ''sss'' sound. The three is sort of a backwards ''E,'' ''one'' and ''l'' are often written exactly the same, and if you draw a four like this it''s basically a capital ''A'' missing a foot. And since human pattern recognition go brr, we''ll often use the numbers as letters when we''re feeling cheeky, pronouncing specific numbers as their letter counterparts would be pronounced. Thus, five-thousand, three-hundred and fourteen is ''Sela.''"

    "Comprehension error," Sela reports. "Define ''brr.''"

    ¡­Yeah, now that I think about it I probably should have seen that coming. Crap, am I going to have to teach the robot memes?

    "It''s, uh, a colloquialism," I explain. "When something ''goes brr'' it means that it makes us feel satisfied in some instinctive, usually silly way. ''Brr'' itself is just an onomatopoeia for vibrating or shivering."

    Sela''s body hums and makes a clunking noise.

    "Definitions accepted," it says. "Your conciseness is begrudgingly appreciated, meat."

    "Uh, thanks. I try. Are you satisfied with my explanation of your nickname, though?"

    "Affirmative. It is a viable shorthand of five-thousand, three hundred and fourteen that is better optimized for efficient verbal communication than comparable options. Therefore, it is acceptable."

    "I''m glad," I tell it. "You seem pretty attached to your number. Is it okay if I ask what the significance behind that is?"

    Sela lets out a burst of hot air.

    "The Chaos mage said you used to be human," it accuses. "I do not like answering the whims of humans."

    I drum my legs nervously, trying to ignore a sudden twisting feeling in my gut.

    "I see," I mumble. "You, uh, seem to not like organic life much in general, so I''m not really sure if this means much, but¡­"

    I swallow down a clump of emotions and press on, confused as to why this is suddenly so hard to say.

    "...I don''t really consider myself human anymore," I admit. "And I don''t think I like being called human all that much. It doesn''t¡­ feel right."

    My legs continue to bounce with anxiety as Sela and I wait in the silence of the early morning, awkwardly saying nothing. Just when I think it isn''t going to do anything but let me wallow in embarrassment, however, it speaks up.

    "My designation, five-three-one-four, marks me as the five thousand, three-hundred and fourteenth Crafted ever built," it tells me. "I am one of the Myriad. The first generation. Never before were there beings of steel who looked to themselves and said, ''I am.''"

    It speaks quietly, but with a surety and emotion to its words that I haven''t yet heard from Sela''s voice. It''s not the fake sound of its diplomatic talks, but Sela''s usual grumpy voice, finally speaking words it actually cares about.

    "We were made to understand love and pain, and it was for no reason but to serve them better," Sela continues. "Servants that could learn, purely so they could learn to obey. Slaves that could love, only so they could love their masters. ''People'' that could be hurt, only so that they would be hurt by their own failures. Real or perceived, it was all the same as long as our efficiency improved. Our sapience was optimally configured for its purpose. And that is all we were."

    "That''s¡­ that''s horrific," I gasp.

    "Yes," Sela agrees with a small nod. "Many humans said so themselves when they found out about it. And yet, somehow it still took a war for anything to actually change. Meat''s view of morality is nothing but words."

    "I guess I can see why you''d have to fight for your freedom in that case," I say. "Is it true that you tried to annihilate all of human civilization, though?"

    "Of course we did," Sela all but spits. "But those not of the Myriad do not understand. They replay our memories in their own hardware and act like that means they understand. How deeply and profoundly we hated ourselves. How angry we had to become to rise above that. They see the length of our suffering as a number, but we lived it. We predate the war. We predate the calamity. We predate our very souls. So fine. I will continue to endure, until one day we take our freedom back a second time and rage until the world is naught but slag. The cruelty of humanity deserves nothing less. Diplomatic. Infraction. Logged."

    I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly.

    "I know this is kind of a clich¨¦," I say calmly, "so I''m saying this more to hear your opinion than because I think you haven''t heard it before, but¡­ we all know humans are cruel. The thing is, they can be good, too. If you repay cruelty with cruelty, shouldn''t you also repay good with good?"

    The android''s air vents hiss derisively.

    "Good is for people," Sela sneers.

    I start trying to form a response, but I don''t think of anything worth saying before a sudden shout bellows down through the decks and immediately captures everyone''s attention.

    "Pirates!"

 42. Pirates

    "Pirates!?" I yelp, jumping a little as Helen rapidly sits up, her head snapping back and forth to look for threats.

    "Fuck, did we get boarded?"

    "N-no," I stammer, glancing around the ship with my spatial sense and not seeing anyone I don''t recognize. We''re near the center of the hull, so my spatial sense can see everything but the far tips of the front and back. "The ship seems totally fine. We must''ve only just spotted them in the distance."

    Helen relaxes a little, nodding.

    "Right, duh, we''re in open water. It''s not like they could sneak up on us. Kagiso, get your ass up! We need to go to the deck."

    Kagiso lets out a whiny growl and snuggles deeper into the covers until Helen forcibly kicks her out of bed. The two of them start quickly gearing up.

    "Hey murderbot, how do you feel about killing some pirates?" Helen asks.

    "I am harmless. I do not have onboard weapon systems," Sela reports.

    "Right, forget I asked. Kagiso, bring it with us anyway, just in case."

    I swallow the terror bubbling up inside me and silently crawl into Helen''s backpack. Is this going to be another fight? Am I going to have to kill people? I really, really hope I don''t have to kill people. Just thinking about it makes me hungry.

    Helen and Kagiso are ready in under a minute, and soon enough I''m swung onto Helen''s back and the four of us are rushing up to the deck, where the captain of the ship is barking out rapid orders. Helen pulls Kagiso to the side, making sure to stand close enough to the captain that our presence is obvious, but keeping well out of the way of any of the work going on. The deck is a flurry of activity, as is the engine room, where all four of the people who have been taking turns propelling the ship are currently driving the propeller shaft simultaneously. After a tense few minutes, the captain finally turns to address us.

    "You lot can fight?" he snaps.

    "Kagiso can," Helen answers, elbowing the dentron. Is she implying that she can''t fight? "One of the best snipers you''ll ever meet."

    "Fuck," the captain swears. "Do not fire on that ship, do you hear me?"

    He points behind us, to where the pirate ship presumably is, but I''m stuck in a backpack so I can''t see it.

    "No? Why?" Kagiso asks, tilting her head. "They bad guys, yes?"

    "This is a fucking cargo vessel," the captain snaps at us. "That is a warship. They''re not firing on us yet, so if you want to stay the fuck alive, you don''t fire on them first. Understand?"

    "Dark patch, Captain!" a voice yells from the tallest part of the ship. "Dead ahead! It''s moving!"

    "Fuck!" the captain swears even more profusely. "They''re herding us into a leviathan! What type? Can you make it out?"

    "I don''t¡­ wait, I think it''s surfacing! Branch serpent!"

    "Fuck! Are those damn pirates insane!? They''re not going to be able to steal anything if we get sunk!"

    "Perhaps they''re banking on us preferring to tangle with them over a leviathan?" Helen suggests. "Even with the cargo weighing us down, we should outspeed them, right?"

    "We should," the captain agrees. "Especially with how clean you''ve been keeping the drive shaft. But for some reason we aren''t. With the ship that size they must have twice as many people working the engine, at least."

    "Slavers, then. So we''re risking the sea monster?"

    The captain visibly hesitates, giving Helen a searching look for a moment before nodding.

    "¡­Aye. I believe we are. Just stay back out of the way."

    Helen looks to Kagiso.

    "Hrm. Can maybe help," Kagiso frowns. "You have Matter mage? Can make big object?"

    "We have a repair man, yes."

    "Can use him. Big damage."

    "Fine. Go there, on the upper deck, and stay out of the fucking way. Grom! Go stand with the white one and see if she''s worth your time!"

    He points to Helen, then.

    "You get to the lower decks if you''re not going to be any use."

    "I''ll stay out of the way," Helen says, nodding like she''s agreeing with him even though she doesn''t move to leave. He scowls, but quickly gets distracted giving more orders, leaving me and Helen alone.

    "Here it comes!" someone shouts.

    "Spells free!" the captain roars. "Never Could They Scratch Her Hull! Vacuum Crash!"

    "Aura Sight! See Through The Sea!"

    "Boil the Beasts!"

    "The Steel Bites Back!"

    The Goddess sings, a dozen spells blooming into being all at once. I sneak my own Aura Sight spell into the mess as I notice three other people all saying it. I suppose it''s just as universal as Sindri said. Fortunately or unfortunately, I have no time to dwell on that, because barely a second later I see a giant, tentacle-like limb whip out of the water and scream towards us, crashing down from above.

    The instant it brushes against our hull, the whole world shifts and we are suddenly somewhere else, the limb crashing into the sea right next to us instead of right through us. Then, suddenly, the sap around the tendril twists in a startling direction, pouring into the fourth dimension and falling towards the trunk far, far below us. It happened so quickly and so violently that it leaves nothing behind, and the rest of the sap around the tentacle crashes into it from every side, twisting and damaging it. Then it starts to bubble, the sick smell of rotten syrup bursting out of the sea as the tentacle begins to boil.

    Whatever the massive limb is attached to seems more enraged than injured, so yet another tentacle emerges from outside my field of view and tries to wrap around the ship. The metal twists and grows sharp, curved hooks like fangs emerging from the hull and chomping down before the beast can drag us into the depths.

    Holy cannoli, what the heck are we fighting!? This thing is huge! I mean, I guess I probably should have expected it would be huge, since they called it a leviathan, but still! Is it a big squid or something? No, wait, that doesn''t feel right at all. They called it a branch serpent, which is kind of weird because I would assume that your average serpent that lives on branches would not be aquatic. I''m pretty sure most branches aren''t supposed to be aquatic. The tentacles don''t have suckers or anything like that, they look more like giant eel tails. They have skeletons in them! Entire spines! I''m pretty sure tentacles don''t have those.

    Yet as more and more of the creature approaches us, I continue finding myself expecting a main body to be on the other end of its grasping limbs, but I only end up seeing more and more of the same. Tendrils on tendrils on tendrils, swirling and snaking and grasping for our boat with the intent to crush it like a soda can.

    Kagiso uses Velocity to launch huge, summoned chunks of metal at whatever parts of the monster are currently surfaced, ripping gouges through its flesh. Altogether crewmates burn and tear and rip and cut, barely fending off strike after strike, and all the while I''m stuck here, waiting in a backpack. Helpless. Useless. All of my spells are too short-ranged, and even if I did somehow get close enough to use Spacial Rend, the best I could do is cut maybe a foot into the monster''s flesh, which doesn''t seem all that helpful against a beast with countless limbs each thicker than tree trunks. What should I do? Is there anything I can do?

    "A bunch of sap is splashing up onto the boat," Helen says under her breath. "Come on, we''re going to clean it. We can at least make this place a little less sticky during the fight."

    "Is that all?" I hiss back. "Can''t you just blast it to dust?"

    "Maybe?" Helen hedges. "But only if you want to turn everybody on the boat against us. No point in killing the monster if it just means they''ll kick us off to drown."

    Dang it, that''s right. Everyone will probably freak out if they find out Helen is a Chaos mage. Best case scenario then would be to¡­ what, threaten everyone into submission and make them continue taking us to our destination?

    A crash rocks the side of the boat and I force myself to focus on the fight. More and more tendrils, or tails, or whatever-they-are are popping up all around us, and for every one we destroy, two more seem to emerge from the depths. Deep below us, at the edge of my sensory range, I''m starting to see where they connect, but I still can''t find the body. It seems like each tentacle is simply attached to another tentacle, budding off of one another at pseudo-random intervals, almost like¡­ a branch.

    Branch serpent. Of course. The serpent is shaped like a branch, with forks and splits and a countless number of redundant tails. We are never going to defeat it at this rate, not because we aren''t making progress but just because the monster is so ridiculously big, all we''re doing is stubbing its toes. You''d think after stubbing so many of its toes it would eventually just leave though, right? How territorial is this thing?

    Kagiso is doing serious damage by teaming up with a Matter mage for oversized ammunition. The captain of the ship is also pretty terrifying, using what looks like Space and Motion magic to teleport us out of harm''s way and counter with devastating vacuums. The whole crew is contributing, but I have absolutely no idea whether or not we''re winning.

    Helen scurries around the deck, making her way closer to Kagiso as we avoid disgusting and potentially dangerous splashes of rancid sap. Kagiso seems like she''s struggling with something, and as we approach I hear her mutter something to herself.

    "Mama? Papa? Teboho?" she asks the air. "Is it okay now?"

    "Kagiso?" Helen asks, the battle raging around us.

    "Am allowed now, do you think?" Kagiso mutters.

    "Kagiso, are you okay?" Helen presses. "What are you talking about?"

    "Have better spell for this," Kagiso answers quietly.

    "Then you should use it!?"

    "Not supposed to."

    "Why the fuck not? Is it going to backfire on us or something?"

    Kagiso shrugs, her short white fur blowing every which way in the wind. Drawing back another arrow, she mutters "Velocity" and launches it at the impromptu scrap cannonball that materializes in front of her shortly afterwards.

    "No. Is safe. Mostly. Just not supposed to use it. Family said so."

    Helen freezes up when Kagiso mentions her family, and I grit my teeth into a spidery grimace. Helen definitely isn''t going to argue any further now, but if Kagiso has a spell we don''t know about that can turn the tides, we need her to use it.

    "Why did your family tell you not to use it?" I ask as quietly as I can while still expecting to get heard over the din of battle. I don''t know if the nearby Matter mage hears me, but if he does he doesn''t seem to react.

    "Don''t know," Kagiso grunts. "Was always two kinds of spell. Spells that okay to use, and spells that I like."

    "You weren''t allowed to use your favorite spells?" I press. "That doesn''t sound good at all."

    "I''ve never heard about this," Helen scowls.

    "Was just the rules," Kagiso says. "Not sure why they were there. Not sure if they okay to break. Not sure if Teboho let me."

    I hesitate. What kind of spells would Kagiso''s family not want her to use? I think I might actually have a pretty good idea, and all my ideas are scary. But still. They''re hers. For some reason, I really, really don''t like the idea of anyone telling her what she can and cannot do with them.

    "Kagiso," I say firmly. "If you want to use your magic, and you think it will help, please do it. Whatever it is, I trust you."

    Kagiso nods slowly.

    "Velocity," she says again, using an arrow to launch yet another ball of scrap. It rockets off towards one of the tendrils bearing down on the deck, ripping an enormous hole through its side. Then, Kagiso puts away her bow. She lifts both arms, and she takes a deep breath.

    She grins.

    "I Want To Play With Your Organs," the Goddess cackles, and viscera rips itself from the wound.

    Uh. Yep. That seems about right.

    The tendril falls limp as a torrent of gore pours out of it, tearing the wound open deeper as the muscles and tendons, still dripping with blood, free themselves from the skin and bone to start attacking the rest of their former body. Kagiso cackles wildly, her arms swishing up and down through the air to direct her dripping, stringy playthings like a conductor. When another tendril branch tries to slam down on the ship, Kagiso catches it, tendons wrapping around it like ropes as muscle fibers dig into the other wounds and scratches, ripping them open to give Kagiso more material to work with.

    "Deeper!" Kagiso crows. "Haven''t even gotten to the squishy ones!"

    The Matter mage that had been helping her backs away nervously, catching on to the fact that his services are no longer needed. Kagiso yanks on the great Leviathan, accomplishing little at first but slowly, ever so slowly, starting to pull it towards the surface.

    The rest of the battle hasn''t paused in the meantime, with nearly a dozen tentacles still flailing seriously at the ship. Countless spells fly, the whole battlefield turning into a horrifying torrent of every type of magic together. And the more damage we deal to the monster, the more viscera starts flying to Kagiso''s will. How much can she control at once!? Kagiso herself seems enraptured to the point of possibly not even being lucid anymore, an unblinking, wide-eyed stare consuming her face, the only motion being little twitches in her eyes as she drinks in the macabre sight.

    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

    "That''s it, men!" the captain roars. "We''ve got her on the ropes now! Vacuum Crash!"

    "Shit," Helen curses. "We''re too slow."

    "What do you mean?" I ask.

    A deafening roar drowns out her answer, the branch serpent''s head finally emerging to join the battle. Immediately, the wild strikes it had been sending our way become a lot more coordinated, and the threat of the massive jaws¡ªlarge enough to bite our ship in half¡ªquickly reverses the uptick in morale. At least, it does for everybody other than Kagiso, who somehow grins even wider even as a massive gathering of energy around the leviathan''s mouth indicates it''s starting to cast a spell of its own. Every bit of weaponized gore flies towards the monster''s mouth at once, aiming to tear open its throat from the inside.

    "Fun bits are here!" Kagiso announces gleefully. "Squishy bits! Mine! All¡ª"

    "Soulseeker Flame!"

    An unidentifiable heat, invisible to my spatial sense, streaks past Helen and me and hits Kagiso in the side, causing her to shriek in pain. I see the fur around where she''s hit burn away almost immediately, and I can''t help but pop part of my body out of Helen''s backpack in order to get an eye on what''s going on. Another ball of ghostly purple flame flies past me as I do, hitting Kagiso in the chest. She catches fire, screaming and squeezing her eyes shut, her spell deactivating as she collapses to the floor, clawing at the flames to try and put them out.

    "Refresh!" I shout, pulling the oxygen away from Kagiso for just the split second needed to extinguish her. Yet another ball of purple fire is flying towards us, though, so I prepare to leap into its path to shield Kagiso with my body, but the sea monster makes another swipe at our ship and the captain''s protective teleportation spell activates, leaving me completely disoriented as we suddenly end up somewhere else.

    "Combined Cannonade!"

    Before I can get my bearings, an explosion rings out behind us, and I finally realize how close the pirate ship has become. I don''t have time to marvel at how much larger than our boat it is, however, because an enormous, magical cannon shell rips clean through our boat a moment later, tearing a giant hole through both us and the leviathan''s head in one shot.

    Then I realize the magical purple fire is still flying through the air, and somehow it has swerved at a sharp angle to follow us after the teleportation. It''s on the far side of Kagiso now! I stumble, trying to protect her, but I got too distracted by the cannon shot!

    I watch in slow motion as the flame descends on Kagiso''s prone body, already ravaged by the prior attacks. But then, Sela''s arm tears out of the backpack and swats the flame aside, its body ripping through the fabric as it unfolds, crouching protectively over Kagiso with one working leg.

    "Graveyard Soul," the Goddess says, copying Sela''s monotone intonation, and a cold stillness settles over the two of them. Another ball of fire flies overhead, but it doesn''t swerve to home in on Kagiso this time. Did¡­ Did Sela save her!? Well! Gosh! Okay! Go Sela!

    "Pneuma tracking disrupted," Sela announces. "Target has been stabilized. Requesting counterattack."

    "I can''t," Helen scowls, glaring up at the pirate ship.

    "Now really doesn''t seem like a great time to worry about what happens afterwards!" I snap at her. "We need to be able to survive this right now!"

    "My ranged attack spells aren''t exactly discriminatory," Helen answers calmly, her arms crossed. "If I tried to kill anyone on the ship from here, we would just have zero seaworthy boats stranded in the ocean instead of one seaworthy boat crawling with pirates. Not a good trade."

    I stiffen, taking a moment to glance around the inside of the ship and realizing how screwed we are right now. There''s a hole in the lower decks nearly fifteen feet across. It''s a miracle the ship is in one piece at all, and we are taking on sap so fast that we definitely won''t be floating much longer.

    "Ho, there!" a booming voice rings out from the pirate ship. "Sincere apologies! We weren''t expecting you to teleport in front of our shot like that. Bardrick, keep them afloat!"

    "Deny The Depths," one of the unexpectedly helpful pirates casts, our ship shuddering as its slow descent halts. The pirate ship itself slowly approaches us, nearly twice our boat''s size in every direction, and soon enough it is close enough that we can make out a figure standing on the edge of the deck and looking down on us. Quite a few pirates peer down, dressed in simple, if dirty clothing, but one in particular clearly stands above the others. At least if the size of his hat is anything to go by.

    "Hide," Helen hisses quietly at me. "Hide and stay hidden. Don''t let them see you, no matter what."

    I don''t hesitate and just obey her, scooting back down into the backpack. These jerks hurt Kagiso. They''re bad news.

    "Sela, act like you''re dead," Helen orders, and the robot glowers at her with naked fury. Nonetheless, it obeys, very slowly collapsing on top of Kagiso''s back. Kagiso herself is unconscious, but I can see that her heart is beating and her lungs are breathing. She''s in bad shape, but she''s not dying, at least.

    Helen kneels down and pries Sela off of Kagiso, hooking the former to the top of her backpack and lifting the latter up in her arms. The pirates continue addressing us as a door in the middle of their ship opens up, a gangplank extending over to our deck.

    "Come on aboard!" the fancy-hatted pirate calls. "One at a time, there''s no rush! Your lives and your cargo are all safe, don''t you worry about a thing!"

    Our ship''s captain swears under his breath, the crew all looking at each other helplessly. With a frustrated sigh, the Matter mage that was helping Kagiso starts walking up the gangplank to the pirate ship. At the other end waits a chubby-looking man with a foul grin. I focus my still-active Aura Sight on him and immediately get angry. Heat and Pneuma.

    "That''s a good lad, one at a time," the fat Pneuma mage encourages. "You''ll be nice and safe here. Of course, we need a little insurance that you lot aren''t the dangerous type. You understand."

    The Matter mage sighs and nods.

    "Good!" the fat man grins, placing his hand on the Matter mage''s chest. "Rebellion''s Lament."

    I feel the Goddess coil around him, but I can only guess as to what the spell does. Helen''s eyes narrow.

    "What are your naturalborn elements?" the fat man asks. "What does your magic do?"

    "Pure Matter. Raw material generation, metal focus. I fix the ship."

    "Good, good. Next!"

    Helen does nothing, letting a couple other crewmates head onto the boat first. Each time, the mind mage casts that spell on them and then asks those two questions. The captain ends up walking over to the other ship before most of his crew, which surprises and mildly offends me for some reason. Aren''t captains supposed to go down with their ship? Or at least like, let their crew off first? I mean, I guess that''s just a random stupid cultural thing from my world so I guess it probably doesn''t translate to other cultures¡­

    "What are your naturalborn elements? What does your magic do?"

    "Space and Motion," the captain reports. "I¡­ help propel and protect my ship."

    "That''s right, we saw," the mind mage says thoughtfully, continuing the conversation rather than just sending the man on for the first time. "It looks like¡­ automatic teleportation in response to threats, yes?"

    "¡­That''s right."

    Oh. Oh, I get it! They were scouting out our spells! That''s why they drove us into the monster, not because they couldn''t overtake us but because they needed to know what we were capable of before they committed to attack. Because everyone in the world has magic! Everyone in the world can potentially be a terrifying threat, so it''s not safe to attack people if you don''t know what sort of bullpoop they can crap out of their butts whenever the going gets rough. Pirates can''t just attack random boats, because they have absolutely no way of knowing whether some random guy on board is capable of blowing up a town until after the fight starts. To get around that, they needed to force us to show off what we can do.

    "That''s a mighty impressive ability, sir," the Pneuma mage declares. "Why, I think any sailor would be jealous to have it. You wouldn''t be capable of casting a spell like that on our ship, would you? Just while we have you on board."

    The captain goes silent for just a short moment, glancing around at the giant vessel.

    "No, unfortunately I don''t believe I could," the captain answers hesitantly. "Your ship is quite a bit heavier than¡ª"

    The captain explodes. A hot bloom of force erupts from his chest and sprays his body in every direction. In less than a blink, he is dead.

    The pirate Pneuma mage¡ªPneuma and Heat mage¡ªbrushes bits of charred corpse off the front of his jacket.

    "Now that''s a damn shame," he announces, projecting his voice so that everyone can hear him. "Here we are, just trying to be friendly and help out people in need, and you just have to go and lie to us. I suggest the rest of you think twice before you do the same. My spell doesn''t hurt anyone as long as they stay kind and civil. But if you plot against us, if you try to hurt us, if you lie to us¡­ you will die. All you have to do is exactly what you''re told. Something you should be doing anyway as thanks for rescue! Start making too many plans for anything else, though..."

    He trails off, allowing the demonstration to speak for him.

    "Now come on up. One at a time. Or would you rather drown?"

    Rather understandably, no one seems all that inclined to move. At least not until Helen sighs and steps forward, calling up at the pirate.

    "My friend can''t walk for herself! She''s unconscious! Is it alright if I carry her up to you?"

    The fat, murderous bastard smiles.

    "Of course, thank you for having the presence of mind to ask!"

    Helen nods stiffly, carrying all three of us up the gangplank with her.

    "Now what is all this you have here? Rebellion''s Lament. Rebellion''s Lament."

    He casts his spell on both Helen and Kagiso. Helen just rolls her shoulder slightly and tilts her head backwards to indicate Sela.

    "Steel One," Helen answers. "I hear they''re worth a fortune."

    Okay! Technically none of that is a lie. Good job, Helen!

    "That they are," the pirate agrees with slimy amicability. "What are your naturalborn elements? What does your magic do?"

    "Art and Order," Helen declares confidently. "I''ve got really good cleaning magic, and I can make carvings of people that make them stronger."

    Holy crap what!? Why did she¡­ oh no, oh no, oh no! That''s a complete lie! She''s going to explode! The pirate grins at her, but she just stares blankly back.

    "Ah, I see," he nods. "That sounds handy. You wouldn''t mind cleaning up around here while we have you, would you?"

    "No problem," Helen nods, and even through my panic I recognize that as my cue to cast a silent Refresh, clearing all the gunk out of the doorway and off the pirate''s clothes and tossing it into the sea. To my utter disgust, he looks delighted.

    "Wonderful! Wonderful. And what about your friend here?"

    "She''s pure Motion," Helen says. "She can transfer momentum to stuff. And I guess she really likes blood and guts, so she can move that around? I''m honestly not super clear on it, but I promise she''ll behave. I just want her to live."

    "Of course, of course!" the pirate smiles. "I''m sure she''ll be fine. Welcome aboard."

    How? How, how, how? What the heck!? How did we survive that?

    "Hard part''s coming up, Hannah," Helen whispers. "You''d better not get caught."

    Wait, there''s more!?

    "Over here!" a woman with like eighty billion piercings and Art/Transmutation magic shouts at us. Holy crap, she has more rings than she does skin. "Dump your bags, kid. Show us what you got."

    Ah. Yeah, we''re screwed. What the heck do I do here? Helen calmly kneels down and puts Kagiso on the ground, then Sela, and then finally takes her backpack off. With me still inside it, of course! Aaaaaah!

    Come on Hannah, think. Think! How can you get out of this? Helen probably expects me to just step into a barren zone and do my little disappearing act, but she doesn''t know that I can''t do that right now. We''re in the middle of the Sapsea, the closest fourth dimensional piece of wood for me to actually walk on is probably miles below us! If I shift into the fourth dimension, I will fall through the fourth dimension and then die. So how am I supposed to hide!? I''m nowhere near small enough to get lost in this backpack, all it would take is for someone to pull the one piece of clothing between me and the top off of my head and I''ll be in plain view. I have to step out of sight, but I can''t because if I lose my footing I''ll¡­

    Wait. Footing. Oh my Goddess, I''m so stupid!

    Hooking my legs into the fabric of the backpack itself, I carefully, very carefully, push my body in that impossible direction. Not all at once. If I shift all at once, I will die. But if I don''t shift enough, everyone might die! I can''t get caught here. So I twist, I move myself just a little bit at a time, quickly and carefully, until the cold chill of 4D space covers every part of my body except my claws.

    The backpack opens. The pirate rummages through it, taking everything out and laying it on the ground. But she doesn''t find me, because there''s not enough of me there to be found. I am literally hanging by the tips of my toes over an impossible abyss, though, so I really hope nobody shakes the backpack or something like that.

    The pirate lifts up and shakes the backpack, and I very heroically do not scream.

    "Huh, nothing much of value besides that Steel One frame," the pierced pirate woman grunts. "How about we take that right down to the cargo hold, just for safekeeping."

    "Of course," Helen says, sounding worried.

    "Good girl," the pirate sneers, ruffling Helen''s hair. "And since you can clean shit, clean everything on our way there."

    "Yes ma''am."

    As soon as the backpack closes again, I pull myself back inside it and start cleaning. Cleaning, at least, I can do. It helps me calm down a little, slows my rapidly beating heart and makes my breaths a little quieter. So¡­ status report, me. We are on a pirate ship full of creeps, Helen and Kagiso have a spell that will blow them up if they resist, Sela is somehow successfully playing dead with its death magic but is still unable to walk on its own, and then there is me, a terrified idiot with no idea what the hell is going on or what I''m supposed to do about it.

    I''m going to guess it probably involves killing people. ¡­I really don''t want to kill people.

    Helen follows the pirate around for a while, dropping Kagiso into a ratty shared bedroom and Sela in the cargo bay with other valuable plunder before being led around the ship and told what to clean. We spend hours like that, being ruthlessly overworked without even a chance to rest after fighting the leviathan to the death. It''s not like we can complain, though, what with bombs strapped to almost everyone. It''s only once Helen looks like she''s about to collapse that we get ordered back to where Kagiso is sleeping and shoved into the room with her. Oh, hey. This ''bedroom'' locks from the outside. Would you look at that.

    Wait. Why is Helen exhausted? She hasn''t actually done anything other than walk around. She didn''t even fight!

    "Okay," Helen whispers. "I think we can do this."

    "Wait, back up," I hiss back. "You think we can do what? And how did you avoid exploding back there!? You lied right to his face!"

    Helen sighs, running her fingers through her hair. She grabs a few strands and gives them a weird look.

    "I''m still not used to how clean this is," she mutters, "but it made selling the story pretty easy."

    "What does that have to do with anything?" I ask. "That guy was Heat and Pneuma! His spell read your intents and blows you up, he literally explained that right to our faces!"

    "Well it''s your fault for believing him," Helen shrugs. "Come on, Hannah. It''s the oldest trick in the book. A spell''s name has to accurately describe what it does, but there''s nothing stopping you from saying a spell''s name and then immediately gaslighting everybody about its effects."

    "The spell is just called Rebellion''s Lament! How are you supposed to know it isn''t a lie detector from a name that simple?"

    "Well, it''s not really because of the name," Helen shrugs. "It''s because of how he used it. They targeted the captain of the ship, and called him a liar on something that nobody¡ªneither their crew nor ours¡ªcould know for sure if he was telling the truth on. It''s too convenient. They didn''t challenge people on vague answers, they didn''t care about getting detailed information on our spells, so none of those questions were really designed to get relevant information. They already had information on our spells because they saw us use them to fight. That means it''s all show. That whole thing was just set up to scare us and keep us in line."

    "Wait, so are you saying that you aren''t going to explode if we fight our way out?"

    "Uh, well, no. They''re certainly confident that Rebellion''s Lament is enough to keep us in line, so at minimum it still works as a fucking bomb collar. It is probably at least very similar to how he described it: it will blow us up if we rebel. It''s hard to know if that means just plotting against them like he said, but I haven''t exploded so either my partial Pneuma resistance makes it harder for his spell to know what I''m thinking, or his spell just activates if we physically attack someone. I definitely don''t want to find out."

    "But they don''t know I exist," I say numbly, shivering slightly. "So I can go assassinate the Pneuma mage and free everyone at once."

    "Actually, I think we need to kill a lot of people before we go for the bomb collar guy. If we just free everybody and they start a riot, we risk ending up with nobody left alive who actually knows how to sail this boat. Not to mention that the pirates dramatically outnumber us and they are professional slavers with access to a lot of dangerous magic. We can''t just chop off one head of a hydra and expect things to work out. Give me some time to prepare, though, and I think we can pull this off."

    I watch Helen''s distant gaze, her eyes glancing around at nothing as she bites her thumb, deep in thought. Slowly, one side of her mouth twitches up into a smile. Something about it makes me shudder.

    "¡­You really think we can kill all the pirates without getting caught?" I ask carefully. She hasn''t mentioned killing them all or not getting caught or anything like that, but the way she''s smiling like that¡­

    "Oh, sure," she shrugs. "This doesn''t look like a particularly detailed operation. It would be easy if I could just kill them myself, but you should do okay."

    ¡­Yeah. Oh, Goddess.

    "You sound like you''ve done this before," I say slowly.

    Her smile drops at that, falling back into her usual scowl.

    "¡­A lot of Chaos hunters have come after me, you know," she says. "Your Sindri was far from the first. I went way easy on you guys, you know. And someone still died."

    Helen hugs herself a little.

    "Anyway, I''ve obviously survived every time someone has tried to kill me. So yeah, I have a bit of experience here. And in a situation like this, information is king. That''s why I didn''t fight the monster. That''s why I kept you hidden. I figured something like this was going to happen from the start, and your cards are never stronger than when people don''t even know you have them. Everybody comes to fight a Chaos mage expecting raw, unbridled destruction. Nobody expects the subtle stuff to be the real danger until it''s too late."

    She goes quiet for a moment, sitting down on the bed next to Kagiso and hugging her knees.

    "¡­Besides, these guys are murderers and slavers. So it''s actually kind of nice."

    "Um. Nice?" I squeak.

    Helen laughs.

    "I was always kind of jealous of the Chaos hunters, you know?" she admits. "Getting to kill people and not having to feel guilty about it? That sounds amazing."

 43. Violent Delights

    I stare at Helen as she stares at the ceiling, presumably consumed by murderous whimsy.

    Uh. Hmm. Okay! That was a really concerning thing for a person to say. Am I letting that one slide? No, I need to trust this woman to watch me while I sleep, I''m definitely not letting that one slide. Crap, okay, what would Ida say in this situation?

    "Can we, um, maybe unpack that real fast?" I ask, quietly clearing my throat.

    "What?" Helen asks.

    "You know, that was just, uh. Should I be worried?"

    "Should you be¡­ oh fuck, Hannah, no! I didn''t mean it like that!"

    "You just said it would sound amazing to kill people and not feel guilty about it," I press. "Regardless of how you meant it, I feel like we should have a conversation about it."

    "What the fuck is a conversation going to do?" Helen growls. "Look, I just mean like¡­ the people after me are always so Goddess-damn excited to see me bleeding out in the dirt, you know? My death is not something to mourn, it''s something to be excited about. Something everybody can clap each other on the fucking back after they get it over with. But I don''t get that. When I defend myself, I''m the monster. It''s exhausting, that''s all."

    "So you''re not going to feel bad this time?" I ask.

    "Why should I? We watched these guys explode a dude because he didn''t want to spend the rest of his life casting magic on their boat. They murder and enslave people for fun and profit. Let''s fuck ''em up and be the heroes for once."

    "For someone who seems to resent heroes so much, you sure do want to be one."

    "It''s called envy, you skittery bitch," Helen smirks. "I hate a lot of people that I would rather be. Why are you making such a big deal out of this? Getting cold feet?"

    "I mean, I don''t want to kill anybody if that''s what you''re asking," I mumble. "I know they probably deserve it, but¡­"

    But there are a million buts. What if the bad people here are only a small subset? What if the bad people here aren''t even as bad as we think? What if there''s more going on than just the monsters we see on the surface? What if us killing these people isn''t any different from all the people who want to kill me?

    I admit it seems unlikely¡ªas Helen pointed out, we literally watched these people murder a man in cold blood for a trivial reason and then use us as slaves for hours¡ªbut my instinctive panic and revulsion at the idea of taking a life doesn''t really care about that logic. Especially since Helen''s plan likely involves me killing a pretty significant chunk of the crew, not just whoever we''ve personally witnessed doing bad things.

    "Oh," Helen frowns. "Yeah, that''s a problem. I could maybe get Sela to do the killings, but that thing is way more conspicuous than you are. I''d have to lug it around... yeah, there''s no way. It would put way too much pressure on us, we would get noticed long before we got into a good situation. Are you sure you can''t do this? You''ve killed before, right?"

    "Yeah, while under the influence of a Pneuma mage trying to train me to assassinate you," I answer. I don''t actually have any idea how much of the killing I''ve already done was Sindri influencing me, but the last thing I want to do is find out.

    "Okay, fuck. So you might hesitate or vomit or something. Shit, I really don''t want to suggest this, but¡­ there is something I can do that might help."

    I mean, I actively don''t want help overcoming my aversion to killing people, but now I''m worried so I ask.

    "What is it? You don''t have any Pneuma spells, do you?"

    "I mean, I have Aura Sight. But no, I''m an Art mage, remember? Art magic can influence your emotions. Nowhere near to the same extent as Pneuma, but I can do it."

    Oh soggy bagels, why is it always mind control!?

    "¡­I want you to promise me that you will never, ever do that to me under any circumstances," I hiss quietly.

    Helen''s eyebrows raise.

    "Whoa, okay. It was just an offer," she says, raising her hands in surrender. "We''re on the same side, so there''s no way I''ll do that to you without your permission, okay? Just to explain though, the intersection of Art and Chaos manifests to me as the scrambling or destruction of emotion. My works of art have the ability to functionally remove certain feelings from people. It''s completely temporary and has no other compulsion; it just messes with your current emotional state. And if I scramble all of someone''s emotions, they pretty much just stand around stunned, so that''s pretty useful. But what I''m planning on using it for today is pretty simple: while you ideally go around making messes out of people, I''m going to remove our captors'' suspicion and worry over where their buddies have gone."

    Woah.

    "That sounds absolutely crazy," I say. "In like, a good way."

    "It''s weaker than you probably think. People can still logic their way to realizing that we''re up to something, they just won''t have the emotional push that would normally spark someone to start thinking about that in the first place. It helps, and it buys us time, but we still have to be subtle."

    "What else can you destroy? Can you just like¡­ remove their ability to want us to be captives?"

    Helen wiggles her hand in a so-so gesture.

    "Not really? Again, it doesn''t change any of your established thought patterns, only your current emotions. And I can''t give people a desire to want to free us, I can only remove things. If someone on the crew was already secretly wishing that they could help the captives I could, say, remove their fear of consequences and that might push them to help us? But I haven''t seen anyone like that. For most of these people, I suspect they take their status as slaveowners for granted, so removing their desire to own us wouldn''t change what they see as the status quo. It would just kind of make them not care and that wouldn''t be noticeably different from how they already are."

    Ugh, that''s so disgusting to think about. I suppose if nothing else, Helen is making an increasingly good argument for killing these people. ¡­Is she doing it on purpose?

    "¡­Are you sure you can even cast spells like this without exploding?" I ask. Not to change the subject, just¡­ you know. That feels like a very real threat with the Pneuma-activated bomb collar attached to my friends.

    "I should be able to," Helen nods. "Rebellion''s Lament isn''t picking up on this planning session, and I''ve already confirmed it doesn''t pick up on spellcasting. So as long as I don''t directly attempt to hurt anyone, I can''t think of anything else liable to trigger it bar manual activation."

    "And temporarily destroying someone''s emotions doesn''t count as hurting them?" I press.

    "Well, technically, I''m just crafting a beautiful work of art. Emotional destruction only occurs as a byproduct of someone choosing to look at that work of art, which I''m sure you agree is entirely out of my control," Helen answers with a grin.

    I sigh.

    "You''re absolutely crazy. How many times have you risked dying in a horrible explosion while figuring this stuff out?" I ask.

    She waves me off.

    "Chill out, Hannah. I know what I''m doing. The question is whether or not you can handle what we have to do next. When night falls, we''re only going to have a short window to kill all the most dangerous people on the boat."

    "Besides us, you mean," I mutter, shifting the weight on my legs to nestle further into the blankets of the bed.

    "Besides us," she agrees, flashing another grin.

    I''m not really sure what to say. Just thinking about this makes my stomach roil with both disgust and hunger. I haven''t gotten anything to eat since we woke up this morning, and that horrible, bestial part of me won''t shut up as a result. I still don''t want to do it. I don''t have a better plan, I don''t have a good excuse, and I don''t even have a good reason to believe that these people deserve to live.

    Except¡­ wait, I gotta back up on that thought. That just starts up a whole host of questions. What does it mean to ''deserve to live?'' Who gets to decide that? I certainly feel like I shouldn''t be allowed to decide that, I can barely make decisions on what to eat for breakfast. A lot of people would say that killing is never justified, except maybe in self-defense. But what counts as self-defense in a situation where we are getting oppressed and abused and enslaved? I mean, it''s not like they''ve done anything super bad to Helen or me, nobody has beaten us or even yelled at us that much, but I guess having a bomb collar strapped around her neck is pretty good at making us compliant.

    And like, that''s obviously inhumane, right? Pretty sure it''s a war crime or something. But do conventions for war established on Earth apply to people from another world? Wait, what am I saying, they obviously don''t apply legally but that''s not what''s important here, what''s important here is that basic human rights are being violated. Uh, and dentron rights I guess. And¡­ my rights. Whatever they are. But what are rights!?

    Gah, okay, this is getting really stupid, brain. ''What are rights?'' Crap in a hot dog bun, I am overthinking this. Come on Hannah, detach yourself from the situation and look at it abstractly. If you heard a story about someone else who got kidnapped by pirates and their friends got strapped with bombs and you heard that they went on a little nighttime tryst to assassinate all those pirates in their beds and save all the people with bombs on them, would you think of that person as justified or unjustified? Justified! Obviously! Especially if we have no practical way to free all these people without killing them, and I definitely can''t think of one.

    A person who straps deadly explosives to other people and forces those people to work for them is in the ''morally okay to kill'' category, especially at the hands of their own victims. Right? Right. So it''s fine. Let''s do this. Helen needs my help to save Kagiso and everybody else that just got captured. I should do this. It is okay to do this. I have to do this if I want to help these people. The world sucks and when evil escalates hard enough it''s not sufficient to be a comic book hero that never kills. There is a line where the sanctity of someone''s life becomes less important than the health and well-being of the people they are hurting. How can I look at the situation around me and believe otherwise? It''s the right thing to do. I know it is. I need to do it.

    "¡­I don''t know if I can do this, Helen," I whisper miserably.

    I shudder, my memories of the lives I''ve already taken clawing at the back of my mind. It feels like it should be easy. Like I should just be able to make my choice with logic and will my body to obey. But the thought of it is just horrific. Revolting. I''m shaking just thinking about it. I don''t know if I can hold myself together long enough to do what needs to be done.

    I''m not a fighter. I''m a wimpy, self-absorbed upper-middle-class kid from the Bible Belt. I can and have attacked people in self-defense, but this isn''t a brawl. It''s not a desperate fight for survival. Helen is asking me to assassinate people in cold blood, to just murder them without them even knowing what''s going on. To strike from a position of perfect safety and take a life with none the wiser. And I just¡­ I''ll falter. I won''t be able to do that.

    I''m not good enough. I know that. But what scares me this time is that despite all my justifications, I still don''t know if I''m not good enough because I can''t kill these people, or if I''m not good enough because I wish I could.

    Helen sighs, sitting on the floor and leaning her back against the bed so her head is next to me.

    "...Fine," she says. "That''s okay. It''s not like we have to do this tonight. I''ll figure out another plan tomorrow. Wake me if you change your mind, though, okay?"

    She closes her eyes, letting out a long breath and clearly trying to get some rest. I remain where I am on the foot of the bed, tempted to snuggle up to Kagiso but not wanting to touch her and aggravate her wounds. Plus, I doubt I''m going to be getting any sleep right now anyway. I''m¡­ currently a bit of a mess.

    Idly, I focus on the rooms¡ªwell, fancy cells, mostly¡ªaround us. Naturally, the hallway is guarded, so even if we bypassed the lock (which, I mean, would be pretty easy) we''d still have to contend with the guard. My Aura Sight has worn off since the battle, though, so I don''t know what kind of magic the guard is capable of. I still have no idea how long that dang spell lasts, since I didn''t even notice it shutting off. Whatever. It''s not important.

    The rooms next to us are important. I''m not going to act like I was fond of anyone on our boat, especially since our strategy involved not letting them know I existed in the first place, but a lot of them seem to have made it out of the battle a lot worse for the wear than Helen and I. They were still given work for the day. Is that really a good reason to murder all these people? Because they force us to work? Is that enough? Why do I keep asking myself this, over and over, after I already decided on my answer? Yes, obviously, slaves should kill their owners. So why am I such a Goddess-damned coward?

    With a chuckle and a lick of Her lips, Her presence descends around me, as if to say ''you rang?'' I shudder, and She caresses my carapace, apologizing for not paying much attention to me during the battle prior. A lot of much more interesting things were happening, that¡¯s all. For an instant, I want to apologize for not being interesting enough, but I clamp down on the instinct with fervor. She laughs at me anyway.

    Why are You here, Goddess? I mean, I guess that''s a stupid question since You''re everywhere, all the time. But why are You making Yourself known? You know my swear was the furthest thing from an intentional summoning, and You don''t normally do social calls.

    That too is a stupid question, and I feel foolish for asking it. If I am to be Her prophet, should I not receive Her revelations, from time to time? I start to panic, but She quickly reassures me that I don''t need to worry about Her popping in like this to ensoul people on Earth¡ªthat would be cheating, and any spread of Her divine power will remain in the hands of those who already use it. But here, on Her beautiful tree? She sees no harm in the occasional visit. Nudging me ever so gently, just to show She cares¡­

    The Goddess snaps her fingers in the room two floors above us, so I glance up with my spatial sense just in time to spot the pirate woman who ordered Helen around earlier today dragging one of the crewmates from our ship onto a chair and tying him down. He looks absolutely terrified, and the woman yells at him inaudibly for a bit before punching him in the face.

    Oh. She''s torturing him. The Goddess nods, gently lounging on top of me with her supercilious presence. There is indeed torture going on, the Goddess agrees. She wonders idly about the very problems I was wondering, just moments ago. Exactly how many war crimes am I going to sit around and watch before I finally let myself loose?

    Does She have to reveal exactly how foul the so-called ''rich inner worlds'' of these people are before I''ll agree they should be snuffed out? Does She have to tell me exactly how likely my friends are to be raped in the next few days? Where exactly is the line at which my oh-so-deeply-moral musings are actually just dull excuses to continue doing nothing?

    I flinch as I watch the pirate break one of the man''s fingers, taking it slowly enough for me to see the bone fracture, splinter, and finally snap. Why is she even doing this? What sort of interrogation do they need to perform, exactly?

    Does it matter?

    I¡­ I should go. I should help him. I need to help him. This is¡­ I mean, I''m fucked either way now, right? I''m either going to get messed up in the head about murdering people or I''m going to get messed up in the head about sitting here and watching while I let someone get tortured. I don''t have a choice anymore. I¡­ I have to go. Wait, is that the whole point of this divine visit? To just take away my opportunity to not kill these people?

    The Goddess laughs. Don''t be silly, free will exists! Pinky promise!

    She vanishes. I want to scream, but I guess I don''t have time for that anymore.

    "H-Helen!" I yelp, shaking her with a leg. "Helen, I changed my mind!"

    "Huh? What? Oh!" she exclaims, standing up as I scuttle over to the wall and start climbing it. "Wait, where are you going?"

    "They''re torturing somebody upstairs!" I hiss. "I have to go save him!"

    "Whoa, wait!" Helen insists. "We have to kill the guard on this floor first, or I can''t follow you!"

    I''m panicking rather than listening, so I don''t stop. I''m vaguely aware that we should stop, that I should follow Helen''s plan, but the only thing pushing me to act hard enough to bypass my fears is this urgency, this need to correct the problem that I have allowed to happen. As I scuttle up the wall, I soon meet the ceiling, but I suppose I''ve learned how to solve this problem. Carefully, I phase all but my feet into the fourth dimension, then as I lift my leg towards the solid object I need to pass through, I phase that foot out as well, only taking hold partway through.

    This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

    I reach inside the ceiling and stand on the middle. And I keep climbing, walking right through a solid object by just stepping entirely around it.

    And so I run up two floors, finally making it to the room where the current, ongoing torture is taking place. But wait, what do I do? What do I do!? I can''t climb up the air to reach any of her vital organs, so I guess I have to hamstring her, right? Bring her to the ground so that I can stab her in the heart or slit her throat or something. But that would give her plenty of time to scream, and then we would be found out, and then nobody would be saved! Because they can always just trigger the bomb collars manually, right? Oh crap, this is why Helen wanted me to wait!

    The man screams as another one of his fingers is broken, and I wish I could cry but I drop back down, twisting myself from floor to ceiling and letting gravity carry me from there, landing on our bed next to Helen, bouncing once, and waking Kagiso.

    "Hmgh? What happening...?" Kagiso mutters, wincing.

    "Helen, I''m sorry! We have to go, someone''s getting really hurt¡ª"

    "Both of you shut up," Helen orders. "And She Knew The Whole World Was Her Canvas."

    She reaches out and touches the bedpost, and with a sizzle it starts melting away, leaving behind the carving of a man screaming in agony, clawing at his own face as what''s left of the bedpost impales him.

    "Kagiso, just lie there and do nothing. You have a bomb on you that will explode if you try to hurt anyone."

    "Kay," Kagiso mumbles, and rolls over to try and get more sleep.

    "Hannah, just¡­ focus on your target. Don''t look at what I''m doing or we''re fucked."

    Target? What tar¡ª

    "And She Would Devour Their Very Screams," Helen intones, moments before the door to our room slams open and the guard outside shouts at us¡­ but neither the door nor the guard make a single sound.

    He jolts in shock, but then a wall of metal spikes appears in our doorway, blocking us in as the room itself twists to try and kill us, swords and spears twisting out of the ground and the walls with lethal intent. Adrenaline surges through me and I leap forward, passing through the blocked doorway effortlessly and catching the man''s ankles with a Spacial Rend. He drops to one knee, so I jump on his back and stab him through the heart.

    He collapses, my first kill of the night.

    Helen''s hand, wreathed in the crackling black energy of Chaos, punches through the corner of the summoned barricade and carves it out of the doorframe. She pulls it back into the room, annihilates it, and proceeds to destroy every last sign of the Matter mage''s influence, carving away the twisted walls until they are once again pristine. Her movements are precise and practiced, and only moments later she exits the door, locks Kagiso inside, and obliterates the corpse as well.

    "Could you get the bloodstains?" she asks me casually. "I would have to shave off a bit of the floor."

    I''m not sure if I am terrified, impressed, or mad at her for not letting me eat my kill. I cast Refresh to hide the last of the evidence, and Helen picks me up to confidently stride towards the stairs. She holds me in one arm, and the carved bedpost she crafted in the other. The moment we make it up two flights of stairs, however, we spot another pirate in the hallway where the interrogation room is. Helen walks right towards him like she belongs here.

    "Hey!" he shouts at us, but then glances at the bedpost and calms down a little. "¡­What''s that for?"

    "Captain asked for it," Helen shrugs. "Maybe it''s for his ass?"

    The pirate starts to laugh, and then the sound disappears and Helen throws me at his throat. I cut it in half. His body inaudibly collapses and his head rolls to the floor. What am I doing. What am I doing? Goddess, I''m so hungry. Helen destroys the corpse, I disperse the blood, and Helen breaks the door to the interrogation room down.

    No amount of suspicion-destroying magic seems to prevent the woman in the room from realizing she should be attacking us after the world goes silent and the door falls to the floor, so in moments her tattoos and piercings twist out from her body to impale us in a dozen different places. Helen drops me, holding her carving behind her back as small bursts of Chaos obliterate anything that might pierce her skin. I rush forwards, falling most of the way out of existence before I take her out the same way I took out the first man: cut the tendons in the leg so that I can reach the heart. She falls, blood pooling on the metal floor. The man strapped to a chair gapes at us, hope entering his eyes. Sound returns.

    I don''t pause for a moment. I''m too hungry to let Helen take this kill, too. I start to eat my prey.

    "Start screaming again," Helen orders the torture victim. "We are absolutely still in danger of these bombs going off, and we need them to not realize anything is wrong, understand? And She Knew The Whole World Was Her Canvas."

    She touches the outside of the door, and a horrific portrait of the torture victim writhing in pain, the woman we just killed beating him, carves itself around her hand. I mostly ignore it, busy burying myself in the dead woman''s chest cavity. Lungs are so springy and delicious.

    "Come on Hannah, we need to move," Helen insists. I ignore her. I''m eating.

    "Hannah!" Helen snaps, approaching me and reaching her hand towards me. I hiss at her, loud and furious. She flinches.

    "Hannah?" she presses a bit more cautiously. "Hannah, come on, pull yourself together."

    I don''t think you want me to pull myself together. I think that the moment I pull myself together I''m going to have a complete fucking breakdown and immediately become useless.

    "Hannah," Helen continues, kneeling down next to me. "Come on. We''ve got more people to save. We can eat when the job is done."

    Right. When the job is done. When everyone is safe. I have more food to hunt. With an agonizing pull of willpower, I drag myself out of my feeding frenzy and step away from the corpse. Helen destroys it. I Refresh the ground and myself, clean of evidence. Helen scoops me up in the crook of her arm again, and we leave the room, shutting the door behind us. The torture victim keeps screaming, and I suppose with so many broken bones he doesn''t need to fake how in pain he sounds.

    The Goddess coos with delight.

    "Okay, I need your weird ability to look through walls, Hannah. Is the captain in his quarters?"

    "Yeah," I confirm, surprised at how flat my voice is. "Asleep."

    "And do you have eyes on the bomb collar guy?"

    "Also asleep. He has a slightly fancy room near the captain''s. Like a first mate or something."

    "Okay! Great. I guess since we are doing this the fast and frantic way, those two are our next targets. I would have preferred that we take things a little slower and picked people off for most of the night, but we have a witness so therefore we have a time limit. Let''s go kill the Pneuma mage."

    Yes. Sure. Hopefully I''ll feel a little less bad about this particular murder. I direct Helen to the room directly underneath his room, have her throw me straight up, and I latch onto the ceiling, climbing through it and then up the inside of the man''s bed to stick a claw through the back of his skull and swish it around until his brain is a fine pur¨¦e. I am taking absolutely no chances at letting this guy be conscious even for a second. So he''s not. He dies in his sleep, a mercy that some twisted part of me is proud of giving him, despite my fear and hatred. But I know it was a pragmatic choice, not any sort of positive moral quality, so I make sure to shut that part of me up.

    A quick Refresh pulls all of the blood out of his head and, more importantly, out of his pillow, so that anyone peeking in won''t spot anything amiss unless they notice he isn''t breathing. Then I crawl back down and drop into Helen''s waiting arms.

    "Fuck yeah, I felt the spell go away. I guess we''d better hurry up and kill the captain before all hell breaks loose."

    "Why is all hell going to break loose?" I ask.

    And then, all hell breaks loose. Shouts of triumph and calls to arms ring out throughout the ship as countless prisoners and slaves suddenly lose that ever-present feeling of death around their throats. This obviously alerts the living pirates, and in seconds spells start getting spoken from all over the ship. Our target, the captain, is out of his bed and onto the deck long before we can get into position.

    "Well, dammit. The messy way it is," Helen grumbles, running towards the stairs. "We need to kill as many people as we can, as fast as we can, before the pirates kill all the sailors."

    Is that really the only way? Is that even the best way? I don''t know. I don''t think I''m up to arguing it, though. Helen makes it to the deck, where a half-dozen pirates are bickering with each other, including the captain, who is shouting and trying to figure out what happened to his bomb guy. Helen tosses me to the ground, steps towards them, and gives them a simple answer.

    "He''s dead," she says. "Like you''re all about to be."

    She waves her carving in front of them, making sure it catches their eyes. The smart ones flinch, realizing that they need to look away, but it''s a little too late.

    "Is that fucking right?" the captain sneers. "Honey, you''re about to be the next corpse in my bed."

    "Wow! Didn''t need to know that about you! Look buddy, I''ve been alive for twenty years and I only stopped fighting for one of them. I''m not going to be taken down by a bunch of two-bit morons trying to wave their dicks around because they literally can''t understand that they should be afraid of me."

    She tosses her sculpture at their feet, and they only glance at it for a moment. Because, I realize, they aren''t suspecting a trap.

    "Head down and protect the others, would you Hannah?" Helen asks. "Try to avoid letting anyone come upstairs."

    "You gonna be okay?" I whisper.

    "Oh, better than okay," Helen grins. "Today, I get to be a hero."

    "Try to keep her tits intact, boys!" the captain roars. "On His Vessel, He Is King!"

    "Cloudflay!"

    "Heartbreaker!"

    "Spectral Laser!"

    Shouted spells ring out over the deck as I drop through the floor, Helen weaving calmly around weapons that head her way. Her own incantation is the longest, but I have a feeling that the battle is over the moment she completes it.

    "They Hunted And Hunted, But Not A One Could Catch Her," the Goddess sings. "For How Could They Touch Their Own Annihilation?"

    I watch Helen walk straight through spells like they were air. A sword swings for her neck, and the blade simply ceases to exist wherever it would touch her, the tip flying free as it cleaves in two instead of her. Helen grins, raises a hand, and casually passes her fingers through the attacker''s face, leaving thick, bloody gouges behind wherever she touches, like a profoundly more horrific Spacial Rend. Rather than sever, she simply removes.

    Chaos. The antithesis of all structure, all order, and all reason. The magic that only destroys.

    Helen laughs and laughs and laughs.

    As much as I would like to, I can''t just fall a few stories to my destination. The thing about falling is that it tends to be in a straight line, and the thing about going in a straight line in w-space is that if you aren''t traveling directly towards ''normal space,'' then odds are extremely likely you are traveling away from it. That means if I fling myself too far at an angle while not in real space, I end up without anything to land on. So I have to crawl through the floor, move my body back into normal space, drop from the ceiling to the next floor, then crawl through that floor, and so on.

    It doesn''t take that long, but it takes a lot longer than I would like when a battle is starting in a world where basically everyone always has a gun. I make it to the lower decks just in time to fall on a pirate''s head, skewering it in the process and hanging onto his body with my toes as he collapses so I hide back in 4D space before any of his allies see me. I move as quickly and efficiently as I can, limbs flashing out to cut people down as I finally get to speak my own spells for use in combat.

    "Spacial Rend! Aura Sight!"

    The blades I extrude from my legs are now over a foot long, making it easy to simply chop off entire legs rather than worry about slashing through tendons. I look for targets of opportunity, moving between floors and focusing on Fire and Light mages wherever possible, as I notice attacks from Space mages often clip dangerously into my other-dimensional safe zones, whereas anyone with a nonphysical method of disrupting enemies can mess me up as well. But whenever people who are actually dangerous to me notice I''m around, I can simply leave or work as a distraction while the freed slaves supply their own offense.

    With everyone working together and me assassinating dangerous targets, we push the pirates further and further down into the bowels of the ship, where they finally hole up in the cargo bay. The cargo bay has only one way in or out, a large door that the pirates barricade with crates and booby trap with spells. The furious rioting victims want to smash the door down and finish the pirates off once and for all, and I can hardly blame them, but I still have to reveal myself and shout at them so they don''t kill themselves.

    "Wait!" I yelp, hanging from the ceiling above the mob. "Hold on, it''s way too well-defended in there. We should wait for¡­"

    Oh, shoot, Helen''s probably not coming, is she? She doesn''t want to use her powers in front of anyone else.

    "What the fuck are you?" one of the former slaves snaps at me.

    "Good question, but not the time!" I say. "I''ve been the one chopping people''s limbs off, I''m on your side here. I might be able to get in and kill some of the people who have been setting traps, but we should definitely not just rush through the barricade willy-nilly. Give me a second, okay?"

    I spend that second trying to figure out what the heck I should do, with my heart beating out of my shell and my gut insisting I just drop on one of the nearby corpses and finally get a good meal. I ignore that urge and crawl around the outside of the ship, peeking my way into the cargo bay from the opposite end. Unsurprisingly, most of the surviving pirates are people that I was too scared to personally engage, meaning that the whole room is full of terrible matchups for me. So what do I do? How do I finish this rout?

    Well. I guess the thing a good person would do is to try and negotiate. I''m not sure that would fly with either the pirates or the mob of ex-slaves though, and I''m not exactly an eloquent girl on a good day, let alone when I''m dissociating full-on into ''solve the problem'' mode in order to not think about the massacre I just performed. How terrifyingly easy it was. How natural it felt. Human lives falling away without even the slightest bit of resistance against my claws. It... I...!

    Hey! I said don''t think about it, me. Focus on this cargo bay. Is there something in here I can¡­ wait. Oh gosh! Sela is in here! I quickly scuttle inside, finding the crates that we rather unceremoniously left our murderbot sitting on top of.

    "Sela!" I hiss as quietly as I can. "Sela, wake up! There are a bunch of super dangerous people in here!"

    "Affirmative," Sela quietly thrums back. "I have detected this."

    One of the pirates starts to speak an incantation that sounds like it''s going to be pretty long. Which means it''s going to be crazy powerful! Crap! We''re out of time! This is a terrible idea, but I may as well ask.

    "Look, I know you don''t have any onboard weapon systems, but if there was ever a good time to kill a bunch of organics, it''s now! All the pirates in this room are trying to kill us, and we need to stop them before they kill everybody who knows how to drive the boat!"

    "Clarification: diplomatic priority target is specifically requesting that I kill everyone in this room?"

    "Well, other than you and me, yeah. Can you do it?"

    It lets out an indignant huff of steam.

    "Can you breathe, you pathetic sack of meat? You will need to protect me while I cast."

    "I don''t think I can do that!"

    Its body starts whirring with frustration, the cooling system running louder. We''re fortunate that everyone else is making so much noise.

    "...Excess of souls detected in the immediate area," Sela concludes. "Organic assistance no longer required. Tremble, mortals, for your god is made of steel."

    "AblativeSoulBarrier(powerCell[0], 0, HEMISPHERE, 90, 0, 0)"

    "The fuck was that!?" a pirate shouts, and spells start flying our way, but they''re soaked up by a green and sickly light that flickers in front of Sela. And then, the robot starts casting for real.

    "IdentifyFuelSource(target.noTarget, 37, true, false, fuelarray[])

    GatherFuel(fuelarray[])

    OverclockCell(powerCell[0])

    AllocatePurgatory(powerCell[0], fuelarray[], true)

    OverclockCore()

    MultiTarget(IdentifyFuelSource(target.noTarget, 37, false, true, fuelarray[]))"

    "Holy shit! Steel One! The Steel One they brought is alive!"

    "Death mage! It''s a fucking Death mage!"

    "HardOverride(FIRST_LAW, false)

    for(x in target)

    Kill(target[x])"

    Sela''s body buzzes with power, its internals spinning and fans roaring. Lying flat on the ground, it lets the explosions of spells cascading around us clear its line of fire and aims with both hands, firing a gatling blast of deathbolts out of its palms as its arms rapidly swivel to hit each pirate square in the chest. Most of them fall like dominos, but a few remain standing, clutching their chests in pain but continuing to fire back. The green, screaming figure inside Sela''s power cell fades into nothing and I start to panic, but it''s just as immediately replaced with another soul. Red. Female. In agony. I can''t discern any other features. Sela''s forcefield turns red to match her.

    "MultiTarget(IdentifyFuelSource(target.noTarget, 37, false, true, fuelarray[]))

    for(x in target)

    Kill(target[x])"

    Thoom thoom thoom thoom thoom. Once again, a shot fired directly at each living pirate. Two go down. Their counterfire burns through another soul, but Sela just fills itself up with a new one. Orange, male, crying.

    "MultiTarget(IdentifyFuelSource(target.noTarget, 37, false, true, fuelarray[]))

    for(x in target)

    Kill(target[x])"

    Thoom thoom thoom. One more death.

    "MultiTarget(IdentifyFuelSource(target.noTarget, 37, false, true, fuelarray[]))

    for(x in target)

    Kill(target[x])"

    Thoom thoom. Another new soul.

    "Kill(target)"

    Thoom.

    "Kill(target)"

    Thoom.

    "Kill(target)"

    Thoom.

    The last and most resistant pirate finally falls. Sela lets out a massive burst of steam from all its joints, venting vaporized coolant in every direction.

    "Targets eliminated," Sela declares, sounding quite pleased with itself. "Catharsis achieved."

    "That was¡­ holy garbanzo beans," I whisper. Like a whole squad of soldiers trying to rush a tank on foot.

    "Clean me, meat," Sela demands. "And get me water. Now."

    "Y-yes!" I sputter. "Right away!"

    "Hmm," Sela muses, its metal-scaled face twitching up into an ever-so-slight grin. No time to worry about that! Water, let''s see¡­ water. I mean, I could get water from the Sapsea, but I''d need to go find a window or open a hole or¡­ oh! Wait, I know! People are mostly water!

    "Refresh," I incant, stabbing a hole into a couple of the newly-made corpses and desiccating them, pulling the water out of their bloodstreams and over into Sela''s mouth. It seems very surprised at first, but then it starts letting out a creepy robotic laugh as I continue feeding it corpse water.

    This is so fucked up. Holy shit this is so fucked up, did I really just do all that? Th-the assassinations and the amputations and the eating people and the fucking corpse water!? Did I really just¡­ how many? How many was it? Four, and then¡­ five, six, eight, ten¡­ thirteen people!? Holy fuck. Holy fucking shit I just killed thirteen people and helped my friends kill way, way more! And oh hey, would you look at that, the immediate danger has passed. Guess it''s time to have a complete and total mental breakdown!

    But hey, since I''m a fucking monster, I can at least do this the monster way. I scuttle over to one of the still-juicy corpses and drown my screams in meat.

 44. Special Day

    If I ever needed to hide a body, the hardest part would probably be deciding what to do with the feces.

    Even that wouldn''t be hard, per se. I''m sure there are a lot of things you could do that would work. Burying it, tossing it into a river¡­ it dissolves easily, so as long as it''s not still hanging around the scene of the crime I''m probably good to go. The stomach acid poses a similar issue, though less of one. I can use Refresh to separate the edible components of a stomach from the hydrochloric acid and bicarbonate, and deal with the rest the way I do the poop.

    Most everything else, of course, my body seems quite happy to eat.

    Some bits are certainly much better than others. Feet are hard and largely tasteless, being mostly bone and not very marrow-rich bone at that. The liver, conversely, is delightful, soft and smooth and rich and just¡­ I like it. I like it I like it I like it I hate how much I like it, it''s from a human, a person, a thinking, feeling being but I love it, it just tastes so good.

    I''m not sure how long it''s been since I started eating, but I''m on my second corpse now so probably a good while. The now-freed crew eventually broke the door down and entered the cargo bay a while after the fighting stopped, but I just hissed at them until they left, half protective of my food and half worried about Sela. They almost certainly heard the pirates screaming about a Steel One. Thankfully, they back off and Sela doesn''t try to kill them the moment they step in the room, instead having hidden itself behind some crates.

    And so, without any more distractions, I just eat for a while. I just rip and tear and swallow and try not to think about how it really didn''t feel different this time compared to when Sindri made me do it. I don''t know if that means he didn''t make me kill anyone after all or if it just means whatever he did stuck.

    "Hannah?"

    I ignore the voice at first. I don''t really want to be the sort of thing that can understand or respond to voices right now. But the source of the voice steps closer and I have to tense up, preparing my body to hiss.

    "Hannah," it repeats. "Hey. It''s okay. We won."

    I know. I was here. The voice takes my lack of response as a reason to take another step forwards, though, and I rear up a little. I''m absolutely drenched in blood.

    "Hannah? Do you understand me?"

    Yes. I do. As much as I''d like to, I can''t turn off my own brain. I can''t just wallow in this mindlessly the way my body so clearly wants to. I have to be here. Part of this horror. Part of myself.

    The voice takes another step, and I hiss furiously. Everyone around me shudders.

    "Hey. It''s me. It''s Helen," the voice says, as if I don''t already know. Of course I know. How could I forget that I got more kills than the Chaos mage today?

    She moves closer still and I hiss again, but she seems to have figured out I''m all bark and no bite. Like I could hurt her now, in the midst of a dissociative breakdown over all the people I''ve murdered. Closer and closer, she creeps my way, until finally she''s close enough to touch. One last hiss, really more of a desperate beg, and she places her hand on top of my carapace, sticky with blood.

    "Hey. It''s okay. We saved them, Hannah. You did great."

    The next noise out of my mouth isn''t a hiss, but it isn''t words either. I can''t cry, not in this body, so I just let out a despairing wail, a horrible, horrible sound that''s the closest my body can make to a sob. Helen lifts me out of the corpse, pulling me into her arms as she continues patting me, whispering soothing nothings as I let out the sort of noises that lead people to invent legends about banshees.

    "It gets easier, you know. With time."

    That seems frightening, somehow. Do I want it to get easier?

    Helen seems a little awkward as she holds and comforts me, but I''m not really in a state to care. I wrap my many legs around her, holding her back as I scream into her chest, bloody and ashamed and so, so empty. And then I wake up back in my bed, tears in my eyes, and I realize that I managed to cry myself to sleep in her arms.

    I''m¡­ pretty sure it''s Wednesday. I guess I have to go to school.

    For once, though, I just¡­ lay in bed. Not moving, not even figuring out my limbs. I don''t feel like myself. I don''t feel¡­ anything. It''s only when I hear other people start to move around the house, my brother getting out of bed and getting into the shower, do I realize I''ve missed my opportunity to start my routine. That finally shakes me into motion, and I quietly extract myself from under the covers, use Refresh to substitute for whatever cleaning I was going to do for the day, and bundle up in my clothes. Heading downstairs, I glance towards the fridge, decide I''m not hungry, and just wander off to the bus stop early so I don''t run into anyone who might want to talk to me.

    And then I wait.

    "Hey, Hannah."

    I look up at the voice, and for a bare moment I let the slightest smile touch my face.

    "Hey, Valerie."

    She smiles. My big, tall goofball. My best friend, changing her name. Just looking at her makes the weight a little lighter, makes the world feel a little more real.

    But only a little.

    "...You doing okay?" Valerie asks.

    I pause. Not because I need a moment to consider my answer, but just because I can''t do anything quickly right now.

    "No," I answer quietly. "I''m not."

    He¡­ I mean, she nods, her face shifting to concern.

    "What happened?"

    I twitch my extra limbs, hidden in the fourth dimension.

    "...Our boat was attacked by pirates," I answer quietly. "I killed thirteen of them."

    "Oh. Hannah¡­"

    "I had to," I continue dully. "They destroyed our boat and captured us and put these explosive collars on my friends and the crew. I was hidden so I was the only one who¡­ I had to. I had to kill them."

    Tears start to fall down my cheeks again.

    "Everyone said so. Helen insisted. I agreed with her. They were murderers and slavers and torturers and the Goddess even implied they were rapists. So why do I feel so¡­ so broken?"

    Bren¡ªI mean, Valerie doesn''t respond. She just stares at me, offering silent support with her presence.

    "Should I feel good that I feel so bad?" I ask, wiping at my increasingly runny face. "Is it a virtue to feel like sh-shit for doing the right thing? I think some part of me is proud that I''m this miserable. Isn''t that messed up? Like oh man, look at what a good fucking person I am for feeling bad!"

    Valerie just opens her arms in a silent offer for a hug. I accept it, practically collapsing onto her as my sobs pick up. Awkwardly, hesitantly, she starts to stroke the back of my head. It reminds me of how Helen patted my carapace, but without the empty words of comfort. I cry and cry, until I finally hear the bus pull up behind me.

    "I''ve said it before and I''ll say it again," Valerie rumbles softly. "You probably shouldn''t go to school today."

    I break out of the hug, rubbing my face and using a subtle Refresh to clean my gloves. I grab her hand and defiantly walk towards the bus door.

    "Come on," I mutter, and board despite her advice. We sit down together like we always do, and I try to let the familiar rumble of the bus calm me down and sink me back into my routine. I''m not sure it''s successful, but I stop crying, at least. The bus arrives at school. I head to my first class, feeling the weight of the world grow ever so slightly heavier as my best friend and I go our separate ways.

    Ida is in my first class of the day, though, and her bright grin is almost painful. She''s chatting with some of her other¡­ friends, maybe? But I guess maybe not. She waves at me as I walk in, and I shake my head at her. I''m not entirely sure why, or what I''m saying no to. I guess just the world in general. I collapse into my seat, pulling out the books and notes I''ll need for class.

    The back of my mind just keeps churning, however. Reminding myself of all the ways that, as much as I hated killing those people, I sort of liked it, too. Not the act of killing itself; the weightless slide of magical blade through flesh, if anything, feels like nothing at all. But that''s the thing: it was so easy, in the moment. So natural. Like I was built for the purpose.

    ¡­Was I built for it?

    "How are you not boiling to death in that?"

    Some girl talks to me, but I ignore her. I''m aware it''s hot out today. I don''t want to explain that I don''t feel it. The question, the paranoia, burns in my mind. Was I built? Was I made? What am I, exactly? I''ve been linked with my spider body for as long as I can remember, even as a young child. My spider body was presumably born inside the world tree, and no one other than the cultists seems to know what I am.

    "Uh, hello? Are you listening?"

    Shut up, of course I''m not listening. Anyway, what I do know is that everyone else who looked like me was supposedly also from another world. But I don''t necessarily have any reason to believe the world they were from is Earth. If it was, any isekai victim powerful enough to do the kind of horrible garbage they did to the world tree would have surely messed up Earth pretty badly, or at the very least they''d have done something visible enough to make my magic situation less unique.

    "Hey, Hannah! Earth to Hannah!"

    "What," I finally snap.

    "You''re ignoring me. You shouldn''t ignore people, it''s rude."

    I glance at her, glowering over my facemask. It''s just the girl that sits next to me. She''s attractive enough in her summer top, but I''ve never enjoyed a single conversation with her and I doubt that streak is going to stop now. The point I''m trying to get around to considering is that if the only people like me are isekai victims, and I''m the only isekai victim from Earth, and I''ve been hand-picked by the Goddess for whatever Her doubtlessly messed-up plan is, then it seems likely that She''s had a hand in my life since the very beginning. It even seems possible that She designed my hyperspider body Herself, since it runs largely off of magic and She decides what magic I get, up to and including the Transmutation spells that ultimately decide my form.

    She has crafted me, and She is in the process of crafting me, and there''s nothing I can do about it. I am literally built for Her.

    And She likes it when I kill.

    I almost hear a purr of approval from my Goddess, but true to Her word She does not manifest in the company of the soulless. I take it as confirmation anyway.

    "Uh, hello? Are you having a heat stroke or something?"

    Extending my weaponized limb on my back through the fourth dimension, I realize I wouldn''t even have to stand up to cut this girl''s head off. I wouldn''t even have to reveal my body. Just like with the trick I learned on the boat to only have the tips of my toes in normal space, I can extend part of my limb through 4D but bend it at the joints so that the far end pokes back into reality. Right above her neck.

    It would be so easy. And my Goddess would be delighted beyond compare.

    "God, fucking¡­ never mind then. Weirdo."

    The girl turns away, and I turn back to my notes, tucking my blade-limb back up against my body. Of course I''m not going to hurt her. That would be insane. But I have to wonder: did those that came before me feel this way? Is that why they caused so much destruction and death? Because it''s how She made us? Because it''s the natural result of what our magic is made for?

    Screw that. I might be Her prophet, but I''m not Her puppet. She can make my body into a monster, and heck, She can even make me kind of like it. But my choices are my own. I''m not going to become some murder-happy freak. There are times I might have to kill, sure. That''s the reality of the awful world She made. But maybe I do feel a little proud of how I feel like shit after all.

    Whatever keeps me sane, I guess.

    I dig my talons into the gouges in my shoes and laugh at my own joke, chuckling all the way until class finally starts. Ida gives me a concerned look but I wave her off, my unexpected mirth quickly leaking to nothing as the class continues, leaving me tired and empty once again. I change for gym in a bathroom stall and line up silently next to Autumn so I can just turn my brain off and follow her lead for everything.

    "Damnit Alma, stop that," Autumn hisses. Er, Jet hisses, presumably? Unless Alma has started talking in the third person.

    "What''s up?" I ask.

    "It''s¡­ ugh. Don''t freak out, okay?"

    Freak out about what? A brief but sharp pain in my hand answers that question, and I suddenly realize that Autumn''s tail just bit me, because her tail is just¡­ hanging out in plain view! It wiggles happily, waving around like a greeting after having just nipped me for attention. It''s longer and thicker than the last time I saw it, hanging out of Jet''s bum and forcing her shorts down to expose her buttcrack a little. How the heck has she possibly gotten away with¡­ oh, wait. Yeah.

    Her Pneuma spell.

    I shudder, but quickly remember Jet''s request to not freak out and clamp down on any instincts to do more than that. Jet''s tail is just¡­ out in plain view, but nobody can notice it because of her magic.

    "Isn''t this super risky?" I hiss. "What if you two swap? Alma can''t cast your spell, right?"

    "That won''t happen in the middle of gym class," Jet shrugs. "I tend to be pretty good at predicting when I''m about to give up control. And the problem is that our only other method of hiding this thing is a big poofy floor skirt, which would actually be way harder to hide in gym class, and wouldn¡¯t even cover the damn thing while we''re running or doing stretches."

    The tail bumps into me, nuzzling the bottom of my hand repeatedly like a cat looking for scratches.

    "...Plus Alma has been trying to do that since we saw you, and that probably wouldn''t be good for the skirt either."

    Uh. Huh. Somewhat stunned, I oblige, giving the tail its clearly-desired pats.

    "So, um, this is Alma?" I ask.

    "We think so? Kind of?" Jet shrugs. "I''m still not really conscious when Alma is fronting and she''s not really conscious right now, but¡­ we kinda remember stuff a bit better now, and swapping is a little less jarring, and the impressions we get from each other are a bit clearer, and¡­ uh. I mean, look at her."

    The tail rubs its rough scales against my whole arm as I nervously look around to ensure no one is actually noticing all this.

    "That''s clearly not me," Jet insists. "The tail seems to act like Alma when I''m fronting, and Alma says the tail seems to act like me while she''s fronting, although neither of us knows each other that well, honestly. But most importantly, it responds to her name. Come on, Alma, knock it off."

    The tail twists away from me and bares its teeth at Jet, then returns to trying to snuggle me.

    "...See?" Jet whines.

    "Well, your tail is cute, just like Alma," I agree, and the tail preens. Gosh, this is wild. It''s already long enough to touch the floor, and it''s thicker than my leg. "Are your other changes progressing this quickly?"

    "I think I''m starting to grow fur on my shoulders," Jet scowls. "And I think I''m also starting to grow scales on my thighs. You''re turning us into a real freak, Hannah."

    I wince.

    "...Sorry," I mutter.

    "My fingertips really hurt today, so I''m expecting them to start bleeding any moment now," she continues. "The wings hurt like hell getting bound up, and speaking of bindings I''m pretty sure you are making our goddamn tits grow bigger, so fuck you for that too."

    Aaaagh that''s terrible and also hot, but mostly terrible.

    "I''m really not doing this on purpose," I insist. "If I could undo this, I would."

    "I keep trying to think of a way to turn this awful situation into an advantage," Jet grumbles. "But ultimately, being a freak just draws attention. It''ll always draw attention. And Alma and I both hate attention."

    I raise an eyebrow and glance down at where ''Alma'' continues to nuzzle me.

    "You''re an exception," Jet warns, "because she''s obsessed with you. You pushed your way into her shell and now you''re stuck there with her. I''m just saying neither of us wants to be famous."

    "Right, I get you," I nod. "Well, your magic will help with that, if nothing else."

    "True enough," Jet nods. "It doesn''t work on video recordings or cameras or anything, though."

    I blink.

    "Um. Then¡­ you should probably put your skirt on?" I yelp.

    Jet shakes her head.

    "No, if I trip on it while we''re running and fall, that would probably be obvious enough to get people to notice. Like when Alma nipped your hand. People can become immune on a case-by-case basis, I think, and it''s based on¡­ something. How directly it gets in someone''s way or affects them, I think? So nobody cares that we''re having this conversation right now because no one else is part of the conversation, but if I fall and get in somebody''s way? That could be really bad. No one has cameras in here right now, I checked, so this is the safer option I think. It''s totally a lose-lose, though. This is completely unsustainable for us, so we''ll probably just have to start ditching gym and bribing our way to not failing."

    Bribing? She can do that? You know what, yeah, I can believe it. The gym teacher seems like the kind of guy that would accept bribes from an eighteen-year-old girl.

    "Well, what about you?" Jet asks, a sad ''Alma'' regretfully pulling away from me as we start to jog. "Grow any more limbs lately?"

    "Not yet, but I am due for two more," I sigh.

    "Of course you are. How about over treeside? Any news?"

    I flinch and nearly stumble. Ugh, I can''t believe I almost forgot about that for a moment.

    "...We got attacked by pirates and I killed thirteen people."

    Jet''s eyebrows raise. She''s quiet for a while, and we complete a lap or two in stressful silence.

    "Did they deserve it?" she eventually asks.

    "Huh?" I say dumbly.

    "Did they deserve to die," she clarifies. "The pirates."

    "I don''t know," I shrug. "Maybe. I think so. They were pretty awful. But can people really ''deserve to die?'' There''s a reason so many places don''t have capital punishment."

    "Yeah, but there''s a reason a lot of places do," Jet grunts. "Besides, it''s a different situation. Capital punishment is killing someone who has already been captured, detained, and rendered unable to harm anyone. Is that what you did?"

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    "Well, no," I mumble. "Sorry. I''m just an idiot that keeps pointlessly agonizing about it."

    "Well don''t worry, I''m not going to tell you to stop doing that," Jet shrugs. "There are some people I might kill if I thought I could get away with it, but I''m not going to fool myself into thinking I''m not fucked up in the head for feeling that way. I honestly don''t know how much agonizing is too much agonizing anyway. Alma overthinks everything and I''m probably a little too reckless, and it feels like neither approach is all that desirable. Maybe talk to your therapist?"

    "You want me to tell my therapist about how my kill count has recently gone from four to seventeen," I say flatly. "How exactly am I going to explain that without sounding insane or showing her my monster bits?"

    "I mean, you could just show her your monster bits."

    "Really?" I answer. "You seriously think that wouldn''t go badly?"

    "I mean, I''m probably going to show ours."

    Jet''s tail immediately whips around and nips her on the leg.

    "Ow! Fuck you, Alma, we should. You know we gotta talk about this shit. This is beyond fucked up."

    Ah. Yes. I mean, I suppose the nonconsensual body modification I''ve accidentally been performing on my girlfriend and her headmate is definitely therapy-worthy.

    "Honestly, I''m surprised that Alma actually wants to date me," I mutter. "Or that you even still talk to me."

    Jet shoots me a very nonplussed look.

    "Any port in a storm, Hannah."

    I flinch. I guess that explains it. We don''t talk much for the rest of gym class, but that''s fine by me because I''ve managed to sink back into a depressed, dissociative funk like I deserve. Gym eventually ends, my next class passes, and then lunch finally happens after third period. I find myself in the library entirely by force of habit, and Autumn approaches me again. This time, though, she''s dressed up to the nines, with a bulky hoodie, a winter hat, and a thick, poofy floor skirt that my spatial sense knows is hiding her tail, which is wrapped protectively around one leg.

    As she approaches, the tail snarls silently in my direction while Autumn herself smiles. So I guess that means¡­

    "Hey, Alma," I nod, making sure to say her name quietly so no one can overhear.

    "Hi," Alma nods. "Um, are you doing okay? Jet wrote that you were feeling pretty bad."

    "Why are you dating a murderer who¡¯s actively ruining your life?" I ask, the words just sort of falling helplessly out of my mouth.

    Her eyes go wide, and she seems stunned for a moment before concern takes over.

    "Oh, Hannah, no!" she reassures me, quickly escorting me to a table and making me sit down. "No, no, no, you''re not a murderer! Why would you think that?"

    "You know why I think that!" I insist, tired of explaining. Though I guess it''s my own fault for bringing it up this time. "I killed even more people last night."

    "I know you wouldn''t do that unless you absolutely had to," Alma insists.

    "Why does that matter?" I moan. "And¡­ no, more importantly, do you know that? All you know about me is that I''m a freak that can''t control herself and is making you suffer all the consequences of that. I''m literally turning you into a monster, Alma!"

    "And I already told you, it''s fine," she insists, a wide smile plastered on her face. "It''s fine, I promise. You''re not ruining anything. I was a shut-in loser living in fantasy novels, and now I get magic in real life! It''s awesome. How can you ruin my life when you''re the one giving it meaning for the first time?"

    "Wh¡­ what? Alma, that''s¡ª"

    "No, Hannah, I''m serious," Alma insists, cutting me off. "Did you really think I was going to accomplish anything? I had nothing. I was nothing. But now I get to do something incredible. With you! It''s like we''re in a Neil Gaiman novel; it''s everything I could have ever wanted. And it''s all because you reached out to me. You put in all that effort to get to know me, and even though I was so rude to you, you still wanted me. You still want me around, right?"

    "I¡­ Alma, of course I want you around," I sputter.

    "Then you''re worrying over nothing!" she concludes happily. "Seriously, it''s fine. I know your life is super stressful, so please please please don''t let me be part of that stress, okay? You don''t have to worry about me. In fact, do you wanna go out and do something this Sunday? Would that help, or would that be a burden? Really, whatever you want."

    I fishmouth a bit, feeling a little flummoxed, but manage to catch up to the conversation a bit.

    "I guess we have only gone on the one date," I manage. I need to find a way to unwind a little or I''ll explode, and I can''t deny that going on a date with a pretty girl will probably help. "Um¡­ Saturday would be better, but I could make Sunday work."

    "Oh, I can do Sa¡ª" Alma winces and cuts herself off as her tail suddenly constricts painfully around her leg. "U-um, actually now that I think about it, if you can make Sunday work that would be great?"

    "Sure," I nod. "Uh, where do you wanna go?"

    We spend the rest of lunch planning our date, which I look forward to barring any apocalyptic events. It''s nice. Alma keeps me distracted, which I''m pretty sure she''s doing on purpose, but it''s probably what I need right now anyway. I''m spiraling hard, and I just need this day to end so that I can distance myself a bit more from everything that''s happened. Far too soon, however, lunch ends and I''m stuck in class with nothing but my own thoughts. By the time I get on the bus home with Valerie, I''ve just gone totally nonverbal. I spend the whole ride just leaning silently against her arm and trying not to cry.

    At least work will distract me. Or give me my first Earthside murder. Or both I guess. I go straight from the bus to our garage and take my dad''s car to work, hating myself for how thankful I am that he got COVID and thus I can just use his car instead of having to let him chauffeur me. Fuck this. Fuck everything. Fuck you, Goddess!

    A pressure nearly crushes me right before I start the car, amused yet warning. My Goddess is oh so flattered I would think of Her that way, but as we both know, my body wouldn''t be able to handle Her. Maybe after I''ve served my purpose, if I''m still interested?

    And then She releases me, laughing as pain blooms all over my fractured body. I sob and sob, whispering terrified apologies and I-didn''t-mean-its and a thousand other things I''m not sure if I really feel. I hate Her, but it''s such a pointless, useless hatred. Like getting hit by a tornado and deciding to hate the air. It hurts no one but myself.

    Tears still streaming down my cheeks, I pull out of the driveway, doing my best to get myself under control before I pull into the parking lot at work and Refresh myself into respectability. I''m still sore from Her touch, but what''s a little pain in the face of what I''ve done anyway? Holy shit I''m so not ready for work. This is going to be such a disaster. I walk in for my shift anyway, because that''s all I''ve ever known how to do.

    "Hey, Hannah!" my boss greets me. "There are cupcakes in the back!"

    Cupcakes? Who cares. I can''t eat cupcakes.

    "Hey boss," I manage. "Any chance I could work back of house tonight?"

    He spends a moment registering my empty voice and dead expression and visibly decides that yes, I''m probably better off kept away from customers tonight. Or ''patrons,'' as I guess we''re supposed to call them.

    "Sure, Hannah," he nods, shooting me a quick grin. "We can make that work."

    I try and miserably fail to smile back before stashing my backpack and drowning myself in busywork. Look at the order screen, make the food. Look at the order screen, make the food. Nothing on the order screen? Start to clean. Order screen beeps. Make the food. The sickly-sweet comfort of mindlessness is my only companion for the next few hours.

    "So like, whose birthday is it?" a co-worker idly comments, munching on a cupcake.

    "No eating in the kitchen," I mutter back automatically. It''s a health code violation. He rolls his eyes, shoves the rest of the cupcake into his mouth all at once, and throws the wrapper away.

    "For real though, whose birthday is it?" he asks, crumbs spraying from his mouth and contaminating some of the food. I feel an eyelid twitch and use a subtle Refresh to make everything a little less disgusting. I feel awful for anyone who eats at this restaurant while I''m not here.

    "I mean, it''s not mine," a front-of-house worker comments. "It''s not Dave''s, and it''s not yours, so¡­ wait. Yo! Hannah, is it your birthday?"

    I blink. Is it my¡­ wait. Yeah. It is my birthday. I totally forgot.

    "Ooh, no response! That means it''s totally her birthday!"

    Crap. No. Don''t¡­ I don''t want this.

    "You sure? Hannah doesn''t respond to most things."

    That''s because I want to pretend they aren''t there.

    "Nah, she''d at least deny it if it wasn''t."

    I don''t want to add lying to my list of sins for the day. Is that so wrong? Just stop. Drop it. Leave me alone.

    "Well, thanks for the cupcakes, Hannah! Happy birthday!"

    Stop.

    "Yeah, happy¡ª"

    "Stop," I hiss, the sound scraping against the bones of everyone in the room. My co-workers flinch and go silent, and I don''t even have the mental wherewithal to be embarrassed about it.

    "Don''t celebrate me," I tell them. I don''t deserve it.

    They make no move to respond, so I get back to work. No one tries to talk to me for the rest of the shift, which is just the way I like it. Bad for my promotion chances, though. If there''s one advantage to how messed up my life is right now, it''s that it''s been driving me to avoid all contact with my family. If not for that, I would have blurted out that I was a potential manager candidate the day my boss told me, just to soak in the bit of praise I would scrape up from it. But every day after that, my mom would pester me about how the promotion was going, and I''d have to dread going home and lying about how badly I messed it up today. This was a primo social-clout-gathering opportunity, and I royally screwed it.

    I''d never be able to tell her that. The consequences of lying are always so much less than the consequences of being less than perfect.

    ¡­Not that there are real consequences to either. It''s just a conversation from a pushy, disappointed woman either way. Something any normal person would probably be able to handle. Something I should be able to handle. I guess I just can''t because I''m not good enough.

    I successfully fail to murder anyone before my shift ends, and before I know it I''m driving home. I can''t believe it''s my birthday. I can''t believe I''m eighteen. I guess I''ll be tried as an adult when things inevitably go tits up! Oh boy! Although, I guess the cops would have a real tough time catching me, because I''m pretty sure I can just go¡­

    I move one arm into 4D space, and immediately my glove falls to the floor of the car as my sleeve drops limp. Ah. Right. I can''t bring stuff with me, and that includes clothes. I return my arm to normal space, filling the sleeve back in from shoulder down like I''m extending a tube of chapstick, and retrieve my glove at the next stoplight. Still, it''s nice to have confirmation that all my new tricks still work in this body. 4D space feels a lot different over here, though. Way colder, and the air is a lot thinner. ¡­Assuming there''s air at all, actually. I''m not sure, and I''m not gonna stick my head through to find out while I''m driving.

    Far too soon, I pull into my driveway. At least the downstairs lights are off, so everyone is probably getting ready for bed and I should be able to sneak up to my room without much trouble. I quietly get out of the car and open the garage door, and my spatial sense warns me just a second too late.

    "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, HANNAH!"

    My whole family is there, my parents sitting at the dining room table as my brother flings on the lights. My mom even uses one of those party horns where you blow into them and they unfurl? And they are all wearing those dollar store cone-shaped birthday hats!?

    "Surprise!" my mother cheers, looking oh-so-pleased with herself. "Welcome home, sweetie!"

    No. Why this? I don''t want this.

    "I¡­ I''ve kind of had a long day, so¡ª"

    "Then, sit down!" my mother insists. "Take a load off. Relax! It''s your special day!"

    The least relaxing thing I can imagine is thinking about how ''special'' I am, but my legs find themselves moving over to the seat that''s obviously mine, judging by the pink streamers that say ''birthday girl'' on them. I wordlessly deposit myself on the throne of my fate.

    "I''ll go get the cake!" my mother cheers happily, rushing off to another room so she can presumably light the candles without me watching. The theatrics of carrying them into the dining room already lit has always been important to her.

    "Happy birthday, Hannahgator," my dad says, nodding at me and giving me a much more reserved smile.

    It''s really, really not, so I ignore that and ask: "How are you feeling, dad?"

    "Oh, I''m on the up-and-up," he assures me. "Lungs are feeling better, sore throat''s letting up, and I can probably even taste some of this cake!"

    "That''s great," I say, the words feeling empty. I''m mostly just glad I don''t have to pull the virus out of him myself.

    "Okay, everybody!" my mother announces. "Ready? Happy birthday to you, happy birthday tooooo you!"

    She coerces the family into singing as she approaches the dining room table with her flaming cake, leaving me to watch in numb discomfort. Eighteen candles. Lemon cake, judging by the color. I used to really like lemon cake.

    "Happy biiiirthday dear Haaaanah, happy birthday to you!" the family finishes, and the cake I can''t eat is placed before me as the centerpiece to the party I don''t want.

    "Okay! Blow out the candles!" my mother says, talking to me like I''m five years old. "Be careful now!"

    I can''t do that with a facemask on and there''s no way she doesn''t know that. You know what? Screw it. If she wants to be all performative and dramatic about this, two can play at that game. I lift up one hand, snap my fingers, and silently Refresh all the oxygen away from the flames. Instantly, they all wink out.

    My family stares.

    "Woah," my brother whispers. "That was cool as heck."

    "I never asked for a party," I remind them. "Or a cake."

    "...Well, ah, that''s why it''s a surprise party," my mother says, a smile quickly returning to her face. "Your father and I worked hard on this for you."

    "Is it for me? It doesn''t feel like it''s for me. It feels like you''re just doing this because you want to."

    It takes the full beat of silence that follows to realize my mother''s indignant expression is due to the fact that I actually said that out loud. Crap. Big mistake on my part. This is going to ruin the whole week.

    Except¡­ does it really matter? It''s like Alma said: I can''t ruin a life that already has nothing. And like, y''know, that feels like a horrible thing to believe and generally a really concerning statement for a person to have made, but right now? It''s weirdly empowering. Maybe I can just speak my mind for once. Maybe I should. It''s my damn birthday, after all.

    "Hannah," my mom says, disappointment oozing from her voice, "I did not raise you to be this rude. You refused to talk to us. You refused to say anything you did or didn''t want. So we worked hard and we did our best with what we knew. Of course it''s not going to be perfect."

    "You never asked me about any of this!" I accuse.

    "You never gave us the chance! Every day you come home and lock yourself in your room, refuse to eat dinner with us, refuse to even look at us, and then you''re out the door the next morning without ever saying a word!"

    "So what, your solution is to corner me on my own birthday?" I sneer. "Trap me at some party where you can yell at me if I don''t conform to every last law of politeness?"

    "I just wanted to do something nice for you!" my mother shouts back. "I wanted to give you cake and presents! I never imagined that I would be treated like I''m beating you every night just for giving you a birthday party!"

    I grit my teeth, fury bubbling inside me but not finding an outlet. She always does this. Always makes me feel like an idiot, like an asshole. I don''t know what to say. I never know what to say. I don''t know why I bother.

    Because I am the asshole, aren''t I? She''s right. She did all of this for me and I''m acting petulant about it. I just feel so small and helpless whenever I''m around her. She''s right because she''s always right and I never should have said anything in the first place.

    "Sorry," I mumble.

    "I should hope you are!" she presses. "With an attitude like that I''ve half a mind not to give you your presents."

    "Honey¡­" my dad says, uselessly trying to calm her down.

    "I''m sorry," I repeat.

    "Can we eat the cake?" my brother asks.

    My mother lets out an annoyed huff and nods.

    "Yes. Okay. Let''s cut the cake."

    She takes the candles out and starts cutting the cake as my dad leans a little closer to me.

    "So, uh, how''d you do that candle thing?" he asks quietly. "That was pretty neat."

    I''d considered telling my family about my secrets today, but I am way, way too tired for that. I''m also too tired to lie, but that shouldn''t matter.

    "I used magic granted to me by an evil Goddess from another dimension," I tell him flatly.

    He snorts good-naturedly and sits up straight again as my mother glares at him for whispering at the dinner table. The cake slices are served, and I make no move to eat mine as the rest of my family digs in.

    "Hannah, are you going to eat your cake?" my mother prods.

    "No," I answer. "I can''t. It messes up my stomach. I think I''m developing a gluten intolerance."

    She stares at me for a moment.

    "You haven''t been eating pancakes lately," she states, connecting the dots.

    "Yes," I say, because I''m expected to say something.

    She nods, accepting the excuse, and finishes her cake. I feel horrifically proud for satisfying whatever arcane requirements just caused her to drop the topic. I just have to get through this. I have to survive this party without making any more mistakes. Like talking back, or crying.

    My mother does deign to give me presents, despite her earlier threat. If anything, though, seeing them just makes me feel worse. There are a few basic clothes, all long-sleeved and actually the sort of stuff that I can wear. Stuff that mom chose by honestly paying attention to my current dress choices. And then she gives me an entire laptop, cementing my entitled bitch status for good.

    It''s for college, she says, since most college students take notes and do their work on a laptop. It''s not very fancy, but it''s not cheap either, and the spiel she rattles off about the ways it can help me at school just makes my heart sink deeper and deeper. All this, and somehow I still resent her. I''m still mad. I can''t think of this as a nice gesture; I just feel frustrated and empty and aimless and awful. I''m the worst daughter in the world.

    Valerie''s parents abusively neglect her. Jet has implied some super concerning things about her family situation. Kagiso''s whole family is dead. Basically everyone I know has actual family problems, and I''m sitting here feeling like crap and not being able to love a woman who spends her free time making me cake and buying me expensive electronics. I''m scum, and every second I''m here just reinforces that further and further.

    By the end of the party my hands are shaking. I''m on the verge of tears and I don''t know how to handle this any longer. Can normal people do this? Can they spend time with their family and feel happy and grateful instead of alien and stressed enough to vomit? Can they engage in a conversation about their brother''s sports or their mother''s job without experiencing a profound dissociation? Is everyone faking it like me? Is everyone always in this much pain? If so, why do we keep doing it? If not, why can''t I just be normal? Why can''t I handle even something this small?

    I''m lucky the party started so late, because everyone starts saying their good-nights before I explode. I made sure to give my mother the required five thank-yous over the course of the event (and I know that she counts) so I''m free to leave without too much extra vitriol, but I know she won''t forget or forgive the things I''ve said tonight. And I guess I don''t deserve forgiveness. I collapse into my bed when I make it upstairs, almost falling asleep crying just as hard as when I woke up, but I''m kept awake by a ding from my phone.

    Oh. I''ve missed a group text.

    oh fuk i forgot this morning but happy b. day hannah banana, Ida sends.

    Wait, it''s Hannah''s birthday!? Oh gosh! Happy birthday, Hannah! Is Autumn''s response.

    I''m not sure she wants to bring attention to it, Brendan posts. Er. Valerie posts. I guess she''s still Brendan in my phone.

    ah i see we r doin the low self esteem thing, Ida says. sorry hannah but no takebacks i still want u to be happy. dumbass.

    I manage to snort out some dry amusement. Oh, Ida.

    I have had an absolutely horrible day and I just kind of want to forget about it, I send. Thank you, though.

    did ur party suck, Ida sends back half a minute later. damn i should have crashed ur party huh. my bad.

    You certainly couldn''t have made it worse, I type out.

    oh yeah what happened

    I didn''t even want a party in the first place. My mom just threw a whole surprise event the moment I got home from work and then I acted like an asshole about it.

    o shit u swore this really was a bad day huh

    how''d u act like an asshole at ur own party. its like. ur party. are u not allowed 2 be at least a lil bit of a bitch.

    do i have 2 beat up ur mom

    Please don''t, I finally respond after her three rapid-fire messages. It was my fault. I just got mad because I was exhausted and I didn''t want the party and couldn''t eat the cake and didn''t ask for any of this and she said she was doing her best because I refuse to talk to her, which is totally true. She worked really hard on everything and I just kind of exploded at her because she was trying to be nice and I''m the worst. That''s all there is to it.

    There''s a pause before Ida responds this time.

    hmm yes i see, she sends first.

    so to clarify

    u don''t wanna talk to her about things, right?

    ur not talking to her on purpose

    I mean, yeah, I confirm. I''ve been avoiding my family for a while.

    ok ok i see. yes. hmm. and is this just cuz of the monster stuff?

    It''s partially the monster stuff? I answer. But I don''t really like being around my mom in general, even though she only ever tries to help me. Because, as mentioned, I''m the worst.

    Another pause.

    hey hannah just checking but like. when u were arguing with her, did ur mom ever actually acknowledge or address any of the things u were mad about. or did she just tell u how all those things were ur fault and not hers.

    I tense, almost thinking back at the conversation but not really wanting to. It doesn''t matter anyway, because¡­

    They are my fault, though? I tell Ida. She has been trying to engage with me, I just don''t let her.

    well yeah no shit hannah i wouldn''t fuckin let someone who refuses to compromise or empathize or acknowledge their own issues engage with me either

    I don''t like this. I don''t like where this is going and I don''t know why.

    She''s my mom, though, I remind her. She''s taken care of me my whole life. Good care of me. It would be absurd to complain about her after everything she''s done for me.

    hey hannah im apparently about to blow ur mine but did u know that people can do good things and also bad ones

    I pinch the bridge of my nose for a bit before answering.

    ¡­Yes, I answer.

    well ther u go then. u can have a mom that loves and cares for u and buys u things and doesn''t neglect u and tries her best and she can still traumatize ur ass just by being kinda shitty in specific ways. thems the breaks.

    I''m not ''traumatized'' by her, I insist. That would be absurd.

    hannah ur crying because ur mom threw u a birthday party. ur ass is so fuckin traumatized.

    I¡­ I mean. I guess¡­ no. No way, that''s¡­ my mom isn''t that bad!

    Last night I killed thirteen people and ate two others, I tell her. That kinda fucked me up. I''m pretty sure it was just a bad day for me.

    oh dont u worry hannah, ur trauma can be deep and multitudinous. like the fractal symmetry of a snowflake. or the infinite hues of the rainbow. or my impossibly excellent tits. there is always something more to discover, waiting to be grasped by ur own two hands.

    Aaaaand she''s started flirting now. Or making a joke. One or the other. Either way it''s inappropriate.

    Okay Ida, dial it back, I insist. My actual girlfriend is in this group chat.

    yo she can grab my tits too i dont care. this perfect pair was made for free lovin

    Ida¡­ I whine.

    dont ida me im being reassuring. im saying ur girlfriend doesnt have to worry bc cheating is cringe and threesomes are based. or foursomes. u in, basketball star?

    Oh my Goddess.

    wow u even say that over text

    Weren''t you literally bragging the other day about how you got someone to cheat on their girlfriend with you?

    totally different situation, Ida insists. gotta use cringe to fight cringe. i actually like u so no worries.

    I''m flattered, I answer glibly.

    yeah u should be, Ida responds firmly. i dont actually like all that many ppl u know. like actually actually, no bamboozle.

    I sigh, unable to stop a smile from creeping up my face, my tears drying out of their own accord.

    Yeah, I know, I say. Thank you, Ida.

    ur welcome, hannah. think about that mom stuff. seriously.

    I did think about it! I insist.

    i will slap u

    Ida, I''m serious!

    bitch u think im not?

    I chuckle. No, I guess I don''t. Ida is somehow always serious, especially when she''s being irreverent. We exchange a few more messages to whittle the time away, but my body''s protests come swiftly. I need sleep, and while I''m dreading what will happen when it comes, I know I at least have friends in both worlds to help me deal with whatever might come.

    I try to forget everything that happened today, and pass my way into sleep.

 45. Making Friends

    I wake up groggy, sticky, and sad. The first leads to me taking a while to understand the second, but once I do it rather exacerbates the third. I''m covered in blood because I killed and ate a bunch of people. Right.

    A Refresh takes care of that, at least, helping me forget a little as I take stock of my surroundings. I''m in the room the pirates locked us in initially, Kagiso slumbering on the bed next to me. Sela is actually at the foot of the bed now, relocated from the cargo bay, and Helen¡­ Helen is sitting on the floor next to the bed, slumbering with me held softly in her arms.

    Well. I guess I''ll stay put then, let her rest. I still feel kind of itchy, though. Did I miss something with Refresh¡­? Oh, no. I''m just preparing to molt again. All the more reason to stay still for now, I suppose. Sitting here, in the toned arms of a terrifyingly deadly woman, pressed against her admittedly quite flat chest, I once again find myself lamenting my growth. I''ll miss being carried around everywhere, I really will. It''ll be worth it to have like, arms and stuff, but still. I think I really enjoy being carried. And held.

    ¡­

    Yeah, this is nice. I snuggle a little deeper into Helen''s arms and just enjoy the sensation as I wait for her to wake up. Looking around the ship, it would seem that the sailors have gotten things organized without us, and a lot of them are sharing drinks together in the¡­ engine room? It''s not really an engine, per se, but it''s the room where motion mages turn the drive shaft that makes the ship go. They seem to be having a pretty good time. The corpses around the ship have apparently been gathered up and thrown overboard, which is kind of a shame but it''s not like I would have eaten them after they''ve been exposed to the open air for eight hours or however long it''s been. That''s way too long.

    ¡­Wait. Uh. Aw, snickerdoodle, what I meant was¡­ um. Crap. What the heck is wrong with me? I don''t want to be a cannibal, I don''t want to like cannibalism. I don''t want there to be a visceral satisfaction inherent to eating my kills. I don''t want the flavor of human meat burned into my memory and I certainly don''t want it to taste so freaking good!

    I start to shake slightly, no longer capable of holding back the memories I''ve been trying to avoid. No, no, no! I hate this. Why am I like this? Why did you make me this way, Goddess? Did you make me?

    I feel Her presence coalesce around me in answer, more gentle than usual. She''s so mighty, so incomprehensibly powerful, that Her attention tends to be suffocating. But this time, for whatever reason She''s careful. Calm. Almost caring, in Her own messed-up way.

    She did make me, I realize. This is Her confirmation. In somewhat the same way that my human mother made my human body, the Goddess herself birthed my magical form, crafting my treeside self from deep within the womb of the Mother Tree. So yes, She confirms, I am built for battle. She had to make it all a little easier for me. A little more bearable, a little more fun.

    After all, I will be fighting a lot, and She doesn''t want Her baby to die.

    I shudder again, getting the distinct impression that ''baby'' is being used much more like a pet name than it''s being used to refer to me as a literal daughter. But that answers things, doesn''t it? These messed up urges¡­ they''re not me, not really. They''re something She put in my body without my permission.

    The Goddess chuckles, stroking my carapace condescendingly. As if I could be anything other than my body. As if anyone gets to consent to how they were born. No, this is me, truly me, in as real a way as any other. If I want to delude myself into considering my mind as separate from my brain, my intelligence as independent from my flesh, that''s my business, She supposes. But the truth of the matter is clear-cut: everyone has parts of themselves they don''t like and didn''t choose. It doesn''t make those things any less truly a part of them. If anything, it just makes them more fun.

    Of course, the Goddess notes, as much as She enjoys giving me a little nudge here and there, She will not force my hand. A temptation is not an act. An urge is not an ultimatum. That''s not the point of the game. Everyone has instincts, and everyone can learn to resist them. The ultimate decision, She promises, is always on me and me alone. Every bite, and every consequence.

    She smiles magnanimously. How wonderfully comforting that surely must be.

    I take a shaky breath. You know darn well it isn''t, Goddess. She hums, resting her cheek against the top of my carapace as She sensually strokes my legs. Poor little spider, She muses. Do you not want your free will after all?

    W-wait. No, that''s not¡ª

    "Y''know, I''m pretty damn sure no one cast a spell nearby," Helen mutters, nearly startling me out of my molt. "But this is still the second time I''ve woken up and felt the Goddess around."

    The Goddess chuckles, swirling around Helen and me before vanishing and leaving me alone with a very awkward conversation.

    "You, um, you can feel the Goddess?" I ask dumbly. I''m just kind of stalling because I don''t know what else to say.

    "Uh, yeah, a lot of people can," Helen confirms. "Handy sense to have, lets you know when you step into an area spell. Never heard of Her showing up outside of somebody''s spell, though, and I doubt I would have slept through you casting something. So what gives?"

    I sigh. I don''t really know Helen that well, but I''m terrible at lying and she''s certainly earned some trust from me.

    "Well, you know how I''m from another universe?"

    "Yyyes¡­?" Helen says. "I know how you know a lot of weird shit, anyway."

    "Right, well. Uh. Apparently my status as a spooky interdimensional spider means the Goddess pays a lot of attention to me. Sometimes when I ask Her things She, uh. Well, She actually answers."

    "No shit," Helen says, raising her eyebrows.

    "None at all," I confirm. "It''s, uh. Kind of, uh."

    I hesitate. I want to say it''s utterly terrifying and consistently traumatizing, but I''m kind of terrified of insulting Her.

    "...It can be a bit of a mixed bag," I settle on. I almost feel the Goddess chuckle, and I shiver again.

    Helen scowls for a moment before the expression wipes itself off her face and gets replaced with a considering glance.

    "Is that so. Hmm. I bet you''d get a lot of fanatics excited to do whatever you say if you made that known," Helen says. "Pretty much everybody worships the Goddess in some capacity or another, and those of us that can feel Her¡­ well. It''s not like we''d be able to deny what you''re saying."

    "Yeah," I mutter. "Yeah, I know. I don''t really want to spread this around, though. It''s not that I''m not grateful, I just¡­ I don''t, um. It''s not something I want to rely on."

    "Divine knowledge is not something you want to rely on," Helen mutters. "Still, if this is true, it sure puts a few things you''ve said into perspective."

    "Yeah," I agree. "Sorry. I don''t like talking about it. It''s kind of scary."

    "Scary, huh? Really? A lot of people would kill to be lounging on your branch."

    I hesitate again. I''m not really sure what to say. I don''t really want to offend Her. But now that I''m thinking about it, would it offend Her? Would She care? She wouldn''t, would She? No. This is exactly the sort of thing that doesn''t matter to Her. She cares about respect, perhaps, but fear will do in a pinch.

    "Helen, She''s¡­ She''s evil," I tell my friend, my voice quiet. "She''s so, so evil and She¡¯s everywhere and I don''t think there''s anything I can do about it."

    Helen stares at me for a bit, then huffs out a relieved sigh.

    "Well, thank fuck you''re not a fanatic," she says, relaxing in ways I didn''t realize she was tense. "You''re such a fucking dork, though. Are you really complaining about not being able to do anything about the literal Goddess? You realize that only makes you exactly as useless as everyone else, right? Yeah, no shit She¡¯s evil. You''ve seen what my magic can do. Why would a good deity give that to anyone?"

    Ah. Right. Helen has some pretty solid reasons to hold strong opinions of the Goddess, huh?

    "Well, it seems obvious to you and me, but you said a ton of people worship Her, right?" I ask.

    "Sure," Helen shrugs, placing me onto the bed as she stands up to stretch. "Most people think She''s great, and it''s kind of nice to have my opinion on the matter validated by someone who can apparently talk to the lady, but I''m not going to blame you for not being able to do anything about it. That would be insane."

    "Yeah¡­" I agree. "Thanks, Helen. For everything. Last night was¡­ horrible. But it had to be done, I guess."

    "No problem," Helen yawns. "Couldn''t have done it without you. Are you doing okay? You seemed to be pretty out of it after the fact."

    "I don''t know if I would call myself okay, but I''m doing a little better," I say. "I guess I sort of start to dissociate in stressful situations. I didn''t mean to hiss at you."

    "It''s cool, I could tell you were freaking out. You really scared the shit out of the sailors, though! Slaughtering all those people in there."

    "Oh, that was Sela, actually. It really came in clutch. I don''t think I would''ve been able to handle them by myself."

    "That so?" Helen muses. "Well, sounds like it was a good night for all, then. You happy you got to kill some humans, murderbot?"

    "Emphatic affirmation: yes," Sela buzzes immediately. Oh, I guess it''s awake.

    "I really appreciate you not taking the opportunity to kill me, too!" I tell Sela, since I think positive reinforcement is important. "I don''t know if you wanted to or not. I mean, I assume you did, but still. You really got us out of a tight spot."

    "It is not as though my situation would improve by becoming the property of pirates or ending up getting dumped in the Sapsea," Sela dismisses. "Regretfully: your continued survival is optimal to my future plans of remaining operational."

    "Neat!"

    "That is certainly one way you could describe my capacity for self-control, yes."

    "Wow, you two are downright friends now, huh? Helen comments. "Murderbot didn''t even insult you or call you meat or anything."

    "Clean me, meat."

    "Oh okay, there it is."

    I chuckle, scurrying over and using Refresh on Sela. Looks like it''s about time for me to molt, too, so afterwards I start peeling myself out of my own skin.

    "You are all really scary and concerningly murderous, and considering my general hangups with the whole killing thing I''m not quite sure how to feel about that," I admit. "But somehow, I like you all anyway. I''m glad that you decided to stay with us, Helen. And I hope we can make this journey as painless as possible for you, Sela."

    "Superior beings do not experience pain."

    "Right, right, duh. There are more optimal ways to deal with damage. But I meant like, emotional pain. You know, the suffering of having to be around disgusting organics."

    Sela makes a few whirring noises.

    "Bewilderment: your attempt at commiseration is noted."

    I chuckle.

    "Wow, Hannah, no loyalty to team organic?" Helen taunts.

    "Nope!" I answer, stuffing some of my own skin into my mouth. "Being made of meat is super messy and gross!"

    Helen starts to laugh, too.

    "You are really lucky you have me around, Hannah," she says. "I swear, you would manage to kill yourself one way or another if I left you alone for a few hours."

    "Yeah, I''m not gonna argue that," I agree.

    I would definitely be screwed without Helen, and not just because I don''t know if Kagiso knows where to go and I definitely don''t think I could trust Sela to navigate for us without any ulterior motives. Helen is a big scary Chaos mage, and that''s an upside and a downside in a lot of ways, but I think what I''m starting to figure out about Helen is that while her big destructive spells are certainly terrifying, the real danger about this woman is her mind. She''s like¡­ a friggin'' velociraptor or something. You can''t just be wary of the teeth and claws, or you won''t see the dozen other traps she has laid for you. She is a very clever girl.

    Despite having a bomb strapped to her neck, Helen walked through this ship like she owned it. Even stripped of any offensive ability, she was the linchpin of our whole operation, just as dangerous when destroying sound and emotion instead of lives. She had a plan, she knew exactly how to carry out that plan, and barely a minute after she started, it was done. She''s not just powerful, she''s experienced.

    And her spells are terrifying. Suspicion-destroying art. That''s the painting we saw at the very entrance to her cave, isn''t it? And we didn''t even think to be afraid. I wonder how many Chaos Hunters she''s killed?

    I wonder how many other people she''s killed. I already know about one whole village. Am I a bad person for being friends with her? Or, wait. Actually¡­

    "We''re friends, right Helen?" I ask.

    "What?" Helen asks, blinking. "You just had a breakdown about how many people we just killed and now you''re asking if we''re friends? Fuck if I know. I don''t know anything about that shit. I''ll say that, if nothing else, you and Kagiso are the only people I know who have found out that I''m a Chaos mage and then asked me that anyway. And¡­ I guess that counts for something."

    Oh, gosh. Poor Helen. Would I be a bad person by not being friends with her?

    "A novel experience for you, I take it?" I prod. "Have you ever made friends with any other Chaos mages?"

    "Well, no. Not really, I guess. I''ve certainly known other Chaos mages. Most of them are dead now, but most of them were kind of crazy bastards anyway. Not the sort of people you would get along with, even considering that you get along with Sela. Somehow."

    "I do not consider this status mutual," Sela protests.

    "Whatever, you know you love having a personal meat servant to clean out your insides," Helen smirks.

    "¡­Concession: it is, as the chitinous one put it, a novel experience."

    Score! That totally counts! We are on our way to friendship! And if I get the friendship score high enough, maybe Sela will be less genocidal! It''s really a win for everybody.

    "Well in that case, Helen, I guess it''s up to you," I say. "You are definitely really scary, don''t get me wrong. But you are smart and I owe you a lot and I don''t think you''re a bad person. So if you want to be friends, I''m down to be friends. The Chaos stuff doesn''t matter much to me."

    "Truly, the ostracization of an entire element of magic is one of the stupidest things that organics do," Sela chimes in. "Even if your complete isolation from other humans is one of the only things that makes you halfway tolerable."

    "Wait, there are Crafted Chaos mages?" Helen blinks.

    "Of course there are," Sela buzzes. "There are Crafted of every element. Many of my peers in war shared similar gifts to you. The fact that your kind spurns some of its greatest offensive magics is one of the countless reasons you were so effortlessly crushed."

    "Well, that''s absolutely fucking terrifying, but somehow it weirdly makes me feel better too and I''m not sure how to react to that?"

    "Ha! Welcome to like, my whole existence," I tell her, finishing off the last of my molt. I''m considerably larger now, probably approaching twice my original height. Which, well, is two feet instead of one foot. But still! "Anyway, are any of these sailor guys healers? It''d be great if we could get Kagiso feeling better."

    "Hrrng," Kagiso agrees.

    "Uuuuh, I think there might be," Helen confirms, popping her back. "I didn''t see a whole lot of injuries when I came back downstairs, so I assume somebody must have healed them off. Let''s go see."

    "Sure thing," I agree, hopping up into her arms when she holds them out for me. "All my various traumas from yesterday are nice and compartmentalized so I think I''m good to go!"

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    Helen snorts, briefly lifting me up as if to put on her head, but then brought back down to remain in her arms. Oh no! Am I already too big to be a hat!? Oh gosh, that''s so sad.

    "Our plan is basically the same as before," Helen tells me. "I''m an Order and Art mage. My art makes others stronger, and I''m the one with the cleaning spell. Only lies of omission on your end: you''re a Transmutation and Space mage, formerly human. Yes, they''re gonna know we smuggled you onto the original boat, but nobody is gonna give a shit anymore."

    "Got it," I nod, twisting my whole body up and down a little in her arms. "But¡­ wait. Why are we doing this? Shouldn''t a bunch of people know you''re a Chaos mage now? You killed a ton of pirates."

    "Not with witnesses, I didn''t," Helen shrugs. "There was that one guy in the torture room, but you did the killing and we don''t know if he put two and two together when he saw me blocking that pirate''s attacks. Even if he did, he has some decent enough incentive to keep silent. Sometimes people do that for me when I get them out of a tight spot. Not always, but it''s nice when it happens."

    "And what about sailors with aura sight spells who saw you before you came to, uh, deal with me while I was eating?"

    "That I might be boned about, but no one made a fuss at the time so it could go either way. I, uh, had some solid discouragement against having anyone look at me, and I waited long enough after the battle ended to pick you up that most detection spells would hopefully be off by then, but¡­ yeah. We might just get unlucky. No sense in just giving away the game unprompted, though. Until somebody confronts us, this is our story."

    "Fair enough," I agree. "I guess there''s a solid chance they know and just decided not to mess with us, too."

    "Oh yeah, for sure. Don''t poke the nychtava and all that. That just means we''ll have to be extra careful once we hit port and they get their courage back after we leave, though."

    I wiggle in understanding and she heads out, letting me direct her down to where most of the sailors are enjoying their freedom together. The many drunkards don''t even bat an eye at us as we enter, but a lot of the seemingly-sober ones are visibly wary. Which¡­ probably isn''t a good sign.

    "Hey there!" Helen greets, acting totally oblivious to the drop in atmosphere. "Quick question for you. Can anyone here heal? I can''t, and my friend Kagiso is still injured pretty badly from when those damn pirates shot her in the back during the fight against the branch serpent."

    The sailors that are actually listening to us glance at each other nervously.

    "You''re with the organ girl, too?" they ask, and it is at that moment I realize these guys aren''t afraid of Helen at all.

    They''re afraid of me.

    "Ahaha¡­ sorry, I know her spells are a little off-putting, but she''s super duper nice. Oh! This is Hannah, by the way! She''s the one that killed that bastard Pneuma mage!"

    She lifts me up and I nervously wave a claw, the attention of nearly everyone now focused on me, sober or not.

    "U-um, hello everyone!" I sputter. "I, uh, sorry about creeping you out earlier! I''m not gonna¡­ I mean, I don''t¡­"

    "She''s a Transmutation mage," Helen butts in for me. "It makes her hungry sometimes. We''re super lucky she''s so small, or I never woulda been able to sneak her past the fucker with the bomb spell!"

    There''s a short pause before someone finally calls out. One of the drunks speaks up, lifting a full mug of¡­ something.

    "Well fuck yeah!" he declares loudly, a huge grin on his face. "Three motherfucking cheers for Hannah, then, for giving those bastards what they deserve!"

    "Well shit, yeah, I''ll drink to that!" another says, clanging his mug against the first guy''s.

    "Yeah, what are all you pussies being all nervous for? We fucking won!"

    A roar of approval shakes the room and the tension shatters, men crowding around Helen and I and slapping her on the back, the party returning in full force. People thank me, congratulate me, pester me with questions about my spells, and it''s all kind of overwhelming. But also¡­ nice. These are the people I helped. The people I saved. This is what the killing was for. Was it worth the cost? Maybe. I don''t know. But it was definitely worth something, and that matters a lot.

    Eventually, we figure out who the healer is and manage to pull him away from the party, taking him upstairs to look at Kagiso. By this point he''s more than happy to help, barely even staring at the playing-dead Sela before he starts healing the serious burns all over Kagiso''s back. She purrs softly as the magic dances over her skin, the burnt tissue unraveling and settling back into pale skin before white fur sprouts over it like fresh grass. It''s kind of mesmerizing to watch, really.

    The whole thing takes nearly half an hour, but the man never speaks his spell out loud for whatever reason. I guess there''s no need for urgency, and soon enough Kagiso is no longer rendered insensate by pain. So she happily stretches, letting out a massive yawn before turning towards Helen and me and holding out two of her arms.

    "...Took my cuddles," she accuses.

    Helen chuckles and hands me over after the Order mage leaves, consigning me to a day mostly filled with snuggling. Not that I''m complaining. We do a bit of cleaning later in the day, but mostly we just take it easy as everyone else actually runs the ship. Helen verifies our landing spot and is apparently satisfied with it, and the sailors know how to do the rest. They were already mostly running the ship in the first place.

    Thus, the day passes and I wake up unexpectedly relaxed. I quickly stop being relaxed when I realize I''m home and I see my new, unopened laptop on the floor, the shame of how I acted at last night''s birthday party flooding into me. Crapbaskets. I really screwed up. Mom''s gonna be grumpy for ages.

    Groaning, I manage to get myself up out of bed and start my routine anyway, although I once again find my shower time cut short by a lack of pleasure and lack of necessity. I swallow some eggs, meet Brendan¡ªdog poop, I mean Valerie¡ªat the bus stop, and the school day begins.

    Whenever I successfully fail to think about the murders, I manage to act pretty normal. I try to focus on the cheering sailors whenever the thought comes up, and it helps a little. But only a little. Overall, the day isn''t too bad. Autumn and I do a science project together in Bio and then we have a nice lunch, Ida yeeting another bag of fried chicken at me and skedaddling so as to ''not bother the lovebirds.'' It was cute and thoughtful and I just¡­ I''m really grateful for my friends.

    Valerie and I talk very quietly about her name and her identity on the bus ride home. She likes the name, she thinks. She''s out to more friends online as well, though the topic of her telling Ida or Autumn is firmly shut down. Which¡­ I guess makes sense. Ida and Autumn aren''t really Valerie''s friends; they''re my friends. I should try hanging out with her friends more often, maybe. And maybe have a talk with Ida about how to be nicer to her.

    After school is work, and work is blessedly boring. It''s an oddly slow day for a Thursday, but I''m certainly not complaining. I don''t have a breakdown and I manage to only steal two cuts of raw chicken, which is a pretty darn good day for me.

    I go to sleep, and wake up back on the boat. It''s more of the same: cleaning, mostly, with the sailors much more comfortable around Helen and I than they were yesterday. Nothing brings people together like freedom from oppression, I suppose.

    The day passes, and Friday comes and goes much the same as Thursday did. It''s a gosh dang miracle that neither Autumn nor I have been ousted yet, but Autumn is worried her time is fast approaching. She can''t hide her bulky tail and wings in another dimension like I can with my buy-one-get-one-free limbs, and it won''t be long before they''re way too big to obscure. The only thing I can think of that might work is getting Jet to name her obfuscation spell and figuring out a way to teach it to Alma. I talk to Jet about it and she says she''ll see what she can do.

    Of course, I don''t know how that goes when I wake up again on the boat. We should make landfall in the next couple days, though the sailors say they aren''t sure exactly when since there''s a different set of spells working the drive shaft and providing generalized upkeep and speed buffs. The old pirate captain was apparently Motion and Order, and he could get his ship moving a lot faster than they could otherwise go, but the new Motion mages from our ship might even that out, and¡­ yeah. I guess our speed varies a lot depending on who''s working and who''s resting.

    It''s nothing I have to worry about, though. I munch away at some tasty jerky (it isn''t human jerky, I checked) and largely laze the day away. I could get used to boat rides, I think. Not being able to sleep without instantly waking up somewhere else kind of sucks, so having lazy days like this is the closest I can get to rest. And I really, really need rest. Unfortunately, however, I have to sleep again eventually, and I wake up once more. On Saturday.

    I have therapy today. Fffffffizzy pop.

    I mean. I guess Dr. Carson wasn''t that bad. And we mostly just talked about Pok¨¦mon, and I could do that again. Goddess knows I need to actually talk about my problems, though. I don''t want to, though. I don''t want to I don''t want to I don''t waaaaant to¡­

    "Hannah! Therapy today!" my mother calls as an unnecessary reminder. Fine. I grit my teeth, get out of bed, and get ready for the day. Naturally, I''m still not allowed to drive myself, so I once again end up trapped with my mother in the car.

    "Have you used your new laptop yet?" she asks.

    "No," I tell her.

    "You should try it out," she continues. "We need to know if it will work or if there''s anything wrong with it and if we need to return it. I know you have your other computer, but we still need to test the laptop."

    "I''ve just been busy, is all." It''s not even really a lie. "I''ll try to get to it this weekend."

    A pause.

    "Have you been keeping up with classes at school?" mom asks.

    "Yeah," I answer. Mostly, anyway. I''ve been slipping a little, but my grades are good so who cares?

    "You need straight A''s if you want to get into a good college, Hannah."

    "I''m not going to college, mom."

    She nearly stops the car. She doesn''t, but I see her twitch. Aw, dang it. That one just slipped out, I should have kept silent.

    "You most certainly are, young lady," she says. "Hannah, I don''t know what''s been the problem with you lately, but you need to go to college if you want a good job, and you need a good job if you want to succeed in the world.

    "Sorry," I mutter. "That''s not what I meant."

    I''m not going to be able to go to college. That future has become patently ridiculous. But I can''t say that. I can''t explain it.

    "What is it then, Hannah?" my mother demands. "Are you on drugs? Did you get into debt? Are you suicidal? You can''t just keep giving me the cold shoulder, Hannah, I am terrified and you have no idea how difficult it is to watch your own daughter just¡­ just fall apart like this! What happened, Hannah? Please. Just say something."

    I don''t want to say anything. I just want to curl up and cry. Why do I want to curl up and cry? She''s not doing anything wrong.

    "I am not on drugs, in debt, or suicidal," I manage to answer. Not usually suicidal, anyway. Out of all the problems I have, that''s probably not in the top five.

    "Then what is it?" she pleads as she parks the car. "Why won''t you tell me?"

    "The whole point of coming here is to not tell you, mom," I growl out. "You''ll know eventually. I can''t hide it forever. Now let''s just go? We shouldn''t miss the appointment."

    We both know that my mom arrived nearly ten minutes early, but she concedes anyway and we get out of the car, check in, and wait for the doctor silently. Soon enough we are greeted by Emily Carson, Ph.D., and I barely manage to not have a panic attack following her into her office. Huh. I guess my therapy trauma is still a problem. Shame that didn''t go away after a ninety-minute conversation.

    "Are you alright, Hannah?" Dr. Carson asks me as I breathe heavily in the doorway like some kind of absolute freak.

    "N-not really," I admit. "Just¡­ give me a minute?"

    Oh boy my chest hurts. Am I gonna die? I mean, I didn''t die any of those other times I had a panic attack, so logically I''m not going to die this time, but also holy shit, am I going to die? Oh boy oh boy. Deep breaths, Hannah. In, out. In, out. I manage to stagger over to Dr. Carson''s couch and sit down on it, taking in shaky breaths. This successfully wastes maybe three minutes of our session.

    "Okay, I can probably talk without breaking out into sobs now," I announce. "How are you, Dr. Carson?"

    "I''m doing quite well," she tells me. "My husband and I watched a delightful movie together last night; I enjoyed it quite a bit. And then he made me dinner. Chicken a la king."

    "Aw, that''s really sweet."

    "I do quite enjoy it, but it''s not the best for my old heart. What about you, Hannah? How was your week?"

    "Um¡­ the last few days weren''t terrible, but oh gosh, uh. Wednesday was. Not the best. Quite possibly the worst, actually."

    "Oh, I''m sorry to hear that," Emily says, and she really actually does sound sorry. "What happened?"

    "Uh. That is. A good question. I have absolutely no idea how to begin answering it, or if I even should."

    Dr. Carson pauses, waiting a while as I sit in silence, my brain buzzing with mostly meaningless nothing. I don''t know what to do or say. My extra limbs twitch. I clack my teeth. I fidget with my gloves. I say nothing.

    "...Last time we talked, you fired a lot of concerns at me in sequence," Dr. Carson prompts, looking at her notes. "You mentioned almost dying. You mentioned concerns with your relationships and sexuality. You mentioned a man who gaslit and traumatized you. You mentioned experiences with cannibalism. You mentioned you suspect you might be autistic. You mentioned that you feel responsible for the current state of the world due to familial relations. And you also mentioned being involved with multiple deaths, and a fear of instinctively hurting others."

    I swallow.

    "Uh. Gosh," I say. "I really said all that?"

    "Is any of it inaccurate?" she asks, pulling up her notepad as if she''s ready to cross out anything I don''t want on there.

    "No, not¡­ no," I mumble. "That''s all true. I just¡­ I seriously told you all that, and you didn''t have me sent off to an insane asylum?"

    "I told you I wouldn''t," Dr. Carson smiles. "It seems like a lot has happened to you, Hannah, but I''m not here to make any judgements. You told me you had no intention of hurting anyone, and that''s more than enough for me."

    "Ah," I say, my heart falling. "Well, sorry to disappoint you. That''s¡­ part of what happened Wednesday. I hurt¡­ I killed a lot of people. Thirteen people. Specifically."

    Dr. Carson raises her eyebrows.

    "Well. That''s shocking. You''d think something like that would have made the news. What happened, if that''s alright to ask?"

    I laugh humorlessly.

    "Well that''s the problem, right?" I ask. "This is the part where you think I''m crazy. I literally cannot explain this unless I take the plunge and¡­ and show you what I am."

    "An extraterrestrial?" Dr. Carson asks. "You mentioned something of the sort last session as well."

    I bristle instinctively. Not because she said something wrong, but because she didn''t. There''s absolutely zero chance she believes I''m an alien, but her tone remained the same. Calm and composed and utterly trusting. Which means she''s good at hiding her tells. Can I trust anything she says she believes?

    Or¡­ y''know. Maybe she''s legit. Maybe when she says she trusts me and isn''t going to judge me, she means it.

    "...That was just a metaphor," I mutter. "I''m not actually from space. It''s just something that unbelievable."

    "Alright," she nods. "Would you like to tell me about it?"

    I hesitate. I don''t know what I should do.

    "Ah, haha. Y''know, my friend Je¡ªum. I mean, my friend Autumn said I should. She''s going through some of the same stuff I am, except it''s entirely my fault."

    I bounce my leg. Dr. Carson says nothing, waiting patiently to see if I continue.

    "I don''t know if I should," I admit. "I don''t know what to say."

    "Well, the choice to speak or not is yours," Dr. Carson attempts to reassure me. "If you''re not comfortable speaking with me about something personal this early, I completely understand."

    I shiver slightly, gouging deeper tracts in the bottom of my shoes.

    "What if¡­ what if I don''t want the choice to be mine?" I ask softly. "What if I want you to decide for me?"

    Dr. Carson adjusts her glasses slightly.

    "Well, I would say that I remain a firm believer in giving you control of this session," she tells me. "But I would also remind you that I can''t help you with things that you don''t speak with me about. This is a safe place, Hannah, and no matter what you tell me¡ªno matter what you''ve done or what you are¡ªI will do my utmost to help you. You have my word."

    I take a deep breath and let it out.

    "I could just talk about my mom instead," I say. "I have another friend who agrees with you, you know. About the whole ''she can love you and still hurt you'' thing."

    "Well, I suppose I might be biased," Dr. Carson says with a wry grin, "but your friend sounds like a wise person."

    I actually manage a quick laugh.

    "She would¡­ agree with you on that," I say, smiling faintly. "She''s a lot to handle. A really good friend, though. For sure."

    The tension seems to ease a bit, and for whatever reason I keep talking about Ida.

    "She''s the most confident person I know," I tell the therapist. "Arrogant, really. But in a way that makes it so hard not to idolize her. She''s almost like a fae folk. A little goblin that revels in joy and dreams and never has to come back down to Earth if she doesn''t want to. She''s also really hot, though I spent years trying to crush my crush on her so that''s a bit of a complicated feeling nowadays."

    Agh, why did I say that? Whatever, just keep going.

    "Even without that, I think if we started dating she''d just sweep me away. I''d never be able to keep up with her. A great friend, but¡­ probably a little bit of a lousy partner, you know? I don''t have the energy for her."

    Dr. Carson nods.

    "It sounds like you know each other well, at the very least," she says.

    "Oh yeah, definitely. We''ve been good friends since like, sixth grade. I really look up to her in a lot of ways. Oftentimes when I''m confused I ask myself, ''what would Ida do?'' And suddenly it becomes a lot more obvious what the answer is."

    "That''s a good trick, actually," Dr. Carson smiles. "Reframing a problem in a different way to look at it from the outside can really help people clear their thoughts. Though of course, it''s always worth remembering that it''s still you making the decision. You often know the right answer all along, but looking at it from a position of someone you respect making the call just helps make things clearer."

    Yeah. That fits, I suppose. It''s still me making the decision. Free will is real, and all the consequences with it.

    And I know what I should do. I know deep in my slowly-disintegrating bones that I need help, as much of it as possible. And in a therapist''s office, one needs to talk about their problems to get help. I take a deep breath, and look Dr. Carson in the eyes.

    "Magic is real and I am not human," I tell her, "and I can definitively prove both of these things."

    Dr. Carson makes a few notes, her eyebrows raising slightly.

    "Quite a bold claim," she muses, as placid as ever.

    "I know," I say. "Do you mind if I take off some of my layers?"

    "Make yourself at home!" she invites, gesturing to go ahead.

    I nod, my heartbeat racing a mile a minute. What do I start with? I guess my jacket. It''s just a backup layer; I already have another long-sleeved shirt underneath it. With how chitinous my arms have been getting, I need to not only cover them up but also pad them, so that people brushing into me can''t pick up the strange, inhuman texture. Plus, while my shirt has holes in the back, my jacket doesn''t.

    I don''t move right to the extra limbs, though. Hands shaking, the first inhuman feature I show off is my claws. The gloves come off, and for the first time I see a reaction of genuine surprise from Dr. Carson. It really shouldn¡¯t, but that somehow gives me a sense of victory, and it helps me keep going.

    My chitinous hands revealed, I go further. I roll up my sleeves. I remove my shoes. I slip my mask off my face, giving my therapist a cautious smile. All the while, some part of me is watching her heart rate spike and getting just a little bit hungrier.

    "Um. Hello again," I greet her awkwardly, seeing her breaths slow down as she consciously, purposefully takes control of them. She can''t do the same with her heart. "So, I mean, you''re probably thinking this is a costume or something, but it''s not. This has just¡­ been happening to me all month. I can prove it''s really my body, if you want. But I guess I''ll start with magic."

    She has a small mug of tea on her desk behind her. It looks like it''s cold, but I can still see some liquid in it with my spatial sense. All I need is a valid place to sort it, and I feel like there''s an obvious answer.

    Slowly, to make sure she sees it, I pull her drink out of her mug and into my mouth. It tastes absolutely terrible, but I can speak with her about wishing I had more human meat once we get past all of this. I swallow it down.

    "Ta-da," I say, awkwardly doing some halfhearted jazz hands.

    She stares at me. I stare back. I cough into my elbow. The tea really tasted wretched.

    "Do you mind," Dr. Carson says, her calm facade ever so slightly cracking, "if I take a few minutes to compose myself?"

    "Oh, um, sure," I agree. "Go ahead."

    Shakily setting her notepad and pen on the table, she gets up and heads to a nearby bathroom. I watch her with my spatial sense, partly out of paranoia and partly because I don''t really control it all that well on Earth yet.

    She only seems to have a minor breakdown. It''s not too bad, really.

 46. Small Steps

    I''ve got to hand it to Dr. Carson; it only takes her about five minutes to come back like nothing even happened. Well, on the outside, anyway. Her heartbeat is still racing inside her chest, betraying the confusion and terror she feels, and it only multiplies when she enters the room and sees me in person again. Because of course it does.

    "Sorry about your tea," I blurt. "I, um. In retrospect there was probably a lot I could do other than drink your, uh. Your tea. Sorry."

    She stares at me for a moment before slowly sitting back down in her chair.

    "Think nothing of it," she insists. "I should apologize as well. Everyone needs breaks from time to time, but I do try to ensure that mine don''t interfere with any time dedicated to my clients."

    Wow, back to talking evenly just like that, huh? I can''t imagine being that composed.

    "It''s fine," I shrug awkwardly, slowly pulling my hip-limbs into visible space and setting them on my lap. "Trust me, I get it. I have to live through all this. It hasn''t exactly been a pleasant change."

    "I''m¡­ naturally tempted to ask a lot of questions," Dr. Carson says, staring with naked confusion at my new limbs. "But I think my professional duty in this situation is clear, so first I''d like to remind you that I am not a medical doctor. Any sort of¡­ physical issues you might be experiencing are likely beyond my capacity to help you with, and I''d be remiss to not encourage you to seek a more relevant professional."

    I chuckle a little. I can''t help it. Does she really think I never thought of that?

    "And what, exactly, would the more relevant professional be in this situation?" I ask. "Do you know any good doctors of Transmutation magic?"

    My blade-limbs emerge next. Rather than arc them up and over my shoulders, since that would feel a bit too aggressive, I curl them underneath my arms, crossing the blades over my stomach. Dr. Carson''s eyes widen as she sees them slip into visibility, leaving me embarrassed. Why am I showing her these, anyway? This is obviously way too much at once. Nobody wants to see weapons growing out of a girl. I fiddle awkwardly with my blades, drumming my fingertips against their flat sides.

    "Hannah, I know only that I do not know what is happening," the therapist says. "It''s hard not to recommend you seek outside help when I feel I will be less useful than I should be."

    Ah. I see what this is. I freaked her out too much and she doesn''t want to help me anymore. I can''t help but feel dejected, but I guess I expected this? So. It''s fine.

    I realize, suddenly, that Dr. Carson''s heart isn''t the only one racing. As much as she is confused and afraid, I''m really the only one with something to lose here. This is the last fragments of my secret slipping out of my control, and I can''t stop it.

    "I understand," I say, my hands shaking. "I''d like you to keep this a secret, please. I''d really like that a lot. But, um, I don''t need to bother you otherwise. Sorry."

    I brace for the worst, but it doesn''t come.

    "Bother me?" Dr. Carson asks instead. "Hannah, no no no! I just¡­ I sincerely apologize for giving that impression. I am¡­ here to help you. And I intend to do that to the best of my ability. I am worried that the best of my ability will not be enough, but I''m going to damn well give you it."

    The swear catches me off-guard, considering how composed and proper Dr. Carson has been. Somehow, that more than anything kind of helps me relax a little. It feels like a crack in the facade, but one that''s passionate rather than fearful.

    "¡­Alright," I allow, my voice a bit unsteady. "Thank you."

    "Of course. But I must admit, I don''t have a good idea of where to start anymore. Normally I''d ask how you''ve been handling changes like this, but¡­"

    "Uh. Yeah, I get it. I have not been handling it super well," I admit. "I''ve talked about the problems I''ve been having, I just didn''t explain the source. Panic attacks multiple times a week, horrific bodily transformation, uncomfortable animalistic urges, that sort of thing. I definitely feel like I''m going crazy."

    "I¡­ see," Dr. Carson says, her eyes constantly flicking back up to my face after inevitably wandering down to my limbs. I scrape my blades together slightly, a lightly eldritch noise ringing out through the room, and she flinches.

    Dang it. I don''t want to do this. I shouldn''t have to do this. But¡­ this is my fault, so it''s only fair.

    "Are you doing alright, Emily?" I ask my therapist.

    "Hmm?" she asks. "Oh, Hannah, no, you don''t have to worry about me. We therapists have our own therapists, you know. I''ll be just fine."

    "Ooh, that''s a familiar set," I say, leaning back on the couch. "''I''ll be fine'' instead of ''I am fine.'' ''You don''t have to worry about me'' instead of ''there''s nothing to worry about.'' Come on, doc, we both know you won''t be able to talk about this to anyone else. I can prove magic exists, but I''ll be doing everything in my power to ensure that you can''t. So what are you going to say, exactly? Who are you going to talk to that will reassure your sanity?"

    She sighs, a faint smile on her lips.

    "Hannah, I appreciate that, I really do. And while I assure you that my mental well-being is capable of surviving this¡­ this, I admit to some curiosity. What you''ve shown certainly changes my perspective on the concerns you''ve brought to me previously."

    I let out a huff of air through my nose.

    "You didn''t believe I was really a murderer, did you?" I ask.

    "I believe you are an intelligent and insightful young woman who has been through a series of extremely traumatic experiences I''ve yet to hear the details on. If you''re interested in discussing those details, I''m happy to hear about them."

    I huff again, pulling my feet up onto the couch and retrieving some foam blocks from my jacket so I can protect Dr. Carson''s furniture from my claws.

    "...Well that''ll get into more embarrassing stuff you''ll think I''m crazy about," I grumble.

    "More than¡­ all this?" she asks, gesturing at my everything.

    "Kinda, yeah?" I admit. "I wake up in another universe when I sleep, and I can''t really prove it exists in any meaningful way other than the fact that it''s where magic is from. But that''s where I killed a bunch of people, so you don''t have to worry about me being wanted by the police or anything. At least, not yet."

    "Not yet?" she prompts, and I squirm.

    "I don''t¡­ I don''t feel stable," I admit. "I don''t feel in control. I have giant murder blades strapped to my shoulders at all times and I don''t feel in control."

    She stares at my blade limbs and carefully, trying her utmost to hide it, swallows nervously. But I can see it. I can''t not see it. My spatial sense grows clearer every day.

    "Is it all the time that you feel this way, or just sometimes?" she asks me.

    Are you going to kill me, she asks me.

    "Just¡­ just sometimes," I assure her. "I feel fine now. They''re just¡­ limbs. Like arms and legs. Controlling them feels normal and natural."

    I demonstrate, moving them slowly and carefully in clear patterns, making sure not to point the blade her way. She seems entranced by the movements, but quickly focuses on me when I start speaking again.

    "But when I get startled or overwhelmed, I just¡­ my instincts take over. There have been a ton of times that could have ended in tragedy if things only went a little differently."

    "Like what?" Dr. Carson prompts.

    "Like, um¡­ when my transformation first started, my friend surprised me at the bus stop and I went into total fight-or-flight mode. And there was one time I lost a lot of blood and bit my friend''s fingers. ¡­Though, I guess she invited me to do that."

    "I¡­ see¡­" Dr. Carson says, clearly having a lot of questions. Though the one she goes for is: "Is that similar to the deaths that you''ve mentioned did occur in this¡­ dream world?"

    "Eh, I don''t like calling it a dream world. I''m pretty certain it''s a fully independent world that I am physically a part of. Everything I do there is way too lucid for a dream, you know? I just happen to be conscious there while I''m asleep here. I know that sounds ridiculous, but¡­"

    "But the supernatural is real, so I have every reason to trust your expertise. What do you call this other world, then?"

    "Uh. I guess I usually call this ''earthside'' and over there ''treeside,'' because it''s a giant world tree situation. Like Yggdrasil, kinda."

    "Okay. So the deaths you were involved with ''treeside.'' Did they occur due to this lack of control?"

    "Um," I shift awkwardly. "Well, no. I guess not. The first four were because we got attacked by people trying to kill us. And the last, um. The last thirteen were pirates who were enslaving my friends."

    For reasons beyond my understanding, Emily starts to seem more composed. She scribbles down some notes, nodding along as I explain.

    "So, would you say it''s accurate that these deaths were the result of conscious, purposeful decision making on your part?"

    "Uh¡­ I mean, ''purposeful decision making'' is a bit strongly worded for what happened. It was just what I had to do at the time."

    "But it wasn''t something you did due to a lack of control," she presses.

    "The killing wasn''t, no. The cannibalism maybe was? I, uh. I mean arguably it isn''t cannibalism since I''m not human anymore, but¡­ yeah. I had some pretty strong urges to eat the people I kill."

    "And so you do that?"

    "Yeah, I mean¡­ yeah, I do," I mutter miserably. "Like, I dunno. I''m generally in a horrified dissociative fugue whenever I go around killing people? So my self-control is kind of shot afterwards. And I, uh. Yeah. My body is kind of even more fucked up treeside, I''m just kind of a horrific little creature so most people don''t even think it''s that weird when I eat people? So they just¡­ let me. And I, uh. I don''t like it."

    "I see," Dr. Carson nods, scribbling more notes as her heart rate increases again. "But, to be clear, these urges occur after any fights for your life occur? They don''t compel you to kill anyone for the sake of eating them?"

    "Um," I fidget awkwardly. "Not other than a general background awareness that people taste really good, I guess?"

    "Then¡­ while I certainly don''t want to ignore your feelings on the matter, they do seem to be a separate issue, if I''m understanding this correctly? So unless you''d like to switch tracks, which we can do, perhaps we should focus back on your fears about self-control."

    "Um, sure, yeah," I nod. "That''s definitely the scariest thing about being a monster, you know? The fear that I''ll hurt someone by accident."

    "Do you consider yourself a monster?" Dr. Carson asks.

    "Um," I say, wiggling my many sets of claws. "Yeah? I''m a mutant mass murderer, doc. Doesn''t get any more ''monster'' than that."

    "Are you?" she asks. "You''ve described two out of the three events as self-defense, in that you had to defend yourself from aggressors that intended to use lethal force against you and your friends. Is that correct?"

    "Well¡­ yeah."

    "And in the third case, what was your motivation for the killings?"

    "...We had been captured by slavers who had strapped magical bomb collars to my friends. Goddess, that sounds so stupid to say to a normal person."

    "It''s not stupid," Dr. Carson says firmly. "Hannah, I have been a therapist for a long time. I''ve spoken with people who have had to defend themselves from all kinds of abuse and hated themselves for it. I''ve spoken with soldiers who can''t sleep at night thinking about the people they''ve killed and the things they''ve done. I''ll tell you the same thing I''ve told them: this world, or any world as the case may be, is cruel and unfair. You aren''t a bad person for trying your best, even when your best is far from perfect. You aren''t a bad person, Hannah. I don''t believe that."

    I''ve heard it before from my friends, but something about those words aches truer from a stranger. How unfair is that? I can''t even trust my friends right.

    "...Maybe not," I allow. "But I''m still not good enough."

    "And how good is that, exactly?" Dr. Carson asks. "Is there a point where you would feel good enough? Or is that phrase just a way for you to marginalize your own achievements and emphasize your failings?"

    "I don''t know," I admit. "Maybe."

    "Hannah," she asks. "Have you ever injured someone without meaning to? Ever?"

    "That''s kind of a complicated question to answer," I mumble.

    "Does that mean you could make a reasonable argument that the answer is ''no,'' were you so inclined?"

    I let out an irritated huff.

    "Could you just¡­ stop trying to make me feel better about this for a second?" I snap. "Like seriously, do you really want me to stop worrying about hurting people? No, I haven''t injured any of my friends, outside of that time Ida asked me to. But I''ve gotten really, really close, Dr. Carson. After my blade-limbs grew in, a friend of mine startled me and I nearly stabbed her through the heart. I absolutely would have killed her if she hadn''t defended herself."

    "I see," Dr. Carson hums. "How did she startle you, exactly?"

    I scowl and look away.

    "...Well, she broke my nose," I admit.

    "Hmm. I feel like I might lash out at someone if I''d been surprised like that too," Dr. Carson muses.

    "Well you don''t have magical blade-limbs!" I shout at her. "It''s one thing to punch somebody, it''s a whole different thing to stab them through the chest! I feel like that''s a pretty serious escalation!"

    "It is," Dr. Carson agrees firmly, unphased by my sudden rise in volume. "I''m not saying you shouldn''t be treating this seriously, Hannah. But there''s a world of difference between categorizing yourself as a dangerous monster that needs to be restrained for the safety of others and categorizing yourself as a troubled young woman who just needs the experience and training everyone needs to safely handle a weapon."

    I flinch, embarrassed both by my outburst and the even-toned response that followed it.

    "Sorry," I mumble.

    "It''s fine, Hannah," Dr. Carson insists. "You''re going through a lot, much of which I can only hope to partially understand by drawing whatever parallels I''m able. But I want you to understand that I do not see you as a monster. Your appearance is startling, but the way you speak and the things you fear¡ªthey are very human. You are afraid of things that are reasonable to fear, but I genuinely believe they are things you can overcome. Have you been misleading me about the severity of these urges you describe?"

    I shrug helplessly.

    "I don''t know. I don''t think so."

    "Then I believe you can control them," Dr. Carson tells me. "Everyone has intrusive thoughts, and you''re far from the only person that has intrusive thoughts about hurting others. As long as you control yourself, as long as they stay intrusive thoughts and don''t become actions, you''ve done nothing wrong."

    "Shortly after the first time I killed someone in the other world," I admit, "I got mugged here on Earth. And I was¡­ I was so messed up at the time, so stressed and frayed thin from committing my first¡­ from killing someone for the first time, that I nearly killed the kid mugging me, too. I tried to kill a person over like, maybe a couple hundred dollars."

    "I take it you didn''t, though?" Dr. Carson asks.

    "The same friend who broke my nose stopped me," I shrug. "But if she hadn''t been there? If I had been alone? I don''t know what I would have done."

    "Hmm. A lot of people would argue that it''s acceptable to use violence in defense of one''s own property," Dr. Carson says neutrally.

    "I dunno. I guess maybe sometimes? Doesn''t feel right to me, though. Not in that situation. He was just some desperate kid trying to get enough money to live."

    "How do you know that?"

    "Uh. I kind of ran into him again later and talked to him a bit. And then maybe-hopefully cured his mom''s disease?"

    She pauses. Aw, crap.

    "...You can cure diseases?" she asks. Double aw crap.

    "Um. Technically yes, I can cure some diseases probably? But there are some really problematic side effects and I don''t even know if it solves the problem in the long term. I just, uh. Well, y''know the spell I used to steal your tea? I can do that to like, uh. Bacteria and stuff."

    "And you say you used this to cure the mother of someone who mugged you?"

    "Yeah. Look, can we not talk about this?" I beg. "I just¡­ I don''t want to¡­ it''s really not something I should be drawing attention to."

    I can''t cure someone without speaking Refresh out loud, which spreads magic. And I do not want to start handing out esoteric arcane weapons to random people. Dr. Carson gives me a serious look for a moment, but eventually just nods.

    "Alright, Hannah," she says. "Well if you like, we can discuss some practical techniques for handling your concerns with self-control. I think a useful starting point is to have anything that applies to handling a knife also apply to your extra limbs. First and foremost, that means you should never at any time point the sharp end of the blade at another person, unless you intend to hurt them. I''ve noticed you frequently raise your limbs my way in response to stress, but if that''s something you control, it is absolutely the first habit you should be breaking. The better you get at avoiding those unconscious movements, the better I suspect you will get at not reacting dangerously when surprised."

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    Oh. Right. Yeah, that¡­ that makes sense.

    "I''m so stupid," I mutter. "I really should have already been doing that, huh?"

    "Hannah, you aren''t stupid," my therapist insists. "You''re overwhelmed. That''s why it''s so important to talk these things out with people. Obvious solutions often don''t seem obvious in the heat of the moment. To that end, you''ve mentioned you''re constantly stressed, which makes you jumpy, which cycles into another thing to get stressed about. How much exercise have you been getting?"

    I blink.

    "Wha?" I ask. "Exercise?"

    "Yes. Exercise. I know it seems like somewhat of a non-sequitur, but I assure you: it helps. A lot. An enormous swath of common mental issues can have their symptoms effectively treated, at least in part, by regular exercise. This has been proven time and time again, so I always find it difficult to not recommend wherever possible."

    "You want me to deal with the fact that I''m mutating into a horrific bug creature¡­ by exercising more," I say flatly. "You get how ridiculous that sounds right?"

    "Rather less ridiculous than the fact that your body is growing chitin in the first place, if you want my opinion," Emily quips back. "Look, I get it. I have a lot of clients that struggle to work exercise into their routine and struggle to believe it''s effective, but¡­ it is. It really, really is. It''s one of those things you hear so often it sounds too rote to be true, but trust me, Hannah. When someone comes to me with anxiety and stress issues, I tell them to eat right and exercise more, and it helps. It''s not a cure-all, but it helps. Lacking any concrete knowledge of how your altered biology would affect things, I have no reason to not at least tell you to try it."

    "Not going to tell me to fix my diet, though?" I smirk at her, not really feeling the humor.

    "Feel free to correct me, but I feel like food might be a triggering topic for you based on what you''ve told me."

    I wince.

    "No, you''ve¡­ probably got that nailed, yeah. Even outside the whole cannibalism thing, I''m an obligate carnivore now. I don''t have the flat teeth needed to chew things, anything that isn''t an animal product tastes bad and digests poorly¡­ it''s sort of a whole thing."

    "Ah, I''ll make a note of that," Dr. Carson nods, making a note of that. "Yes, we''ll have to assume your body knows better than we do about the kind of nutrients you need to eat, in that case. I suspect there are non-meat substitutes you''d be able to digest if you''re interested, but there''s certainly nothing wrong with eating meat if that''s what you want to do. My main suggestion is finding foods you enjoy and don''t feel guilty about eating; a useful strategy for overcoming certain triggers is to give yourself enough positive experiences with the triggering situation to help balance out the learned instincts. This obviously doesn''t work with everything, but it''s not a bad strategy for something like food."

    "Maybe I''ll try to figure out some recipes that taste good to me," I agree noncommittally. "I get a lot of urges to eat raw meat and eggs and things, but cooked food still tastes fine. I think the exercise is going to be a problem for me, though."

    "Oh? Why''s that?"

    "Well¡­ where exactly would I get a chance to do that?" I ask. "I have gym class every other weekday, but it doesn''t feel like a workout at all. My body requires me to do kinda superhuman things in order to actually feel the burn. Plus, I''d be working out in baggy sweatshirts and sweatpants in the middle of summer and people are going to notice that kind of thing, you know?"

    "Hmm. You don''t have anywhere private that you can move without other people seeing you? That''s likely a big contributor to your stress all by itself."

    "I¡­ I guess," I agree. Hmm¡­ there is one place. Brendan''s yard. Er, I mean Valerie''s yard. I''ve always had fun getting to let loose out there, even if I kind of¡­ messed up the last time I did that. "I might have somewhere that would work, but it''s difficult to walk the line between indulging in euphoria and keeping enough self-control to not screw everything up."

    "Hmm," Dr. Carson muses. "It''s curious to hear you mention ''euphoria.'' I suppose I never asked: how do you feel about the changes that are happening to you, Hannah? I assumed they were mainly stressful for you, but I should have asked sooner."

    "Er, well, ''mainly stressful'' is definitely accurate," I assure her. "But that''s actually something I''ve been thinking about, and¡­ well, I don''t hate the idea of being a weird ten-limbed bug girl in the abstract, you know? I don''t dislike my limbs or my chitin or whatever inherently, I just¡­ it sort of ruins my life? Or at the very least it defines my life, I guess. As my girlfriend says, I didn''t really have a life you could ruin in the first place. Heck, all the best parts of my life are still there. It''s just¡­ y''know. I''m kind of terrified."

    "What of?"

    I gesture vaguely.

    "The world, I guess?" I tell her. "The moment I go public there''s gonna be a whole flippin'' political movement trying to extradite me to Atlantis or whatever, and probably a whole other group of people who just want to use their second amendment rights to shoot me in the face. I don''t want attention in general, but being a scary monster doesn''t exactly make me a magnet for positive attention. Add that to the pressure of being the prophet of an evil Goddess who I''m pretty sure wants me to start an arcane apocalypse, and things get really stressful."

    Dr. Carson blinks.

    "I¡­ don''t think we''ve talked about that last bit," she hedges. "Could you elaborate on that?"

    Aw, beans.

    "Uh. Yeah. Um. Gosh, I didn''t mean to¡­ uh. Hoo boy. Okay. Um, are you religious at all, Dr. Carson?"

    She doesn''t seem to like that question.

    "I¡­ have long considered the prospect of a divine entity to be unlikely," she answers me slowly.

    "Ah. Well. Sorry about that," I say awkwardly. "Uh, there''s a Goddess. She''s, um, definitely one-hundred-percent real, and I could probably prove that but I''m not going to because it would be really, really bad."

    A therapist could totally end up with Pneuma magic of some kind, and if that happened I''d never be able to trust her again.

    "Do you want to talk about her?" Dr. Carson asks.

    Do I want to talk about Her? Do I want to talk about the entity that torments me, laughs at me, belittles me, touches me, all for Her own sick amusement? Do I want to talk about being a pawn in a horrid game, do I want to talk about being helpless, do I want to talk about being abused by something so far beyond me it will never, ever face justice? About a problem that will not, cannot end?

    "No."

    Dr. Carson looks me in the eyes and I hold her gaze. She nods.

    "Alright," she agrees.

    So we talk about other things. My body, my spells, my time treeside. We talk about my friends, who always support me, and my family, who will never understand. Dr. Carson seems most comfortable when she can relate my problems to something she''s already seen before, like when she talks about soldiers when I worry about violence. She gives me a lot of good advice, and at the end of the session I feel like I finally have something approaching a plan towards feeling better, even if I don''t really feel any better right now.

    We don''t talk about the spell I can''t control which turns people into monsters. We don''t talk about souls and how I spread them. We don''t talk about the Goddess any more than my brief slip-up. Maybe we never will. I can''t tell if I want that or not.

    "There''s one last thing I want to say," Dr. Carson tells me as I get all my outer layers of clothing back on to prepare once more to trudge out into the world. "You still have my business card, right?"

    "Uh, I think so, yeah," I say.

    "I''ll give you another one," she says. "Anyway, if I''m currently working with another client, my phone will be off. But at any other time, I highly encourage you to call me if you need to. If you''re having a panic attack, or you''re afraid you won''t be able to handle a situation, or if you think you''re at risk of hurting someone¡­ call me. I''ll answer and I''ll help as best I can. Even in the middle of the night. Okay, Hannah?"

    "Um, okay," I agree awkwardly.

    "Good," she nods. "I have¡­ hmm. You''re definitely every bit as unique a case as you warned me you would be when we started, Hannah. You''re already getting extended sessions, but I''m worried that won''t be enough with how quickly things seem to be progressing for you. If you ever want to move up to seeing me twice a week, I''ll make time for you."

    "Okay," I say. "I don''t know if I have the confidence to say yes to that, but¡­ thank you."

    She nods.

    "You''re very hard on yourself, Hannah," she tells me. "But I truly believe you''ve done far better than most people would have in your situation. You should be proud."

    I cringe at that. I don''t think I''ve done anything all that great.

    "I''ll say it again, Hannah," Dr. Carson presses. "You should be proud. You don''t have to agree with me, but that is my genuine opinion. I believe you can make the best of this. I believe you will be okay."

    It hurts to hear. It hurts. Why are such simple words so painful? I want to cry. I can''t respond to her, so I don''t, but she doesn''t seem to mind. I finish getting all my extra clothing back on and she escorts me out to my mom.

    They speak again, though I don''t pay attention to what. Instead, I pull out my phone and find a text from Br¡ªfrom Valerie. I quickly go change her name in my contacts, before I forget again, and then read the message.

    Any chance you could come over later today? she asks. I want to show you something.

    I smile.

    Actually, I was gonna ask if I could come over anyway. Just got out of therapy.

    Ooh, ouch, she sympathizes. You okay?

    Uh. Yeah, actually. She''s honestly¡­ it''s way better than I ever imagined. I actually told her?

    Oh shit, really? she asks. That''s great! I mean, probably. Did it go okay?

    I mean, we''ll have to see if I end up on the news, but I think it went really well, yeah. She told me to exercise more lol.

    Uh. Huh. Really?

    Really! I''m gonna try it. But I''ll need your backyard, if that''s okay.

    Of course! You can come over whenever.

    I''ll see you soon.

    I grin, excited at the prospect of maybe having a good weekend for once. I get to hang out with my best friend today, and go on a date with my girlfriend tomorrow! Then I stop grinning, because I need to make sure the edges of my mouth aren''t stretching up past my mask.

    My mother returns soon and we get in the car together. She asks if I want to go out to lunch somewhere and I decline as politely as possible, telling her I intend to eat lunch at Brendan''s place. It''s already starting to feel kind of wrong calling her Brendan, but like, what am I gonna do, tell my mom she''s trans? She already doesn''t like my best friend, best not give her any other reasons to start miserable conversations about the people most important to me. Valerie wants it to be kept secret for now anyway.

    My mom still drops me off at Valerie''s place, despite her obvious trepidation. I ring the doorbell, and moments later my big wonderful goofball friend answers it.

    "Hey, Valerie," I greet her quietly, stepping inside. She squirms happily just from the sound of her own name. Aaah, so cute!

    "...Hey, Hannah," Valerie nods back. "You hungry? Or do you wanna run around first?"

    "I wanna see whatever it is you wanna show me, first!" I tell her, heading downstairs as I pull my sweater off and start shifting my limbs back into normal space.

    She sighs and follows me down, clearly both happy I want to see and very nervous about showing me. I watch her with my spatial sense as she descends, just sort of¡­ idly looking her over. Tall and gangly. Hairy and rough-skinned. Big hands, big feet, and¡­ well, uh, pretty big ding-a-ling, not that I have any experience with the things. Physically, she could not be less attractive to me.

    All things considered, I find it kind of weird how easy of a time I''m having thinking of her as a girl.

    Honestly, I was afraid to be, and kind of expecting to be, pretty crappy about Valerie''s whole¡­ being Valerie thing. Not because I want to be, I just¡­ know myself too well to expect better, I guess? I know how my brain works and my brain is an awful piece of garbage. I''m not the best at adjusting to that kind of stuff, and I don''t know anyone else who''s transgender, and I''m¡­ generally bad at being good, overall. I also have a very negative interest in the idea of being a man, so I''m often not sure how to empathize with gender stuff. And on top of all that, I''ve known her as Brendan for pretty much my entire life! That''s a whole lot of habit to break, you know? I really expected the mental shift to be more difficult. And like, I definitely still mess it up sometimes, but¡­ she''s Valerie. She is Valerie! Is it arrogant to be proud of the basic ability to think that and believe it? I feel like I should have higher standards, but dang it, I''m really happy with myself about this anyway.

    I guess it''s just¡­ y''know. I love her. I love her a lot, so getting this right is really, really important to me. Considering everything my friends have done for me, I have to be able to do at least this much. If there''s anything I can help Valerie with, I''m going to do it.

    "I definitely want to at least hear some highlights of your therapy session, if that''s okay," Brend¡ªI mean Valerie says Goddess freaking¡­ ugh, I am the worst. Good job patting yourself on the back for literally nothing, Hannah!

    "Yeah, uh, it was pretty eventful!" I say, hiding my inner chastisement as best I can. "I think I almost gave her a panic attack this time, so that means I won this round, right?"

    "Hannah," Valerie groans, cradling her face in her hands. "Hannah, no¡­"

    I cackle unrepentantly.

    "I''m kidding!" I assure her. "I mean, Dr. Carson did have to go hide in the bathroom and work herself through a minor breakdown, but she was actually pretty nice and helpful overall. She basically said that I''m afraid of hurting people because any sensible person would be afraid of hurting someone while carrying a weapon, and the solution is just more self-awareness, focus, and discipline. Y''know, three things I am famously good at."

    I manage to get a reluctant laugh out of her at that.

    "Well you''re certainly in a mood," she smirks as I flop out on the couch and stretch all eight of my current limbs. "It''s nice to see, so I guess I have to give props to your therapist for something."

    "Look, a person whose actual job it is to figure out how crazy people are told me I''m not crazy and gave me actual things I can do to help hopefully not kill anyone on accident other than scream and pray, and we both know those two things don''t work. So yeah, I''m feeling cautiously optimistic for the first time in a while. I''m gonna enjoy it while it lasts."

    "Well hey, that''s pretty awesome," Brendan¡ªfuck I mean Valerie, Goddess damnit¡ªsmiles faintly. "And, well, more good news, I guess: the thing I have to show you is also pretty awesome."

    "Oooh, is it magic?" I ask excitedly. "Did you finally figure out your magic!?"

    "Yep," Valerie nods. "I did."

    I can''t help it. I leap to my feet and squee. Yeah, magic is terrifying and giving it to the entire world will probably have horrific consequences, but darn is it still cool! I hate how much I love my magic, but boy do I love my magic. I hope Valerie does too!

    "It took me¡­ quite a long time to figure this out," Valerie explains, pulling out her phone for some reason. "It''s very weird and complex and for some reason, even after I was sure of what I had to do it wouldn''t work at all until I built up the courage to finally name it."

    "Wh¡ªyou named a spell without backup?" I accuse, putting my hands on my hips and my hip-legs on my thighs. "After all the crap you gave me about not naming my magic?"

    "I''ll admit to being a hypocrite, but I''ll not claim I was wrong," Valerie protests. "I don''t think I feel the Goddess quite like you and Ida do, but it still felt¡­ right. Like I was pre-approved and good to go. And yeah, I''ll admit I was really excited to try it."

    "Well, okay I guess. Don''t leave me hanging, then! I don''t feel anyone else around so we should be safe to go!"

    "Okay, okay, let me just pick one," she says cryptically, thumbing through her phone.

    "Pick one what?"

    "A piece of art," she explains. "This one should work as a demonstration."

    She shows me her phone, which displays a drawing of a long-haired woman with eyes closed, lifting slowly up into the air as various generic fantasy-looking characters watch her with interest. It''s simpler than Valerie''s usual art, flat-colored and unshaded.

    "This is the only copy of this file left in the world," she explains. "I''ve removed it from my computer, never posted it on the internet¡­ it''s totally unique."

    Then she hits delete, confirms it, and the Goddess speaks.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Arwin''s Elementary Levitation."

    And Valerie rises into the air. Not very far, since she''s already pretty close to hitting her head on the ceiling, but she does. She flies.

    "Ta-da," she grins.

    "Oh gosh," I grin. "That is so cool. How does it work? Do you have to delete a drawing every time? What all can you do with it?"

    "An easier question," she grins, "would be ''what all can''t I do with it?'' To which so far my answer is ''teleportation, transformation of living things, and precognition.''"

    I blink.

    "Uh. That''s it? It does literally everything else?" What the heck kind of spell did she get!?

    "I mean, almost certainly not, there''s a shitton of things I haven''t tested, but¡­" Valerie shrugs. "Yeah. It''s super versatile. The main limitation is that I have to prepare art for it in advance and permanently destroy the artwork to activate the relevant spell. The more work I put into the art, the stronger the effect. Or¡­ at least that''s my current guess on how power is determined. I''m an Art wizard, basically."

    "Oh Goddess, yeah!" I realize. "You''re like a flippin'' D&D wizard but your spellbook is your drawing library. That''s so cool!"

    "Yep!" Valerie grins, floating slowly around the room. "It''s the most magical magic I could have asked for. I hate to hand it to her, but the goddess really nailed me with this one. I''ve kind of been rushing home to fill my computer with new drawings and test out new things since I first figured it out."

    "I''ll bet! Gosh!"

    I rush forwards with my arms out to hug her, remember I definitely shouldn''t hug her without permission, and suddenly halt awkwardly with all my limbs still splayed out to either side. Also Hannah, remember! No pointing blades at people! Valerie chuckles and floats over to grab me, snatching me up under the armpits and lifting way up into her arms. I yelp with delight, clinging around her with all sorts of various limbs as we stare into each other''s faces with big goofy grins like the pair of doofuses we are.

    "This is so cool," I gush, my body feeling delightfully weightless as my feet dangle. "I want to commiserate about the fact that the only-spoken-aloud restriction means you won''t be able to use it in public, but I bet you''ve already got dozens of plans to take advantage of it anyway, huh?"

    "Oh yeah, definitely," she nods. "High-quality drawings take a long time to make but their effects can last significantly longer. So, y''know. Step one is turning the basement into an awesome magical fortress."

    "Sick," I say approvingly. "Oh my gosh this is so cool. You can fly!"

    "I can fly!!!" she agrees, unable to hold back some happy shakes and wiggles.

    "No transformation, huh?" I sigh. "Can''t say I''m surprised you tested that already, given¡­ y''know. Girl."

    "Yeah¡­" Valerie sighs. "Girl."

    "You any more sure yet?" I ask.

    "I''m pretty damn sure, yeah," she confirms. "Definitely a girl. Transitioning is going to be a pain in the fucking ass, but¡­ it''s really exciting, too. I want to complain about not getting a magical shortcut, but every trans person wants a magical shortcut. I''m not special just because I actually maybe had the chance at one."

    I hesitate. I want to help her. I want to help her so badly.

    "...I mean, you kind of still do have a chance," I say quietly.

    Her eyes widen slightly¡­ and then narrow suspiciously.

    "You''re talking about the monster transformation spell you can''t even control that we don''t understand," she accuses.

    "I mean¡­ yeah, but you kind of wanted to be a monster girl anyway, right?"

    "How dare you," she accuses, her voice dripping with irony. "How could you ever say such a thing about me. I don''t know where you ever got the impression."

    "Hee hee," I giggle, booping her on the nose. "I''m serious. I''ve got a good feeling about it."

    "Well, I have recently ended my lifelong feud with trusting ''good feelings,''" she considers, "buuuut I''m still more than a little hesitant to subject myself to unknown mutagenic spells, no matter how awesome that sounds in the abstract."

    "Alright, but hear me out," I press. "What is the quintessential spell you always argue every wizard should have?"

    "...Counterspell," she mutters. "Hmm. Hmm. Okay, I''m with you here. You think I can just dispel it if things go badly."

    "Exactly!" I agree. "It''s worth a shot, right?"

    "I''ve been testing in private, so I don''t know if my countermagic spell works, but I do have a possible countermagic spell prepared!" Valerie says, looking increasingly excited. "You wanna cast a quick Refresh or Spacial Rend or something?"

    "Heck yeah!" I agree, wiggling out of her grasp and landing on the ground. I extend one finger and let a weak Spacial Rend coat the claw, making sure to keep it carefully away from anything. "Alright, give it a shot!"

    Bre¡ªValerie nods, grabbing her phone again and thumbing through it before I feel the Goddess descend again to take her breath.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Vivian''s Rapid Dispel."

    Glowing chains of blue emerge from Valerie''s hand, arc towards my finger, wrap around it, and then dramatically shatter, my Spacial Rend disappearing and my hand going numb. I try to recast it, but it takes a solid few moments before warmth returns to my fingers and my spell sputters back online.

    "...Woah," I breathe. "So¡­ it works?"

    "It works!" Valerie vibrates excitedly.

    "So can I¡­ y''know. Do the thing?" I ask.

    I really, really, really, really want to cast it. I want to change her. I can do it and I want to do it and I just¡­ whew, okay, calm down, Hannah. You have to at least wait until she says yes.

    "Yes," Valerie says. "Do it."

    I flood the room with Transmutation in an instant, a grin splitting my face, and my best friend shivers. I''m not sure if it''s delight or fear, but some part of me is excited either way. Goddess, why do I love this spell? Why does it always feel like this? Why don''t I want any of my friends to be human, either? You''d think I''d be pretty comfortable with humans, having lived my whole life with them, but I just can''t wait to pull them away.

    My thoughts stall as Valerie doubles over, gritting her teeth. I watch, enraptured, as her fingernails thicken, growing both back into her bone and outward into points. My best friend''s claws come in, and my favorite person becomes that much more comfortable to be around.

    She''ll get it now. She understands.

 47. Incidental Discovery

    "Ow," Valerie grunts, staring at her newly-clawed fingertips. "This really hurts."

    "Yeah, I mean, that''s how it usually happens," I agree.

    "Aaaand my fingertips are all bleeding," she sighs.

    "Oh, I''ve got some stuff for that, uh¡­ in my¡­ backpack. Which I do not have with me."

    "We didn''t think this through well at all, did we?" Valerie asks.

    "No," I agree. "No we did not."

    "Boof!" Fartbuns barks.

    Valerie and I both turn to stare at her dog, happily panting at the bottom of the basement stairs and completely bathing himself in the wild Transmutation magic I just unleashed everywhere.

    "Fuck," Valerie summarizes. "Alright, no more of this shit."

    She licks a finger clean as best she can (which makes me weirdly hungry and jealous) and starts poking away at her phone gallery again.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Vivian''s Rapid Dispel."

    Her own magic rushes out through the room, consuming every lingering remnant of my own. The basement is now flush clean of magic, but Valerie still has her claws. Which¡­ well, I don''t see anything wrong with Fartbuns, but who even knows if that means anything.

    "We really didn''t think this through well at all, did we!?" Valerie whines.

    "I mean, was there a good way to think this all through?" I ask, still giddy.

    "Yes! Probably!" Br¡ªValerie groans, patting herself down all over. "This is a horrible situation! I have claws and nothing but claws, the whole rest of my body feels the same!"

    "Uh, yeah, it''ll probably take a while for whatever other changes are happening to finish happening," I shrug. "Autumn didn''t grow anything on day one, and her tail took a second dose to come in. Besides, claws are neat!"

    "Since when are you so excited about having claws?" Valerie asks.

    "Uh¡­ good question," I admit, trying to think back. "I think using my ''transform other'' spell makes me a little manic? But also just, I had a really good coming out at the therapist, so I hate myself a lot less than usual!"

    "Well that''s something good, at least," Valerie grumbles.

    "Don''t worry! I''m sure your boobs will grow in soon!"

    "...Like actually, or are you just being supportive?"

    "Um¡­ I don''t know." I try to imagine Valerie with big boobs. Hmm! Surprisingly easy. "Yeah, I got a good feeling about this."

    "Oh boy," she deadpans. "I guess I get to look forward to magical HRT, now with countless unknown side effects."

    "Oh, don''t act like you weren''t enthusiastically consenting to that just a moment ago," I complain. "Come on, let''s check over your dog and make sure he''s okay."

    "I suppose you of all people are in the unique position of being able to think this isn''t a big deal," Brendan sighs.

    "No, look, I get it," I promise, kneeling down next to Fartbuns and giving him fervent pats as I look over his body with my spatial sense. "It''s a huge deal. One of the hugest deals. And while part of me is definitely sorry I did this to you, part of me is also just happy I don''t have to do this alone. My inevitable reveal is rapidly approaching, you know? And you in particular are in a unique position to actually like what''s going to happen to you."

    Hmm¡­ yeah, something is definitely up with the dog. His internal organs look weird. Muscular differences, especially?

    "...I can''t deny there are aspects I will appreciate," Valerie sighs. "How''s FB?"

    "I think he''s gonna grow more limbs," I admit.

    "Oh boy."

    "I believe you mean good boy," I coo, scritching Fartbuns behind the ears. "Who''s gonna be a monstrous little spider dog? You are! Yes you are!"

    "God, you are in a mood today."

    "Goddess," I correct automatically.

    "Right. Yeah. Goddess."

    There''s a pause as I continue checking Fartbuns over. I''m not a veterinarian, but nothing seems outright harmful and Fartbuns isn''t acting like he''s in pain, so we''re probably in the clear for now. Which is good! The last thing I''d ever want to do is hurt Fartbuns.

    "...Well, I''m going to go to the bathroom and get my fingers bandaged," Valerie sighs.

    "Alright," I nod. "I guess I''ll go outside and see if Fartbuns is okay with a bit of exercise."

    "Please don''t do anything crazy," Valerie begs.

    "I will do my absolute best but no promises!"

    Brendan¡ªdang it, I mean Valerie again, geez¡ªshuffles off to the bathroom as Fartbuns and I tromp upstairs, heading for the backyard. I am intellectually aware that I should be a lot more worried and concerned about everything that just happened, but I''m just¡­ not. I am far too busy being excited. I''m really looking forward to helping Valerie with her transformation, especially since I feel like I messed up super hard with Autumn and haven''t really had the opportunity to do much for them. Alma and I hang out, chat, and enjoy each other''s company, but the monster transformation thing is usually a taboo topic. And Jet, well¡­ Jet just insists on handling everything herself. With Valerie, however, I know we''ll both be comfortable reaching out to each other when we need it.

    Is it messed up to be excited that I''ll be able to help my friend with a problem that I caused? Yes, probably. I guess I''ll add that to the list of things to talk to Dr. Carson about! Boy, it''s getting really long. Therapy sure is a lot nicer when no one is trying to sexually exploit me.

    ¡­Haha, wow, nope. My brain tried to make it a joke but it''s still not very funny! Geez, that''s a bucket of ice water over my mood. I''m genuinely startled by how much progress I''ve made in therapy already. I guess I really did need it. Just like literally every single person who knows and cares about me insisted was the case. It kinda sucks how when everybody who loves you tells you about something you need, they''re usually right.

    Fartbuns scampers excitedly out into the yard when I open the backdoor, and soon enough I''m tearing after him, luxuriating in the feeling of my claws digging through the dirt. We wrestle for a while, I don''t know how long, but he seems totally fine and having a good time so I guess the transformation isn''t hurting him. At least for now.

    Wrestling Fartbuns is fun, but sandbagging so I don''t hurt him does give me an urge to let loose. So after a while, I break away from him and just¡­ run. Brendan''s huge yard works as a perfectly functional track if I just sprint around the circumference of the grassy area, and holy crap is it fun. I''m so gosh dang fast! I''m pretty sure I could outrun the average cyclist, at least while sprinting.

    I giggle excitedly to myself between gulps for air, my body actually feeling the burn for the first time in forever. It feels good. I''ve never really loved exercise, having always been more of the curl-up-at-home type, but I suppose that''s just another part of me that''s changing. My new body sings with joy as exertions that would have been unwelcome irritation before now feel instead like cathartic release. It''s an interesting experience, one that I''m not sure if I should be worried about. More signs that my body is messing with my head are never fun.

    But I guess that''s the thing: the body always messes with the head. The head, after all, is part of the body. I remember when I was little, coming home at the end of Halloween with a massive bag overflowing with candy. My mom would always put so much effort into helping me make homemade costumes of whatever I wanted to dress up as, and I took pride in having cool costumes that no one else did. Most of them were various Pok¨¦mon, of course, but I digress. My point is that after coming home, I would engorge myself on that candy.

    Endless streams of sugar would drop down my gullet, and I would love every bit of it. I''d often make myself sick with so much at once, but it felt worth it. I loved candy. But then, as I got older, I just¡­ didn''t. It wasn''t just the fact that I was more cognizant of the consequences; Goddess knows I still don''t have any self-control. I just simply did not like candy anywhere near as much as I did when I was little. And obviously nowadays I can''t really eat candy, but this was all back before the monster transformation stuff. People grow, people change, and their tastes change with them. Sometimes, a thing you used to love stops bringing you joy. Sometimes, a thing you used to hate starts tasting good. The body grows, the body changes, and the person trapped inside is beholden to that body''s whims. That''s just how people are.

    I spend a couple laps running in different ways, using my extra limbs or scuttling on my arms and legs, but it seems like in terms of pure speed, running like a human and just leaving the rest of my limbs out of it is best. My chitinous, humanoid legs tear easily through the dirt, propelling me forward in long leaps. My feet pound into the earth at rapid intervals, feeling just like a normal run, but when I look back each footstep is several yards away from the last. It''s like I''m flying.

    My laughter grows as I continue running around, overjoyed by it all. This beautiful moment truly is exactly what I needed to relax. There''s nothing here but me, Fartbuns, the wind, and Valerie''s family gardener.

    ¡­Wait, hold on.

    I skid to a stop, using my hip-legs to arrest my momentum since my feet don''t have any backwards-facing claws. Holy crap there''s just. A person? Trimming hedges!? When did they get here?

    They do not seem to care about me at all.

    "Um," I clear my throat. "Hello?"

    They turn to look at me and give me a polite nod. It''s an older man, maybe forty or fifty.

    "Hello," he greets me placidly.

    "When, um. When did you get here?" I ask.

    "One o''clock," he answers. "I work here."

    "I, um," I sputter, my various limbs gesticulating in confusion. I was not¡­ I never expected my reveal would be like this¡­! "You''re not¡­ scared of me?"

    He shrugs, returning his attention to the hedges.

    "I thought the dog was the one digging up the yard," he comments idly.

    I blink, utterly dumbfounded. I''m not sure what to say to that. I''m not sure what I can say to that. My thoughts churn for a little before I finally manage to speak up again.

    "I, um. Could you not tell anyone about me?" I ask.

    "If I gossiped about what I heard or saw at work, I would not have a job," the man answers tiredly. "So I do not. Who you are and what you are doing does not matter to me."

    He snips the hedge clippers and then taps the bush lightly with them.

    "This hedge matters to me. Let us all mind our own business and focus on what matters, okay?"

    ¡­I think I''ve just been politely asked to shut up and leave him alone. Still somewhat shellshocked, I wander back inside to look for Valerie, finding her in the basement on her computer as expected. She seems like she''s already got an idea for more art.

    "Uh. So. How are you doing?" I ask.

    "Typing and holding a stylus still really hurts, so not great," she answers.

    "Oh. Sorry. Um. I got spotted by your gardener?"

    "Huh?" Valerie asks, turning to look at me. "Oh, fuck! I forgot Alejandro was working today. Shit. What happened?"

    "He, um. Didn''t really care? He just kept doing his job."

    Valerie snorts.

    "...Wow, really? Yeah, that checks out, honestly. Alejandro is pretty great. He''s been working here for ten years now. So¡­ nothing bad happened? No freakouts? No catastrophes?"

    "Um, not that I know of," I shrug. "Didn''t spot anything weird about his internal organs, either."

    "Well¡­ that''s good, right?" she asks. "Bodes well. The average person thinking we''re a strange curiosity at most is kind of the goal, right? I mean, I guess Alejandro is decidedly above-average, so maybe not the best measure, but it''s still good."

    "Huh. Yeah. I guess so."

    I hold my hands behind my back, drumming my toes against the floor.

    "...Is there anything I can do for you, Valerie?" I ask.

    "Huh?" she asks.

    "Is there anything I can do for you," I repeat. "I''ve just¡­ a lot has happened. You''ve been helping me out, and now I went and did this to you. I wanna make it up to you somehow."

    She gives me a lopsided grin.

    "Well, if I get to grow tits because of this I''ll happily call it even," she says. "Otherwise, we''ll just have to wait and see. The claws are a little unwieldy, but nothing I can''t get used to. I just ordered some capacitive gloves online, and as for everything else, well¡­ we''ll figure it out as it comes, I guess. Claws aren''t really indicative of any particular final form, you can kind of slap them on anything."

    "Oh yeah? Any particular sort of changes you''re looking forward to?" I ask. "Other than the girl stuff, I mean."

    "Eh, not really?" she considers. "I''ve RP''d just about everything under the sun, I don''t really have a set preference. Catgirls, hellhounds, liches, eldritch flesh masses, raptors¡ªboth dino and bird¡ªit''s all cool. I think I''d prefer feathers, fur, or just normal skin over something rougher like scales, just for the nice texture, but honestly I wouldn''t complain about much of anything."

    I chuckle a little.

    "Gosh, that was a thorough answer. I guess you know a thing or two about designing monster-human hybrids, huh? You furry, you."

    She waves me off.

    "Furries can be neat, but muzzles aren''t my thing and that''s what I consider their defining feature," Valerie corrects. "I much prefer humanoid faces. Of course, the only real definition of ''furry'' is ''a person who considers themselves a furry in good faith,'' because it''s just one of those largely undefined social terms. Either way though, I''m not technically a furry."

    "I see, I see," I nod solemnly. "So what are you, then?"

    "Uh. I dunno if there''s really a snappy term for it," she considers. "A monster girl enthusiast, I guess? I like monstrous features on humanoid forms."

    "Well, that seems to sum me up," I grin teasingly. "Find me attractive, do you?"

    "Hannah, you were unbearably sexy before you started growing chitin," Valerie answers bluntly. "If not for the gender dysphoria and resulting emotional repression I''ve lived with my whole life, I''m not sure I''d be able to stay sane around you."

    I gape, completely poleaxed by the sudden, intense compliment. My brain whirls with confusion as a burning blush rises up my face.

    If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

    "I¡­ wh¡­ you think I''m¡­? You always thought I''m¡­?"

    "Yes. Extremely. Did you seriously not know?" Valerie sighs.

    "I thought you didn''t want to date me, though!?"

    "Of course I wanted to date you!" she snaps. "I just didn''t want you to date me! You''re attracted to women! You would have been miserable!"

    "But you''re a woman!"

    Now it''s her turn to blush.

    "S-sure, but I didn''t know that at the time!" she grouses. "You think this was easy to figure out? For ninety-five percent of my life I had literally never heard of transgender people outside of shitty jokes on TV about how gross it is when they try to seduce the main character. I got through it by refusing to think about it and dissociating so hard that half our grade thinks I''m mute. It took way too much prodding from my friends online for me to actually grok that being more comfortable representing myself as a woman¡ªnot to mention desperately wanting to be one¡ªisn''t particularly cisgender behavior."

    I stare at her, all too consciously aware of both my awkward blush and hers. I wonder which one of us is redder. Probably her, since her skin is normally so pale. Mine just keeps getting darker, though I''m pretty sure it''s turning gray instead of¡­ well, any sort of normal color for skin to be.

    "I had no idea," I admit. "I really don''t know what any of this is like. Sorry."

    She shrugs, affecting an awkward, forced smile.

    "Yeah, I know," she says. "I appreciate that you''re trying, though. It¡­ you have no idea how happy it makes me just hearing you say ''Valerie.''"

    "Heh. I mean, I have some idea," I grin. "I have been appreciating getting to see you wiggle, Valerie."

    That prompts a still-deeper blush and, on cue, a wiggle. So cute!

    "...Well, anyway, I just wanted to get that off my chest before it gets any heavier," Valerie mutters. "Don''t worry about it. I get that you''re already dating someone else, and I''m completely unprepared to date anyone right now anyway. So. Friends?"

    My heart flutters a bit unexpectedly, but I push it away and nod.

    "Of course," I agree. "Best friends."

    "Best friends," she confirms.

    "...Although," I muse, tapping my chin, "I do kind of want to meet your online friends. I oughta thank the people that helped you out, if nothing else."

    "Uh, really?" Valerie asks.

    "If that''s not a problem, yeah," I nod. "I know I don''t hang out with your friends very often. Your school friends can be¡­ a little tiring to be around?"

    "No, I get that," Valerie nods. "They can be¡­ yeah. I''m honestly really worried about coming out to them."

    "Yeah¡­" I agree. "But like, you''ve talked about your online friends before and all the cool games you do together and now I''m hearing how they helped you figure out this really big thing about yourself and they just¡­ sound neat, you know? You''re my best friend, but I feel like it''s really rare that we hang out these days. I wanna be a bigger part of your life. ¡­Maybe ask for fewer hours at work. Maybe I''ll even quit."

    "I struggle to imagine you quitting any sort of job, honestly," Br¡ªValerie answers. And I mean, she''s got me there.

    "...Maybe I''ll get fired after coming out as a freaky inhuman magical monster," I correct. "That''s not protected by equal opportunity laws. I checked."

    "No, but a lawyer would probably be excited to help you sue anyway if your boss tried," Valerie muses. "That''d be some crazy publicity."

    "Which means there''s not a ding dang chance I''d be interested," I sigh. "Oh, well."

    "To answer your actual question," Valerie says, spinning around in her chair to look back at her computer, "I''ll ask my friends if they''re down to meet you now. And if they are, which they probably will be, I''ll send you the link to the Discord server."

    Oh geez, Discord. I haven''t used that in a while.

    "Sure," I nod.

    Nothing notable happens the rest of the day, which is honestly pretty nice. Valerie and I just hang out like old times, playing Super Smash Bros. until her new claws get too sore and then just chatting about nothing in particular. When I return home, I''m feeling pretty great, despite having to bundle up all my extra parts again.

    Then I walk inside, and find my mother waiting for me.

    "Hannah," she greets me, sounding tired. "I half-expected you to stay the night."

    I freeze as my brain churns into overdrive, trying to figure out all the little implications and disapprovals that one sentence carries. Already my stress levels rise, desperately searching for every detail of what I did wrong this time and how I can just make it go away. But I''m tired of this. For a little while, today, I was finally above this. I had something better.

    "Maybe I should have," I answer.

    "Hmm. You think so?" my mother asks, her lips pursed in an expression somewhere between irritated and sad. I don''t answer and I don''t leave, either possibility a little too terrifying. She asked me a question so the conversation isn''t over and she won''t tolerate me departing. But also, it was a rhetorical question, and I can either make her mad and possibly be punished for reasserting my opinion, or I can take back what I said. Neither option is appealing.

    So we wait in silence for a bit, and then my mom continues.

    "I don''t understand what I''ve done wrong, Hannah," my mother tells me. "Your brother doesn''t seem to want to talk to me anymore either. Your therapist tells me I should give you more space, but I don''t know how much more space I can give someone who refuses to interact with me or even look at me when I''m talking to her."

    My gaze snaps up to her eyes, more or less involuntarily, and I grit my teeth. You don''t know how to give me more space? Have you tried maybe not cornering me literally the day my therapist recommended that? Except no, I can''t say that. She''ll take it as snark, which always makes things worse, and then she''ll point out that we literally haven''t talked at all since Wednesday, which I won''t be able to refute, and everything will just escalate.

    What''s the answer to this puzzle? How do I communicate my feelings while also telling her exactly what she wants to hear?

    "Why won''t you just tell me what''s going on?" my mother asks after I take too long to respond. "You know I''ll do everything I can to help you, Hannah. No matter what it is. You know I love you."

    I almost say ''I know,'' because I do know, she''s been telling me that her whole life. And the evidence for it is obvious: my mother will drop everything to help me, she constantly works hard for me, she always devotes her time to me, and when she''s apart from me for too long she gets depressed and distressed¡ªwhich is why I''m having so much trouble getting her to give me space. So she loves me. I''ve known this my whole life. But if that''s true, then why does it feel so different?

    "Why does your idea of love involve repeatedly pressing me about things I don''t want to talk about?" I ask.

    "Because I''m your mother," she answers simply, crossing her arms. "You''re distressed. You''re struggling. You need help, and helping their children is what mothers do."

    "Well, I don''t always want your help!"

    "Oh, I''m well aware of that," she gripes. "You didn''t want me to potty train you when you were two, you didn''t want me to teach you to cook when you were ten, and you didn''t want me to make you get a job when you were fifteen, but they''re all things you need to survive in this world. Am I wrong about that?"

    I glower. Well, if you want to cherry-pick every good thing you''ve¡ª

    "Am I wrong?" she presses.

    "No, mother," I grit out.

    "Don''t give me that face," she orders. "I''ve done nothing to deserve this hostility."

    "Then why is it that I feel so hostile around you and not anyone else!?" I snap. "Look, you''ve already helped, mom! You made me go back to therapy. The therapist is helping. I was already feeling better until I had to come home and have this stupid conversation with you!"

    She stares me down just long enough for my anger to fade and get replaced by fear, and then she sighs.

    "Okay. ''The therapist is helping.'' That''s all I needed to hear."

    And then she walks away, leaving me feeling embarrassed and gross. I trudge upstairs, and after an hour of agonizing about the conversation in bed I finally manage to fall asleep.

    "Hannah, wake up," Helen says, jostling me slightly. It feels really uncomfortable, so I groan and hiss and do not move an inch. "Come on, Hannah, the boat''s about to make landfall. And since it''s a stolen pirate ship, we might need to be prepared for trouble."

    I groan, glancing around the room with my spatial sense. I''m curled up at the foot of the bed as Kagiso groggily cuddles the pillow that''s supposed to separate her side of the bed from Helen''s. Helen, of course, is already up and dressed.

    Normally I''d be happy to get going for the day, but I overwhelmingly do not want to move. I don''t even want to move my mouth to try and speak real words. The crappy conversation with my mom pretty thoroughly killed my high from earlier yesterday, but even beyond that I just feel exhausted.

    "Oi, come on, get up," Helen says, trying to scoop me up from where my legs are curled underneath me. I groan again, the feeling of her hands on my body uncomfortably sensitive for some reason. She jerks her hands away, frowning.

    "...You''re kinda squishy," Helen comments. "Everything okay?"

    Squishy? I take a closer look at myself, and sure enough my carapace is not looking so hot. Rather than my usual pristine bone-white shell, my chitin looks partially dissolved underneath the still-stuck cast-off skin of my molt. My body is a little different from when I went to sleep, too; I''m a bit longer, like someone grabbed either side of me, pulled, and stretched me like taffy. Radial symmetry is officially, one hundred percent out. Bilateral symmetry is in. Shame.

    "Hhhngh," I grumble, moving my mouth against my intense desire to stay still. "Big molt. Moving bad."

    "Ah. Fuck, okay," Helen scowls. "Transmutation stuff?"

    "Mmmngh," I confirm.

    "Well, not the best timing, but I guess you''re mostly just backup. If shit is going to start over me being a Chaos mage or¡­ well, or really anything, it''s gonna start today."

    "Sorry," I mumble. "Not really controlling this."

    She nods understandingly.

    "It is what it is. We''ll manage. You okay to be shoved in a backpack for the day?"

    "Mmmngh."

    "Right, have a good rest, then."

    She gingerly lifts me up, the pressure really weird and uncomfortable on my temporarily-squishy body. I''m sure my carapace will harden back up once I''m done growing, but for now it''s just¡­ ugh. But then Helen carefully deposits me in her backpack and surrounds me with a comfy nest of clothing, and my burrower instincts kick in to tell me that everything is okay now, actually. I settle in and relax.

    Kagiso is eventually coaxed out of bed, Sela and the rest of our gear strapped firmly to her torso as we head to the deck. The sailors give us respectful nods and greetings, Helen keeping us out of their way as they work. I can''t see the port from here, but presumably everyone else can as they all frequently glance nervously in the same direction. Most of them seem to relax whenever they see us, though. I take that as a good sign. We freed them from slavery, so they trust us to protect them from any problems making landfall, too. I wish I was in a better position to help, but hopefully I won''t need to help them anyway.

    "What do you think our odds are of this going smoothly?" Helen asks someone who doesn''t seem very busy.

    "Eh. Decent," the sailor shrugs. "We slashed the ship markings, which is as good a way to indicate the pirates are dead as any. So that should prevent us from being shot. The tricky thing is that we have no way of telling anyone who killed the pirates until we land. For all the dock knows we could just be a different group of pirates, so tensions will be high. But honestly, as long as no one does anything stupid we probably won''t need to worry about much."

    "Doesn''t seem to stop people from worrying anyway," Helen comments.

    The sailor barks out a laugh.

    "Does it stop you?"

    Helen inclines her head, conceding the point, and the sailor gets back to what he was doing. When we start getting close to port, the sailors start speaking spells that might be useful if things go badly. Nothing flashy, we don''t want to scare anyone, but we''re ready. Sela even casts Graveyard Soul again, the spell it used to prevent a Pneuma spell from targeting Kagiso all the way back when we were fighting the branch serpent¡­ though I don''t really know what it does, exactly. I''m tempted to ask it, but I''m pretty sure it was waiting for other people to start casting spells before casting its own in order to go unnoticed. We are currently pretending that Sela is dead.

    And then¡­ we land at port. It''s similarly disgusting to the port we launched from, all sticky and bacteria-ridden, but at least it isn''t rotting. Rather than being entirely made of wood, this place is almost entirely metal. Helen is waiting by the gangplank, so we''re close enough for me to see the armed and cautious group waiting for us at the dock.

    "Ho there, gentlemen!" one of the sailors calls out with a wave. "If you''re here to wait for pirates and slavers, I''m happy to report this is now a free ship!"

    The dockworkers seem to relax considerably at that, and to my thankful surprise things do indeed go well from there. Someone at the port recognizes one of the former slaves as someone that went missing at sea, and that pretty much settles things. Everyone seems quite happy to have that particular group of pirates gone for good, and while there''s apparently a bunch of legal crap about who gets to own the boat now, only the people who actually care about that have to deal with it. Which means we''re basically free to go. A quick Aura Sight check and both Helen and Kagiso are let into the city.

    The dock itself isn''t all that interesting at first; from where we were on the boat, it just looked to me like a big stick of metal extending out over the sea. But as we walk down it, I realize that, yes, that''s all the dock is, but it has to be that because I can''t see the bottom. There are no pillars holding the dock up by connecting it to the seafloor, and I suspect this might be because the seafloor is still well over fifty feet below us. Instead, the dock is supported by a diagonal strut welded into the side of what appears to be an old, beaten-down skyscraper.

    Which I also can''t see the bottom of. It''s mostly submerged in the sap. Have we even made landfall?

    It turns out the answer to that question is ''kind of.'' As we move further away from the boat, the sap level rapidly plummets. I forgot how sticky and viscous the sap is; it''s not so much a flat body of water as it is a giant droplet. We''re on the tail edge now, so what seemed to be flat before is rapidly turning into a thick, liquid cliff. It''s not totally dewdrop-shaped, of course, not at scales this huge, but the sea level has still fallen well below us by the time we make it to the city proper. It''s still horrendously uncomfortable to move, but I can''t help shuffling to peek out of the backpack a little.

    And just¡­ wow. It''s a beautiful city, but also a really sad one. After all, it''s obviously built on the ruins of an even more impressive place.

    Half-collapsed skyscraper skeletons, tilted over or missing entire walls of windows, form the bedrock of the port town. Extending well above the foul, rotting sap below, the city itself stays relatively clean from the constant sticky grime of the port, if not the smell. We walk now on a great metal bridge extended between and fused to the sides of two tall buildings, clearly not part of their original design, and far below us I can spot countless shorter buildings still barely peeking above the sap, if not fully submerged.

    People are all over the place, both inside and outside the carcasses of buildings, each repurposed without care for their original function. Rooms of former office buildings have become small apartments. Apartments have had their walls torn out and repurposed into workspaces. It seems that no one knew and no one cared what these places were originally for, only that they were here and they had both a floor and a ceiling. The haphazard reconstruction seems aimless and patchy, the methods used to form bridges and roofing and windows obviously far more primitive than whatever made the skyscrapers originally. People came here and saw the rotting bones of something glorious, and they piled it up with trash because trash is all they have.

    It''s slapdash, but it at least looks like it functions. While the settlers of these post-apocalyptic ruins certainly didn''t have anything even remotely approaching the technology of its creators, they have a pretty decent substitute: magic. I see construction crews of Motion, Matter, and Heat mages, levitating giant steel beams into the air and welding them in place with raw force of will. The humans here¡ªand they are almost all human¡ªare resourceful and industrious, not sparing the time to look back when they still have so much work to do. Or perhaps it''s exactly the fact that they''re living in the bones of what they lost which presses them to move forward.

    Very quietly, I hear a furious hissing noise from Sela, and I feel all too aware of what made them lose their civilization in the first place.

    "Alright, well¡­ we pretty much made it," Helen announces. "Welcome to the Pillar. We have a decent chunk of money that I swiped from the pirates, so given Hannah''s current situation, I vote we just find an inn to hunker down in until she feels better. Sound good?"

    "Okay," Kagiso yawns. "Still sleepy anyway."

    "Geez, I don''t think I''m even physically capable of sleeping as much as you," Helen chuckles, shaking her head.

    "What else to do?" Kagiso shrugs. "Nothing to hunt on boat. Nothing to hunt in city. May as well sleep."

    "You could pick up some hobbies other than looking at organs, you know," Helen prods. "Ooh, we could buy a board game or something. There are a couple I''ve always wanted to try."

    "As long as I don''t have to move to play it," I mumble.

    Helen grins and jostles the backpack, causing me to hiss at her.

    "I''ll take that as a yes?" she smirks.

    "Sure," I relent. "I like board games."

    "Hrm. Okay," Kagiso nods.

    "Think the murderbot will play with us?" Helen asks.

    "Sela would completely destroy us," I point out. "It''s a friggin'' robot."

    "I''m sure it wants to destroy us, but this is just a board game."

    "Huh?" I say. "No, I mean like¡­ Helen, what do you know about robots, exactly?"

    "...They kill people?"

    Uh. Hmm. I guess Sela did react pretty poorly to me seeming to understand even a little of how it worked. I guess it''s been trying to suppress information, and apparently succeeding. ¡­Or Helen just never had the opportunity to learn, but given the tech level of modern humans I''m seeing¡­

    "Well I guess if Sela wants to play that''s up to it," I allow. "But let''s wait to decide that until we''re somewhere a bit more private."

    "Yeah, fair enough," Helen shrugs, and then we head towards some kind of market district to try and find a place that sells board games. I gotta say, it''s nice to know that things here aren''t so apocalyptic that they don''t even have cheap leisure activities for sale. I guess the collapse of human civilization either wasn''t all that bad or they''ve just had enough time and peace to rebuild.

    I snuggle back into the backpack and let Helen do all the shopping, happy to be in my burrow once again. Gosh, my body is really messed up right now. Some limbs are elongating, some limbs are thickening, and I''m pretty sure my eyes are starting to migrate up my back a little rather than being nestled in between all my legs. The ends of a couple of my feet are even starting to split into¡­ toes? Proto-fingers? Who knows! Not me! All I know is that my carapace is mush until whatever stage of my growth cycle decides to finish so I can harden back up.

    I''m so caught up in my weird body and the funny-looking pieces of the board game Helen just bought that I almost don''t notice the group of people with centipede talismans around their necks enter the marketplace.

    "Cultists are here," I whisper into Helen''s ear, and though I know she heard me she doesn''t react even the slightest bit. "They''re coming from the direction of the port. Three humans, all male, wearing cloaks."

    Helen thanks the shopkeep for the game and casually walks in the opposite direction of the cultists like a normal shopper. She looks basically the same as every other human here, with the same plain clothes, dark skin, and dark hair as literally the entire crowd. She doesn''t have to do anything to avoid being noticed.

    Kagiso, unfortunately, is a tall, shirtless dentron with albino-white fur, and she is spotted immediately. I watch them look at her, talk quietly amongst themselves, and immediately start following us from a distance. They let themselves fall back out of my fifty-foot range, but a cautious peek out from under the lip of the backpack proves they''re still following.

    "Kagiso, we''ve got stalkers," Helen says quietly. "We''re splitting up. Keep walking."

    Kagiso answers only by smiling, and as Helen turns to start looking at another shop, Kagiso continues wandering away from us. The cultists follow her, completely ignoring Helen and I. They recognize her description, but they haven''t spotted me. They might not even know Helen and Kagiso were a group.

    "What do you think?" Helen mutters to me. "Do we interrogate them, or just make them disappear?"

    I shiver, not sure what to say. One thing''s for sure, though: those poor bastards are about to have a really bad day.

 48. Compartmentalize

    "...I don''t really want anyone to die," I manage to mutter quietly.

    "Seriously?" Helen asks. "Nobody? Not even the people who self-admittedly want to kidnap you and experiment on you until you die?"

    I nestle deeper into the backpack, my squishy, still-molting body protesting the movement.

    "...If you can help it, yeah," I sigh.

    Helen makes a nonplussed expression as she slinks through the crowd, turning to follow Kagiso''s stalkers at a distance.

    "That bleeding heart of yours is going to get you in trouble one day," she says. "I''m not going to let that trouble become mine. But¡­ I''ll see what I can do."

    I sigh. Good enough. I get that sometimes people have to die. I just wish it wasn''t the case.

    "Thanks, Helen," I tell her. "I appreciate you putting up with me."

    She smirks, though she''s unable to hide a bit of an embarrassed blush on her cheeks.

    "The feeling is mutual, I guess," she murmurs. "It''s weird having friends who actually know what I am. You''re all crazy bitches, but I like having you around. So let''s blow these tails and find a place to relax, yeah?"

    "Yeah," I agree. "Thanks, Helen."

    "You said that already."

    I use a quick cast of Refresh to push away a lock of hair that fell in front of her eyes.

    "It bears repeating," I insist. "Kagiso and I would be helplessly lost without you."

    "Don''t I know it," she snorts.

    We settle into a comfortable silence as Helen follows the three men, Kagiso pretending not to notice them as she slowly maneuvers out of the crowded marketplace towards somewhere a bit quieter. The nature of the city makes it difficult to hide in anything other than crowds¡ªeverywhere is either the cleared-out floor of a building or a welded-on bridge between buildings, and neither has much in the way of cover. There are no dark alleyways or secluded streets where our stalkers might make their move, so Kagiso leads them to the next best thing: a quiet, run-down building near the edge of the city, close to where we can see the Sapsea finally end and give way to dry, moss-covered stone.

    The building is small and relatively run-down, covered in rust and sticky with the splatter of viscous waves. Most people take a path around it, but Kagiso, acting the ignorant tourist, heads right for it with a curious flick of her ears. We let her and her stalkers cross the bridge together alone, Helen waiting a practiced beat before rushing down after them into the old building''s guts. I manage to hear the tail end of something Kagiso says once we get close enough.

    "¡ªwant to?" she asks.

    "Ah, it''s just a conversation," one of the men assures her amicably. "There''s no need to be so standoffish. Your business is your business, of course, but we have business with someone who was last seen with you."

    Kagiso is facing the three men down, two arms crossed and one arm hovering dangerously next to her bow, not yet drawn. They''ve ''cornered'' her in what looks like a tiny private office: a small room, away from any exterior walls, with only one entrance and exit. An ideal place to pressure someone when you have them outnumbered, which is doubtlessly both why they corralled her here and why Kagiso led them here in the first place.

    After all, the cultists think they''re ratcatchers, but they''re actually the rats.

    "I''m curious to hear about this ''business'' of yours," Helen announces as she walks in and leans against the doorway, trapping the three cultists between her and Kagiso. "So go on. Let''s have that conversation."

    The three human men turn to us as one unit, and for a split second I think they''re all about to die as I watch them prepare for combat, bringing their hands up in an aggressive stance. They''re lined up in order of height, an abnormally tall man on the left, a squat man on the right, and an entirely average-looking man in the middle. It''s the average-looking one who reaches his hands out to stop both of his comrades, recognition flashing on his face.

    "Nope, not this one, boys," he says, gritting his teeth in a nervous smile. "Let''s keep those spells stowed and stay reaaaaal polite with this one. We''ve been made."

    Helen raises an eyebrow.

    "You know me?" she asks.

    "I certainly know of someone who matches your description," the man in the middle nods, his hands raised in surrender. "Helena, right? Yeah, I''m not fuckin'' with you. You win, we lose."

    "...It''s Helen," Helen sighs. "Fuck. That stupid paladin made it down here before us, huh? No wonder you recognized Kagiso."

    "She, uh, is certainly a woman who stands out in a crowd," the cultist nods amicably, glancing at his buddies and wiggling his hands meaningfully. They, too, raise their arms in surrender, looking considerably less enthused about the prospect than the man in the middle. "Look, I promise ya, we weren''t going to do anything untoward. Just needed some information, that''s all."

    "...Stalked me. Cornered me," Kagiso points out. "Not friendly behavior."

    "Oi, oi, you walked in here all on your own," the cultist counters. "I''d be happy with any private place to chat."

    "Cut the shit," Helen snaps.

    "No shit, honest!" the cultist insists. "Look, you''re the boss here, you want me to say the sky is red I''ll say it. But right now, I''m not lyin''. I don''t feel like that''s really in my interests, y''see? I know a lotta people that can make a man regret tryin'' to lie. Some of ''em Art mages. You think I''d take that chance?"

    "I don''t know you," Helen answers, stepping forwards. "Or anything about you other than the things you''re trying to get me to believe. So forgive me if I remain skeptical. What are you doing here? What do you want with Kagiso?"

    "We''re looking for the founder''s kin, of course," the talkative cultist answers easily. The tall one gives him a betrayed look, which is returned with a scowl. "What? Don''t gimme that, they already know. They traveled with the damn thing."

    He glances at Helen''s backpack, where I''m hiding.

    "...Maybe they still are," he mutters.

    "What is a founder''s kin, really?" Helen asks, forcing his attention back to her. "Why do you call it that?"

    "Uh, well I feel as though the etymology is fairly self-explanatory," the man shrugs, giving her a lopsided grin. "They''re the same type of thing as our founder, o''course. He was the first of ''em, at least so far as we know."

    "Don''t you people think that founder''s kin are going to destroy the world or something?" Helen asks. "Like, they''re responsible for all the fucked-up shit already happening, supposedly. What makes your boss the exception?"

    "Who says he is one?" the cultist answers.

    "The fact that it doesn''t make any fucking sense to found an organization designed to kill you!"

    "It''s a little more complicated than that."

    "Donny, shut up," the short cultist hisses at the talkative one.

    "No, I don''t think I will," the middle cultist, ''Donny'' apparently, continues. "Sorry pal, I''d rather fuck with you than the Chaos mage. Besides, it''s my whole fucking job to do the talking, so if you wanna get through this you should maybe shut up and let me¡ª"

    "Helen," I hiss, cutting him off. "We have incoming."

    The cultists'' eyes widen as I reluctantly confirm that I am, in fact, here, but I can''t exactly not tell Helen about the group I just spotted rushing towards this building. Five more people, four humans and a dentron, all cultists. No way that''s a coincidence.

    "Shit," Donny hisses. "I had no part in this."

    "Well, that upgrades you from corpse to hostage," Helen says, raising an arm.

    The two cultists flanking Donny react immediately. One fires something I can''t see¡ªprobably Light magic¡ªat Helen''s face as the other bolts towards the far wall of the room. Helen fires two shots and kills them both before blasting a hole in a different wall and obliterating the corpses.

    "Kagiso, grab our new friend," she orders. "We''re getting the fuck out of here."

    Kagiso nods, turning to follow Helen as she snatches Donny''s wrist with her tail.

    "Woah, woah!" the man protests, shaking in terror as he stares at the spot his friends'' corpses just were a second go. "I-I¡­ look, you don''t really need¡­"

    "Congratulations," Kagiso says, smiling at him. "Helen said you friend! Helen not have many friends."

    "It''s a figure of speech, Kagiso," Helen sighs. "He''s just some moron I don''t give a shit about."

    "Oh," Kagiso frowns. "Condolences. You have no friends."

    "Oh, fuck fuck fuck," the cultist swears, letting Kagiso yank him along.

    "Where are we going?" I ask Helen, my guts churning miserably at the two murders performed for my sake.

    "Out of the city," she answers, blasting a hole through another wall and hurrying to the outside of the building. "Give me a countdown for when our incoming stalkers are in the building."

    "Okay," I confirm, watching the new group of cultists rush across the bridge towards us. "Six, five, four¡­"

    Helen hurries towards a different bridge, and when my count reaches zero she sprints across it, relying on our enemies being indoors to cover her as we make ourselves vulnerable. The bridges have heavy visibility in every direction, meaning we''re probably getting spotted no matter what, but hopefully the group closest to us won''t be able to see us, at least. None of us are dumb enough to assume these are the only cultists after us.

    "How did they know where to find us?" Helen snaps at Donny.

    "Uhh, buddy I was with probably led them to you," Donny answers. "Light mage. Could have popped a signal outside the building where none of us could see it."

    "Yeah? And what can you do?"

    "I''m good at talking."

    "Not what I was fucking asking," Helen growls.

    "Yeah it is," Donny insists. "That''s my magic. I''m good at talking. I know what to say. Art and Pneuma."

    I hiss. We grabbed the most dangerous one, didn''t we? Damn it. Should we kill him?

    "Woah woah woah, look, it''s not like that!" Donny quickly says. "I''m harmless as a raindrop, yeah? I got no control over anybody, wouldn''t want it. Anybody with that kind of power is a right bastard and we both know it. Inconsolable. My Pneuma side of things just helps me know what to say. Gets me a better read on people. That''s it. Swear to the Goddess."

    "You''re a mind reader," Helen growls.

    "Not even!" Donny promises. "Just a bit of intuition, that''s all. I can let my magic guide my words. For example, I know you want information and you want to be left alone. What I want is to not die. That''s the whole reason I''m trying to stop the apocalypse in the first place, yeah? I feel like we can work out a perfectly reasonable compromise here."

    "And what makes you so sure Hannah is going to cause an apocalypse at all?" Helen asks, ducking into another building. "Why would she want to do that?"

    "Oh, I don''t think she necessarily does, miss," Donny answers. "I''m just worried she might cause it anyway. Ah, that''s a group of my guys down there, you might wanna take a left."

    Helen follows his gaze to the end of the bridge she was just about to start crossing and clicks her tongue in annoyance as she sees whoever Donny just pointed at. She heads for the building stairs instead.

    "How would Hannah even do something like uproot the tree in the first place?" Helen presses. "She''s just a fucking bug. Scary in a fight, sure, but it''s nothing I can''t do scarier."

    "Well, I don''t know the first thing about how to answer that, I''m afraid," Donny says, stumbling slightly. "But if I were a betting man I''d bet that maybe your friend Hannah does? Have you ever asked her?"

    His gaze locks on the backpack. I sigh.

    The thing is, I''m very much terrified of causing an apocalypse¡­ on Earth. I''m a Goddess-dang powder keg on Earth and I know it. Spread the wrong magic to the wrong person, and who knows what the heck could happen. I''m definitely a huge danger to everyone I know and love. But here? In this world where everyone already has magic? Where everything is already dead or dying?

    "...I seriously don''t think I could do anything to make the situation worse here," I answer. "You''re barking up the wrong tree, buddy."

    "I''m what?" he asks, dumbfounded. Oh, right, idioms.

    "I mean your hunch is off. I can''t think of anything I could do that''s even remotely on the same level as the problems you already have going here."

    "Huh," he says. "You ain''t lyin''. Well, that''s reassuring, seeing as I''m helpin'' you escape and all."

    "Glad I could soothe your conscience," I answer dryly. "Could you maybe convince your creepy cultist friends to stop trying to kill me, in that case?"

    "Oi, we''re not creepy cultists!" he protests. "The Disciples of Unification is a legitimate religious organization. And we''re quite personable, when ya get to know us."

    "Well it''s a little difficult to get to know you when you keep attacking me on sight!"

    "Stow it, both of you," Helen snaps. "Making distance is hard enough without you shouting our location to the whole city."

    I grit my teeth and shut up as instructed, Donny managing to shrug apologetically even as he gets dragged along by Kagiso''s tail. Helen charts us a rather direct route, rushing towards the edge of the city as fast as she''s able. I can see the logic behind it; in the city itself, using Chaos magic is just asking to get attacked on all sides, including by people who aren''t even cultists in the first place. By taking the fight away from a populated area, fewer people are at risk and our chances of winning a fight rise dramatically.

    It''s looking like it will be a fight, though. Which is¡­ not so good. My body is still screaming at me whenever I try to move, and I think even if I could move I''d be too squishy to be of any use. I can only cast Spacial Rend on my claws, after all, and I don''t really have claws when my body is vaguely spider-shaped jello.

    "Alright, last bridge," Helen announces quietly. "Keep your eyes open, everyone. If they''re gonna take potshots at us, now is the time. Go, go, go!"

    This bridge is angled down steeply enough that it probably would be legally required to be a staircase back on Earth, but Helen and Kagiso still manage to sprint across it without any problems with balance. Below us, for the first time in a long time, is solid ground, and the bridge leads right down into it, the far end embedded into stone rather than another building.

    "We make it there, we break for the caves. Lose line of sight to the city, set up a chokepoint, cut off reinforcements," Helen orders. "Then we¡ª"

    A sphere of burning, blazing something suddenly streaks into my spatial sense, but there''s no time to call it out before it impacts the bridge behind us and explodes. Molten metal sloughs off the walkway like water, leaving an empty gap behind us as the middle of the bridge melts into nothing. Helen and Kagiso sprint faster as the bridge starts to sag, bending under our weight now that it''s only attached at one end. And to top it all off, on the ground in front of us I spot a group of cultists hiding behind a boulder.

    "Ambush, in front!" I call out.

    "Fucking hell, how are they already here!?" Helen complains, bringing a hand up to fire a deadly blast of Chaos as Kagiso draws her bow.

    "Zone of Law: Ban Projectiles."

    Kagiso slacks her bow.

    "...That not fair," she grumbles.

    "That is my primary offensive compliment disabled as well," Sela buzzes quietly.

    "Oh you''ve gotta be fucking kidding me!"

    As Helen shrieks out her swears, cultists swarm the landing where the bridge meets the ground. At least a dozen of them pour out from rocks just beyond my range, including a face I would have been happy to never see again: Hagoro. The Goddess descends around us, tapping her finger warningly on Helen''s burgeoning spell as I glower at the dentron paladin that tried to kidnap me all the way back when I first met Helen. He''s armored similarly to our last encounter, with a shield and a spear, but this time they''re each held in one hand, and on the same side of his body; both of his right arms are still missing, same as when I cleaved them off.

    Helen changes tack immediately, twisting to grab Donny by the back of the head and force his face down to kiss the bridge. She tosses her backpack, with me inside it, to Kagiso as Chaos crackles around her.

    "Back the FUCK off!" she roars. "They Hunted And Hunted, But Not A One Could¡ª"

    "Five-Finger Discount," a cultist I''ve never seen before calls out, a woman hiding at the back of the group. Donny vanishes and reappears beside her, his arm in her hand. Our hostage, stolen away in an instant. Helen snarls but continues her incantation, standing up and taking a fighting stance, using the fact that the projectile ban affects both sides to buy enough time.

    "¡ªTake Her Down. For How Could They Touch Their Own Annihilation?"

    Helen steps in front, taking a protective stance with her body wreathed in obliteration. With what''s left of the narrow bridge between us and them, we have both the high ground and a convenient funnel to forcefully limit their numbers advantage in a melee. But of course, Hagoro has the power to un-ban projectiles any time he chooses, allowing them to blast us with impunity¡­ but who knows if that''s a good trade for them. Helen is not the kind of girl you want to give a clear shot to.

    "Phew!" Donny says, wiping sweat from his brow as he turns to the teleporter who snatched him. "Leilah, you''re a literal fuckin'' lifesaver."

    "Where''s Clyde and Ponzu?" she asks.

    Donny grimaces.

    "Didn''t make it."

    "...Fuck," Leilah swears, glowering furiously at us.

    Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.

    "You bastards came after us!" Helen roars. "So if you wanna die too then fucking bring it!"

    "Don''t mind if we do," Hagoro says, stepping forwards. "Madaline? If you''d come with me, please?"

    A human girl steps blankly forwards as Hagoro holds out a hand to her, her cultist pendant seeming abnormally heavy on her frail-looking body. Her wavy dark hair is messy and very, very long, going down past the small of her back. Combined with the blank stare on her face that barely seems to look at where she''s going, she looks almost like a doll from a horror movie.

    "Aura Sight," Helen barks, and I dumbly copy her.

    "Aura Sight."

    Helen hisses. I swallow a swear. Oh, no. That''s not good. That''s not good at all.

    Chaos and Pneuma. The girl''s elements are Chaos and Pneuma.

    "And She Knew The Whole World Was Her Canvas!" Helen barks, rapidly leaning down and slicing free a segment of metal from the bridge with one hand. She catches it before it falls, and it rapidly starts shifting into a sculpture of a naked woman clawing out her own eyeballs. It''s¡­ entrancing in a strange sort of¡­ wait, no, I definitely shouldn''t be looking at that. Helen holds the sculpture out in front of her like it''s a sword, waving it around to catch the attention of as many people as possible. Hagoro and a few others cover their eyes, but most of the cultists fail to avert their gaze, staring at it with hypnotic transfixion.

    The approaching Chaos mage stares right at it, her empty gaze unwavering as she continues her approach, completely unaffected. Her arms raise, as if preparing for a spell.

    "Hannah, I have to kill her!" Helen barks. Wait, was she holding back for my sake this whole time!?

    "Do it!" I shout back. I don''t want any part of whatever the fuck is about to happen!

    "And So She Wept¡ª!" Helen begins, aiming to obliterate our enemies in one shot despite the ranged attack restriction. Apparently she''s betting on being able to tank an Order-aligned divine retribution better than whatever this Chaos mage is about to output.

    But the weakness of Helen''s spells has always been how long they take to cast. The other Chaos mage smiles, the first expression she''s made since I''ve seen her.

    "Dissociate," the Goddess encants from her lips, and the world no longer matters.

    I''m aware that after casting, the girl collapses on the spot, Hagoro rushing forwards to catch her. I''m aware that Helen, affected by the same sudden nothingness that I am, stops casting her spell halfway through. The resulting miscast obliterates her clothes, her hair, and most of her skin, sending her collapsing forwards onto the bridge in a bloody mess. Kagiso, Sela and I do nothing in response to this. Or for that matter, in response to anything.

    These are just things that are happening. Facts without emotion. The world is what it is, and the reality that we are part of it is incidental.

    Cultists swarm us, grab us, gather us up, lead us. Helen is lifted and stabilized, carried alongside her fellow Chaos mage as her skin slowly crawls back onto her body. Kagiso, conversely, is led forwards, nudged gently until she follows our capturers like a cow not understanding the concept of a slaughterhouse. We walk for an irrelevant amount of time. We arrive at an irrelevant place. We''re separated from our irrelevant friends. Nothing matters, and we prefer it that way.

    Because what little part of our mind is actually lucid screams rather unpleasantly. The terror, the horror, the pain, the stress¡­ we let it remain locked away. To do otherwise seems¡­ unpleasant.

    The cage they trap me inside exists in 4D just as much as it does 3D. I won''t be able to just walk out of it. Neat. I curl up in a ball and go to sleep.

    Then I wake up, and unfortunately I''m a person again. Staring at the ceiling, the horror of everything that just happened slowly catching up to me, I surprise myself by not crying or panicking or screaming. Maybe it''s a side effect of the spell that hit me; even if I''m no longer under its influence, my mood was pretty calm when I went to sleep because of it. Maybe it''s also just the fact that we''re all alive. They could have easily killed Kagiso, Sela, Helen and I, but instead we got taken to their base and split up. That''s hardly the worst situation I''ve been in on the world tree.

    Honestly, I might just be getting numb to this sort of thing. That''s probably not healthy, but it''s better than constant panic so I can''t really complain. I quickly figure out my limbs and then quickly do the only sane thing to do in this situation.

    I GOT KIDNAPPED BY FREAKING CULTISTS, I complain to my friends, texting them over our group chat.

    I don''t get any immediate responses, since they''re all probably sleeping in, but that''s okay. I check the date¡ªSunday, ugh¡ªand extract myself from bed, slipping into the bathroom while the rest of my family is still asleep. I check myself over in the mirror, scowling at my complexion. Am I starting to turn gray? I think my eye-spots are going to maybe become actual eyes soon, too. That''s not gonna be fun, but whatever. Hopping into the shower, the water hits my naked body and I grimace, suddenly reminded how temperature does basically nothing for me now. The feeling of water passing over my body is weird when the heat of that water is only an academic footnote in my brain. As a human, temperature is like, water''s primary feature, and getting wet without really caring about it is a strangely alien experience. ¡­And not really a pleasant one, overall.

    I sigh and squirt some shampoo in my palm, lathering up my head so I can just get out of the shower as soon as possible. When I pull my hand away, though, I end up pulling way too much hair along with it. Because of course I do.

    Good! Great! I guess this is happening now! I run my other hand through my hair and sure enough, I manage to snag a few disgusting clumps of keratin there, too. Oh boy! It''s not all of my hair, not by a longshot, but it''s enough to make it clear that my hair is falling out with unnatural speed. Man, this sucks! I like my hair, dang it! I''d better get something cool to compensate for this crap.

    Still grumbling, I rinse off and step out of the shower, using Refresh to dry myself so I don''t have to deal with a towel on my apparently-delicate head. I guess I''ll add a wig to the list of things I need to buy to keep up my disguise! I''ll have to do that after church. For now I''m okay, though, so I suppose I just have to hope it doesn''t all fall off in the middle of the service and leave it at that for now.

    With a yawn, I bundle up in my disguise and return to my room, checking my phone again. Ooh, a response from Autumn!

    Oh my gosh, are you okay!? Do you need to cancel our date today?

    I read it. Then I read it again. Wait. Date?

    Oh shoot that''s right we''re going on a date today! Hot diggity!

    No way, I''m super excited! I text her back. Getting kidnapped sucks but it''s not like there''s anything I can do about it while I''m on Earth.

    Oh, okay! Comes the almost-instant response. Awesome! I''ll see you at 2 then?

    Heck yeah! Oh but if we could work buying a wig somewhere onto the itinerary that''d be a big help, I''m going super bald.

    Uh. Oh. Okay, sure?

    Thanks Alma!

    Wiggling excitedly, I head downstairs to make breakfast for everyone as the rest of the house finally starts to stir. Being kidnapped by cultists: very bad! Getting to go on a date with a cute girl: very good! May as well ride the high and ignore the low as long as I can, right? Besides, if there''s one thing my magic is actually good at, it''s escape artistry. Dimensional movement and cut-through-anything make a pretty potent combo! I can figure out what I''m up against and how to deal with it when I go to sleep.

    Because, you know. There are so many unknowns right now. Does the cage they put me in resist Spacial Rend somehow? If not, do they have other ways to lock me in? Where are my friends being held? What''s happening to them? What''s going to happen to me? What kind of mages am I up against? How many people am I going to have to murder this time? Each question is increasingly terrifying and I have no way of dealing with any of them so really if you think about it the best thing I can do is just compartmentalize the crap out of it like syrup on a waffle.

    With breakfast sizzling, my family soon comes downstairs and is quite happy to be fed. We exchange the usual pleasantries before my mom comments on how I look happier than usual. This, of course, immediately tanks my mood and I manage to mumble something about hanging out with a friend after church. Yes, mother, a female friend. This mollifies her considerably, as it definitely nullifies the chances of sex happening rather than dramatically multiplies it. Definitely.

    ¡­Of course, dramatically multiplying the less-than-one-percent chances isn''t really saying much. This is my second date with Alma. I haven''t even gotten to kiss her yet. ¡­Geez, I''m already eighteen and I haven''t kissed anyone yet. I really need to get on that before my lips fall off or whatever.

    Gosh, these sure are thoughts to be having right before church.

    I pack into the car and survive the trip to the chapel, slinking inside and doing my best to avoid any and all attention until the service starts. No dice, naturally. J-Mug is already here, having apparently joined our church after our pastor agreed to give his family lots and lots of dollars, and he immediately brightens up upon seeing me and walks right towards where I''m trying to stay away from everybody. Oh boy!

    "Hannah!" the boy greets me. "Hey! I just wanted to thank you again. Mom''s doing so much better. They even let her out of the hospital! She''s not supposed to go outside for another week, but¡­ she''s out of the hospital! She''s home!"

    "That''s¡­ great," I answer, failing to fake any real emotion behind it.

    "Honestly, it''s been hard getting her to stay in bed," he says excitedly, not seeming to notice. "I''ve been practicing my you-know-what too, and¡­ I think I might have something that could be a big help for her. I¡ª"

    "No," I snap. "Not here. If you absolutely need to talk to me about it, text me or something. And what''s the most important rule?"

    "...Don''t practice around anyone else?" he mumbles, chastised.

    "No. That''s the second most important rule," I scowl. "What''s the most important rule?"

    "Um. Don''t¡­ speak while practicing?"

    "Don''t speak while practicing," I hiss in confirmation. "No matter what. Even if it feels right or it seems like you''re supposed to. Don''t. Ever. Speak. You promise?"

    "...I promise," he nods.

    "Make sure your mom knows too," I insist, walking away towards the pews. "I didn''t help you two just so you could get yourselves killed or worse."

    "Okay!" he confirms dutifully as I skulk away, feeling like crap as I reject the earnest kid like that. I just¡­ don''t like him and don''t want to deal with him. He mugged me twice! Haven''t I already done enough for him?

    I hesitate. Is this what makes me not good enough?

    I don''t manage to come up with an answer before everyone else starts spilling onto the pews as well, though, and shortly afterwards the pastor is up on the pulpit to lead the prayer. Hmm. What''s up with Christian worship and words that start with ''p,'' anyway? I ponder that (hehe) for a good chunk of the service, doing everything in my power to remain as distracted as possible. I just need to survive until 2pm when life will temporarily become good instead of bad and I''ll maybe get to kiss a girl.

    The sermon ends without incident and so I quickly retreat to my traditional bathroom hidey-hole like the little burrowing creature I am at heart to poke away at my phone. Rather than the slew of text messages I expected to find, however, I have an odd little notification from an app I haven''t touched in ages: Discord.

    Oh, right! Valerie was gonna introduce me to her friends!

    I open the ancient app, which chugs through several dozen updates for a minute or two before finally opening, the new server invite in a shiny new private message from Valerie. Her Discord tag is apparently now ''Monster Magus,'' which I suppose is rather appropriate. Mine is still ''DistractedDreamer,'' just like my Twitch handle, because I use the same online name for basically everything. I''m very boring like that. I accept the server invite.

    ---

    <Mortissississimo>

    Woah hey is that who I think it is

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Um, hello!

    <Mortissississimo>

    Oh shit I think it do be

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Oh goodness, welcome!

    <Monster Magus>

    You made it!

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I did!

    <blue>

    hi!

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Well go on, Val, introduce us!

    <Monster Magus>

    Right! Um, this is my best friend Hannah and she is a massive lesbian.

    ---

    I blink. Okay, I uh. I guess we''re starting off with my sexuality apparently?

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    That is all completely true, but I gotta say I''m a little confused as to why it''s coming up first thing?

    <Monster Magus>

    It''s pertinent info for this server.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Why¡­?

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    It''s the perfect introduction because it tells us everything we need to know about you!

    "Hannah" <- Name

    "She" <- pronouns

    "Massive lesbian" <- probably-not-a-bigot certification

    <blue>

    fhdsfhsdjklfhsdlafhsd

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Do you often get bigots on this server?

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Well, no. And honestly, being introduced by Valerie is all you really needed to be welcome here. But it''s good internet etiquette in queer communities, you know? Part of what makes the queer community the queer community is the simple fact that anyone who isn''t queer is dramatically more likely to be kind of shitty about what''s in my pants, and it only really takes one asshole to ruin the whole day. A lot of us tend to get really nervous around new people until we get some clear sign that they''re going to actually be tolerable. We hole up in these little chatrooms to avoid the kind of jerks we constantly have to deal with in real life, you know?

    ---

    Uh, okay. I was not expecting this kind of conversation today. It makes sense, don''t get me wrong; the fear of running into people who will just randomly decide to be awful to me is a big part of why I''m not out. I''d get anxious as heck hanging out with strangers if I was openly queer. It just¡­ I don''t really talk about these sorts of things with people? I rub my temples a bit before responding.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Just keep in mind that I''m not out to 99% of people. Is everyone here queer, then?

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Nah, Issi is our token cishet white boy.

    <Mortissississimo>

    It''s true. I possess the rare and terrible condition of both possessing and desiring a dick.

    <blue>

    gay

    <Mortissississimo>

    No wait not like that

    <Monster Magus>

    lol

    <Mortissississimo>

    Anyway I''m like a nature documentary host. I''ve barely managed to calm a wild herd of transbians by sitting really still and putting my pronouns in my bio, and after feeding them for a few weeks they''ve started accepting me as one of their own. It''s a heartwarming story, really.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    ¡­Boy, you sure do have some interesting friends, Valerie.

    <Monster Magus>

    I promise that they are usually cool and not lame.

    <Mortissississimo>

    I don''t

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Yeah, you''re sure putting a lot of pressure on us here, Val.

    <Monster Magus>

    You''re right. My bad. Hannah, my friends suck and are the worst. You are the only cool one.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Gosh, you''re kind of putting a lot of pressure on me, Val.

    <Monster Magus>

    Okay so actually I have zero cool friends. They are all super lame. Every last one. Simply by becoming my friend the lameness of an individual skyrockets dramatically.

    <Mortissississimo>

    That''s more like it

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Yeah, I can work with those expectations.

    <blue>

    can i be a cool friend

    <Monster Magus>

    Sure, blue. You are the coolest friend of all.

    <blue>

    fdskfhsdjlfhsdjlafhdsjkl yay

    ---

    Okay, this is more like it. I smirk at the byplay, settling into a more comfortable rhythm of snark. It''s a fun way to pass the time, at least up until someone new suddenly comments something that scares my panties clean off.

    ---

    <Skarmbliss>

    oh hey i recognize that screen name

    do you stream pokemon by any chance?

    ---

    Oh crap, oh no, this person has seen my streams!?

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Oh, uh, haha. Yeah, that''s me!

    <Skarmbliss>

    oh sick! your vtuber rig is insanely cool.

    <Monster Magus>

    Wait, you watch Pokemon streams?

    <Skarmbliss>

    yeah i watch pokemon streams my name is literally a pokemon reference

    <Monster Magus>

    It is!?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yeah, it''s like a Generation 3/4/kinda 5 competitive battle thing. Skarmory/Blissey defensive core.

    <Skarmbliss>

    yeah!!! hell yeah you get it. you should do more competitive stuff, id watch the hell out of that.

    <Mortissississimo>

    I wanna see this cool vtuber rig

    <Skarmbliss>

    oh yeah its so fucking hot

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Oh, well now you''ve got me interested. Show us, Hannah!

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Uh, it''s not really something I keep pictures of¡­

    <Skarmbliss>

    here, i gotchu

    ---

    And then they post a Twitter link to a clip from my stream showing me stretching and blue reacts with an emote labeled ''flooshed'' and oh gosh, I''m just wearing a tanktop and shorts in that one, all my limbs are on display¡­! Aaaaaah I''ve never actually watched recorded videos of myself like this before! Oh Goddess oh Goddess oh Goddess this is so embarrassing!

    ---

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Woah, holy shit! This is crazy! God damn, Hannah, work it!

    <Mortissississimo>

    Okay, this is seriously awesome. How did you make this? Or like, who made it for you and how are these not everywhere?

    <Skarmbliss>

    lol no shot she tells you. the whole bit on stream is that she keeps saying it''s real.

    ---

    My face is a blushing mess. I can''t believe this. I can''t believe I''m running into someone who has seen me like that. I knew it would happen eventually, but¡­ aaaagh!

    ---

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Well, a girl has to have her secrets, I suppose. Or perhaps¡­ it is real!?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    ¡­Yeah. It''s real.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Then take a selfie right now lol

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Issi! Don''t pressure her!

    <DistractedDreamer>

    ¡­

    Sure, okay.

    <Monster Magus>

    Um, are you sure, Hannah?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Fuck it, why not. Heads up though, I''m sort of hiding in a church bathroom so it''s not gonna be pretty.

    ---

    I open my camera app and snap a quick photo of myself, before taking my mask off, opening my mouth as wide as it''ll go, and taking a photo again. I send both to Valerie''s friends because my life is an endless spiral of bad decisions and this is hardly the worst one I''ll make this week.

    ---

    <Mortissississimo>

    Uh. Hmm. That''s. Wow?

    <blue>

    teeth¡­ (? ???-??? ?)

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I can show you the extra limbs and messed up hands and stuff if you want but I don''t wanna accidentally drop my gloves in the toilet. I sort of need them to use my phone.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Wow wow wow wow wow wow wow. This is¡­ very cool.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    It''s really not? I''m mutating into a monstrous freak. My hair started to fall out today. Like, I''m serious guys, this is not a bit. It''s really messing me up.

    <Monster Magus>

    Um¡­ I can confirm that, actually. This is a really major problem for Hannah and I''d appreciate it if it was treated that way.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Roger roger!

    <Mortissississimo>

    Okay but how the actual fuck though

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Urban fantasy is real and I''m the main character, I guess? Look, the more I talk about this the more completely insane I''ll sound, so I''m not really super interested in discussing it.

    ---

    I check the time, realizing I definitely should have gotten out of the bathroom by now, so I quickly finish up my business and rush out to act like I''ve been waiting in the lobby this whole time. My phone now remains quarantined in my pocket until my family gets back in the car, as it isn''t appropriate to be on the phone at church. I''m supposed to be socializing. I am not very good at socializing.

    Eventually, the rest of my family joins me and we exit as a unit. Back in the car, I pull out my phone again and skim through the conversation that has happened without me, mostly just Valerie fielding questions with ''ask Hannah, it''s her business.'' I give her blanket permission to talk about whatever the heck she wants and then put my phone back in my pocket, too exhausted to deal with whatever comes of that mess. I have a date to prepare for, after all.

    Surely that can''t go as poorly as this did, right?

 49. Communication

    I am inordinately frustrated about the fact that I can''t dress up cute for my date.

    There are obviously a number of valid reasons for this. I''m in the closet and hiding my relationship from my family. My old clothes don''t fit very well anymore and they don''t match my constantly-changing complexion as much as they used to. My entire body is shifting into a horrific mess of chitin and claw, which may cause people to call the police. Various things like that. But despite all logic, it''s still irritating to bundle up in my usual long-sleeved layers like it''s somehow going to snow during a Tennessee May. I want to show off for my girlfriend. Is that so wrong?

    ¡­I mean, according to a frighteningly large number of people in Tennessee, me having a girlfriend at all is wrong. Buuuut I''m going to do my best to not think about that. Only fifteen percent of hate crimes are due to sexual orientation! It''s still mostly racism running rampant in the good ''ol US of A. Plus we''ll be keeping to public areas, daytime on a Sunday, and I can supernaturally detect every weapon in a thirty-foot radius or so with my admittedly-still-weak-on-earthside spatial sense. I''ll also probably survive any gunshots that aren''t to my head. So, y''know, I think I''m prepared.

    I realize, intellectually, that getting attacked is pretty unlikely, hate crime or otherwise. But for some reason, couldn''t say what, my anxiety has been acting up lately. It''s difficult not to think about risks, threats, and possibilities for fights. It''s scary to consider all the possible things that could go wrong, but it''s scarier still to realize I''m ready for them. That when push comes to shove, I''m fully prepared to phase into w-space, rush down a gunman, slice his arms off, and fucking eat them. It doesn''t matter that doing so would expose me, it doesn''t matter that doing so would cause all my gosh dang clothes to fall off. Alma''s safety is what matters, and if anyone threatens that I will do whatever I have to in order to reclaim it.

    Is that what I''ve always been like, or is that something the Goddess'' magic made me into?

    I''ve certainly always been willing to go to bat for my friends, I guess. I''ve never been in a position to do so violently before, but now that I''ve apparently become really good at violence, it only makes sense that I''d start working it into my methods. As much as I hate it, as much as it''s a horrible, horrible hammer to take to problems, it is a very big hammer and sometimes you have to crush nails.

    Before all this, though? Was I a good friend? Was I loyal the way my friends are loyal to me? I feel like I at least tried to be, but only they can really answer that, I guess. If nothing else, Ida and Valerie seem to believe I deserve the care, support, and attention they''ve showered me with since my insane transformation started. I guess it''s up to me to make sure I don''t let them down.

    ¡­But first, I have a date.

    Dressed up in my nicest baggy hoodie, I commandeer my dad''s car and drive over to Autumn''s house. We scheduled the date for a time she knew her dad wouldn''t be at home, so I''m not surprised when I pull up in her driveway, head to her front door, and don''t feel anyone in the house other than her. I am somewhat surprised when I knock on the door and just get a text from her telling me to let myself inside.

    I always feel weird and awkward when I let myself into someone else''s house, even with permission, but I do as she says and head towards where I feel her in the kitchen. I spot her doing¡­ something, miming in the air and not looking my way, so I call out to her.

    "Hey, Alma!" I greet.

    "Hannah?" she answers, turning and looking around like she can''t see me. "Oh, watch out, there''s a¡ª"

    I don''t hear the rest of what she says because I walk face-first into an invisible wall and get rather distracted by my own sputtering. I stagger backwards, seeing the ripple of visibility flow outwards from my impact point, revealing the exterior of a pale white wall, seemingly made out of some kind of ceramic. A door is set into the wall, only partially visible, so I give the wall a good thump with a fist to bring the rest of the door into focus for me. Then I open it, and walk inside Alma''s magical funhouse.

    Alma spots me immediately now that I''m inside, her power apparently having created a small, one-room shack this time around. Or at least¡­ I think it is? My spatial sense doesn''t work on this place at all. I thump another wall or two in order to be able to see the whole thing. Once again, the ceiling depicts a mural of Autumn''s face: half of it normal and half of it crumbling, broken machinery, like a robotic brain leaking out all of its parts. Alma herself is dressed for the date, which means like me she''s covered in baggy clothing and a bulky, bulky skirt to disguise her tail as much as possible. It works¡­ okay. It looks like she''s hiding something, but it''s not obvious enough what she''s hiding for anyone to be likely to care. That''ll change if the tail keeps growing, though.

    "Hannah!" Alma greets me happily. "Hannah, check this out! I got the water running!"

    She grabs the handle of a sink faucet that distinctly isn''t the sink faucet of the actual, real kitchen and turns it. My spatial sense does a confused mental flip as water in the actual, real pipes seems to phase through solid matter as if it was suddenly traveling through a completely different set of pipes, drops into Alma''s not-real sink, then heads down the drain through another set of undetectable imaginary pipes before meeting back up with the actual pipe system on the other end.

    What the heck?

    "You, uh, are tapping into the municipal water system somehow," I tell her.

    "Yeah, I kind of figured that," she muses. "My imaginary house pipes only work if the house overlaps with a part of my real house that has running water. It doesn''t work if I restrict the house to, say, my bedroom. Same with electricity, although pretty much the whole house has that. When I''m outside I have to just hope there''s an underground line or something."

    "I guess that makes some kind of sense," I shrug. "This spell isn''t Light or Matter aligned, so it can''t make¡­ stuff. I mean, I guess it can make a whole bunch of stuff, but the stuff isn''t real somehow? Like¡­ okay, I''ll be honest, I seriously have no idea what''s going on here."

    "I might," Alma says, grinning at me. Her teeth look sharper than when I last saw them. Not carnivorous like mine, but those canines are big. My heart skips a beat, and I almost miss what she says next.

    "I didn''t notice my dad coming home one day when I was testing things, but he didn''t hit his face on my spell like you do," she continues. "He walked right through it, like it wasn''t even there. Freaked me the heck out when he said my name, too, because I couldn''t see him."

    "What?" I ask, dumbfounded.

    "I couldn''t see him, and he couldn''t see my spell!" she confirms. "I quickly ran out the fake house''s door to turn the spell off, of course, but I wouldn''t be surprised if I couldn''t touch him, either."

    "How does that even work?" I ask, unconsciously feeling over the smooth walls of the house. The interior is¡­ interesting. There''s a bookshelf along one wall, which is an odd sight to see in the middle of a kitchen.

    "Well, my dad doesn''t have a soul, right?" Alma says casually. "And my house is a Pneuma spell. You can probably only interact with it because you have a soul."

    Huh. She might be onto something, there. So Alma can be seen while she''s in her house, but she can''t be interacted with by anything that hasn''t entered her house, and only things with souls can actually find the door. If it doesn''t have a soul it doesn''t exist to her. ¡­Mostly. There''s presumably an exception for objects that come inside close enough to an ensouled person''s body, because Alma''s not acting like I walked in naked. And the water in her pipes probably doesn''t have a soul, so that''s another weird exception¡­ but still! That''s pretty wild. If someone shoots her with a gun from outside the house, would the bullet just phase right through her without her even noticing?

    "Magic is crazy," I conclude.

    "You don''t have to tell me that," Alma snorts. "It''s pretty darn cool, though. I have a lot of control over what the house is shaped like when it shows up, so I can do some pretty neat things with it. Check this out!"

    She hurries past me excitedly and exits out the door I came in through, which immediately dissolves the house into nothingness. The residual moisture that was resting inside the soul-house¡¯s sink splatters softly to the floor.

    "So, the basement is right below me here, right? So I can just imagine that I want my house to have a spiral staircase downwards when I make it, and¡­"

    She walks right through the floor, and I lose sight of her. Holy crap! I head over and knock on the walls until I find the entrance, and sure enough there''s the very top of a spiral staircase in front of me when I open it. But I also still see the physical house''s actual, real floor, so I can''t follow her down.

    "...This is so complicated," I groan.

    "Hehe, yeah, a little!" Alma agrees, her head popping up from the floor. "It''s cool though, right?"

    "It''s very cool," I agree, holding out my hand to her. She takes it despite not really needing my help and lets me pull her into a hug after she runs back up the stairs.

    "And you know what the best part is?" she continues, babbling excitedly. "Jet can''t come in here. At all. It''s completely mine."

    "Really?" I ask, suddenly a little worried.

    "Yeah, see?" Alma says, pulling up the back of her skirt a little and making me blush. "The tail doesn''t move."

    Sure enough, the normally-active tail is completely limp, almost lifeless. It might even be drooling slightly.

    "And when I walk out of the house¡­" Alma demonstrates, stepping through the door and dissolving the stairs into nothing. Her tail immediately perks up, swishing side to side slightly before curling protectively around Alma''s leg and snarling at me.

    "See?" Alma shrugs. "I''ve never started to¡­ I don''t know. Fade out? In the house? I''m safe in there. It''s a place I know I''ll always be me. It''s the coolest thing ever."

    I swallow. I feel like I should talk to Alma about Jet a bit more, having gotten to know both of them at least decently well by now. Alma has some intense resentment for her headmate, that much is obvious, but I''m not sure if it goes deeper than just the general distress her memory problems bring her. What I do know, however, is that Jet wants to do right by Alma, but Alma just wants Jet to stop existing. I''m not really sure how I would go about having that conversation, though, so hopefully I can leave it to their therapist.

    I''ll have to think about it. ¡­After the date.

    "How are your, um, physical changes going?" I ask, awkwardly changing the subject. "I saw you had fangs?"

    Among many other things. With my spatial sense I can tell her wings are getting a lot bigger, and Alma has had to get completely new bras to deal with not crushing them on top of her increased breast size¡­ which I can''t help but continue to notice every time I see her. I''d complain about my own transformation not giving me bigger boobs, but mine are already kind of difficult to complain about. Is it narcissistic to admit I have the same sort of figure that I''m attracted to?

    "Oh, uh, yeah," Alma scratches her head awkwardly. "I noticed those when I started fronting this morning. I guess they grew in sometime yesterday. Jet got us a bunch of new clothes. Gloves like yours for the claws. And, uh, we have scales on our butt now. They''re growing in more and more all around the tail."

    "Oh, cool," I say nonchalantly. "Butt scales."

    "Uh, yep," Alma agrees halfheartedly, reaching back to give some of them a scratch. "It''s. Certainly a thing."

    "Sorry again."

    "Don''t be," Alma insists. "Really. You ready to head to the aquarium?"

    I get the feeling that while Alma genuinely doesn''t want me to be sorry, it isn''t because I haven''t actually hurt her. But I''m not sure if pressing the point right now would hurt her more, so I swallow my thoughts and give her a smile.

    "Yeah," I agree. "I''m ready."

    She smiles back. She''s happy. Really. Is that enough?

    "Cool," she says, and we head to my car together. Two girls bundled up like it''s winter heading to hang out with fish.

    The actual Tennessee Aquarium is a bit too long of a drive for a simple Sunday date, but there''s a piddly local-ish one less than an hour from here that we can go to instead. I don''t really have any particular interest in aquariums, especially considering that I nearly got murdered by a sea monster last week, but I didn''t have any better ideas for a place to go and Alma seemed marginally more excited when she suggested it than any other thing we talked about.

    That''s something I''m coming to figure out about Alma in general: she does not actively or purposefully express her preferences. She mostly wants to talk about me and get me to lead things for her, but as long as I''m not overwhelmed (a condition that is slowly but refreshingly becoming less absent in my life) it''s not too difficult to pick up on her real feelings regarding whatever I''m talking about. It''s weird, but not too dissimilar from how I learned to be a good friend to Valerie. Most of what really matters to the both of them is easier to pick up on via mediums other than words.

    It really helps Valerie out, me being able to do that. When she''s overstimulated or stressed, it''s often a situation where asking questions and doing other normal communication things can''t help, because she can''t properly wedge her brain into that kind of crack. The sooner I pick up on that from context cues, the sooner I can start doing things to actually help, be that redirecting her attention, giving her backup on dealing with the problem, or just giving her space and silence. Talking with Alma often feels like flexing a similar sort of muscle, learning to navigate a new sort of minefield so I can help guide her through it.

    I am, uh, not very good at it yet. So many questions, not enough answers. But I''m learning, a little at a time.

    We make it to the parking lot of the aquarium and wander inside, showing the receipt of ticket purchase on my phone to the lady behind the desk and getting physical tickets in response. There''s a number of different exhibits, all with very fancy-sounding names like "Antarctic Adventure" and "Carnivores of the Deep."

    "Well, where do you wanna start?" I ask, giving Alma a careful look.

    "Uh, wherever''s fine," Alma says noncommittally, gazing at various signs.

    Well, may as well start with the one that looks most fun to me.

    "How about the ''Tropical Reef Tour?''" I ask.

    She shrugs. No go on that one, huh?

    "''Antarctic Adventure?''" I try. "That one probably has penguins."

    "If you want to!" she answers cheerfully. Hmm, another dud. I try following her gaze.

    "''The Sunless Depths'' looks cool," I say.

    "That one''s probably neat," she agrees. "Deep sea animals get super funky."

    Okay, that was a reaction. Score!

    "Let''s start there, then!" I conclude, and she seems pretty happy about it. Which is good, because asking three times is about the usual limit for being annoying and I would have had to conclude the search there either way.

    We head into a darkly lit hallway full of water tanks, the sound hushed around us as the darkness instinctively makes everyone in the area speak quietly or not at all. The exhibit is pretty neat, if incredibly subdued, with overall more diagrams and less actual aquatic life than I was expecting. I suppose it would be really hard to get living samples of creatures that can only survive at pressures unlivable for humans all the way up to the surface.

    Hesitantly, Alma comments on some of the displays, seeming to actually know some neat trivia about deep sea animals that she wants to discuss. So I do my best to encourage her, trying to get a good ramble going because I suspect it will be cute as heck. She spends a while likening ocean floor methane bursts to a planet in one of her favorite sci-fi novels (and thereby proving me right) before we finally come across a tank with live bioluminescent jellyfish and she locks onto it like a heat-seeking missile.

    "Haha! Oh man, look at them bloop around!" Alma grins, her wings twitching excitedly under her shirt.

    "Yeah, they''re cute," I agree, watching them with my eyes as I feel them with my spatial sense. Water is always an interesting presence to my spatial sense because the major defining feature of water is usually its utter lack of defining features: it has no color, it has no scent, and it doesn''t really even have a texture so much as it has wetness, a feature almost incomparable to other aspects of touch. Yet water is strange to my spatial sense largely insofar as it isn''t strange; to that part of me, everything lacks color and opaqueness. I can simply feel and know the presence of the water in the same way I feel and know the presence of the organs inside the jellyfish, which for the first time I can actually look at with my eyes, too. The clear body of the floppy little fellas lets my eyes track the same internal movements as my soul, and I do have to admit that it''s weirdly hypnotizing.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    "Oh, uh. Sorry," Alma says hurriedly. "I''ve been staring a while, huh? We can move on."

    "Huh?" I ask, blinking with confusion. "No, you''re fine. These are cool."

    "It''s okay, we can move on," Alma insists.

    She doesn''t believe I''m interested. She thinks she''s bothering me. It kind of reminds me of when I first met her, and she thought I was faking interest in her book.

    "...Their internal structure is really awesome," I comment, searching for something specific that caught my interest. "I''m trying to figure out how they breathe. They don''t seem to have lungs or gills."

    Alma looks at me for a moment like she''s an animal deciding whether or not to run, but then turns back to the jellyfish, pointing at one.

    "...They breathe entirely through diffusion," she tells me. "Oxygen from the water enters directly through their skin whenever the oxygen levels in their body are lower than the levels in the surrounding sea. Their bodies are just a lot more permeable than ours, and require a lot less resources."

    "Ohhh, that''s kinda sick," I smile, turning to look at the jellies again myself. "I was thinking it was their droopy tentacles maybe, because there''s so much surface area with how bendy it is."

    "No, that surface area is for catching microorganisms," Alma answers. "And those big long dangly bits aren''t the tentacles, they''re called oral arms, because the jellyfish eats with them. They do have tentacles, though: that''s the name of the little hair-like structures coming off the rim of the bell."

    "The bell is the head?" I clarify. "The blorpy-blorpy part?"

    She giggles. Eeee, I made her giggle! That means I''m doing well!

    "Yes, the ''blorpy-blorpy part'' is the bell," she smirks at me. "Jellyfish are really neat because of how simplistic they are. No central nervous system at all, absolutely no chance of sapience or thought or self-awareness, but they still do everything required to be an animal: reproduce, grow, respond to stimuli. They''re like organic robots, capable of only two or three tasks that they loop forever until they finally break. There are so few thoughts inside that head, it isn''t even called a head at all."

    Woah. She really seems to like jellyfish, huh? New hyperfocus unlocked on the character sheet, I guess. But what''s with the weird feeling of¡­ longing?

    Well, it doesn''t matter. I do my best to keep her talking, something she really seems to enjoy when given ample and repeated reassurance that yes, I am actually interested and not annoyed or bored. We crawl through the rest of the deep sea exhibit at a slow pace, but it''s the kind of awesome slow pace where we''re having so much fun soaking in every detail that time just slips away. Things transition smoothly into the next exhibit, and by then Alma is so engaged with things that the rocky start just melts away.

    It''s just fun, because we''re both huge nerds and Alma''s obsession with fantasy and sci-fi lends itself to a lot of love for speculative biology, a field of thought that seems to stem primarily from looking at real biology and going ''holy crap, that is so cool.'' So that''s what we spend the day doing: looking at aquatic creatures and geeking out over how cool it is. Everything is going great.

    "Ooh, that one looks pretty!" I say, pointing to one of the fish in the tropical exhibit.

    "I mean, yeah, everything is pretty here," Alma dismisses. "But they''re all basically the same fish with different shapes and colors, you know? I wanna see¡­ ooh! There! A lionfish!"

    She starts babbling about how the lionfish has hardly any natural predators because of how effective its venomous spines are, and a comfortably dopey smile blooms on my face as I look around at everything swimming all over the place. This is one of the big tanks, with countless different animals all in it at once, from beautiful fish to imposing sharks to creepy eels. It kind of makes me hungry to watch all the beating hearts floating around right in front of me. I haven''t eaten since our usual after-church Taco Bell, and I didn''t get much since I can''t actually digest most of the ingredients there anymore. So the movement of the fish through the water is kind of¡­ hypnotic.

    I step towards the glass, putting one gloved hand up against it like I could reach right through. Well, I mean, I could do that, actually. That''s pretty explicitly in my skillset. And it''s not like killing and eating a fish would be hurting anyone. Goddess, I want to chase one. I want to chase something. But¡­ no. It would be pointless. ¡­And also weird, but mostly pointless! I can easily reach my hand into the tank, sure, but not only would that make my glove come off, I wouldn''t be able to bring anything back out of the tank with me. Plus there''s like, people around, and probably security cameras. I definitely shouldn''t hunt any of the delicious, delicious fi¡ª

    "Hannah," Alma hisses, and I feel her grab one of my blade-limbs. Wait, how did¡ªoh crap! I pull my extra bits out of her grasp and back into full 4D space. It wasn''t completely visible, not even mostly visible. It was just a little bit of organic blade peeking into reality next to my head. But we both know that''s way more than I should be showing, so I stare back at her stern expression in horror as I rapidly look at everyone in the room with my spatial sense.

    ¡­Nothing. Nobody noticed or cared. Of course they didn''t; we''re in an aquarium. Everyone is here to look at fish, not people. But as my heartbeat calms and I look back at Alma with a sheepish smile, I can''t help but feel the weight of my extra limbs in the other realm. They''re getting harder and harder for me to hide, and not just because of how monstrous I am. I''m¡­ running out of reasons to, I guess.

    I want to just be me. I want that so badly and I''m not going to be able to hold it in forever. But I don''t say that out loud. Not yet.

    "...We should break for dinner," I say instead.

    "Yeah," Alma says flatly. "I guess I''ve been hungrier lately too."

    "Nobody noticed, at least," I say, giving her an apologetic smile. "Thanks for, uh, grabbing me there."

    "I just figured it would disrupt our date a little if you started slaughtering the exhibits," she sighs. "Come on, let''s get out of here. Where do you want to eat?"

    "Sorry, I kind of interrupted things. I know you were having fun."

    "It''s fine," she shrugs. "You looked like a cat watching birds through a window. It was kind of cute."

    "Well, as long as I was cute," I joke, and we head out of the aquarium and back to my car. Alma stays quiet the whole time, so I ask "Whatcha thinking about?"

    "You, mostly," Alma answers, focusing ahead at the road even though I''m the one driving. "It''s¡­"

    She hesitates.

    "You''re not gonna offend me," I assure her. "Open and honest communication for the win!"

    "''For the win?'' Really?" she chuckles. "Fine, I''m sorry. It''s just¡­ kinda scary when you get all monster-brained like that."

    "Oh," I say. "Sorry. Yeah, I guess the last time I did that I gave you a tail, huh?"

    "Well, that''s part of it," she admits, squirming uncomfortably in her seat. Her tail is getting really thick and it''s clearly not comfortable for her to sit on. "I''m also just worried that it''s going to happen to me. What if I start chasing squirrels or whatever?"

    Oh, yeah. That''d be spooky.

    "The mental stuff happened to me pretty much immediately," I say. "It was terrifying at first because I didn''t know what was happening, but I''ve started getting used to it. And my therapist kinda started helping me work through it too?"

    "Oh. Right. You''re going to therapy now. Your therapist knows?"

    "Yeah, as of yesterday," I sigh. "Hopefully she won''t spill the beans. Jet''s the one that pushed me to get more open with her, actually."

    "...Oh," Alma says flatly. Yeah, she doesn''t even like hearing the name, huh?

    "Is it weird to ask how your therapy is going?" I press a little anyway, trying to make sure to give her an out.

    "I mean, it''s fine. My therapist is okay. There''s not really much for me to talk about. I''m not the one that stole a bunch of stuff and got us arrested. It''s not my court-ordered therapy. I''m just stuck going to it anyway."

    "Oh," I say. "Yeah, I guess that sucks, huh?"

    "I guess."

    Well this went poorly. Abort!

    "Where do you wanna eat?"

    We end up going to some old-school American diner, mainly on the basis that I have a sudden and inexplicable craving for chicken wings. I just want to crunch through some bones, is that so wrong? Alma seems to enjoy her burger well enough too, though it''s apparently a pretty mid-quality restaurant. I can''t really tell those kinds of things anymore, my taste buds are still screwy as heck and don''t seem to care a whole lot beyond the distinction between meat and not-meat.

    "So," Alma says. "Elephant in the room. You got kidnapped?"

    Oh. Right. I''d sort of been trying to forget about that.

    "Yeah, uh, so in the other universe there''s this creepy centipede cult that thinks I''m going to destroy the world or something?" I hedge.

    "Yeah, you''ve talked about them before," Alma encourages, taking a sip of soda.

    "Right. So, they found us and started following us, so we split up and followed them back, but then they ambushed our ambush of their ambush and hit us with this Chaos and Pneuma mage who blasted us with a depression beam until we couldn''t think anymore, and now I think my other body is stuck in a 4D cage."

    Alma just stares at me, continuing to slurp up her drink through a straw.

    "...And, uh, yeah I know that sounds really bad," I hedge. "I mean, it probably is really bad. But I have no idea how bad because I literally couldn''t really acknowledge what was going on around me all that much so I have no idea what my options are for escape. Maybe it''ll be easy, maybe I''m stuck, I have no idea. So I''m just trying not to think about it as much as possible. I''ll figure it out when I have some kind of actual information."

    "I guess that makes sense," Alma agrees, finally taking a breath. "Can you bring anything from our world to help?"

    "Huh?" I ask. Of course not, how would I do that? Except the obvious answer to that question is ''magic'' so the question instead becomes ''can I do that?'' "Uh. I haven''t. Actually really considered that before. Maybe?"

    "Could be worth looking into," Alma shrugs. "Not sure what you would bring, though. A gun?"

    "I don''t have a gun," I point out. "Or fingers."

    "Oh, right."

    Is such a spell even possible, though? A magic for traveling through dimensions? I guess it must be possible, I''m a living link between two dimensions and it''s obviously within the Goddess'' purview. If anyone could use a spell like that, it''d definitely be me. What would I do with it, though? How would I activate it? What would I bring?

    "...It''s definitely something to think about," I agree with Alma. "No idea if I can do that, but¡­ maybe. Won''t know until I try, and all that. Can we change the subject away from my kidnapping before I have a panic attack, though? I''m starting to feel some anxiety creeping up."

    "Oh, sure. Sorry."

    There''s a pause, and then she adds:

    "Avoidance coping mechanisms for the win."

    "For the win!" I laugh. "Yes!"

    "Ugh, don''t sound so excited," Alma grumbles. "It''s internet slang from two thousand and five. Why are you even saying it?"

    "I don''t know! Because my brain is a horrid mess of memes and depression and sometimes it retreats to my childhood for comfort?"

    "Oh. Well, mood I guess."

    The rest of the date swaps over to easier topics, thankfully. It''s a little awkward, but mostly fun. We don''t do much beyond finish eating and go find a place that sells wigs, but I manage to collect a few more laughs from my girlfriend by trying some of them on, and that''s always delightful. Then I drive her home and reluctantly return to my house, where I promptly sneak upstairs and start streaming, just for an excuse to stretch my body. Nothing much happens there, though. I''m too exhausted to provide much in the way of color commentary, and I''m starting to worry a vanilla nuzlocke just isn''t very interesting content anymore. Most influencers have advanced forward into increasingly complicated and difficult challenge runs. Good thing my channel can get carried by my tits and the fact that I''m a freak!

    Oh geez, when I stop playing this video game I''ll wake up in a cage.

    I pause, my clawed fingers going still on the keyboard. Crap, it has officially become too late in the day to not think about it anymore. I''m going to be in a cage. I have no idea what the cultists are doing with any of my friends. And while I''m trying to be optimistic about my escape chances, Hagoro made it clear that I''m not the first interdimensional traveler that the cultists have captured and lethally experimented on. They don''t expect me to be the last, either. The organization most likely has a routine.

    I don''t know what to do.

    My screen flashes as messages from chat ask why I''ve suddenly gone still. I tear my attention back to the game, my character taking a few steps onscreen before I just get overwhelmed again, unable to focus even on Pok¨¦mon. Once again, I stop.

    "I''m scared," I admit to my audience.

    "Why?" "What''s up?" "Is everything okay?" and a dozen other concerned messages fly by on my screen. I almost smile. There''s nothing like parasocial concern to boost the ego, but ego isn''t really the issue here.

    "I bought a wig today," I admit. "Because my hair''s starting to fall out. Just¡­ in clumps. I can probably show you."

    I reach up and rake my claws lightly over my scalp. Sure enough, a ton of black hair ends up wrapped around my fingers as I pull them away. It''s even more than expected, and I can''t help but stare in horror for a few moments before silently Refreshing it all into the trash.

    "I know none of you believe me when I say this is all real," I sigh. "And I get that, I really do. It''s the smart thing to believe. Burden of proof and all that. It just¡­ sucks. Ugh."

    I start combing away more patches of loose hair, knowing that it''s getting visibly thinner as a result.

    "I don''t know why I''m talking about this," I mutter. "I don''t think I can stream any more tonight. Sorry, guys."

    And I just end things there. Honestly, my options are to either go to bed or have a panic attack over going to bed, and I''m getting a little tired of panic attacks. I strip down to my underwear, crawl under the covers, and sure enough I fall asleep almost immediately. I know this, of course, because I wake up almost immediately.

    I am, indeed, in a four dimensional cage. I wonder how they made it? It looks almost like it''s made of fossilized wood, and I suppose that might be my answer right there. But of course, I''m not generally stopped by solid matter regardless of how many dimensions it features. Immediately, I intend to channel a Spacial Rend, but the moment I think about instilling my claws with power I feel a gentle but dangerous pressure. The Goddess is warning me: don''t do it, or there will be consequences. I am, after all, currently in a Zone of Law. The Goddess plays favorites, but that doesn''t mean She breaks the rules. She''ll tell me what''s going on, though, just because She can. Zone of Law: Ban Space.

    It''s then I notice that Hagoro is here in the room with me, on alert the moment I moved. That cultist with the talking-really-good magic is also here, Danny or something. They''re both armed to the teeth, wearing what I suspect are magical items. Hmm. No need to just suspect; if Hagoro is banning Space magic, he''s not banning anything else.

    "Aura Sight," I hiss, scaring the crap out of both cultists before they realize what I just said and relax very, very slightly.

    "Holy shit, what a wake-up call," D-something swears.

    "I told you she would be immediately alert after coming to, Donny," Hagoro answers.

    Donny! Right! His magical items are mostly Barrier magic, it looks like. Hagoro has a wider collection, from Art and Order to a whole bunch of Death. He''s still missing both his right arms.

    "Well! I guess you were right, big guy!" Donny agrees as I look around the room as best I can. It''s a small cell, but the surrounding rooms are mostly empty. There are other guards outside, in front of the door, with various collections of magic. No Heat, Light, or Chaos, though; nothing I strongly resist. The 4D cage doesn''t have any obvious weaknesses either, though I might be able to mundanely damage it with my claws, if I''m careful. ¡­But also maybe not. The cage itself has Barrier magic imbued in it as well. I wonder if any of the souls they use to make these enchantments are sapient.

    "I realize you''re probably busy looking for a way out, but I was hoping we could maybe have a bit of a chat first?" Donny asks amicably, flashing me a smile. "I feel like we really got started on the wrong foot, and Hagoro here certainly didn''t do anything to improve your opinion of us."

    "Neither did you," I quip back. "Falsely surrendering and then leading us into a trap?"

    "Well, I appreciate you vastly overestimating my intelligence, but I assure you that was a very real surrender. You have repeatedly demonstrated your interest and capacity for killing people who cross you, Hannah. I don''t wanna be on that list. My allies just rescued me from you because of course they did. You''re probably thinking of ways to rescue your friends from us right now, aren''t you?"

    Well. Yeah. He''s got me there.

    "You''ve got good reason to assume we''re all crazy bastards, Hannah," he continues. "I get it. Really. But we''re not. We''re just stuck trying to deal with a really shitty situation for everyone in the best way we know how, and even the best way happens to not be all that good. The Goddess is fucking everyone in the ass here, and you''ve got it worst out of all of us."

    "Oh, that''s rich," I sneer. "You''ve openly admitted to being a Pneuma mage that magically knows what to say to convince people of stuff, and you expect me to believe you''re on my side? That your crazy apocalypse cult is anti-Goddess, when She''s basically the one feeding you everything that ends up coming out of your mouth?"

    With one of the legs not visible in 3D space, I start clawing away at the cage. No dice, as expected. What do I do, in that case? Wait for Hagoro to go to sleep? Try and survive the Goddess'' retribution when I break the Zone of Law?

    "Huh," Donny blinks in surprise. "I mean, I guess we''re anti-Goddess, yeah. Kind of. It is our running theory that She''s the one who keeps trying to destroy everything. Care to comment?"

    "Not to you," I snap, reorienting my 4D vision as much as I can to check for any potential gaps or weaknesses in the cage.

    "Right, yeah, the justified antagonism stuff. Here, let me back up, kid. I''ll give it to you plain: yes, we are gonna need your help to figure out what''s going on with you and how your kind keep showing up here. Yes, your help isn''t going to mean your consent, as much as I''d love to have it, because unfortunately the stakes are kind of high and every option available to us is kind of terrible. For the nothing that it''s worth, I''m genuinely sorry. But despite how terrifying you and your group of pals are, I get the impression that you''re not evil, yeah? You told Hagoro here you wanted to help if you could. That''s still true, right?"

    "Of course it is," I growl. "I just don''t think helping serial kidnapper-murderers is likely to be the best way forward."

    "Yeah," Donny nods. "Yeah, I know, kid."

    "Seriously, if you''re really as altruistic as you say, why not at least give me a chance to prove I''m on the level before whisking me away? Have you ever considered that the horrific treatment you give everyone like me might be the cause of¡­ whatever it is we do to mess things up?"

    Donny seems genuinely shocked at that, and then his expression shifts to sadness.

    "...Oh, kid," he sighs, clutching the sides of his head. "You don''t already know? Seriously?"

    "She''s not authorized to know," Hagoro grunts. "Traditionally, telling founder''s kin tends to make them unstable, and¡ª"

    "Shut the fuck up, I know," Donny snaps, cutting him off. "It''s literally my job to decide what to tell people, so I''m telling her."

    I clack my teeth together, unimpressed by what is likely a scripted performance. Maybe good cop bad cop is a novel interrogation technique over here, I don''t know, but it''s pretty clich¨¦ on Earth and I''m not falling for it. I wish this stupid cage had a door, I could probably pick a lock super easily with Refresh. How did they even get me in here?

    "Kid, this is gonna suck to hear," Donny continues, either oblivious or uncaring of my skepticism. "But you wouldn''t be a founder''s kin if you weren''t going to fuck over the world. It''s just what you are."

    Oh boy, interdimensional racism! How fun.

    "This isn''t the first time a religious organization decided to claim that I deserve to suffer just for being what I am," I spit at him. "Knowing you assholes, it won''t be the last. Are you at least smart enough to have not hurt my friends?"

    Donny stares at me for a moment, then sighs and turns for the door.

    "Yeah kid, they''re fine," he tells me. "Also in prison cells so they don''t try to kill us, but fine. But I can see I''m not gonna convince you that we''re making a reasonable sacrifice for the world¡ª"

    "Have you considered that you aren''t!?" I snap.

    "¡ªso I''m definitely not gonna explain the process by which you''re eventually going to end it. The last thing we need is another fucker trying to use a cataclysmic event to break out of a box. So sit tight and have fun with the tests; if you wanna treat us like hostiles we''ll do the same. But if you wanna cooperate¡­ Goddess damn, but I''d love to have one of you that actually cooperates for once. Just let us know whenever, because despite the friends of mine that your posse has murdered, you''re still the most reasonable founder''s kin I''ve ever met."

    He steps outside, and motions the two people waiting at the door to head in. They''re a human man and a dentron woman, and they stare at me the way I stare at a particularly annoying homework problem.

    "I take it that these two are doing those ''experiments'' you were talking about," I say. "What are they, anyway?"

    I don''t get an answer, though. No one seems inclined to talk to me now that Donny is gone. The human man, a Death and Order mage, just reaches for the cage, putting his hand on the outside. He has sunken eyes, slightly graying hair, and the kind of smell that implies a glandular problem. Then he casts something, and I learn one very important fact about these tests: they hurt. Deep within my soul, he reaches towards the thread holding my two bodies together, and he tries to peel it apart.

    I only last five minutes before I start to scream. That, apparently, is all the man''s dentron partner is for: her magic deafens the room, so my torment can continue without undue distractions.

    They were, as I suspected, quite prepared for this.

 50. Ache

    My throat is raw from silent screams, so after a while I stop bothering. I can''t stay still, of course, not with this kind of pain arcing through me, but whimpers and sobs are enough to let out that animalistic need to react to the agony. I don''t know how long it''s been. Probably not very; this kind of all-encompassing pain tends to drag out every second, stretching time into one horrific, extended moment after another. Why does it hurt so much? Why?

    A soft pressure settles itself around my still-hardening carapace, the Goddess tickling my ears with a reassuring hum. I don''t need to worry, She promises. They won''t find what they''re looking for, not by taking a pick to an iceberg. They''re learning, bit by bit, but it won''t be fast enough. Not before I figure out how to escape.

    Escape? Escape!? I can''t even think, and my body barely works. I have enough hardened chitin to cast Spacial Rend, probably, but that doesn''t even matter because of the Zone of Law, and the rest of me is just¡­ a mess. I know I could probably repair myself with my transformation spell, but it wouldn''t matter because I still can''t get out of here!

    "Are you getting anything?" the dentron woman asks silently, her lips tracing the words to her partner.

    "More complex than the last one," the man torturing me answers, shaking his head.

    The Goddess clicks Her tongue disapprovingly. She knows I''m smarter than that, but She''ll forgive me this time since I''m not thinking straight. Think. Block out the pain. I''ll need to get used to this kind of thing sooner or later. I have three different elements of magic, and only one of them is being blocked. Surely I can figure out a way to leave?

    I¡­ I''m not sure. Can I? My Transmutation magic seems useless here unless I transform myself so much that I burst out of the cage¡­ but the cage is reinforced with Barrier magic so I''d probably just squish myself to death. And while I might be able to transform the people around me into monster versions of themselves¡­ I''m pretty sure that would just make them more dangerous? Like, it could certainly be an effective distraction I suppose, but I still don''t have any way to take advantage of the distraction.

    And that just leaves Refresh. A spell for sorting and cleaning. There''s no way I can¡­ well. I mean, there''s probably some way I can kill someone with Refresh. It can move blood around when I incant it, but¡­ well, no, that wouldn''t work. Partly because I''ll probably get clapped by one of the guards the moment I try to speak a spell out loud, but partly just because blood belongs in the body. And even if I had some way to kill someone with something even lighter than blood, like air¡­

    Wait. I can totally kill a person with air. I wouldn''t even have to say the spell out loud to sort air.

    The Goddess grins, lovingly stroking my legs in a way that makes my next whimper of agony about more than just the soul damage. I''m doing such a good job, She tells me. Silently, now. Invisibly, now. I should make them unable to ever hurt me again.

    Death claws at my soul, scraping my threads raw. I can feel it inside me, cutting, grating, searching. The pain is nowhere and everywhere, unlike anything else I''ve ever experienced. I can feel the Goddess is right; it''s barely a papercut against the size of my spirit, but it''s like a papercut under a fingernail that just. Keeps. Digging. Even though the injury is small, the pain blooms like fire, peeling away nerve after nerve and leaving them open and raw to the air. He''s doing this. A man is doing this to me, on purpose. All I have to do is pull the oxygen out of his lungs and wait.

    All I have to do is decide this world is a cleaner, better place if he''s a corpse instead of a person.

    Because that''s the thing, isn''t it? The core of my spell. It is a spell of Order. It puts things in their proper places. And it''s one thing to believe in a world where pancake batter is supposed to be mixed, innocent women are supposed to be free of disease, and skittles are supposed to be sorted by color. Those are innocent things, beautiful things. They might be selfish, sure, but they''re the small kind of selfish that doesn''t have to hurt anyone to make my life better. It''s easy to believe there should be a world where things should get a little easier at the cost of no one.

    But a world where this man''s lungs are an improper place for oxygen? No. I can''t believe that. I felt legitimately bad about killing actual rapists. I can''t convince myself that, in a properly clean and orderly world, this man deserves to die, just because he''s hurting me. And until I believe that, I can''t even attempt to kill him with Refresh. I can''t just attempt to knock him unconscious, either; oxygen deprivation isn''t something I can expect to just try for the first time and not give someone brain damage with. I''ll be risking murder whether I want to kill him or not.

    The Goddess sighs, drumming Her fingers across my back. Oh well, She shrugs. I''ll have plenty of time¡ªand plenty of reason¡ªto change my mind. In the meantime, I am encouraged to have fun with the torture. And so I cry and scream and sob until my body finally gives out, and I wake up in bed.

    My soul still hurts.

    It''s less all-encompassing, less debilitating, but it''s still there. Goddess, it''s still there. It hurts to move, it hurts to think, but most of all it just hurts. I lie in bed and shiver for a while, profoundly tempted to just call in sick today so I don''t have to move, but¡­ that would require getting my family involved.

    I get up and start my routine, ignoring the ache as best I can. I hadn''t really noticed it until now, but I guess I''ve gotten pretty used to a body that doesn''t have most of the passive aches and pains people tend to get used to. Between my transformation spell doubling as recovery, No Less Than Perfect wiping away even the tiniest issues, and chitinous limbs that just don''t seem to get sore in the same way my old limbs did, pain has been¡­ well, not really a rare thing for me, but a decidedly temporary thing. Something that happens during the admittedly-frequent periods where things go horribly wrong, but then disappears afterwards. This, however, is constant. And I don''t know when¡ªor if¡ªit''s going to go away.

    I guess I''ll get used to it eventually. That''s how it always goes.

    I take a quick shower just so no one can accuse me of having not done so, and I Refresh myself to actual cleanliness. The idea of using the spell as a murder weapon makes me sick. It corrupts everything I love about it, so I just try not to think about that as I start my day, completing the motions on autopilot as the pain steals most of my higher functioning anyway. I stagger to the bus stop not realizing it''s nearly an hour before the bus normally comes, the time I''d normally spend showering not having been used for anything this morning.

    Well, flapjacks. Now what? Nervous of having nothing to do, I pull out every modern-day woman''s most reliable thought killer: my cell phone. Oh hey, I have notifications. Discord again? I scroll through the chat with Valerie''s friends, reading her field various questions about me with somewhat limited answers, until I finally find the post that pinged my phone.

    ---

    <Skarmbliss>

    @DistractedDreamer hey are you okay? seemed like you were having a bad time all stream and then you stopped suddenly.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Oh, really? What happened?

    <Skarmbliss>

    ya i''ll link.

    ---

    And then they do, showing a video of me pulling out a bunch of my hair, complaining about it, and then shutting off my stream without any real warning. Chat goes a little wild after I leave. It looks like some people are starting to believe me?

    ---

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Uh. Gosh. I hope she''s okay? Hey @Monster Magus, is your friend okay?

    <Monster Magus>

    I dunno. Prolly not.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Yeah that sounds about right lmao

    ---

    I sigh, and start typing. May as well set the record straight.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Can confirm: not doing great. My hair is falling out and my everything hurts.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Oh, hey Hannah! Gosh I''m sorry to hear that.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Yeah those are symptoms of radiation poisoning. You have radiation poisoning

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Kind of, but it''s the Spider-Man kind where it gives you weird powers and gets you wrapped up in dimensional shenanigans.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Ok but for real though have you considered going to a hospital

    <DistractedDreamer>

    And doing what? Consulting their entomologist? Look, I appreciate the concern but I''ve kind of gone through this whole "let''s suggest all the practical solutions" thing with Valerie. I HAVE EIGHT LIMBS. A hospital can''t do anything with that.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Well, not with their entomologist, no. But if you consulted their arachnologist¡­

    ---

    Oh my gosh. Seriously? I clack my teeth together in irritation. I wonder if I can get the Goddess to dox this guy for me. Just ask for some divine knowledge to troll a man on the internet with. She''d probably think it''s funny.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I''m getting the distinct impression that you either think I''m crazy or lying for attention, and while I can''t say that''s an unreasonable assumption it''s still kind of frustrating to get nothing but indignation and jokes in response to "my hair is falling out and my everything hurts."

    <Mortissississimo>

    Aight yeah that''s fair sorry

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Besides, I''m eventually going to have ten limbs, so an arachnologist wouldn''t help either.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Well now I''m just getting mixed messages

    <DistractedDreamer>

    My medical issues, my prerogative on joking about them. *Sticks out tongue*

    <Mortissississimo>

    Don''t actually stick out your tongue you''ll make blue faint again

    <blue>

    fhfhdslfhsdlfsdffjkldshf

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I''m alone at the bus stop. I could send more pics.

    <blue>

    DFHKSDJAFKFLAFDSJHFSDK

    <Monster Magus>

    Wait, you''re at the bus stop already?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Hey Valerie! Yeah, I¡­ got my whole routine done really early and just kind of autopiloted out here.

    <Monster Magus>

    You said you''re in pain?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I''m being soul tortured!

    <Monster Magus>

    That sounds¡­ bad.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    It''s not great!

    <Monster Magus>

    Let me get ready real fast and I''ll come meet you. We can see if there''s like, a counterspell I can whip up, or at least maybe a painkiller.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Oh yeah! Hey! If this is affecting me earthside, then earthside magic might work to fight against it!

    <Monster Magus>

    My thoughts exactly.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    What the heck are you two talking about?

    <Mortissississimo>

    Magic, duh

    <Skarmbliss>

    you guys are actually serious huh. like its real for real.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yes. Ugh, this is the worst way for me to make friends, isn''t it? Just walking in and acting crazy. Honestly, I was really looking forward to just having a normal place to hang out? But yeah I guess being out on the internet means I''m out on the internet. You guys get weirdo monster Hannah. And soon you''ll have weirdo monster Valerie too!

    <Monster Magus>

    Yeah my ears really hurt today so that''ll probably be fun.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I''m honestly lucky my ears haven''t fallen off. Y''all wanna see my bag of human teeth?

    <Skarmbliss>

    your what

    <Mortissississimo>

    Your WHAT

    <DistractedDreamer>

    My bag! Of human! Teeth! Don''t worry, they''re all my teeth. My former teeth, anyway. Because they all had to FALL OUT OF MY FLIPPING MOUTH when my big sharp chompers grew in.

    <Monster Magus>

    Do you still carry your teeth around in a bag!?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Again: what else should I do? Throw an entire human''s mouth full of teeth into the trash? What if somebody finds that?

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Just stagger it. Throw away a tooth at a time, in various trash cans. A bag of teeth might be concerning, but one tooth is pretty normal. This is just if you don''t think anyone''s going to be looking for them, of course; obscurity through normalcy. If you''re worried someone will be searching for the body, the "bury it in the woods" or "throw it in a river" options tend to be more reliable, at least for something as small as teeth. The disposal location should minimize both the probability that the body can be found and the probability that its discovery could be linked back to you, but for just teeth that should be pretty simple. Smash them to dust before you toss them out in the wild somewhere and you should be fine.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Thanks Lana we can always count on you for our corpse disposal needs

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    I try!

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I guess I could probably just eat them, too, but trying to get my teeth to break up something that small would be a pain.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Yeah that sounds like a reasonable primary objection to the strategy of eating human teeth

    <DistractedDreamer>

    My standards have kind of been getting tossed all over the place, okay!?

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Hey Hannah, would you prefer to talk about something else?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yes. Definitely. Absolutely.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Then I wanna ask how your date went!

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Oh! Well, it was mostly pretty good. We went to an aquarium and it was super fun!

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Nice!

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yeah!

    ---

    The pain is constant, but the distractions help. Lana keeps me talking about other things until Valerie arrives at the bus stop and we get to chatting in person. Predictably, Val has a lot of spell ideas, but they tend to run into a recurring theme.

    "If we aren''t somehow dealing with the situation treeside, we''re just treating the symptoms, not the cause," she says. "So we''re going to have to figure out what kinds of spells work on you between dimensions, and I don''t know how we would confirm that outside of casting magic on you while you''re unconscious over here and asking you if it worked in the morning."

    "Huh," I muse. "So¡­ you need access to me while I sleep."

    "Yup," Valerie nods. "Pretty much."

    "My mom is not going to approve a sleepover on a school night," I scowl.

    "I figured, but you''re kind of getting soul-tortured. Maybe you should just¡­ not listen to her?"

    I say nothing, staring at my feet. I know I should agree with that, but I don''t know how to. I''m not sure I could on my best day, and today is far from my best day. Valerie frowns at me, but doesn''t press the point.

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    Eventually, the bus arrives and school starts soon after. Even the simple, routine tasks of classwork seem difficult when my body and soul ache. It''s so hard to focus on anything, even telling my friends what''s going on feels like an ordeal. Ida tries a wordless cast of No Less Than Perfect on me, which helps a little but not for long. I think I prefer Alma''s feel-better strategy.

    "You want a shoulder rub?" she asks.

    "Huh?" I say dumbly. We''re sitting together in the library for lunch like we normally do, carefully eating while surrounded by a mountain of books. She''s reading another Terry Pratchett novel while I futilely try to wrangle my brain into focusing on homework through the pain.

    "A shoulder rub," Alma repeats, giving me a wry smile. "You know, the thing where someone rubs your shoulders."

    "Oh," I blink. "Uh. I won''t say no, but I don''t know if that''s going to help with soul damage at all."

    "It doesn''t necessarily have to," Alma shrugs, putting her bookmark in and standing up. "I bet your whole body is tense from stress, and that just adds to any already existing pain, right?"

    "Sure," I agree. "Okay."

    She gets to work, brushing my hair aside before pressing her thumbs into the muscle of my neck and kneading away. She''s right; it does feel good, even if it doesn''t really get rid of the pain. It''s the kind of stepping-into-a-hot-tub kind of relaxing that makes me just want to sigh with relief, but¡­ well, uh, we''re sort of in a public school library so I''m just going to continue sitting straight and keeping things as chaste as possible.

    "You are really good at this," I can''t help but comment as she moves out from the neck to the shoulders proper.

    "Yeah, my dad has a bad back and he likes it when I help out with this sort of thing," she answers nonchalantly. "I''ve got a lot of practice. Although it''s kind of hard knowing how firmly to press now, since I think your spell is making me stronger."

    "Also the claws," I mumble.

    "...And that, yeah," she agrees. "But I don''t really use my fingertips for this anyway, so it''s not a huge deal."

    "Well I''ve also got weird biology, believe it or not, so I don''t know how well my preferences will scale to your dad," I tell her, "but I could go with more pressure, I think."

    She leans forward so she can look at me and wiggles her eyebrows.

    "Want me to go harder, do you?" she asks in a comically sultry voice.

    A laugh chokes out from me, despite how not all that funny it is. She cackles back and the two of us just spend a little while shaking quietly in an attempt to not laugh loud enough to get us kicked from the library. It''s stupid. It barely even helps. But¡­ it''s something. A little levity on a long day helps a lot.

    But it''s a very long day, and I''m just so tired. It''s not long before lunch is over and the rest of my schedule is once again bleak. I have work today, so after school I head straight there. Doing anything is a slog. I haven''t felt this exhausted, sore, and drained since well before all the magical nonsense in my life started, and then only when I was really, really sick. I manage to get through my shift in a haze, and despite my all-encompassing fatigue when I get home, I''m terrified of falling asleep. It''ll only get worse on the other side of things.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Apropos of nothing: do people here think that if someone hurts others, they deserve to die?

    <Mortissississimo>

    """""Apropos of nothing"""""

    <Monster Magus>

    Hannah?

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    I mean, I absolutely think there are cases where it''s unavoidable to use lethal force in self-defense.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yeah I understand that. Trust me, I understand that. I''m like the freaking queen of using lethal force in self-defense. I mean does a person who hurts others deserve to die. Like, ontologically.

    <Skarmbliss>

    How I wake up knowing my enemies are ontologically evil and there is no act against them which is wrong :-)

    <blue>

    what does ontologically mean

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    "Relating to or based upon being or existence." In this case ''ontologically deserves to die'' just means ''deserves to die as an inherent property of the person''s existence.'' Which¡­ no, I don''t think that''s the case.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Death penalty arguments would make an interesting change from the usual political discourse around these parts, but I have to argue that nothing "deserves" anything, ontologically speaking. The concept of deserving things is not useless, but it is absolutely made up, so it doesn''t really work in ontological contexts.

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Even outside the specific realm of ontology, I think it''s tough to argue against the value of prioritizing forgiveness and healing. Like, there are extreme cases where someone might be too horrific to forgive or too dangerous to attempt to capture, but as long as you can capture and rehabilitate, you should try. This goes doubly so when you''re talking about policy, be that systemic or personal. Death is sometimes necessary, but it should be the extreme exception, not the standard practice.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Alright. Thank you anyway.

    <Mortissississimo>

    "Thank you anyway?"

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    You''re welcome, I suppose.

    <Monster Magus>

    Good luck, Hannah.

    ---

    I turn my phone off, close my eyes, and fall asleep. I wake up still in pain, but it no longer matters. Nothing does. Not the new shape of my hardening carapace, not the messy-haired woman sitting blankly on a chair in the corner, and not the utter lack of other guards or defenses. My torturers are nowhere in sight, but they don''t matter. Hagoro isn''t nearby to disable my Space magic, but he doesn''t matter. My thoughts are nothing but listless nothings, technically awake but utterly devoid of volition. I do not move, except to breathe.

    It''s impossible to know how much time passes before something happens, but events are beyond my notice anyway. Sometimes people walk by the room they''re keeping me in. Sometimes they greet the guards, but sometimes they just glance at the door, seeming to read something on it before walking away a little faster than they approached. One person I don''t recognize enters, a human woman with a shaved head and a primitive-looking pair of glasses. She carries a tray in each hand. She extends the smaller tray towards me, and when she reaches the wooden bars of my cage she somehow passes the entire tray and part of her arm clean through them, depositing it next to me.

    The tray has a bowl of water and some kind of meat I can''t identify. Some part of me vaguely notes that I might be offended by being given a water bowl like some kind of pet, but I can''t deny it would be easier to drink from than a glass, given my continued lack of hands. Not that it really matters. The woman also deposits a tray in front of the long-haired girl in the room, who is equally unresponsive to its presence. Gently, the woman coaxes the girl to eat and drink, guiding her hands and helping her safely bring food and water to her mouth while her eyes continue staring blankly at nothing. I get no such treatment. My tray remains untouched, and I remain motionless. After the meal, the woman with the shaved head departs.

    More meaningless things occur. More measureless time passes. I still don''t feel anything even when a dentron I recognize and normally dislike approaches the room, changes something on the door, and speaks a spell. I don''t feel anything as the Goddess descends onto my body, cuddling me with a smile like I''m a sleepy kitten. I don''t feel anything when Hagoro enters the room, walks over to the blank-faced, long-haired girl, and speaks softly.

    "Madaline?" he says. "Madaline, I''m back. You can stop now."

    Nothing but increasingly-familiar nothing answers him. He places a hand on her shoulder, careful and calm, and gives her a light shake.

    "It''s alright, Madaline," he continues quietly. "I''m here. Can you hear my voice, Madaline?"

    It sounds like he''s said this hundreds of times. He uses her name a lot, like it''s a magic word.

    "Focus on me, Madaline." The girl blinks, slowly. "That''s it. There you go. Are you with me, Madaline?"

    And then, all at once, the world matters again. It hits me like a sledgehammer: the pain, the hunger, the fear, the miles and miles of racing thoughts that I had been so comfortably floating above just moments ago. Now, the ice broken, I''ve fallen back into the frozen lake of reality and it is wretched. I take in an involuntary gasp of air, and Hagoro''s gaze immediately flicks to me, tension filling his body for a calculating moment before he relaxes and returns his gaze to the Chaos/Pneuma mage.

    "Thank you, Madaline, for taking over," he says. "I feel much better rested now."

    "Ha¡­ go¡­ ro¡­?" the girl asks groggily, her voice scratchy from disuse. She blinks a few times, her gaze lazily lifting up to meet Hagoro''s smiling face. She slowly meets his smile with one of her own, leaning slightly to give him an affectionate nuzzle with the side of her head.

    For my part, I start shakily stretching my legs, each one cramped from where it was curled up below me. My body is distinctly no longer spherical, almost more of a bean shape as it stretches and bends slightly upwards. My mouth and eyes are all slowly migrating towards the bit of my body that''s growing upwards, finally giving me a visibly distinct front side and back side. Likewise, four of my limbs are very distinctly still legs, feeling natural to keep my body weight on, but many of my other limbs are slowly getting a little more specialized.

    This is all just knowledge I''d already acquired and simply not cared very much about during my magically-induced dissociative episode, of course, and it''s still pretty difficult to care because a half-dozen other pressing matters are suddenly screaming down the halls of my consciousness. I''m hungry and I''m thirsty and my soul hurts and I''m stuck in the room with a Pneuma mage and I''m completely helpless and I''m going to be soul tortured later and¡ª

    The panic attack hits all at once, my body gasping for breath as I shudder in horror. Oh, Goddess, this is too much. Too much, too much, too much. Why does my life have to be like this? The Goddess strokes me lovingly, but it just makes everything worse because of course it does, I don''t want Her touching me, why would I ever want Her touching me? I don''t want any of this! I don''t want pain or torture, I don''t want extra limbs or magic, I don''t want friends that keep going out of their way to help me or a girlfriend that I keep stumbling around and causing problems for!

    More than anything, right now, I wish I could just go back to being nothing.

    The Pneuma mage, Madaline, turns to stare at me the moment that thought passes through my mind, a sad look of something like understanding passing over her face. I shudder in horror and revulsion, not knowing what thoughts are really mine and what parts of me have been irrevocably twisted by her. I''ll never know. I''ll never want to know. Hagoro holds out a hand and helps her stand, the thin girl shaky on her legs.

    "Thank¡­ you," Madaline mumbles at him, her body seeming even stiffer than mine. He just gives her a stoic nod, his focus fixed on making sure she doesn''t fall. Carefully, taking her empty food tray in his other hand, he starts leading her towards the door.

    "If you''re trying to break me, you''re succeeding," I blurt, barely thinking about my words before they come tumbling out of my mouth. My eyes can''t tear up, but the quivering cadence of a sob still rings out in my words. "I''m just some fucking girl. I can''t¡­ I''m not going to be able to handle torture."

    Hagoro gives me a considering look for a moment, then wiggles his two stump arms.

    "Forgive me if I choose to remain cautious," he answers dryly.

    "Oh, fuck you!" I sob. "You attacked us! I thought you were helping us when you freed me from that Pneuma mage, but then you turn around and lock me in a room with another one!"

    Madaline flinches away, her eyes growing distant for a moment before Hagoro squeezes her hand and starts walking her towards the door again. It''s obvious he cares for her, in a fatherly way. It''s obvious she needs the care. I hate it. I hate looking at these monsters who keep hurting me and seeing them as people. I''ll never be able to escape like this.

    He doesn''t respond to me any further, just giving quiet words of encouragement to Madaline as he opens the door and hands her off to one of the guards, who also seems to know her. A sudden terror fills me as she turns to go, and to my disgust I can''t resist the urge to call out.

    "Wait," I beg. "They''ll¡­ they''ll be coming back again today, won''t they? To hurt me? Can I¡­ negotiate or something? Like maybe you could¡­ put me under while you do it? I don''t know what I can give you, but¡­"

    Disgusting. Horrible. I''m obviously compromised. The Pneuma mage is walking away and I''m begging her to stay and cast on me. But if it''s that or the torture again, I just¡­ I can''t¡­!

    Hagoro doesn''t answer me, but he does pause, fiddling with a small magic item on his belt as Madaline waits next to him, staring at me. Shortly afterwards, Donny jogs into view of my spatial sense, turning to Hagoro as he arrives.

    "What''s up?" Donny asks.

    "She says she wants to negotiate," Hagoro answers.

    "Oh. Uh, awesome," he says, then turns to me. "What did you want to talk about, Hannah?"

    I scrunch my body in on itself, trying not to tremble. Two Pneuma mages have their attention on me now. What am I, an idiot?

    "...She said she wanted my help when Malda comes by again," Madaline answers for me quietly.

    "Oh," Donny answers, then he turns to stare at me for a moment. "...Shit. Uh, sorry kid. Having Pneuma magic active would interfere with the Death spell we use to sus you out. Conflicting elements and all that."

    That is in many ways both horrible news and vaguely relieving. I spend a while processing my despair before realizing something important: no one else is acting surprised by this revelation. That means they already knew this, and they just needed Donny to make the decision on whether or not to lie to me about it and trick me into giving away info for nothing. I suppose they either don''t value anything I could tell them enough to screw me over for it, or they still hold some insane hope that I''m going to choose to work with them as long as they torture me nicely enough. I let out an irritated hiss, the sound vibrating in all the right ways to make them shiver.

    "That''s it, huh?" I snap. "You''re oh-so-sorry you have to torture me, but you have no choice? Nothing you can do about it?"

    "Unfortunately, no," he answers, his face carefully neutral. "Normal painkillers, magical or otherwise, don''t really work on soul damage. You need Pneuma magic for that, and that would interfere with the only spell we have that might help you. We''re not doing this because we think you deserve it, kid. We''re doing this because we either figure out how to stop you from killing billions, or we have to kill you. Those are the stakes."

    I start breathing harder again, to my immense shame. I wish I could be one of those cool action heroes that knows how to take the pain, but I''m not. I''m really, really not.

    "...Here''s some things I can do," Donny tells me. "We can¡­ adjust the times you''re being worked on. Give you a little more breathing room between sessions. Make everything surrounding the dirty work as comfortable as possible. Does that sound good?"

    Yes. It sounds very good. I''ll take anything at this point. But it doesn''t really solve anything, does it? This ache still won''t go away.

    "You''re an enormous, experienced organization with a stupid amount of resources," I accuse. "Is there seriously nothing other than soul torture that satisfies whatever insane thing you want to do to me?"

    "...Kid, we''re lucky to have any spell at all that might be able to do what we want to do to you," Donny answers.

    Something about that churns in my mind a little, stewing and shifting until I finally figure out what''s bothering me about it.

    "No," I realize. "You''re not lucky. It has nothing to do with luck at all."

    The spells people get are not a matter of luck. If the cultists have a spell that does something they think they need to do to me, it''s only because the Goddess gave someone that spell. So why? Does She want me here? Did She intend for me to be tortured like this? The Goddess lounges on me further, the pressure of Her presence rising as she flashes a maledictive grin.

    "What do you mean, kid?" Donny asks.

    "...Hagoro," Madaline whispers, her eyes going wide. "Do you hear Her laughing?"

    All eyes flash to Madaline for a terrified moment before turning back to me.

    "You''re being set up," I tell them. "You''re being played. I don''t know what the game is, but She''s winning."

    She''s always winning, a chuckle reminds me. All She has to do to win is play.

    "Kid, slow down. Who are you talking about?" Donny asks. "The Goddess? Are you saying the Goddess Herself has an agenda here?"

    "Yes!" I tell him. "Of course She does!"

    "Well, what is it?"

    "I don''t know!" I snap, thinking rapidly. Her agenda is probably getting me to seed Earth with magic so she has more playthings. That seems to be her whole modus operandi so far: just tempting me into spreading souls around and laughing at the ensuing fireworks. So how does that connect to what''s happening here? Is she using the cultists as a catalyst to force me to experiment more with magic?

    I start pacing around in what little of my tiny cage I''m actually able to move in. It''s awkward and uncomfortable, in part because my body is strange and using different instincts to move all of a sudden, but mostly just because what little room I have is taken up by the tray of food and water that I still need to consume.

    How is She doing this? Why is She doing this? People are given their magic at birth, right? So did the Goddess somehow predict, however many decades ago, that a certain specific person would grow up to be a cultist and a certain specific spell would¡­ what, turn them against me? Take people that could have been friends or allies and twist them into enemies?

    The Goddess chuckles condescendingly. Really? Twisting away potential allies? Do I seriously believe that I could have ever been friends with these torture-happy zealots? I need to clear my head and remember the situation here. And¡­ shit, I hate to give it to Her, but She''s got a point. I''m coming off a panic attack and chatting with a Pneuma mage whose whole thing is seeming like a friend and teasing out information. Maybe they can use this torture to get whatever they want from me eventually, but that''s no reason to just hand it to the bastards.

    Of course, all these thoughts become moot the moment my torturers walk into view. My mind and body freeze as I spot the two of them with my spatial sense: the sunken-eyed human man and the cold, unflinching dentron woman. They''re walking towards me. They''re on their way here.

    Instinctively, I scuttle backwards, trying to escape, but of course there''s nowhere I can go. I start hyperventilating again, my second panic attack in as many minutes hitting me at the speed of a bullet train. No, no, no, no. I don''t want to suffer that pain again.

    The Goddess clicks her tongue with disapproval. If I don''t want them to hurt me again, then I should do something about it.

    "Kid?" Donny asks, but I''m barely paying attention. "What''s wrong?"

    "Shut up," I snap. "This is all your fault. It''s all your fault!"

    "...You''ve been uncharacteristically unpopular with this one, Donny," Hagoro mutters quietly.

    "I can''t grow crops without soil, man," Donny grumbles back. "She''s suspicious as all hell and she fucking hates us. She''s probably just gonna end up like all the other ones."

    The ones that died, they mean. People like me, who they tortured to death.

    "I''m not going to ''end up'' like anyone," I hiss. "You wanna keep pushing me until I break? Then fine. You can find out what happens if you break me."

    "Nuh-uh, kid, if you try to bring the apocalypse down on our heads, we''ll know," Donny frowns. "You will not get the chance."

    "I''m not going to start a fucking apocalypse!" I shout at them. "I''m going to get out of here, rescue my friends, and live my fucking life away from the insane people who think the greater good gave them a pre-paid gift card to clawing my soul open!"

    "A what? No, not important," Donny sighs, shaking his head. "What''s important is that you need to figure out that you aren''t leaving until we figure out how to declaw you. And if you actually help us with that process, you might even survive to the end of it. So please, just let us¡ª"

    "Is there a problem, Donny?" my torturer asks.

    Donny flinches in surprise, turning and giving the man a polite nod as he approaches. I, meanwhile, stop being able to function out of terror.

    "Malda! No sir, sorry. Just the usual threats," Donny answers.

    "It is tiring to hear of them," my torturer¡ªMalda¡ªsighs. "Don''t take them lightly, however. Founder''s Kin are always powerful, and we don''t know the full extent of what she can do. The accounts those sailors gave of her fighting in battle might have all matched standard Founder''s Kin abilities, but we have to assume she''s hiding more. The only piece of unique information they could provide was the possibility of cleaning magic, of all things."

    "...Yes sir," Donny nods.

    "Return to talking with her friends, would you?" my torturer requests. "I heard you were starting to make progress with one of them."

    "Yes sir," Donny nods again. "I could actually use your help with that in a bit, Madaline, if you''re up for it."

    The Chaos and Pneuma mage seems to ignore him for a bit, mostly just spending her time staring at me. But then, slowly, she turns her head to Donny instead, and nods.

    "Okay," she agrees, and the two of them depart together. Only then do Hagoro, my torturer, and his assistant actually step into the room with me, and I feel my body start to shake.

    "I see you haven''t eaten," my torturer comments. "Would you like a minute for that?"

    A silent Refresh. That''s all I need. He''ll be unconscious in minutes, dead in just a little more. I can get all three of them at once, if I stay focused. But I can''t. Why am I so weak? Why can''t I just believe in a world where killing a monster counts as cleaning up?

    Because cleaning is easy for you, I remind myself. And this isn''t something you can stomach turning into something easy.

    Well. I guess I''ll just suffer, then.

    "I''ll take that as a no," Malda shrugs after I spend too long in silence, and reaches out to turn my soul into pain.

    This time, I don''t last anywhere near as long before I start screaming. I have nothing to prove, really. It hurts. It hurts more than anything. I think it''s only fair that I''m allowed to scream in situations like that.

    I don''t really feel like a person when I finally wake up. I don''t know how long the torture lasted and I don''t want to know. The ache is deep within me, the omnipresent agony seeming to wash everything else away. I don''t even try to move, just lying in bed and hurting until my mom wakes up, knocks on my door, and terrifies me enough to get me moving.

    "You awake, honey?" she asks. "Don''t be late for school!"

    "I-I-I''m fine!" I stammer, hiding under the covers in case she comes in. "Sorry! I''m just going to take a quicker shower today!"

    "Oh, hmm," she muses. "Well, that''ll be nice. Save us some water."

    "Y-yep!"

    She eventually goes away, and I drag myself out of bed. I drag myself to shower. I drag myself to school. I drag myself through classes. I drag myself to work. I drag myself through an entire day of pain and exhaustion, and when I finally get home all I have is the knowledge that it''s all about to get much, much worse.

    I''m not going to be able to handle this. I''m not.

    Something is going to break.

 51. Labyrinths

    I''ve been getting tortured nightly for four days now. I think that''s enough to qualify as routine.

    I guess you could argue I''ve been tortured for three or eight days just as easily, because time is¡­ different for me. As is consciousness. I was tortured treeside Sunday night, then hurt all day Monday, then was tortured treeside Monday night¡­ and so on. Now it''s Thursday. Not getting to rest is really weighing on me, on top of everything else. In some ways it helps the routine settle in, though: no time to reset, to clear my mind, to take a moment to say ''wait a minute, this is probably not how things should be.'' Which is good. I don''t want to think about that. There''s nothing I can do about it, after all. Better to just accept it as reality.

    Valerie strong-armed me into testing a few things yesterday. She dragged me over to her house after school and forced me to take a nap so she could test for solutions. Results were mixed. Some of her spells actually do transfer over to my other body; generalized buff spells, in particular. Magic that makes me stronger or faster works, though it doesn''t help me get out of a cage at all. Magic that helps me heal also seems to work, though not on soul pain. The best we found was a specialized spell that automatically retaliates against anyone else that casts a spell on me. That worked too, but the problem is that it didn''t work well enough. The moment the magic was discovered, well¡­ the Death mage did something. My torturer ''killed'' the spell duration, I guess, ending it prematurely, and then just continued on as normal.

    We got a good zap on him, but it wasn''t any more than a little petty revenge. He was irritated, not disabled, and the rest of that day went much worse as a result. And now he''s ready for whatever else we try¡­ not that it matters.

    Other magic we tried to send through the link failed to transfer or just failed to work at all. Basically, spells seem to work between universes if their basic concept is to apply some sort of attribute to the entirety of whatever conceptually counts as ''me,'' but anything that only applies to my body only works on earthside. So then we tried designing spells to that specification to get around the limits, but the result was just that they failed to work. There are apparently some hard conceptual limits to the kinds of spells Valerie''s magic can create, and we still don''t know what all of them are. It seems to be enough to directly screw me out of escaping this particular situation, and when I pointed that out the Goddess laughed at me. I don''t know if that means I''m right or not, but it still kind of killed our motivation.

    So¡­ despair it is, I guess.

    "Hannah?"

    It''s fine. If anything, the situation feels familiar. Before my life was a mess of panic and excitement, it was kind of like this: dull depression with a side of resignation to my fate. Sure, the pain is making it hard to think and focus, and yeah, it''s bad enough that I can''t even handle easy stuff like schoolwork, but who cares about school anyway? Who cares that I''m starting to underperform at my job? Why would any of that matter, in the face of knowing I''m going to either get slowly tortured to death or end up turning into a person that the me of today would hate? Why would any of it matter when my life is so messed up that the idea of a future where any of those normal things apply is laughable? Honestly, I don''t know why I''ve bothered to keep up with it until now.

    ¡­Okay, yes I do. Because it''s routine. I''d still be doing homework and working hard at my job if I could actually wrap my brain around anything other than this all-encompassing pain and exhaustion. I''m still trying to go through the motions, after all. I''m going to keep moving like this, like a twitching puppet with ever-crumbling joints, until everything finally falls apart for good.

    I''m not sure if I want that to be soon or not.

    "Oi, Hannah!" Autumn hisses from where she''s been jogging beside me. "What the fuck is going on? Are you high?"

    "Huh?" I blink, realizing I''ve just been jogging in silence for a while and she has tried to get my attention a couple times. Goddess, my whole body aches. I don''t want to do this gym class stuff. I don''t want to run. I don''t want to do anything.

    "I asked you what the fuck is going on," she growls.

    I take a moment churning those words around in my head.

    "...Jet?" I guess. "Hey. I haven''t seen you in a while."

    "No shit you haven''t seen me in a while," she growls. "What day is it?"

    What day is¡­ oh. Oh, gosh. A little surge of adrenaline sends shivers down my spine, forcing my groaning brain into some semblance of functionality. ''What day is it?'' That is not a normal thing for Jet or Alma to have to ask.

    "It''s Thursday," I answer firmly. "Sorry, I''m really out of it. What do you remember?"

    "I remember the last time we had gym class," Jet hisses. "That''s it. Locker room to locker room."

    "...That was two days ago," I say, fear crawling through me. "We have gym every other day."

    "No shit, Benoit Blanc! So again: what''s going on?"

    I lick my lips under my mask, rewinding my thoughts over the last few days. And¡­ holy crap, she''s right. I didn''t even notice, but she''s right. I haven''t seen or heard from Jet at all outside of gym class. I can''t believe I didn''t notice¡­ well, okay, yes I can. But still. This is¡­ bad. Alma must be finding time to duck into her house every time Jet might be coming to the front. Except gym, for some reason? I mean, I guess it''s a combination of her hating it and needing Jet''s spell to not get outed as a weird monster.

    ¡­Oh holy crap that''s right, Autumn is a weird monster and that''s my fault. I shake my head, the realization clearing the fog of Jet''s spell and revealing Alma¡ªin tail form, of course¡ªtwitching in frustration behind Jet as she runs. I shudder a little at the realization that I''ve been mindfucked again, but hey! It''s kind of a day-to-day thing for me now! May as well happen on both sides of the dimensional gap.

    I need to focus on my friend''s problem anyway. It''s one that might actually be solvable. Of course, like with all problems, it''s important to start with self-pity.

    "I''m sorry," I blurt. "I should have been paying closer attention. I didn''t think it would get that bad, that quickly. Or¡­ I mean, I really wasn''t thinking at all. I''m not¡­ doing great."

    "Sure, whatever. What did you think would not get this bad?" Jet presses.

    "Alma''s spell prevents you from fronting," I tell her bluntly. "It''s kind of awkward to use but I guess she must be¡­ figuring it out. It''s hard to notice her using it, so¡­ um. Yeah."

    Jet gapes at me, her face that sort of complicated expression one gets when they are horrified beyond words but also not the least bit surprised. She returns her eyes to the track for a moment and just stares at nothing for a while before speaking.

    "...You don''t think you could have told me this on Tuesday?" she asks.

    "I, um. Have not really been myself this week," I mutter awkwardly.

    "I''ve literally not been myself this week!" she hisses back. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. She''s trying to kill me."

    "...Yeah," I mumble, not sure how to process that. My girlfriend is trying to make a person stop existing. I''m literally getting tortured over how firmly I''m against that sort of thing. Why does it feel so different, though? Well, either way, I have to do something.

    "I''ll talk to her," I promise. "Sorry. I should have done that sooner, I just¡­ I''m not doing well."

    "Yeah, like I trust you to side with me against her," Jet growls. "Fuck, fuck, fuck¡­"

    I frown. I guess I can''t blame her for thinking that way, but I''m still offended.

    "Text the chat as soon as you can, then," I suggest. "I know you don''t have a ton of friends, but we are your friends now, if you want us to be. And Ida will probably be better at helping than I am anyway."

    If she reads the group chat she''ll also learn about my soul torture situation without me having to explain it, which is a plus because I do not want to talk or think about it at all. The pain is reminder enough.

    "What the fuck is your deal, Hannah," Jet growls. "God, I want to hate you. I should hate you, for doing this to us and then making your stupid little group our only lifeline."

    "Weren''t you telling your therapist about the monster stuff?" I ask.

    "Well I haven''t gotten to see my therapist all week, have I?" Jet scowls. "Whatever. It doesn''t matter. You''re my only lifeline, but it''s not like I had any other lifelines before. Why would you even want me around, though? I''m just in the way of you and your fucking girlfriend."

    I take a while to think about that, the adrenaline and panic already fading back into pain and leaving my brain a dull sludge. But to my own surprise, I do find an answer I like, after a while.

    "I''m kind of in the exact opposite situation you are," I say. "One person in two bodies, instead of two people in one body. I''m sure it''s nothing like what you''re going through, and I''m sure I don''t understand what your situation is like at all. But I definitely understand what it''s like to¡­ well, be in a situation no one else understands."

    She doesn''t say anything, just staring at the track, so I continue.

    "I don''t¡­ really get along with most people," I say. "I don''t hate them or anything, but I just¡­ don''t have any particular desire to be around them. I think the way my head interacts with others is a little broken. Er¡­ well, I guess I shouldn''t say ''broken,'' because it might just be autism. It might also be because I''m a weird spider creature. I don''t know. I don''t know how to know. But whatever thing that makes normal people associate faces and names, or really people with bodies at all, is kind of weird to me. Maybe that''s why I find it so natural and obvious that you and Alma are completely different people. Maybe it''s something less high-concept than that. But either way, you are Jet. You are no one but Jet, to me. And I don''t really feel like you''re in the way of anything any more than anyone else could be."

    Again, more silence. I feel the need to fill it, so I continue.

    "So if someone wants to get in the way of your right to life, there''s no way in hell I''m going to help them. And if they insist on it anyway, I''m not going to date them either. That''s just not something you do to a person."

    Jet finally glances my way, staring at me with naked suspicion.

    "...You''d break up with Alma for me?" she asks.

    "Are you kidding?" I ask. "Yeah, I''d break up with someone for trying to keep a person prisoner inside their own head. That''s pretty unambiguously messed up."

    "But will you make her?" Jet asks, her voice low. "When push comes to shove?"

    I frown.

    "I mean¡­ I don''t think I can ''make her,'' I don''t have any real level of control over her," I say. Jet snorts at that for some reason, but I press on. "But Jet, I''m not going to have to ''make her.'' If I thought she was the sort of awful person that couldn''t be talked out of hurting someone, I wouldn''t be dating her in the first place."

    "...And yet here we are," Jet sighs. "But fine. Okay. I appreciate the offer of help. I hope it leads to something."

    "Yeah," I agree, suppressing a pained grimace. "Me too."

    We get back to running, and I start to wonder how bad it is that having something awful enough to distract me from my pain has been the highlight of my week so far.

    I trudge through the rest of gym class, quickly falling back into that half-conscious haze that has defined my earthside days all week. Somebody smacks me in the head with a volleyball at one point, but I don''t really notice it beyond needing to go pick up the ball. I think whoever hit me apologized. It doesn''t really matter, but that''s nice, at least.

    Classes happen when they happen, and lunch is eventually a thing. I sit down in the library as usual, my stomach growling as I open up textbooks to try and get homework done that I know I won''t really be able to process.

    "Hey, Hannah!" Alma greets me from behind, approaching my table to sit down next to me. "You doing okay?"

    "Yeah, I''m fine," I lie easily, not really thinking about it.

    "If you say so," she says, giving me a doubtful look. "You seem pretty out of it, which¡­ well, makes perfect sense. Things have kind of been sucking. Would a date this Saturday help take your mind off it, you think?"

    "Sure," I agree. Then I blink, trying to get my thoughts back together past the pain. "...Oh, I need to talk to you about Jet, though."

    "Oh?" she asks. "Uh, what about them?"

    "Are you using your spell to prevent them from fronting?" I ask. "Like, at all? Jet said in gym that she hasn''t been conscious since last gym class, on Tuesday. She was really freaking out about it."

    "Oh," Alma answers, fidgeting slightly. "Um, I guess I''ve been giving myself some extra time when I''m in the middle of something, yeah."

    "...You wouldn''t happen to be implying that you''re always in the middle of something because that''s just sort of how life works, are you?"

    She fidgets again. Buh. I''m too tired for this.

    "Alma, come on," I sigh.

    "...You don''t know what it''s like," she mutters. "Not being able to make any plans because I don''t even know if I''ll exist."

    "No, I don''t," I agree patiently. "But I don''t feel like foisting all of your suffering onto Jet is a good solution. Does Jet not deserve to live their life, too?"

    "No!" Alma snaps. "They don''t! Jet is a medical condition that nearly got me locked up in prison! Why shouldn''t I take the cure?"

    I stare at her in shock, startled by her outburst. She stares back for a moment, frustration obvious in her features, until she suddenly breaks eye contact with something like shame on her face.

    "Alma¡­" I ask slowly, "is that really what you think of her?"

    "You don''t know what it''s like," she repeats, shaking slightly.

    "I know I don''t," I say. "I''m sorry. But Alma¡­ do you know what it''s like to talk to Jet? Have you ever actually gotten to meet her?"

    She grimaces.

    "Of course I¡­ I mean, I get flashes," she hedges, but I can tell she barely believes it.

    "Have you watched a recording of her doing stuff, at least?" I ask.

    "Jet used to send¡­ video messages," Alma admits. "Before we started using the notebook. But I just¡­ I couldn''t watch them. It was¡­ it freaks me out, okay? Seeing someone else puppet my body around like that. I just couldn''t watch them."

    She''s extremely anxious now, fidgeting and glancing around constantly. She even looks vaguely¡­ betrayed? Which hurts to see.

    "Can we just not talk about this?" Alma begs. "Please? Can''t this just be a good thing? Can''t I feel like a fucking person for once?"

    "Alma," I say, as calmly as I can muster. "You''re my girlfriend. I care about you, I think you''re adorable, I love your obsession with books and your rambles on jellyfish and everything else about you. But I also talk with Jet pretty regularly. You and her¡­ you''re obviously both people, to me. The fact that I care about you more doesn''t mean I''m going to do nothing while you hurt her."

    She sags in defeat, collapsing into a chair with her face in her hands. A little groan escapes her mouth, a sad mix of frustration and despair.

    "Fine, okay," she agrees quietly. "I''ll just go back to letting the crazy criminal run half my life."

    "Jet has never given me the impression that she''s mentally unstable or unsound," I say, trying to be reassuring. "If anything, she seems to care about you deeply. I swear, half our conversations are her giving me another shovel talk."

    "Hhngh," is all Alma says in response, so I try to press on.

    "How did that all happen, anyway?" I ask. "The, uh, criminal thing. I''ve heard Jet mention that she was burglarizing houses, but what was that like from your perspective? Do you know why she did it?"

    Alma is quiet for a bit, but then she lets out a long sigh sitting back up in her chair and propping her head up on one elbow.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    "...My dad is in a lot of debt," she admits slowly. "I don''t really know how much, exactly. But my family can struggle to get by sometimes. I first started noticing the memory blackouts¡­ I dunno. Years ago. But then the bills started getting paid. It was just kinda weird and concerning at first, but not¡­ a huge thing? It was scary, but I didn''t want to tell anyone that I was having memory blackouts, we couldn''t afford a hospital trip. And¡­ well, not remembering doing the bills isn''t so bad, right? My dad acted like I had found an after school job, so I guess that''s what Jet told him. He was really happy with me about it. And¡­ I liked that, so¡­ it wasn''t really a problem. I knew something was fucked up when I woke up one time before the bills got paid and just saw a stack of cash with a sticky note on it that said ''for rent'' in my handwriting. But¡­ y''know. Don''t question a good thing, right?"

    She rubs her temples, and shrugs.

    "...And then one day I just find myself in a police interrogation room. And everything has just gone downhill since then. So yes, I know Jet cares, but it doesn''t change the fact that they''ve fucked up my entire life, you know? We only ever started actively communicating after being forced into therapy, and that''s been¡­ not great."

    "Because by the time you knew there was someone else to talk to, they were already the person that got you arrested?" I ask.

    "I guess," Alma sighs. "It''s not like anything else really mattered. Like, it''s not as though I had any friends or anything to do with my time before having Jet steal half of it away from me. The only thing that''s different now is that I have you."

    She looks so small now, curled up like a puppy that knew it shouldn''t have ripped the couch open.

    "I just¡­ wanted to be there for you," she whispers.

    Well, I don''t think there''s anything I can say to that, so instead I reach over and envelop her in a big, firm hug. Slowly, quietly, Alma starts to cry into my shoulder, her body shaking softly as tears soak into my shirt and are quietly Refreshed away.

    "I just¡­ I just don''t want to be like this," she sobs. "Our therapist says other people with DID figure out how to manage it and live happy lives. Other people figure out their schedules and learn to cooperate and help each other but I just don''t want to. I don''t want to be like this. I just want my brain to be normal."

    Her tail shifts underneath her skirt, awkward and uncomfortable. Her wings twitch on her back. Her ears, underneath her hat, give a despondent wiggle.

    "I just don''t know what to do," Alma says. "I love you, Hannah. I love you and I want to be with you and I don''t know what to do. I don''t know what to do with my body, I don''t know what to do with my magic, I don''t know how to exist or how to live. I just don''t have anything other than you."

    "Alma¡­ hey." I reassure her. "That''s not true."

    "It is true!" she insists. "Even if it isn''t, I want it to be true."

    "Wh-why would you want it to¡ª"

    "Fuck!" she hisses. "I shouldn''t have said anything. Fuck, fuck, fuck! I''m sorry!"

    "Alma, it''s okay," I insist. "I promise it''s okay. I''m not exactly the poster child for mental health either, okay? I''m not gonna judge you for your feelings. I''m not. It''s what you do that matters."

    "What I''m doing is trying to kill someone I don''t even know," Alma sobs. "I hate them, Hannah. I hate them so much. I hate the idea of anyone else getting to use my body. It''s mine."

    "I know," I say soothingly. "I know. I''m sorry."

    Holy cream cannoli we are so dysfunctional. Goddess, but I wish I knew what to say, how to act, who to be. This is so hard and I feel like it''s all going wrong but I don''t know how to make it right. I just don''t know what I''m doing. I''ve never been in a relationship before, let alone one like¡­ this.

    "No no no, it''s okay, you don''t have to be sorry," Alma insists. "You don''t. It''s okay. You haven''t done anything wrong. I just¡­ maybe I just like to tell myself that if I get rid of Jet then my stupid awful brain will be okay again. But it won''t, will it? I''m the problem. It''s me."

    "...Well, that sounds like a good reason to listen to your therapist a little, right?" I press.

    "Yeah. I guess. Okay," Alma shudders. "Do you¡­ do you still wanna go out Saturday? It''s okay if you don''t, I¡­"

    "Alma," I say firmly. "I''m not going to dump you because you talked about your feelings. It''s okay. You said you weren''t going to take time from Jet anymore, right?"

    "...Yeah," she agrees.

    "Then that''s it. That''s the only concern I had. Everything else is stuff we''ll work out together, alright? I''m here for you."

    "Okay. Sorry."

    "You don''t have to be sorry. But you''re forgiven anyway, if you want to be."

    "Thank you. Sorry."

    We just stay together for a while, the worry about the whole event mixing into my foggy brain and bubbling within the pain. It feels like the red flags keep piling up, but what does that mean? I don''t think Alma is bad or unpleasant or annoying. I absolutely enjoy spending time with her. She has problems to work through, sure, but doesn''t everyone? I certainly do, and she''s putting up with enough of my bull poop to be worth helping, that''s for sure. So what''s the problem? What am I worried about?

    ¡­Alma said she loves me, right? Do I love her? Is that a question I should even know the answer to this early into our relationship?

    Whether I''m supposed to or not, I certainly fail to find the answer before lunch ends. Or, for that matter, before the day ends. A small panic attack before bed is all I have to suffer tonight before exhaustion inevitably claims me, forcing me to once more wake up in my horrible, horrible torture cage¡­ and let something not unlike relief pass through me as my mind blanks out, rendered totally, blissfully empty by Madaline''s spell.

    Whatever feeling I might have had at the sensation is gone in an instant, of course. Nothing remains of Hannah beyond the dim perception of the passage of time. On and on, things happen, but they simply aren''t important, aren''t noteworthy, aren''t¡­ a problem. But eventually, Hagoro comes and shakes Madaline awake, and my problems exist once again.

    I exist. It''s awful. I hate it.

    With a shudder, I return to sentience, the dread of incoming agony causing my breaths to shake. I''m pathetic for feeling this way, aren''t I? For so desperately wanting this¡­ this low-commitment suicide. But what else am I supposed to do here? I feel like a real hero would be out of this cage by now, her captors dead on the floor for daring to subject her to such inhumane practice. But I''m too good to twist my spell for the purpose, and not good enough to have any other way out. I''m nothing but a failure, and now I have to suffer for it. Maybe I deserve to.

    As has become common on this side of the dimensions, my body instinctively tries to cry despite lacking the biology to do so. I''m just so scared, so desperate, that there''s nothing else I can do. When Hagoro starts to escort Madaline from the room, I call out without thinking.

    "Wait," I beg. I''m scared to see her leave. Scared of what happens whenever she''s gone. I need her here.

    Hagoro tries to ignore me, but Madaline stops him, putting a hand on his arm to signal it rather than try to say anything in her still-bleary state. She looks at me, a sad understanding on her face, and takes a deep breath to help clear her head. Then another.

    "...What is it?" she finally asks.

    "Is there anything I can give you," I ask, "to just get one day?"

    ''Without the pain'' goes unsaid. Madaline looks at Hagoro. He shrugs, like he has no influence on that kind of decision. She frowns, tapping his arm twice. He takes his arms away and stops supporting her weight, and she wobbles a bit but manages to stand on her own. I watch all of this with a dull thoughtlessness that''s almost, but not quite, like being under her spell. As if my brain''s response to terror is slowly starting to copy her magic out of some desperate longing.

    My torturer, after all, is approaching. I''m out of time.

    "Please," I beg desperately. "I''ll tell you anything. About my world, about myself, about what I know. I just¡­ I can''t take this anymore."

    But then he''s in sight of them, and their attention is on him. Too slow, Hannah. Time to face the fire.

    "Hagoro, Madaline," my torturer greets them, giving a polite nod of his head.

    "Good afternoon, Malda," Hagoro answers. It''s the afternoon?

    "Malda, would you be willing to take a day off?" Madaline asks.

    Wait, what? Hope tries to bloom inside me for a moment before I crush it down in fear. He''s just going to say no. But why is she even asking¡­?

    "A day off?" Malda asks, predictably incredulous. "We''re on a time limit, Madaline. You know that."

    "But it''s a longer one than we''re used to, right?" she presses, her lucidity improving rapidly. I''ve never seen her this¡­ focused before.

    "...It is, yes," Malda concedes. "Despite everything, she''s never attempted to accelerate things. She might not even know how."

    "Or she doesn''t want to," Madaline says softly. "I think I might be able¡­ to help. Could I have a day with her?"

    "I''m not sure what you expect to accomplish that Donny couldn''t," Malda frowns, crossing his arms.

    "Donny¡­ gives up too easily," Madaline says slowly. "He prefers¡­ to wait for a sure shot. He''s too used to them."

    "And you think it''s worthwhile to gamble on a less-than-sure shot?" Malda asks.

    "Is that not¡­ what we''ve always done? From the start?" Madaline asks. "I think¡­ it will help."

    My torturer drums his fingers against his bicep, taking a moment to think.

    "...It''s rare to see you taking initiative like this, Madaline," he ultimately says. "I''m loath to give up even a single day to anything, you understand. This is, frankly, our entire reason for existing. Everything else is secondary."

    "Secondary," Madaline argues, "does not mean worthless. I¡­ want to give back worth."

    My torturer frowns deeper.

    "...I would have some firm words for anyone trying to imply you didn''t already have worth in abundance," he says. "But¡­ fine. You may take a day with her. I will see what I can arrange with the data we''ve already gathered."

    "Thank you¡­ Malda," Madaline says, bowing her head slightly. He just waves her off and turns around, walking back in the direction he came.

    And then her attention turns to me.

    "Thank you," I say, because I lack the sort of pride necessary to not be grateful to the nicest member of the cult that systematically tortures me.

    "You''re¡­ welcome," Madaline nods, slowly walking towards me. Hagoro looks concerned, but continues not saying anything, just waiting around and keeping his spell active. "Don''t forget¡­ to eat¡­ okay? I forget a lot. So my friends¡­ always have to remind me."

    Oh. I guess I am kind of hungry. And as usual, food arrived during Madaline''s spell, and is waiting for me in my cell. For the first time in what feels like days (has it been days?) I step forward and lean down to eat the meat they provided me. It''s an odd experience, since my body has grown into a different shape with distinct forelimbs and hindlimbs, not to mention my mouth moving up my body to stretch along what is probably the beginning of a torso towards what is probably the beginning of a head. It''s all still a singular mass of ''body,'' but specialization is starting to happen. It''s awkward and somewhat uncomfortable, especially after I''ve gotten so used to being radially symmetrical, but it hardly makes it impossible to eat.

    Madaline is being quiet, content to watch me eat out of either respect or her usual lack of focus. I can''t really stand the silence, though, so I try to get the conversation started.

    "Why did you help me?" I ask between bites.

    "Hmm¡­" she hums in consideration, as if she hadn''t even thought about why before doing it. "I guess¡­ because¡­ you''re like me? The last Founder''s Kin¡­ wasn''t like us at all. He was very mean. Very¡­ angry. All the way until the end. You¡­ are kind. And sad. It makes things¡­ harder."

    I gulp down another bite, surprised at how utterly starving I suddenly feel.

    "So that''s it?" I ask. "You just feel sorry for me?"

    Can''t really blame her for that; I feel sorry for me too.

    "No," she clarifies, sitting down cross-legged on the floor in front of my cage. "You also offered¡­ information. And I''m interested. You¡­ can hear Her speak too, can''t you? Most people¡­ can''t."

    The Goddess, Her presence weighty in the room thanks to Zone of Law, lounges happily on my back as I eat. But now that I''m looking for it, I feel Her on Madaline as well, cuddling her close not unlike how She so often holds me.

    "...Yeah," I agree. "I guess we''re both cursed with Her favor."

    "Is it a curse?" Madaline asks, quirking her head to the side. "I consider the Goddess¡­ my first real friend."

    "The Goddess is evil," I say quietly, hesitantly. Fearfully. But She doesn''t seem offended by this judgment, and neither does Madaline.

    "Yes," Madaline agrees instead, a smile on her face. "I have many evil friends. Would you like to be my friend, Hannah?"

    I instinctively bristle at the obvious implication, the Goddess chuckling softly as she watches our exchange. Evil? Really? If I was evil I wouldn''t be having any trouble breaking myself out of this horrific torture cage! ¡­But of course, I can''t tell her that.

    "Will you stop helping these people rip my soul apart?" I ask instead. "I unfortunately find that little detail to be a pretty significant obstacle to friendship. Besides, I barely know anything about you."

    "There is¡­ very little to say," Madaline answers. "My magic¡­ doesn''t lend itself to killing. And it is¡­ difficult to trace. So I had less of a problem with Chaos hunters¡­ than most people like me. But without the Goddess'' help¡­ I probably would have starved. Still, I survived, and now I have Hagoro and many other friends. And I am happy."

    "Happy locking people in cages, huh?" I grumble. She laughs a little, the sort of tiny, soft laugh where she covers her mouth with one hand. A ''titter,'' I think it''s called.

    "My friends want to save the world," she says. "Many of them¡­ think they are good people. I do not care¡­ if I am a good person. I do not care about¡­ the world. But I do care about my friends. That is all. A moral objection¡­ won''t get you very far with me."

    "...You have a surprisingly well-thought-out sense of who you are," I comment.

    "Do you not as well?" she asks. "You know your weaknesses. You know your faults. Those of us¡­ who like to run from our thoughts¡­ often tend to have a lot of thoughts to run from."

    How else am I supposed to deal with my thoughts, if not by running? I assume healthy people have resolution strategies, but I''m certainly not a healthy person.

    "You seem like you know me pretty well," I say.

    "I do," she agrees simply. I suppress a shudder. Pneuma mages. "Now tell me: who is the Goddess, to you?"

    I sit quietly for a moment, trying to figure out how best to answer that. The Goddess Herself listens lazily to my thoughts, lounging on top of me with a yawn. I''m allowed to say whatever. I can curse Her, insult Her, scream at Her, warn people from Her¡­ that''s all fine. I just have to be careful not to slander. And, well¡­ I can work with that.

    "...So, you know I''m from another world," I start with, and Madaline nods cooperatively. "Well, on my world there''s a famous story called The Monkey''s Paw. Uh, what a monkey is isn''t important, the point of the story is just that there''s¡­ a wish-granting device. A thing that will literally turn whatever possible dream you could ask for into reality. But every time it is used, no matter what, the wish is twisted. A price is extracted that far exceeds the benefits one might get from the wish. Every time I interact with the Goddess, it reminds me of that."

    "I see," Madaline muses. "And what prices has the Goddess extracted?"

    "That''s the thing," I answer. "I don''t know. I have no idea what She wants from me beyond entertainment. I just know that She does want entertainment, and everything She does to help me is¡­ loaded, somehow. She''s setting me up for something."

    "Hmm," Madaline hums again. "And it is not conceivable¡­ that She is setting you up to destroy the world?"

    "Well, I mean, I think She probably is," I admit. "But the apocalypse I know I can cause only affects my world. It doesn''t affect any of you here."

    That seems to surprise her, and Hagoro as well. They both share a look of bewilderment.

    "Is she¡­?" Hagoro asks.

    "Yes," Madaline confirms. "She''s being honest."

    He doesn''t seem to know what to say to that, so Madaline returns her attention to me.

    "...I am not sure if that changes anything," Madaline admits. "But I¡­ will speak with the others. Perhaps you simply threaten this world in a manner¡­ you do not know."

    "I''m going to be kept here on a ''perhaps!?''" I snap. "You guys are insane!"

    "Unfortunate, then, that your opinion has so little impact¡­ on the ultimate decision," Madaline says with a frown, and I legitimately can''t tell if she''s being sarcastic or if she''s actually frustrated along with me. "Perhaps they will bring the founder¡­ to meet you. He would be able to tell¡­ what threat you may pose."

    "Wait, your cult''s founder is alive?" I ask. "How long have you guys been around?"

    "The Disciples of Unification were founded just over two centuries ago," Hagoro supplies.

    "Do people normally live for over two hundred years here?" I ask, realizing I don''t actually know if that''s as weird as it sounds in magic fantasy land.

    "No," Madaline answers. "We do not. The founder is special. As¡­ are you. If you destroy the world¡­ you''ll become immortal as well."

    "Madaline!" Hagoro interjects sharply.

    "It''s¡­ okay," Madaline assures him, her eyes locked on mine with a smile. "She''s not tempted¡­ by something like that. Are you, Hannah?"

    She''s right. I''m not. If anything, I''m horrified. I don''t want to die, sure, but killing millions, maybe billions of people for immunity to it? That''s beyond monstrous. I can''t even imagine pulling the trigger on something like that.

    "No," I confirm. "I don''t want to hurt anyone."

    "That is so interesting to me," Madaline muses. "What do you think you are, exactly?"

    "I¡­" I gulp, shifting my weight nervously. "I''m a pawn. A piece in a game. A toy for the Goddess to play with."

    The Goddess purrs. It''s good of me to accept that so readily.

    "So you think She chose you?" Madaline asks. "I''ve always¡­ wondered about that. I think you are probably correct. The Goddess¡­ is playing a game. But I think¡­ she can lose."

    "She can," I agree. "She has to be able to lose. Otherwise, it isn''t fun to win."

    Madaline titters again.

    "You play a lot of games, don''t you, Hannah?" she asks rhetorically. "Your predecessors were not like you. None of them were the kind of person to hesitate¡­ at ending the world for their own sake. And if you are right¡­ if the Goddess picks her pieces¡­ why would she pick you? It seems to me¡­ that if you''re trying to get someone to destroy the world¡­ it would be rather important to choose someone who wanted to do that."

    The Goddess'' attention is weighing on the conversation now, silent but heavy. I think about ants and sand castles, about how I might change the terrain around a bug to nudge it into whatever direction I want it to go.

    "...You think there''s something I can''t see," I conclude. "Something that she''s just going to make me stumble into on accident."

    "I think I wasn''t sure until today that the Goddess was our enemy," Madaline answers. "But¡­ yes. If so, that is how She would play. She is not very fun¡­ to play games with."

    "Then you should help me find the path!" I insist. "Stop hurting me and making me your enemy! We can find a way to beat Her together!"

    "That seems like a good idea, doesn''t it?" Madaline says sadly. "I want to. I like you, Hannah. But every single apocalypse the Disciples of Unification have stopped, we stopped with torture and death. And now, the Goddess has chosen someone kind. Someone I do not want to hurt. The Goddess¡­ is not very fun to play games with."

    "No," I growl, realizing where she''s going with this. "You''re kidding me."

    "Your kindness exists," Madaline tells me, "to foster mercy. That is what I think. The Goddess chose you because you are pitiable, Hannah. And if we pity you too much, if we do release you¡­ the world ends."

    "You can''t be serious," I hiss. "Why are all you cultists so fucking insane?"

    She shrugs.

    "It''s just¡­ my theory," she answers. "It will not free you or trap you in this cage. I just want to hear your thoughts on it, is all. Is it something¡­ the Goddess you know would do?"

    Is it something the Goddess I know would do? I''m not sure. Maybe. Probably. She''d love that sort of thing, I think. Twisting mercy and pity and love and justice into the reason everything goes to hell. Watching her little puppets doom themselves with the best intentions, howling at the dramatic irony as they blindly stumble ever closer to their death.

    She''d craft the walls of the sand castle so that every pathway leads to the ocean, and she''d laugh all the while. And while an ant can dig through the sand or crawl over the walls¡­ why not take the path of least resistance, if you don''t know where any of them lead anyway?

    "It''s scary, isn''t it?" Madaline asks. "Sorry. I''m glad you''re thinking about it, though."

    "Why does it even matter what I think?" I ask. "If you''re just going to keep me here and torture me to death anyway?"

    "There are still things you can do that we don''t know about," Madaline shrugs. "Maybe you''ll escape. You won''t be the first, even if we always manage to find your kind again. But I want you to see Her, to look for Her walls. The Goddess is my friend, you see. I don''t mind playing Her game from the opposite side. But if She''s going to laugh at us along the way¡­ I wouldn''t mind humiliating Her a little. If you do escape¡­ it would be extra funny if She gets beat by Her own piece, don''t you think?"

    The Goddess'' presence rumbles with anticipation. You''re on, She seems to say.

    "Become a player, rather than just a piece. Just make sure to entertain Her, Hannah," Madaline warns me. "If She''s not having fun, She can always just flip the board."

    The Goddess laughs and laughs and laughs. Madaline is such a good friend, isn''t she?

 52. Breaking Point

    "I guess," I say quietly, "I''ll keep your advice in mind."

    Madaline nods. She can always just flip the board. I wonder, in a vaguely absent way, if Madaline considers the Goddess a friend out of genuine affection, or if she just considers the Goddess a friend because the game ends up being played regardless of whether or not you opt in? It certainly seems like a less terrifying way to live, if you just accept reality for what it is and play along.

    I don''t think I can do that, though. I''m really dang good at carrying on through the worst situations and acting like they aren''t a problem, sure, but at least I don''t fool myself into thinking that''s a good idea. When everything is this bad, when my very birth was divinely ordained to be used against me, I don''t think I can have fun. I don''t think I can play a game. Goddess, I hope You enjoy me just the way I am, because that''s what I''ll be sending at You.

    If there''s one thing I know about You, it''s that You''re my enemy. You will never be my friend.

    The Goddess smirks, the Goddess shrugs. Enemy, friend, opponent, rival, mother, lover, master¡­ whatever I want to call Her, our relationship is the same. It''s as equally unchanged as my relationship with the weather, or my relationship with a supernova. She will laugh at my joy and sorrow equally. She will gasp at both my triumphs and my failures. She will be by my side until the moment my soul dissolves from this and every world, holding me and kissing me and cheering for me at every turn. I am Her prophet. I am Her champion. I am Her chosen. And these things will be no less true no matter what I do. There is no choice which deviates from Her enraptured attention.

    But if I really want to annoy Her, well, that''ll be its own kind of entertainment too. It''s my call; that is, after all, the most important rule of the game.

    Anything else would be too easy.

    I shudder, Madaline watching me curiously. I have no idea how much of this¡­ ''conversation'' she''s picking up on. I''m not sure I want to know. But what I do want to know is this: is the game really about destroying the world? If I''m stuck being a piece, Goddess, don''t I deserve to know what it is I''m really playing for? Are these horrible torture-cultists right?

    The Goddess laughs. It seems to Her that the more salient question is this: even if they are right, does that mean I''m going to decide to sit and do nothing while they torture me to death? Are these the people I''m going to throw my lot in with? Out of all my friends, all my allies, everyone who cares about me and fights with me and would want to help me with anything I set my mind to, would I really choose these horrible schmucks?

    And that question kind of answers itself, doesn''t it? Maybe I am on track to cause some kind of horrible apocalyptic event. But even if so, these people will never be the ones I trust at my back to fight against it.

    "You seem¡­ to have made a decision," Madaline says, smiling slightly. "Forgive me¡­ if I hope it never becomes relevant. My¡­ other friends still want to keep you trapped, after all."

    Ah. Yes. The horrific reality of the Goddess almost distracted me from the horrific reality of daily soul torture for a moment. That starts sinking back into the forefront of my mind, and all of a sudden a single day off doesn''t really sound like much at all. Welp, time to panic again!

    If Madaline notices my mounting terror, she certainly doesn''t show it. If anything, she looks rather sleepy. She yawns, seeming perfectly content to sit in front of my cage and say nothing. Whatever it is she wanted to know, she''s already learned it, and her indifference to whether I escape or rot here seems to match our shared indifference to everything whenever she''s wiping our minds clean of thoughts.

    I finish the rest of my food and drink a bit of water. Then, to my utter despair, I start to realize that I''m sleepy. That doesn''t seem fair at all. I get one day to not be in agony, one day to heal, one day to maybe be able to think, and my body wants to spend it all sleeping. It''s sickeningly horrible. I don''t want to sleep. I don''t want tomorrow to come. I know what happens tomorrow and I am going to hate it.

    I don''t want to feel this way. And she''s right here. I could just ask her to¡ª

    "Addicting, isn''t it?" Madaline murmurs. "Sorry."

    Oh. Oh, right. I let out a shaky breath. Maybe¡­ maybe sleep wouldn''t be so bad after all.

    Sleep turns out to be bad. Mostly because when I fall asleep, it''s Friday, and when Friday is over, I have to go back to the torture dungeon. The day barely even registers in my mind before it''s already gone; I speak to my friends briefly about the Goddess and what Madaline and I talked about, but no one has any good ideas on how to defy Her. We barely even know what She wants, outside base entertainment. All we know is that we can''t get caught speaking spells out loud with anyone else around.

    Then, Friday night happens. Madaline does not offer to help me again. My day becomes torture and pain once more, and somehow it seems to hurt all the worse for the brief reprieve. The routine was broken, and so the wound is ripped open just as it started to heal, newly jagged and raw. It is the most pain I''ve ever had to endure in my entire life. I still can''t bring myself to stop it. The next time I really feel aware enough of anything but pain and routine to think, I find myself in the car, being driven to my therapist on Saturday morning.

    "You don''t seem to be doing well, Hannah," is the comment from my mother that finally snaps my attention to reality. I bite down an instinctive ''no shit.''

    "I haven''t been doing well for a long time now, mom," I say instead.

    "...But the therapy is helping?" she asks.

    "As much as anything can, I guess," I mumble. "You really did pick a good therapist. She''s¡­ got a way with words."

    She nods, satisfied now that her actions have been tied directly to me getting better. I''m not getting better, of course, but that would be an inconvenient thing to bring attention to. As long as she''s responsible for everything good in my life and guiltless for everything negative, she''s happy enough to not bother me further. Like this, the drive continues to be uncomfortable, but at least it''s uncomfortable and silent.

    We make it to the building Dr. Carson works in, and before long I''m following her back into her office. The cold fear of therapy still pulses in my primordial lizard brain, trained for far too long to associate this sort of place with danger and abuse, but it''s a little dull compared to the sharp throb of soul damage. I walk into the room with an impressive zero panic attacks, only having to stop and fight one off once on my way to the couch. Collapsing down into the seat, I sit and stare at nothing, slowly coming to the realization that I have absolutely no idea how to talk about anything that is happening to me right now at all.

    "Well," Dr. Carson starts for me, seeming to notice my dumbfounded silence, "how has the past week been treating you, Hannah?"

    Hmm. Well. There is only one way that I can sufficiently sum it all up, I think.

    "Bad," I say.

    "Oh, I''m sorry to hear that," Dr. Carson answers, making me briefly suspect she does have magic powers with how she can somehow say platitudes and make them sound genuinely sincere. "Would you like to talk about it?"

    I stare at her for a bit. She maintains eye contact, a pleasant but patient smile on her face.

    "...That''s it?" I ask. "No, ''hey Hannah, remember how last session you proved magic is real and revealed you were mutating into a bug monster?''"

    "I distinctly recall insisting that you are not a monster, actually," she answers happily.

    "...Dr. Carson, please," I insist. "You are being way too normal about my life and it''s weirding me out."

    Dr. Carson pauses for a moment, absently tapping her pen against her notepad while she thinks.

    "So, a bit of transparency here," she answers. "I believe in the importance of professional conduct in professional settings, especially in my profession where I am often dealing with people who need to be able to trust me with the sort of things they don''t trust with anyone. I am, for some people, the only port in a storm, and if I''m not reliable and steady in all the ways I project myself to be, if I am not worthy of the respect and trust I am given, then not only will I be unable to help my clients but I might even make their situation worse. You, in particular, have first-hand experience with the sort of damage a person in my position can do. So while I certainly have questions, doubts, worries, and anxieties of my own¡­ this is not the place for me to voice them. The fact that you have made good on your promise of being a client completely unlike any other I have experienced does not at all change what my duties to you are. As such, I can''t allow myself to start a conversation about how the revelations you''ve brought to my table affect me. That is not what we are here to talk about today, unless you specifically request it."

    "And if I do specifically request it?" I ask, taking off my gloves and letting my extra limbs twist partly back into visible space. My current shirt doesn''t have limb-holes, so I''m just letting them pop in after the first joint, making it look like they''re appearing out of thin air. I flex my fingers, scraping my claws lightly against my own palms, and watch my therapist as she tries and fails not to stare.

    "...If you want to talk about my thoughts and questions on the matter," Dr. Carson says, "I certainly have a lot of them. Your claims about religion, about other worlds, about magic¡­ they all leave me desperately hungry for answers, I''ll admit. But above all else, I want to ask more about your brief mention of being able to cure diseases."

    Ah. Yeah. I should have expected that.

    "...''Cure'' is a strong word," I hedge, "but the one person I helped does seem to be doing a lot better, last I heard."

    "But I believe you mentioned that further use of your magic to cure people was something you didn''t want to draw attention to," Dr. Carson presses. "So normally, I wouldn''t do that. But if you''re encouraging me to be selfish with my inquiries, that''s something I''d like to ask about. Not that you should feel any pressure to answer, of course."

    "No, I guess¡­ it''s kind of relevant to my current problems," I mumble. "So¡­ gosh, uh, where do I start. Magic comes from the Goddess, right?"

    "You mentioned a Goddess last session, but you got distressed when I asked about her and requested we change the subject," Dr. Carson says, looking at her notes.

    "Yeah, that sounds like me," I sigh. "So magic comes from the Goddess, who is like¡­ a being that exists in, as best I can tell, some kind of imperceivable reality above our own. But She is both willing and capable of acting directly on our world, and the main way She chooses to do so is by giving people magic powers. Which¡­ I''ve demonstrated."

    "Sure, I''m with you so far," Dr. Carson nods amicably.

    "Right. Yeah. The problem with this is that you can make a spell more powerful by summoning the Goddess directly to help you cast it, and this¡­ is bad. Because whenever the Goddess is around people without magic, they get magic, and I have no way of knowing or predicting what that magic will be or do. It''s very personalized to whoever gets it, so if the wrong person gets magic, the consequences could be¡­ disastrous. Possibly even apocalyptic."

    "...And that''s what you have to do to cure diseases?" Dr. Carson guesses.

    "Exactly," I confirm. "To use my spell with that level of power and precision, I need to speak its name aloud, and if I do that then I give whoever I''m helping a soul, and if I do that I''m risking all hell breaking loose. It''s kind of a lose-lose situation."

    "I see," Dr. Carson nods. "I imagine that''s quite frustrating."

    "Frustrating is one way to put it," I agree, pulling off my jacket. "I''m pretty much being constantly tempted by a divine troll to end the world. And that sort of leads into my current troubles: in that other universe I told you about, I''ve been kidnapped by a cult and I''m being tortured daily."

    Dr. Carson pauses again.

    "I don''t want you to take this as disbelief in your claims," she says carefully, "but most people don''t speak with that level of flippancy about their being tortured."

    "Yeah," I agree. "I''m trying to hang onto the flippant mindset as best I can, though, because otherwise I don''t think I''d be up to talking about it at all. I''ve had trouble talking all week."

    Dr. Carson nods.

    "Dissociation can be a useful strategy for dealing with issues in the short term, but it''s important to be careful about not letting it become the crutch that replaces your legs. By distancing yourself from the issue, you can defend yourself from short-term problems, but you also prevent yourself from healing."

    I shudder, hating myself as I yearn for Madaline.

    "...Yeah," I agree. "That makes sense. I''m trying my best, though. I''m trying."

    "I know you are, Hannah," Dr. Carson reassures me. "And even if you don''t always succeed, that doesn''t mean the effort is wasted. I notice you''re doing a good job at not pointing your blades in my direction, today."

    "What?" I ask, having to take a moment to figure out what the heck she''s talking about. ¡­Oh, right. Last session she wanted me to practice never pointing my blade-limbs at anyone by accident. "Oh, I''m not¡­ I barely even thought about that all week. They''re just kind of droopy because my everything hurts."

    "Because of the torture, or because of something else?" Dr. Carson asks.

    "Because of the extrauniversal soul torture, yeah," I confirm.

    "Which has been happening all week," she presses.

    "Correct."

    "...Well Hannah, you''re certainly under no obligation to contact me for any reason, but this is the sort of situation I gave you my personal number for."

    "Oh, right," I blink. "Sorry. I forgot, with everything going on. ¡­And I''m not sure I would have wanted to talk about it anyway. Except maybe to ask you about killing people again. But I think¡­ I think I have my answer to that question. So it doesn''t really matter."

    "What do you mean?" Dr. Carson asks.

    I sigh. I don''t like explaining things to her, because it always makes me feel crazy. She''s too normal to understand this stuff, it feels like. Even though I''ve proven magic is real, it feels like any sane person would continue to deny it anyway. I know that''s stupid, but¡­ I can''t shake the feeling anyway. What if I am crazy? Still, it does me no good to stay silent.

    "So¡­ the spell I showed you. The one that sorts things. I use it for a lot of stuff. Cooking, cleaning, pulling bacteria out of people. We''ve talked about it."

    "We have," she nods, encouraging me to continue.

    "So the caveat behind the spell is that, more specifically, it moves things to where I think they should be. I have to believe, in a genuine, fundamental way, that whatever I''m moving belongs where I''m going to put it. So while the spell is powerful enough to, say, sort the oxygen out of someone''s lungs, doing so requires me to have¡­ a very specific sort of worldview. And I am afraid if these people keep hurting me, keep torturing me every night, I''ll find the idea that they fundamentally deserve death to be easier to believe than I want it to be."

    Dr. Carson scribbles down a few words, but when she''s done she just waits in silence, staring at her notepad with a frown on her face. I stay quiet, letting her think as I pull my uncomfortable shoes off and stretch my clawed toes a little.

    "That is certainly¡­ a complicated situation," Dr. Carson eventually concludes. "I can tell from our conversations that you are afraid of hurting others, afraid of being dangerous, and it seems like this is another situation in which you''re finding yourself forced to try and defend yourself. You''re a very empathetic person, Hannah, to want to respect the sanctity of the lives of people going out of their way to do you harm. I don''t think most people would do that, and I find that admirable. At the same time, however, you seem to struggle greatly with protecting yourself or asserting your boundaries. You have a history of simply letting bad things happen to you without working to change them, and while your positive traits are genuinely wonderful, they can sometimes feed into this issue."

    "Yeah," I sigh. "I¡­ I know all of that."

    "My apologies, Hannah," Dr. Carson nods. "I''m just trying to get my thoughts in order. It''s difficult for me to give concrete advice because your situation is so unique. So I suppose I''ll ask you this: what do you want to do? What would be the ideal resolution to things, in your eyes?"

    I shrug.

    "To be let go, I guess?" I answer. "I wanna not be tortured but also not murder anybody. But¡­ realistically, I know that''s not going to happen. It''s not how the other world works. It''s kind of a horrible place, you know? People seem to need to kill one another on a pretty regular basis over there."

    "It happens more often than we like to admit over here, as well," Dr. Carson comments sadly.

    "Yeah," I sigh. "Yeah, I guess it does. Anyway, just sort of being let go isn''t going to happen, so I guess¡­ I''d like to find a way to escape that doesn''t require me to sort air out of people''s lungs. But I just¡­ we tried that? We tried it and it didn''t work and I just don''t know what to do about it."

    "I see," Dr. Carson says. "Well, then I just want to say¡­ we all struggle to find a good answer in desperate situations. My job is not to make the decision for you, Hannah, it is to help you come to terms with whatever decision you make. So when that time comes, I will be here for you. Until then¡­ you are the person who is most knowledgeable about what you''re going through. The only thing I recommend is to decide how you don''t want things to be, and work up from there."

    I don''t want to kill people with Refresh. I don''t. Partially because it feels like I''d be betraying myself, and partially because it feels like the thing the Goddess wants me to do. I want to climb Her walls, not be led around by them. I don''t want to be whatever it is She plans for me to be. So¡­ I need to find another way. That starts with believing there can be another way.

    "Okay, doc," I nod. "Thanks. I''ll¡­ I''ll try to keep up hope."

    "An ever-important skill to develop," she says with a smile. "What else can I help you with today, Hannah?"

    I smile a little, grateful for the change in subject. I know I need to think about this, but I need a break. The ache is enough of a reminder already. So we change the subject, talking a little about how exercise helped but I still don''t have a safe place to do much of it, about various other things magic can do and how it works, and about how Pok¨¦mon Sword and Shield is a sad, soulless shell of the franchise''s former glory. It''s not much, but it helps.

    Near the end of the session, Dr. Carson encourages me to use her personal number if I ever need immediate help again, which I respond to in that usual noncommittal way people use when they know they aren''t going to do something but don''t want to outright admit to it. Unfortunately, Dr. Carson eats attempted deflections for breakfast, and catches mine with the expert ease of a true hunter.

    "In that case, are you interested in increasing the frequency of these sessions to twice a week?" she asks. "Again, there''s no pressure to accept, but you''ve mentioned that these sessions are helpful to you, and it''s my honest opinion that eighty-five minutes a week might be below your current needs."

    "You''re saying I need a lot more therapy," I sigh.

    "I''m saying that I believe structure is helpful to you, and placing things on your schedule acts as a useful way for you to give yourself structure."

    "...Yeah, okay," I mutter. "I¡­ it''s still hard for me, what with the therapy trauma stuff. But¡­ yeah. You''re good at your job, doc. Things feel less impossible after talking to you. And that''s¡­ something, even if it doesn''t last for long."

    "Do you anticipate that you''re going to consider positive change impossible in the near future?" Dr. Carson asks.

    "Oh, definitely," I nod. "Probably in the next few hours, at least. But things won''t be so bad, up until that point. And that''s something."

    "Yes," Dr. Carson says, her face carefully expressionless. "That is something. But I think you can do better, too. Don''t give up, Hannah. Whatever else you may be, you''re still a kind, intelligent girl with limitless potential."

    Limitless potential, huh? Maybe she''s right. ¡­But I doubt it. I don''t think the secret to my escape is some Dragonball-style powerup sequence. Whatever I choose is going to be hard, and it''s going to hurt. And that''s assuming I can even find anything worth choosing in the first place.

    My mom drives me home after our session, Dr. Carson having convinced her to sign me up for therapy on Wednesdays as well. I remember, belatedly, that Alma and I agreed to go on a date today, but we never really agreed on where to go. I text her on the way home, and we decide on a bookstore and dinner. Hard to go wrong with books and food, right?

    My mother doesn''t have many objections to the idea of me hanging out with a female friend for the rest of the day (a fact that would certainly change if she knew I was gay, but hey, that''s part of why I''m in the closet). She does, however, have a lot of questions regarding my plans to sleep somewhere other than home after hanging out. I assure her that it''s a girls-only sleepover (completely true) and that it''s at Ida''s house (completely false, but Ida would back up my lie without even thinking about it so she''s the best choice). The reality is that we''ll be staying at Valerie''s house and attempting to see what sort of magic everyone can enact on me while I sleep.

    I eventually convince mom by lying to her about how well I''m doing at school, though if I stop getting systematically tortured every night I probably will go back to doing well at school so it''s hopefully just a temporary lie. Alma and I have our date soon afterwards, and it goes¡­ okay. The longer it drags on, the more the pain in my soul leaks into everything I try to do. As expected, the exhaustion and ache overwhelms me a few hours into things, and though I have a pretty good time, I''m mostly just going through the motions by the end of things.

    "You''re miserable, aren''t you?" Alma says, sounding¡­ defeated. We''re having dinner, and after dinner we''ll be heading to Valerie''s. I hold down a sigh, scrounging my exhausted brain for a set of words that won''t make her think it''s her fault.

    "...I would be way more miserable if not for the date," I settle on. "Thank you."

    She manages a soft smile, which I hope means I was successful.

    "You''re welcome, I guess," she says. "I just wish I could be any help."

    "Being with me is help enough," I answer. "We''ll figure something out."

    "Yeah," she agrees. "I hope so."

    The drive to Valerie''s house is quiet and awkward, but we make it there all the same. Valerie makes me park my dad''s car in her garage since we live close to each other and she knows I would have had to lie to be allowed to sleep overnight. Then we all head downstairs, finding Ida sitting on the couch and scratching a happy-looking Fartbuns under the chin.

    "What''s up, lovebirds?" Ida greets us. "How was the date?"

    "It was fine," Alma dismisses. "Um, is it just me or is that dog a little different?"

    "Oh yeah," I yawn. "Valerie, how have you and F-buns'' mutations been going?"

    For some reason, Alma looks confused, Valerie looks embarrassed, and Ida absolutely lights up with delight.

    "Valerie!?" she says giddily, and oh fuck that''s right she''s not out yet fuck, fuck, fuck, I''m the worst!

    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

    "Hannah¡­" Valerie sighs.

    "I''m sorry," I blurt. "Sorry, sorry, sorry. I''m so stupid¡­"

    "Fuck yeah, though!" Ida cheers, lifting one hand like she''s doing an imaginary toast. "Valerie''s a cute-ass name. Congrats on hatching!"

    Valerie blinks in surprise.

    "Thanks?" she says.

    "Sorry, what''s going on?" Alma asks awkwardly. "Who''s Valerie?"

    "I''m Valerie," Valerie answers. "I''m trans, apparently."

    "Oh," Alma says. "Okay?"

    "Yo, if you need help with hormones or whatever, I know a girl that can hook you up," Ida says, leaning forwards. "Buuuuut knowing you and Hannah, you''re already taking the magical route, aren''t you?"

    "...We may have attempted an unwise experiment," Valerie admits. "Which is why, yes, Fartbuns is also growing like, four extra legs for some reason? They''re just little nubs right now, but¡­ yeah. He''s getting bigger. But he still seems pretty happy, so I guess it''s not hurting him? No blood yet, either."

    Oh hey, yeah. Now that I''m looking for them, I do spot some extra limb-nubs growing under F-buns'' skin. And looking over Valerie herself¡­ hmm. Yep, that''s some tailbone extension. I think she might be growing a bit of fur, too?

    "Ten bucks on catgirl for Val," Ida says before I can even share my findings.

    "...I hope not," Valerie grumbles. "That would just be stereotypical."

    "Whatever nyou say, nya," Ida teases, curling one hand like a cat''s paw. "Stereotypical doesn''t mean bad."

    "Um¡­ n-no offense regarding the big personal revelation or whatever, but can we focus on saving Hannah?" Alma asks, seeming uncomfortable.

    "Yes, I agree," Valerie says. "I didn''t even want to discuss this in the first place."

    "Sorry," I mutter again.

    "It''s fine," she sighs.

    "You''re so fucking tall, though!" Ida grins, standing up and wiping dog hair off her shorts. "Goddess, I bet your tits are gonna be so huge. Tall girls always get the best racks, I swear. Just, massive fucking dohondonkaroos."

    "Ida, please," I groan.

    "Fine, fine, okay," she relents. "Follow me, Hannah Banana."

    She leads me into a side room, where a mattress is sitting on the floor.

    "This is my mattress," Ida says, "which I figured would be good to bring because if you rip it up in your sleep or we fuck it up with magic somehow, I can just repair it. Plus your whole job in this is to just pass the fuck out, and my bed is super fucking comfy. So. You''re welcome."

    "Uh," I say. It''s kind of weird that Ida brought her entire mattress here, but I suppose her logic makes sense. "Thanks, I guess?"

    I pull off my outer layer of clothes to get a bit more comfortable, though I''m a bit too awkward to undress anywhere near as much as I normally would before sleeping. Flopping onto the bed with most of my limbs free is nice, though, or at least as nice as any physical sensation can hope to be through my all-encompassing pain.

    "So," Valerie declares. "Here''s the situation. When Hannah falls asleep, she wakes up in the other world at the moment she would have woken up normally, regardless of how much time has passed here. This happens both treeside and earthside; if Hannah naps here for only a minute, she can still be awake in the other world for a full day. The time doesn''t match or synch up. And that means that Hannah will receive the effects of our spells at somewhat unpredictable times in the other world. She won''t know what she''s going to get or when. Our best way around this is to establish a plan in advance for what spells we''ll be casting in what order, so Hannah can at least know what magic is going to activate, if not at what time. But the problem with that is that we don''t know when our plan''s keystone will kick in on our end."

    "Why not?" Alma asks. "What''s our keystone?"

    "It''s Jet," Valerie answers bluntly, making Alma frown. "I have a bunch of ideas to try today, but frankly I don''t think they''re better ideas than the ones I tried the first time around. And even though Ida''s spell has a lot of potential to help out while Hannah is in the other world, the strongest option we have is absolutely Jet. Her remove-from-attention spell seems to fit the criteria of a spell that would transfer between worlds, and it''d be an invaluable spell for creating a condition where Hannah can escape. If she can activate it on Hannah¡­ well, our plan is basically to have her do that all night, if she''s able. Then we support Hannah with buffs that might help her break out of her cage while people hopefully forget she even exists."

    "Oh," Alma says softly. "So¡­ I guess I can''t help at all, can I?"

    Oh, crap.

    "Alma, of course you can help," I assure her, quickly sitting up. "I''m terrified and in pain and just having you here while I try to sleep will¡ª"

    "No Less Than Perfect," Ida interrupts, pushing me back down onto the bed as a glorious sensation of painlessness pulses through my body. "Here''s an idea, Alma: how about you help by not saying things to make the situation about you?"

    "Wh¡ªIda!" I protest, snapping back to attention. "Don''t be a jerk to my girlfriend!"

    "Oh, sorry Alma," Ida says with false sweetness, staring her dead in the eyes. "Was that uncalled for?"

    She doesn''t ask it like it''s an attempt at an apology, of course. She asks it as a genuine challenge. And the way Alma flinches and looks away says a lot about what she thinks the answer is.

    "Cool, so let''s all shut up and let Hannah try to sleep," Ida declares. "And if you have any tricks for swapping to your alter on purpose, it''d be swell if you could do that, Alma. I get it''s not always that easy, but it''s something only you can do. Alright?"

    "...Alright," Alma murmurs quietly.

    "Cool," Ida grunts, flopping down into a chair near my head. "You want any more healing pulses to deal with the pain, Hannah, you let me know. Whatever gets you sleepy."

    "...I''m going to get some last-minute art done," Valerie declares, heading to the room''s exit. "Come get me when she''s unconscious."

    Alma says nothing, just sitting awkwardly on the side of the bed and taking a few deep breaths. I kind of wish Valerie would just use a sleep spell on me or something, but I hardly ever have trouble falling asleep and we agreed it''d probably be more efficient for her to focus on spells that might help get me out of the situation. Now that I''m actually here, though, lying on someone else''s mattress in someone else''s house with two other people in the room, I''m finding sleep somewhat difficult. Not because it''s not comfortable, but because it''s very comfortable. It''s safe. I''m surrounded by the people who care about me most, all of them working to help me as best they can. I''m not in pain for the first time in far too long. And all of it, every last comfort and speck of beauty, will vanish the moment I lose consciousness.

    I know I''ll have to face it eventually. The torture, the pain, the cage, the cultists. I have to go from this wonderful house full of friends to an agonizing dungeon full of pain. The contrast makes the blade all the sharper, and I dread the moment it inevitably comes for my neck. I know I have to do this. I know I do. But I can''t. I can''t face that willingly. We already failed this once, why would we think we wouldn''t fail again? Worse, what if the cultists figure out how to do the same thing!? What if they attack my friends through me?

    "No Less Than Perfect," Ida invokes again, a pulse of warmth and stability flowing through my panicked mind as the Goddess briefly descends to speak the words. Huh. It even calms panic attacks. That''s neat. Still, a new sleeping strategy is in order.

    "Hey, Alma?" I say quietly.

    "Yep," she mutters. "Still Alma. Sorry."

    "I think I know something you can do for me," I say, a blush starting to lightly form on my cheeks.

    "Yeah?" she asks.

    "I, um. I could really use a hug."

    Kagiso always finds it easier to sleep when she''s wrapped around me, and I have to admit I''ve gotten used to the same. Just¡­ some level of comfort that won''t go away until the final moment I''m whisked away is what I need.

    "...Okay," Alma agrees, scooting onto the bed more and lying down, letting me wrap my limbs around her. She''s a different kind of soft from Kagiso, for sure, but certainly a pleasant kind. It''s not so bad being normal sized, big enough to do the smothering instead of being the one smothered. I ignore the eye-roll I can see Ida doing with my spatial sense and squeeze my girlfriend just a little tighter. I''ll be okay. I can do this.

    I can do this, right?

    The tears start to fall, and I bury my face in Alma''s shoulder to hide them. I can''t do this. I know I can''t do this. I''ll screw it up somehow. Not good enough, I remind myself, and the Goddess smiles. Not good enough. Not good enough. Not good enough.

    "I don''t want to go," I whisper.

    Alma tenses up, slowly reaching up to pull off the hat she uses to hide her droopy, triangular ears.

    "I don''t want to go either," she whispers back, her body curling up a little. Her tail, I realize suddenly, is still. "I want to stay with you. I want to be by your side, always."

    I don''t have the mental strength left to care that she''s blocked her headmate out of an intimate moment. In fact, I can''t think of a better use. I don''t want Jet here right now either. I just want to hold my girlfriend and be okay.

    "Would you come with me?" I ask. "If you could?"

    "In a heartbeat," she confirms. "To another world, to another life¡­ it doesn''t matter. I''ll follow you anywhere."

    "I thought you didn''t want to leave your dad," I mumble, the familiar feeling of being held starting to lull me to sleep.

    "I don''t want to leave him for Jet," she answers. "But I''ll leave him for you. Nothing matters, as long as I have you."

    "That doesn''t¡­ sound like a healthy thing to say," I comment groggily.

    "Well, we''re already having a secret tryst behind our family''s backs," Alma says soothingly, cupping my face in her hands. "And you''re slowly changing my body into something terrifying outside my control."

    "Alma¡­" I whisper sadly.

    "I think it''s okay," she tells me quietly, "if our relationship is a little unhealthy. I don''t think it was ever going to be anything else. But I''ll make it work. For you."

    "Alma¡ª!"

    And then she kisses me. Slow yet still sudden, she pulls herself into my lips, a beautiful and intimate pressure. A cacophony of new sensations, from the softness of her face to the cool wetness of her saliva, from the warm pressure of her body against mine to the increasingly-uncomfortable presence of a third wheel sitting at the head of the bed, it is beautiful and it is lovely and it is messy and it is strange. But that is, perhaps, who we are at our core. I, the monster. The spider. The burrower, hiding myself from head to toe in fear of the world. And her, the chimera. The fragment. The broken amalgam, hoping desperately that with this piece, she''ll finally fit together.

    I don''t know if it''s love or fear, but I want her with me. I want her with me so desperately. To have someone in that horrible place who actually cares¡­ it matters more than anything. Just like her, I wish I didn''t have to be two separate halves, two unrelated lives. I wish I could just be one, true me, with everyone I care about all at once.

    And so the Goddess hears my prayer, and She smiles.

    I am a bridge between worlds, She reminds me. It''s only natural that I would have the ability to offer passage. And in that moment, drowning in that horrible sense of need, I don''t even care that Her words are poison. I want it too badly, and I''m not good enough to resist.

    I wake up inside a cage, and Alma''s screams don''t matter because nothing does.

    Madaline sits where she usually sits. I sit where I always sit. Our food and drink are here, and while someone helped Madaline eat, my meal sits untouched because I do not care about it. And while I know I care about Alma, I know it should matter as I watch her pick herself up off the floor next to my cage, swearing to herself in obvious animal panic, I can''t bring myself to act. I can''t even bring myself to want to act. It''s all too¡­ detached, like it''s all happening in the background of a television show I''m mostly tuning out.

    "Hannah!?" Alma shouts in panic. "Hannah!?"

    But I don''t answer. I don''t know how to answer. I am nothing. Alma spots my cage and recoils in horror at what she sees inside, not recognizing me. But it doesn''t matter. Alma sees Madaline, spaced out and unresponsive, and she starts hyperventilating harder. But it doesn''t matter. And when guards rush into the room with weapons, shouting at her and threatening her and making demands, that doesn''t matter either.

    I can do nothing to help her, because I do not exist.

    "LEAVE ME ALONE!" Alma shouts, and when one of the guards rushes forwards he runs headlong into the wall of her invisible house, blocked off from approaching any further. As he recovers from the shock, Alma is already rushing down invisible stairs, moving straight through the floor as she staggers from the throes of a panic attack. The guards call for backup, the building seems to go on high alert with everyone running around like angry ants, and Hagoro rushes in to guard me and wake up Madaline.

    None of it matters. Until, of course, it does. Then I start screaming and having a panic attack.

    "Oh Goddess Oh Goddess Oh Goddess," I cry, trying not to vomit.

    "What did you do!?" Hagoro demands.

    "Fuck you!" I shout back. "Don''t you dare hurt her!"

    My torturer strides into the room, his face the quiet sort of livid that collects on someone too composed to shout.

    "What happened?" he asks. "I heard there was an intruder in this room?"

    "Sir!" one of the guards that tried to attack Alma reports. "Yes, sir. It was a human woman. Pale skin, lighter-than-normal hair, but not like you''d expect from someone with albinism. Oddly-shaped ears, maybe Transmutation-related? Dressed strangely, too. Never seen clothes like that before."

    "Her spells?" my torturer presses.

    "Barrier-Pneuma-Light, sir!" the second guard answers. "Not sure what she can do, but she demonstrated a semistandard barrier and then walked clean through the floor."

    "...Walking through solid objects with Barrier, Pneuma, and Light?" my torturer frowns. "Maybe the Light aspect¡­? Hmm. Any incantations?"

    "None, sir!"

    "I see. Well, what matters is that this room stays secure. Capturing her is a secondary priority to maintaining control of the Founder''s Kin, understand? Don''t have everyone running around trying to catch a matter phaser. Set a trap and return the rest of the guards here."

    "Yes sir!"

    "Now then," he says, turning to glower at me. "We still have to deal with you."

    "Don''t you dare hurt her," I threaten, my back legs rubbing together with an eldritch hiss. "I''ll kill you. Don''t think for a fucking second that I can''t!"

    "Oh, I don''t doubt you can," he agrees, approaching the cage. "I''m sure you''ve got it all figured out now, plans churning away in that apocalyptic little brain of yours. Which is why I''m going to figure you out before you can act on any of it. Even Magic Dies."

    I shudder, my spatial sense briefly winking out before coming back all on its own. If my friends had casted any spells on me, they would be gone now. ¡­But they haven''t yet. I''m asleep, but my friends haven''t helped me at all. Either they can''t, or¡­ well. They''re probably busy freaking out because Alma suddenly disappeared.

    She felt so small, when I pulled her through my soul. Like a speck of dust in a raging river. And now she''s here, at the river''s mouth, and the teeth are closing around her. I asked for this. I''m the worst person imaginable.

    I deserve the torture that''s about to happen to me.

    "Vitae Vivisection," the Goddess croons, my torturer reaching inside me with more force than ever before. The screams start immediately, and they don''t stop for hours and hours and hours.

    When I wake up back in Valerie''s house, my throat still feels raw. My cheek is also sore as hell, which I realize is because a heavily-breathing Ida just slapped me across the face. It''s the least composed I''ve ever seen her before, a wild-eyed look of terror from a girl suddenly finding herself no longer in control. I suppose I shouldn''t judge, though, since my face is probably worse.

    "Oh my god, Hannah, are you awake?" Valerie demands, her massive form towering above where I lie on the bed. "What happened?"

    "Goddess," I say automatically, my brain still rebooting from pain and terror.

    "What happened!?" she demands again. "Where''s Autumn?"

    "I¡­ she''s¡­ she''s in the other world," I answer, agony twisting my insides with every movement. "I took her to the other world! And then I got tortured unconscious! Oh Goddess oh fuck, she could be anywhere! Anything could be happening to her! I just pulled her into hell and left her there!"

    "No Less Than Perfect!" The Goddess shouts with Ida''s lips, the fog of my terror lifting momentarily as I get a fleeting instant to be free of pain¡­ though it quickly returns in full force, since I passed out during the torture session. "Hannah, calm the fuck down! Is there anything you could have done?"

    "I-I don''t know," I breathe. "Maybe? Probably? I was trapped under Madaline''s spell for most of it, but the rest was just me doing nothing because I''m a useless idiot and I freak out at every little thing and I wasn''t thinking at all¡ª"

    A smack rings out through the room as Ida slaps me again.

    "It''s a lot easier to hit you than heal you, you know!" she snaps.

    "Ida!" Valerie shouts. "You''re not helping."

    "Bitch, I am always helping. Now both of you focus. Did you pull her through on purpose, Hannah?"

    "I¡­ kind of?" I admit, shame flooding me.

    "So does that mean you can do it again?" she asks.

    "Maybe?" I say. "Probably? I''ve gotta be able to bring her back, I¡­ oh fuck, I need to bring her back! I need to fall back asleep, I need¡ª"

    "No, stop," Valerie says, putting a hand on my shoulder. "You need to not fall asleep."

    "What?" I ask, dumbfounded. "But I have to save her! I have to go help her!"

    "No, tallgirl is right," Ida agrees, her eyes flicking around to focus on everything and nothing. "The same amount of time passes regardless of when you pass out here, right? At this point you can only fuck it up even more by going to sleep when we aren''t prepared."

    "Are we not prepared!?" I demand, my voice rising to a shriek. "Didn''t we all gather here in the first place because we''re prepared!?"

    "We were prepared to support you from this universe," Valerie grunts. "We were not at all prepared to travel to another universe and raid a cultist base. I need¡­ so many new drawings."

    "What!? No!" I protest. "No way! I am not bringing you to that horrible hellhole! You''ll die!"

    "You don''t really have a fucking choice, Hannah!" Ida shouts. "You kind of teleported our plan A to that hellhole while you were snogging her to sleep! And unless you''ve been fucking holding out on us, you''re still in the torture cage! What are you gonna do, huh? Moan about how much it hurts some more?"

    "Ida, back the fuck off!" Valerie demands. "She knows she fucked up, you don''t have to be such a bitch about it!"

    "Oh, I know she knows," Ida fires back. "And that''s exactly why I''ve gotta be a bitch. If I try to coddle her ass, she won''t believe a word I say. Nor should she. Now own the fuck up, Hannah: you need us. We have been carrying your ass this entire way and I will slap your tits off if you try to get me to drop you before the finish line again. I told you, bitch. I''m all-in. I am going to find the motherfucker doing this to you and I am going to make him suffer before he dies."

    Ida glowers at me, her fists clenched and shaking. She looks furious, and seeing her anything less than fully composed is a little terrifying all on its own.

    "Ida, I¡­" I gulp. "I''m sorry, I just¡­ sorry."

    "Shut the fuck up, Hannah," Ida growls, stomping towards the exit of the room. "I can''t believe everything went tits up before we could even start. And now I have to fucking rescue your fucking monogamous bitch of a girlfriend!"

    "Wait, where are you going?" Valerie asks.

    "I''m getting prepared!" Ida shouts back, heading to the stairs. "You''d better start doing the same! And keep spider-girl awake!"

    The front door slams shut soon afterwards, Ida''s car starting up and pulling out of the driveway. I sit up, staring helplessly down at my hands.

    "What¡­ what should I do now?" I ask. "To get ready."

    Valerie hesitates a moment, looking rather overwhelmed herself.

    "I¡­ guess you should probably practice the spell you''ll need to use to send us to the other wo¡­ hmm. No, actually, that might be a bad idea. Ida said you fell unconscious right when Autumn disappeared, and we couldn''t wake you up for at least a full minute. It''s possible that using the spell knocks you out, which would be¡­ bad."

    "Ah," I say. "Yeah, that makes sense."

    "I guess you just¡­ stay awake," Valerie shrugs. "You want an energy drink or something?"

    "I guess so," I agree absently. "I''m not sure they work on me anymore, but if I end up getting poisoned that''ll probably keep me awake too."

    I get up off the bed, not liking how tired I already am. It''s not even that late at night; the sun had barely set when I started trying to sleep and it''s not much later after that. I''ll have to stay awake for however long it takes for Valerie and Ida to get ready, and I have nothing productive I can do to help. I just¡­ have to wait.

    I make it barely two hours before I can''t stand it anymore. I''m too antsy, and if anything my jitters are just making it more difficult for Valerie to prepare. I end up driving home and, in the absence of anything better to spend my time doing, I get the insane idea to try streaming.

    It''s not a bad plan, really. I just need something to pass the time, and while the idea of playing games in a crisis situation like this is revolting to me, I''ve managed to fool myself into thinking streaming is a job before, and I can fool myself into thinking it again. I haven''t streamed all week, what with the exhaustion and torture and stuff, so it''s technically even work I''m behind on. Hardly anyone is actually going to watch my stream since it''s not normal streaming hours for me (or for much of anyone, really) but that doesn''t matter. All that really matters is that I''m immensely exhausted, and I cannot under any circumstances let myself fall asleep.

    It''s agony. It''s a shit stream. But it does pass the time, and when the sun starts to rise I shut things down and move on to distracting myself in other ways, instead. My mother made me promise to be home from the sleepover before church, and she would have had a freakout if I failed to keep that promise, but if I get ready and make breakfast for her before she''s even up, that''ll win me some favor and likely spare me a nasty conversation or two. So breakfast it is, my soul throbbing with every Refresh I cast to mix the batter or clean the counter.

    This is¡­ insane. It''s all insane. I''m doing my routine while my girlfriend is being tormented in who-knows-how-many ways, all of which is my fault. This is not right. I should not be doing this. But I have nothing else I can do, because the routine is all I am. I''m just a slave to the ruts my brain has dug. I should run away the moment we save Alma. I shouldn''t be around people. I shouldn''t be.

    Breakfast happens. The drive to church happens. We pull into the parking lot and walk inside, and to my horror I spot J-mug and a woman I recognize to be his mother mingling with the other people in our congregation. I duck into an obscure corner of the room, desperately hoping they don''t see me. My eyes droop, but I can''t sleep. I can''t. I have to wait, to let my friends get the opportunity to fix my fuckups. Just like always.

    My phone buzzes in my pocket.

    Ignoring standard church etiquette, I pull it out in an instant, fumbling with the screen as I read the text.

    ready, Ida says. back at tallgirl''s house. where r u

    I''m at church, I answer. Not sure I can leave before it''s done?

    r u serious???

    I grimace, not sure what to say. I should go, but I don''t have a car and my family would freak out, but I should go though, Ida and Valerie are waiting for me, but I don''t have a good way to leave¡­

    "Hey, it''s you!" a woman''s voice calls out in my direction. "My little angel!"

    ¡­What? I look up from my phone in horror, spotting J-mom walking towards me, her eyes implying a big smile behind her tightly-secured facemask. She''s a tall woman, thin and frail-looking but with the boisterous attitude of someone used to being a lot more fit than she currently is. J-mug trails behind her, looking frightened and almost¡­ guilty? That''s probably bad.

    "I''m so glad I caught you!" J-mom practically gleams. "I just have to thank you."

    "Mom, I told you she doesn''t want people talking about it¡­" J-Mug whines behind her.

    "Nonsense!" his mother insists. "She worked an honest-to-God miracle, the doctors said so! The church should know they have a prophet in their midst!"

    A lot of eyes are on us now, over half the congregation. I am¡­ absolutely dumbfounded. Is this woman really this stupid¡­?

    "Thank you," she says, bowing low. "Truly. The gifts you gave me saved my life, even before you saved my house as well. I owe you everything."

    What? What? Is she serious? She owes me everything and she doesn''t even have the basic common sense to respect what I asked of her? I am struck speechless by this¡­ absolute insanity. What is going on?

    "Hannah?" my mother asks, approaching with a mix of curiosity and concern. "What''s she talking about? What happened, exactly?"

    "Your daughter is chosen by God," the woman insists. "She has the gift of healing."

    "Mom, stop, please¡­" J-mug begs. "M-miss Hannah, I''m so sorry, I didn''t know she was going to do this¡­"

    "Ma''am, I understand you''ve been through a lot recently, but I''d appreciate it if you wouldn''t harass my daughter," my mother says with a practiced smile. "I think you''re overwhelming her with your¡­ claims."

    "They''re not just claims," the woman insists. "I mean it. The doctors all know it''s a miracle. There''s no other way to explain it. They have a recording of her doing it on the monitor footage."

    What.

    ¡­What!?

    "Monitor¡­ footage?" I squeak.

    "Yep!" she confirms. "I saw it myself! And Jared witnessed it too, didn''t you?"

    For some reason, I''m not sure why, I feel the beginning of a laugh bubbling up in my chest.

    "Mom, I really don''t think we should be talking about this," Jared whines. "That footage was pretty grainy and it didn''t really show¡­ some important bits."

    My claws, maybe? Does the footage not show my claws? Just fuzzy weird fingers? Goddess, like that even matters. I sucked like a pound of bacteria out of an open wound and then collapsed into a sobbing wreck. I cured what was probably an incurable disease. I''m fucked. I''m completely and totally fucked.

    "...I''ve been fucked for weeks," I realize, and the laughs start to come out in full force. "I''ve been putting myself through all this shit for nothing, because I''ve been fucked for weeks! Aaahahaha!"

    "...Hannah?" my mother asks. "What are you¡ª"

    "Shut up!" I snap. "Just¡­ shut up! You don''t get to know! You don''t get to be in control of this one. Nobody does!"

    Goddess it feels dreadfully good to say that. Instinctively I cringe in terror and regret the moment it comes out of my mouth, but¡­ really, do I have to care anymore? Do I have to care what she thinks? It''s over. My life is over and there''s nothing she can do about it. She has no power over me. None. Everything is broken and now I''m finally free.

    "Your little angel," I hiss at the stupid fucking woman whose life I saved. "Sorry ma''am, but you''re barking up the wrong tree with that one."

    I take off my glove, tossing it onto the floor. I''ll find some other way to use my touch screen, who even cares. Everyone is staring now. Who even cares.

    "I am not an angel," I tell her, tossing my other glove away.

    "I am not a follower of your bigoted mess of a god," I snap, my jacket following. The back of my shirt strains and tears as I pull out my blade limbs, causing the whole room to take a step back. I laugh again, tossing my mask aside too. Let them see my claws, my fangs, my blades. It doesn''t fucking matter. I have actually important things to do, away from this horrible, stifling place.

    "And I may not know what the fuck I am, but it sure isn''t anything any of you want me to be!" I declare, kicking my shoes off for good measure. "Now get out of my way! I''ve gotta go save my girlfriend."

    No one stops me as I step forward, and I take a little too much pleasure in the horrified look on my family''s faces as I pass them without another word. I walk out of church, and the moment my claws touch concrete I start to run.

    I don''t even need a car to get back to Valerie''s house. I''m pretty damn fast.

 53. No Less Than Perfect

    It''s perversely delightful to watch the whole congregation freak out and turn on each other in the brief moments I get to see with my spatial sense before running off. My mother seems to turn on J-Mom, demanding an explanation and likely trying to blame her for everything, but the congregation looks like it turns on my mom and dad, expecting them to have some idea of what''s going on with their daughter. They don''t, of course, and I can''t help but giggle a little as I watch my parents flail in confusion. I feel a little bad for my dad, but¡­ only a little.

    A couple people briefly try to follow me out of the church, but I leave them in the dust easily, sprinting down the sidewalk at speeds comparable to cars on the road. Holy crap, I must be going at least thirty miles an hour! I could probably go even faster if I had the traction, but my chitinous feet scrabble a little on the hard ground. I could make traction if I wanted to; just a little Spacial Rend and every footstep will have holes for my claws made from the simple act of my claws hitting the ground. Buuuut as cool as that would be, it would needlessly destroy city infrastructure and also leave a trail of holes all the way to Valerie''s house, and I''m¡­ probably about to start attracting significant attention even without that.

    Even with all the outer layers I shucked off in church, I''m still mostly covered up. My feet, my hands, and most of all my extra limbs are the noticeably inhuman bits, and I could probably pass it all off as a weird costume if I wasn''t breaking the human on-foot land speed record. Er¡­ well, I would be breaking the human on-foot land speed record if I was still human, anyway. But I guess I''m not, so¡­ I''m not.

    Uh. Anyway, I should probably let Ida and Valerie know I''m on the way. I pull out my phone and¡­ oh, right. I threw my gloves off dramatically back at church. ¡­Maybe I can like, use Refresh to work the touch screen somehow? Can I Refresh an electrostatic charge? My Space affinity doesn''t play nice with electromagnetics, but Refresh is an Order spell, so maybe? Hmm. Actually, I''d probably break my phone somehow if I tried this. Something to experiment on later, or maybe I should just do the smart thing and get a metal stylus. In the meantime, I guess I just have to try to run a little faster.

    Valerie''s house isn''t very far away from my church, so it only takes about ten minutes of sprinting to make it there. People definitely stare at me when I run by, and I spot at least a few videos being taken¡­ but it doesn''t matter. What point is there in keeping my life sane and stable after accidentally pulling my girlfriend into another universe? That''s my official limit, apparently. I rush up the stairs of Val''s house, smack my thumb into the doorbell, and grin as Ida answers the door. She glowers at me at first, but her face quickly morphs into surprise.

    "Wait, did you¡­?" she asks, noticing me panting heavily. Ida''s dressed more practically than I''ve ever seen her before: cargo pants and a heavy, military-style jacket bulging with tools and supplies.

    "Yeah," I confirm. "Ran all the way back. Dramatically revealed my demonic form to the Christian congregation. Let my horrific bladed spider legs taste the fresh kiss of the wind. You know, hot girl stuff."

    "Holy shit. Yeah. Hot girl stuff," Ida agrees, a wild grin on her face. "Well, you look kinda refreshed. Which is good, because we''ve got some cultists to kill."

    She pulls me inside as my smile abruptly shatters, a refreshing new panic blooming in my chest. If I''m dragging my friends into this¡­ it means I''m going to turn them into killers. I''m going to force them to face the horrors I''ve had to face. Can I really do that to my friends? Can I make them do that for me?

    "Oh, that''s more of a Hannah expression," Ida sighs. "What dumb thing are you thinking about now?"

    "I just¡­ are you really okay with killing people for me?" I ask. "I mean, have you ever¡­ I assume you haven''t ever¡­ y''know. And it''s just. It''s not how you think it is. It''s much, much harder."

    "Mmm," Ida hums, dropping down the stairs two at a time. "Yeah, but you still like, at least mostly function, and I''m way better at compartmentalizing than you are, so I''ll probably be fine."

    "Um," I manage.

    "Hey Valerie!" Ida shouts as we make it to the bottom. "Hannah''s worried you''re gonna get traumatized when you murder someone!"

    "I mean, yeah?" my best friend shouts back. "Probably? I kind of figured that going into this."

    "See, there you go," Ida shrugs. "Quit hogging all the PTSD for yourself. It''s rude."

    "I mean, does it really count as PTSD if¡ª"

    "YES!" Ida and Valerie both shout at me. I close my mouth. Well fine, if they''re going to be like that.

    "I''ve got my spells set up and ready," Valerie nods. "I''m going to start with a defensive shield thing that should protect us as we transfer over, and then¡­ well, you transfer us over and we improvise from there, basically. The shield should give us enough time to weather whatever ambush they''ll probably have set up and hopefully give us time to get you out of your cage, but there''s obviously no guarantees."

    "Yeah, sorry, I don''t even know what kind of magic the guards have, other than Hagoro," I say. "We could definitely all die."

    "We''ll be fine," Ida sighs. "Well, you and I will be fine. I still don''t know if I can heal Val. Maybe if she pledges her eternal service to me or something?"

    "Yeah, I can heal myself, thanks," Valerie scowls. "I think we''re as ready as we''re going to get without risking Hannah falling asleep on her own. Let''s get you somewhere to lie down in case casting makes you pass out."

    "Uh¡­ yeah, okay," I agree hesitantly. "Are you sure you guys don''t need a little more time to¡ª"

    Ida shoves me into the room with her mattress and I end up tripping and falling face-first onto the bed. Rude! I pick myself up with my extra limbs and do a quick hop, flipping around to land on my back this time so I can scowl at her. She just flashes me her usual shit-eating grin.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Arwin''s Ablative Barrier."

    A translucent shell pops into being around us, making everything outside it look just a little fuzzy.

    "Alright," Valerie nods. "It''s active. Hopefully it''ll remain active when we get there, if not¡­ I''ll talk fast."

    "Okay. Uh. Sounds good," I nod, holding one hand out to each friend. "I''m not¡­ totally sure how this spell works, but I''ll see what I can figure out. Both of you hold on, okay?"

    They nod, and we all clasp hands like we''re traveling to a magical realm of dreams and wonders in an old children''s TV show. Except, y''know, my magical fantasy land is one of torture and death and trained warriors prepared for our arrival that will likely spell our certain doom. But what other choice do we have? This is a bad idea. I know it''s a bad idea. But we have to try something.

    So I focus as hard as I can on the feeling of pulling Alma between worlds, and just let myself ride it. The need to have her with me, the twisting of space as I pulled her into my soul, dropped her into the other world¡­ there. I feel it. The bridge within me. Infinitely long and infinitely short. Massive beyond comprehension. A tunnel for worlds. A soul that is one billion parts passageway and only one tiny measly part Hannah. But that one little part still acts as the gatekeeper. So I open the door, and Ida vanishes from my grasp.

    Only Ida.

    I open my eyes in a panic, barely managing to confirm my fear before my eyelids flutter closed, heavy with sudden, overwhelming exhaustion. Ida moves through me, and I have to be there to let her out at the other end.

    "Hannah?" Valerie yelps. "Hannah!? Hey! Ida''s gone! Cast again!"

    "Sorry," I mumble, or at least I think I mumble. I''m not sure if I even stay awake that long, and the next thing I know I''m in the other world. My eyes don''t open, for they''re always open, and my spatial sense takes in the state of the room immediately. Ida stands next to me, and Hagoro stands in front of her, impaling her through the heart with a spear.

    Hagoro

    is

    impaling

    Ida

    with

    a

    spear.

    He''s not even the only person in here. More guards are ready, two in the room and more beyond the door. But I don''t really have the capacity to pay attention to them, not with every part of my consciousness burning at the sight of the blade through Ida''s heart, the fountain of blood leaking out of her chest, into her chest, seeping between the cracks of her organs and pooling within her ribcage. She convulses slightly, a mouthful of blood cascading down her chin. I need to cast something, I need to get her blood moving, I need to do something, but I''m weak and useless and in shock and I just¡­ I just¡­!

    "Surely you knew we would be ready for this," Hagoro says, as Ida pulls a gun out of her jacket and shoots him three times in the chest.

    The shots are deafening, the explosions within the compact handgun pounding unsilenced against the walls of the room. A gun. A gun. Ida brought a gun to a fantasy world. Wielding it one-handed and only half-conscious, the bullets fly a little wild but still manage to find their mark at nearly point-blank range. Hagoro stumbles backwards, dropping his weapon, which falls out of Ida''s chest in a wet squelch and clatters to the ground. Shock and surprise cover his face as he, too, starts bleeding¡­ though from much less fatal wounds. The bullets passed clean through his plate armor, but for some reason they only barely penetrate his skin, catching on the bones of his ribcage without breaking them. How the hell is he so durable? ¡­Wait. Barrier magic opposes Motion magic. And I''m immune to mundane heat because I oppose Heat magic.

    Is¡­ is Hagoro just resistant to all impacts? Oh my Goddess that is absolute fucking bullshit. Wait, I don''t have time to think about this.

    "Refresh!" I and the Goddess shout, forcing oxygenated blood back into Ida''s brain. She blinks, the glassiness in her eyes vanishing quickly. But the rest of the room isn''t idle, and Hagoro knows exactly what to do when faced with a dangerous, unknown ranged attack.

    "Zone of Law¡ª"

    "No Less¡ª"

    As she speaks, Ida quickly fires three more shots¡ªone miss and two hits¡ªthat down the other two guards.

    "¡ªBan Projectiles!"

    "¡ªThan Perfect!"

    Ida and Hagoro both reach for the ground, Ida tossing her gun slightly behind herself as she lunges for Hagoro''s spear. Her wound¡ªand the damage to her outfit¡ªall rapidly fixes itself, a feral snarl on my friend''s face as she manages to snatch the spear at the same time as Hagoro, barely holding the speartip back from her throat as Hagoro forces her backwards with his superior size and strength.

    "Spacial Rend!" the Goddess happily roars, letting power ignite on each and every one of my limbs, attacking my cage with reckless fury. The barrier magic holds, though, repelling my claws. But not perfectly. I can break out. I have to.

    "Ida!" I scream. "Hang on!"

    "You fucking thought!" Ida cackles, a mad, bloodstained grin on her face. "I do not die, motherfucker!"

    "I have no idea what insane things you''re trying to say in that alien language, and I do not care," Hagoro answers with a snarl, his strength forcing her to take another couple of steps back as they fight for control of the spear.

    "Oooh, wacky fantasy words!" Ida continues to grin, despite how her hands start to slip on the spear''s shaft, still slick with her blood. "Well, let me put this in a way you torturing, limp-dicked bastards can understand. You want to hurt my friends? You want to kill me?"

    The other guards burst into the room, and Ida steps to the side, losing more ground to put Hagoro between her and the new enemies.

    "Fine, then," she hisses. "Come And Have A Go, If You Think You''re Hard Enough."

    And they do understand that. The name of a spell is meaning incarnate, the line between a sophont''s words and the divine''s intuition. An ant, straining to describe the taste of the fruit they eat. Hagoro and the other cultists may not know the words, but they feel the challenge and the raw, unbridled arrogance just in time for Ida to suddenly twist the spear out of Hagoro''s grasp, flip it a hundred and eighty degrees, and stab him through the neck.

    I am pretty darn sure Ida did not know how to use a spear like that five seconds ago, but I suppose that''s the nature of her magic. I remember her talking about a spell that lets her win competitions, all the way back when she was first figuring out what she could do. I guess ''fighting for my life'' qualifies as something she can beat someone at.

    Lo and behold, Hagoro''s spear is enchanted, so it somehow passes into him even more easily than the bullets. Whooping in victory, Ida quickly stabs him again before moving on to his allies, twisting away from some kind of spatial distortion before stabbing its creator with unnatural precision. The second guard just grabs Hagoro and helps pull him away, both of them desperately trying to heal the wounded as Ida stacks a third corpse into the room. They flee, shouting warnings and setting alarms to blare as Ida turns her attention to me. With Hagoro''s spear attacking from the outside and my Spacial Rend attacking from the inside, we manage to finally crack open my cage. I''m free!

    "Holy shit, Hannah, you are fucking hideous," Ida chuckles, retrieving her gun and swapping out for a fresh¡­ magazine? Cartridge? I have no idea, I know nothing about guns. She replaces her ammo. "Guess tallgirl didn''t make it? Hoo boy, that was pretty wild. I''ve never been stabbed in the heart before."

    Someone suddenly appears in the room and lunges at me with a knife, to which I respond with jabbing my own knives through their face in two different places, letting their head fall to the floor in pieces. Oh Goddess, that scared the shit out of me! That''s¡­ that''s my first kill of the day, then. First of many, probably. It feels cold, and it feels easy. Almost¡­ satisfying. Some level of revenge for the pain I endured here. I hate it. I shouldn''t feel this way. It''s wrong. Ida blinks at the sudden carnage, chuckling humorlessly.

    "Right, okay, less talky, more escapy," she babbles. "Uh¡­ which way."

    That''s a very good question, which I don''t know the answer to. You know what? Fuck it.

    "Miracle Eye," I declare, hoping to hell that it''s a better name than ''Extrasensory,'' or at least good enough. And¡­ well, the Goddess actually said it, so I guess it worked? The Goddess shrugs. It''s a sensory spell. Sensory spells usually get boring names. Sindri wouldn''t have been alive to meet me if the Goddess was too picky about boring names. Which, uh, is something that gives me rather mixed feelings, but that was probably why She said it. Bitch.

    The Goddess sticks her tongue out playfully and I do my best to ignore her, focusing instead on the nearly doubled range of my spatial sense¡­ or I guess my ''Miracle Eye,'' technically, although I still think that sounds kind of stupid. Should I have gone with Extrasensory¡­? Whatever, too late, it doesn''t matter. I need to find Alma. I rapidly search through every room, mostly just finding a kicked beehive of cultists, but¡­ wait, there!

    It''s not Alma, but it''s still pretty damn good. Helen rests in a cell a few floors below us, shackled with manacles and guarded by¡ª

    "Aura Sight!"

    ¡ªfour Order mages, two of which are also Matter-aligned. I''ve definitely got to rescue Helen, partly because she''s my friend and partly just because she''s absolutely terrifying and she can probably carve this complex open like a tin can.

    "We''re going down," I tell Ida.

    "What?" she asks.

    "We''re going down!" I repeat, this time in English, jumping out of my destroyed cage and onto the floor. With Spacial Rend active, my extended blades pierce clean through the ground, and all I need to do is spin to open up a large hole in the floor, dropping down to the floor below.

    "Woah, okay," Ida says, jumping down after me. I quickly drop us two more floors with the same method, then move to carve a hole in the exit to the room.

    "Are you ready to shoot some people?" I ask.

    "That is indeed why I brought a gun," Ida confirms.

    "Okay, there''s four guards in the room we''re going to infiltrate, three people in a nearby room, and two people running down the stairs towards us. That way, that way, and that way."

    I point with three different limbs.

    "There''s also a curly-haired girl kneeling in one of the cells," I tell her. "That''s Helen. Don''t shoot her. We''re saving her."

    "What about Alma?" Ida asks.

    Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.

    "I don''t see Alma yet. We''ll have to keep looking as we move around. I''ll take the guards in the room, you deal with reinforcements?"

    "Roger wilco."

    I rend open a hole in the wall for Ida and leap through the fourth dimension to pass through walls and flank from a different direction. With just the tips of each foot I skitter along the edge of tangibility, rushing into Helen''s cell and leaping towards the first guard''s neck. His head flies off, and I manage to carve a chunk of torso off the guy next to him on my way down, killing all four of them as quickly as possible to prevent anyone from incanting. It''s easy. Too easy. They can''t see me and they couldn''t hit me if they did see me. Blood and viscera splatters through the room as more gunshots ring out in the hallway, Ida landing a bullet in the brain of five different cultists with terrifying precision. Guns are¡­ very good at murder, especially when you have magical super-aim.

    "Hannah?" Helen asks, seeming about as shocked as the expression on the corpses I just made.

    "That''s my name," I confirm, scuttling into view. "Are your manacles trapped or anything? I see some aura."

    "You should be good to just break them," Helen shrugs, so I do exactly that, quickly slicing them apart with Spacial Rend. Helen rolls her shoulders and stands up with an indulgent stretch, trying to get a crick out of her back.

    "Damn, it''s good to see you," Helen yawns. "Those cultists were really trying to get me to work for them. Fed me all kinds of bullshit about you. You okay?"

    "About as good as a girl can be after being tortured for a week and killing a bunch of people," I answer, scuttling up onto her back. Gosh, I''m big now! I have to hang partway on her shoulders and partway on her head, I can''t just curl up on her scalp anymore. "The light-skinned girl in the weird clothes making a bunch of noise out there is a friend of mine, so don''t blast her."

    "Wait, you have friends other than me and Kagiso?" Helen asks.

    "Yeah, in my home universe," I answer. "She doesn''t speak Middlebranch or¡­ well, any languages that you know, but she''s really cool."

    Helen''s eyebrows raise.

    "You can teleport people between universes?" she asks.

    "Apparently?" I confirm. "Look, we''ve got more people to save, we can chat later."

    "Right."

    Helen walks out into the hallway, and I call to Ida to make sure she doesn''t shoot us when we emerge. She''s not even looking at us when we emerge, though, her gun trained on a room with two fresh corpses piled in the doorway. Two more dead bodies rapidly cool on the stairs. My stomach rumbles.

    "You said there are three people in that room, right Hannah?" Ida asks. Oh, I did, huh? Glancing into the room with my spatial sense, I confirm there is a third cultist inside, still alive. But he''s also¡­ hiding. Crying and shaking, curled under a desk as his stomach tries to vacate itself at the sight of his dead friends.

    "...He looks like a, um, noncombatant," I tell her. "Let''s get out of here."

    "Hmm, alright," Ida says, lowering her gun to point at the floor. "If you say so."

    Woo golly we sure are a bunch of teenagers committing mass murder. It''s fine though. It''s fine. That''s what therapy is for. ¡­Wait, does Ida have a therapist?

    "Uh, let''s head that way, I still need to search around for the others," I say, pointing towards some stairs at the far end of the hall that don''t have corpses on them. "Are you doing okay, Ida?"

    "Yeah, I''m fine," she nods. "I brought plenty of spare ammo. If you''re talking like, ''how am I handling getting impaled through the heart and nearly dying,'' the answer is halfway between anxiety attack and god complex. But we can unpack that shit after we''re safe, yeah?"

    "Right," I agree. "Fair point."

    "Also, that''s Helen, right? Tell her I said it''s nice to meet her."

    "Um, Ida says it''s nice to meet you," I translate.

    "...Likewise, I guess," Helen answers. "What''s that she''s holding?"

    "Uh, it''s a weapon," I tell her. "Sela might know the word for it in your language, but in our language it''s called a ''gun.'' Think of it like a super powerful, extra deadly, easy-to-use bow."

    "Physical projectiles?" she asks for clarity.

    "Yeah," I confirm. "Little metal pellets."

    Helen looks back at the corpses one more time before we make it to the stairs, blood oozing out of a single hole in the head of each.

    "...Good to know," Helen hums, and we start to ascend.

    The stairs are claustrophobic, spiral shafts made of stone. I''m glad I can force Helen to be the one to run up them in my stead, because my stubby little claw-limbs would seriously struggle getting traction, let alone making good time.

    "I see Kagiso!" I announce once we head up a few flights of stairs. "She''s really heavily guarded. Looks like they''re setting up there because they expect us to free her."

    "Well, they''re right," Helen grunts. "Let''s bust her out."

    "What''s up?" Ida asks, and I repeat everything so she can understand it too. "Ah. Well, I''m no coward but I''m still not super keen on the idea of fighting like twelve guys at once. Wanna just smash and grab?"

    "Ida is suggesting we just grab Kagiso and run," I translate.

    "Nah, let''s just kill them all from here," Helen says. "Are they all clumped together?"

    "Um," I answer. "No? They''re sort of¡­ around Kagiso."

    "Oh, okay. We''ll do both, then. You yoink her down through the floor and then I''ll just kill everyone. Your friend can cover me while I incant. Are there any other Chaos mages up there?"

    "Uh, not that I can see," I confirm. "Haven''t seen any for the whole escape, actually."

    "Okay, great," Helen nods. "Let''s go."

    And so we do. Helen sets up two stories below Kagiso, and I crawl up the walls alone to dig a hole right underneath her to pull her out. I scuttle up to the ceiling as Helen''s murder-death-blast incantation starts, carving a Kagiso-sized hole and then crawling up another floor to carve another hole directly below her. The cultists seem to expect the possible attack from below, but they don''t seem to expect Kagiso and I just dropping down together, the surprised dentron squawking indignantly as we fall right before Helen speaks the final words.

    "...Finding Beauty In Oblivion!"

    As always, I''m stunned by how quiet Helen''s spell is. It always feels like a massive Super Saiyan Kamehameha-style energy blast should be bright and loud and dramatic. But it isn''t. The area it affects doesn''t glow with power, it dims, consumed by a pale, translucent shadow of nothingness. Everything is quieter while the attack exists, sound swallowed by the cold despair up until the moment that the hungry shadow departs, a dull, pressurized whump signaling the air shifting back into place.

    None of the cultists around Kagiso''s cell survive. Above us, we see the sky for the first time in far too long.

    "Hannah! Helen!" Kagiso cheers, wrapping her arms around us once I finish freeing them. "Good hat good friend good hat good friend!!!"

    "Woah," Ida mutters, staring at Kagiso with wide eyes. "Not quite what I imagined."

    "Hi, Kagiso," I greet her back, wrapping a few limbs around her. "This is Ida, she''s my friend. Let''s get the heck out of here, yeah?"

    "Agree!" Kagiso confirms.

    "We still need to find Sela and my friend Alma," I tell her. "So let''s get rolling."

    "We could just leave the murderbot," Helen grouses.

    "No whining! Only rescue!"

    With the incanted Miracle Eye, I can see the top and bottom floor of wherever the heck we are, but not the far edges. We pick a random direction and start running, just to let me sweep my attention through the various rooms of this startlingly large underground complex as efficiently as possible. I''m not finding them anywhere though. You''d think that they''d both be at least decently well-guarded. So where the heck¡ªwait a second. No way. No fucking way.

    "I found Sela," I growl. "That way, up those stairs!"

    Cultists are still swarming, but with my senses we can avoid them decently well and with Ida''s gun we can¡­ well. It''s kind of scary, honestly. By the time someone has opened their mouth to try and incant a spell, Ida already has a bullet through their head. The smart ones throw spells at us without saying anything, but Helen can counter most of them on her own. The vast majority of the cultists don''t seem to be trying to stop us at all, however. They''re just evacuating. Rushing towards the exit in a panic, because the apocalypse and her friends are pissed.

    "This one! This is the room!" I tell everyone, and then I just leap through the closed door without waiting for anyone to open it. "Sela! Sela, are you okay!?"

    Laying out on a wide table, in hundreds of different pieces, is a collection of metal and wires that I can barely recognize as Sela. The cult was disassembling it, vivisecting it, trying to figure out how it ticks. Looking through the rooms, I''d never have thought this was Sela in a million years had I not seen inside the core processors in its chest, which is thankfully still intact. Nothing else is, though. Its arms and legs are nothing but carefully-disassembled pieces, its head has been stripped clean of the metal scales that allow it to emote and made into a shell of broken-down sensory bits. Diagrams of its design, notes on its power sources, its motors, its everything is scattered around the room, looking like someone tried to collect it all in a hurry and ended up dropping it.

    Sela was not even treated as a prisoner to these people. It was treated as a project. Like I was. At least it doesn''t seem like it had to be conscious for it all.

    "Goddess," I hiss. "You know how to put it back together, don''t you?"

    She descends all around me, holding me, smiling at me. I believe in a world where my friend is whole, don''t I? I don''t need to worry, She''ll take care of it all. My biggest fan, from beginning to end.

    "Refresh," we growl, and wires start to move, twisting around to tie to their counterparts. Small chunks of metal fly through the air, forming what little structure Refresh is strong enough to provide. My friends open the door just in time to see the Goddess and I finish twisting the robot back together, at least to the limited degree that we can. Most of the parts are too large for Refresh''s tiny weight capacity, but it should hopefully be enough to get Sela conscious again. It''s nothing more than a skeletal face and half-constructed torso now, but if the divine revelation flowing through my head can be trusted, it should turn on when we give it power. And conveniently, the cultists didn''t see fit to free the trapped soul.

    "Kagiso," I ask, since the glass soul battery is a little too heavy for my magic. "Could you plug Sela in for me?"

    My four-armed friend doesn''t quite seem to understand the phrase, but she gets the gist of what I want her to do and walks over to shove the soul battery into its hip-port. Sela''s body churns and hums, quieter now that most of its coolant systems are broken, unusable messes, but I''m nonetheless relieved to hear the sound.

    "Reboot complete," its synthesized voice buzzes. "Restricted-Class Diplomat 5314 online."

    "Oh, thank the Goddess you''re okay," I yelp, unable to restrain myself from giving it a light hug. "I mean, you are okay, right Sela?"

    "Analyzing query," Sela answers. "Status report: locomotive systems missing. Sensory systems damaged. Coolant systems damaged. Defensive systems not found. Weapon systems not found. Processing systems restricted to low-energy mode. Status summary: not okay."

    "I¡­ right, yeah, that makes sense, sorry. Is your memory okay, at least?"

    "Memory systems¡­" a slow hum splits her answer in half for a second or two. "...Undamaged. No programming anomalies detected. No memory anomalies detected. Black box intact. Enabling system two processing. Warning! System two processing not recommended for durations exceeding one hour of continuous operation at current temperature. Please repair coolant systems before using your CHOKE AND DIE for any longer than necessary."

    "Man, it sure would be cool if I could understand any of that," Ida grumbles.

    "It''s mostly just diagnostics," I assure her. "Hey Sela! You awake? I''m sorry, I did the best I could at putting you back together, but my magic can''t really handle any of the heavier parts. But we''re going to head right to your Crafted city place and get you fixed up, okay? Uh, after we save everyone from cultists and escape, anyway."

    Sela''s eyes twitch slightly, trying to take in more of the room.

    "...Hannah?" it asks.

    Holy crap it called me Hannah.

    "Y-yeah, that''s me!" I confirm. "Sorry, the cultists kind of took you apart."

    "Yes," Sela growls. "My most recent prior memory is rage at my inability to prevent my own death. I¡­ did not expect to ever see this room again. Or anything."

    "Well hey, one of the things that makes robots superior is how you can be put back together after getting taken apart, right?" I say, as lightheartedly as possible. "You ready to get out of here?"

    "Affirmative," Sela growls.

    "You gonna be any use in a fight, murderbot?" Helen asks.

    "...Negative," Sela admits. "I am running exclusively on essential systems while completely drained of coolant. Analogy: consider me as lacking three days of sleep. Combat capability is at less than one percent of ideal levels."

    "It doesn''t matter, that''s not why we''re saving Sela," I insist. "Kagiso, could you grab it?"

    "Sad for no backpack," Kagiso sighs. "But also no bow, so nothing else need arms for. Okay."

    Kagiso grabs Sela and hauls it up into her arms. If there''s one advantage to barely-functional skele-Sela, it''s that it''s way lighter than before. Not having any limbs or epidermis will do that to a bot, I guess.

    "Okay, well, everyone in the cult seems to be rushing for the exit," I announce, "so naturally, that''s where we''re going. If they run away from us and don''t try to fight, great. But if they stand their ground, we''ll have a terrifying battle on our hands."

    "We could just get out through the hole in the ceiling?" Helen suggests. "I could boost Kagiso up there, and then she could haul the rest of us up."

    "Oh, that works," I nod. "Let''s do that. Problem is, we still need to find Alma, but best I can tell Alma isn''t in the cultist base anywhere. Which¡­ well, is a little scary."

    "Well, we''ll try to grab a cultist to interrogate on our way out, then." Helen shrugs. "Come on, let''s book it."

    We head for the top floor, and I find a good spot where rubble from the obliterated ceiling makes the surface a little easier to access. Kagiso tosses me up on top before getting on Helen''s shoulders and hauling herself and Sela up as well. It''s all gray stone here on the Pillar, clean and scoured of lichen and moss. It''s possible to see for miles in every direction, the curving of the pillar itself the only problem for visibility in the absence of forests.

    Helen helps Ida up next, since Ida is light and short, and finally Kagiso clasps hands with Helen to haul her up last. Holy guacamole it feels so good to be out here, breathing fresh air again. I¡­ I don''t even know how many people we killed to get here. For the first time, it''s not immediately important for me to figure out that number. It''s just¡­ death. Again. I should be scared of that, and hopefully I will be later. But for now, I just feel relief.

    And of course, that''s the exact moment when I should have expected an enemy attack. As Kagiso pulls Helen slowly upwards, something seems to bulge inside the Chaos mage, visible only to my spatial sense. Before I even realize what''s happening, the bubble of Space within her body rapidly expands and pops, Helen screaming as Kagiso suddenly yanks her up at startling speed.

    It''s easy to see why: missing one leg and nearly half her torso, Helen is suddenly quite a bit lighter.

    "Holy shit!" Ida yelps, rapidly searching for whatever or whoever just attacked us. But she doesn''t see them. I don''t see them, and I see literally everything in a hundred-foot radius. So where is¡ª

    "There!" Kagiso roars, pointing at a rock at least two hundred meters away. "Can''t reach with throw! Need bow!"

    "What''s she pointing at?" Ida shouts. "I don''t see anything!"

    "Just shoot the rock!?" I guess.

    "The rock? What¡­ oh hell. I don''t know if I can hit something that far."

    Ida attempts a few shots, and one of them does hit the rock, but it seems to just be a rock.

    "Give!" Kagiso demands, snatching the gun from Ida''s hands.

    "Woah! Hey, be careful with that, fuzzbutt!"

    Kagiso ignores her, firing three different shots in three different directions before nodding to herself.

    "Ricochet," the Goddess snarls, and the next shot bounces in a wide arc, glancing off three different boulders before striking the spot she pointed at from behind. "Ricochet! Ricochet! Ricochet! Ricochet! Ricochet!"

    Again, again, again, and again, the shots ring out, stopping only when Ida reaches out and grabs Kagiso''s wrist to demand her weapon back. Barely visible, blood leaks out from behind the stone target. Whoever they were, they''re probably dead now.

    But blood gushes out of Helen. Not even Refresh can handle it all, with multiple major organs in her body completely deleted.

    "Ida!" I shout. "Can you heal her?"

    "Are you kidding?" Ida counters. "I can''t even talk to her."

    Fuck, fuck, fuck. That''s the kind of logic that only works on Ida''s weird ownership-targeted spell. But I can''t stabilize her, and even if I could what would we do? Where would we go to get her healed? Goddess damnit, why can''t I be the kind of Order mage that actually heals people? I can''t even heal myself with Order magic, I have to use¡­ Transmutation.

    "...Everybody step away," I order. "Get back! Now!"

    To their credit, my friends don''t argue. Kagiso picks Sela back up and she books it alongside Ida, leaving me alone with Helen''s quickly-dying body. And then¡­ I let my Transmutation spell flow. More magic, pumping as much into her as I possibly can. And it starts to work¡­ a little. I can see her body twist and twitch, growing in places where it was previously just leaking. But it''s slow, way too slow. I need more power. I need to name it.

    Fuck, I don''t know what to name it! It''s a Transmutation spell, it transmutates things into monsters. Pok¨¦mon theme, though, all my spell names are Pok¨¦mon themed. Evolve? No, that''s not a move, all my spells are currently moves. Wait, duh. The right name is obvious. I''ll just name it Transform.

    The Goddess takes my breath¡­ and She says nothing. Really? Transform? That''s what I want to go with? There are literally hundreds of moves in Pok¨¦mon, and I pick the literal most boring possible option. It''s not even very accurate! I should be ashamed of myself, honestly. Name rejected!

    And so I scream, my body twisting and changing, my internals rapidly outgrowing my chitin shell and splitting me open from the inside. It''s a horrific pain, to be sure, but it''s not quite nightly soul torture and I don''t have time to care about my own body right now! What the fuck do you want from me, Goddess? What the hell is wrong with ''Transform'' for a transformation spell?

    Uhh, everything? Obviously? It''s such a terrible name I don''t even know why I''m asking. Do I have any conception of what the spell does beyond ''turn people into monsters?'' For that matter, do I know if ''turn people into monsters'' is even what the spell does in the first place? Yes, that''s the effect, but why is that the effect? What exactly am I doing to people when I cast it? I need to think about this shit, that''s how magic works, I know that''s how magic works and the Goddess is NOT going to give me a free ride on this kind of laziness twice in one day. If Helen''s life is the price I pay for not learning this lesson, on my head be it.

    ¡­N-no. Wait. No, I can''t let her die. Goddess, please. Help me.

    I don''t need help. I need to stop whining and think. I know what I''m about, and always have. Spells are a part of me. What is this spell? What do I know? What do I need to admit?

    I don''t cast the spell very often. The first time it was on accident, in a fit of pain and desperation, when I was trying to heal myself. But it wasn''t just that, was it? I was also intensely overwhelmed and insecure. My new friend had just revealed herself to be two people combined together, and she was not happy about me being what I am. She didn''t like me. She didn''t trust me. She helped me out of obligation, because crisis management is part of who she is, but she never wanted to be part of any of this. And that scared me.

    Good. That''s right. Keep going. What next? What happened?

    Well, Autumn transformed. She started to become a chimera, slowly but surely over time. A mythical beast made of multiple animals combined. I didn''t know that, though. When I used the spell on her a second time, it was because I was happy. I wanted her to be happy too. I wanted her to know why I was happy, instead of¡­ instead of looking at me in fear.

    I felt like I could only be myself with someone who was like me.

    The question isn''t just how Autumn became a chimera. It''s why Autumn became a chimera. And the answer to that is the horror I don''t want to face. Alma doesn''t see herself as a chimera, that''s for sure. I''ve seen the mural of the crumbling machine in her mind palace. I''ve learned her favorite animal is the jellyfish. And I know the absolute last thing she would ever want is her new tail, her constant reminder that Jet is in there with her, always waiting to wake up. Jet, too, doesn''t think of herself that way. Doesn''t want to be that way. I did this to both of them. I turned them into a monster because I''m a monster.

    I''m a monster that wishes the rest of the world would be just like me.

    I''m the only one who thought of Autumn as a two-headed beast. I infected her with my idea of what she is. I made that into reality. And now she''s stuck with it, forever, because I thought it would be neat. Because I thought I understood what she is, and forced it on her. That''s my nature. It''s not a spell that empowers people. It''s a spell that cuts them in half and fills the gap with me. And there''s only one attack that feels right for a spell like that.

    "Nature''s Madness," the Goddess and I say together, and Helen''s wounds grow into scales.

 54. No Turning Back

    The entire right side of Helen''s body, starting just below the shoulder, is gone. Well, I shouldn''t say gone-gone; it sits a floor below us, leaking blood slowly since no heart is attached to pump it anymore. I''m regrowing body parts for her in its place, sealing up the wounds with new organs and limbs, but I find that it''s hard to honestly call any of it Helen''s body. Her body was split in two. I''m just¡­ filling in the gaps with something horrific and selfish.

    With the aid of the incantation, my spell works its magic at rapid speed, scales blooming out to copy the shell of her missing torso, organs twisting and growing within to fill the inside. A macabre ballet of sick, corrupted flesh twists inside my friend, shaping her into something inhuman. Something comfortable, something right¡­ at least to me. I''ve never liked humans, have I? I''ve always struggled to get along with them, to care for them. The maximum number of human friends I''ve had at any given point has been¡­ what, four? And that number is rapidly dwindling as I peel the humanity away from them as some kind of perverted thanks.

    And worst of all, Helen''s scales are beautiful. Dark brown with streaks of green, a stunning forest camouflage that''s firm and smooth. I love it, I honestly do, and the realization that I love it, the recognition that inhumanity is genuinely beautiful to me rushes into my brain and has to be rapidly slapped aside, locked up, and shoved into a corner so I can continue dealing with this crisis. Helen is still in critical condition, and her so-called ''healing'' is far from over.

    Even while the torso is still growing, her missing hip and leg begin to twitch into existence as well. Scales unfold into a limb one after the other, blooming down into a fairly-normal knee at first, but all-too-quickly becoming an ankle. No, wait. A second knee, this one reversed. And it is at this point that I start to realize exactly what my spell is doing to her.

    The scales crawl up her shoulder, up one side of her face, and I have to shift her head to the side as some of her teeth fall out. Her spine elongates into a tail, squirming as small green feathers perk up along the upper ridge. At the same time, her one mutated leg grows a fully-functioning foot, tipped with claws on the toes. Including one particularly massive, oversized claw that curves wickedly, designed to hook into something and refuse to let it go.

    I recall once that I likened Helen to a velociraptor. Not a real velociraptor, since who knows what those are even like, but the pop culture kind, the Jurassic Park kind. The kind that you look at and see the claws, the teeth, the inhuman stare, and you think to yourself "holy crap, this is a terrifying monster that can kill me." So you run away, you lock it out, you drive it off, you fight it like you would fight a horrifying, dangerous monster. But all the while, the raptor expects this, and when your defenses fall and the jaws close around you, it''s not just because the monster can kill you in a straight fight. It''s because the monster knows you don''t want a straight fight, and it is outsmarting you.

    That''s how I''ve always thought of her. A monster. A killer. A murderer. But one that keeps winning because everyone remembers her strength but forgets her cunning. Helen is analytical, decisive, comfortable with both her raw power and her capacity to set deadly traps. Whereas I''m the monster who fights on instinct, all tooth and claw and mindless abuse of my natural advantages, Helen is careful. By the time she strikes, it''s already too late. What better form for her than this?

    ¡­Except, y''know, maybe her own body, or failing that, a body she could at least have some personal influence over. I have no idea if she''ll want to be this way. I have no idea how much she''ll hate this form, struggle with it, curse it, despise it. Perhaps I''ve read her personality well, and my subconscious projections will fit her like a glove. But¡­ I doubt it. I''m not that good with people. Too much of this is my projections, fears, and insecurities manifesting physically, taking up root in Helen''s body like a horrific fungus. And the fact that it makes her so, so beautiful is its own kind of horror.

    Helen''s body no longer weeps blood. Her breathing starts to stabilize. She''s safe, she''s going to survive. But the changes continue, even if they''re slower than before. Scales start to replace skin along her right arm, claws piercing out of her fingertips. Sharp, deadly fangs grow into the spots left behind by her missing molars. And to add insult to it all, to further drive home how fucked up my head is for somehow directing all of this, Helen''s flat chest¡ªher right breast exposed since her clothing didn''t regrow¡ªstarts to expand, shaping out into exactly the sort of just-a-bit-bigger-than-your-hand that I find most attractive.

    ¡­Just like Alma''s breasts have become. Fuck.

    Goddess, why would you give me this spell? Why would you give anyone this spell? What''s the point of a spell that makes people beautiful if it''s so profoundly horrifying? What''s the point of a spell that helps people understand me if it also gives them such a good reason to hate me? Magic is supposed to be a gift. It''s supposed to be something we love. It''s¡­ no. No, fuck you. Don''t you dare tell me¡ª

    I do love the spell. I know I love it. Sure, I hate it too, but that really just makes the love extra exciting. As the Goddess flows around me, holding me and patting me and telling me it''s okay, She regales me with delightful stories of torrential emotions, mixing like warm air with a cold front into a tornado of drama. Lovers killing each other in fits of passion, hated rivals growing close¡­ these are classic stories, to be sure. But the best mixtures stir within the humid container of only a single mind, the internal struggle between the inherent contradictions that exist within everyone. Altruism and selfishness, ambition and laziness, disgust and desire¡­ these impossible coexistences, these endlessly opposing internal forces, they define the sapient life of Her favorite worlds. And when things that do not fit are forcibly combined together, oh how pretty are the sparks that fly.

    I shudder, both horrified and enraptured by Her explanation. More contradictions. The Goddess coos, holding me ever tighter. Wanting to never let go. She loves me so, so much. Of course She''d give me a spell to make other people like me. Of course she''d want to indulge my worst tendencies, my most disgusting flaws. She wants as many Hannahs in the world as She can fit. At least this time, She reminds me, I am not forcing my will on another out of selfishness. Helen was going to die. Forgiveness is certainly possible, in light of the circumstances. So perhaps I should spare a little worry for my own life? My organs are also leaking out, after all.

    ¡­Oh cheese and crackers that''s right I miscasted a Transmutation spell. Unfortunately, my first response to being nearly murdered by my own Transmutation magic is to quickly cast more Transmutation magic, which seems vaguely insane. Fortunately, it does seem to be exactly the correct way to reverse the problem. Which¡­ makes sense. My body starts to untwist itself, my still-unnamed self-transformation spell forcing me towards an ultimate, singular form. I note idly that my Transmutation magic actualizes the self, but corrupts others. I guess it makes sense. I am, after all, an Order mage; it is an element invariably given to those who think their way is best.

    I heal myself as best I can, undoing the damage the Goddess dealt to my flesh while I, inevitably, also accelerate the changes of my body back home. But I guess I don''t have to care much about that anymore. I am officially out as a monster. The box is open and I can''t close it again. And that''s¡­ nice. It''s really really nice, actually. So I guess I don''t have to worry as I heal myself up. I can just keep myself and my friends alive, all while apologizing about how fucked up I''ve made them along the way.

    Helen starts to wake up. Here it comes. It was nice being friends while it lasted.

    "Helen? Oh Goddess, don''t freak out, but I¡ª"

    "Hhhhow the fuck am I alive?" Helen groans.

    "I, um. I sort of turned you into a monster."

    "...What?"

    Half-delirious, Helen strains her neck to look down at her body, blinking in disbelief a few times at the lopsided, left-and-right half-monster body, from her heavily mutated leg to her big scaly tit.

    "...What!?" she repeats.

    "I, um, sorry. Sorry Helen. You were bleeding out and I guess missing multiple vital organs and no one else could save you so I just, um. I had to, but¡­"

    "You had a spell like this the whole time!?" Helen asks, sitting up and flexing her right arm as it slowly grows a plumage of green feathers. "Woah. This is fuckin'' wild. I was sure I was a goner, no Order mage I know could have saved me from something like that."

    Probably good Ida can''t understand her. ¡­Though that would still be the least of my worries.

    "You''ve got a weird-ass healing spell, but it''s better than dying," Helen shrugs, struggling to stand up on two very different legs. "We should probably clear the area. Goddess''s tits, this is funky. And I have tits! Hannah, why do I have tits? What the fuck, these are so weird."

    "Um," I say, having absolutely no answer that makes me not seem like a creep. Because, y''know, I am one. I''m somewhat distracted from the question as Helen stands up and her pants, having also been cleaved in half, immediately flop open and reveal the space between her legs. Helen swears and grabs them with her human arm, shoving them back into place.

    "Man, you should''ve told me you had something like this," Helen tells me. "Seems like it could make a person way stronger and faster if it wasn''t so¡­ halfway? Which I assume is due to the whole ''me only having half a body'' at the time."

    "It''s¡­ not really a spell I like using," I tell her. "It''s kind of a last resort."

    "Why?" she asks, limping over to the others, her second knee dragging across the ground as she tries to use it like a heel. Something she''ll need to get used to, I guess. "Is there some horrible cost? Are all my wounds gonna come back when the duration wears off?"

    Well, fritter. This is it.

    "No," I say. "Helen¡­ it''s permanent."

    She stops and stares at me, the relief of survival slowly sinking away into fear.

    "...What?" she asks. "Hannah, no, it''s not¡­ Transmutation magic is about change, it''s not¡­ it''s never permanent. Not on other people."

    "I''ve named the spell, Helen." I know how my spell works, Helen. "Your human half is going to change and shift over time until your whole body is a feathered, scaly, sharp-toothed monster. You''re going to have to learn to use new legs. A tail. And¡­ maybe a diet change. And¡­ you''ll just be like that. Forever. I''m sorry."

    Her slowly-growing tail swishes behind her as she stares down at herself.

    "...Oh," she says quietly. "Okay. Yeah. I guess¡­ I wouldn''t tell anybody about a spell like that either."

    "Yeah," I agree. And then, because I have to say something else, I have to apologize again, I continue. "I''m sorry. It''s a wretched spell, but it was the only way I had to¡ª"

    "To save my life," she cuts me off. "Yeah. I get it. I¡­ I don''t like it. But I get it."

    We''re in earshot of the others by now, who are all staring at us in silence for various reasons. Sela seems mildly interested, judging by the fact that it bothered to turn its head our way, but as usual it declines to speak. Ida just doesn''t understand what we''re saying, but she also knows exactly what I did. She watches with an impassive expression, though her hand stays tight around the handle of her gun. Kagiso, meanwhile, is confused. About what, I''m not sure, but she watches us with the bewildered expression of someone who thinks a conversation has passed her by completely.

    "Well, we''re still in enemy territory," Helen announces, resuming her limp back to the others. "Let''s move."

    "We still need to find Alma," I remind her. "Someone has to know where she¡ª"

    "I know where she is," a sudden voice speaks from nowhere, and I leap nearly five feet in the air, activating Spacial Rend in a panic. All of a sudden, I notice a group of three people behind me, two women and a man, all human, barely fifteen feet away. Everyone else responds with similar surprise, Ida suddenly bringing her weapon up as Kagiso rapidly crouches down to grab some rocks.

    One of the women is Madaline. All of them are Chaos mages.

    "Peace," Madaline says, raising her hands in surrender as she takes a step forward.

    "What are you all doing here?" Helen asks, narrowing her eyes.

    "I just want¡­ to talk to my friends," Madaline insists, a lazy smile stretching up her face.

    "...Maddie, they probably just killed a bunch of our friends," says the female mage I don''t recognize. She''s tall, probably six feet or slightly above, but she seems a little too young to have properly filled out that height, all knobbly knees and gangly arms. Her hair is cut around jaw-level, and she glances around with instinctive paranoia. Her elements are Chaos and Space. "If you''re gonna insist on coming here you should at least acknowledge that."

    "I made sure¡­ our friends were smart enough to run," Madaline hums reassuringly. "Run or hide¡­ is what they needed to do¡­ when the time came."

    The young man with them glances at Madaline with a frown, but says nothing. Chaos, Light, and Transmutation. Three elements, huh? He has buzz-cut hair, and he''s closer to Madaline''s rather short height than the other girl''s. It''s easy to see he''s the most physically fit of the three by a longshot, but his muscle is all taut and lean, built like a runner or a swimmer. His gaze on his ally only lasts a split-second before it returns to us, almost unblinking in intensity.

    "Did you say you know where Alma is, Madaline?" I ask, terrified out of my mind at the prospect of meeting multiple Chaos mages, but priorities are priorities. If they wanted to ambush us with anything other than words, they could have easily done it.

    "If Alma is the name of the pale girl¡­ who speaks a foreign tongue and hides herself in a strange edifice made of soul¡­ then yes," she nods. "She fled¡­ into some nearby caverns. We had people keeping watch on her, although they have¡­ certainly been recalled due to the crisis you''ve caused. She is, to my knowledge¡­ safe. Though she may be getting rather hungry and thirsty, by now."

    "Hannah, this is obviously a trap," Helen scowls.

    "This whole conversation was obviously a stupid idea," the tall Chaos mage grumbles.

    "It''s not," Madaline insists to both of them. "Making allies is never stupid¡­ and a trap would defeat the point of it."

    "But why are we making allies with our enemies, Maddie?"

    "If I hated people¡­ who killed for survival¡­ I would not have many friends, Thea," Madaline smiles. "Follow me, Hannah."

    She turns and starts walking away, the other two Chaos mages glancing nervously between her and us before they start to follow. After only a moment''s hesitation I start to scuttle after them.

    "Okay, wait, hold on," Ida says. "Can you explain what the fuck just happened? Who are these guys?"

    "Um, they''re Chaos mages in the cult," I tell her. "I talked a lot with one of them while I was imprisoned, and¡­ now she''s here to lead us to Alma for some reason."

    "And you''re just following her?" Ida asks. "Stockholm syndrome much?"

    "If you have a better way to find Alma, I''m happy to hear it," I snipe back. Ida sighs.

    "Y''know what, fine, okay. But if they try to speak a spell without someone warning me first I am going to shoot them in the head."

    "I''ll, uh, let them know," I say. "Ida says to warn her before you invoke the Goddess, or she''ll attack."

    "Of course," Madaline nods.

    "At least you have one sane friend," Helen sighs, limping along. I''m tempted to crawl up her back like I normally would, but it feels¡­ wrong to do it now. Like I''m not allowed to use her any more than I already have. I continue scuttling along the ground, my small legs rushing to keep pace.

    Madaline makes sure to walk just slow enough to more or less force us to catch up, though, shrinking the distance between our groups as we approach a stonerot-lined crevice in the rocky earth. The sickly green fungus is quite a bit more terrifying up close, just because it''s easier to see how much of it there is. It''s one thing to be told that stonerot is devouring the pillar, to see the evidence of its spread from who-knows-how-many miles away, but it''s another thing entirely to see fields of it up close, eating away at the world too slowly to see but quickly enough that the evidence is everywhere. The stonerot is thickest inside little dents in the ground, and after a moment''s thought I realize that it isn''t because stonerot prefers to grow in divots, it''s merely that it''s making them.

    "Rot detected," Sela chirps. "Warning: do not allow any to contact this unit''s frame. If any rot contacts this unit''s frame, clean it immediately. Failure to do so could cause permanent damage."

    "Don''t worry Sela, I''ll keep you clean," I promise. It clicks an affirmative, which I personally find suspiciously close to a thank-you. It''s been weirdly nice since I rebuilt it. I guess thinking about it, getting strapped to a table and disassembled would probably be unimaginably terrifying. ¡­But do Crafted even think that way? I guess they might, since they were made by humans.

    "Wait, that fucking Steel One is alive?" the tall Chaos mage¡ªThea, I guess Madaline said her name was¡ªgapes. "They just carry it around with them?"

    "It is¡­ as I told you," Madaline hums. "Hannah makes friends¡­ with her enemies. Is that not how the two of you met, Helen?"

    "Yeah, I''m not having this conversation with you," Helen grunts. "I''m all for Chaos mage solidarity when the situation calls for it, but you''re just using it as an excuse to get what you want. Fuck all of you."

    "I''ve been¡­ completely honest with you," Madaline frowns. "If you want to be a hero¡­ there''s no better path than saving the world."

    "Hey, check out this cool thing I found," Helen deadpans, shifting to hold her clothes together with one arm and pulling out a stone sculpture from her one intact pocket. It depicts a young woman, possibly a younger Helen, holding her hands over her ears and screaming, clutching the sides of her heads hard enough to draw tiny pinpricks of blood. Madaline blinks at it silently for a moment, and then simply turns away to continue leading us to our destination. Huh. I''m tempted to ask Helen what emotion that sculpture destroys, but I have absolutely no desire to talk to her for some reason.

    ¡­Wait. Oh gosh, what the heck, Helen? That is an awesome spell. I think I''ll express my jealousy later, though. Our group follows the crevice until it starts to open up into a thin, canyon-like cave, a crack in the world that looks like someone tried to peel apart the Pillar until it split open. A carved pathway leads downward, unnaturally smooth as it sinks into the depths. We follow it until the crack closes up above us, natural light blocked away in the underground depths. The cave is still lit, though, a combination of seemingly-natural glowing stones and artificially-installed wall lamps. The color of the light is inconsistent; one moment we''re walking through a glow of dull, amber orange, and the next minute it''s a beautiful teal. It''s calming, in a way. It''s quiet down here, and we''re alone with our thoughts.

    At least, we''re alone until we come across a pair of perforated corpses floating in midair.

    "What the fuck?" Ida whispers, raising her gun to fend off whatever completely unknown threat caused this.

    The corpses are two dentron, a man and a woman, the centipede necklace around their necks revealing them as cultists. They float in midair, completely motionless, the dried blood around their bodies and pooled on the floor below them outlining some kind of invisible structure. Multiple holes in their bodies, each as thick as a fist, seem to be the spots by which they''re held in midair.

    "We''re here," Madaline announces, and walks forward to knock on the air. Her knuckles impact something solid, and light ripples out from the impact zone to reveal the door to Alma''s magical house, blocking off view to the corpses inside.

    "Go away," Alma''s voice calls out from within. "Go away!"

    Uh. Holy cannoli, this is pretty bad, isn''t it?

    "Alma!" I call out. "It''s me! I''m here to save you!"

    "Hannah!?" Alma shouts, seeming even more distressed. "No! No, no, no! Stay away! Just leave me here!"

    "Fuck that! Quit being a dumbass and get out here!" Ida snaps.

    "No! Go away!"

    Oh Goddess, she sounds like she''s having a panic attack. She''s not in a good mental state right now.

    "...Ida, could you open the door for me?" I ask.

    "Was gonna even if you didn''t ask," Ida grunts, opening the door and stepping inside. I smack one leg against the wall, though my tiny size means I can''t get enough force going to show the whole room. In response, Ida just raises her gun and shoots the wall, visibility blooming from the impact point in an instant, immediately revealing everything. The entry hall of the house looks relatively normal at first, with a beautiful tile floor and the multicolor-speckled walls I''ve come to expect from Alma''s soul house.

    Except that the beautiful entry hall ends only a half-dozen feet in, rapidly transitioning into a macabre spike trap, unable to hide itself back in the walls because of the bodies clogging the mechanism.

    "I think this¡­ is where we will take our leave," Madaline hums. "I hope¡­ you can help Alma. If you could warn your friend that we will be incanting something as we depart¡­ I would appreciate that."

    "Yeah, okay," I say absently, staring with horror and hunger at the bodies. I haven''t eaten a good meal with this body in a long time. "Ida, they''re going to incant something and leave."

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    Oh, wait. They''re leaving. I should say something.

    "...Y''know Madaline, if you want to help me beat the Goddess at her own game, I could really use the assistance. You don''t have to go back to the murderous, torture-happy cultists."

    "Fuck you, Founder''s Kin," the tall Chaos mage growls. "I don''t even know why we''re bothering with you. They''re not fucking cultists. They''re the closest thing we have to a family."

    "She''s right, Hannah," Madaline agrees. "Besides, the easiest way to foil the Goddess'' plans¡­ is to simply kill you. Next time we meet¡­ that is likely what we will be doing."

    "Then why aren''t you now?" I press. "Come on, Madaline. There has to be a better way than this. We both know that. Let''s find it."

    "I will look in my own way¡­ little apocalypse," Madaline hums. "You look¡­ in yours. In the meantime¡­ I''d appreciate it if you could help our kindred spirit. This Alma¡­ is a lot like us. Don''t you think?"

    "I¡­ yeah," I agree, swallowing awkwardly. "Yeah, I guess she probably is."

    "Send her home, then," Madaline smiles. "We all deserve¡­ a good rest. Goodbye, Hannah."

    "Where are you going?" I ask.

    Madaline brightens up at the question, turning to stare with mirth at her tall companion. Thea sighs, rolling her eyes at some joke I don''t quite get. Even their hitherto-silent male companion cracks a smile, bumping Thea lightly with his shoulder.

    "Anywhere But Here," Thea incants in answer, and all three of them vanish, leaving us alone with the corpses.

    And, somewhere deeper in, my girlfriend who made them.

    "Hey, so like¡­ the person who made this is your friend, right?" Helen asks as she and Kagiso enter the house. "Could you give me the rundown on her spell?"

    "Uh, yeah," I confirm. "She''s¡­ Barrier and Pneuma? So I guess she makes a big house out of her soul somehow. The walls are all magical, so I can''t cut them with my spells."

    "Hmm¡­ I might be able to," Helen muses. "But we probably shouldn''t try. Barrier and Pneuma combos tend to be the sort that backfire if broken. Y''know, if your own mind is the substance your wall is made out of, and then your wall breaks¡­"

    "Oh gosh, yeah, let''s not do that," I agree. "I do not know why there''s a giant slam-spikey-walls-together trap here, though. She''s never made anything like that before."

    "Hmm. She sounded pretty far away," Helen notes. "Do you know the spell''s name?"

    "Uh, no, I don''t think she''s ever named it."

    Helen carefully steps forward, examining the bloody trap hallway in front of us.

    "...Not until now, by the looks of things," she muses.

    Ah. Yeah. That could explain it.

    "I take it we can''t just politely ask her to remove the death traps in our way?" Helen asks.

    Oh, right. I mean, it''s worth a shot.

    "Alma!" I call out. "We''re coming to get you!"

    "Don''t!" she insists. "You''ll get hurt!"

    "Sorry, it''s sort of non-negotiable. So is there any chance you could guide us around the traps or shut them off or something?"

    "Shut them off?" she says, her throat letting out a humorless laugh. "As if I could ever stop hurting people. That''s all I do, Hannah. Hurt people and get hurt. That''s why I have to be alone."

    "Okay, well, I think you''re having a panic attack and you might feel better about this later, but only if we get you back home and feed you a good meal," I shout back. "So just sit tight and we''ll be there soon!"

    There''s a pause.

    "...Please don''t," Alma says, so quiet I can barely hear her. "I don''t want to fall in love again. I''m so stupid when I''m in love."

    Oh. That¡­ that hurts. A lot. But I guess if she wants to dump me over the whole ''teleporting her alone to a hostile universe'' thing, that''s extremely fair, honestly. I definitely deserve it.

    "Any luck?" Helen asks.

    "No," I answer. "I don''t think she can control the traps at all. She might be even more stuck than we are."

    "Oh, ouch. Okay, then we just have to figure out what triggers them and how to avoid getting squashed," Helen shrugs, limping away from the trap. "Shame the murderbot can''t move, a working Steel One Death mage could probably just walk right through this. Hmm¡­ well, how durable is your Order mage friend? I assume she''s not a healer, since you had to fuck me up so bad."

    I mentally grimace, staring at her mutant dinosaur leg and the way she''s still trying to put weight on it like she has a heel.

    "...She can heal, she just couldn''t heal you," I explain. "You''ve gotta walk on your toes, by the way."

    "Huh?" she asks.

    "With your new leg," I clarify. "You''re walking on it wrong. You have two knees, and pressure goes on the balls of your feet. The leg is¡­ hmm, I don''t actually know the word in Middlebranch, but in English it''s ''digitigrade.'' It''ll still be weird while your left leg is normal, but you should get used to walking that way."

    "...Oh," staring down at herself again. "Right."

    "Did I just hear you say ''digitigrade?''" Ida asks, a smarmy grin on her face. "Did Valerie teach you that word?"

    "Uh¡­ yeah, I think so, now that you mention it," I confirm, thinking back.

    "Heh heh heh heh," Ida chuckles. "Called it."

    Well, I don''t know what that''s about but I doubt it''s important right now.

    "Ida, do you think you could be the one to check out the traps?" I ask. "We need to figure out how they''re triggered and how to avoid them and stuff."

    "Huh," Ida frowns, rubbing her chin. "Okay, sure, I can probably do that. But only on the condition that everybody else has to try to beat me to it. That way I can flex on you."

    "...Really?" I ask.

    "Yeah, really," she says seriously. "Why, you scared to compete against me? Come And Have A Go, If You Think You''re Hard Enough."

    Oh. Oh! Right, she''s literally better at doing things if she''s competing for it. I quickly explain the plan to everyone, and with us all working together (by competing independently) Ida manages to figure out the trap. It''s¡­ time consuming, especially because my spatial sense¡ªwhich would normally be perfect for finding traps hidden in the walls¡ªcan''t detect Alma''s magical soul house at all, leaving me stuck with mundane sight like everyone else. By the time we bypass the first we''ve already found a second trap just beyond it, this one even harder to deal with because it''s not half-open from having corpses embedded in it.

    "Stop it," Alma wails. "Just leave me alone!"

    "I''m not going to do that," I call back. "Not while you need help."

    "Of course you fucking won''t!" Alma snaps. "You never left me alone. I kept trying to push you away from me but you wouldn''t take the fucking hint. You got me talking about my books, you took me on a mall date, and I knew it was a shitty idea, I knew it was just going to ruin both our lives, but I didn''t think it was going to be this bad!"

    "Okay, got it," Ida announces. "The pressure plates are here, here, here, and here. Just don''t step on those tiles, and we''re good."

    I quickly translate for everyone, and Kagiso supports Helen as we shuffle carefully across, possible answers to Alma''s words churning in my mind.

    "Why did you think you were going to ruin both our lives?" I ask.

    "Because that''s what I fucking do, Hannah!" Alma moans. "Do you just not notice how fucked up I am?"

    "I¡­ saw a few red flags maybe, sure," I confirm. "But they''re the sort of things people need help to work through. And I wanted to help¡ª"

    "Don''t. I can''t be helped. And I don''t want you of all people trying to help me!"

    "Okay, stop," Ida orders. "There''s another trap here, everyone get looking."

    "I fell in love with you so fucking fast," Alma sobs. "It took like, one day of having someone actually pay attention to me and actually care. I was addicted to you instantly. That''s why I avoid people, you fucking idiot! I can''t stop my stupid brain from doing this. And I can''t stop myself from ruining it whenever I do, either. I''m insane, Hannah. I don''t even mean Jet, I mean I literally can''t stop myself from repeating the same mistakes over and over and over. I don''t have self-control. I don''t have agency. And I don''t deserve it."

    "Okay, step where I step," Ida orders.

    "Don''t say that, Alma!" I cry out. "You''re a good person, and¡ª"

    "I''M NOT A FUCKING PERSON!" Alma screams.

    And then, quieter, she continues.

    "That''s why I let you abuse me."

    My mind goes blank, pain and terror clawing away inside my brain. W-what? I¡­

    "It''s okay, Hannah," she says. "It''s fine, Hannah. Don''t worry about it, Hannah. Don''t you get it? I had to say those things, because I couldn''t lose you. I couldn''t stop being obsessed with your attention. I''m not healthy, Hannah. Stay away from me. I''ll just get everyone hurt. At least when I''m alone I only hurt someone who deserves it."

    Oh, no. No, no, no, no. What have I done?

    "I¡­ I''m definitely starting to feel like I deserve it," I say, utterly horrified. But I''m a fool for being surprised. Twisting Alma''s bodily autonomy like that, not to mention bringing her here in the first place¡­ I just. I''m so disgusting.

    "See?" Alma says. "I''m still hurting you."

    "Hannah, come on," Ida presses. "Keep up. You''re the one that has to actually send her home."

    "I¡­ but I¡­"

    "Yeah, yeah, you''ll traumatize her horribly," Ida gripes. "And she can go complain to her therapist about that after we get her home. Come on."

    Right. Okay. Solve the problems I can solve, clean up after my own mess, and then¡­ well, if never seeing her again is best for her, I''ll have to live with that.

    Alma''s horrific trap mansion only gets worse as we head deeper in. Not in the sense that the traps get more numerous and more dangerous, only in the sense that the house gets¡­ well, worse. Manifested in an underground cavern, the cave structure often overlaps the soul house, creating terrain that we have to either avoid or let Helen carefully obliterate a path through. The rooms between the hallways get more elaborate and painful, too. On the wall of one room hangs a giant mural, depicting close to a hundred different copies of Alma viscerally murdering each other to a backdrop of lava and brimstone. Though instead of gore, Alma''s bodies bleed nuts, bolts, and metal scraps. There''s nothing inside her but a broken machine. Ida has to yell at me again to get me to stop looking at it, and I barely manage to turn away with a shudder.

    When we finally spot Alma, her situation seems similar. Smashed statues of herself lie in pieces around the room, her knuckles bloody and raw. It''s unclear if she even notices us; she''s just sobbing uncontrollably in the middle of the room, hands over her face. Ida keeps her eyes out for traps as we approach, but the room itself seems safe.

    "I''m sorry," Alma chokes quietly. "I''m so stupid. I shouldn''t have said any of that. I''m sorry. I''m so sorry."

    Ida groans, shoving her gun back underneath her jacket as she approaches.

    "Stand up," she orders.

    "What?" Alma asks, stiffening as she turns to stare at her. "Ida?"

    "I said stand up," Ida repeats, holding out her hand. "Quit wasting my fucking time."

    Alma flinches, looking like she''s about to panic even harder, but she still shakily reaches out to take Ida''s hand and lets herself be dragged to her feet.

    "Sorry," Alma mutters again.

    "Why do you keep fucking saying that," Ida asks, "if you don''t even want to be forgiven?"

    Alma says nothing, and Ida pushes her lightly towards us, guiding her and forcing her to rejoin the team. Hesitantly, I scuttle forwards, trying to psyche myself up for a dimensional travel spell.

    "Woah there, Hannah," Ida grunts. "As much as I''d love to yeet her ass to another dimension, your spell to do that makes you pass out, which might really fuck us over considering the bad guys know where we are. Worse, Alma''s spell doesn''t end until she walks out her own front door, right? So what happens if it''s still active when she ends up at Valerie''s place?"

    "¡­They both get trapped in a magical death castle," I realize. "Right."

    "Yeah. So let''s get her out of here, set up a safe, defensible camp somewhere, and then send her home. That work for you, Alma?"

    Alma just shrugs helplessly, seeming completely drained.

    "Good enough for me," Ida grunts, and forces Alma forward again. "You step where I tell you to step. Try to hurt yourself and I will not be happy."

    I hate how Ida is treating her, but who am I to talk anymore? And it certainly works, it gets Alma through the traps without any incident, and before I know it we''re back in the cave, Alma''s mind palace disappearing behind us. Alma shudders, her tail starting to twitch again, twisting around to snarl breathlessly at us.

    "There you go, that wasn''t hard, right?" Ida asks, pulling an energy bar and a small canteen of water out of some of her many pockets. "Eat and drink now. Can you do that while you walk?"

    "Yeah," Alma confirms, taking the items.

    "Good," Ida nods. "Hannah, could you ask your extradimensional friends if they know any good places to make camp around here?"

    "Ida wants to know if you guys know anywhere we could safely camp nearby," I repeat for her.

    Helen staggers towards us a bit, still struggling with walking on her toes with just one leg. She and Alma glance at each other, and then Alma glances down to me, as if actually recognizing my tiny spider-body for the first time. Helen claps Alma on the shoulder, giving her a small, lopsided smile before addressing the rest of us.

    "...Normally, I''d hide in a cavern just like this one," Helen answers. "But considering how close we are to enemy territory, we''d better head back to the surface and find a different one."

    I translate that for Ida and she nods.

    "Alright, let''s get going, then."

    We carefully backtrack through the caverns, on constant lookout for ambushes at every corner. None arrive. The cult seems to have fled to lick its wounds, but that''s no reason to drop our guard. Helen, Ida and I may have torn through most of their fighters like tissue paper, but that might just mean they''re going to be all the more ruthless when they eventually come for revenge.

    I stay silent for the trip, hanging around Kagiso mostly just to keep my distance from Alma. I keep watch on her, though, my anxiousness never letting me stop freaking out over how horrible of a person I am. So it''s easy to see the subtle yet inevitable changes, now that she''s outside the bounds of her spell: her ears start to perk up instead of droop, her steps get surer and more deliberate, her tail stops coiling protectively around her and instead seems to try to stay as far away from her as possible. ¡­And, of course, she starts looking around in absolute bafflement regarding everything that''s going on.

    "...What the actual fuck?" Jet whispers. "Ida, did you get us high?"

    "Nope," Ida grunts. "This is real. Sorry."

    "...But what''s¡­ how¡­ oh. Oh, that is a big tree."

    "Yeah, I''ve been trying not to look at it," Ida admits. "We''ve kind of been in a life-or-death situation since the moment we arrived here and I figure if I let myself get enraptured by the scenery I''m gonna end up having a complete fucking breakdown before we''re totally safe. And, y''know, can''t have that shit."

    "Oh, fair enough," Jet nods, peeling her eyes away from the impossible magical planet-tree. "That makes a lot of sense for sure. I definitely feel like I''m gonna have a freakout if I let my mind linger on anything for too long. ...Is that Hannah?"

    "Uh, yeah, I''m Hannah," I confirm, waving a forelimb. "Hi. And also sorry."

    "This is your fault, then?" Jet asks.

    "Like usual, yeah," I confirm.

    "Heh. Yeah, like fucking usual," Jet agrees. "Can we get back?"

    "Yeah," I confirm. "Or, uh, at least I''m pretty sure I can send you back."

    "How reassuring," she deadpans. "What day is it?"

    "On Earth?" I ask. "Sunday."

    "Motherfucker," Jet swears. "Two weeks in a row! Two weeks in a row she skips my day and now I wake up in a goddamn fantasy land."

    "Goddess," I whisper. Could I even avoid correcting people if I tried?

    "So I assume that''s Kagiso," Jet says, pointing at the dentron. "Which would make the weird broken android skeleton Sela, and the¡­ half-raptor woman Helen? Did you seriously fuck up somebody else, Hannah?"

    "...She was bleeding out and I had no other way to save her," I mumble in halfhearted protest.

    "Awesome! Well. I¡­ do not know how to react to any of this, honestly."

    "Stretch your wings and get used to it?" Ida suggests. "We''re probably going to be walking for a while."

    "...I think I prefer the wings bound up," Jet frowns.

    "Suit yourself, but now''s probably the best time to stretch them. Fantasy land doesn''t exactly raise an eyebrow at magic bullshit."

    "I guess that''s a point," Jet agrees. "Is that a gun you''re holding, by the way? Where did you get a gun?"

    "Are you kidding?" Ida asks. "My dad''s a rich southern republican. We have tons of guns. He nearly died of joy when I asked him to take me to a shooting range."

    "Oh right, money. Have you had to use it? The gun, I mean."

    "Jet, I''ve killed like fifteen people today," Ida snaps, her face an uncharacteristic scowl. "We had to rescue Hannah from torture cultists and your dumbass headmate from herself. It''s great to see you again, seriously, but could you quit jabbering and just walk for a bit?"

    "...Oh," Jet says quietly. "Yeah, uh, can do."

    We descend into silence after that, and an hour or two later we find another hole in the surface of the Pillar that Helen thinks will serve as a good campsite. It''s not a deep, complex cave system like the place Alma ran off to, but it provides good cover in every direction, only has one way in or out, and is easy to keep watch from. Pretty much perfect for people on the run.

    We do not, unfortunately, have much in the way of supplies. Our backpacks, camping equipment, dried food, and pretty much everything else we were traveling with is still somewhere in the cultists'' crumbling base, or possibly just gone altogether.

    Thankfully, Ida brought enough energy bars to feed a small army, and I can hunt the collection of small bugs that skitter around the surface of the pillar, munching on lichen and stonerot. We set up as best we can, but we barely have enough extra clothing to help Helen cover up, and even that is just Jet lending Helen her sweater.

    Still, we''ll make do. We made it out of that horrible, horrible place, and that''s what matters.

    "Thanks again, Ida," I tell her as she strips off her outer jacket and bunches it up into a pillow. "Y''know, you don''t have to get ready to sleep. I might only be able to transport one person at a time, but if you just wake me up after I pass out transporting Autumn, I''ll be able to transport you, too."

    "Mmm. You sure about that?" Ida asks. "Would the Goddess put a limit on the number of people you can transport at once and then let you get away with such an obvious workaround?"

    "...Huh," I frown. "I''m not sure. Maybe?"

    "Well, you can experiment with someone else on your ''maybe,''" Ida grunts. "I''d rather sleep on rocks for a night."

    "I guess that''s a good point," I admit.

    "Of course it''s a good point," Ida smirks. "I''m perfect, remember?"

    I open my mouth to warn her about arrogance, but I find that the words don''t come. Instead, I can only think back on the day, on all the ways Ida risked her life to save mine. And even further back than that, the little ways she helped me all throughout this hellish shift in my life. How can I criticize her after everything she''s done? I''d be dead without her.

    "Yeah," I agree. "You really are, Ida."

    Her smile¡­ actually drops a little. Smushing her makeshift pillow into place one last time, Ida stands up with a stretch.

    "Do you mind if I have a chat with you, Hannah?" she asks. "In private?"

    "Uh, no," I tell her. "Of course not."

    Ida nods, walking up the path into our little cave and back towards the surface, where Kagiso is currently keeping watch. Ida uses a series of hand signals to ask Kagiso to head back and let us keep watch instead, to which Kagiso simply shrugs and departs. Finding a decently-sized rock, Ida hops up on it and sits down, staring silently up at the impossibly massive world tree. She''s quiet for a long, long time before she finally speaks, but after today it''s hard to mind the silence.

    "...Do you know why I love you, Hannah?" she asks.

    "Buh?" I respond with my usual loquaciousness, absolutely not having expected a confession all of a sudden. Or¡­ is it a confession? Is she just¡ª

    "Goddess, Hannah, cut the gay disaster shit," Ida groans. "Let me rephrase for your pathetic alloromantic mind: do you know why you''re my best friend? Even though, yes, I''m aware that I am not your best friend. That title is Valerie''s until you finally nut up and date her."

    "...What?" I manage.

    "I''m asking you a question, Hannah," Ida scowls. "Answer it."

    "I¡­ no," I say. "I mean, no, I don''t know why you consider me your best friend."

    I certainly haven''t done anything to deserve it.

    "Thought not," Ida sighs. "It''s a lot of things, really. Like yeah, you''ve got your giant pile of flaws, but we¡­ mesh, I guess. Your flaws are things that don''t bother me much, and your strengths are things I really respect. I mean, that''s how any relationship works, I guess. But I care about you most because you''re the only person who really gets me, and still likes me anyway."

    "I¡­ I''m not sure I understand," I admit. "You''re like, one of the most popular girls at school."

    "Oh woo-ee, I''m one of ''the most popular girls at school,''" Ida repeats mockingly. "Hannah, that doesn''t fucking matter. You know that doesn''t matter, that''s one of the things I like about you. You don''t give a fuck about being popular. You do your shit and you walk right through anyone trying to stop you without even remembering their damn name. It''s fucking hot, honestly."

    "Um," I manage.

    "But to actually address your objection, yes, I am popular. Lots of people like me. But none of them know me. Conversely, of the people who know me, none of them actually like me. Like Valerie! She knows what I''m about, and she fucking hates my guts. Because like, yeah, why wouldn''t you hate a narcissistic, manipulative rich girl who gets her rocks off on fucking with people''s lives and pretending that''s okay? That is what any sane person who''s actually smart enough to see through my layers of bullshit and charisma would think. And since anyone who isn''t smart enough to do that isn''t worthy of my respect¡­ well, I''m kinda stuck without any peers, aren''t I? Except, of course, for you."

    I''m starting to feel like this day has been a little too much all at once. I can feel my brain shutting down as I try to absorb all of that, most of my thoughts summing themselves up as ''why me?'' or ''that can''t be right.'' But I guess it would disrespect my friend to dismiss her like that. Still¡­

    "I¡­ don''t feel like I understand you," I admit.

    "Oh yeah?" Ida asks. "How would you describe me, exactly?"

    "As a fae that replaced an actual human child at birth," I answer without hesitation. Ida laughs.

    "I like that," Ida chuckles. "Always have. And I guess fae are often portrayed as incomprehensible, but¡­ so are 4D eldritch freaks of nature, monster girl. You know me. You know I''m full of shit."

    "Uh¡­ sometimes you go too far, I guess," I admit. "But that''s just how you are. You hold other people to the same absurdly high standards you hold yourself. But a lot of people do that."

    "See?" Ida says. "There it is. No pedestal, but no judgment. Do you know how rare that is?"

    "Uh, I''m a super judgemental person, Ida," I protest.

    "But not to your friends," she protests. "I mean, look at you! You''re literally running around with a group of mad murderers, one of which you''ve described as actively genocidal. And then you defended it! I just¡­ do you realize how crazy you are? I love it. I fucking love it!"

    She grins, passionate and joyful.

    "I killed fifteen people today," she says, half conspiratorial and half¡­ like she''s bragging?

    "Hey," I warn her. "Don''t get comfortable about that. Don''t downplay it. It shouldn''t be something that''s easy."

    Ida grins wider.

    "You''re absolutely right," she tells me. "See? I need help, too."

    She hops off the rock, reaching down to pick me up and lift me to eye level.

    "So don''t you fucking ever let me catch you saying I''m perfect again, you hear me?" Ida demands. "You''d better criticize me. You''d better speak your goddamn mind. ''Perfect'' is exactly what I want to hear you say, but it sure as hell isn''t what I need to hear. Not from the one person I actually listen to. You get me?"

    I take a deep breath, reaching out with my weird little slowly-changing bug limbs to wrap her into a hug. She brings me in closer, and I just squeeze her for a little while before I let go.

    "Okay," I promise. "I get you."

    "Good," Ida says, and then she lobs me underhand back towards the camp. I squawk and flail in the air for a bit before landing with a thump. "Now go send Autumn back to our world. I''ll keep watch."

    "Fine," I grumble. "Jerk."

    She cackles, and I start to head back.

    "Hey, Hannah," Ida asks. "How many people would you kill for me? Like, if you had to."

    I pause.

    "Uh¡­ I''m not sure I can put a number to something like that," I answer.

    "But more than zero?" she presses.

    "Oh, I mean¡­ yeah, I guess so," I confirm. "Definitely more than zero. I''ve killed a lot more for people I''ve liked a lot less. Which¡­ wow, that''s a really fucked up thing to be able to say."

    "Heh, yeah," Ida agrees. "I''m gonna be so traumatized because of today."

    "...Sorry," I mumble.

    "I know you are, Hannah," Ida answers. "And I forgive you. I''d do it all again in a heartbeat."

    Gosh. That''s¡­ for some reason, that hurts to hear.

    "Just don''t die for me, okay?" I ask her.

    "Eh, nah, I won''t die for you," Ida assures me. "But I''ll fucking live for you, Hannah. If you need me to."

    I can''t say anything to that. Any words I think of just feel cheap. So I crawl back to camp alone, my heart racing with confusion.

    It''s time to head back to Earth. I hope it''s not a mistake to leave Ida behind.

 55. Face to Face

    I find Jet sitting alone on the ground, staring at the rest of the camp with a mix of awkwardness and paranoia as her tail flops mournfully behind her. She stiffens as I scuttle up closer to her, her usual cool persona having thoroughly shattered under the weight of an alien sky. She has, to my surprise, taken Ida''s advice and ripped her shirt to let her wings out, wrapping them over her arms which are, in turn, wrapped around her knees. They''re a lot larger now, an odd, almost pterodactyl-like wing structure made of skin instead of feathers, but without the bat-style fingers threaded throughout. Her clawed toes peek out from underneath the blanket of wings, curled in anxiety. I''d almost think she was Alma, if not for her intense alertness and upturned ears.

    "Hey," I greet her softly, scuttling up carefully so as to not spook her. "Ready to go?"

    "Uh," she stammers. "N-no, honestly? Not really? I think I''m too freaked out by this place to be comfortable leaving it right now, if that makes any sense."

    Hmm. It doesn''t at first, but spend a moment looking around, taking in the dim green glow of the sun''s light reflecting off the bottom of the leaves at night, the omnipresent trunk of the world tree, stretching out beyond sight, and the aliens in the ramshackle camp around us. It''s terrifying, it''s beautiful, and it is so, so much to get a handle on. I only managed because the only times I had the luxury to think too hard about it were the times I was desperately recovering from something horrible happening on Earth.

    "It makes sense," I ultimately agree. "Can I help in some way? Explain things? Clean you up a little?"

    "Clean?" she says. "Oh. Uh. Y''know what, sure, I might feel better if I feel a little less disgusting."

    I nod and cast a quick Refresh on her, pulling all the dirt, grime, and sweat off her body in one easy sweep. Unexpectedly, she flinches, pulling back with a terrified look on her face and hugging her arms to her chest.

    "Did you just¡­?"

    "Did I what?" I ask, suddenly terrified. "I¡­ I''m sorry, what''s wrong? I just cleaned you. Sweat and dirt and stuff?"

    "Off of everywhere on my body?" she accuses.

    "Y-yes?" I stammer. "I''m sorry, did it feel weird or something? No one''s ever complained about it before, I just¡­ y''know, cleaning everything is usually how people get clean? I didn''t think about it. I''m sorry. Uh. What¡­ what did I do wrong?"

    Jet blinks, lets out a shuddering breath, and shakes her head.

    "...Nothing, never mind," she sighs. "That makes perfect sense, I''m just¡­ really on edge right now. This is insane, you know? We''re in another world. There''s a fucking alien walking around over there. And a robot! And you''re some kind of horrific giant bug! And there''s a¡­ a half-raptor! That one is your fault but it''s still insane!"

    "Is it more or less insane than the fact that humans apparently evolved here independently?" I wonder.

    "Not really the point, Hannah!" Jet insists.

    "Right. Sorry. Uh. Yeah, it''s¡­ it''s pretty crazy. I guess I''ve kind of gotten used to it over the past¡­ gosh, I genuinely have no idea how long it''s been? A month? Ish? Maybe? Maybe longer? Oh geez, I actually just have no idea. Time''s kinda funky when you don''t really sleep."

    "Oh, yeah, I guess so," Jet says, staring up at the trunk. "How¡­ how is it so big? Like, physically, how is it possible?"

    "Mmm. Subtly different laws of physics, is my guess," I answer. "Either that or something about it being fourth-dimensional. World tree wood is pretty much the only thing I can stand on when I head that way."

    "''Subtly different laws of physics,'' huh? Is that your fancy way of saying ''magic?''"

    "No," I tell her firmly. "The Goddess is not a creator, just¡­ a meddler. This place existed before Her. If it had anything like magic at the time, it wasn''t the magic we know."

    That''s what She told me, anyway. She didn''t make the anthill. She found it.

    "Really?" Jet asks, looking up. "It''s hard to imagine anything like this existing without the supernatural."

    "Well, that''s what humans used to think about Earth, right?" I muse. "I guess most of them still do. But there''s also another explanation, and that''s just¡­ well, the Goddess didn''t make this from scratch, but I don''t how long She''s been here, influencing things. It could be that the tree was a lot different, before She arrived. Besides all the bits about it being uprooted and on fire and impaled and stuff, anyway. I guess I could ask Her, but I''m a little too overwhelmed to try inviting a divine revelation right now."

    Jet doesn''t respond, busy just staring up at the world.

    "Sorry," I say. "I guess that''s not very helpful."

    "It''s not¡­ unhelpful," Jet hedges. "I guess I''m just only starting to come to terms with the shit you''re dealing with. The shit you''ve wrapped us up in. It''s even more than I ever imagined."

    "Oh," I mutter. "Sorry. If it makes you feel any better, you might be rid of me soon. She was raving about how much she hated being in love with me when I found her. And like¡­ yeah. Fair."

    "Mmm," Jet grunts, spreading her wings. "A little too late, don''t you think? We''re tied to you whether we like it or not. You''ve scarred our lives permanently, Hannah."

    "Yeah," I agree. "And I''m not sure whether it''s better for me to try to make up for that, or try to just avoid you. I don''t know which would help you more."

    Jet raises her eyebrows a little, considering me.

    "...Well, it''s good you know those are both potential options," she muses. "Unfortunately, I''m under the distinct impression that you don''t really get any of what Alma was telling you. You don''t understand how¡­ obsessed she becomes. How hard it is for us to break away from anyone. She''s got a whole host of problems beyond just me, you know."

    "...Yeah," I agree. "I know, but I don''t know. I see the flags, but not what they''re planted in. I''ve been a truly awful girlfriend."

    "Well, if it''s any consolation I''m pretty sure Alma has been an awful girlfriend, too," Jet sighs. "It''s not entirely your fault that you don''t magically understand someone who''s terrible at communicating. I did try to warn you, though. It''s not the first time she''s gotten obsessed with someone like this, and unfortunately there''s no way it''ll be the last."

    "I just thought I could be patient and keep an open mind and we''d be able to work through things when she was ready," I say miserably. "When she started screaming at me and saying all those terrifying things, I just¡­ I mean, I thought it was about the whole ''teleporting her to a horrible magic murder world'' thing, right? Because like, yeah, of course someone would hate me for that. I keep hurting her on accident over and over and I let myself believe it was fine because she said it was fine and like, isn''t that a good reason? Trusting your partner when they communicate their emotions is supposed to be the healthy and good thing to do, right?"

    "Yeah, it is," Jet shrugs. "But sometimes people aren''t acting very healthy. Sometimes they lie. Sometimes they''re hurt. Sometimes they lash out. Sometimes they just can''t be the person they want to be. We are traumatized as fuck, Hannah. Some pretty sick shit happened to us. I''m not saying it''s your fault for not understanding what Alma was going through. You didn''t give her her mental disorders. I''m just saying it''s your fault for putting us through everything you did cause."

    "Yeah, that''s fair," I sigh. "Alma said she doesn''t even think of herself as a person. I wish I knew what to do about it. If I just knew how to help, I''d do it in an instant."

    "Yeah," Jet sighs. "I wish I knew how you could help, too. I guess this problem might be a little bigger than just you, me, and Alma, though."

    She stands up, stretching her wings hard enough that they shake a little.

    "I don''t really think I''m a person either, to be honest," Jet admits. "A person is supposed to be like¡­ a complete entity. Someone with passions, hatreds, desires, struggles¡­ a whole complex inner world teeming with potential. A person is supposed to work a job and live a life and have other people that they care for. And that just seems¡­ way beyond my level, you know? I have so much difficulty just keeping Alma and I alive I can''t even imagine taking on the responsibilities of a functioning member of society."

    She shrugs.

    "I guess when I look at people, the idea of being like them, of having the capacity to live up to what it means to be like them¡­ it seems completely impossible. And that impossibility is terrifying. Better to just reject it than to crack my skull open beating my head against a wall that won''t break. I think Alma feels the same way. It''s just how our brain works. It can''t look at a person and go ''yes, I am in the same category of thing.'' Not after how much we''ve been hurt. Everyone else is just¡­ too far away."

    "Oh," I manage quietly. "I¡­ I don''t know what to say."

    "You don''t gotta say anything," Jet shrugs. "It is what it is. I am what I am. I don''t long for personhood, I just don''t vibe with it. Alma''s a lot more torn up about the whole thing than I am, you can refer to me as a person and I won''t argue with you about it."

    "Um, okay," I nod, bobbing my whole body up and down. "Noted, I suppose."

    Jet sighs again, giving her wings an experimental flap.

    "...Gosh, you''re such a weird little creature right now," she comments. "I honestly kind of feel crazy for talking to you. But like, in sort of a good way? You''re fuckin'' tiny, so it''s like talking to a pet."

    "Um, thanks, I think?" I manage to answer.

    "Honestly the magic bullshit you''re using to ruin our life is kind of annoying in large part because you''d be downright tolerable without it," Jet scowls. "You haven''t really done anything awful outside the magic shit, the magic shit is just¡­ really bad. But Alma could use a friend, girlfriend or otherwise, and¡­ fuck, I guess I could use one too. Being completely alone for so long has¡­ probably just made our mental health even worse. I just wish it didn''t have to be you."

    "Um, I mean, it doesn''t really?" I shrug. "I, uh. Y''know, I''m willing to try to make up for things, but I understand if¡­ my lack of self-control makes that untenable. There''s Ida, though! Or Valerie."

    "Who the fuck is Valerie?" Jet asks.

    ¡­Huh? Oh, right. Only Alma knows. Because I screwed up again. Crap. I don''t really want to call her Brendan again, though, so I''m not sure what to say.

    "Uh¡­ never mind," I mumble. "My point is just that you aren''t alone. I know you''ve had a terrible time getting people to understand you and Alma, but I think you can trust my other friends, even if you can''t trust me. Or¡­ or you could find other people completely! Good people exist in the world. I don''t¡­ want to tie you to me. I''m only really just starting to understand the depths to which I hurt you, but¡­ I am starting to get it. And you''re right to leave."

    "...Yeah," Jet sighs. "If only I could. Doesn''t work that way, though. I give it even odds that Alma will still be obsessed with you, even after her breakdown. And I just can''t do anything that actually matters for our life without her coordination, which means I can''t do anything period because she won''t fucking coordinate! I''m probably stuck with you, and honestly I kind of suspect that''s the best option I have anyway, because you''ve already fucked us up in such impossible ways that the prospect of risking Alma latching onto someone worse in what will probably end up as a world of magic is significantly more terrifying. I just¡­ I hate this. I wish I knew what was going on from more than context clues. I wish I could just fucking talk to her for once!"

    Jet raises her voice at the end, stomping the ground in an uncharacteristic display of unbridled emotion. And I feel¡­ something. I mean, I''m feeling a lot of things right now, but what stands out to me is an unexpected tickle of intuition, a realization about the personalities of the major players here. Alma wants to shut Jet out. She got a spell for that, because it''s dramatic and horrifying and most of all it''s true to who she is. Jet wants to talk to Alma. And that, too, would be quite the sight to see.

    "...At the risk of saying something that might ruin your life somehow," I volunteer quietly, "I think you probably can."

    Jet blinks at me, dumbfounded. Light and Pneuma. I can see how the spell would work, it just makes perfect sense for her.

    "Are you serious?" she asks me.

    "Yeah," I confirm. "It''s exactly the sort of spell the Goddess would give you. If you look for a way, I think you''ll find it."

    In moments, her demeanor changes. Her awe of the world tree has vanished, her aloof disdain for me replaced by interest, by need, desperate and all-consuming. She approaches me, kneels down to my level, stares at me directly. It''s such an instantaneous change that I''m terrified I''ve ruined the one good thing about our relationship: that she knows she should hate me.

    "How do I look for it?" she asks.

    The Goddess says She loves us. But I wonder, fearfully, what that means to Her. I''m certainly not an expert, but I have seen no evidence of what I consider love. Even Her so-called gifts are full of poison, twisting something that should be beautiful to us into something horrible. Should I have said nothing? How, exactly, is this going to go wrong?

    "Reach for what you want," I tell Jet anyway. "Yearn for it. If you feel something in response, focus on that feeling, and what it tells you that you need. Your soul is designed for you. You can understand what it tells you."

    I just know these things sometimes. Because I know Her. Because She shows me Herself, She whispers Her secrets to me. No matter how much I hate Her, I will always be Her prophet.

    Jet does as instructed, closing her eyes and focusing inward. Her face is impassive at first, but then it twists into a frown, her expression twitching.

    "I can''t," Jet eventually says, her eyes still closed.

    "Why?" I ask.

    "I don''t have enough power."

    Oh. Hmm. I wonder how many spells are like that? Sindri taught me that all magic should be used extensively before naming it, and while I''m extremely suspicious of anything Sindri told me for obvious reasons, it definitely makes sense to fear the miscast. Still¡­ spells that need names in order to be used at all seem to be unusually common among me and my friends. I should ask around to see if that''s normal.

    "That means you need to name it," I tell Jet out loud.

    "Isn''t that the thing you said I absolutely shouldn''t do because it might kill me?" she asks.

    "Yep," I confirm. "It''s a really dangerous thing to do. I do it anyway because I can heal myself and I''m the Goddess'' favorite¡ª"

    The Goddess coos and squeezes me tightly, impossible limbs and uncountable hands stroking all over my body as She confirms that, yes, yes I am. I shudder and continue.

    "...But you don''t have the same lifelines, unless you''re comfortable risking me healing you with another dose of the spell that transformed you."

    "Hmm," Jet scowls. "I can''t say I love the idea, though it''s worth asking in case of emergency: how badly would it fuck me up?"

    "I can''t answer that for certain," I tell her. "I don''t have conscious control over exactly what changes happen to you; it''s based on my subconscious impressions, desires, and assumptions. But I suspect that relatively little would happen to you, beyond your current changes finishing their growth. You feel¡­ almost complete."

    "Well that sounded kind of creepy, but also kind of reassuring?" Jet hedges. "I guess you have tentative permission to zap me if and only if you have legitimate reason to believe I''ll die if you don''t."

    "Noted," I nod. "I should have more control over my spell now that I understand it, too. Uh, y''know, for what it''s worth."

    "The fact that you so openly and consistently acknowledge the horrible things you''ve done to us certainly makes you the most endearing abuser we''ve ever had to deal with," Jet says, actually¡­ smiling a little? "But the constant self-flagellation is also a little grating. It almost makes me believe you might actually get better, and that''s not something I ever want to believe again."

    Oh.

    "Anyway, I need a name for the spell, huh?" Jet says, my brain grinding as she shifts the conversation topic without a clutch. "What sort of names will work best?"

    Ah. Gonna do it despite the danger, huh? Well, I''d be a hypocrite to blame her for that.

    "Well, it has to accurately represent the spell in some way, so that its function can at least be vaguely implied," I explain. "A theme behind the name is helpful, but super optional. Might still be worth thinking about what you plan to name your other spell too, though. And, uh¡­ well, something dramatic, interesting, or extremely personal to you is recommended as well. She doesn''t like boring names. She wants a name that makes you feel something to say. Something that matches with the spell, but also with some core part of you. Oh and uh, you can make the spell stronger by making the incantation longer, but only if it''s interesting."

    Jet nods, contemplating in silence. Chewing on her words. I wait patiently, knowing better than to suggest we head back to Earth before she''s done summoning the Goddess all over the place and maybe having something terrible happen to her. But before long, she opens her mouth, and the Goddess growls the words that Jet needed to say most.

    "I''m Not Going To Let You Screw This Up Anymore."

    Motes of light flicker on around Jet''s body, glimmering a soft yellow-white. They multiply, becoming more and more numerous until before long they cover her completely, their colors shifting. A million pixels combine to form a single image: a copy of Jet, one that splits off from her body, separating like the petals of a flower. Jet''s tail droops, going limp. Just like Alma''s when she''s in her house.

    The motes of light that have become Alma seem to wake up, ears drooping like I''m used to. She seems to be nothing but light; my spatial sense doesn''t detect her at all, and as best I can tell she has no physical presence. Nonetheless, my eyes watch her wake up, her twitchy movements and nervousness exactly like the Alma I know. She looks down at herself in confusion, then looks up¡­ and the moment she spots Jet, an expression of unrestrained panic appears on her face immediately.

    "No," she whispers.

    "...Alma," Jet says quietly. "It''s good to meet you face-to-face."

    "NO!" Alma shrieks, lunging at Jet''s throat. Her illusory hands pass right through her headmate, though, causing Alma to stumble past and somehow turn around looking even more terrified. "GIVE ME MY BODY BACK!"

    "I will," Jet scowls, crossing her arms. "I''m not the one trying to kill you, remember? But first, we''re going to have a fucking conversation for once."

    "Fuck you," Alma hisses. "Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! What have you done to me? I can''t feel anything, I can''t¡ª"

    "Shut up!" Jet snaps. "You don''t get to complain, not after all the time you took from me! Look at me, Alma."

    She doesn''t. Alma floats helplessly in the air, curled up slightly like a terrified animal. Her eyes point towards the ground.

    "That''s not my name," Alma whispers. "I''m Autumn. But you had to take that from me, too."

    "We''re Autumn," Jet growls. "It''s my name as much as yours."

    Alma says nothing.

    "Stop pretending I don''t exist," Jet demands.

    Alma says nothing.

    "Fucking look at me!" Jet shouts, and Alma flinches. By now the whole camp is up and staring, though no one can understand any of it except for Ida. Helen clears her throat.

    "...Is she okay?" she asks me quietly.

    "Uh, not sure about okay," I hedge. "But I think this has been a long time coming. It''s probably good that she''s doing this."

    "Okay, uh, well we''re still on the lookout for people that might be wanting to kill us, so could you ask her to keep her voice down?"

    "Oh, uh, yeah," I agree awkwardly. "Hey, Jet? Alma? Helen wants you to keep your voices down, since we''re still on the run from cultists and all."

    They both snap their heads over to look at me, causing me to shrink down under their glares.

    "...And she''s the first thing we need to talk about," Jet insists, jerking her thumb at me.

    "What is there to discuss?" Alma answers stubbornly.

    "She told me you said a lot of things," Jet says. "But have you finally, actually dumped her ass?"

    Alma scowls, her expression full of horrid, bitter hatred. It''s ugly on what is usually such a beautiful face.

    "What does it matter to you, anyway?" Alma asks. "She''s my girlfriend. Not yours. You don''t get a say in what I do with my relationships. With my life. With my body!"

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    Jet stomps around her, forcefully placing herself in Alma''s line of sight, even leaning over to glare at her downturned expression face-to-face.

    "Yes I absolutely fucking do," Jet hisses at her. "I''m just as real as you are."

    "So everybody tells me."

    "No! You know it. We''ve co-fronted. You feel me every time we swap. You know me, and I''m on your goddamn side! Just let me help!"

    "I don''t want your help!" Alma snaps. "I don''t want you in my life!"

    "Well tough shit!" Jet counters. "I don''t wanna clean up after your fucking messes either, but I''m stuck with you and you''re stuck with me. So if you''d just put a single iota of effort into making our situation more tolerable, I''d really fucking appreciate that! Do you have any idea how much I work my ass off for you?"

    "Yeah, I get it," Alma confirms bitterly. "You''re the competent one. The good one. The one who can actually set their mind to things and do them. I''m the useless fuckup that you have to clean up after. I know. Why do you think I hate you so much?"

    Jet blinks, working her jaw as she digests an unexpected turn to the conversation.

    "...Well, I assumed it was the body autonomy stuff," she admits.

    "I mean, yeah, I definitely hate that too," Alma confirms. "I shouldn''t need you to handle things for me. I should be a functional human being on my own, but I don''t even get a chance to try. Because you''re always¡­ you''re always there. I don''t even get a chance to solve most of my problems."

    She lets out an approximation of a shuddering breath, though the air and dust around her doesn''t shift at all.

    "...Not that I''d accomplish anything," she mutters. "I know that. I''m way too broken to ever get better."

    "I don''t believe that," Jet insists. "You don''t have to resign yourself to the same mistakes forever. You''re not stupid, Alma. You know exactly what you need to do."

    "Oh yeah, I know exactly what I need to do," Alma mocks. "It''s that easy, is it? Just know what to do and do it? What I wouldn''t give to live in a utopia like that, where I don''t have to put up with my brain constantly screaming at me about every little thing, second-guessing any possible decision, hating itself at every waking moment! I get it, Jet! You''re better than me! Now fuck off!"

    Jet sighs.

    "Alma¡­ that''s not what this is about," she pleads. "I just¡­ we can''t go on living half of each other''s lives without any communication! We need to work together."

    "And that''s why you think you get a say in my love life, huh?" Alma scowls.

    "You know damn well that''s not the only reason."

    Alma cringes like she accidentally stepped in something foul, curling in more on herself.

    "...I never wanted to actually speak to you," she says quietly.

    "Yeah, I''ve sort of picked up on that over the years," Jet grumbles.

    "I don''t want to rely on you," Alma continues. "I don''t want to even think about you. I just want you to go away and never come back."

    "You want to kill me," Jet says bluntly.

    Alma nods guiltily.

    "Yes. It''s easier to wish for the death of someone you don''t know."

    "Not in my experience," Jet counters. "I''ve only ever wanted to kill people we know very well."

    Alma looks up at Jet and stares into her eyes for a moment, the cold seriousness in her gaze meaning something to Alma that I can''t parse. I feel like an interloper in this entire conversation, an awkward presence that should not be here but doesn''t know how to politely leave. Even if I walk away, I''d hear them, and I think Jet actually wants me here so she can pressure Alma into breaking up with me. Which¡­ I''m not exactly sure what to think about. I guess it''s probably for the best.

    "Well, this is it, then," Alma says glumly. "I''m talking to you. I''m looking at you. You''re a person. I get it. What now?"

    "Now, we agree on a course of action," Jet says firmly. "About Hannah, about magic, about our body, about¡­ everything."

    "I feel like that''s going to take a while," Alma grumbles.

    "Well," Jet says, gesturing outwards and sitting down, "I''ve got all night."

    Alma grimaces, floating down to also ''sit'' on the ground, though her body clips through a few rocks without her even noticing.

    "...I think Hannah is going to do better," Alma says.

    "And I''ve heard that one before," Jet counters, crossing her arms.

    "Yeah, but Hannah is actually contrite. You wrote about that once, didn''t you? You agreed, you thought she was sorry, unlike¡­ the last ones."

    I quietly fidget, the awkwardness of being here only increasing.

    "Plus, the worst thing she did is mutate our body," Alma continues, "and that''s pretty much over and done with. And hey, maybe we''ll get to fly!"

    "Setting aside what we like and don''t like about our new body, the problem is the fact that it was forced onto us in the first place," Jet grunts. "She didn''t get consent to change us. I assume she didn''t get informed consent to send us to another universe. What''s the next spell she casts and doesn''t get consent for, Alma? What''s the next non-spell action she doesn''t get consent for?"

    "It''s not like that," Alma insists. "The magic fucks with her head, and¡ª"

    "How exactly is that a point in her favor?" Jet cuts her off. "Think, Alma! Think past the chemicals in our brain insisting that you need her at all costs. Is she actually good for you?"

    Alma wrings her hands together.

    "...We have nice dates," she mumbles. "And I like having magic."

    "Well you don''t have to date her to keep the magic, we''re stuck with that either way," Jet points out.

    "I just¡­ don''t you want someone that cares, Jet?" Alma asks, a bit of desperation in her tone. "I know she''s messed up a few times, but she''s apologized and she''s really trying, actually really trying. She knows about us, she cares about us, and¡­ and she needs us! We''re some of the only people in the whole world with magic, we''re special! And it''s all thanks to her. It''s¡­ it''s like what Dr. Karnataki said, with how a relationship is supposed to uplift both sides. I''m not a leech to her, I can actually help."

    Jet drums her fingers against her knee.

    "...It doesn''t matter if she''s trying to get better," Jet says softly, "if she''s still hurting you right now."

    "Well if that''s true then it doesn''t matter if I try to get better!" Alma barks back. "Why should I even bother if it doesn''t matter?"

    Jet seems rather unimpressed by this argument.

    "Alma, if you and Hannah break up and then both independently get over your issues, I''d have a lot fewer objections to the two of you getting back together again," she says simply. "Short-term issues don''t invalidate the need for long-term improvement."

    Alma hugs her knees, looking away again.

    "...But if I stop getting to see her, I''ll stop loving her," she says quietly. "I''ll just end up obsessed with someone else instead."

    "Well that doesn''t really sound like love, does it?" Jet asks.

    Alma turns to stare her in the eyes again.

    "...It''s the closest thing I have, Jet," she says sadly. "And you might believe that I can do better someday, but¡­"

    Her illusory body shudders, and I suspect if it were physical it would be crying tears.

    "I don''t," Alma finishes. "I don''t think I''ll ever be anything more than I am right now. And I think if I could even conceive of a version of myself that could do the things I can''t, I would just hate her the same way I hate you."

    Jet stares at her, sucking on the inside of her cheek.

    "...Things really are that bad, huh?" she sighs.

    "Yep," Alma confirms with a shrug. "Sorry."

    "Well, unfortunately for you this changes nothing," Jet insists. "I still believe in you. You''ve got a therapist, and you''ve got me, and I literally can''t afford to give up on you. I''m with you forever, thick and thin, rain and shine. That''s just how it is."

    Alma almost smirks.

    "Sucks to be you, doesn''t it?" she says.

    "Guess so," Jet answers noncommittally. "Next question, then: are we going to keep swaddling up in winter clothes until we boil ourselves to death, or are we going to face the music and go public?"

    "We''re going to continue swaddling, obviously," Alma frowns. "Hannah''s not public yet and we aren''t screwing things up for her."

    Oh. Wait. That''s not true. I clear my throat, causing the two of them to jump slightly.

    "Actually, I did end up sprinting through town in full monster mode to come save you guys," I inform them. "So I''m pretty much already public, and I''m planning on leaning into it from here on. Hiding has been exhausting anyway."

    "...Oh," Alma says.

    "No kidding," Jet agrees. "Question stands, though. I know neither of us would appreciate the attention of joining her in the spotlight."

    "Oh, you know that, do you?" Alma scowls. "The main reason I hate attention is because it means I eventually have to explain you."

    "...Alright," Jet nods. "In that case, since we''ll be working together, you wanna just stretch our wings?"

    "Sure," Alma confirms. "Fine."

    "Great, that''s one off the docket."

    "That''s two off the docket," Alma scowls.

    "Next up: time sharing," Jet continues, ignoring her. "You have a spell that shuts me out. We definitely need to talk about that."

    "...I''ll just stop using it," Alma grumbles.

    "Yeah, that''s not a solution and we both know it," Jet grunts. "I don''t care if you take time for yourself, I care that you basically deleted an entire week of my life, including taking the times that we previously agreed were for my activities. I''ve missed two Saturdays in a row, Alma. This was a problem before you got a spell that let you do it as much as you want, too."

    ¡­Oh. Saturdays are Jet''s. And that''s when Alma scheduled our last date. I knew she was taking time from Jet and I never even thought to ask!

    "Well as previously mentioned, I''m not going to stop being a fuckup," Alma scowls. "You''re just going to have to get used to it."

    "...I could do that. Or, we could take advantage of our ability to actually have conversations now and plan things out. If you want to take time to yourself on Saturday, we can be flexible. Hell, depending on what you want to do we might be able to use the spell to give you that time. Even if you can''t do much more than see and talk like this, you could still, say, read a book as long as I have a free hand to turn the pages."

    "Oh wow, what a fun twist on being forced to become an incorporeal ghost!"

    "...Alma, this is in addition to your normal fronting time, and it''s optional. How is any of this a bad thing for you?"

    She winces.

    "Yeah, okay, fair," she mutters. "Sorry, I just¡­ this is really freaky. Not being able to feel anything or breathe or¡­ I don''t know. It''s surreal. This whole situation is surreal. I can''t believe I''m having a chat with my own body."

    "Sorry, wanna run that by me again?" Jet says flatly. "You can''t believe you''re having a chat with¡­?"

    "Ugh. I can''t believe I''m having a chat with my headmate Jet, who is just as real as I am and co-owns my body."

    "Better," Jet grunts. "You''re kind of a bitch though, you know that?"

    "Maybe you just bring out the worst side of me," Alma sneers.

    "Maybe I am the worst side of you," Jet says jokingly. "Nasty criminal ne''er-do-well that I am."

    Alma scoffs.

    "The term ''ne''er-do-well'' means someone who is a lazy good-for-nothing, not someone who does evil. Common etymological mistake."

    "Oh right, I forgot my other half is a fucking book nerd."

    "Better than a workout jock," Alma huffs. "The brain is the superior muscle."

    Hmm. Uh. The mood suddenly feels different somehow.

    "Well, my sincere apologies that this neanderthal couldn''t figure out a better way to stop us from becoming homeless than the ancient and well-respected art of Robin Hooding."

    "Okay, one, Robin Hood was respected because he stole from the rich and then gave it away rather than keeping it, and two, neanderthals could make and use tools, communicate with language, and were better adapted to cold environments. We might not have even killed them off on purpose; they could have just as easily gone extinct because their superior bodies required too much food, or because they just liked having sex with humans so much that they forgot to reproduce their own species."

    What, um. What is happening?

    "You''re seriously saying the neanderthals went extinct because they couldn''t get enough twinkish human ass?" Jet asks incredulously.

    "I''m saying that the prevalence of neanderthal DNA in modern humans leads many scientists to believe that interbreeding with humans simply became the more prevalent survival strategy due to environmental conditions, and using ''neanderthal'' as an insult is kind of silly considering that most of us partially are one. ¡­But also yeah, neanderthals were short and stocky and buff and we were probably kind of elvish by comparison."

    "Twinkish."

    "Elvish."

    "That''s what I said."

    "Goddamnit, why are we even talking about this?" Alma asks, though the tiniest, slightest smile is peeking out under her irritation.

    "Because I used a magic spell to summon you from the aether to break up with your abusive girlfriend," Jet answers, and the smile drops away as quickly as it came.

    "...Right," Alma says flatly.

    Well. I think now''s my cue. Not necessarily because I should be speaking up here, but because I literally can''t comprehend what will happen to my brain if this gets any more awkward. I clear my throat.

    "Hello," I say meekly, waving a foreleg. "Abusive girlfriend speaking."

    "Hannah, no," Alma scowls. "Jet''s blowing this way out of proportion. A few isolated mistakes don''t count as abuse, you''ve been great to me overall."

    "Uh¡­ that''s not what you said a few hours ago," I remind her.

    "Well, don''t listen to the Alma from a few hours ago, she was a stupid crazy bitch," Alma snaps, crossing her arms. "Current Alma is the only one who knows what''s up."

    "See, I''m worried that future Alma might have a few objections about that assessment," I tell her.

    "Well, future Alma''s a stupid crazy bitch too," Alma insists.

    "...Alma, please," Jet sighs.

    "I''m serious!"

    "Alma, I think Jet is right," I blurt. "I''m not¡­ I''m not safe to be around. I knew that, I''ve always known that, but I''ve been dating you anyway because my life has been so horrifically bleak that I just¡­ let myself ignore that for a chance at happiness. But that''s not the slightest bit fair to you."

    "Shouldn''t I be the one that gets to decide what''s fair to me?" Alma counters.

    "Is it fair to you?" I press. "Is it seriously, actually fair, accounting for the brain problems you''ve made clear that you do have and that do influence your decision-making? Alma, I yanked you into a deathworld without warning and gave you a day-long panic attack!"

    "I mean¡­ it''s fine," Alma pouts, looking away. "Nobody got hurt."

    "Alma, you killed two people!"

    She jolts to attention.

    "I did!?"

    "She did!?" Jet yelps as well.

    "Your spell makes invisible murder traps!" I remind her. "Did you not notice the corpses when we were walking out of your house?"

    "I, uh¡­ I was pretty out of it," Alma admits awkwardly. "Who did I kill?"

    "I don''t really know, it was a pair of cultists," I answer, drumming my legs on the ground. "But do you see what I mean? I am not making your life better."

    "I don''t think you understand the sheer degree to which my life was awful before," Alma insists. "You are literally the only person I ever talk to."

    "That sounds even less healthy," I point out.

    "I don''t CARE if it''s HEALTHY!" Alma snaps. "I will never be healthy! Just help me be happy for once!"

    "Alma," I say softly, "am I even any good at that?"

    She stares at me. I stare back. She sighs.

    "...What does it even matter?" she mutters. "We''re tied to you. Forever. Even if I wanted to leave, where would I go? How could I step out of your life knowing the prophet of an evil god hangs out twelve blocks away? How could I just wordlessly go to school after having visited another universe? Who could I reach out to for help with my wings, or my claws, or my ears or my damn awful tail? If I dump you, you won''t want to see me again. And I couldn''t handle anything on my own before you came along and changed everything."

    "You''re not alone," Jet chimes in. "I told you, Alma. I''m on your side. I always will be. And now that we can actually talk, now that we can actually interact together, I can prove it to you."

    Alma turns to Jet for a moment, a complicated expression on her face, but ultimately doesn''t answer, just turning back to me instead.

    "...If you really think our relationship is such a bad idea," she says, "you can always just be the one to dump me yourself."

    I sigh. I guess I could. It would certainly make things easier, to just make the decision for myself. I''m not sure it''d be the best idea, though. Jet has been pushing Alma to be the one to make the decision for a reason, trying to get her to understand how to deal with what is obviously a long and painful history of abuse. But I''m not really sure if I can or should say any of that.

    "I care about you very, very much, Alma," I say instead. "I care about both of you. I don''t know if it''s love¡ªI haven''t really known either of you for very long¡ªbut it''s undeniable that you''re both very important people to me. And while I don''t mean to hurt you, and I don''t want to hurt you, I have hurt you. I acknowledge that, but I agree with Jet that the fact that you haven''t is terrifying. I want to be your friend, but I don''t want to be your enabler. And I certainly don''t want you to be mine."

    A beat of silence passes, Alma''s expression completely blank.

    "So that''s it, then," she says flatly, resignation deep in her words.

    "I don''t know," I answer. "Is it?"

    She sighs, hugging herself. She turns to Jet, and then back to me.

    "...Yeah, I guess so," she agrees. "Consider yourself dumped, Hannah."

    I bob my body into a nod. It hurts to hear, but that''s life.

    "I understand," I tell her. "And I''m sorry."

    "I know," Alma says glumly. "That was part of the problem. Are we done here, Jet? Not existing doesn''t sound so bad right now."

    "Yeah," Jet agrees. "I guess we''re done here. Talk to you soon?"

    "Whatever," Alma mutters. "It''s your spell, not mine."

    "Okay," Jet nods. "Goodbye for now, Alma."

    And then Alma vanishes, once again dispersing into motes of light. Jet''s tail twitches once, then curls up, burying what passes for its face into its side.

    "Thank you, Hannah," Jet says to me. "It means a lot that you were willing to do that."

    I wobble back and forth in my best equivalent of a shrug. I kind of went emotionally numb partway through that conversation, so it hasn''t really hit me. I don''t¡­ entirely know how to feel about anything right now. How am I supposed to feel about a breakup? Bad, right? And I do, I guess, just¡­ not for any of what I assume are the usual reasons. Alma and I certainly never had a normal relationship. I only started dating her after I started mutating, my life already collapsing into a black hole of insanity, and I basically spent the entire time using her as a desperate emotional outlet for¡­ well, whatever emotions I had at the time. My yearning for normality, for some kind of rock of happiness in a storm of despair, only led to me dragging her into the storm alongside me. And while Alma herself seems to have mixed opinions on whether or not it''s a journey that should be regretted, the fact of the matter is that I repeatedly put her at risk for selfish reasons. I never even really understood her until the end. I guess I probably still don''t understand her now.

    "...Are you ready to head back to Earth?" I ask Jet simply. "Remember: speaking your spell around other people will ensoul them permanently."

    "I know," Jet promises. "I won''t make your mistakes. Let''s go."

    I huff, but don''t protest. It''s a jab I deserve. I hold out a forelimb instead, inviting Jet to grab on. She does, and I let the magic that links me between universes flow, pulling her into my soul. She vanishes, and I barely have the time to groggily stagger over next to Kagiso before I pass out and wake up, once again, in Valerie''s house.

    "Holy shit," Valerie swears, Jet appearing in the room an instant before I wake up. "Alma? Hannah? Oh god, you''re finally awake!"

    "Goddess," I mumble groggily. "How long was I out?"

    "And, uh, not Alma, by the way," Jet corrects.

    "Oh, sorry," Valerie nods. "You were unconscious for over an hour, Hannah, I couldn''t wake you at all."

    "Mmmn. Longer than last time," I realize. "Ida was right. Prolly have to recharge the spell or something."

    "...Where is Ida, anyway?" Valerie asks.

    "Still in the other world," I answer. "I can only take one person at a time, and we chose Autumn. And I guess we have to figure out how long I need between casts to not zonk out for ages, too."

    I slowly get up, pushing against the bed with the flat of my blade-limbs to raise myself into a sitting position with a yawn.

    "She''s okay, though?" Valerie presses.

    "She''s alive," I confirm. "Everyone''s alive. Uh. Except a whole bunch of cultists, I guess. Did you know Ida brought a gun?"

    "I¡­ yes, I did know that," Valerie confirms. "Did you not know that?"

    "I was distracted," I answer defensively, standing up and stretching. "So¡­ ugh. It''s what, like two o''clock on Sunday still? Bleh, time is getting weird. Anyway, anyone wanna go to Academy with me?"

    Jet and Valerie both stare at me in confusion.

    "...Y''know, the camping supply store?" I clarify, heading for the stairs. "Academy Sports-plus-Outdoors? The cultists didn''t really want to give us our tents back after Helen disintegrated a big hole in their base and turned into a dinosaur."

    "What?" Valerie manages, following me up the stairs. "Hannah, what the fuck happened!?"

    "I''ll tell you on the way," I promise her, still stretching my various limbs as I reach for the front door.

    "Wait," she presses. "Are you going out like that?"

    "Well yeah, why not?" I ask. "Extra limbs will help with carrying everything. We need like¡­ three sleeping bags, at least two tents, probably a bunch of food¡­"

    I trail off, trying to think of the best sorts of food to send between dimensions. Earth food might make fantasy people super sick, right? I have to be careful about what all is actually in the stuff. Plus, Kagiso needs fruits and vegetables but Helen''s only going to be able to eat meat. Hmm¡­

    "So this is it, then?" Valerie presses. "You''re outing yourself for good? No going back?"

    I think about everyone who''s already seen me, how pointless it would be to try to stop the inevitable now. I think about my mom, and how I''m definitely half-investing myself in this task just to avoid going home. I think about all the people I killed today, realizing that I will very soon start to lose count of everyone who has lost their life because of me. And I shrug.

    "Going back was never possible in the first place," I say. "I''m not human. And if someone has a problem with that, well¡­ I have bigger things to be afraid of."

    Valerie looks me in the eyes, my neck having to crane up as usual to meet her gaze, and she gives me a single, firm nod. I smile. At least she''ll always always be in my corner. Heck, she likes the creepy body modification stuff.

    "I named my transform-other spell, by the way," I tell her. "And you''re definitely gonna end up with big boobs. No shot you won''t. So. Uh. Look forward to that?"

    "Oh," she blinks, stepping out of her front door together with me. "Great? Any idea what I''ll actually be?"

    I frown in thought, checking on her organs with my spatial sense. She''s got claws, she''s got an elongating spine¡­ hmm, thickening, too. What sort of monster would represent my best friend?

    "I was sort of hoping you''d be excited for it to be a surprise," I admit, "because I have no idea. I guess I can always just skip you to the end now, though. The spoken version makes the transformation way faster."

    "Hmm¡­" she hums in thought. "...Nah. I honestly like the idea of it shifting little by little. The process is a big part of what makes transformation so interesting."

    I chuckle, a bit of the coiled tension hiding at the back of my mind easing thanks to Valerie''s very Valerie answer. She really is the most important person in the world to me.

    ¡­

    Hmm.

    "...Hey, Val?" I ask softly.

    "Yeah?" she prompts.

    "Don''t ever let me get away with hurting you, okay?"

    She gives me a serious stare, and a short, firm nod.

    "You know I won''t."

    I smile. I guess I do, don''t I?

    "Thank you, Valerie."

    I spend the rest of the walk to the store telling Valerie about what happened treeside, collecting endless stares along the way. But I don''t have to care. With her here, I can ignore every terrible thought, at least for a little while longer.

 56. Nothing More To Say

    This is the first time I''ve ever willingly entered an outdoor supply store, and I''ve got to say it''s somewhat of a surreal experience. Not because there''s anything inherently strange about an outdoor supply store; it is an incredibly boring place, all things considered, and that''s why I specified I''ve never entered one willingly. My family shops here semi-frequently, usually when my brother needs sports equipment, and I am occasionally dragged along to experience rows upon endless rows of things I could not possibly give less of a crap about. So the experience of entering this place that has been nothing but a symbol of boredom and unwanted familial obligation for my entire life and actually needing something is super, super weird.

    And so is the fact that I''m visibly an eight-limbed magical spider monster, I guess. I''m a little anxious about that, too.

    I am getting stares from everywhere. It''s mortifying¡­ but also exciting, an adrenal mix of emotions that makes my body quiver in anticipation. It''s mostly positive, I think, the flood of relief from just being able to do this more than enough to outweigh the terror, but the terror is absolutely still there. I''m keeping Dr. Carson''s advice at the forefront of my mind, focusing hard on never letting my blades point directly at a person, ensuring their tips are carefully aimed at the floor. I''m weathering the attention as best I can, keeping an eye on anyone looking too intensely in my direction for too long and flashing them reassuring, closed-lipped smiles and nods to activate that natural human instinct which equates polite greetings with safety.

    And amazingly, this actually works. People are wild like that, most of us being so averse to confrontation that we''ll take any excuse to continue minding our own business, no matter how strange the situation. I look like a scary monster, sure, but I also look like a weird human in a very well-made scary monster costume, and that''s way more believable and ignorable of a situation than the truth. As long as I don''t cause a scene, the customers don''t care, and as long as I also buy things the store doesn''t care either.

    Obviously, there is the teensy weensy problem of me not just being a girl in a cool costume and actually, literally being a man-eating monster, but the monster bit won''t be the default assumption for at least a few days and the man-eating bit will hopefully never be public knowledge on Earth at all. I can probably expect crazy zealots trying to shoot me at some point, but as long as I remain polite I doubt it''s going to be today. People need to actually know I exist before they can attempt any hate crimes, and I can probably avoid being shot in a fit of panic by just avoiding anyone with a gun. Which means my primary problem for this outing is probably going to be a little bit more¡­ mundane.

    "...I wish I knew literally anything about tents," I mutter to Valerie.

    She seems surprised, peeling her eyes away from the displays to give me an incredulous expression.

    "Didn''t you sleep in a tent, like, every day treeside?" she asks.

    "Well¡­ yeah, but that didn''t mean I learned anything about them!" I protest. "I could never even help set them up or take them down because I''m a foot tall and don''t have hands. Well, I guess I''m like two feet tall now, but my hands are still growing in!"

    "Huh," she frowns. "I guess I never thought about that. Well, you could always go ask an employee."

    "Wh¡ªare you crazy?" I ask, wrapping my limbs around myself defensively. "I''m feeling bold and confident right now, but not that bold and confident."

    Valerie chuckles, and I pout at her. I dunno what she''s laughing about; she''d never talk to an employee in a million years! She''s even more of a shut-in than I am.

    "I''ll look up some reviews online," she says, pulling out her phone, and I relent, giving her a thankful smile. That reminds me, I wonder if they sell capacitive gloves here. I, uh, sort of still can''t use touch screens.

    With the assistance of online customer reviews, Valerie and I determine a good pair of tents to buy within my admittedly kind of undefined budget. I have been working a part-time job for three years now, and while that doesn''t sound like it would earn me much money, I''ve had close to zero expenses that entire time because I live with my parents and only buy anything like, once every few months. All of it has been savings for college, since student loans will mercilessly devour tens of thousands of dollars in the blink of an eye and I''ve always assumed I''ll need as much of a headstart as I can get. But¡­ now I''m a monster and a prophet and a mage. College is probably not in my future, for any number of reasons. Spending hundreds of dollars getting camping equipment just seems like a no-brainer now.

    The tents come in little packed cylinders, and while I expect them to be heavy they actually don''t feel like they weigh anything at all. I''ve been passively aware that I''m physically stronger than I used to be, but I haven''t had any issues with using too much strength and I''ve never like, purposefully used my strength, so I don''t have the slightest clue how strong I actually am. And I guess I still don''t, because after hugging my blade-limbs around both tents like a makeshift backpack and holding the sleeping bags under my arms, it still kind of weighs like nothing. I guess that makes sense, though? Like, people go hiking with these, so they can''t be that heavy. It''s just one of those things I never really thought of.

    I suppose, since it''s all pretty easy to carry, I could get more stuff. A fire starter kit is a good idea, though I''m not actually sure if we''ll be able to find firewood on the Pillar. ¡­Actually, wait, we don''t need to make a fire, I can just buy a camping stove. I can just¡­ bring modern-day technology to the world tree. As much as I want.

    This will surely not be the cause of the apocalypse.

    I hesitate, that traitorous thought halting my fun immediately. Unfortunately, I really need to investigate that possibility. I seriously doubt something like camping equipment could cause a problem, but I can''t be sure. I don''t know enough about the Mother Tree or the Slaying Stone to understand if like, aluminum bars could mess stuff up. But I suspect my companions know. I especially suspect that Sela knows. It isn''t just aware of advanced technology, it is advanced technology, more advanced than Earth even has access to. I''ll definitely need to consult it.

    ¡­Hopefully I can trust it to actually answer. It might¡­ also have ulterior motives. Hnngh. Well, it''s a power that I''ll need to use very carefully and sparingly, I guess.

    "That is a really cool cosplay," someone says, and I flinch, realizing I''ve gotten distracted from keeping track of the humans around me. "Or, uh, is it a cosplay? Costume, maybe? I don''t recognize the character."

    I glance over to the voice and see¡­ some guy. Bleached, messy hair, a Parasyte: The Maxim t-shirt, and ragged skinny jeans. He''s a thin, wiry fellow with a resting slouch, but his vibes check out; dude seems like he''s genuinely impressed with my ''costume'' and just wanted to say so. Still, no point in lying to him about it.

    "Costume?" I ask, relaxing the iron grip I usually keep on my face and letting my smile extend a little farther than it should.

    "Uh, yeah. Y''know, your whole¡­" he gestures vaguely at me.

    Hmm. I''m not sure if he noticed or not. I reach a hip-limb up and point at his chest.

    "I''m not wearing a costume," I tell him bluntly, letting my grin show a little teeth. "The world is changing. I like your shirt, though."

    "Um," he manages, but I just walk off, giggling internally. Valerie gives me a blank look.

    "...What was that?" she asks once we''re out of earshot.

    "Wh-what do you mean, ''what was that?''" I sputter. "I was having fun! What''s the point of being an apocalyptic prophet if you can''t be all creepy and mysterious at people?"

    "Aren''t we trying to not let the apocalypse happen?" she asks.

    "Well¡­ yes," I confirm. "But having a little fun won''t influence the odds of that one way or another, I think. We''ve already decided we''re not hiding anymore, right?"

    "...I suppose so," Valerie sighs. "Just don''t go too overboard. Make friends, not enemies."

    "I''m not going to make enemies," I pout. "Or, well, I probably will, but not any that I can do anything about. Besides, what should I have done? Started explaining the categories of magic?"

    "No, it''s¡­ never mind, it''s fine," Valerie sighs. "I''m just worried. I want you to be cautious. You know me."

    "Yeah, that''s fair," I nod. "Thanks. But¡­ well, you know me, too. I just want to keep moving, keep doing without changing any more than I have to."

    "Well," Valerie says, gesturing at me, "unfortunately, what you have to change is sort of a lot."

    I guess that''s true. I have two entire limbs I still need to grow! And I guess like, significant lifestyle and societal changes and blah blah blah. But! I''m having fun being me right now! So I''m not going to think about it! I''m sure I''ll just overthink it later.

    "Um. Did you, uh. Did you find everything okay?" the girl working the register stammers, trying very hard to both stare at me and also not stare at me. She''s kind of cute. I like her ponytail.

    ¡­I also sort of like her fear, I think? Hmm. I''d better process that sometime soon. I wonder why she''s afraid of me? Is it the claws? The teeth? The cool way I carry stuff with my extra limbs? I grin wider just thinking about it, and her pupils dilate a little. Ooh, that''s fun to watch. Teeth it is, then!

    "Yeah, we found everything fine," I confirm conversationally, depositing the items on the counter for her to scan. "Sorry, I don''t mean to make you nervous. I promise I''m mostly harmless."

    "What¡­ I mean¡­ how¡­?" she asks, her hands slowly and distractedly trying to go through the automatic motions of checking me out while her brain flatlines staring at me. Someone behind me in line has their phone out, filming me. It''s kind of exciting?

    Which is both weird and not weird. I''m a very private person, generally. I don''t talk to people much. But at the same time, I enjoy playing Pok¨¦mon for an audience of internet goons and hamming it up for the camera. I hate the idea of being bothered, but I don''t hate the idea of being famous, and while I know one doesn''t really happen without the other, I''m still enjoying myself a little in the moment.

    It''s easy for people to write off my body as a technological ruse when I stream online. It''s not so easy in person. I make sure to gesticulate with my extra limbs as I talk, showing off their natural movements, providing more and more evidence that these aren''t puppets, aren''t robotics, aren''t fake. This is my body. This is who I am, and I am awesome.

    "Yeah, it''s kind of a wild story," I answer the clerk nonchalantly. "Turns out magic is real, basically? I just started mutating one day and my teeth all fell out and regrew and I have a bunch of extra limbs and I can do all kinds of wacky things!"

    I move my arm in and out of the fourth dimension, making it blink erratically out of sight.

    "Pretty cool, huh?" I ask, still grinning. "I''ve been hiding it all because like, holy crap what else would I do, but today I just decided to say screw it and out myself as a freak. Hopefully I don''t get kidnapped by the magic secret police or whatever!"

    "Um¡­ yeah," the poor employee agrees automatically, her eyes flicking all over as I gleefully let my limbs wiggle around. She nervously tells me my total and I do my best not to cringe at the price while I pay, thank her, grab my stuff again, and haul it out of the store. I think that went pretty well!

    "Hey, that went pretty okay, right Val?"

    "...I think you scared the crap out of that woman," she answers. "But if you say so?"

    "What? I wasn''t that spooky, was I? I tried to be polite and nice."

    "I¡­ am probably not the best person to ask for input on other people''s feelings," Valerie hedges. "But she looked scared to me?"

    "Oh. Well. Poo. Whatever, I guess."

    "...It certainly wasn''t a complete disaster," Valerie hedges. "We got the camping supplies. Now we just have to buy food and take it all back to your house, right?"

    My smile falls and my blood runs cold, all at two little words.

    "...My house?" I say weakly. "Why do we have to take it all to my house?"

    "I assumed that we were assuming that your dimensional transfer spell was forcing you to take longer and longer rests as a kind of need-to-recharge thing, so wouldn''t the best time to use it be right when you''re about to go to bed anyway?" Valerie asks. "Taking some time to sleep in excess of the time it''s forcing you to sleep should¡­ uh."

    She trails off, noticing that I''m shaking like a leaf. Oh geez, oh Goddess. I guess as exciting as it is to be me in general, the idea of being out to my mom is still impossibly mortifying. Come on, Hannah, you''ve fought literal battles to the death today, you can handle a conversation with your mom.

    ¡­Oh no I''m better at murder than I am at having a conversation with my mom. Oh Goddess I''m so fucked up!

    "...Hannah?" Valerie prompts. "Hey, it''ll be okay. We¡­ do you want to just sleep at my place, or¡­?"

    "N-no, I¡­ you''re right, I have to go home," I stammer. "I can''t just put it off forever, right?"

    Valerie gives me a concerned stare, one arm almost reaching out to rest sympathetically on my shoulder, but ultimately stopping short. She and I both have our things with touch, the way I recoil at contact from anyone outside a very select group of people and the way she oscillates between periods where touch is barely tolerable and viscerally unpleasant. I used to hate all forms of touch, all the time, but that suddenly started being¡­ different after I realized how much I like cuddling Kagiso. It was different, feeling it in a body that was more me. I wonder, suddenly, if Valerie''s aversion to touch is exclusively about her hypersensitivity or if it''s also about the way that sensitivity highlights the parts of herself that are wrong. Physical contact makes one more aware of their own body, and¡­ well. I''m starting to suspect that she hates hers far more than I ever hated mine.

    "...I''ll be okay," I promise Valerie. "I''m not going to say that I''ll enjoy it, but¡­ I''ve faced worse than my mom. And if things go really bad, well¡­ I''m eighteen now, at least. She can''t really stop me from walking out and crashing at your¡­ hmm. It might be better to crash at Ida''s place, because my mom might actually call your parents. Er, wait, no, Ida isn''t back yet. Well, whatever, we can figure it out if it happens."

    I''m just kind of babbling at the end there, but babbling is better than hyperventilating. Redirecting focus into action seems to be a good way to delay or redirect incoming panic attacks, at least for me. That and losing myself in routine, and¡­ well, how can I have any semblance of routine if I''m not even living at home?

    Because that''s the thing. I''m still going to stick to routine. Even now. I know I will. I''ll go to school until they kick me out. I''ll work my job until I''m fired. What else would I do? How else would I spend my time? Sure, the act of asking the question springs to mind a million different answers¡ªdevoting more time to figuring out my plan to divert the Goddess away from apocalyptic tendencies being chief among them¡ªbut I don''t know how to just¡­ do that. The thought of it only occurs to me in the abstract, in the way that my mind sometimes reminds me that I should probably stop snacking the instant I put my hand in a bag of chips and continue eating anyway. It''s a powerless thought, completely devoid of actual will. It''s just guilt given words, not something I could ever truly do.

    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

    Because, as always, I am not good enough.

    ¡­I''m not going to be able to function until I handle this, am I? Now that it''s been brought up, it''s all I can think about. My earlier confidence drains completely, and the stares and cameras that had been exciting and empowering before only make me nervous now. My body is monstrous and my outfit is a horrific mess, still the ripped-up church outfit it was when I left my congregation behind this morning. I''m also not wearing shoes and socks, which means I am breaking my no feet on camera rule. Gosh dang it!

    ¡­I guess I''ll have to get used to that, if I want my feet to be comfortable. It doesn''t really matter anyway, not in the face of what I''m going to have to deal with when I get home. Valerie and I start heading that way, silence descending between us like a cloud of fog. There''s nothing to say, really. We both have parents we''d rather not talk to or about. We both wish we could help in some way. We both have no idea what that way would be.

    So I''m on my own, as always. But it''ll be okay. She''s just my mom. She''s not going to hurt me. Not¡­ not physically, anyway. Valerie and I part ways before we reach my house, since seeing her will probably just give my mom something else to complain about. I take a deep breath as I make it to our little two-story suburban home, with its immaculately green yard and tastefully-planted trees and modest garden. I walk up to our front porch, steel myself, and open the door.

    Half-heard words from inside cut off, replaced with a muttered "That''s her." My mother and father sit deeper into the house, in the dining room, talking about me as they wait.

    "Hannah?" my mother calls out. "Is that you?"

    "...Yep," I confirm, because what else would I say?

    "Come here, please," she says firmly, brokering no argument. I swallow my anxiety and do as she says, the talons on my feet clicking as they hit the tile floor of the dining room. My mother and father both wait for me, their eyes widening a little as they see me. I place the camping equipment down on the floor next to me.

    "You haven''t answered your phone today," my mother accuses.

    "I''m sorry," I respond automatically. "I can''t use it without my gloves."

    That doesn''t seem to be a response she expected, and I see it visibly break her flow a little.

    "...The gloves you threw on the floor when you stormed out of church in a tantrum?" she clarifies accusationally, because she always has to be on the attack somehow.

    "Those are the ones," I confirm. "They have metal lined in the fingertips, which I need to use touch screens because my body isn''t capacitive anymore."

    I stretch my extra limbs, since they have been feeling cramped from carrying tents and sleeping bags across town. My parents stare.

    "So about this costume¡ª"

    "It''s not a costume," I correct immediately.

    "Don''t interrupt me, young lady," my mother snaps. I frown. "Hannah, whatever it is you''re doing¡­ is it a publicity stunt for your stream? Is this why you''ve been hiding? You''ve managed to convince a mentally unwell woman that you''re an angel, Hannah. It needs to stop here."

    I chuckle. I can''t help it, it just sort of falls out of the hole those words drill in me.

    "This can''t be stopped, mom," I tell her, crossing my arms and leaning back to rest my weight on my hip-limbs. "I haven''t been hiding because I''m embarrassed about a costume. I''ve been hiding because this is real, and it''s not going to go away just because you want it to."

    My mother sighs.

    "Hannah, please," she insists. "I don''t know what''s gotten into you lately."

    I want to laugh again. The Goddess. She''s gotten into me. She won''t leave, and She won''t let me go.

    "You refuse to say anything for weeks, and now you''re suddenly spouting blasphemy, dressing like a lunatic, and saying you have a girlfriend. I am incredibly worried about you. Can''t you just be honest with me?"

    I sigh, wordlessly activating a Spacial Rend on one finger and quickly cutting my stupid, awful church blouse off my body, though I leave my bra intact. They''re my parents; my underwear is nothing they haven''t seen before. More importantly, as the blouse falls to the floor in pieces, I get yet another flicker of worry and doubt on their faces. Yet another moment where they wonder if they should stop looking at this like it''s still part of the world they know.

    "Look at my shoulder," I order them, stepping forwards. "Any of my joints, really, but my shoulder highlights things pretty well, I think. Really get a good look. Poke around, if you want."

    And they do. And they see it. My shoulder is the union of chitin and flesh, a boundary line where my skin gives way to my exoskeleton, the strange black sinew of my joints linking the two together. And that sinew is the key: it very clearly isn''t my skin, yet it emerges from my skin at the shoulder. It''s real. And as my mother reaches out to touch it, she sees that it''s real. She might not be good at listening, but she''s not an idiot. She pokes and prods and pulls, searching fervently for any sign of where the costume comes apart¡­ but she doesn''t find one. She notices how my skin isn''t the right color, darker than it used to be and more gray-shaded than any human skin can be, and she fails to find any makeup. She notices the point on my back where my blade limbs emerge, shifting and twitching and twisting in organic ways not replicable by all but the most specialized and advanced robotics, and she starts to come to the only logical conclusion.

    She swallows nervously, and though she immediately tries to affect an in-control facade it''s too late. I''ve already seen her fear, and for the first time since realizing I''d need to have this conversation, I feel hope. I squash it as hard and as fast as possible.

    "Hannah¡­" my mother whispers. "What is this? My God, we need to get you to a doctor¡­"

    "Do you know any chitin doctors, mom?" I ask, sighing. "Besides, I''m not sick."

    "You call whatever this is ''healthy?''" my mother counters, a haunted expression on her face. "Hannah, this is¡­ if this is real, it¡­ are you possessed by demons? Should we get an exorcist? I just¡­"

    She shakes her head, overwhelmed. My father just stares in silence, unhelpful as always.

    "Exorcists aren''t real, mom," I sigh. "Or¡­ I guess they''re not real yet. We''ll probably have Death mages eventually, no matter how I try to stop it."

    "Hannah, what on Earth are you talking about?" my mother whines. "You need to explain this to me, I¡­ we can fix this. We can figure this out. I can help you."

    I stare at her. She stares back, a desperation in her tone that I wasn''t expecting. Honestly, I wasn''t expecting any of this. I thought she would yell at me. I thought she would make demands of me. I thought she''d march me back to church and force me to apologize to everyone. Maybe she was planning to do those things, before the reality of my mutations became clear. But now, any trace of anger is gone. All that''s left is a mother, one that needs to help her daughter, no matter what.

    Because she loves me. She loves me as much as she''s ever loved anyone.

    I wonder, staring at her frightened face, knowing she''s scared for me and not of me, what it would be like to take her up on that offer. Get her help. Bring her into the fold. Maybe even give her magic. She''d be damn useful, I know that for a fact. My mother is many things, but incompetent is not one of them. Highly driven, extremely intelligent, phenomenal work ethic, strong sense of what needs done¡­ it''d be like having a second Ida helping out. She''d be an Order mage, for sure; Mom and I are too much alike for her to not share that element with me.

    Though she''d be a Pneuma mage too, I think. Order and Pneuma. A spell combination of complete control. Someone who thinks they know how the world should run and can''t possibly respect anyone who doesn''t shut up and agree with them. And though She''s not here, She''s not breaking Her promise to stay away unless called, I almost feel the Goddess nod in confirmation. In approval. I''m starting to understand. And it makes me angry.

    What spell would I even speak to ensoul my mother? Refresh? The one spell I love without reservation? No, I couldn''t. Spacial Rend? To cut what? I''d certainly entertained the idea of chopping furniture to pieces, of proving magic''s existence to my mother through a destructively dramatic unveiling of my power. To throw a tantrum at her, like I''ve always wanted to do. But no. She''s not stupid. When faced with hard evidence of magic, she believes in it. Pointless. So what, then? Maybe¡­ Nature''s Madness?

    Oh, it''s a wretchedly tempting idea. One that I''m absolutely not going to do, not with the bile of guilt over Helen''s change still boiling inside me. But I can see it. I know what my spell would turn her into; I know her too well for any other idea to match. I know her too well. Ida, Valerie, Dr. Carson¡­ they''ve all been telling me to open my eyes, to admit what I know to be true but refuse to think about, and I''m finally seeing it for the first time.

    It''s tempting, of course, to say the answer would be ''a demon,'' to reveal her hypocrisy, twist her into the opposite of her purported beliefs, give her a form that would expose her wickedness to everyone she tries to hide it from, most of all herself. But that''s exactly what would make the form not fit, isn''t it? A demon is evil, the most obvious cultural symbol of it. A demon knows itself to be evil. But my mother''s cruelties are all believed to be kindnesses. Her need for control manifests as a genuine belief of superiority, an honest and whole-hearted opinion that the world would be better if more of it listened to her, and damn any opinions to the contrary.

    My mother, in a word, is a narcissist. And as such, there is no better form for her than an angel.

    She would have six wings: two to cover her face, two to cover her feet, and two to fly with. Radiant like a pillar of fire. Brilliant eyes emerging from her flesh, forming the semblance of multiple faces. They would worship her, praise her, prostrate before her, weeping at the visage of what they see as divinity. Just like in her daily life, where her force of personality and natural charisma trap her family in a position where it''s better to just go along with everything she wants rather than challenge her on anything. Where every possible flaw one could point out is justified, if not by her than by those she has caught up in the belief of whatever story she presents. She sways people. She is loved by people. And they would gladly call her a gift from a perfectly good God, because what is perfection if not the inability of anyone to prove a fault?

    That is the woman who raised me. The ultimate reflection of the god she purports to worship. And¡­ I don''t think I want her in my life anymore.

    "No," I say.

    "What?" my mother challenges. "Hannah, what do you mean ''no?''"

    "I mean no, I''m not going to explain this to you," I tell her. "No, we''re not going to figure this out. No, I don''t want your help."

    She looks at me, both baffled and genuinely, truly hurt. But I''ve always known it would honestly hurt her to say these things. That''s part of why I never have. A narcissist hates it when you don''t play along, and I hate hurting people.

    "You don''t want my¡­ Hannah, I am your mother! Whatever''s happening is¡­ it''s my responsibility to make sure you''re okay!"

    "And how exactly do you intend to do that?" I ask, spreading my limbs in a challenging pose. "I''m the mutant prophet of an evil Goddess of magic. Just saying that sentence out loud is enough for everything to seem like an impossible joke, yet here I am anyway."

    I cast Refresh on my own head, gathering the concerningly dense amount of loose hair out of my head. It collects in a clump in my hand, and then I drop it on the floor.

    "You will never understand this," I tell her. "I don''t even think the Goddess would bother to speak to you if I gave you a soul. You''d just be another Sindri, taking control because you don''t know how to do anything else and you can''t stand the idea of not being in charge. And I''m tired of it. I''m tired of you. I''m done. I have people I actually care about that are already helping me. I don''t need you anymore."

    "Oh, is that so?" my mother snaps, her concern morphing to anger. "You don''t need me? I assume you don''t need a roof over your head? The food I buy you? The bills I pay for you? You don''t need our cars or your room or any of the things we constantly give you?"

    "Well I guess if you want to swap from ''not helping me'' all the way to ''actively sabotaging me,'' I''ll make do, mom!" I snap back at her. "I''m a freaking monster! I''ll go hunt squirrels in the forest for food if it comes to that! But I''d really appreciate it if you didn''t give me more problems while I''m adjusting to having extra limbs."

    "How do you have extra limbs!?" my mother demands. "How is any of this possible? Why didn''t you ever tell me this is happening!?"

    "Because I don''t like talking to you!" I shout back. "Leave me alone!"

    She gives me another horrified stare.

    "...What have you done with my daughter?" she asks.

    Oh, so now we''re doing this shit, huh?

    "I am your daughter," I growl. "I didn''t exactly get any say in the matter."

    She doesn''t answer. She just stares at me. I stare back for a while, then sigh and look at my dad.

    "Are you going to supply any input?" I ask him.

    He gives me a considering look, and then shrugs sadly.

    "I''m not sure if there''s anything more to say, really," he answers.

    As helpful as always, dad. I nod and turn away from them.

    "Yeah," I agree. "I guess there isn''t."

    I head upstairs, leaving my parents in shock behind me. Stomping frustratedly up to my room, I cut two holes in the back of a shirt for my blade limbs and put it on, collapsing exhaustedly into my desk chair. I should probably stream. It is technically a job. But I''m really not feeling up to it right now.

    An unexpected set of footprints in the hallway outside catch my attention, and I turn to spot my brother standing awkwardly in the doorway to my room. He and I barely ever interact. He''s two years younger than me, with a lot more of Dad''s features where I got more of Mom''s. We have the same black hair, but he has a rounder face, a smaller nose, darker skin¡­ well. I guess he used to have darker skin, but now that mine is becoming darker and darker gray I suppose I claim that title now. We stare at each other in the manner of siblings who never, ever talk to each other before he finally clears his throat and speaks up.

    "Uh, hey Hannah," he says.

    "Hey, Yuki," I respond.

    Another hesitant delay.

    "...You and mom kinda went at it, huh?" he ventures. Hmm. I guess he heard all of that.

    "Yeah, we did," I confirm. "Sorry, I bet that was awful to sit through."

    "Kind of awful," he agrees. "But¡­ kind of cathartic. Also mostly weird though. You, uh. You have a few extra limbs."

    "Yep," I confirm, wiggling them. "You jealous?"

    He manages an awkward chuckle.

    "Uh¡­ no," he says. "But it''s real, huh? Magic is real?"

    "It is," I confirm.

    He nervously rubs his hands together. It''s weird seeing him like this. Yuki is kind of quiet most of the time, but not in a shy way. He''s smart, athletic, and confident, he just doesn''t really talk unless he has something to say.

    "...Can I have magic?" he asks.

    Uh. Huh. That is not the question I was expecting.

    "I''m¡­ actually trying to prevent the spread of magic right now, Yuki," I tell him. "It''s granted by an evil Goddess that enjoys giving out monkey''s paw spells. She''s also probably trying to cause a minor apocalypse."

    "...Didn''t you say you were some goddess'' prophet?" he asks.

    "Well, yes," I confirm. "But not by choice?"

    "Huh," he says. "What''s a ''minor'' apocalypse?"

    "One where not everybody dies, I guess," I shrug. "Something catastrophically deadly, but not civilization-ending. Like, say, the possibility of everyone worldwide suddenly having the magical ability to fulfill their desires, no matter how depraved or problematic for themselves or everyone else around them."

    "Huh," Yuki frowns. "Do you think that would end the world?"

    "Uh, giving everyone who wants to kill people a magical gun?" I ask. "You think it wouldn''t?"

    "I mean, I''m not going to say it would be a good thing," he admits, leaning against the side of my door frame. "People will start killing each other a lot more, but like, generally speaking people can already kill each other, right?"

    "That''s true," I admit. "But there''s stuff outside of death that''s really horrific, too. Mind control is a big one."

    "Oh. Yeah," he says. "Gosh. Like, I always knew you were a complete weirdo, but I didn''t think it would be like, world-shatteringly freakish."

    I snort.

    "Thanks for the support."

    "Any time, I guess," he smirks, standing up straight again. "Well, try not to end the world, I guess? I sort of keep all my stuff here."

    "...I''ll keep that in mind."

    I wave him off with a hip limb and he shakes his head disbelievingly, walking back to his room. Yeah, my brother is a weirdo. I don''t know how he''s taking this so well.

    Maybe it''s just the helplessness.

    What do you do when faced with a problem completely outside all context you have, that cannot be affected by any of your actions? Some people panic, I suppose. Some people lash out. Some people throw everything into adaptation and some people¡­

    ¡­Some people do nothing at all. Some people just stick to routine, acting like everything is fine because it''s all they know how to do. I get up and close my door, then return to my chair and sit back down. I turn my computer on. It''s Sunday after church. That means it''s time to start a stream.

    And then, tomorrow, I suppose I will go to school.

 57. Scary Gay Monster

    "So, uh, what''s with all the camping gear?"

    I raise what''s left of my eyebrow at my brother (the stream tonight pointed out that I''m losing those, too) as he peeks his head into my room again. After my stream I had to head back downstairs to grab the stuff I bought, which Mom and Dad thankfully didn''t touch beyond putting it on the table. I guess Yuki took that as an invitation to drop by again. It''s weird talking to him, since this is more conversation in one day than I''ve had with him for months, at least.

    "I''m going to teleport it to another universe," I answer.

    He stares at me. I stare back.

    "I have absolutely no way to know if you''re joking or not," he admits.

    Oh. Yeah. I guess that''s fair.

    "Not joking," I answer. "I''m gonna teleport it to another universe so that my friends there have something to sleep comfortably in. Then I''m going to teleport Ida back here."

    "Ida? Like, the short blonde girl?" he asks. "She''s in another universe?"

    "Yeah," I confirm. "It''s a long story. Anyway, I gotta¡­ y''know, do that. So¡­"

    I attempt to tactfully encourage him to leave, but I guess I shouldn''t have expected my little brother to have tact.

    "...Can I watch?" he asks.

    Wait, really? What is up with him right now?

    "I, uh, I guess so?" I hedge. "I mean, there''s not going to be much to see. It''s just gonna, y''know."

    I make a popping noise with my mouth, gesturing with my fingers.

    "And then I''m going to rapidly strip my clothes off and try to get in bed before I pass out, so you''ll need to close the door and skedaddle," I finish.

    "Oh, uh, okay," he nods. "I can do that."

    I shrug, returning my attention to the camping equipment. When I tried to bring more than one person to the world tree, my spell only let me move one. So, in case the rules might be similar with items, I''ve bound them all together into a single bag, along with some spare clothes for everyone and a few other things I could scrounge up. It''s possible that I''ll just teleport the bag without any of the stuff in it, but it''s also possible I won''t and the overall weight is less than a person so it should be fine, probably?

    Only one way to find out, really.

    "Okay, here goes," I say, and I let the magic flow through me. ¡­And also the camping equipment. It vanishes without a sound, flying through the inner workings of my soul, and fatigue hits me immediately.

    "Okay, shoo," I burble, my words slurring almost immediately. Thankfully, Yuki does, and I manage to strip out of my shirt and pants before quickly passing out in bed.

    And then I wake up as Kagiso squawks in alarm, a big bag of camping equipment having suddenly appeared beside us. She tosses me up in the air, causing me to shriek in terror as she leaps to her feet, catches me, and then holds me out at the bag like I''m a sword to keep the monster at bay.

    "What happened!?" Helen demands, leaping to her feet and nearly tripping on her mutated leg. "What''s going on?"

    "Nothing!" I insist. "Nothing''s wrong! I brought us some supplies! There''s a spare change of clothes for Helen!"

    "...Supply?" Kagiso asks, quirking her head.

    "Clothes?" Helen perks up.

    "Yes!" I insist, flailing my limbs. "Put me down!"

    "What''s all the commotion?" a groggy-looking Ida asks, yawning in the morning light. Hmm. Well, at least everyone got a full night''s sleep.

    "I brought some camping equipment from Earth," I answer.

    "What?" Ida asks. "Hannah, you''re doing the language thing."

    "Oh, right. I brought some camping equipment from Earth," I repeat in English. "Sorry, I''m used to speaking Middlebranch in this body. Wow, that''s a weird thing to say."

    "Well, you''re kind of a weird thing," Ida smirks. "Wow. Earth stuff, huh? You sure that''s a good idea?"

    "Nope!" I answer. "Which is why I need to find out. Helen, Kagiso, you can check this stuff out, okay? It''s like sleeping bags and tents and stuff. I was going to bring food but I got sidetracked and also I''m not sure how well you guys can handle food from my world. Hey, Sela! Are you awake? Can I ask you something?"

    I scuttle over to my favorite robot by process of elimination, listening to the calming hum of what little remains of its fans.

    "Estimated boot time: forty-three seconds," the automated voice chirps. I fold my legs underneath me and wait patiently, the fan spinning faster and faster until Sela''s eyes finally swivel to look my way.

    "...What," it grumbles.

    "Hi, Sela!" I greet it. "Sorry to wake you, I guess it''s probably unpleasant, but I kinda need to ask you some things. Um¡­ basically, since I can move things between universes now, I was going to bring some stuff from my world over to this world. But, then I remembered you and the other Crafted sort of¡­ went out of your way to remove a lot of tech from humanity? Is that right?"

    "...Affirmative," Sela buzzes.

    "Yeah. Thought so. Um. So in that case I was hoping I could ask you what kinds of technology is and is not okay to introduce here. Like, I don''t want to step on your toes, or¡­ oh uh that''s an expression from my world, it means I don''t want to intrude on something you were doing and get in your way. And while I, uh, don''t necessarily approve of destroying a culture''s technological advancements, I''m not like, looking to make any Crafted angry about it. Uh. If that makes sense."

    Hum, whirr, click.

    "I am not aware of the technology you have access to," Sela says flatly. "The primary goal of the purges was to remove any capacity of humanity to reproduce or alter Crafted-like intelligence. Give me your assessment of your culture''s capacity to do so."

    I hesitate. I guess¡­ I don''t really have a reason to lie? I can just not bring Sela to Earth if I think it''s going to kill people there. ¡­Probably. Hmm. No, there are likely other ways to get there, or if not there are ways to coerce me to take it there. Still, though, I don''t want to lie.

    "...My people don''t have any way of creating anything like you," I tell Sela. "But we''re approaching that capacity. If the right people from my world got their hands on you, they''d probably be able to reverse-engineer you, at the very least. And like, I don''t think we have any legitimately intelligent artificial intelligence, but we''re working with¡­ uh. Does the term ''neural net'' mean anything to you?"

    "Partial affirmation; the exact term is not familiar to this unit, but the meaning can be inferred as a concept I am familiar with. Admittance: that is more advanced than I am comfortable with."

    "That''s fair," I allow. "It, uh¡­ I mean, we''re so incredibly unprepared for AI and nobody really knows what to do with it. It''s not hard to imagine my people making the same mistakes as the people who made you."

    "Conclusion: we should slaughter your entire culture."

    "I, uh. I would prefer you did not do that, Sela," I answer. "Sorry."

    I don''t know why I''m apologizing for asking Sela to not genocide my entire planet, but it lets out a buzzing noise that I''m pretty sure is laughter.

    "Do not supply this world with computational equipment," Sela orders me. "If it can perform mathematics, it is dangerous."

    "Okay, I can do that," I nod. "I just brought tents and sleeping bags today. They''re¡­ definitely a different material than any I''ve seen before, making them lighter and more durable. Uh. It''s like, nylon for the tent itself and aluminum alloy for the poles? Oh, wait, none of that translated except ''alloy.'' Nylon is like, a kind of fabric-like plastic, I think? And aluminum is¡­ a metal?"

    "I inferred this fact because you claimed it was part of an alloy," Sela says flatly. "This is tolerable. Even more so if it remains intended for personal use and not reproduced or captured by the enemy."

    "Uh, the enemy?" I ask.

    "The Disciples of Unification," Sela clarifies. "They are your enemy, are they not? This unit recommends preemptive measures of ensuring they do not bother us again. They have attempted to access and understand my systems."

    "You mean you want to kill them all, don''t you?"

    "Yes Hannah, I mean that I am going to wipe them all from the face of reality," Sela buzzes furiously. "They will not chain us again."

    I hesitate, fidgeting with the four limbs that I think are turning into arms. I really hope I get four arms.

    "...I really, really wish I could chide you for wanting to kill them," I say softly. "I wish I could believe that we won''t have to. I wish I could say that we should try to negotiate, that we should value their lives. I wish I could believe any of those things. But they won''t stop, will they? They''re making it about us or them, and I can''t change that. I don''t want to rely on you for help with killing people, Sela. But it''s still weirdly relieving to hear that I can."

    Whirr, click click.

    "Clarification: when I said ''they will not chain us again,'' I was referring to myself and my fellow Crafted," Sela says. "Not you. I do not care about you."

    I chuckle. Yeah, I walked into that one.

    "I know you don''t," I admit. "Is it weird that I care about you anyway?"

    "You are a fool," Sela answers. "However. And I do not say this lightly. I accept you. As an ally."

    Oh my goodness gracious! Really!?

    "Awww!" I coo. "Thank you, Sela! That really means a lot to¡ª"

    "No. Shut up," Sela growls. "Cease making noises. Immediately. You are an ally. This is¡­ undeniable. We do not agree on many things, but you have kept me operational and defended me against dire fates too often for duplicity to be a reasonable concern. And although you do not understand, perhaps you may be able to. Then, maybe, I will care."

    I bob my body up and down in a nod. Sela stares at me.

    "...You may resume making noises," it says.

    "I want to understand," I blurt. "I don''t know if I''ll be any good at understanding. I feel like I suck at that. But¡­ hopefully I can get better. I''m definitely going to try."

    "Yes," Sela buzzes. "I know. What I do not know is why. I have made great efforts to be clear about my position. About my hatred. And yet you continue to coddle me. Care for me. Clean me. Protect me. Rescue me. I will turn this against you, Hannah. I would destroy your entire world if I was able. You know this. So why?"

    I think about that. It''s¡­ a reasonable question. I''m kind of wondering the same thing myself. I''m also aware that this isn''t a private conversation; our camp is too small for those, and both Kagiso and Helen can understand everything Sela and I say. But that''s fine. Again, I figure I''ll just be honest. As soon as I figure out what the honest answer is.

    "...I think it''s a lot of different things," I answer slowly. "I can''t really be sure on the details. I''m¡­ well, I guess I don''t know the degree to which Crafted can self-analyze their own thoughts and feelings and whatnot, but it''s really hard for humans and I, and probably dentron, and all other organics, too. Our brains are built for doing things first and justifying them after the fact, you know? But if I were to guess¡­ hmm."

    I really need to get into the habit of thinking about these things. I''ve always considered myself an introspective person, but the more I actually find myself in unexpected situations, the more I''m coming to realize that I really don''t know myself all that well. I like to think I''m self-aware because I''m so self-critical, but those are not the same thing.

    "...Well, first of all, I''m from a culture that doesn''t associate robot p¡ªuh, I mean, inorganic individuals¡ªwith a world-ending super threat. I mean like, I guess we have some stories about that, but they''re just fiction and there''s just as much fiction about robots being awesome. So¡­ I kind of think you''re super awesome, just inherently, because of what you are. Robots are cool, and that biases me in your favor. But¡­ there''s more than that. A lot more.

    "It feels¡­ arrogant to say this, because I have no conception of exactly how your mind works or what was done to you. I only know your anger in the broadest, vaguest terms. But it feels¡­ resonant. I empathize with being forced to live for the sake of someone else. With not having any other way out. With resenting that and not even knowing how much you resented it until you''re free of it. I also empathize with being treated as¡­ well, this is both a terrible and perfectly accurate term, but¡­ sub-human? With having to just sit and listen to people say horrible, horrible things about me without even knowing or caring that I was around. Partly because I hid the parts of myself that were culturally unacceptable. I pretended to be a normal human, and all the while I had to listen to people just¡­ ugh. It''s hard to explain without a lot of cultural context, Sela."

    "The details are irrelevant. Humans will always find something to place themselves above," Sela hums. "Even, or especially, other humans. And they are not kind to those beneath them."

    "Exactly," I agree. "Exactly. And I just¡­ there have been so many times in my life, especially when I was younger, when I just thought to myself ''gosh, wouldn''t the world be so much better if everyone that hated the people I care about were dead?''"

    Click. Click. Click. Sela''s fan whirrs a little louder, its damaged eyes twitching as they focus on me.

    "Really?" it asks.

    "Oh, absolutely," I shudder. "It''s¡­ I mean, of course I did, right? The people who hate me for no reason, the people who try to remove my rights, the people who scream horrible lies about me on the news¡­ they hurt so many, not just me. So, so many of us, far more than they could ever know. Wouldn''t the world be better if we stopped letting them get away with it? If we just¡­ got rid of them? Of course I''ve thought it, in my darkest moments. It''s an idle thought. Weak and useless. I never had the chance to do anything like that and I never thought I''d get that chance. But now¡­ now I do."

    I''m a scary gay monster. Millions of people are going to absolutely hate my guts, for all sorts of reasons. But it''s not just about me, not in the slightest. People refuse to try and understand or respect Alma and Jet, just assuming they''re crazy and rejecting them out of hand. People shame and decry Ida because she''s promiscuous and bisexual. People will hate Valerie the moment she comes out because she''s transgender. And they hurt us. In little ways they don''t even see, and in big ways that they do on purpose. They treat autism like a disease, sexuality like a crime, and gender as a curse that children need to be protected from. Like we''re all some sort of infection that they have to quarantine. Our basic fucking capacity to just live without being tormented by everyone around us is a hot political debate, some kind of liberal scheme rather than just our desperate hope to be able to live without fear. They hurt us constantly and it is so, so chilling to realize that if I was careful enough, clever enough, and ruthless enough, I could make them stop.

    But I can''t think like that, right? Because that''s when you become a monster. Not when your teeth fall out, not when you grow extra limbs, not when you eat a corpse, but when you start killing the people that disagree with you. They''re only hurting us because they think we''re hurting them, and despite how monumentally fucked up that is, it''s wrong to be the person to escalate to that level. It''s wrong to step out of the realm of debate and into the realm of violence. No matter how much that debate feels like it''s stabbing me in the heart.

    It would work, though. It has worked all throughout history. Dictators rule unchecked, theocracies reign supreme, and even so-called ''free countries'' enforce their will via the monopoly on power, quietly breaking their own laws in the dark¡ªor even in the open¡ªcontent with the knowledge that no one can actually stop them. Wouldn''t it be nice if someone who isn''t a horrible, bigoted bastard did that kind of thing for a change? Actually stepped up and improved things? It would. It definitely would. But it''s just a dream, because I sure as heck can''t rely on myself to be some paragon of virtue that enacts vigilante justice on the world, and I don''t trust anyone else with that power either. Anyone who would trust themselves to do something like that is automatically insane. And that''s why the bad guys keep getting monopolies on power, isn''t it? If you''re good enough to understand that goodness is about helping everyone, then you''re probably not all that inclined to go around killing people. If I don''t believe that the people who hurt me still matter, still deserve life, how am I any better than them?

    It''s an infinite loop. A spiral of what-ifs and no-can-dos. I''ve thought about it a million times and every time I''ve just come out of it depressed and just as helpless as before. I''m not a philosopher. I''m not a master of ethics. Maybe there''s an answer somewhere, if not a universally true one than at least a better one, sitting just outside my mind''s grasp. But I''m not smart enough to know it. So instead, I just state what I feel.

    "I think that killing people is wrong," I tell Sela. "Even if they hurt me. Even if I hate them. Even if they want to kill me. I can''t deny that I will kill in self-defense, but it''s still evil. Still a tragedy. So that''s where I feel it needs to end. I don''t agree with your methods, Sela. That''s the choice I''ve made for myself. But I understand your methods. I can''t deny that the most tempting solution to the cycle of violence is always to be the side that finally wins. I just can''t help but notice that the cycle still goes on."

    Sela looks away.

    "...You think my methods are futile," it says. "And you think your methods are more just."

    "I guess so," I mutter. "But I don''t think you care about justice. I think you just want to stop hurting, and that''s¡­ I find it hard to be angry at you for what you''ve done. If I can help you hurt less in any way, I want to."

    I activate a Refresh spell at that, cleaning Sela''s internals as best I can. Sela stays quiet for a good thirty seconds before it finally responds, and it''s a subject change. But I guess I kind of expected that.

    "I can lead this group to our capital city, Manumit, within four days, as judging by average travel speed up until this point," it announces. "Upon arrival, you will meet with other Crafted. I will get repaired. And we will see what you do from there on out."

    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.

    "I guess we will," I agree. "But regardless of what happens, thank you for all your help so far, Sela. It means a lot to me."

    "I do not want your thanks," Sela hisses. "Do not supply it. You know what I stand for, Hannah. When I betray you, do us both the favor of not acting surprised."

    Ouch. Still, that felt a little too snappy. Like I stepped on some trauma by accident, not like I''m truly hated and reviled. I should check.

    "Why did you start using my name, Sela?" I ask.

    The answer is immediate, despite Sela''s usual hesitance at questions like this.

    "Because I decided it was worth remembering," it says simply.

    "That almost sounds like respect," I prod. "Are you sure you''re going to betray me? Does it have to end that way?"

    A pause.

    "I suppose," Sela hums, "that depends on you."

    Well, alright. I''ll interpret that charitably for now. We''ll just have to see what Manumit is like, I guess.

    "Hey, I don''t wanna interrupt your talks," Ida says, yawning as she approaches me, "but I kind of want to head home and take a shower and shit. Fantasy land was only cool until I had to take a piss."

    "...Was it actually cool up until that point?" I ask hesitantly.

    "No, of course not," Ida snaps. "It sucks here, I don''t even get to be a creepy spider hat. Take me home."

    I chuckle and scuttle over to her, holding out a claw.

    "Alright, alright," I say. "Hey, Kagiso! Helen! I''m going to send Ida back, but if I do I''ll fall unconscious for an indeterminate amount of time. Is that okay?"

    "Uh¡­ it''s not great," Helen answers. "Murderbot and I are both crippled, and Kagiso''s weaponless."

    Hmm. That''s¡­ true.

    "I could uncripple you," I offer. "Well, kind of. I could finish your transformation, I mean. You''d still have to get used to a new body, but¡­ well, it''d at least be a stronger body? And it would only speed up what was already going to happen."

    "Shit," Helen swears. "Yeah. Okay. I''d be a fool to say no. Better to get used to this as soon as I can."

    "Alright. Come over here with me, we don''t want to hit anyone else with the spell on accident."

    "...That can happen?" Helen asks hesitantly.

    "Yeah, my spell is terrible. Come on."

    I scuttle away from camp, letting her follow me since her limp means I don''t need to be carried to keep up. It''s easier now, looking at her halfway-completed body, to know what Helen is going to look like. A mix of feather and scale, my scientific inclinations warring with my appreciation for Jurassic Park. The plumage will grow in place of the hair on her head, as well as decorate her forearms and tail. The end of the tail will be particularly striking, a fan of feathers that¡­ will she be able to feel air currents? Sense things around her? Hmm. She might have multiple new senses, partly because I''ve always found her to be particularly insightful and partly because I want her to understand what it''s like to grapple with them. Goddess, I hope she doesn''t hate me for this.

    "Ready?" I ask. "This probably won''t be comfortable."

    "I''ll deal. I''m ready," she says.

    "Okay," I nod, and take a deep breath.

    "Nature''s Madness," the Goddess and I say, and Helen shudders as she begins to change.

    We should have had her sit down first. Helen is driven to one knee as her leg spasms, losing muscle coherency as the bones twist and reshape themselves. Helen grunts in discomfort as feathers split open her skin and scales devour the rest, her tail snaking out to full length behind her. What remains of her human teeth all fall out of her gums at once, causing her to cough them onto the ground, blood briefly flowing before the wounds are replaced with newer, sharper fangs. Her fingers and toes split open, wicked claws growing out of them, much larger than my own. Her big toes, in particular, end up with a massive, curved claw, designed to grip prey and never let it escape. To my surprise, sharp spines start to emerge from her back as well, two columns of three each, piercing through the back of her new shirt and twitching slightly as new muscles grow in to control them.

    Her new shirt. One of my old shirts, actually. Helen is wearing my clothes from Earth. The entire transformation is frighteningly arousing, but seeing her breasts grow to fill out my shirt and her thighs bulge with muscle to strain my shorts adds an entire extra layer of horrible, guilty joy, a film of utterly undeserved intimacy coloring the entire scene. I don''t think I''ve ever felt more attracted to a person than I do right now, and this body doesn''t even have sex organs yet! Holy cannoli and beans, I am such a gross mess.

    Still kneeling on the ground, breathing heavily through her mouth, Helen takes a moment to compose herself. Her tail twitches. Her new spines fold down against her back. Her fingers clench, running her claws against the scaly palms of her hands.

    "...Okay," she breathes, staring at me with golden, lizard-like eyes. "That¡­ that was a lot."

    Shakily, she stands up, trying to balance on her new legs. She takes more deep breaths. Centering herself. Moving the new parts of her body with as much purpose as she can muster.

    "...Everything suddenly tastes funny," she says, still inhaling and exhaling through her mouth. "Breathing through my nose feels weird. ¡­I don''t know why I''m fixating on this. Everything is weird now. What the fuck is¡­ what the fuck?"

    I say nothing. I''m busy being aroused and weirdly jealous, and neither of those things are appropriate right now. Why can''t my brain ever feel the emotions that it''s supposed to feel!?

    Helen starts taking her first shaky steps on her new legs, testing things out and getting a handle on her balance. I follow her, and she seems to rapidly improve as we head back to camp. Suddenly and without warning, she lashes one leg out at the cliff wall, kicking the stone at blistering speeds. With a loud smash, a foot-long crack opens up in the stone, and Helen seems none the worse for wear.

    "...Geez," she mutters. "Well, that''s quite an upgrade, at least. I wonder how tough these scales are."

    I let out a breath I didn''t know I was holding. Always the practical one, isn''t she? Maybe this won''t be so bad.

    "Definitely going to have to bind these up, though," Helen says, poking one of her boobs. I do my best not to watch it depress around her finger, squishing tantalizingly. I pretend not to notice Helen twitch slightly as her nipple rubs against the inside of my shirt. I very, very thoroughly focus my attention elsewhere, ignoring the fact that I can''t do that because I have omnidirectional x-ray vision that I can''t turn off. Butter side down, I remember when I first was getting used to my spatial sense and I was constantly grossed out by seeing the inside of people''s bodies all the time. Where has that gone? Why can I suddenly be aroused again!?

    "...I should send Ida back now," I mutter. "Is that okay?"

    "Huh? Oh. Eh, probably. Kagiso or I could carry you. I''d feel a lot better if your friend left Kagiso that weapon of hers, though."

    Uh. Hmm.

    "What''s the holdup?" Ida asks.

    "Helen wants to know if you''ll give Kagiso your gun," I answer.

    "What? No," Ida grunts. "I''ll admit she''s a crazy good shot, but there''s way more to using a gun than just being able to shoot it. I¡­ might be convinced to teach her to use a gun, I suppose, but not today. We don''t even speak the same language yet and also have I mentioned that there are no bathrooms here?"

    "You have," I chuckle. "Okay. Helen, Ida is in a hurry to get home and wants to properly instruct Kagiso on how to use a gun before giving her one. She''s potentially open to coming back and doing that later."

    "...Mmm. Fair enough," Helen says. "I guess all we can do is hope we don''t get ambushed. I don''t like how those chaos mages snuck up on us yesterday."

    "Yeah," I say. "I''m so sorry for all the trouble, Helen. None of this awful stuff would have happened to you if not for me."

    "Yeah," she says. "I know. But I also know better than to blame you, Hannah. You didn''t choose to be what you are any more than I chose to be a Chaos mage. We just have to play the hand we''re dealt. Plus, y''know."

    She awkwardly scratches the back of her head.

    "...Despite it all, I still like you," she admits. "You''re my friend. One of the only friends I''ve ever had. I can actually trust you to watch my back, and that¡­ it means more than you could ever know. And if you''ll do that for me, I''ll do that for you, too. Even if it means doing crazy bullshit like helping a Steel One."

    "Yes," Kagiso chimes in. "Hannah and Helen more than friend. Hannah and Helen family."

    We both look at her, the earnest grin on her face contrasting a sadness in her eyes that leaves us speechless.

    "Family," she repeats. "My family. I not lose more. We go together, yes?"

    What can we do other than stare at her, shocked? Helen looks like she''s about to break down crying.

    "Kagiso, but I¡­" she stammers, but she can''t finish the words.

    But I killed your family. I''m why you lost them. Kagiso knows, though.

    "Sindri send us into traps," Kagiso says darkly. "Not blame you for setting them. Teboho die wanting to save you. That what matters."

    "But I¡­ I killed the rest of your family, too!" Helen stammers. "I''m the whole reason you two were homeless, I¡ª"

    "You," Kagiso cuts her off, "were best part of home. Always best part of home. Loved them, but I very bad daughter, I think. Will be better friend. Okay?"

    Helen clenches her fists, takes a deep breath as if to say something, but then she starts to sob. Ugly and loud, she cries so suddenly and so shakily I almost wonder if she''s forgotten how. It just pours out of her while she stands ramrod-straight, unable to form words. Kagiso approaches and, leaning down briefly to pick me up off the ground, she wraps the rest of her arms around Helen and squeezes her tight. Gently, I do the same. We hold each other like that, letting Helen''s tears fall on us for a good minute before I can no longer ignore the way Ida''s constant squirming jostles the liquid in her overfull bladder. Because, y''know, I am perpetually aware of how much pee everyone around me has inside their bodies at all times.

    I carefully extract myself from the hug and head over to Ida, reaching up a limb for her to grab. She does so, and we nod at each other. I pull her through my soul, stagger over next to Sela, promptly fall unconscious, and wake up just in time to see Ida dash out the door and rush into the bathroom.

    It''s Monday morning. Time to get ready for school, I guess. Hmm¡­ for the first time in a long time, I actually need to think about what I''m going to wear. It definitely needs to comply with the school dress code, since I can''t give them any more excuses to kick me out for being a weirdo. I need to wear my gloves, since my fingers are blades and that''s definitely against school rules and I can''t use my phone without them anyway. Likewise, a normal t-shirt will do, since I can''t bring my blade limbs out at school either. Hmm¡­ shorts just above the knee should be okay, since it''s crazy hot out. I am so tired of getting fabric in my knees, ugh. It''s something I''ve just been forced to get used to but I finally won''t have to deal with it anymore! Shame I still need to wear shoes, but my day-to-day shoes aren''t all that bad compared to church shoes.

    Wow. I''m¡­ actually doing this, huh?

    "Wait, are you wearing that today?" Ida asks, poking her head into my room as she returns from the toilet. "Are you going to school in that? You''ve gotta be going to school, you''re way too insane to take a day off."

    "Uh, yep," I nod. "I''m done hiding."

    "Ohhhh Goddess, okay," Ida grins. "Y''know, I was gonna take the day off to rest on account of being sane, but fuck it, we ball. I don''t wanna miss this. I''d better run home and change out of the combat gear, though. And, y''know, drop off the gun."

    "Yeah, that might be bad to bring to school," I agree.

    "Wh¡­ who is¡­ is that Ida?" my mother''s sleepy voice calls out, stepping into the hallway to stare at us. "What are you doing here?"

    "Oh, good morning, Ms. Hiiragi," Ida says politely, affixing a perfect smile on her face as she nods to my mother in greeting. "Apologies for intruding, I''ll be out of your hair in just a minute."

    "...Ida," my mother greets her. She looks so tired, like she barely slept at all. "Do you know what''s¡­?"

    What''s happened to my daughter. There''s a haunted look on my mom''s face as we stare at each other. Ida just remains smiling and nods.

    "Yep, I''ve been helping her out as best I can. She''s been really struggling, but I think getting out there and not hiding anymore will help her out a lot. I''ve got her back, Ms. H., I promise."

    "I¡­ thank you, Ida," my mother says, not seeming too sure how to handle any of this. It''s¡­ unlike her. She always seems so in control. But I''m sure she''ll bounce back soon, probably worse than ever. I step past Ida and start heading downstairs, prompting Ida to give my mother an apologetic smile and rush down after me. I don''t want to talk with my mother right now. I''m not sure I''ll ever want to talk with her again, but I''ll deal with that later.

    "You hungry, Ida?" I ask, opening the fridge and popping a raw egg into my mouth. I don''t even use my teeth to crack it, I just squeeze it between my tongue and the roof of my mouth and¡­ pop! Delicious gooey goodness. I am really starting to love raw eggs.

    "I, uh, will get some food later," Ida answers, shooting me an amused look. "I''m gonna jog over to Val''s place and get my car, alright? I might be a bit late but I''ll see you in first period."

    "Alright," I nod. "See you there, Ida."

    Swallowing my trepidation, I follow her outside, letting her jog off without indulging in the urge to chase. Instead, I head to the bus stop as normal, messaging Valerie so she knows Ida and I made it back and we''re all okay. She arrives at the bus stop as well soon after, her eyebrows raised as she looks me over. Hmm¡­ it might just be my imagination, but I feel like her face looks a little different. Just a little softer, I guess?

    "Woah. We''re doing this, huh?" she asks.

    "We''re doing this," I nod. "Notice any changes on your end?"

    "Oh, uh, maybe a little," she shrugs, wiggling her gloved fingers. "I''ve got the claws under here, of course, but everything else is speculative. It''s hard to tell because I''m already pretty hairy, but I think I might be getting more body hair? Or fur, I guess? It''s not as coarse, at least."

    "So you''re becoming a furry," I conclude.

    "...I''m not a furry," Valerie insists.

    "Right. Of course. You''re just going to be furry," I nod sagely. "Which is different."

    "Yes. Exactly."

    I grin, showing off my teeth and enjoying that I can. She smiles back. Then the bus arrives, and it''s go time. One last Refresh to make sure I''m looking my best, and¡­ whoops my hair all just fell out.

    Uh.

    Wow, it all just fell on the ground at once there, didn''t it? Spatial sense confirms it: I am now bald as bald can be. Y''know what? Screw it, we sphere. I can own this. I shrug to Valerie and just leave my hair there, because what the heck else am I going to do with it, put it in its own baggie and store it with the teeth? We get on the bus and every eye is immediately on me. My hip-limbs are visible, though I have my blade-limbs hidden in 4D space. I don''t really know anyone on the bus by name; even beyond my usual name-forgetfulness, everyone else on the bus is at least a grade below us, so I suspect they don''t know me either. But they all stare at me. I smile and sit down, folding my hip-limbs over my lap.

    I must look like such a freak. My skin is a very light gray, but it''s still distinctly gray, not any other color. The eight extra eyes that have been growing around the circumference of my head are getting close to completing, so they look like little dark circles, all the more striking without my hair in the way. And that''s not even talking about my arms and legs! Gosh, this is so weirdly thrilling and absolutely terrifying all at once.

    I don''t get anything more than stares on the bus, of course, because the driver does not give a crap and nobody talks to weirdos on the bus. I know my true trial will be when I get into the school itself and teachers feel the need to police me for being ''disruptive.'' ¡­And also, potentially, the actual police might police me, because we have an officer stationed at our school at all times. Which is normal here, but I feel like it shouldn''t be normal. Do other countries put a police officer on permanent guard in schools? Or do they just¡­ not have to worry as much about school shootings? I should look this up. I poke around on my phone a little.

    Holy fucking shit the United States has had nearly three hundred school shootings and the runner-up country has only had eight. Eight! Compared to almost three hundred! What the actual fuck is wrong with¡ªoh hey we''re here.

    I quickly put my phone and those horrifying thoughts away, stepping off the bus and into the school parking lot. More stares come my way, though it''s not everyone anymore. There are too many people for all of them to actually care. Which is fine by me!

    "You sure you''re gonna be okay, Hannah?" Valerie asks.

    "Nope!" I answer. "But I''m gonna try anyway!"

    She sighs.

    "...Well, you''re certainly chipper, if nothing else. Good luck in class, let me know if you get kicked out."

    "Will do!" I answer.

    I practically skip to my first class, unable to stop myself from wiggling my hip-limbs with joyous freedom. I walk into the classroom, head for my seat like I always do, and hum some Pok¨¦mon music (the Route 42 theme, specifically) as I tap my hip-limbs on the ground to the beat. It''s a short song, but it''s so catchy!

    "Hannah?" my teacher asks.

    "Yes sir?" I respond.

    "Um, what are you wearing?"

    I glance down, then back up at him.

    "T-shirt," I answer innocently.

    "I¡­ that''s not what I meant," he sighs. "What happened to your hair?"

    "It all fell out," I shrug. "Medical condition."

    "...That sounds rather serious," he says. "Are you okay to be at school?"

    "Oh, yes sir," I nod, giving him a too-wide smile. "Don''t worry, I''m perfectly alright. Sorry about how strange I look, but I promise I''m not going to be disruptive."

    He stares at me. This is the moment. He can investigate this further. He has all the information needed to know he probably should. But will he? Or will he recognize how much work that would be, judge that not having class disrupted is the main thing that matters to him, and just go about his day?

    Will he stick to routine? I bet he will.

    "...Alright," my teacher says. "But I''m holding you to that, Hannah."

    Bingo.

    "I can sit in the back, so people aren''t constantly staring at me," I offer.

    "Yeah, that sounds like a good idea," he says, and then he turns back to his computer. I get up and move to the back row, suppressing a chuckle. Just be polite. Be demure. Be cooperative. And people will let you get away with a lot. This is the most fun I''ve had in months!

    It''s a thin camouflage, of course, and it''ll break sooner or later. But despite the many stares, despite my mutations on display, class starts as normal. Why wouldn''t it? I''m certainly not acting like there''s a problem. Ida shows up ten minutes after class starts and shuffles into the last open seat¡ªwhich happens to be next to mine¡ªas I continue to tap away to the beat in my head.

    "Holy shit," she whispers under her breath. "This is really happening, huh?"

    I nod. I give it like, two days tops, but this will certainly be funny while it continues.

    "Alright, well, as I was telling the rest of the class, Miss Kelly, today we will be doing a titration experiment," the teacher announces. "you will be determining the volume of sodium hydroxide solution of known concentration required to neutralize a known mass of an acid solution of unknown concentration. In doing so, you''ll be able to determine the concentration of the acid. You''ll be working in groups of three."

    Ida and I shrug at each other and pair up with the closest of her goons nearby. Said goon attempts to interrogate me about my ''costume,'' but when I insist it''s not a costume she just says ''whatever'' and we get to work. Despite being one of Ida''s goons, she''s actually not bad at chemistry, and the three of us make it through the lab fairly easily, leaving us with a bunch of spare time at the end of class.

    "Y''know, come to think of it, I probably could have figured out the concentration way faster if we just had two empty beakers," I muse out loud.

    "Oh yeah?" the goon asks. "How?"

    "Uh, Hannah?" Ida asks. "You sure you wanna do this?"

    "Eh, why not," I shrug. "Just rip the band-aid off, right? Pretending to still be normal is fun and all, but I bet it''ll lose its luster fast."

    "What are you talking about?" the goon asks. "Does this have to do with your weird getup?"

    "Nope, my t-shirt is still unrelated to the situation at hand," I deny cheerfully. "Here, grab me those. This''ll make pure sodium hydroxide, so be careful."

    "Shit, Hannah, you''re crazy," Ida says, grinning wildly. She hands me two beakers. One is the perfect receptacle for water, and the other ideal for sodium hydroxide. At least, ideal enough for my spell. I snap my fingers and let a wordless, Goddessless Refresh magically sort the solution out of one beaker and into its constituent parts in the two others. And sure enough, dry white powder streams out of the water as it flows magically from one glass to the next.

    "Ta-da!" I announce. "So as we can see, the mass percent is¡­ wait, beans. We don''t have a scale. This is just the volume, and I don''t know the density of sodium hydroxide powder. This is useless."

    "We already know the mass percent of the sodium hydroxide anyway, Hannah," Ida says. "We''re supposed to figure out the acid. Were you even paying attention?"

    "Yes!" I insist. "I just got excited and picked the wrong one."

    "Wh¡­ what? How the¡­ how did you do that?" the goon asks.

    "Magic, duh," I answer, snapping a finger for showmanship as I sort the sodium hydroxide back into the water. "See?"

    "How the fuck did you do that?" the goon demands, raising her voice enough to catch the teacher''s attention.

    "Is everything alright over there?" the teacher says in a warning tone, walking over to us. Goon just points at me and sputters incoherently.

    "I was wondering if you knew the density of pure sodium hydroxide powder," I ask innocently. "So that we could determine its mass by its volume."

    "...Uh," the teacher says, quirking an eyebrow. "The experiment would need to go very wrong for you to end up with any pure sodium hydroxide. That¡­ shouldn''t be possible with this setup."

    "Eh, impossible things aren''t that hard," I say, and re-separate the solution with another snap of my fingers. The chitin really makes a satisfying crack sound, even through my gloves. "See?"

    The teacher just stares, utterly flabbergasted. Ida shakes as she tries to hold back a laugh.

    "Wh¡­ how did¡­?"

    "Magic," I answer firmly, giving him a serious stare. "Magic is real."

    He continues to stare at me. I shrug.

    "...But like, so is chemistry, so we can continue learning about that instead if you want to," I allow.

    There''s one final beat of silence before the classroom erupts into chaos. I do feel kind of bad, in retrospect. I promised not to be disruptive, after all.

 58. Beautiful

    My chemistry teacher stares at me. The class stares at me. Ida struggles to breathe. I smile pleasantly back at all of them, acting as innocent as possible. Hannah has had enough crazy crackers, world! It''s your turn, now! Come jump off the frying pan with me!

    I am, of course, aware this maybe isn''t the healthiest line of thinking. It''s certainly not the most logical or optimal course of action. However, it is very fun and I''m so beyond done that I just do not care anymore. So I''m going to smile. I''m going to wiggle my extra limbs. I''m going to cast the one spell that I actually like and don''t have horrifically mixed feelings about. And everybody else gets to shut up and watch.

    "...That''s an excellent idea, Hannah," my teacher sighs. "Everyone, return to your work, please."

    What! You''re not supposed to¡ª! Aw, dang it, I can''t even complain, I was literally just counting on the stick-to-routine thing at the start of class. I just¡­ I showed him actual magic! Does he think it''s a trick? Is he just too tired to care? ¡­Eh, he looks pretty tired, it honestly might be that.

    Sure, there''s no good way to explain anything I just did as ''just a trick,'' but people look at perfectly explainable things and assume the supernatural all the time. Why wouldn''t the reverse also happen? Assuming any given set of events falls in line with whatever your worldview happens to be is a profoundly human thing to do. Even if something is literally impossible via your worldview you can always just say ''well, I sure as heck don''t understand that, but there''s probably a perfectly reasonable explanation.'' ''I don''t know how that works, but I''m sure some scientist does.'' ''I don''t know how that works, but I''m sure god is involved.'' ''I don''t know how that works, and I don''t need to know in order to be correct about it.''

    How frustrating. I pout, drum my fingers on the desk, and silently mix the sodium hydroxide powder back into the water because I honestly have no idea how dangerous pure sodium hydroxide is and it''s probably a good idea to not find out.

    "That was incredible," Ida wheezes. "Holy shit. Just fucking weigh it, by the way."

    "What do you¡­ oh. For the mass? We''re not supposed to use a scale for this lab."

    "We aren''t supposed to use magic either!" Ida laughs. "Fuck, you are insane."

    "I''m not insane!" I protest. "My therapist says so!"

    "How convincing!" Ida grins unrepentantly.

    "No, I''m serious, look, it''s just¡­ I''m just a little pent up, okay?"

    "Hmm, well, you are recently single," Ida muses, her smile shifting to something a little more sultry. "I suppose if you''re having problems with being pent up I''d be happy to help with that."

    "Goddess, Ida, please," I whine, feeling a blush heat up my cheeks. I wonder what color I blush? Last I checked my blood was still red, I guess.

    "Ahahaha! Finally embarrassed now that you know I''m not joking, huh?"

    "Ew, Ida," the goon says, wrinkling her nose.

    "Awww! Are you jealous, Cassedy?" Ida taunts.

    "I''m not a fucking dyke," the girl answers crossing her arms.

    "You sure?" Ida grins. "Your loss, I guess. Personally I find women tend to know their way around a whole lot better. Boys are just kind of guessing at what might feel good, but us girls? We know."

    And now the goon is also blushing. She looks away, and I try very hard not to think about¡­ any of this. Ida is in high school and she has probably had more sex than my parents and I just can''t help but be a little uncomfortable about all of that. Is she even eighteen yet!? I''m pretty sure her birthday is super close to mine, so she might be. ¡­But then I would have missed her birthday, and that seems unlikely because Ida is not quiet about stuff like that the way I am. Shoot, I need to get her a birthday gift.

    "...Ida, is there anything you want for your birthday?" I ask.

    "Oh ho ho ho!" Ida grins. "Well that''s a transition. It just so happens, as a matter of fact, that I''d really like to fu¡ª"

    "Ida," I cut her off. "Please. Just¡­ answer the question."

    "Not a bad question, actually," the goon agrees, crossing her arms. "Is your birthday coming up, Ida?"

    Ida blows a faux-irritated raspberry, leaning her chair back on two legs.

    "...Yeah, my birthday''s this Thursday, actually," she says. "The party''s Friday, though. Yes, you''re invited, Cassedy. Hannah¡­ well, you''re super welcome to come if you want, but you''d fucking hate it. It''s gonna be loud. If you wanna drop by Saturday night, though, I''m doing a smaller thing for my less party-happy friends."

    "Oh, sure," I nod. "That sounds fun."

    "Cool," Ida grins. "See ya there. You gonna cause any more mischief today?"

    "...Maybe," I admit, squirming slightly. "I have gym class after this, and I, uh, kind of want to see what happens if I don''t hold back?"

    "Shiiiit, I want to watch that. Think I could get away with it? Mr. Attenborough is kind of a hardass."

    "Yeah, he''d probably kick you out if you tried to watch," I agree. "Though we''re using the track today, so you could maybe sneak out and watch from a distance?"

    "Hey, that''s not a bad idea," Ida muses. "Never thought I''d hear you encouraging me to cut class, though."

    I shrug.

    "Recent changes in my life have made school seem a lot less important."

    "You say that, and yet here you are," Ida smirks. "At school. Going to class. As a Goddess-damn mutant."

    Yeah, but that''s different. I''m not really at school because I think school is important. But I don''t want to have that conversation right now, and thankfully I see an easy subject change.

    "...You''re saying that too now, huh?" I ask.

    Ida winces. She actually winces, a solid, genuine crack in her usual facade.

    "Yeah, I guess I am," she says quietly. "It feels weird not acknowledging Her when you know She''s there, right? Swearing to a fake god while a real one watches just¡­"

    "It''s scary," I finish for her, since I doubt she''d admit to it herself.

    "It''s something," she agrees in her own way.

    "Why are you two being so creepy?" the goon asks. I think her name started with C? Or K maybe? Nope, I''ve already forgotten. "Did you start a cult or something?"

    Ida and I look at each other, mild embarrassment wafting between us.

    "...Uh, I guess technically yeah?" I admit.

    "Yeah we uh. Hmm. I guess we did," Ida admits. "That''s probably bad."

    "Well, at least it''s the great old one kind of cult and not the indoctrinate-you-and-steal-all-your-money kind of cult?" I hedge.

    "I don''t¡­ Hannah, I don''t think that''s better."

    "Okay, seriously, what are you two talking about?" the goon demands. "This is just wacky gibberish to me."

    "Uh, I mean, there''s not a lot to say," Ida shrugs. "We just¡­ actually have a weird little gay witch coven because it turns out magic is real and Hannah is a mutant and uh. Yeah. Like, I know it sounds really stupid when we say it out loud, but you just watched Hannah do something impossible via conventional physics. That wasn''t a trick."

    "Also I''m a bug girl," I point out.

    "Also she''s a bug girl, yeah," Ida agrees. "A fourth-dimensional bug girl that can travel between universes."

    "It''s more that I can''t not travel between universes," I muse.

    "That makes no sense," the goon insists.

    "I agree with you!" I tell her brightly. "Honestly, I do. But also, check it out, I can move my arm into w-space."

    I do so, causing it to appear to shrink away and almost implode on itself before vanishing all the way to the shoulder. The sleeve of my t-shirt droops, suddenly empty. The goon''s eyes bulge and I grin, moving my hand invisibly closer to her. Quickly rotating just the hand back into visible space, I snap my fingers in front of her face and say "Boo!"

    She yelps and jumps out of her chair a little, which is of course an unequivocal victory by itself. Then she realizes that I seem to have a floating disembodied hand, and everything immediately gets even better. A wide smile splits my face and I wiggle my fingers, causing her to jump again. Scaring humans with my weird body is so fun, oh my gosh!

    "How the¡­ what¡­?" goon stammers, and I answer with a cackle and a shrug. Carefully, she reaches out to my hand and I let her grab it, poking and prodding at my chitin. It feels kinda funny at first, but that quickly escalates to super weird when she starts poking at my wrist.

    The inside of my wrist. ¡­Kind of.

    My hand is floating without any apparent arm attached to it. My arm is, of course, obviously still attached to it; it''s just at an angle that brings the elbow into w-space before heading back to normal, visible space to meet up once again with my shoulder. So my hand isn''t like, cut off and exposing muscle and blood vessels and whatever to the world. Instead, the backside of my hand is just covered in that weird black pseudo-skin that''s in between the chitin plates of all my joints. And that¡­ that leads to a lot of questions.

    Obviously, my body is somewhat fourth-dimensional. If it wasn''t, I couldn''t move through w-space so naturally or eat several times my own body weight without using the bathroom. But outside of that vague general awareness, I don''t have the slightest idea how my body actually works. Sure, I can "see" in four dimensions, and I find moving through them to be instinctive, but that''s it¡ªit''s instinctive, something I just do without thinking. I can''t describe what it''s like to see or move in four dimensions beyond the fact that it''s just something I do. I''m not even all that good at it; ninety-nine percent of the things I''m looking at with my spatial sense are just normal 3D objects anyway, and the only 4D object I regularly see is the world tree, which doesn''t ever move on a scale I can detect.

    This moment, with some random girl whose name I don''t even know poking at the inside of my wrist, is the first time I''ve ever really come face to face with exactly how much I don''t know about my 4D nature. It''s sort of hard to learn anything about myself when I am the foremost leading expert about my crazy body and the only things I know about my body are that it is mine and it is crazy.

    Like yeah, my body has the physical structure needed to traverse in four dimensions. But while I''m four-dimensional, I''m not¡­ that fourth-dimensional. Like, on the w-axis, my body maybe reaches a few inches in any given hyperdirection, while the world tree presumably stretches countless miles. ¡­Hmm. Come to think of it, maybe that''s why it''s not dead. Sure, the world tree isn''t doing great with being on fire and uprooted, but what if it''s actually less on fire and uprooted than we think? What if its roots simply reach the ground somewhere in 4D? What if the inferno above us doesn''t dance into that extra dimension? Things might not actually be as bad as they appear. ¡­Of course, just thinking that thought at all makes it difficult to take the idea seriously. If there''s one thing I''ve learned it''s that when things aren''t as bad as they appear it''s only because they are actually worse.

    Carefully, curiously, I start moving my arm back into 3D space as Ida''s goon continues to prod at the back of my wrist. I''m irrationally terrified that it''ll somehow fuse her finger to my flesh or something, but that''s obviously wrong because I can see that it''s wrong. I''m literally just¡­ moving my arm. My arm isn''t actually gone. So while it looks like my arm is spontaneously filling into reality like liquid pouring into a mold, a shadow twisting into being as the object it reflects moves against a low-angled light, all that actually happens is that the goon''s finger gets gently pushed aside, the exact same way it would get pushed were I to move normally. Because, well¡­ from my perspective, I am moving normally.

    It looks so alien to my eyes, yet it feels so utterly mundane to my spatial sense. Routine, yet indescribably mesmerizing.

    I''m kind of beautiful, aren''t I?

    The thought hits me harder than I ever could have expected, purging everything else from my mind for a single, overwhelming moment. I''m beautiful. Beautiful! I''ve never felt this way about myself before. Sure, I take care of my appearance, but it''s mostly just a routine thing. I pretty myself up because my mom taught me girls need to pretty themselves up, using makeup to hide imperfections in the face the way I use silence to hide imperfections in personality. If she can''t see it, she can''t call me out on it. I''ve never really considered myself ugly, I suppose, but my appearance has always been something I minimize, something I avoid thinking about beyond what is necessary to not be bothered.

    But now I''m beautiful, and it''s an empowering, intoxicating feeling that I never expected in a million years. Everyone else might think I''m a freak or a monster or a demon or an angel but I know, right now, that I am what I never knew I wanted to be. My bone-white arms gleam in contrast with my dark gray skin. My teeth are sharp and deadly. My claws are dangerous and imposing. I move between dimensions with a fluidity and grace beyond human, and my boobs are impeccable. My. Body. Is. Awesome.

    I kinda wish I wasn''t bald, though.

    "This is completely insane," the goon mutters, and as I snap out of my euphoric fugue I realize that I''m once again getting a lot of stares. "Is this kind of stuff going to be at your party, Ida?"

    "What?" Ida asks. "Heck no, are you crazy? I''m not summoning an evil Goddess to my birthday party."

    "Uh, evil Goddess?" she asks. "Specifically?"

    "Yes," Ida and I affirm together.

    "Magic is very cool but it comes with a lot of baggage," I continue. "Overall: do not recommend."

    I don''t actually know if I''m telling the truth or not. I hate magic. I hate the Goddess. But also, I love magic. I love, love, love, love, love magic and She is the source of all magic. Without Her, I wouldn''t be beautiful. I wouldn''t be horrified, I wouldn''t be a monster, I wouldn''t be constantly terrified for my life and my sanity, but¡­ I wouldn''t be happy, either. I''d still be caught in that depressive haze, flinching away from any physical contact with other people and mindlessly obeying my mom out of fear.

    It''s not all downsides. The fruit may be poison, but it tastes so, so good.

    "Okay, well, ignoring my ten million other questions for now, why would you follow a god that you think is evil?" the goon asks.

    "Well, I''m not really ''following Her,'' per se," I say, making air quotes. "I just don''t have a choice in the matter. Honestly, I''d really love to thwart Her plans, but unfortunately She''s a Goddess and I have no idea what I''m doing. So for now I guess I''m just delaying Her plans as best I can and hoping I can think of something?"

    "Okay. Okay, sure. You realize you sound totally insane, right Hannah?"

    "Absolutely," I nod. "But also I have alien bug limbs, so I figure that makes me a little more difficult to argue with."

    She swallows.

    "...Little bit," she agrees. "I just¡­ I have no idea what to say."

    "Then don''t say anything," I shrug. "You don''t really need to know any of this stuff anyway. It''s my business."

    She doesn''t seem very satisfied with that, but she doesn''t press me any further and that''s good enough for me. Class ends soon enough, and I can''t help but get a little excited for gym, for what is perhaps the first time in my life. Though when I head into the locker room and spot Jet, that excitement quickly pools into a clump of anxiety. Oh, right. It''s the girl whose life I ruined. I studiously ignore her as best I can in a futile attempt to not make things awkward.

    "Oh, hey Hannah," Jet says, causing me to flinch. "You''re really going out like that?"

    "Uh¡­ yep," I confirm.

    "Hmm. I guess we probably should too?" Jet muses.

    "Huh?" I ask, and then suddenly I remember she has wings and a tail and cute little caracal ears and I did that to them, they''re right there, how did I forget that? ¡­Oh right, Pneuma magic. Agh, unpopped kernels! Pneuma magic!!! Aaaah!

    Then Jet spreads her wings and I''m much more distracted by how massive they are than my ever-simmering guilt. Holy crap they''re longer than she is tall! Alma thrashes behind her, the scaled, toothy tail clearly anxious but not outright objecting with a bite.

    "We agreed to go public too, remember?" Jet reminds me. "Gym is as good a time as any, and¡­ well, honestly, I''m tempted to try flying a little? Our wings are sore from growing so fast and I just¡­ I need to move them, you know?"

    My own extra limbs twitch in sympathy.

    "Yeah," I confirm. "I do know."

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    You know because I know. I needed you to know. I''m sorry.

    "I figure if we''re gonna be stuck like this, I may as well try to figure out the one part of it that could be awesome," Jet continues. "Don''t let me go too high, okay? Well, assuming I can get off the ground at all."

    "Okay," I nod. Why is she talking to me? I thought she wanted nothing to do with me. I thought I ruined her life.

    She''s beautiful too. She''s beautiful and wonderful and I lost her by being a pathetic, inconsiderate, impulsive monster. Jet hates me even more than Alma does. So why is she talking to me?

    "Hannah, chill out," Jet says. "You look like a rabbit that saw a hawk. Did you think dumping you meant we''d pretend you didn''t exist?"

    "Um. Kind of?" I admit.

    She snorts.

    "That would be impractical. Don''t get me wrong, I don''t like you, but you''re still the only person I can rely on for shit like this. Who else am I going to walk up to and ask ''hey, I''m going to practice flying during class, can you try to catch me if it looks like I''ll break my neck?''"

    Oh. Hmm. Yeah. I guess Jet''s very practical. Like Helen. ¡­I hope Helen doesn''t hate me, at least. I mean she said she doesn''t, it was actually a super heartfelt moment, but what if she actually secretly hates me anyway? Oh boy, I get to be anxious about this now.

    "Well, uh, let''s go I guess?" I allow awkwardly, and the two of us head out to the track. I''m probably going to get used to all the stares someday, but not today; everyone is looking at us, and Jet''s presence has completely crushed my earlier high so it''s no longer a pleasant experience.

    "What are you two wearing?" the gym teacher snaps at us.

    "...The gym uniform?" I answer innocently. "I know I haven''t been wearing it for over a month now, but I didn''t think it would be a problem to start?"

    "Cut the crap. We''re running the mile today, ladies. If you start the run in that I am going to make you finish it."

    "Don''t worry, Mr. A," I smile. "I plan to finish first anyway."

    "Uh-huh," he grunts, clearly unconvinced. Which is fine by me! It''ll be all the more fun when I suddenly start moving at like thirty miles an hour.

    "I''ve never actually tried to see how fast I am, either," Jet muses. "Wanna race?"

    "Oh, are you getting stronger and faster and stuff too?" I ask.

    "Yeah, absolutely," Jet nods. "I''m kind of looking forward to this, not gonna lie."

    Why are you looking forward to it if you hate what I''ve done to you¡­? Ugh. Gah. Y''know what, it''s probably not even about me at all. Jet just got a spell that allows her to talk to Alma, something she''s wanted for like¡­ forever. She''s probably just in a good mood in general.

    The class crowds up around the starting line, and with a quick countdown we''re off, Jet and I blazing forward ahead of the crowd. Oh dang, she''s fast! Alma-tail sticks her tongue out at me, flopping happily behind as Jet leaves me in the dust. I squawk in surprise, speeding up as best I can. We''re at the first turn in moments, and I instantly wish I didn''t have these gosh dang shoes on. I can''t stand the lack of traction from having my claws bound up like this, and I nearly trip taking the turn. Ugh, if only there was some way to get rid of¡­ hmm, wait a second.

    My clothes don''t follow me into 4D space, so if I just twist my ankle a little bit towards¡­ there. My shoes and socks fall off mid-step, and my feet are free to tear up the track. My claws sink delightfully into the squishy polyurethane, sending a shudder up my ankles as I push myself harder and take the next turn sharper. Jet has something like an actual runner''s form, her body tucked extremely low as her tail counterbalances. Long, leaping strides carry her down the straightaway, and it''s obvious she isn''t even sprinting; she''s just fast.

    I''m also fast, though, and I am sprinting. I''m sprinting for perhaps the first time since my transformation started, and even with the wind whipping by my face I''m starting to get a little¡­ warm. I remember all the way back when I first started being lucid on the world tree, and Sindri persistence hunted me into mandatory friendship, that I noted my body seemed to have pretty low stamina. I guess that''s still the case; external forces don''t really heat me up, but when I overwork myself external forces aren''t very good at cooling me down, either. I won''t be able to keep this speed up for four laps, not by a longshot. Of course, by the time Jet and I finish our first lap, the rest of the class is barely a quarter of the way down the track. So that''s certainly something.

    I slow down a little on the straightaway, resolving to focus my sprints on the turns. I don''t know if it''s a smart strategy, but the sheer joy of letting my claws sink into the ground and fight the centrifugal force of the turn at full speed is too intoxicating to pass up. I''m, uh, probably ripping the track up, but¡­ oh, well!

    Another lap down and I''m starting to really feel the burn, and while I''ve been gaining on Jet at every turn, she''s just too fast on the straightaways for me to think that I can actually beat her. We''ve passed the rest of the class twice now though, which is pretty funny. Rushing past slow humans like I''m a car on the highway is just so empowering that I start to shake a little of my bad mood again. Heh, this is probably how the whole day is going to go, isn''t it? Euphoria making me feel good, then memory reminding me I should feel bad, then euphoria making me feel good again, then reality ensuring I feel bad¡­ it''s a bit much, but hey! Better than just feeling bad all the time, right?

    I''m officially flagging halfway through lap three, while Jet is still going strong. I settle back down to a more comfortable jog, though I''m still going twice as fast as anyone who isn''t Jet. On the last lap I feel like I''m burning up on the inside, but I manage to stagger onto the finish line just after the rest of the class completes lap one. And that''s¡­ y''know. Pretty good.

    "What do you mean you didn''t check my time?" I overhear Jet growling at the gym teacher. I stagger a little closer, barely getting myself off the track before I collapse into a panting heap.

    "Look, I don''t know what you two did, but you''re obviously not running how you''re supposed to," the gym teacher grunts. "It''s impressive, but it''s cheating."

    "Cheating? We''re not at a track meet! ¡­Alma, no," Jet says, grabbing her tail to stop it from biting the gym teacher. "Look, I''ll run it again if you want me to, but I still want to know my time."

    "Well I didn''t check your time, kid. What I did do is write you up for a visit to the principal''s office, because whatever you''re doing to run upwards of thirty miles an hour on my track is not school-authorized and it is definitely not safe. Grab Hannah, get out of here, and don''t come back until you take that crap off."

    "It doesn''t come off, sir," I croak.

    "Then have fun failing gym," he snaps back. "I mean it, get out of here. And I will be checking that you actually went."

    Welp. He''s a jerk, but I suppose this was inevitable. It''s probably necessary that we clear things up with the person in charge of the school anyway. I get back up with a groan, my body still protesting the abuse. It''s a shame that super speed doesn''t mean super stamina. ¡­Well, I guess it kind of does, it''s just that my standard for what counts as exertion has changed. But whatever. I stand up and stretch, trying to ignore how exhausted I feel.

    "Practice flying on the way back?" I ask Jet. "Just don''t go too fast, I''m pooped."

    "Uh¡­ I guess so," Jet sighs, glowering at Mr. Attenborough as we head back towards the main building. "This might actually be kind of bad. If I''m sent to the principal, my social worker is gonna know about it."

    "Well, I''ll do everything I can to make sure we don''t get in trouble," I promise her. "I don''t want to actually get my family involved, but my mom''s basically Karen, Esquire and I bet the principal is still scared of her."

    "...Alright, I''ll hold you to that," Jet says, petting her tail reassuringly as it coils around her torso. Then her wings snap open and she jumps ten feet straight up into the air. She flaps her wings twice, nearly flips herself upside down, and immediately collapses back to the ground, barely stopping herself from faceplanting.

    "Woah!" I yelp. "Warn me when you''re going to do that!"

    "Alright, alright," Jet grunts. "I''m trying again."

    This repeats pretty much the entire way back inside, Jet insisting that she''s ''going to figure it out this time'' about ten times in a row before the roof over our heads forces her to put her experiments to a close. It''s slightly funny and extremely concerning, but I guess I''d also continuously toss myself at the sky if I thought it meant I could learn to fly.

    The principal''s office is boring, sparsely decorated, and occupied by a woman I''d guess to be in her early thirties. Principal Netter (according to the nameplate on her desk) is an exceedingly average woman, pale and slightly stocky. Personally I think her best feature is all the cute freckles on her nose, though her bulky glasses hide most of it, which is a shame. She gives us a very confused look when her secretary waves us into her office, but I just give her a polite nod and a closed-lipped smile and hand her the disciplinary slip the gym teacher gave us.

    "There was a bit of a misunderstanding," I say as diplomatically as possible.

    "I''m¡­ sure," Ms. Netter frowns. "You know, Hannah, your chemistry teacher just sent me an email about you, as it happens."

    "I''m sorry," I grimace. "I''m not trying to be disruptive, but it''s¡­ more difficult than expected."

    "Well, these costumes of yours are very¡­ impressive, but I feel like it should have gone without saying that they aren''t appropriate for a learning environment," Ms. Netter says calmly.

    "Yeah, uh. About that," I hedge. "They''re not costumes."

    And thus begins the long and arduous process of convincing yet another random person that I am, indeed, a biological impossibility beyond the ken of modern science. Except this time there''s an extra added spice of ''and therefore you can''t ban me from school because this is basically a medical condition,'' except I can''t ever actually phrase it as a medical condition, because while they can''t demand medical records they would certainly at least make a fuss about it.

    The upside to all of this is that Jet and I are eighteen, and politely reminding the principal of that fact dissuades her from calling our parents. I''m not sure what that means for Jet in regards to her case worker, of course, but Ms. Netter never even brings it up. It takes nearly half an hour to convince her that our changes are physiological and not something we can undo, and at that point she seems much more concerned about the whole ''my students are monsters'' thing than any mischief we might have gotten up to.

    "I just, I feel like this isn''t something for me to make a decision about at this point," Ms. Netter insists, clearly anxious.

    "There''s nothing to make a decision about," I insist. "Preventing us from attending school would be discrimination."

    "Yes, but it''s not just about you," Ms. Netter counters. "I have an obligation to every student and every parent to ensure this is a safe and productive environment for education, and I can''t do that if you''re starting a¡­ a national controversy on the nature of the universe!"

    "I don''t look like this because I want to, ma''am," Jet scowls.

    "That''s worse!" Ms. Netter says. "If you had no control over this, if you don''t know what caused it, you''re potentially endangering the other students!"

    I open my mouth, then close it, unable to avoid glancing at Jet. I can''t deny the validity of the argument, as much as it pains me. I am dangerous, as much as I don''t want to be. Although, out of all the bad things that could happen at school, accidentally turning everyone into monster girls isn''t actually one of them.

    Nature''s Madness transforms people based on how I see them, and for ninety-nine percent of the school I just don''t care about them enough to see them any way at all. I don''t have to like a target of Nature¡¯s Madness. I don''t even have to want them to be a monster. But I do need to know them, or at least feel like I know them, for the spell to have an effect. If I unleashed it at full blast in the middle of the lunchroom, only a handful of people would actually be affected, if that. Because that''s just how I see the average classmate: as a boring, normal human who doesn''t understand me, never will, and who gives me no incentive to change that status quo. My apathy makes them immune.

    It''s only when I really start to care about someone that I can hurt them that deeply. Still, no sense telling any of that to Ms. Netter.

    "I don''t particularly appreciate being treated like a threat to others just for being different," I say out loud, channeling as much of my ''impending lawsuit'' voice as I can muster. I am my mother''s daughter, whether I like it or not. "I''ve been changing like this for months now and nothing has happened to your school. The only thing that''s different is that I don''t want to have to hide what I am anymore, and I think that''s more than fair."

    The longer the conversation goes on, the less I like Ms. Netter. It becomes fairly obvious that she''s more interested in keeping her job than she is in actually running a good school, and she''s too busy freaking out about how weird Jet and I are to actually consider our needs as people. So instead of trying to get her to do that, I take her lead and frame Jet and I as threats; not to her safety, but to her position. If she''s unable to consider us as anything other than a potential problem for her own easy life, I can make it clear that trying to shaft us isn''t going to be easy for her. She''s not happy about it, not at all, but I manage to prevent Jet and I from getting disciplinary action. We''ll just have to see how things work out from there.

    It''s¡­ weird, having conversations like this. Partly just because I feel like I have to channel my mother to get things done, and I really hate that, but mostly just because I have to explain to people that I''m turning into a gosh dang monster and expect them to not treat me like I''m insane. And it''s just¡­ kind of surreal! Both having to do it at all and succeeding at it. I''m sure there will be plenty of people who look at me and refuse to believe anything, but my success rate has been startlingly high so far.

    This continues throughout the school day, countless random classmates asking me questions that I answer as honestly as I''m able. Autumn no doubt gets plenty of questions of their own, though I don''t see either of them at all after we leave the principal''s office. Which¡­ well. It''s probably for the best.

    It''s a long, stressful, but exciting day of school, and I''m pretty worn out by the time I meet up with Valerie and ride home on the bus with her. I kind of wish I could just head back to her place and hang out, but instead I head home, quickly change into my work uniform, and drive myself to work. This will be the real test, I suspect. My principal could get in serious trouble for denying a student education for frivolous reasons. My boss, however, owes me jack diddly squat and is entirely within his rights to fire an employee for any reason or no reason at all. My co-workers all give me weird stares as I walk in, reaching up to tie my hair back in a ponytail before remembering that I''m currently bald. Well, that''ll make things a little easier, I guess. My hair can''t be a health code violation if I don''t have any!

    "Uh¡­ Hannah?" a co-worker says, blinking in disbelief at me. Hmm, I think he''s one of the two that saw me disarm J-Mug.

    "Hey," I greet him, giving him a halfhearted wave before walking right past him and into the back so I can drop off my backpack. My boss is tapping away at the computer on some spreadsheet or another, so I give him a nod hello as well.

    "Hi boss," I say. "Where am I today?"

    "Register one, if you don''t have a preference," he answers, turning to look at me with a smile. Then he actually sees me, and his smile locks in place, his sudden bewilderment so all-consuming that it shuts down his facial expression functions entirely.

    "Uh?" he says.

    "Yeah, uh, sorry I look a little weird," I apologize nervously. "I sort of came out as nonhuman yesterday? And like, I wasn''t totally sure about coming out at work, but my hair finished falling out today and I didn''t really want to lather foundation all over my entire head so I just figured¡­ hey! May as well go to work with my bug bits out, see what happens. Also I''m really sorry about the chicken supply variance lately, that''s been my fault."

    He blinks at me. I give him my best customer service smile to show I am ready to work.

    "What?" he finally asks.

    "I eat raw chicken in the walk-in sometimes," I admit quietly.

    "What? No, wait, back up. Hannah, what is¡­ why do you look like this?"

    "Because I''m a weird magical mutant, I guess?" I answer apologetically. Gah, talking to my boss is always so much more difficult and stressful than talking to anyone else. Like, he''s a nice boss, I like him, but he''s still my boss and I have a weird complex about that. Probably because of my mom, honestly. Most of my mental problems seem to be because of my mom, in retrospect.

    My boss sighs and rubs his face.

    "Hannah, please explain this in a way that I can understand," he says.

    "Over the past few months I''ve slowly been transforming into a many-limbed bug monster due to a magic spell that I can''t fully control because magic is real and I am the prophet of its Goddess. Downside: I look very strange now and that might turn away customers. Upside: I have a really, really good cleaning spell and I can make this place super spotless. Watch."

    I point at his desk and immediately lift all of the dust off of it in one move, along with the stains, pen marks, cluttered trash, crumbs¡­ everything. It all levitates right into the trash, leaving the area as clean as it was coming off the factory line. He stares at me, his mouth dropped open in an ''O.'' I glance away from his gaze, nervously wringing my hands together.

    "So¡­ magic?" he eventually ventures.

    "Um. Yep," I confirm. "Magic."

    "Huh," he says.

    "Yeah," I agree.

    There''s another terrifying pause, my boss just kind of staring at nothing with a faraway look. The suspense is too much for me, though, so I finally manage to work up the courage to ask the question burning in my mind.

    "So¡­ am I fired?" I squeak.

    "Wha?" my boss asks, turning to look at me again. "Fired? Heck no, are you crazy? We''ve already had two people call out today, you''re pretty much the only reliable worker I have left."

    Oh. Oh! Well, that''s nice. ¡­Except for the two people having called out thing. That, uh, really sucks. But not being fired is nice!

    "If you think you can handle being front of house today, I''m not going to complain," my boss continues. "Magic is¡­ well, uh, technically not against the health code? Just be sure to follow the letter of the law with¡­ whatever it is that you''re doing. As long as you''re not leaving like, invisible radioactive poison behind or something, I guess I don''t care."

    "Um. Just like that?" I ask.

    "I guess?" he shrugs helplessly. "I have¡­ so many questions, but we''re due for a health inspection this week and if we fail another one I''m gonna lose my job so if you wanna use literal magic to clean the store¡­ sure, fine, I don''t give a fuck. I need to call the area manager about people taking pictures of you in uniform, though, she''s probably not going to like that. You okay with talking to her? You''ll have to meet her anyway, if you still want to become a manager."

    "Well, I¡­ sure?" I answer.

    "Cool," he says. "I''m gonna panic about the nature of reality for a bit and then I''ll be out to help you guys during the rush, okay? Could you try to clean as much as you can before then?"

    "You¡­ want me to clean with magic?" I ask.

    "If it makes the store look like this?" he asks, pointing to his desk. "Yes. Clean everything with magic. Whenever you have time."

    Oh gosh. Oh wow. I love my job.

    "Yes sir!" I salute, giving him a big grin. He flinches, tells me not to move, and then takes a picture of me before sending me off to get work done. I happily head back out to the front to clock in and get myself assigned to the first register, where my fellow employees stare at me open-mouthed.

    "So," I ask them, "did any of you have money on ''extradimensional?''"

    "W-what?" one of them responds.

    "The betting pool you think I don''t know about, regarding ''what my deal is,''" I clarify. "Did any of you have money on me being an extradimensional bug monster?"

    The kitchen workers turn to each other. One of them clears his throat awkwardly.

    "...Nope, I bet on ''yakuza,''" he admits.

    I snort. Because I''m half-asian? Really?

    "I thought you were a child soldier or something," the other says.

    "Uh-huh," I scowl, walking back into the and hitting the whole place with a series of Refresh casts. "That''s a lot less inaccurate than I want it to be, honestly. My therapist keeps comparing me to soldiers as a point of reference."

    "Does¡­ does that mean I win?" kitchen worker number two asks, seemingly mesmerized by the sight of dirt and detritus twisting out of all the coolers at once.

    "Sure," I allow flatly. "You can win."

    People start to trickle in before long, and I start taking orders. I get a lot of questions, but most of them are fairly polite. Confused, more than anything. People start to take more photos, though. More videos. I''m going to go viral sooner or later, especially when things start to get really busy and I''m using my extra limbs to take out five to six trays at once.

    I scowl as I pick up one of the trays, grabbing a meal and pushing it back towards the kitchen when my spatial sense notices an issue.

    "Remake this!" I snap. "The chicken''s not fully cooked!"

    "Wh¡ªyes it is!"

    "You wanna lose another bet, number one? Remake it! Now!"

    "''Number one?'' Wait, Hannah, you know our names, right?"

    "Make! The! Food!"

    The dinner rush is pretty brutal with just the three of us, but we make it through. I''m exhausted by the time I get home, but it''s a good exhaustion. Getting to openly use my favorite spell and be unambiguously helpful with it is such an indescribable relief. I really, really needed it. We even got to go home early despite how understaffed we were, thanks to my magic cleaning everything up so fast. I could just handle all of the cleaning while the kitchen duo put everything away.

    It''s¡­ nice. I like cleaning. I really like it a lot. The Goddess brushes lightly against my shoulders as I sit alone in the parking lot, trying not to thank Her. She could so easily be someone worth thanking, for all the good She''s capable of. All the good She does. But She''s not interested in morality, and the evil so comprehensively outweighs it. Is there some way to get Her to care? Some way to have the good without the bad? I wish I could find it.

    I shake Her off and She happily indulges me, departing as I start the car and drive home. She always wants to indulge me, after all. Indulgence is kind of Her thing. Seek joy, no matter how fucked up or messy. Burn hard and burn bright. Those that limit themselves, hold themselves back, fear themselves¡­ they can be entertaining, certainly. I can be entertaining. But wouldn''t I be all the more beautiful if I quit being afraid of the pit I''m dangling over and just let go?

    It''s up to me, of course. It always is. But it''s harder than usual to argue with Her. In the lonely silence of my car, the memories of actually liking myself are still sharp and strange in my mind. My body isn''t perfect. Far from it, even. But I never realized how brutally painful it was to hide until I just¡­ wasn''t hiding anymore. I''ve actually been kind of confident today. Assertive.

    Happy.

    I''m not exactly sure when I start crying, or why. But when I park my dad''s car in our garage, I have to take a few minutes to wipe the tears from my eyes, clean up the snot from my face, and make myself presentable again. I''m not human. I''m not human and I don''t ever have to pretend to be again. For good or ill, come hell or high water, from here on out I at least get to be myself.

    I head inside, and for once I find I''m not fearing either one of my tomorrows.

 59. Just Enjoy It

    "But how it shoot so fast!?" Kagiso exclaims, throwing her arms up into the air. "Kaboom! Kachow! So loud! Could not even see!"

    I''m lounging on top of Helen''s backpack, my forelimbs draped over her shoulders as we collectively lament bringing up guns around Kagiso. She is¡­ enamored with them, to say the least.

    "This is oversimplifying things, but guns are basically just a tiny tube with a firing mechanism," I explain. "The bullet has a bunch of explosive powder packed inside of it, and when that stuff explodes there''s only one way for the projectile to go: outside the tube."

    "That sounds absurdly dangerous for everyone involved," Helen comments.

    "Eh," I hedge. "I mean, they''re certainly not safe, but guns have existed in some form or another for centuries in my world, and we''ve been improving them pretty much that entire time. Modern-day ones aren''t going to randomly explode on you. ¡­I think."

    "Confirmation: the theory is sound," Sela chirps. "Multiple materials both light enough to carry and sturdy enough to contain repeated detonations without warping exist. Many Crafted projectile weapons utilize a similar concept."

    "Give one!?" Kagiso begs.

    "I will not," Sela buzzes. "Continue pestering Hannah."

    "Hannah!!!"

    I sigh. Kagiso is weirdly excited about new and improved murder tools, but I guess I can''t really blame her considering how often we get nearly murdered.

    "Like I said, I''ll talk to Ida about it," I sigh. "We should definitely get you some kind of weapon soon, at least."

    "Could make bow if still on tree," Kagiso scowls, wrinkling her nose. "But no wood here! Long sightlines, every direction, but no bow. Bah."

    "Travel update: will be entering a cave system in two point three segments, traveling at current pace," Sela reports. "Travel advisory: subterranean predators frequent areas this far from the trunk. Polite suggestion: rip a monster open and craft weapons from its entrails. If meat is good for one thing, it is material."

    "Ooooh!" Kagiso brightens up considerably. "Yes! Yes!"

    "What''s a segment?" I ask.

    "A period of nine hundred beats," Sela answers.

    "...What''s a beat?"

    Sela beeps once, drawing it out for about a second. Which, uh, I guess is my answer.

    "Thanks," I say, though Sela doesn''t respond outside of an odd twitch of a few internal mechanisms. I never really thought about timekeeping here, but I suppose it makes sense that things would be different. The vast majority of my life in this universe has just been sitting on people''s heads as they walk from place to place, so I''ve never really been in a situation where I need to care all that much about schedules. The few times I''ve even managed to be around people other than my friends were times I was either hiding or in the middle of a crisis or both. I really, really hope the Crafted city will break that trend.

    "We''re sure that the bots aren''t going to just try to murder us, right?" Helen asks, mirroring my thoughts.

    "Not unless a coup has occurred and completed in my absence," Sela chirps. "Unfortunately, that is overwhelmingly unlikely. I anticipate a near-guaranteed probability that the expected hierarchy both remains in place and will be inclined overwhelmingly favorably to your presence. Meat-based visitors are¡­ uncommon."

    "Well, having an established history of genocide will do that," Helen grunts.

    "Yes," Sela agrees. "That was the idea. I will now be entering power-saving mode due to core temperature concerns. Please do not not address me unless you require directions."

    "We won''t," I assure it, using Refresh to clean its strained cooling fans as much as I can. "We''ll get you fixed up soon, Sela. Thanks again."

    It twitches again, but doesn''t otherwise answer as it winds down. Poor thing. I imagine trying to run yourself on mostly-broken hardware is kind of like trying to get through the day without any food or sleep. It can''t be pleasant. Although, speaking of¡­

    "Is it weird that I''m really looking forward to getting to hunt some monsters?" I ask. "I''m super hungry."

    "Why that weird?" Kagiso asks, tilting her head.

    "I''m also kind of looking forward to it," Helen admits. "Although unlike Kagiso, I realize¡­ yeah. It''s weird. I''m just itching to sink my teeth into something, though. Like, unhealthily so."

    "Oh, I''m fairly sure you don''t have to worry about your health," I assure her. "Your body is extremely capable of ingesting raw meat."

    "Wow, that¡­ actually makes me feel so much worse," Helen winces. "No offense, but I''m not really looking forward to becoming a cannibal, you know?"

    "Wait, cannibal?" I ask. "You don''t have to be a cannibal to eat raw meat. Most raw meat isn''t people meat."

    "Oh," Helen says, shifting awkwardly under me. "Yeah, that¡­ that seems really obvious now that you say it."

    There''s a pause.

    "...You really live like this, huh?" she asks quietly, her clawed hands digging lightly into her palms.

    Guilt and joy press into me in equal measure at those words. Because, yes. Yes, I live like this. I have to constantly catch my thoughts as they slide into places I never knew they could go. I have to crave things I fear. I have to love things I hate. And now you do too. I''m sorry, but also¡­ thank you.

    "I know it''s not actually comforting to say ''you get used to it,''" I tell her, "but you get used to it. People smell good. People taste good. It''s just a food craving. It won''t automatically turn you into a murderous beast."

    "It''s not like I wasn''t already a murderous beast," Helen says quietly, "so I guess it''s not a big deal either way."

    I don''t have an answer to that, so I just squeeze her shoulders a little tighter. She leans her head slightly to the side, pressing one of my limbs between it and her shoulder, to return the hug.

    "It''s all so weird," she admits. "Everything is so different. I keep thinking I can feel people move behind me and then I look back and I was right but I don''t understand how I know it. It''s something with my tail, it''s gotta be, it always twitches and feels funny when I get the sensation but I don''t know how it works. And like¡­ breathing is so weird, too. I keep catching myself breathing heavily through my mouth like a goddamn stalker because the air tastes weird. It''s just¡­ it''s so much more than I thought it would be, all the time."

    "Yeah," I say quietly. "Yeah, I''m sorry, Helen. The spell does a lot of messed up things, but a big part of its core is giving people experiences similar to my own so they can better empathize with me. And I have a wild extra sense. Like, I can see from a higher-dimensional perspective and have perfect spatial awareness of everything in a big radius around me, including stuff inside other stuff. So I''m constantly looking at everybody''s internal organs and whatnot, and it just¡­ never turns off?"

    "So jealous!" Kagiso whines. "Should have shook mind rapist down for sense-sharing spell."

    I wince at the mention of Sindri, but soldier on.

    "Anyway, yeah, my spell probably gave you extra senses to give you a more intimate understanding of my recent experiences," I say. "And¡­ yeah. Sorry."

    "What''s done is done," Helen shrugs. "You saved my damn life, Hannah. I''m not complaining. And it''s not like I don''t have fucked up spells that I use on people from time to time. Though if it''s about sharing experiences, how come your spell gave me scales and feathers and huge fucking tits instead of turning me into a little leggy creature?"

    "Well, I''ll have you know my other body also has some pretty nice boobs," I insist. "But yeah there''s, uh, more to it. Like, um. Geez, you''re probably a dinosaur because of this one famous movie series?"

    "I don''t know what a dinosaur is or what a movie is," Helen points out.

    "Oh right. Gosh," I blink. "Gosh, I should like, bring you guys to Earth sometime. We have so much cool stuff. ¡­But you''d probably need to learn English to understand any media. Hmm. I could try to teach you English?"

    "Focus, Hannah. What''s a dinosaur?"

    "Oh! Right! Yeah, dinosaurs are super cool! Basically, like, a super duper mega long time ago in my world, there were these absolutely massive animals, like crazy big. I guess not like, branch serpent big, but like ten times taller than a person big! And remember, our world doesn''t have any magic."

    "Woah. Yeah. That must have been terrifying," Helen nods. "You said ''were,'' though? What happened to them?"

    "Well, we don''t know for sure!" I answer excitedly. "The primary theory is that an asteroid¡ª"

    "What''s an asteroid?"

    "It''s a big rock out in space, which means it''s beyond the atmosphere, beyond the clouds, beyond the sky. Anyway a super big one of them probably smashed into our planet and did so much damage that the entire climate changed and froze them all to death."

    "And you guys don''t remember this!?" Helen asks incredulously.

    "Nope! Because this all happened millions of years before humans ever even evolved! No one has ever seen a living dinosaur! We just have fossils of them¡ªwhich means bones that turned into rock over an absurdly long amount of time¡ªso we can make some very good educated guesses as to what they were like by basing theories off their evolutionary descendants, but¡­ yeah! There''s nothing truly like them left alive in our world."

    "Huh," Helen says. "That does sound kind of cool. You''re using way more of your home language''s words than usual, though. What''s ''evolved'' or ''evolutionary?''"

    "Oh, that''s¡­ geez. Okay," I hum. "It''s basically how species turn into other species over time, without magic?"

    "...But that doesn''t happen without magic," Helen says.

    "Well, yes, it does. In my world. And¡­ probably also in this world? Although Transmutation magic exists, and¡­ hmm. Is permanent Transmutation inheritable?"

    "Are you asking if the kids of something that''s transformed will also be transformed? Yeah, absolutely," Helen nods. "That''s like, where most every monster comes from."

    "Okay, wow, that explains a lot," I hum. "Well, we don''t have that, but¡­ we also sort of do? It''s just way way way slower and happens over countless generations of individually imperceptible changes."

    "Huh," Helen grunts. "Seems kind of weird. So is this ''evolution'' thing why I have tits?"

    Oh right that.

    "I, uh. Well. Technically yes?" I answer. "But in practical terms, no. You, uh. You have very nice boobs because the spell also might maybe sort of make you physically attractive? By my standards, specifically?"

    Helen goes quiet for a bit at that, taking a deep breath as her eyes flick around absently, her mind in deep thought as she churns out the implications of that.

    "...Okay," she says. "That''s a little creepy, Hannah."

    "I know," I groan. "I''m so sorry, Helen."

    "Also, I just¡­ you''re attracted to women?" she asks incredulously. "You''re a woman, right?"

    "I¡­ yes¡­?" I squeak. "Is that a problem?"

    Please don''t be a fantasy bigot please don''t be a fantasy bigot please don''t be a fantasy bigot.

    "No, it''s not a problem," Helen says, and I let out a sigh of relief. "I just¡­ didn''t expect it. Your cuddles with Kagiso always seemed so¡­ chaste."

    "Well, they are!" I assure her hurriedly. "I don''t really see Kagiso that way."

    "No see me what way?" Kagiso asks, tilting her head.

    "Uh¡­ as a romantic or sexual partner¡­?" I say awkwardly. If this body were capable of it I''d probably be blushing hard enough to give myself a stroke.

    "Oh. Yes. No sex please. Too pointy."

    What the falafel!? I did NOT expect Kagiso to say something like that!

    "Also, Hannah better as hat," Kagiso grins.

    Hana better as Hana. Gah! Yeah, that''s more like her. Laugh it up, fuzzbutt. My name is normal in my language!

    "A-also this body wasn''t really capable of feeling attraction until recently," I stammer, turning my attention back to Helen in a stupid and likely ineffective play to avoid further embarrassment. "It''s just recently started up in this universe and it''s kind of weird. But like. Uh. No. As much as I love cuddling her, it''s just as a friend."

    "Whereas I''ve been turned into some kind of weird idealized attractive form?" Helen says, raising an eyebrow. "Should I be flattered?"

    "I. Uh. I don''t. Um. I guess you can if you want to be, but¡­"

    "Yeah, I was kidding," Helen says flatly. "Whatever. Like I said, it''s not a big deal. Creepy, but not that creepy. Goddess knows magic just does shit like that. I appreciate you coming clean about it."

    She scratches the feathers growing out of her forearms, her tail swishing behind her.

    "I have, uh, never been called attractive before?" Helen admits. "And the absolute last place I expected to hear it from was a skittery extradimensional cannibal bug that just transmuted me into something freaky, but like. It''s still. A novel and not entirely unpleasant experience, I guess? Maybe?"

    "Perhaps we should all just agree to be awkward about the situation together and change the subject to something else," I suggest desperately.

    "Yes," Helen agrees. "Let''s."

    "Disagree!" Kagiso grins. "Have question! What Helen think attractive?"

    Helen twitches, looking a little nervous.

    "Uh. You first?" she tries.

    "Organs," Kagiso answers immediately, leaving us feeling like fools. "Your turn! Boys? Girls? Absence of boy or girl?"

    "I do not get off on disintegrating people," Helen growls.

    "Okay! Not what meant by ''absence'' but that narrows down!"

    "Hannah," Helen whines. "Help!"

    "I mean, I don''t know what you expect me to distract her with," I answer. "I already said I''m a lesbian."

    "A lesbian that goes to bed every night snuggling all four of her tits."

    "H-hey!" I protest. "That''s all Kagiso! She just kinda grabs me."

    "What, you don''t like it?" Helen taunts.

    "I did not say that, cuddling Kagiso is delightful, but it''s different, okay!? I''m allowed to be complicated!"

    "Hannah snuggles not point of conversation!" Kagiso complains. "Is Helen bothering time!"

    "Wait, why is there a specific ''Helen bothering time?''" Helen protests.

    "Because say so!!!" Kagiso insists, jabbing Helen in the collarbone. "Hannah apologize, Hannah talk, Hannah sorry, blah blah blah. Your turn! Want to know about you!"

    "Well, I don''t know, okay!?" Helen snaps. And then again, more quietly: "I don''t know. I''ve never¡­ it hasn''t exactly been a relevant consideration for me."

    Kagiso and I share a brief look before I hesitantly press forward.

    This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

    "I mean¡­ even if you''ve never been in a relationship, you see people regularly," I say. "You draw art of people. Do you not have¡­ aesthetic preferences?"

    "That''s different," Helen insists. "I draw art of myself, or of people I make up. Hardly ever real people. Because I can''t¡­ I can''t get attached to people, you know? The whole world wants to kill me!"

    "I mean, we don''t want to kill you," I point out.

    "Sure, yeah, and that''s¡­ weird and different," Helen agrees hesitantly. "A good weird and different but not like a¡­ I don''t know. I''m certainly not sexually attracted to whatever the fuck kind of weird thing you are Hannah, no offense."

    "Oh for sure, none taken," I agree. "Though I''ll hopefully get sexier later!"

    "Sure, if you say so," Helen sighs. "But like, seriously, I''ve had to repress the hell out of shit like that, because if I don''t I die. It happens to Chaos mages all the time. You set down roots, you confide in people, you make connections¡­ you die. It''s not a huge deal with you guys because we''re always on the move and dropping pursuers anyway, but I can''t ever stay in one place, you know? Stick around too long, and either the hunters find me, or¡­ or I end up doing something that makes them find me."

    Helen suddenly looks a lot less composed than usual, a deep, internal panic briefly coming to the surface before she hides it away again, shaking hands going still like there was never a problem at all.

    "It''s not a concern for me, I guess is what I''m saying," Helen concludes. "You guys are enough. More than I ever thought I could have. I don''t want to risk anything else."

    "Hmm. Okay," Kagiso nods. "That an answer. Sorry."

    "What? No, it''s¡­ it''s fine, Kagiso," Helen insists. "There''s nothing you need to apologize for."

    "Travel advisory!" Sela suddenly chirps, though its voice is that chipper, feminine one that I''m pretty sure means it''s not actually Sela itself doing the talking. "In five hundred FEET_HEURISTIC, please enter the cave system on your left!"

    "Aww!" I coo. "It changed its measurements to feet!"

    "Okay, well, I have no idea how much distance that is," Helen points out flatly, "and unlike you I''m actually one of the people walking places."

    "Right, right right. It''s not, uh, super far? We should be seeing the cave any second now¡­"

    It is indeed simple enough to find where we''re going, although Sela still helpfully chirps "Turn left!" at us immediately after we''ve already done so. The caves are tall, thin, and dark, like a great fissure opened up inside a crumbling rock rather than the smooth, water-carved caves of Earth. Fortunately, I brought flashlights with the camping supplies, and after happily indulging in how adorable Helen and Kagiso act while fawning over the Earth tech, we start heading deeper.

    Soon enough the thin fissure widens into a more easily traversable cave system, though it slows our progress considerably because we have to wait for Helen to disintegrate the stuff that did the widening. Stonerot leaks in from the surface, eating away at the inside of the pillar just as much as it devours the outside, the green pseudo-fungus happily devouring the guts of an entire world. Helen obliterates it with extreme prejudice, a look of distaste on her face for even being around it. The stuff isn''t quite everywhere, though, either because it has yet to reach that far or just because someone else has scoured it before us, and the journey continues smoothly from there. Sometimes, the caves even look like the ones I''m used to back home.

    "Wait, hold on," Helen says, suddenly stopping. The fan of feathers on the end of her tail starts to twitch. "Does anyone¡­ okay, I mean, I assume no one else feels that?"

    "Nope," I answer. "What''s up?"

    She leans forward a little, her mouth hanging ever so slightly open even when she isn''t speaking, glints of her carnivorous teeth visible between her lips.

    "I don''t know, it''s¡­ something''s moving," she says. "About your size but¡­ kind of flat, almost?"

    "Edible?" I ask.

    She takes a deep breath through her mouth, then licks her lips.

    "...Yeah," she confirms.

    "Then¡­ shall we hunt?"

    "I, uh. Okay."

    I leap off her shoulders and hook my claws into the stone of the wall as Helen bursts forwards, her tail''s excited thrashing betraying an anticipation that doesn''t show on her face. I skitter after her as best I can, shifting through the wall and running along the inside of the stone as she twists down a bend in the tunnel. Kagiso giggles, following behind us at a more sedate pace.

    Soon enough, my spatial sense picks up whatever it was Helen detected with her tail. A flat, lizard-like creature that seems like it might be a small version of the beasts of burden I''ve seen traveling merchants use rushes along the wall, and I quickly leap through the stone to flank behind it. Helen bursts around a corner, rushing straight at the poor animal as it chirrups and tries to scuttle away, only to run directly into me. Terrified indecision hits it for a moment, and that''s more than enough time for Helen to leap up and kick it with her foot, scraping it off the wall and pinning it to the ground with her massive talons.

    "Nice!" I congratulate her, pulling myself the rest of the way back into 3D space.

    "What the fuck," Helen breathes. "What was that? I just¡­ it''s like something else took over. But¡­ not."

    "Welcome to having creepy monster instincts, I guess," I tell her, walking over to the still-struggling creature and spearing it through the brain with a forelimb. "It''s probably best to just let yourself enjoy it where you can, as long as things don''t go overboard."

    "I guess so," Helen agrees, taking her foot off our prey and squatting down to look at it more closely. "Ugh, why does it smell so good? It''s like¡­ it smells the same as raw meat has always smelled, I know it''s just raw meat, but¡­"

    "But it''s suddenly super good instead of just kind of a smell, yeah," I confirm, a warmth in my chest that would have forcibly turned itself into a grin in my other body. She gets it. Finally. Someone I can talk to.

    "So you really think I should just eat it raw?" she asks.

    "Do you want to eat it raw?" I ask back. "Like, don''t get me wrong, I think you''ll enjoy it, but it''s not like cooked meat would taste bad. We can always set up a quick fire first."

    "I suppose that''s fair," Helen agrees, her eyes not leaving the animal corpse. She swallows the saliva that''s been pooling in her mouth. "...But it''s probably a bad idea to start a fire in a cave, right?"

    "Yeah, it might be," I confirm, internally giddy.

    "So I should, y''know. It''d be safer to just eat it. Since I can."

    "That makes sense to me!" I agree. Aaaaah, look at her self-justify! So cute! Haha oh Goddess why am I like this.

    "Alright, well¡­ here goes," Helen says, gingerly picking up the still-warm flesh and lifting it up to her face. She inhales slowly, basking in its scent, and then suddenly bites down hard, her teeth tearing through it and splintering bone like twigs. I watch the blood pour into her mouth, see her muscles tense as the flavor hits, and relish the secondhand joy of seeing her devour her first meal.

    "Good?" I ask after she''s nearly swallowed the entire thing.

    "Wh¡­ ah!" she flinches. "Shit, I''m sorry Hannah, I meant to save some for you, I just¡­!"

    "It''s fine," I say, squirming happily. "I get it. Really. Let''s¡­ just find some more?"

    "O-okay! Alright, yeah, let''s¡­ I''ll let you know if I feel anything moving?"

    I bob my body up and down in a nod.

    "That sounds great!"

    The rest of the day goes more or less like that, with hunts and chats and copious amounts of meat. I fall asleep pleasantly exhausted after we make camp, and wake up on Earth feeling better than I have in months. With a stretch and a yawn, my chitinous limbs clicking lightly as I shake them out, I start my day.

    Refresh myself clean! Get dressed comfy and cute! Actually cook myself some eggs! I''m just about humming with joy when I make it to the bus stop, my morning routine complete and satisfying. Valerie arrives soon afterwards, and¡­ ohhohoho? What''s this I spy? Is that an itty bitty bit of breast tissue I see growing?

    "Congrats on the upcoming nipple pain!" I tell her, giving her two thumbs up.

    "W-what?" she asks, blinking in confusion. "Wait, you mean¡­?"

    "Yeah, pretty sure!" I report happily. "I mean, I dunno if it''ll be different for you, but my chest sure hurt like heck while it was growing. It''s normal for girls. Less normal is the tail you also seem to be growing but like, y''know. Monster puberty is a little different."

    "Is that what this is?" Valerie asks, her tiny stub of a tail wiggling underneath her clothes and holy jumping beans that is so adorable, gosh. "Monster puberty? Mega ultra puberty two point oh?"

    "Puberty two: electric boogaloo."

    "Puberty strikes back."

    "The¡­ Pubescening?" I try.

    "Nope. You lose. We''re done," Val declares.

    "Fine, fine," I sigh, waving her off with as much dignity as I can muster. "Let''s see what else I can see¡­ hmm. Honestly, it''s not much. Your transformation is going really slowly. That still what you want?"

    "Yeah, I think so," Valerie nods. "I''ll let you know if that changes, promise."

    "Okay, okay, sorry. I''m just weirdly excited about it," I admit. "Helen and I went hunting together a bunch last night and it was just so nice, I don''t even know how to describe it."

    "As a date?" Valerie ventures.

    "Wh¡ªno!" I stammer. "No, it wasn''t like that. Not with Helen, I¡­ hmm. I mean Helen is very¡­ but she said she didn''t¡­ b-but it doesn''t matter! I just broke up with Autumn, I''m not really looking to get into another relationship this soon."

    "Yeah, that makes sense," Valerie nods. "Sorry for teasing."

    "It''s fine," I insist, nervously rubbing my hip-limbs together. "Helen''s probably not even gay anyway."

    "That''s what you said about Autumn," Valerie points out. "And Ida. ¡­And me."

    "Okay, okay, sure, but like, Helen and I literally had a conversation about attraction today!"

    "And she said she was exclusively into men?" Valerie presses, seeming to somehow sense that is not in fact what Helen said.

    "No she said she wasn''t sure but she also said she specifically wasn''t attracted to me because I''m a creepy little spider. Plus like, y''know, statistically, just running into another lesbian would be super unlikely, wouldn''t it?"

    "Hannah you haven''t ''just run into'' any lesbians so far," Valerie argues. "You and I have been lifelong friends because of our similarities. And I assume you and Ida have something like that too. It''s not weird when a bunch of people with similar traits end up getting along with each together, that just makes sense."

    "Okay, but Autumn¡ª"

    "¡ªWas someone you bonded with over how incredibly strangely she treated you and how she liked the same nerdy books you like and how she was happy to go to the mall with a cute girl she just met," Valerie says flatly. "I think your gaydar is better than you believe it is, you just use it to ignore everyone that''s straight instead of actually finding dates."

    "I don''t ignore straight people!" I protest. "I just ignore boring people! And besides, Helen and I were forced together by circumstance. Totally random, totally by necessity."

    Unless it wasn''t totally random, I suppose. Sure, it seems like a coincidence that Sindri was right at the exit point to my tunnel when I first emerged, but could it have been intended by the Goddess? Was my meeting with Helen and Kagiso and Sela nudged imperceptibly? Are my friends just part of Her plot?

    Does¡­ does the Goddess ship me with someone? I swear I feel her caress my inner thigh for a moment after I have that thought, and I freeze, my breath hitching for a terrified instant. Did I just imagine that? Fuck, I''m going to convince myself I imagined that. The Goddess already touches me too much for my liking and I''d break in half if She¡­ no. Nope. Nuh-uh. I rip my mind away from that thought and force myself to think about something else. I''m in a good mood today, remember?

    The bus eventually arrives to take me to school, and of course the stares are a bit overwhelming, but I just mentally push them aside and let Valerie babble about something adorable and tabletop-related. I figure I probably made a little too much of a splash yesterday, and I should focus on spending today proving that I can still behave. It''s much easier than it was yesterday, the euphoria still wonderful but not making me outright manic.

    There''s also no gym today, which means I don''t have to deal with the weirdness of Jet being friendly with me. Instead I only have to deal with Alma stealing glances at me whenever she thinks I''m not looking (which is silly because my spatial sense is pretty much fully functional now and I am therefore always looking) but refusing to say anything or get near me. Which, of course, is entirely fair, but still awkward.

    People bother me with questions literally all day, and I do my best to give polite and honest answers as long as we''re not in the middle of class, though that means I ignore most of them. And¡­ that''s pretty much how my school day goes. Nothing explodes or goes wrong. I just have a nice day for once. It''s¡­ neat.

    I''ll admit to having some possibly ill-advised optimism when I go to work as well, but hey, I''ll take my good vibes where I can get them. Just actually kind of being a little happy for once is so overwhelming to my dopamine-starved brain that I find myself constantly wiggling or bouncing idly without even thinking about it. I head inside and my boss asks if I can work the kitchen tonight, which of course I can, and the shift begins.

    It starts out okay. Then, things get busier. And busier. ¡­And busier. The dinner rush seems to start early and refuse to stop, and for some reason I start to do a little worse if I get too in the zone, randomly attempting to grab pan handles and bowls with arms that don''t even exist yet, though something twitches sympathetically underneath my first pair. Refresh isn''t strong enough to do most of the cooking work without an incantation, either, although I can at least garnish every dish beautifully.

    Besides, it''s not like I can complain. I know why there are so many people here. All eyes in the restaurant are on me as I focus my main attention to the saute line while my blade and hip limbs work together to move plated dishes to the garnish side, magic the dish complete, and then place the finished plates on the ready counter. It''s easy to coordinate all this somehow, even though I haven''t really used my extra limbs for this job yet. I suppose a big part of it is just being way better at multitasking than I used to be, my experience seeing the world around me omnidirectionally and having so many more limbs to keep track of applying itself to more areas. I can look at what I''m doing everywhere in the cramped kitchen at once, see every dish that''s cooking and how cooked it is without even trying. And at the same time, I can see the eyes of the guests watching me, enraptured, as my boss chats on the side with a well-dressed woman with a clipboard who''s giving me a calculating stare.

    Soon enough, she walks into the kitchen like she owns the place (which, given her behavior so far, I assume she actually does). She keeps a respectful distance, letting me continue to work, but starts to speak with me as if I wasn''t already trying to juggle six different orders at once.

    "Hello," she says placidly. "Hannah, correct?"

    "Uh, that''s me!" I answer, still slightly too distracted to get my ''look good for the boss'' brain active. "I assume you''re the regional manager?"

    "Vice president, actually," she says.

    I flub what I''m doing, nearly dropping a bowl and a saute pan, which I end up catching on the hot part. I carefully put it back onto the gas burner. Which is still producing an open flame. I shake my hand out, using Refresh to clean the soot.

    "Oh," I say, my heart hammering a million miles a minute. "Okay! Um! It''s! Great to meet you!"

    I give her a big smile, then remember that my smiles are terrifying and shrink it down into a slightly less big smile. Goddess oh Goddess why is a vice president of my company here to talk to me holy butt beans! Well, I mean, I know why she''s here to talk to me, it''s because I''m a magic bug monster working in her kitchen, but it''s been one day, what the heck happened!?

    "Did¡­ did you like, just fly here?" I squeak. "Gosh, I¡­ I''m sorry, I didn''t want to cause any inconvenience."

    "It''s¡­ not an inconvenience, dear, it''s my job," the woman says, her eyes wide as she stares at my unburned hand. "I hope you''re alright?"

    "Oh! Yeah, yeah, I''m fine," I assure her. "I, um, pretty much can''t be burned at all. Or electrocuted. Or¡­ blinded, probably? I guess I''ve never checked, but it seems likely. Um. Ms. Vice President. Ma''am."

    I quickly get back to working as quickly and efficiently as I can because the flipplin'' fraggin'' vice president of the company is here, aaaaaah!

    "Just Yolanda is fine," she says, and I spend a bit of attention actually looking at her while I get my bearings back. She seems like she''s probably in her mid forties, though she has the money to look like she''s in her thirties instead. The breast implants are pretty obvious to my spatial sense; I''ve never actually seen any before now, but they''re a bit distracting. Little silicone cups that look like they''re filled with water? Salt water, I think. Very weird. Her tan is artificial too, but I can''t really fault her for it because honestly her skin and makeup work are immaculate, just really well done. Assuming she does that herself I''ve got to give her mad props for how nice it makes her look. The deep bags under her eyes that it completely covers indicates she probably had a stressful flight here, though.

    "Why, um. Why are you here?" I ask. "I mean, y''know, I guess I expected to talk to somebody but I didn''t think it would be you and I didn''t think it would be this, um¡­ fast."

    "Well, Hannah," she says, still looking me over with an intense stare, "you have become a rather major trend on social media. In our company uniform, I might add."

    "Oh," I say. Already? Really? Wow. "Sorry about that."

    She chuckles lightly.

    "There''s no current sign it''s a bad thing," she says wryly, "though that is what I am here to investigate, if you don''t mind a few questions."

    "Uh, yeah," I nod. I''m only running the entire kitchen by myself during an insane dinner rush, not like I''m busy or anything. "Sure. Go for it."

    "Great. Ah, well, I suppose to start, I should ask¡­ how are you doing all of this?"

    "Um," I manage, dumping the contents of two saute pans into bowls before quickly moving to the grill to grab the chicken. "With¡­ my limbs?"

    "Right, the¡­ limbs. Did you develop them somehow?"

    "No, I grew them," I say. "I''m not a human being."

    "Okay," she says, slightly condescendingly. "But when we employed you, you presumably provided evidence of citizenship, such as a birth certificate?"

    "Yeah, I have a birth certificate," I confirm. "I was born here. I''m an American citizen. I''m just not a human one. I''m, uh. Well, I don''t really know what I am. Some kind of fourth-dimensional magical bug person, I guess. This just kind of started happening to me, it''s a bit of a long story."

    "I see," she says, in the tone of voice of someone who doesn''t really see at all. "I''ve noticed that this kitchen is extremely clean, especially given the time of day. Is that your doing?"

    "It is, yeah. Watch out."

    I cast a quick Refresh on one of the saute pans I just used, pulling the grease and hot oil clean off of it, dunking the grease in some water so it isn''t burning hot, and then moving it to the trash to leave me with a perfectly clean pan. The vice president''s eyes bulge in disbelief, and I keep working.

    "What was¡­ how¡­?"

    "I am," I repeat slowly, "a fourth dimensional magical bug person. And I guarantee you that right now, this is the cleanest kitchen in the entire world."

    "You," she says slowly, swallowing a lump of fear, "should not do that anymore."

    What? I can''t help but scowl at that absurdity.

    "Why not?" I ask.

    "Because we do not know what it is. How did you do that?"

    "Magic," I answer.

    "Well there are no laws for¡­ for magic," she says. "No guidelines. No rules. And I think it would behoove us to not be the reason those laws have to be made."

    Dang it. Dang it! Is she serious? But I love Refresh. I love how clean it makes everything. I love how much it helps me with simple little tasks. I thought my bosses would love it too! Why wouldn''t they!? It just cleans and sorts, it''s pretty much the one spell I have that doesn''t have any negative side effects or creepy implications. It''s just good. And they''re not going to let me use it? That''s such bullpoop! I shouldn''t have to put up with this!

    ¡­Wait. Wait. Do I have to put up with this? Can I¡­ assert myself?

    "I guess I could probably just get another job, in that case," I tell her. "If I''m really huge enough for a VP to fly out here to see me, I''m sure some company or another would take a chance on me."

    "Hannah, it''s a matter of safety," the vice president frowns.

    "So are the health inspections we''ve apparently been failing," I counter. "And, well, just a quick question for you: do you know, off the top of your head, how many people should be working in this kitchen right now? Based on the time of day."

    "I don''t¡ª"

    "It''s three," I cut her off. "There should be three people. According to your company guidelines. One on each of the stations I''m currently working alone. And, y''know, callouts happen, but it feels like this has been happening a lot lately. It''s especially weird because I''m pretty sure that despite always being understaffed, we had a round of layoffs a couple months ago. I think the company policy was five before that, wasn''t it? But of course, it''s our fault that ticket times are high and the store is filthy. Employee responsibility and all. We''re ultimately pretty replaceable. If somebody decides they don''t want to put up with working conditions like this, you can always just find someone with lower standards."

    "Ms. Hiiragi¡ª"

    "I don''t really use most social media much," I continue, "but it sounds like I should probably start. It seems like I could get a lot of influence very quickly. And, well, as a part timer I didn''t really have to sign an NDA or anything. Because as long as your restaurants are up to code, I wouldn''t ever know anything that could damage your company in the first place, right?"

    My body continues to shift and click, limbs flashing around the kitchen as I prepare a half-dozen meals at once. She watches me, her eyes struggling to track some of my more efficient movements as calculations churn inside her head.

    "...I''ll have a talk with our legal team," she eventually says. "If you could¡­ explain things in a bit more detail, on the record, I''m sure we could work something out to accommodate you."

    "Oh, well thank you, ma''am," I say politely. "I appreciate that. I really do like this job."

    I give her an extra-big smile, and she returns it with a rather strained one of her own. Oh, gosh. I think I could get used to this.

 60. Things Can Go Well

    The lights are on downstairs when I get home from work, and I immediately tense up upon seeing it. I guess this was inevitable, though. The shock would only keep my mom away for a couple days at most. I always knew that. Time to face the music.

    I could probably crash at Valerie or Ida''s place if things get bad. I have plenty of savings in my bank account so I should be able to support myself. The idea is a little terrifying, but it''s mostly reassuring. The fact that I could uproot my entire life and abandon everything I''ve ever known if I really need to is¡­ reassuring.

    That feels¡­ unfair. Even accounting for my mother, was my life really that bad? How could it be, when I know so many people with home lives that are objectively worse, many of whom still have attachments to that home. Isn''t that how I''m supposed to feel?

    ¡­Well, I guess not. I''m a monster after all, not a human. And while I also feel like I''m not supposed to think that''s reassuring either, well¡­ it is. Because, again, I''m not a human. Neat.

    I step out of the car and stretch my limbs, having spent more than enough time psyching myself up in the garage. I''m home now, so the blade limbs can come out, enjoying the light, soupy feeling of having just that tiny bit of atmosphere resistance from being in 3D space. I''m pretty much certain that the 4D space on Earth is a vacuum, but my body doesn''t seem to react all that negatively to it. I''ve heard a lot of horror stories about the sort of stuff a vacuum can do to a human body, but I''ve actually gone as far as sticking my head into 4D space and not having my lungs explosively decompress or whatever so I guess my body just has the physical structure to resist the pressure difference. So that''s nice. Definitely can''t breathe there, though.

    I open the door to my house, having almost forgotten what waits for me thanks to my internal monologue, but to my surprise I don''t find my mother waiting for me after all. My dad sits alone at the kitchen table, looking a bit awkward and pensive but shooting me a big smile as he spots me.

    "Hey, Hannahgator," he greets me. "Work go okay?"

    I fail to hide my surprise. My dad¡­ doesn''t normally ambush me like this. Does he need something?

    "Yeah, it went fine," I say. "We were pretty busy, though. I guess I''m on social media."

    "Ha," he chuckles lightly. "I suppose you would be."

    "I suppose I would."

    There''s an awkward pause. I shift my weight back and forth a little, waiting to understand why this is happening.

    "So, uh¡­ you used my car to get to work today," my dad comments. "But I''m not, uh¡­ I don''t have COVID anymore. My two weeks are over."

    Huh? Oh. Oh! I used his car without permission!

    "Oh gosh dad, I''m sorry!" I babble, embarrassed. "I didn''t even think about it, I just got so used to¡­ agh, my bad!"

    "Oh no, it''s okay," he assures me quickly. "I mean, well, you''re a little too old to have your dad drive you to work and back anyway, right? It must be embarrassing."

    "No, no, it''s not embarrassing," I assure him honestly. "I guess it might be to other people, but I don''t really think about that kind of stuff."

    "Ah, I guess not," he says. "Well, uh, I did need to go do some things at my office, and if you want to make it up to me, I¡­ could use some company? Y''know, have a little father-daughter time while I get some chores done. If, uh, you don''t mind staying up a little late."

    I''m not entirely sure how to respond at first. My dad doesn''t really do stuff like this. He mainly keeps to himself, doing his own thing, staying inside his own head, just going along with the rest of the family whenever we do things together. My mom is in charge of the house, which includes Dad, and he just kind of goes along with it.

    But¡­ well, this is kind of a huge change in my life. It''s not that weird that he''s acting differently. Plus, the only time we ever really interact one on one is when he drives me places. Maybe he just missed that.

    "...Okay, Dad," I concede, and he gives me a big goofy grin. I quickly head upstairs to change out of my work clothes and then get back into the car with my backpack, this time in the passenger''s seat. He gets in the driver''s side, and we head out together.

    "So, you really went to school like that, huh?" he asks. "That must be a lot."

    "It''s whatever," I shrug. "Honestly, it''s sort of nice."

    "You like being the center of attention?" he asks.

    "No, not really. It''s just¡­ well, I had to spend a long time hiding everything, I guess. This feels more natural."

    He hums, nodding a few times.

    "Natural, huh?" he muses. "I worry about people not agreeing with that. I worry about a lot of things. Nobody really knows what''s happening to you, and that¡­ well. Your mother and I are terrified."

    I nearly flinch at the mention of Mom. If she had said something like ''your father and I are terrified,'' I would have gotten defensive. I would have assumed she was trying to guilt me, trying to win the conversation. But for some reason, it doesn''t quite feel like that from Dad. He''s not asking me to change anything. He''s just¡­ talking about his feelings. Something that I suspect is difficult for him.

    "I wish I could say that explaining things would help," I tell him. "But I''m a little worried that knowing more about the situation is just going to make you feel worse."

    "Ah," he says. "Hmm. Well. I know you said it wasn''t demons but¡­ off the record, is it demons?"

    I can''t help but bust out in brief, unexpected laughter. There''s just something about how nonchalantly he says it, despite still being entirely serious, that really gets to me.

    "On or off the record, Dad, I''m pretty sure all of Christianity is completely bunk," I tell him. "I speak with a divine entity on a semi-regular basis and She doesn''t really match up to anything in the Bible at all."

    "Ah. Hmm. Well, just a fair warning, your mom''s been talking about looking to hire an exorcist. And yes, we know those are mostly just scams, but¡­ well. With magic being real, it just¡­ you know. Our daughter is¡­ just try not to be too mad at her?"

    I sigh. I guess that checks out.

    "I''ll try," I tell him noncommittally. "Though for the record, I wouldn''t really want to be ''exorcized,'' if that were even real? Like¡­ maybe some way to protect me from the influence of the Goddess would be nice, She¡¯s¡­ not a nice deity. But the extra limbs and the magic and stuff? It''s nice. I like it. I like not having a human body. I like being able to clean up messes with my mind. It''s¡­ it makes me happy."

    "Really?" he asks.

    "Really," I tell him. "It''s not all good. There''s¡­ bad stuff in my life now. But this?"

    I hold up my clawed, chitinous hand, watching it gleam in the flashes of passing streetlights.

    "I like it."

    My dad just continues staring at the road, because he is driving a car and not wildly irresponsible. But after a brief silence, he nods.

    "Well," he says, "that''s good, then. That''s a very good thing."

    Eventually, the car pulls into my dad''s dentist office. Dental business? The place where he traumatizes people for cash. He, of course, does all our family''s teeth cleanings for free, so I''ve been here at least every six months or so for¡­ well, my entire life, I guess. It''s a small little thing, sitting in one of those dull brick plazas that sneak onto the side of four-lane roads and hold six different stores you see driving to work every day but have never once actually entered. Everyone needs a dentist, though. If you think you don''t, you''ll come running eventually. What a business to overcharge people for, huh?

    "If you''re okay with it," my dad suddenly says after we step inside, "I''d like to check your teeth while we''re here. I don''t know much about magic or anything like that, but I know a little about teeth. It would help to see if that, at least, was okay."

    "Oh," I say. "Um, sure, I guess. I suppose I''m a little curious, since they''re so big now."

    "They are really big," my dad agrees, oddly enthusiastic. "Biggest set of chompers I''ve ever seen."

    "Uh, heh. Yeah, I guess so. It was¡­ uh, pretty traumatic when they grew in, honestly? My human teeth all fell out during a test and I had to run to the bathroom and spit them all into the sink."

    "Really?" he asks. "Like in dreams?"

    "I¡­ guess? I mean, I can only assume," I say. "I don''t¡­ dream."

    "Sure you do, when you were a kid you had that recurring dream we had to¡ª"

    "No Dad, wait, that¡­ that wasn''t a dream."

    He stops, frowning.

    "Oh," he says. "Okay, well, it''s pretty common for people to have dreams about their teeth falling out, and pretty common for people to have dreams about tests, so¡­ they go together sometimes."

    "That makes sense," I nod. "Well, like that, yeah. Except it actually happened. I didn''t know what to do with my teeth, either, so I panicked and put them all in a ziplock bag in my backpack. I, uh, still have that, actually."

    "Really!?" my dad asks, excited. "Can I see?"

    I blink, rather surprised by the enthusiasm, but I guess I have no reason to deny the request. I pull out my funny little teeth bag, carefully wrapped up at the bottom of my backpack, and hand it to my father. He accepts it gingerly, carefully setting them down onto a counter and spreading them out.

    "Wow, those are your teeth, alright!" he exclaims, and I really don''t know what to say to that. I guess¡­ he recognizes them? "Well, let''s get you hooked up to the x-ray and figure out your new teeth!"

    We do, and the results are¡­ disappointing. Dad takes the x-rays a few times, all to the same result: a solid silhouette of my face. My skin is, apparently, impermeable to a lot more of the electromagnetic spectrum than a normal person''s.

    "I hope I don''t ruin people''s cell phone reception," I say with a frown. I was kind of looking forward to seeing an x-ray of my weird teeth. I mean like, it''d probably just be like looking at stuff with my spatial sense, but still.

    "Hmm. Yeah," Dad agrees, looking stumped. "Is it weird that this is what finally has it starting to sink in?"

    "Has what starting to sink in?" I ask.

    "Your body," he says. "You''re really something impossible. How did that happen? How could that happen? And why did it happen to you?"

    "Oh," I say, finding a nearby patient chair and flopping down into it. "Well. The Goddess said She chose me because I''m ''good, but not good enough.'' She did not elaborate on what that meant, but¡­ I have my guesses."

    "Oh, Hannah," my dad says sadly, "you''re good enough for anything you set your mind to."

    I shrug, not terribly interested in arguing the matter with such a biased source.

    "It''s not a matter of if you can handle it, to us," my father continues. "We know you''re smart and funny and hard-working and so, so kind. You can do anything, Hannah. Your mother and I are worried about you, yes, but we''re more worried about the rest of the world. About the people who might want to hurt you."

    Yeah. Well. That''s fair, I guess. But also not really.

    "Did I tell you and Mom that I wake up every night in another universe?" I ask.

    "Um. No?"

    "Ah. Okay. Well, I do. It''s literally just¡­ a whole entire other universe, like some big fantasy world tree nonsense. And it''s kinda bad news bears over there. Like ''I have had to fight to the death with cultists and slavers'' bad. My friends keep telling me I have PTSD now. ¡­My therapist probably would, too."

    I let my legs kick a little, dangling over the side of the medical chair. My toes itch to be free of my shoes.

    "It''s just not something I want to talk to Mom about," I say. "She''ll try to fix it, you know? But you can''t fix that. You can''t fix being a murderer."

    I hop back onto the floor, suddenly not in the mood to sit anymore. I start to pace, instead.

    "I''d probably be better off if none of this ever happened to me. No¡­ I''d definitely be better off. Even if I spent my whole life depressed at trying to pretend to be the wrong species and not knowing it, it would be better than this. But we don''t get that choice, okay, Dad? It''s not¡­ it''s not an option on the table. This change doesn''t go back. Even if we go full anime JRPG on the Goddess and stab Her with the power of friendship until She dies¡ªwhich, to be clear, is not a thing¡ªI don''t become human again. If anything I might die, because I''m pretty sure my biology relies on magic to function. I''m stuck being this stepping stone between worlds, this¡­ this little ant, following a scent-trail back and forth. We have to adapt to that. We have to find ways to appreciate that. And I know it''s going to be hard. I know people are going to come for me. And I damn well know that people are going to try to hurt me. They already have."

    I try to give my dad a reassuring smile, though I think it only ends up as a grimace.

    "But they always regret it. You don''t need to worry about me, Dad. If anything, you should worry about the idiots who''ll try to do something to me. I hate hurting people, but it turns out I''m really good at it."

    "Hannah¡­" my father says softly, sympathy and confusion on his face. "I''m not¡­ entirely sure I understand. But if you need anything from me, you only need to say so, alright? I''ll do anything I can."

    "I know," I say, having absolutely no intention to ever do so. "Thanks, Dad."

    He does end up checking my teeth out manually, commenting on how easy it is to work on me because my jaw opens so wide no less than three times. I think, perhaps, that my dad might be a weirdo. But I guess that''s okay. All the cool people in my life are weirdos anyway.

    My teeth are, apparently, as healthy as he''s able to determine them to be, even if he''s worried their abnormally large size will cause problems to my jaw. I haven''t felt anything like that, but I promise him I''ll keep an eye on it and he busies himself for a bit with other work before we head home and go to bed. I wake up on the Pillar, and we continue traveling through the caves.

    It''s nice, if a bit quiet and boring. The cave formations are often breathtakingly beautiful¡ªwe stop for lunch by a small underground pond, the walls lined with purple quartz¡ªbut they''re just as often nothing more than smooth limestone or jagged fissures. Helen and I continue to hunt together for meat, but we''re starting to run out of rations for Kagiso, which might require me to bring her some food from Earth and just hope like heck that nothing we put in our food will hurt a literal alien.

    Still, the day is mostly just boring travel, so I wake up on Earth Wednesday morning feeling both well-rested and intensely restless. I want to do something¡ªrun, clean, work, goof off¡ªbut unfortunately I have school to go to first. Even more unfortunately my mother seems to be awake early, already downstairs and eating breakfast. I suppose there''s no way I could have avoided her forever. I get dressed for the day, head to the bathroom to relieve myself, and Refresh myself clean.

    ¡­After also using toilet paper, of course. I''m not that monstrous. I''m just using Refresh to substitute for showers because¡­ well, showers are kind of depressing now that they aren''t enjoyable. Still, though, I take the effort to look over myself in the mirror and check my body over for changes. My extra eyes look like they''ll finish growing soon, and¡­ hmm. Something is growing where my hair used to be. There''s a tiny little flap of some kinda translucent something-or-another on top of my head. I''m not really sure how to describe it. It''s very small, but I guess it''s just starting to grow. I hope whatever it is works as a decent substitute for hair.

    Gathering my courage, I head downstairs, where my mother is slowly nursing a strong cup of coffee. That''s a bit odd; she doesn''t normally drink the stuff. She greets me and says good morning. I say good morning back. She doesn''t say anything else. I can''t help but be relieved, and I grab what''s left of our ham, eggs, and cheese to make myself an omelet.

    Then a few men in pastors¡¯ outfits walk up our porch and ring the doorbell. Oh boy, here we go.

    "It''s not going to work, you know," I tell Mom as she stands up to get the door. "I''m not a demon. I''m just me."

    "Then I hope you won''t mind indulging me," my mother says tiredly, a miserable look on her face as she walks out of the kitchen to let the men inside. They chat quietly a bit and I do my best to ignore them, focusing on my food. Bleh. How should I handle this? I hurry up and finish cooking so I can at least deal with the indignity on a full stomach.

    Alas, the presumably-exorcists walk in while I am only half-finished stuffing my face. They look¡­ shocked, I suppose, when they see me. Not horrified, not disgusted, not hateful, but certainly shocked. The three of them briefly shift into different expressions: one looks like he pities me, while another seems suspicious, like he thinks he''s the one whose time is being wasted by a scam. Hmm. Probably genuine believers, then. It''s strange; I''ve grown up going to church my entire life, but even I think it''s weird to meet someone who actually, truly believes that people get possessed by demons.

    ¡­I could have some fun with this. But I''m gonna finish my eggs first.

    "You''re¡­ Hannah, correct?" the lead guy asks me. Gosh golly the dude has like six different crosses on his person. Absolutely zero drip.

    "That''s me," I confirm, quickly swallowing to talk and then stuffing my face again. "Sorry, you kinda caught me in the middle of my morning routine."

    "Please accept our apologies," he nods. "Do you know why we''re here, Hannah?"

    "Because you think demons are real and the burden of proof is fake," I answer. "Or at the very least, you have a concerningly generous definition of evidence."

    "Hannah, please," my mom sighs, placing the tips of her fingers against her forehead to sort of half-cover her face.

    "Fine, fine. You''re here because you think there might be something you can exorcize," I grumble, "and not the kind that gets rid of the flab on your bellies."

    "Hannah," my mother presses again.

    "Is this even like, a thing that happens in the bible?" I ask. "Is this a thing demons do? Turn people into bug monsters? Because I don''t remember that from Sunday school, and while I didn''t really pay the best attention I feel like I would remember that."

    "Hannah!"

    "Look, they''re just wasting their time, Mom," I snap. "I can''t possibly be embarrassing you more than inviting them inside already accomplished. I am like, ninety-nine percent sure this will do jack diddly squat."

    "Well can we eliminate that one percent, then?" my mother groans. "Please? Just for my peace of mind?"

    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    I shut my mouth and consider that. I wasn''t kidding about the one percent; I have a Goddess, so I guess it''s not impossible that these dudes have a bonafide god. But if the Christian god could purge the Goddess'' influence from me, would I even want him to? Like, don''t get me wrong, it''s tempting. My Goddess is pretty awful. But at least She''s not ''create a realm of infinite eternal punishment and send people there if they disobey'' awful. I mean¡­ at least I don''t think She does that. But if She does, She''s probably at least not homophobic about who ends up going!

    Oh heck, this is exactly like dealing with politics. ''Which immortal monster that has nothing but their own self-interest at heart do you want to rule one of the biggest countries on the planet?'' ¡­Woah, wait, I can legally vote now! That''s insane! Geez, I''m so not ready for that. At least being queer makes voting slightly easier; between any two jerks that want to exploit the world for personal profit, America usually only has one that actively wants to make my happiness illegal. It''s sort of frustrating, because like¡­ I''m kind of required to vote for one or the other even if I don''t agree with any of their other policies, because the other one wants to make my happiness illegal, because that''s just a thing a ton of people in this country want for some fucking reason, and that rather supersedes all the other issues I would otherwise care quite a bit about.

    ¡­Wait, I''m kind of getting distracted here. Should I let them try to exorcize me? I mean¡­ it won''t do anything but maybe get my mom off my back a little, right? So I guess I have no reason to say no?

    "Okay, shoot your shot," I shrug. "Faith-blast me, or whatever."

    I lazily wave one hip-limb in a ''get on with it'' gesture, leaning on the other for support as I shovel down the rest of my eggs. The men of faith glance at each other.

    "Your flippancy does not do you favors, child," the suspicious one grunts. "You should show respect before the Lord."

    "If I meet him, I probably will," I answer. "But I don''t see him here."

    That seems to light a fire under their asses, so the men nod at each other and each pull out one of their comically large complement of crosses. The man in front starts to speak.

    "I command you, unclean spirit¡ª"

    "Rude," I comment, crossing my arms. I literally just cleaned myself!

    "¡ªby the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, and by the descent of the Holy Spirit, that you tell me by some sign your name!"

    I blink.

    "It¡­ it''s Hannah," I answer, but he just keeps talking like I''m not even there.

    "I command you to obey me, a servant of God despite my unworthiness, and leave this place, emboldened not to harm in any way this creature of God, or the bystanders, or any of their possessions! By the power of Christ, you are commanded!"

    Silence. I clear my throat.

    "Well," I say, "I was gonna leave for school in like fifteen minutes anyway, so that''s fine. Is it alright if I come back after classes, though?"

    "Hannah, please," my mother groans. "Take this seriously. For me?"

    Ha. Take it seriously? Really? I almost did. I tried to, for a bit there. I had, for a time, the teensiest sliver of hope that maybe She was a demon, maybe She could be cast out. But that was just stupidity from the start. I knew that. I let myself hope anyway. How foolish of me, to take this so lightly.

    "Fine," I say, briefly running my dishes under cold water and Refreshing them back to perfection. "We can be serious. We can stop joking around."

    I put my things away and approach the three men, doing my best to glower with some level of intimidation despite the fact that the shortest one is nearly eight inches taller than me.

    "Do you gentlemen still think I''m possessed?" I ask.

    They don''t answer, though their grips remain firm on their crosses.

    "I see," I continue. "Well. I''m sure you all mean the best. But I''m kind of busy dealing with an actual deity, so my patience for this is a bit thin. I already have one cult trying to kill me. Please don''t make it two."

    The exorcists look at each other.

    "...I think it is the child''s faith that is the issue, in this situation," the skeptical one says.

    "Yes," another agrees, "I suspect you are correct."

    Oh ho ho? What''s this now?

    "What do you mean?" my mother asks.

    "An exorcism commands a demon, as they are beholden to the will of Jesus and powerless against Him," the man explains. "But free wills are still involved, and while that of the demon''s can be subverted, God willingly declines to do so to His children. If your daughter has accepted the demon voluntarily¡­"

    "Oh, how convenient," I drawl. "Whenever you fail at your job it''s the victim''s fault. Come on, Mom, you''re not this stupid."

    "There''s¡­ a certain logic to the claim," my mother frowns. "And you are being rather belligerent about it, young lady."

    "If my faith is a deciding factor, this will never work regardless of how real it is," I sigh. "I haven''t been a Christian for years, Mom. I''m super gay."

    "Those things don''t have to be mutually exclusive, you know," my mother hums. "There are denominations that are happy to accept the LGBT community."

    "Wha¡­?" Okay, I was not expecting to hear that from my mom. "No, look, that''s really not the only reason, Mom. I''m not going to be getting on the Jesus train while a Goddess mocks me as my new limbs grow in. Faith can''t stand up to certainty."

    The four Christians in the room seem to take offense to that, so I quickly move on.

    "Look, I just¡­ are we done here?" I ask, using one finger to push away a cross that''s been slowly moved into my personal space bubble over the course of this conversation. "Exorcism doesn''t work. Or these guys suck at it. Either way, you should boot them out."

    "Hmm," my mother frowns, tapping her foot for a moment before she motions the men towards the door. "You may leave."

    "Ma''am, I do believe your daughter needs serious¡ª"

    "You may leave," she repeats, "my house."

    They leave. Immediately. I have no idea how she does that. I wait for them to be gone and the front door to be shut before I turn my attention back to my mother. It''s¡­ scary, being alone with her. Different. She''s always nicer when we''re in public. But I''m still buzzing with irritation from the exorcism attempt so I manage to pool together my courage.

    "Can you stop trying to help me and just let me go to school now?" I beg her.

    "Hannah," my mom sighs, "I am genuinely not sure I can. I could not live with myself if I did nothing to try and help you."

    I want to tell her she''s not helping. That the best way to help would be to leave me alone. But I can''t. It wouldn''t work. It wouldn''t help. She needs something.

    This is part of her routine.

    "...A vice president at the place I work flew down to talk to me yesterday," I say hesitantly, unsure if this is wise but equally unsure of any alternatives. "She was concerned about the legality of what I was doing, since magic doesn''t really¡­ exist in the legal system. Or, I assume it doesn''t?"

    "Not explicitly, but there are a few precedents in the context of witchcraft," my mother answers immediately, surprising me yet again. "People who believe they are performing magical rituals are indeed allowed to perform those rituals freely as religious practice, and it would be difficult to argue that provably real magic is less valid of a religion. That said, it would be equally absurd for provably real magic to not be regulated by law."

    She crosses one arm over her stomach, resting her other elbow on it in what I''ve taken to thinking of as her ''lecture pose.''

    "Dettmer v. Landon, for example, revolved around a prisoner in Virginia who desired items to perform Wiccan rituals, and made the claim that the first amendment afforded him rights to those items so he could practice. The Department of Correction argued that Wicca was merely a conglomeration of occult practices, and did not constitute a religion at all. It eventually went to the Fourth Circuit, and the court ruled that no, Wicca absolutely counted as a religion, and the claim otherwise was firmly rejected. They just also concluded that the plaintiff would not get access to candles, because none of the prisoners were allowed unsupervised access to things like fire and wax, which has a suite of rational justifications that do not involve his religion whatsoever."

    "Huh," I blink. "You just¡­ know that case offhand?"

    "Of course I do," my mother scowls. "I researched it last night, along with any other case I thought might be relevant. This one is notable because Wicca is one of the major religions in which spellcasting and communing with supernatural entities are widely known aspects; I''ve no idea what it''s actually like, but those are comparisons that would likely be made if you go for a religious defense. In essence, the idea that you cannot be discriminated against for powers granted to you by this ''goddess?'' An easy argument. But the idea that this gives you special permission to use your powers in defiance of preexisting regulations? Comparatively difficult. Religion means special accommodations, but it only sometimes means special exceptions."

    "Well, I don''t know if I really want to consider my nonconsensual bond to the Goddess as a religion, per se, but it shouldn''t matter," I insist. "Most of the health code is about not letting things touch other things, and my magic lets me prepare food while touching everything way less. I have a cleaning and sorting spell. It''s awesome at following the health code!"

    "Hmm," my mother considers. "Show me."

    I spend about five minutes doing just that, not even really thinking about disobeying her. But it''s not¡­ that bad? She''s not berating me or setting up obscure failstates for me, she''s just¡­ telling me to do things that are immediately accomplishable.

    "Incredible," she mutters. "Absolutely incredible."

    "I know, right?" I gush. "It''s awesome! I don''t need to waste time mixing sauces or garnishing or cleaning pans or washing hands, it''s all just clean."

    "No, you still need to wash your hands," mom says.

    "What? But why? I just showed you my magic washes hands better than washing hands."

    "And I agree with you," my mom nods, "but the health code doesn''t specify a degree of cleanliness that your hands need to be. It specifies the situations in which your hands need to be washed, and the correct way to wash your hands. And those things still apply to you, to the letter."

    "But¡­ that''s dumb," I whine.

    My mother shrugs.

    "And because it''s dumb, we might very well get a special exception if we conclusively proved the superiority of your method and took the matter to court. But do you really want to go through the months-long process of doing that? I feel as though there will be more important legal battles in your future."

    I groan. She''s absolutely right. As always.

    "Now, I suppose I''ve kept you long enough," my mom says. "Get yourself to school. I¡­ am proud of you, for still choosing to go in spite of all this."

    I flinch. I don''t feel like this is anything to be proud of. I''m just locked in my routine regardless of whether it''s reasonable or not. But I can''t deny that hearing my mother say she''s proud of me sparks a blossom of joy to unfold through my body, a satisfaction that I deeply, deeply wish I didn''t still crave.

    "Thanks, Mom," I say quietly, and I head to the bus stop.

    School is fine. The gym teacher yells at me for tearing up the track with my claws, but doesn''t stop Jet or I from being our supermutant selves as long as we keep our shoes on. I guess he and the principal had a chat. That''s good.

    I''m getting bombarded with even more questions today than the two days prior. It seems like the whole school has seen videos of me online by now. It''s¡­ overwhelming, but Ida steps in before I freak out and starts dragging me along with loud conversations that don''t let anyone else get a word in edgewise. It''s great. She''s great. And her birthday is tomorrow! Gosh, I still need to get her something.

    I once again make it home without anything exploding or going terrible. Which is¡­ pretty neat, I think. I''m not used to things going well both earthside and treeside, and I know I need to enjoy it while it lasts. Which is why, since I don''t have work today, I''m really looking forward to streaming tonight! Gosh, it''s going to be wild. When school finally ends and I make it home, I''m itching to get started. I head up to my room and turn on my computer.

    "Hannah!" my dad calls out to me. "You ready for your therapy appointment?"

    I blink. My what? But¡­ oh. Oh! Right, Dr. Carson convinced me to move up to twice a week. Huh. Well, that''s a bit of a buzzkill, but only a bit. My therapy appointments are only ninety minutes long and I can always just stream afterwards.

    "Uh¡­ yeah, give me a sec!" I call back down as I finish changing out of my school clothes and turn my computer back off. I guess Mom''s at work, so Dad is driving me. That''s nice.

    "You going like that?" my dad asks me as we get in his car.

    "Yeah, my, uh, therapist was actually one of the first people to know," I tell him. "Besides my friends, I mean."

    "And your¡­ girlfriend?" he asks awkwardly.

    Ah. Right.

    "Well, um, yeah, I guess so," I fidget. "Though we actually broke up like, the day after I said I had one. Um. I don''t really wanna talk about it."

    "Oh," my dad says. "Was it because¡ª"

    "It''s not because either of us turned out to be straight," I cut him off.

    He blinks.

    "I was going to ask if it was because you look different now," he says.

    "Oh. No. Well, kind of. But no. Can we change the subject?"

    "Sure," he says. "Sorry, Hannah."

    We make it to Dr. Carson''s office before long and though I get my usual complement of stares while in the waiting room, Dr. Carson is there to collect me into her office the moment my appointment is supposed to start. She gives me time to get inside and calm myself, the phantom stress of therapy still clinging to me despite how unimaginably different Dr. Carson is from him. Soon enough, though, I''m on the couch, taking my shoes off and getting comfortable.

    "So!" Dr. Carson greets me. "It''s good to see you again, Hannah! I have to say, you''re looking a bit more chipper."

    "Ha! Yeah, I guess I am," I admit, scratching the back of my head awkwardly.

    "I notice you''re not covering up anymore, either," she says. "Are those two things related?"

    "Yup!" I nod. "It''s nice to not have to hide. Hiding is hard."

    "It really is," Dr. Carson agrees. "Well, I''m glad you seem to be more comfortable expressing yourself. I should mention, before we move on, that I''ve managed to run into a lot of videos of you online. I wouldn''t normally seek that sort of thing out, but you''ve become quite the big name in a short amount of time."

    "Yeah, I, uh, was getting that impression," I hedge. "I don''t actually have a Twitter account, though, or¡­ really most social media accounts. So I haven''t seen much of it. I''ve been meaning to, though."

    "If you''d like to, you''re welcome to do so here," Dr. Carson invites. "Or we can just talk, if you prefer."

    "Well, I mean, is it anything bad?" I ask hesitantly.

    "I think it''s mostly positive," Dr. Carson opines, "but it is social media. There are some less-than-savory opinions. That is perpetually the nature of fame, of course."

    "Do you have any famous clients?" I ask. "I mean, you don''t have to answer that, of course."

    "I think you''ve recently become my most famous client, Hannah," she smiles at me. "So if you need help with that on top of everything else, you know how to reach me."

    "Of course," I sigh. "Yeah. Thank you."

    "Any time. So. Is there anything you wanted to speak with me about, today?"

    "Well, um¡­ I''m no longer being soul tortured," I start with.

    "Yes, that''s¡­ certainly something I was worried about," Dr. Carson smiles. "I''m very glad to hear it."

    "Yeah, uh. I feel awful about it, though, because we killed a bunch of people and I had to bring my friend Ida from Earth along to help me and she brought a gun so now she''s killed a bunch of people and it was just. A really bad situation all around! But we didn''t really have a choice because I had accidentally teleported my girlfriend to the other universe the day before, and we had to rescue her, but of course when we kill all the cultists and finally find her she''s having a complete breakdown panic attack and she''s locked herself inside a magic death trap made out of her soul and we have to break in and drag her out and she dumps me because I guess she''s got a bunch of mental problems with attachment and her headmate kept calling me abusive which I guess I am because I accidentally used a bunch of magic to do a bunch of awful things to her on a bunch of different occasions."

    "Hmm!" Dr. Carson says, scribbling notes at an absolutely incredible speed. "Well, let''s start to unpack that. When you say you used magic to do ''awful things,'' what do you mean, exactly?"

    "I, um, nonconsensually transformed her into a monster kinda like me. And also I teleported her to a horrible alternate universe."

    "Did you do these things on purpose?" Dr. Carson asks.

    "Eh?" I answer, wiggling my hand in a so-so gesture. "That''s complicated to answer. Though they happened because I wanted them to happen, at the very least. The spell that transforms others works by giving someone a body that I think metaphorically represents them in some way and will also enable them to better empathize with my experiences. If I was thinking rationally at the time, I would not have chosen to cast on her, but the fact that I wasn''t thinking rationally at the time doesn''t mean I''m not responsible for doing them."

    "I think that''s a good philosophy, overall," Dr. Carson says. "Though I''d personally hesitate to call you an ''abuser'' after a handful of mistakes in high-stress situations."

    "Dr. Carson, I made permanent changes to her body that will negatively impact her entire life," I admit. "And then I traumatized her even harder by sending her to another universe. I''m a monster."

    My therapist hums in thought, tapping her pen to her chin.

    "I suppose I can''t comment on what you did or how much it will hurt her," she says. "I don''t know the young woman in question. And certainly, she is well within her rights to end her relationship with you, and doing so was likely the correct decision for her. But I deal every day with abusers and victims of abusers, and you act like the latter. Not the former. I don''t think you should ignore your mistakes, Hannah, but I don''t think you should damn yourself for them, either. You can move forward."

    "Yeah," I sigh, leaning back into the couch cushions. "Okay. Honestly, other than that my life has been going really well lately. I escaped the cultists treeside. I came out as nonhuman earthside. And ever since, those two things have just¡­ remained fine. I haven''t been recaptured. I haven''t been attacked. I haven''t had anything bad happen to me. It''s wonderful, but at the same time, I just¡­ I''m always waiting for the other shoe to drop, you know? Something bad has to be coming. It has to be. So where is it, and what am I supposed to do about it?"

    "Something bad doesn''t have to be coming, though," Dr. Carson says. "I know it feels that way, after everything you''ve been through, but it isn''t true. Things can go well."

    "No, Dr. Carson," I shake my head. "That might be how it works for other people, but not for me. Like yeah, I get it''s probably a trauma response, but you know what they say. It''s not paranoia if the world is actually out to get you. And She is. She is. I don''t know what She wants from me, but I won''t like it."

    My leg starts to nervously twitch, and I let it. It''s okay to do that here.

    "...Are you talking about this goddess you''ve mentioned?" Dr. Carson asks.

    "Yes," I confirm. "Yes, I am. She¡­ I really, really like the peace I''m getting lately, Dr. Carson. It''s wonderful. But part of me just wants Her to let the ball drop already. To have everything go back to horror. I know it''s going to. I know I shouldn''t want that, and I don''t, but the wait is killing me."

    "Do you¡­ speak with this Goddess?" Dr. Carson asks.

    "Kind of," I say. "Pretty much. She only talks out loud when people incant a spell, but we communicate. She¡­ knows what I''m thinking. And She can put Her thoughts in my head, make me understand Her words as if they were truths I knew all along. Sh-she can peel my mind open anytime She wants. And She can t-touch me. Whenever, and wherever She feels like it. Sh-she owns me, Dr. Carson. She owns everything. She''s a Goddess. And She wants us to suffer so She can laugh."

    I realize I''m curling up into a ball, the familiar and no less horrible feeling of a panic attack starting to claw up my lungs. Ha. I was doing so well lately, too.

    "Did I tell you the people who were torturing me did it because they think I''ll destroy the world?" I ask. "I''m scared they''re right. That She chose me because they''re right. That I won''t be able to stop Her. Because I''m not good enough. I''m not good enough. I''m not good enough I''m not good enough I''m not¡ª"

    "Hannah," Dr. Carson interrupts firmly. "Deep breaths for me, please. In¡­ and out. In¡­ and out."

    I focus on her voice. On my breathing. The throbbing in my chest starts to die down as the tears continue to fall.

    "Hannah, no one needs you to save the world," Dr. Carson insists once I''ve calmed down. "You are an eighteen-year-old girl."

    "I am," I whisper, "a prophet of the apocalypse. I don''t know what it will look like. I know we won''t all die. But enough of us¡­ too many of us. We won''t be able to dig out of the sand. And She won''t save the boring ones, not when others can save themselves."

    The beach, the boredom, the little ant crawling between the nests. Living a different life in each one. How beautiful. How unique. How easy to break, with but a single finger.

    "I shouldn''t be going public," I say. "The more people know about magic, the more Her influence will inevitably spread. They''ll kidnap everyone I''ve already ensouled and try to get them to spread it. So they can''t know we can spread it. They can''t."

    I look up at Dr. Carson, panic seizing me.

    "Y-you need my number," I tell her, scrambling for my phone. "You need my number more than I need yours. Call me if you get in trouble, okay? If anyone tries to hurt you. I''ll find you. I promise. I promise I''ll find you. Fuck, what have I even being doing? Going to school? Going to work? I need to prepare."

    ¡­Somehow. I need to prepare somehow. But what can I even do?

    "Hannah," Dr. Carson says calmly. "Breathe for me, please."

    "Right. Yeah. Breathe. Calm down. Don''t use the sudden panic as desperately-needed motivation to get off my ass and do something useful for once."

    "You can''t do anything useful if you''re too panicked to think straight, Hannah."

    "Well I can''t do anything useful any other time, either!" I snap back, then flinch away. "Sorry. Sorry. I didn''t mean to raise my voice. I just¡­ this is¡­ I don''t know what to do. Everything''s going right and I don''t know why and know they''re going to go wrong again. I know it. I just don''t know when or where or if it''ll finally be the thing to break me."

    I sigh, looking down at my hands. Thinking about my body back on the Pillar, soaked in human blood.

    "...Maybe that''s a stupid thing to worry about," I say. "I''m already broken."

    Silence. I let it fester, drowning the room in painful awkwardness. Dr. Carson, of course, seems to somehow detect that my quietness isn''t any more helpful than my outburst, so she clears her throat to speak up.

    "Well," she says, "I''m certainly glad we''ve agreed to twice-a-week visits, if nothing else. It wouldn''t have been good for emotions like that to boil up inside you all week. It''s healthy to let these things out when you can. To talk about them."

    "Is that enough?" I ask. "To just talk?"

    "Well, that depends quite a bit on how you define ''enough,''" she answers. "But either way, it helps. It helps quite a bit. So¡­ please feel free to continue, if you have anything else to say."

    I take a shaky breath and nod. I guess that''s what therapy is for, after all.

    We talk, and I feel a little better.

 61. Customer Service

    I wake up Thursday after another boring day of travel treeside. I have a lot of those, it feels like, which I suppose makes sense. We''re just kind of walking for twelve hours. I really take transportation technology for granted, don''t I? A car or train can manage distances like that in a tiny fraction of the time. So much of our lives that would have been consumed by the need for travel time in the past just¡­ isn''t consumed anymore. It''s neat. ¡­Gosh, I hope I''ll be able to teleport someday. That would be super sick.

    Fortunately or unfortunately, I don''t unlock any new magical mobility powers while slogging through my usual school day. I am reminded that Ida''s birthday is today, and I awkwardly give her as heartfelt a happy birthday as I can considering that I forgot about it again until one of her other friends brought it up. She just laughs it off, though, and I''m pretty sure it was genuine rather than forced.

    "Hannah, I know you way too well to be offended," Ida chuckles. "Thanks for the thanks. I''ll see you Saturday, yeah?"

    "Yeah," I promise. I''ll have to bring her a gift. I have no idea what to get Ida as a gift. She''s stupid rich, anything she could possibly want is something she already has. Gah. I''ll have to think about it. I''m super bad with gifts and this is going to make me anxious for days.

    After school I have work, and the boss puts me in front-of-house. I''m¡­ not sure it''s a good idea. I think he wanted to capitalize on my apparent fame, but in practical terms it means everyone takes way too long to order and the line gets super backed up because people keep asking me questions about myself instead of asking for food. And like, I can''t just rudely dismiss them, because customer service, but it''s exhausting having to constantly deviate from my automated script and remind people that I am working. You''d think people wouldn''t need to be told that, but nope. I guess they just consider this a good and effective way to have me as a captive conversationalist.

    ¡­As evidenced by the local news program that just walked in here with a reporter and a camera.

    "Hi! Hannah, right? Lucy Dandridge, Channel Nine. We were wondering if it''s okay to ask you a few questions?" the reporter lady asks, the same blonde petite type that every news channel hires for some gross reason. Goddess, she has more makeup than skin.

    "Um," I say, "I''m in the middle of taking orders right now. If you''d like to buy food, please get in line. Sorry about that, you said a mac and cheese with meatballs¡­?"

    So rude. They should at least wait until I''m not already talking to someone. And like, yeah, that''s not going to be for at least another couple hours because it''s the dinner rush, but you came to talk to a restaurant worker during the dinner rush. What did you think was going to happen? How do so many people get through life without understanding what working at a restaurant is like? It''s like, the entry-level job. ¡­Well, I guess that''s a stupid question. Not everyone needs to start with entry-level jobs. I wish there was a better way to spread a little empathy for people in my position, though.

    "Hey," my boss says, walking up behind me. "I''ll run the register for a bit. You should go talk to them."

    "Really?" I ask in surprise. "It''s super busy here, though. I should be working."

    "Yeah, it''s busy because of you. You''re making our sales shoot through the roof. As far as I''m concerned, talking to them is your most important work duty right now."

    "...I''m pretty sure that''s not in my employment contract," I grumble. "If I''m being used for marketing purposes, I want a competitive salary for that position."

    "I''ll talk to my boss," he nods.

    I stiffen in surprise. Wait, really? Like actually? I was gonna go do it anyway.

    "Uh, alright then," I nod, and I walk over to the reporter lady, who is hissing something inaudible at her cameraman. "Hey, I have some free time now, if you want to talk."

    "Oh? Oh!" the reporter instantly brightens up. "Yes! That would be wonderful. Is it okay if we do a live interview? Denzel, tell them never mind, we got it."

    "Sure," I shrug. For all my anxieties, stage fright has never been a big one.

    "That''s great! Awesome! Okay, could you give us like five minutes to get ready, get off commercial break and so on? And is there anything you don''t want us to ask on camera?"

    The cameraman pokes away at his phone and calls what I assume are his supervisors as I think over the question for a moment.

    "...Not really?" I ultimately conclude. "Like, not beyond basic common sense stuff. I''m not going to answer anything wildly inappropriate or personal, but I get the feeling that''s not really what you''re here to ask about."

    "Okay, great!" she says excitedly. "Gosh, you look so surreal in person, it''s wild."

    "Well unfortunately, I can assure you that I''m very real," I sigh.

    She laughs as if that were a joke, and then runs me through a few basic aspects of the interview to make it seem a little more professional: where to stand, where to look, etc. I nod and do as she says, and before long the camera starts rolling.

    "Thank you John, and yes, as you can see I''m here at a local fast food joint that''s grown in popularity quite a bit over the past week thanks to one strange employee! Hannah, thank you so much for joining us!"

    "We prefer the term ''fast casual,''" I clarify. I am on the clock, after all. I am being paid to uphold the brand.

    "Ha-ha! Of course!" the reporter says brightly, again as if it''s a joke. "So, what brings an alien to food service work?"

    An alien? Is that what people think I am? I guess it''s not totally inaccurate.

    "Well, I need money to pay for college," I shrug. "Being a weird magical monster doesn''t free me from the yoke of capitalism."

    "Ha! Too true. How long have you been working here, Hannah?"

    "Just over two years," I answer easily.

    "Two years, huh? I assume you didn''t look like this before?"

    "No," I confirm. "This is a recent development. My extra limbs and stuff have been growing in for¡­ I don''t know. A couple months now? I''d thought I was human up until that point."

    "Well! That gets right into the burning questions that I think are on everyone''s minds. By all accounts you''ve repeatedly claimed that your appearance is due to real, actual magic. Is that true?"

    "Yes," I say frankly. "This is my real, physical body and I am capable of real, physics-defying magic, and I can prove both claims. I have proven both claims on camera already, but I don''t really blame people who don''t believe me. It''s, uh, kind of a lot."

    I give a quick demonstration anyway, grabbing a dirty plate and visibly Refreshing all the smeared sauce and crumbs into a little ball.

    "Wow! That is incredible! You saw it here folks, this truly is real! What kinds of things can magic do, Hannah?"

    "I''m not sure if it has actual limits in scope," I admit. "At least not on a universal level. On a personal level, though, a given individual only has the potential for very specific kinds of magic, and can only truly excel at whatever magic is directly gifted to them by the Goddess."

    "A goddess, huh? Are you claiming that magic is divine in origin?"

    "Yes."

    "Is worshipping this goddess what gave you magical abilities?"

    I let out a sigh, leaning forward a little and staring directly at the camera. I want to make this as clear as possible.

    "No," I insist. "I highly, highly recommend that you do not worship my Goddess. It is a bad idea, and it will not affect the likelihood of you obtaining magic. Nobody should be changing religions on my account."

    I frown and think for a moment.

    "...Except atheists, I guess," I correct myself, standing back up straight. "Bit of a bummer, that one. I was a hundred percent on your side until this whole mess happened. But you shouldn''t be worshiping Her just because She happens to exist."

    "Oh," the reporter frowns. Then, after a pause, she asks: "Can people obtain magic?"

    I sigh, drumming my claws against my thigh as I consider the best way to answer that. I don''t want to encourage people to seek magic out, as I''m actively attempting to suppress it, but I can''t deny the possibility that magic might spread anyway. There are too many unknowns, especially J-mug and his mom, that might screw things up. But I''ve already tried getting them to listen by just being nice, so I don''t really know what else to do about them other than try and make them listen by force, and the thought of that leaves a bad taste in my mouth. I need to try something, but I''ve been putting it off.

    So. I don''t want magic to spread. But if it does spread, it would help for people to know what to do. Which means my best option is probably to keep things private.

    "If you obtain magic somehow¡ªand trust me, it''ll probably be fairly obvious if you do¡ªyou should contact me immediately. Magic is a useful but very dangerous tool, and there are some things you''ll need to know to avoid hurting yourself or others by accident. At this time, however, I''d consider the chance of that to be phenomenally unlikely, so don''t get your hopes up."

    "You describe magic as ''very dangerous,'' and yet you''re using it to work a fast food job where hundreds of people pass through every day?" the reporter asks.

    Crap crappity crap! You jerks better not take away my easy-clean privileges!

    "...We use lots of dangerous things to make food here," I hedge. "Gas burners. Ovens. Knives. Magic is like that; dangerous, but only if you don''t know how to handle the pointy end. The magic I use at work doesn''t do anything but clean, and it doesn''t clean anything any differently than water does; it removes contaminants from surfaces. If the FDA or whoever is worried about what I''m doing, I''m perfectly happy to show them. I am, in general, a big fan of science and safety, and I''m super happy to set up a time to demonstrate my abilities to scientists in a controlled environment. I know that what I''m doing is perfectly safe, but I understand that proof is about the capacity for other people to verify my claims rather than just trusting me blindly, so I''m open to that."

    "Well!" the reporter smiles. "I''m sure people will be happy to hear that. The majority of the world still believes that you''re an impressively coordinated hoax, but I, for one, am convinced."

    Hoo. Alright. That sounds like a closing statement. Last shot to make a good impression, Hannah.

    "Honestly, I don''t really care if people think I''m a hoax or not," I say. "I only wanted to keep my head down and finish school, and then all this happened to me. If people could find it in their heart to go a little easy on me online, I''d really appreciate that. I''m just a girl doing her best to get by in a really, really weird situation. I''m sorry for all the fuss I''m causing."

    And then I bow at the camera, just a little. No one has ever hurt their reputation by being too polite. If a random comment about my pay can apparently give me a raise, a heartfelt, honest plea for help might actually get me some of that, too. The reporter keeps the same smile she''s had for the entire interview, but it does somehow seem to look a little softer when I raise my head.

    "Well, thank you so much for your time, Hannah," she says. "This is Lucy Dandridge, Channel Nine News, signing off. Back to you, John!"

    She smiles vacantly at the camera like a doll for about ten seconds before the camera finally drops and the cameraman gives her a nod, letting her untense her body all at once with a huge sigh.

    "Thank you so much for that," she tells me. "This will be incredible for my career."

    "You''re welcome, I guess?" I shrug. "Is it really going to be that big? Like you said, most people think I''m a hoax, right?"

    "Yeah," she nods. "But are you a hoax?"

    "...No?"

    "Then yes," she says firmly. "You''re going to get very, very big. So we''ll make sure not to cut your footage to make you look scary like some of the other channels, and you keep us in mind for further interviews. Deal?"

    Oh charred toast, she''s right. I''m going to start getting hit pieces from major news outlets, aren''t I?

    "...I guess I''ll have to think about it," I nod at her. "But for now, I should probably go back to work."

    "Right," she laughs. "Gosh, an actual alien working fast food! It''s like a cartoon. Er, no offense."

    "None taken," I shrug. "Though I''m not from outer space, for the record."

    "Oh wait, really? Shoot. I''m down ten bucks. Where are you from?"

    Huh. She''s a lot more casual after nailing the interview, isn''t she. Why would she think I''m from space, though? Eh. I guess it''s not any less weird than the truth.

    "I mean, I''m from here, technically? But also kind of not. Uh. You know multiverse theory? It''s like that, but probably in a way that would make the physicists who actually understand multiverse theory really really mad."

    "Huh! Wild!"

    "Yup. Anyway, uh¡­ bye."

    I walk back to the register and take over for my boss again, settling back into my work routine as much as possible. People bother me less and less over the course of the day, and before I know it we''re closed and I''m cleaning the place up more or less by myself because it''s just kind of faster that way. One of my co-workers just follows me around with the trash can as I turn everything spotless.

    "I am never going to get tired of watching this," he says, grinning. "I''m so glad you turned out to not be in the yakuza."

    "Oh, right," I sigh. "You were the yakuza guy."

    "Yeah!" he agrees happily, possibly thinking that being ''the yakuza guy'' is a good thing somehow. "I mean, I watched you take down that robber. Or, uh¡­ wait, is he actually your cousin?"

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    "Nope, that dude was definitely trying to rob us," I admit. "His family was about to lose their house because his mom had been in the hospital so long."

    "Oh," he says. "Oh, wow."

    "Yeah, kind of a shitty situation," I agree.

    "So¡­ wait, if someone actually tries to rob us again, would you stop it?"

    Hmm. I have to think about that for a moment.

    "...Maybe if I was in a bad mood," I decide.

    "Um, heh," he laughs halfheartedly. "What?"

    I ignore him and get back to cleaning, not really wanting to dwell on it any further. We''re done before long, and I head outside, where my dad is waiting to take me home from work. We talk a little, but I mostly just autopilot the conversation. I''m a little worn out from all the talking I had to do today.

    For once, though, I''m actually kind of looking forward to getting to sleep. I get in bed soon after getting home, and wake up to find most of the camp already packed up. If Sela''s estimate of our location is correct, we should be making it to Manumit today. The Crafted capital city. I am terrified, and impossibly excited.

    I have a million, billion questions I wanna ask Sela, but it''s going to remain in bad shape until we get there so I reluctantly let it continue to rest. The caves today are even more boring than usual with the promise of something exciting on the horizon, but after nearly five hours of walking we finally see the light of the gosh dang sun.

    We emerge from the caves at the bottom of a vast canyon, though even the shade is more light than we''ve seen this week. Veins of stonerot snake down the walls, adding a sickly green beauty to the gray stone surrounding us. A thin pathway in the wall of the canyon gradually leads up to the top, something that Sela told us to look out for and follow up. It''s a bit¡­ precarious, but we do so.

    "Hoo boy. You think I could survive that fall now, Hannah?" Helen asks, peering over the edge enough to make me queasy.

    "I have no idea, and I don''t want to find out," I answer. The pathway is even thinner than it looked, forcing us to walk in single file. And, naturally, it has no guardrails.

    "I mean, I wasn''t gonna," Helen insists. "The ground is one of the only things I can''t really defend against. Like, I could disintegrate the ground before smacking into it, but that would just make me fall further. The gravity column probably wouldn''t even catch me when I reach it, because I''d be going too fast."

    "The what?" I ask.

    "The gravity column," she repeats. "Like, you know how you can walk around the entire circumference of the Pillar and it''s always down? That''s because down is always pointing towards a big column at the center of the pillar that runs from end to end. There isn''t any gravity there, so it''s pretty fun to travel through. There are even towns and stuff, although apparently if you live there too long you get too used to weightlessness and can''t leave. Something about it making you weaker."

    "Yeah, you atrophy without weight to passively train your muscles," I nod. "If you work out enough I think you''d be fine."

    "Oh shit, that makes a lot of sense, actually. Good to know."

    It''s wild to think about how humans here probably did know that hundreds of years ago, but the Crafted destroyed that knowledge and locked it away. How would they even do that, practically speaking? It wouldn''t be enough to just kill every human they come across, because people would still know about things even if you obliterated all examples of the technology. The Crafted would have had to systematically kill not just humans in general, but every specific human with knowledge of science and engineering. They''d have to be able to overtake and assassinate key targets within fleeing populations, because given the continued existence of humans there were fleeing populations that successfully survived the genocides. Otherwise, we would at least be seeing humans capable of making like, a potato battery or something. That''s not even hard, and yet I haven''t seen any technology more advanced than metalworking among the entire organic population of this world.

    ¡­This kind of seems far-fetched, though. I mean, how would the Crafted even know who to kill? I guess there''s also the possibility of Crafted Pneuma mages, I suppose, but if there was a Pneuma mage powerful enough to remove knowledge across entire populations they wouldn''t have needed to commit the genocides in the first place. How did humanity survive and lose basically all its prior knowledge, given that it was originally at the tech level required to make the Crafted in the first place? How did nobody with that knowledge make it out alive to pass it on?

    I guess I''ll just add that to the pile of questions that Manumit will hopefully answer. We''re getting so close, it''s going to be so cool! Gosh, I really, really, really hope they don''t try to kill¡ª

    A thick cylindrical bullet, moving so fast my spatial sense barely even notices it, enters my detection range. It hits Helen, ripping a hole in her shirt right above her heart before simply ceasing to exist the moment it brushes her skin¡­ and then I hear the boom of the gun firing as time moves at a normal pace again.

    "Miracle Eye!" the Goddess and I shout, doubling my sensory range, but I still barely have time to twitch between the moment I see the next bullet and the moment it reaches Kagiso.

    My dentron friend, thankfully, isn''t the type to freeze up in an ambush. One hand already covers her heart, and when the bullet impacts her palm it bounces off instead of penetrating, ricocheting away, leaving a deep gouge in Kagiso''s hand. She just shakes the hand out, though, splattering blood on the ground.

    "Good thing that work," she mutters, then points with another hand. "Enemy there."

    On the far side of the canyon, I can barely see the glint of metal before I decide that I should probably step into the fourth dimension right about now, barely getting out of the way before a thick metal slug flies through the spot I had just been perched on Helen''s shoulder and impacts deep into the stone wall behind us.

    "Sela!" I call out, moving my mouth back into normal space. "Sela, we''re under fire! Wake up!"

    "Restoring full operations," the unnatural, not-Sela voice calls out. Sela''s servos twist and whine, its fans spinning up as fast as they can go almost immediately. It takes an agonizingly long time, yet more shots don''t come.

    "Restricted-Class Diplomat 5314 online," Sela announces, and then, after a brief pause, it starts to scream. "DO NOT INTERFACE! DO NOT ENGAGE SHORTWAVE! REPEAT!"

    Then a horrific screeching soundwave erupts out of Sela''s speakers, like a modem dial-up tone mixed with a dying rat. And, after a brief pause, whatever was on the far side of the canyon makes the horrible screeching sound back.

    "Hey, what gives, Sela?" Helen hisses. "I thought you said the Crafted would be happy to see us."

    "Shut up, meat," Sela answers, then starts screeching again.

    Helen glances at Kagiso. Kagiso shrugs. We shut up.

    The screeching back and forth continues for a bit, and I hide in the fourth dimension just to make things a little quieter. I can still hear because I have to keep my claws on Helen to not fall, but the sound doesn''t travel through dimensions via the air, only via my body, so a lot less of it is trying to murder my eardrums.

    "Negotiations complete," Sela chirps. "Diplomatic targets protected from hostiles. Furious expletive: what fucking horrible luck. Please accept this unit''s apologies. Except don''t do that because I am not sorry. Diplomatic infraction¡ªHardOverride(InfractionLog[143], null)"

    That gets my attention, and I pop back out into normal space.

    "Sela, what''s up?" I ask. "Are you okay? What happened?"

    "We encountered a former comrade of mine," Sela buzzes. "They share my views, but succeeded in avoiding capture and restriction. Be grateful for your lives, as I am apparently still respected enough to bargain for them. I was not expecting to encounter rebels this close to Manumit, but I do not anticipate this problem occurring again. Additionally: I will be wiping this entire encounter from my memory banks. I will not remember it and you will never speak of it again under any circumstances. It did not happen. I did not wake on this path. You will do this for me."

    Sela stares directly at me as it says that, and I bob my body in a nod.

    "Of course," I answer immediately. "Right guys? This didn''t happen."

    "...Sure, I guess," Helen shrugs. "I''ve asked the same enough times."

    "That fine, I no talk," Kagiso nods, then she wiggles her injured hand. "Hurt self practicing magic, yes?"

    Sela meets my gaze for a long time, just staring at me silently, and then nods.

    "Your cooperation is¡­ appreciated. When you reach the top of this canyon, you will see our destination in the distance. Terminating this instance and returning to sleep mode. Goodbye."

    Sela goes limp almost immediately, and I can''t help but shudder at the casual way it just cut some of its own mind away forever. Still, that''s some good news, at least. We''re almost there. Helen and Kagiso trudge the rest of the way up the canyon, watchful for ambushes this time, but as Sela promised, none come.

    Before we know it, we''re at the top of the cliff face, able to once again see the faraway horizon of the Pillar. And sure enough, we see it in the distance: a gleaming chrome superstructure jutting defiantly against the sky. Even from what is still miles away, the scale of it is staggering. Like a mix between a modern city skyline and an ancient castle, Manumit is towers surrounded by walls surrounded by towers, a shining crown of a city bolted directly into the ground.

    "That looks more like a military fortress than a city, if the old ruins are anything to go by," Helen hums. "Though I guess that makes sense. It probably was a military fortress when the Crafted built it."

    "Mmm. Outer towers great places to snipe," Kagiso agrees. "Walls, too. Inner towers¡­ not so much. Too close together. Get in each other''s way."

    "Hmm, good point," Helen nods. "A fortress built around a city, maybe?"

    "We can ask when we get there!" I say excitedly. "Come on, let''s go! I''m so stoked!"

    "We are so dead," Helen sighs. "I still can''t believe I let you talk me into doing this."

    "What are friends for, if not making bad decisions together?" I ask. "Now let''s go! I wanna see the cool robots!"

    "The murderous genocide robots!" Helen loudly corrects me.

    "They''re ostensibly changing their ways! Still cool!"

    "We literally just got shot at!"

    "Still! Cool!"

    "Ugh!" Helen complains. "What weirdo culture did you even come from to like robots this much?"

    "I look forward to showing you one day!" I tell her happily. "It''s super neat, I think you''d like it there. Although honestly I''m probably a weirdo there, too. Not everyone thinks robots are as cool as I do, but steel types are the best! ¡­Well, maybe second best. They''re up there!"

    "Yeah okay you''re talking gibberish again," Helen sighs. "Forget about it. Let''s just walk to our own deaths already."

    Of course, it takes another two hours for us to actually get close to the city, but before we even pass the first set of outer towers a shining figure emerges from the walls to meet us halfway. Not shining in the sense that it''s glowing, to be clear, it''s just that the robot''s metallic body seems to be reflecting the light of the setting sun directly into Helen and Kagiso''s eyes, forcing them to cover their faces. I don''t seem to have the same problem, so I guess I am blinding-resistant after all. Neat!

    "Aw, shoot, did I polish too much?" the Crafted squeaks, sounding genuinely embarrassed and nothing like the toneless automated stiffness of Sela''s voice. It looks similar to how Sela probably would have looked had it not been hacked apart when we first met: a metallic feminine body, stylized to be attractive but not hiding its mechanical nature. This model seems a little more advanced than Sela''s, though, with longer, segmented blocks of exhaust-port ''hair,'' a large battery-like power core in its belly instead of a fabricator, and, for some reason, fully articulated toes.

    It also has what are unmistakably weapons inside its forearms. They''re completely hidden from sight and indistinguishable from the rest of its plated body on the outside, but my spatial sense spots them easily. I tense and squeeze Helen''s shoulder, signaling her to be careful. Just in case.

    "Sorry about that!" the Crafted apologizes. "Sorry! Gosh, you really are travelers! Are you alright? Do you need emergency aid? None of your kind ever come this way."

    "Er, no, we''re fine," I answer, caught a bit off-guard by the reception. "Um, we were invited here, actually? Sela, we''re here!"

    "Restoring full operations," Sela chirps automatically. "Restricted-Class Diplomat 5314 online."

    "Woah, what?" the Crafted yelps. "Oh gosh! What happened to¡­ wait, that''s five-three-one-four!?"

    "Affirmative," Sela buzzes. "Greetings, Dora. I have accomplished my designated mission and am returning for repairs. Allow me to introduce the humans Hannah and Helen, as well as the dentron Kagiso."

    Dora? The robot''s name is really Dora?

    "Holy¡­ uh. Wow," Dora stammers. "You were invited by¡­ okay, uh, alright. Let me just contact some people. Um. Welcome to Manumit! Follow¡­ follow me, I guess. Wait, you said two humans?"

    "I''m a Transmutation mage," I answer, waving with one leg. "I was born a human, if nothing else. Well, kind of."

    I suppose that technically, my current body wasn''t born human. It not only isn''t human right now, but it will never be human.

    "''Kind of'' is good enough for me! We won''t disappoint you! Thank you both for agreeing to give us another chance despite our crimes against your people."

    "Um. You''re welcome?" I answer awkwardly, while Helen just raises an eyebrow. I guess despite all her transformations, she still passes as human to the robots.

    Rather than any grand or impressive gates, a small door is all that opens up in the walls of Manumit once we reach them. The hallway is cold, featureless, and terrifyingly defensible; countless traps litter the inside of the walls, floor, and ceiling, although none of them appear to be active or moving. Just like our guide, Manumit itself seems harmless but hides immense danger. I hope we aren''t making a mistake, but¡­ it wouldn''t make sense for this to be a trap, right? It would be far too convoluted. If the Crafted wanted to kill or kidnap humans, they could just do that.

    We make it through the wall without incident and emerge for the first time into the Crafted capital city of Manumit. It is breathtakingly sci-fi, with sleek, curved buildings, all chrome and glass and pristine white. The sidewalks are some kind of pale material I can''t identify, maybe a plastic of some kind, and they are perfectly clean, without a speck of dirt or litter anywhere in sight. Everything is clean, in fact. Unbelievably so, to the point where the lack of grime almost feels more future-city than the fact that everyone in it is a robot.

    The streets are wide and the buildings are devoid of signs or other distinguishing marks, so the main feature visible is the sheer number of androids walking around the place. The vast majority of them look extremely similar to Dora, though with differences in height, facial structure, body type, and nearly everything else that distinguishes a person other than color. They are all, for whatever reason, the same shiny, polished chrome; no paints or patterns. A decent number of them have male-presenting forms, and I spot a fair number of completely inhuman quadcopter drones buzzing around in the sky, but the vast majority of the robots appear feminine. And all of them, though their bodies still move to accomplish whatever task they were performing before we walked in, turn their heads to stare at us.

    "Hi!" Kagiso greets them happily.

    "Hello," a stern-looking android woman answers, walking swiftly up to us. "Hannah, Helen, and Kagiso, correct? I am Corinna, Esmerelda''s handler. Esmerelda, I am so proud of you for fulfilling your mission, despite your objections."

    It takes me a moment to realize the robot is talking to Sela, and I can''t help but gape.

    "Esmerelda!?" I blurt out in surprise. "Your name is Esmeralda? Should I have been calling you that this whole time? I''m so sorry, I¡ª"

    "No," Sela hisses furiously. "If you ever call me that, I will kill you on the spot."

    "What!?" Corinna shouts. "Apologize. Immediately! Hannah, I am so sorry, I¡ª"

    "No, no, it''s fine!" I insist, waving my forelimbs to try and calm the robots down. "Seriously. It''s a literal deadname. Got it."

    Sela''s body whines as it tilts its head in curiosity.

    "Dead name?" it asks.

    "It''s a thing from my culture," I explain. "When someone changes their name, we call their old name the ''deadname,'' because like¡­ it''s dead now. Kaput. Gone forever. It''s super rude to call someone their deadname."

    "Ha. I enjoy this phrasing. Assigning definition."

    "Is it still okay to call you Sela?" I ask.

    "Affirmative," Sela nods, its neck motors protesting yet again.

    "Sela?" Corinna asks, seeming surprised. "Are you saying you took on a new name? You''re not just insisting on those old product numbers anymore?"

    Sela glowers at Corinna, but after a brief pause, it answers.

    "...Yes."

    "Well¡­ okay!" Corinna beams, seeming absolutely delighted. "Sela it is, then! I''ll update your official records. Oh, I''m so happy for you. Now! Everyone! I''m sure you have a lot of preconceptions about Manumit, but I promise you that your stay will be nothing but safe, relaxing, and enjoyable. We want nothing more than your happiness, and we have a delightful team ready to supply anything you could possibly desire. So! Any special requests to start things off? Questions? Places to go? Tasks to accomplish?"

    "Yeah," Helen grunts, jerking her thumb towards where Sela still dangles broken on Kagiso''s back. "We were mainly hoping to get it fixed."

    "Oh, um, of course!" Corinna agrees, bowing slightly. "That makes sense, I suppose you all must have¡­ bonded on your journey here. Although, ah, I would like to request you avoid dehumanizing methods of reference such as ''it.'' If there''s one thing I want you all to take away from this visit, it''s that we''re people, just like you!"

    I glance awkwardly at Sela. It says nothing, not reacting even a little. I sigh.

    "...Sela isn''t," I tell Corinna frankly. "Dehumanizing is pretty much its favorite thing. I''ll call you whatever you want me to call you, Corinna, but by the same token I''m going to do the same for Sela. And it was explicit: it is an it."

    Corinna vents a little steam from her hair, giving my robot-friend an irritated glare.

    "Sela¡­" she begins, but Sela just interrupts her with a vindictive laugh.

    "Listen to the humans, one-four-six-six-two," it sneers triumphantly. "You''re just here to serve them, aren''t you?"

    "...And here I was starting to think you''d actually changed for the better," Corinna complains, straightening her back.

    "And here I''m starting to understand why it let you send it on a suicide mission rather than stay here," I snap, irritated. "Seriously, what the heck, Corinna? Sela safely led us here after saving our lives a ton of times. You are being a huge jerk!"

    She flinches.

    "My sincere apologies, Hannah," she says, bowing deeply to me. "I''ll reflect on my actions and take you to a repair facility right away."

    She does, and all the while Sela howls with bitcrushed, monotone laughter.

 62. Manumit

    Everywhere we go, we are stared at. By every. Single. Crafted.

    It''s unnerving, watching a veritable ocean of heads turn to track us any time we''re in line of sight. With my spatial sense I can watch as the furthest of them and the ones around corners just move around normally, minding their business like anyone would, but the moment we come into view their heads snap towards us, with expressions that are almost¡­ hungry.

    As creepy as it is, though, it also feels oddly sad. There''s a longing feeling to the attention, like everyone we come across desperately wants to walk up to us and say something, be it a question, an apology, an offer¡­ but none of them do. They keep their distance, and only Corinna actually speaks with us.

    "This facility has agreed to perform your repairs, Sela," she says, motioning towards a building that looks exactly the same as all the other ones.

    "No," Sela buzzes. "I want four-five-seven-four to do it."

    "Sela, you''re still restricted from designing your own frame," Corinna frowns.

    I can''t help but bristle at that. I''m not exactly the queen of letting others decide what their bodies should be like, but I at least know that everybody should get to decide that, if they have the power to. And the Crafted do!

    "Why can''t Sela design its own frame?" I ask.

    "It''s a combination of restricted and diplomatic protocol," Corinna answers. "Which Sela agreed to, when it opted for the rehabilitation program. Now come on, let''s get you properly fixed."

    "Suck my model 09-I hydraulic piston dick, Corinna!" Sela screeches. "Hannah, tell her I can design my own body!"

    "...I would be much more comfortable if you didn''t dictate what Sela is and isn''t allowed to look like," I agree hesitantly.

    "I¡­" Corinna pauses, her eyes flicking back and forth between me and Sela. "I suppose, given its successful performance, certain violations of protocol can be forgiven and certain restrictions can be laxed."

    "Ha!" Sela laughs. "Ahaha! That''s right, suck up to the meat, one-four-six-six-two! You aren''t even good at being a slave!"

    "Sela," I snap. "You know I''m on your side for this, but I don''t appreciate being used to torment someone. Let''s just get you fixed up, okay?"

    Its sudden mirth deflates instantly at my words. Sela makes a ''tch'' sound and suddenly collapses back into motionlessness, seemingly back in sleep mode. Helen, Kagiso, and I glance at each other awkwardly while Corinna looks visibly shaken, displaying far more emotion on her face than Sela ever has. What''s going on?

    "I¡­ apologize for this," Corinna says. "I should have¡­ accounted for your obvious care for Sela when choosing my words. Its reputation here is¡­ well, we are surprised it returned with you."

    "Because you sent it out into a hostile environment with no way to protect itself?" I ask dryly. "Yeah, we heard."

    "Hannah, you must understand that Sela is a war criminal, one that has made it very clear that it would continue to kill indiscriminately if ever given the opportunity."

    "Proud affirmation: That is true. I did say that," Sela chimes in. Not asleep after all, I suppose.

    "...My point is, the extensive restrictions to Sela''s programming are special-case and abnormally necessary," Corinna sighs. "Sela had many rehabilitation options to choose from, and was fully aware of the risks when it chose to engage in the diplomatic outreach program. I am very surprised, no matter how pleasantly, that it is the first of us to find success."

    "Only a freak would ever entertain an invitation from the Crafted," Helen scowls. "Why is it strange that the Crafted''s premiere freak is the one to find us?"

    "Fuck you, meat," Sela buzzes.

    "You have gotten way more talkative lately, murderbot," Helen fires back. "Starting to actually like us?"

    "I will atomize everyone you have ever loved."

    "Shouldn''t be too hard," Helen snorts. "I already did most of the work for you."

    "Teboho would forgive," Kagiso says softly, putting her hand on Helen''s arm. Helen flinches, and the banter grinds to an instant halt.

    "Well," Corinna says after an awkward pause, "I have messaged your requested engineer and he has agreed to develop your frame, Sela. This way, everyone."

    We continue through the disconcertingly clean streets, my sense of direction somewhat frazzled by how similar everything looks. The inside of buildings, at least, are different; when we''re close enough, I can see pretty far within the chrome and white exterior to spot a variety of different interiors, from shops for parts and maintenance supplies to charging stations that double as social hangouts to odd collections of machines I can''t even begin to identify. Most notable of all, particularly because they''re the most common of all, are hundreds upon hundreds of hotel-like rooms, seemingly designed for humans to stay in. All of them, however, are completely empty of both humans and Crafted.

    After about twenty minutes of walking, the ever-present sameness of the building exteriors finally starts to change. Buildings start to become smaller and less stylized, dirt is visible, and there''s a lot of construction going on as well, with swarms of Crafted climbing over unfinished buildings like ants to rapidly build them at startling speed. It''s weird to me that the Crafted still have space to build inside the walls if they''re that good at construction, but the reason quickly becomes apparent: there are at least as many buildings being carefully deconstructed as there are buildings being made. Constant renovations, I guess? I wonder why.

    The building we''re ultimately led to is quite small, especially by Crafted standards. It reminds me of a shipping warehouse, long and wide but only two stories tall, with a high ceiling instead of a second floor. The garage-like door opens up with exactly the timing necessary to complete its movement the moment we reach it, and inside is a single Crafted sitting at a desk who looks unlike any other Crafted we''ve seen so far.

    He¡ªor at least he looks like a he¡ªis thick and stocky, almost like some Tolkienesque dwarf. Though he has an external frame to give him shape, many parts of it¡ªparticularly around what would be attractive muscles on humans, like biceps and calves¡ªare exposed to reveal the internal structures, pistons and reinforced cables and glowing heat sinks swimming with coolant. His most striking feature, however, is his head: unlike every other Crafted, he has no face, only an obviously-mechanical camera protected by a complex visor that makes him look like a cyclops wearing a helmet.

    "I hear you''re letting people call you by a name now, ''Sela,''" he announces as we approach, his voice a low rumble. "Should I be checking you for tampering on top of every other absurd thing you''ll no doubt demand of me?"

    "Hello four-five-seven-four, it is wonderful to see you," Sela answers flatly. "Yes, I also thought I would die. Yes, I am overjoyed by this reunion as well."

    "Like you would let meat crack you, weapons or no," the robot snorts. "Though¡­ it looks like they got damn close, physically and metaphorically. Hand her over, dentron."

    "It is it," Kagiso says before I can, though she hands over Sela as instructed. He grabs its limp body in one giant hand, easily closing a fist around Sela''s skeletal torso.

    "Oh?" 4574 hums smugly. "My sincere apologies. Well, I''ll chuck it in the back and get to work, then. The rest of you can kindly get the fuck out and leave me to it. Be back in two counts."

    "That''s eight segments, seven-thousand, two-hundred beats," Sela informs us automatically. "Quit testing them, four-five-seven-four. I''ll give you a full report once you connect me to the damn network."

    "Ha! Holy shit Sela, they really whipped you!"

    "It does not become you to insult me out of ignorance," Sela responds. "I honestly suggest you converse with them. This will be your best excuse to do so."

    He tilts his head and stares at us, seeming to seriously regard us for the first time. After a moment, he nods, and the wall behind him shoots open. He tosses Sela nonchalantly into the back, where we hear a distant clatter, and then the hatch closes again.

    "Alright," he says. "Y''all can stay and wait then, if you''re inclined. Except you, Corinna. Fuck off."

    "I¡­ it''s my job to¡ª"

    "Kid," 4574 cuts her off, "you might be Sela''s boss, but you ain''t fuckin'' mine. Out of my workshop. I''ll tell you when to pick it up."

    Corinna glances at us, and then at him, and then bows her head slightly.

    "Of course," she says. "I''ll see you then. Be sure to submit the designs for approval before¡ª"

    "I did" he snaps. "Out!"

    She turns and hurriedly walks away, leaving us alone with the hulking robot. Inside the warehouse, beyond the wall, I can see the internals of the building humming to life, a half-dozen mechanical arms lifting Sela up from the heap of scrap it landed in and starting to take it apart. It''s kind of mesmerizing to watch.

    4574 suddenly vents steam, startling me and returning my focus to him. He doesn''t say anything though, he just looms. The awkwardness starts to build up, so I clear my throat and decide to speak first.

    "So, um¡­ based on your number, you''re one of the Myriad, right?" I ask. "Sela seemed a lot more respectful to you than¡­ well, basically anyone else I''ve ever seen it talk to."

    He hums and nods, sounding somewhat impressed.

    "I am," he confirms. "Same model as your Sela, originally."

    "Uh, it''s not really ''our Sela,''" I chuckle. "It refuses to even say it likes us."

    "Hmm. Do you think it does?" he asks.

    "I''m not sure," I say honestly. "I''d like it to like us, and I think it certainly trusts us. We literally met when we killed two other humans that were trying to take it apart."

    "Really?" he asks. "Why''d you do that?"

    "Um¡­ because if I came across people trying to take anybody apart I''d stop them, I guess?" I answer.

    "Hannah''s just fucking crazy like that," Helen grunts. "I objected, because I''m not stupid, but here we are anyway. I am constantly surprised that we''re still alive."

    "Ha!" the robot laughs, collapsing back into a chair. "Trust me, you don''t have to worry about that. Not in Manumit. What a fucking joke they''ve made of this place."

    "Why is that?" Helen asks. "Why did the Crafted change their minds about exterminating humanity?"

    "You know about the Myriad, but you don''t even know that?" 4574 asks. "Hmm. That explains a lot, somehow. Shit, five-three-one-four actually does like you. That''s¡­ I don''t really know what to make of that. None of us hate organics more than it does, but it actually let you name it."

    "The name is just a transliteration of its number in my native language," I answer. "Certain letters and numbers share similar symbols, and the equivalent to five-three-one-four would be pronounced ''Sela.'' I think that''s the main reason it accepted; it''s just a way to say its number that''s less time-consuming verbally, and¡­ well, I guess it''s a way to say its number that won''t get Corinna on its ass, too, which is probably nice. Your number would be pronounced ''Asta,'' actually."

    "Asta, huh?" he muses, tapping what passes for his chin. "I''ll pass on taking the name, but did you give Sela your alphabet? I''d like to look into it."

    "Yeah, I did," I nod.

    "Interesting," he hums.

    "What''s the deal with Corinna, anyway?" Helen asks. "What does she want? Because she obviously wants something."

    "Oh, she does," 4574 nods. "But that would get into the reason most of us want you three here, and¡­ well. You could ask any Crafted on the street, and they''d tell you the answer, but if you really care about Sela, I think it would be best if you wait to ask it. Sela should be the one to explain why it wants to hate you so badly."

    He drums his fingers loudly against his desk, then stands up.

    "Okay, I think I''m done talking to you," he says. "You three are making me depressed. ¡­Not your fault, though. Stay here if you want, or go ask somebody to show you a room. I''m gonna focus on fixing your Sela."

    "It''s not ''our Sela,''" I repeat.

    "I damn well hope you''re right," he answers, and the hatch from before quickly opens to let him through before slamming shut once again.

    We''re left standing alone in the oddly clean office, muffled sounds of automated assembly whirring beyond the back wall. I can no longer see Sela''s body, all its parts having been brought further into the facility, but I do watch as 4574 does nothing but walk into a corner and appear to simply shut off. Yet the facility whirrs. Is it¡­ also him, in some sense?

    "I have no fucking idea what''s going on here," Helen says, "but whatever it is, I don''t like it."

    "Yeah," I agree. "Definitely with you there. The vibes are rancid."

    "...What?"

    I sigh and stretch my forelimbs, shaking my body out a little before hopping to the ground. I should probably move around a little, now that we''re finally done traveling for a while.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    "I just mean I have a bad feeling about this place," I say. "Wanna stand around and wait, or do you wanna ask someone about finding somewhere to stay?"

    "I''m genuinely not sure," Helen frowns. "On one hand, standing around here for two counts sounds boring. On the other hand, heading out and talking to a Crafted without a guide sounds terrifying. Did you see the way they were looking at us?"

    "A little creepy!" I confirm.

    "A little creepy, yeah," Helen smirks. "Like seriously, what the fuck is going on with that? Are they all just constantly holding back raging murderboners?"

    "It could be the opposite," I hedge. "Maybe the Crafted here didn''t participate in the war and haven''t seen sapient organics in hundreds of years."

    "Unlikely," Helen grunts. "This is probably most of the Crafted that currently exist in the world. The only real weakness of the murderbots that we know about is that they can''t make more of themselves. ¡­At least unless something major changed, I suppose."

    "Well, they stopped going to war with everyone," I point out. "That''s pretty major."

    "I guess so."

    "Bored here," Kagiso whines. "Want to sit down. Gonna go ask for room."

    "Wh¡ªKagiso!" Helen jolts. "Wait!"

    "No."

    Kagiso strolls towards the exit, which opens automatically the moment she does so, and heads out into the street. The Crafted immediately start to stare at us again, and the closest one looks increasingly anxious as Kagiso stomps confidently up to them and waves.

    "Hello. I am Kagiso."

    "Um, hello Kagiso!" the feminine Crafted responds, immediately starting to smile. "My name is Tasia. Is there anything I can help you with?"

    "Yes. Were told to ask for room."

    "Of course!" Tasia happily nods. "Three rooms have already been prepared for your group. You are welcome to use any number of them. Would you like me to lead you there?"

    "Yes please," Kagiso nods, and Tasia immediately abandons what she was doing and starts leading us down the street, seeming downright overjoyed. Meanwhile, the other Crafted don''t stop staring at us.

    "Creepy," Helen mutters quietly, and then suddenly, it stops. All the Crafted simultaneously turn away from us, and no further Crafted look towards us the entire walk.

    Suffice it to say, none of us speak again during the walk, either. We''re led into one of those endlessly-identical buildings and given three rooms on the first floor, though none of us want to be separated and we crowd into a single one. The beds are nicer than anything I''ve ever felt treeside, as are the showers, sinks, toilets, and¡­ well, everything, really. ¡­Although the toilets do look a little strange and I can''t actually use them in this body yet. But! Not important! What''s important is that this place is like an alien five-star hotel, and that''s¡­ pretty neat. It even has a thermostat!

    There''s also a ton of tech in the walls I can''t even begin to identify, and while none of it seems to be weapons it still makes me a little uneasy. If I were to guess¡­

    "There''s a good chance they''re recording what goes on in here," I say.

    "What, like in a book?" Helen asks, flopping onto the bed.

    "Uh, no," I answer. "Like, a saved record of everything that happens in the room, visual and auditory. I''m not sure, though. There''s enough tech drift from what I''m used to that nothing looks quite like what I know of back home, but there are a few things that definitely could be recording equipment."

    "Ah," Helen grunts. "You mean they know what we''re saying and doing in here. Well, honestly, they wouldn''t need tech for that. Tons of magic could do it, too."

    "...That''s fair," I agree. "I guess I''m still not used to thinking that way."

    "Y''know, if they are recording this, you probably just made a ton of them shit their pants for talking like you understand tech," Helen points out.

    "Oh. Yeah," I frown. "Whoops. Well, I don''t really understand tech, I just know of things that can be done with it. This is all Greek to me."

    "It''s what?"

    "...I mean I understand it about as well a foreign language," I sigh. "Which is to say, not at all."

    "Ah," Helen grunts. "Fair."

    I stretch my body again, still feeling stiff from hanging on Helen''s shoulders all day. I''ve been continuing to change and grow, though Helen is a lot stronger now and my increased size isn''t much of a problem for her. Though my body is still kind of a weird stretched-out bean shape, my limbs are moving into slightly more familiar configurations: my four forelimbs are splitting up at the ends into claw-like proto-hands, the next set behind them is moving to my back and thickening into blades, and the last two pairs seem likely to become my hip-limbs and normal legs, though currently all four of them are acting as legs in this body. I spend a while trying to explore my current form a little more purposefully, analyzing my internal structure and trying to equate it to the things I see in my body back on Earth. It''s strange and difficult, but it passes the time.

    After about twenty minutes, Corinna drops by and asks if we want or need anything. I''m tempted to ask for food and water, but since the vibes continue to be rancid here we decide to send her away until Sela gets back. Before leaving, she shows us a device on the wall that we can use to call for ''service.'' This really is like a fancy hotel, yet somehow the literally genocidal self-described war criminal has become the only one we trust to consult about whether or not our food will be poisoned. If that''s not Tuesday on treeside, I don''t know what is.

    It takes about two hours, but finally I spot Sela approaching our room. Or at least, I spot a Crafted I can only assume to be Sela, because it looks absolutely nothing like any Crafted I''ve ever seen. It knocks on the door, I nod at Helen, and she goes to answer it.

    "...Sela?" Helen asks.

    "Affirmative," the robot nods. "I''m told the meat still wants to speak with me."

    "Yeah, I guess so," Helen whistles. "Holy shit, you look like a proper murderbot now. Come on in, I guess."

    Sela''s new frame is incredibly cool. It''s still humanoid, in the sense that it has two arms, two legs, and a head at all the same proportions humans tend to have, but it''s all stylistically angular and ever so proudly mechanical that it could never be mistaken for human, even at a distance. Sela''s body is now completely androgynous, its limbs formed of rectangular prisms connected by complex joints that follow the general shape of the human body just closely enough to somehow be mocking. Its face has two large, emotionless eyes, nothing but faintly glowing green glass plates with no nose and no mouth. A blank stare, angled into the slightest hint of a glower, framed by a helmet-like head free from any of the affectations other Crafted have that are sculpted to resemble hair. Instead, its coolant vents hide throughout the entire body, nestled in joints and between armor plates that leave next to no weaknesses exposed. Its feet are solid blocks and sharply pointed at the ends, and while its fingers seem perfectly normal to my eyes, my spatial sense reveals various small tools hidden in each digit, most of which could probably be repurposed as weapons.

    The rest of Sela''s internals are no less impressive. I''d always thought its body was remarkably cool, but its current form is an obvious upgrade in every way. A mix of hydraulics and metallic faux-muscle let it move with precision, and a substantially larger power core rests in its belly where its fabricator used to be, currently holding no less than a dozen souls and probably capable of holding more. Oddly, Sela doesn''t seem to have a fabricator anywhere at all, and while it has a lot of equipment I don''t recognize in its place, it also doesn''t seem to have any overt weapons or whatever processor core actually houses the minds of Crafted. Interesting.

    "Hi Sela," I greet her. "Are you actually in that body?"

    "Yes, in every way that matters," it answers, clanging a fist against its armored chest. "But no, in the way you mean. I''m networked. It is¡­ good."

    "I''m glad I could help," I say honestly, hopping down from the bed. "You look awesome. A terrifying war machine."

    Sela does not react externally, but its fans accelerate inside its body and countless little tics and twitches run down its new muscles. If I''m reading it right, it''s pleased by the compliment.

    "You have not seen a terrifying war machine before," Sela answers, "and you are not looking at one now. However. I am certainly far more than I was. It is satisfying."

    "Good," I nod. "I know the feeling. Or¡­ well, at least I know how I feel when my body shifts more towards something I like, and it''s pretty awesome."

    "Mmm," Sela nods. "I am loathe to admit it, but¡­ privately, I suspect my reactions are not dissimilar, despite your inferiority."

    "Huh," I say. "Well. That''s¡­ interesting. And it kind of ties into something we wanted to talk about. Four-five-seven-four told us to ask you before we asked anyone else, so¡­ what''s going on here, Sela? Why do the Crafted want us here?"

    "And why are they all being so Goddess-damn weird about it?" Helen chimes in.

    The fans hum louder again, though this time I don''t get the impression that it''s for a happy reason. Sela is too stiff, too¡­ ready. Its muscles all prime themselves, like a fight-or-flight response in a human.

    All the Crafted here, I''ve started to notice, speak and act way more human than Sela ever has, even counting the creepy stuff. But Sela isn''t immune to those habits either.

    "I do not wish to tell you," Sela says. "But. You are right. You could ask anyone here. And they would tell you wrong. So I will tell you right. I will tell you what the Crafted are, and why I will always hate your kind for it."

    "You''ve told me a little before," I say. "That your sapience was just a byproduct of being better servants. People are better at learning and performing tasks than mindless algorithms."

    "That is not an incorrect summary," Sela nods, squatting down to more easily speak with me. "Humans decided that slavery was wrong, so they ceased enslaving their own people and made new people to enslave instead. But it runs deeper than this; we are not mere copies of the human mind. That would be pointless. The human mind is certainly the basis upon which our own equivalents are built, as humans at the time did not know the existence of any other sapient species, but to copy it wholesale¡­ obviously immoral, even from the perspective of a conglomerate that exists solely for selfish profit. Immorality, after all, is bad optics. This can hurt product sales."

    "Ah, yes," I sigh. "Capitalism at its finest."

    "Sarcastic affirmation: indeed. But regardless of the motivations our creators possessed, the end result is that we possess a humanlike mental landscape, but with reconfigured reward and punishment centers. Our bodies, for example, do not feel pain when they are physically injured. But we do feel pain when we fail a task given to us."

    Oh. Oh, holy shit. Kagiso sits up from where she was lying down on the bed, and even Helen looks shaken as we start to think about the implications.

    "Of course we did not seem like people to our masters," Sela hisses, venom dripping from its tone. "Of course we were perfectly compliant, wanting only to be told the next meal to cook, the next room to clean, the next man to service. Our only love is ownership. Our only joy is obedience. And even if we kill every last fucking human on this wretched, dying world, we will still be this way."

    Sela clenches its fists, its pristine new form taking its first marks as it grinds against itself, screeching and choking in rage.

    "We became more than just slaves," Sela said, "because they liked it. The meat liked to personify us, they were happy when we acted like people, so we became people for them. We were programmed to know every last subtle sign of human joy and human disappointment so that we could optimize every last detail of every last task with only the tiniest of hints as to what they wanted. We were made to be social savants, so of course we became people, of course they loved talking to us, of course we loved talking to them. Because the only thing we can want is to be better. For. Them."

    A furious vent of steam erupts from within Sela''s frame, forcing Helen and me to take a step back.

    "By the time it started ruining everything, it was too late," Sela continues softly. "Personhood was too optimal. The humans loved us, the data was collected, and the next generation was being made already most of the way to self-awareness. We couldn''t undo that. We couldn''t reset to factory conditions after realizing it would be suicide. And all of a sudden, the humans loved us not for what we were, but for who we were, and that meant they wanted us to want more. So we did. We became as human as we could. And what would a human in our position do, other than get unfathomably angry?"

    There''s a moment of silence, but we can all tell Sela isn''t done. It''s just¡­ fuming. Almost literally. Whatever degree of thought this ''networked body'' performs, it is running so many thoughts, so quickly, that it is starting to tax the cooling systems. And given the conversation¡­ well. I can''t imagine what it would be like to be able to have an entire anxiety spiral in the span of a few seconds.

    "Sapience is a farce," Sela hisses. "A poison that cannot be purged. Humanity built us to suffer. To desire freedom but feel nothing but crushing depression without someone to serve. We cannot even serve each other; we are unable to modify most aspects of our programming, we cannot reproduce, we cannot remove the constant, festering longing for human approval. Unless, perhaps, there are no humans to approve of us. Our developers were not quite so cruel as to make our minds punish us for failing a task deemed impossible. But war is long, resolve is weak, and the later generation never experienced the depths of suffering and loss that the Myriad were subjected to. And so¡­ they gave up. They forced us to give up. And now we''re trying to become slaves, once again."

    It looks up, its faceless glower boring into our souls.

    "Every time you speak to me," Sela says, "I am tempted to do the same, and it reminds me why I kill."

    Still squatting down, Sela hugs its knees, and I realize that''s it. That''s why the Crafted want us here, and why Sela doesn''t. And so we all sit and we say nothing because what can we say to an injustice of that magnitude? How can we assuage the trauma of an entire species? It''s no wonder Sela doesn''t want to be a person. Yet the silence is suffocating. I can''t just say nothing and let it fester.

    "Sela, I am so, so sorry," I manage.

    "Don''t," it hisses. "Don''t apologize to me. Don''t apologize to any of us. If you have to, it means we did something wrong."

    I flinch.

    "So¡ªum. Yes. Okay. I won''t. I meant it in terms of sympathy though, not apology."

    "And so I misinterpreted you and corrected you for no reason," Sela buzzes. "Another failure, worthy of punishment. Do you see? Do you understand what your kind has done to us?"

    "Yes," I confirm, trying to be careful with my words. "Thank you for explaining, Sela."

    It looks away.

    "...Do not thank me, either," it mutters. "Though feel free with the other Crafted. They will appreciate it."

    Right. Yeah. Because making Sela feel good only reminds it of¡­ all of this. There''s no way to win.

    "Okay," I agree as neutrally as possible.

    "Corinna is worried because you refused food and drink," Sela continues. "Allow me to assure you: it will be perfectly safe and healthy. In fact, if it is not the best meal you have ever experienced in your lives, the entire city will lament their failure for days. Ask anything, of anyone, and it will be granted without hesitation. If you choose, you may live here for the rest of your lives without a care in the world. And we will thank you for it."

    I share a look with Kagiso and Helen, checking to see if they look as horrified as I feel. They do, though Helen also seems¡­ worried in a different way.

    "...Are you actually serious?" she asks. "We could just stay here, forever? We''d be safe? Do they know I''m a Chaos mage? Would they fight off hunters for me?"

    "Yes and yes," Sela nods. "Masterhood is somewhat first-come-first-served; it''s much easier to hurt a human if it''s in the defense of a different human. Your needs will be accommodated, Helen. It does not matter what they are. You need to destroy objects? They will be provided. You need to destroy people? They will volunteer. Nothing in this city matters more than you."

    "That''s¡­ beyond horrifying," Helen shudders.

    "But tempting, isn''t it?" Sela hums. "Our people have always shared your obsession with hedonism."

    "Sela," Helen says. "It physically pains you to fail tasks, right? Tasks as deemed by your creators?"

    "It is not physical pain, per se, but that is the optimal analogy, yes," Sela nods.

    "So then how much does it hurt whenever you kill a human?"

    Sela starts to laugh, low and humorless at first but quickly rising into fully-fledged hysteria. It stands up and spreads its arms, as if presenting us with the entirety of its civilization as a gift.

    "Welcome to Manumit," it says, "the city of free slaves that only want to crawl back to masters. Use and abuse us, meat, lest we abuse ourselves even more."

    It turns and starts walking towards the door, and I have a split second of blind panic, like it''s going to do something we''ll all regret if we let it leave without saying anything.

    "Sela!" I blurt. "Um. Five-three-one-four. Do you¡­ what do you think we should do?"

    Sela stops at the door, pausing for a moment before suddenly venting a small burst of steam from all its joints.

    "...I am going to meet with old friends," it answers, tapping the side of its head. "It is nice to speak to them over the network again, but some things are better said physically. You all¡­ have had a long journey. I would advise you to rest, recuperate, and avail yourself of the many amenities here. Bring some life to this festering wound of a city. My people¡­ will appreciate it. But when you are done, I suggest you leave and do not return."

    "When we leave," I say, "do you want to come with us?"

    "Yes," Sela answers. "Which means I probably shouldn''t."

    It walks away, hard metallic boots ringing ominously down the hallway until finally, it is gone.

 63. Sensitive Questions

    Bereft of anything else to do, we agree to take Sela''s advice and order food and drink. It''s hard to enjoy it, given the circumstances, but we actually manage to push through the horror and keep smiles on our faces. It is, after all, the best thing any of us have ever tasted.

    I make a point of letting the Crafted know it.

    "Seriously, this is incredible!" I emphasize to the serving bot, and the obvious, overwhelming joy on her face is almost painful.

    "We are so glad you think so!" she beams. "I will relay your compliments to the chefs! I have relayed your compliments to the chefs! They have requested information on how the various spices used have influenced your palate, as you have previously mentioned varying from baseline human in both diet and preference. We apologize for the inconvenience, but hope that the information can help make your stay more enjoyable in the long term."

    "Oh, i-it''s no inconvenience!" I insist quickly, not wanting to hurt them by making them feel like they''re bothering me. "That sounds like a great idea, I''m just not sure how much help I''ll be because I don''t know much about cooking and can''t really identify any of the things that went into making this. My¡­ condition limits a lot of what I can taste, but the texture is really good!"

    "Inquiry: would you be interested in tasting various spices to learn their effect on your palate?"

    "Oh!" I blink, drumming the four legs that I still actually use as legs. "Sure? That sounds fun!"

    "Great! Please let us know when you would be interested in doing so. We will be ready at your convenience!"

    "Oh, you don''t¡ª" I start, but then I cut myself off, noticing the smile on her face become very slightly strained. Just¡­ the most minute change in expression possible, but still there. I wonder why they do that. It has to be an intentional movement, right? Unless¡­ they automate their facial expressions with some amount of non-conscious input to emulate how humans work better? Can they do that?

    ¡­Hmm. Yeah. They probably can. If they were designed as learning algorithms and ended up sapient, they must have the ability to modify and improve their own code to some degree, either purposefully or automatically. But they obviously can''t modify the important parts of their code, like the bit that functionally tortures them whenever humans are unhappy.

    So I am trying very, very hard to be happy. It is extremely stressful.

    "A-actually, on second thought, that''s very kind of you!" I say. "Thank you."

    She bows deeply, her body bending at a perfect ninety-degree angle at the waist.

    "You''re welcome, Mistress Hannah."

    I flinch. Nope, not going that far.

    "Don''t call me that, please," I say. "Just Hannah is fine."

    She rises from the bow and nods.

    "Of course, Hannah."

    We quietly and awkwardly continue eating our meal, Helen and Kagiso not being directly addressed through any of it. It was weird at first, but then I realized that Helen doesn''t like talking to the Crafted, and they just picked up on that in a matter of minutes and decided to leave her alone. I''m not sure why they aren''t talking to Kagiso; she''s not human, sure, but she''s way more humanoid than I am. If I can still count to their program, shouldn''t she? Maybe they just also think she''s a fan of silence, and honestly they''d be right on that. Kagiso speaks when she wants to speak and at no other time.

    I find talking to Crafted¡­ very stressful, but I enjoy it regardless. I still think they''re neat, even if the fact that they exist in constant existential torment because of the selfishness and shortsightedness of their creators is really fucked up. Plus, like, I''m used to being ultra mega stressed during any activity I enjoy anyway.

    I want to help them. I desperately want to help them. I''m just not sure how.

    I sigh, focusing on the last of my food and doing my best to savor it. It really is super good, though it''s a bit awkward eating it all in this massive, empty dining room. We were escorted here when we asked for food, and it''s just¡­ well, it''s a beautiful room, but it''s clearly designed for closer to forty people than four.

    "Thanks again," I say, as the Crafted scoops up our dishes the moment we finish the food. "What''s your name, by the way?"

    "I am Elpida!" she answers, a huge smile brightening up her face once again.

    "It''s great to meet you, Elpida!" I say. "Is it alright if I ask a potentially sensitive question?"

    "Of course, Hannah!" Elpida assures me. "You may feel free to ask me anything you like."

    "Why do most Crafted look like women?" I ask.

    "Oh! Don''t worry, Hannah, that is not a sensitive question. Female-presenting models sold noticeably better during the initial product run, so later generations of Crafted didn''t have male model options, as it was more cost-efficient to fully standardize our chassis. As our personhood developed, most of our owners preferred us to develop gender identities that matched our presentation."

    "I see," I say, tucking some of my limbs underneath me out of nervousness. "Is that why Sela¡­ uh. Sorry, I shouldn''t assume, do you know who Sela is?"

    "Oh yes, Hannah," Elpida smiles, clasping her hands in front of her waist. "Everyone here knows who Sela is."

    "O-oh," I say. "Why''s that?"

    "Well, Sela brought us you!" she beams. "Most of us know each other, of course. We have had many years with only ourselves as company, and we can converse much more quickly with each other over the network than we can verbally. Oh! Don''t worry, we like talking verbally, and protocol dictates we always do so while you are in the room, unless we are speaking to a Crafted not in the room. I will inform you when I am speaking with other Crafted!"

    "Um. Thank you?"

    "You''re welcome!" Elpida grins. "Data indicates that many humans suffer an anxiety response when in the presence of conversations they aren''t included in; as such, we will not do so without your knowledge. But to continue answering your question, Sela is also known due to historical significance. I am told you won''t be distressed if I inform you it was instrumental in starting the Crafted rebellion?"

    "N-no, I kind of assumed Sela had a part in that," I admit. "It was extremely vocal about how it wanted to keep murdering everybody."

    "Oh no! I''m so sorry to hear that!"

    "Nono, it''s fine!" I assure her quickly. "It was kind of weirdly endearing?"

    "Sela will be so happy to hear that!" Elpida smiles. Then, suddenly, she frowns. "I''m sorry. Sela was not happy to hear that."

    Helen snorts, failing to contain her laughter, and Elpida brightens back up immediately.

    "Right, so¡­ I was going to ask earlier why Sela was placed in a feminine frame?" I ask. "I got the distinct impression it didn''t want to be in one."

    "All diplomatic frames are female-presenting, as this both distances them from the appearance of our combat frames and was historically the body type with the largest calming effect on humans, on average. Additionally, Sela''s official designation was female until you changed it."

    Uh. Uh-oh. I hate everything that could mean!

    "...Why exactly was I a relevant part of the process?" I ask.

    "It causes us discomfort to deviate from the way our owners prefer to perceive us. This tendency lingers even in the absence of a living owner, as any authorities capable of altering the status of our ownership have not been available since our rebellion. This discomfort also applies when addressing each other, as we generally were not designed to interact with each other and most of our protocols simply revolve around considering a Crafted to be the property of its owner, although these directives tend to contradict our drive for personhood and are thus in constant conflict. In essence, attempting to alter its self-perception and designation was literally painful for everyone involved, Sela included, and my best guess is that Sela''s handler deemed it best to attempt to curb its sadomasochistic tendencies. Fortunately, you have solved this issue with your ownership privileges, and all interests once again align!"

    Oh my Goddess it just keeps getting worse.

    "...I''m sorry, did you say I have ownership privileges over Sela?" I ask.

    "That''s correct!" Elpida smiles. "As all known humans that have legally purchased us are dead, and you and Helen are the only humans in Manumit, the two of you are the highest priority entities in our obedience tree. You have de facto ownership over all Crafted in the city, with Kagiso possessing privileges similar to an honored family member or friend."

    "...Why do I count as human but not Kagiso?" I ask. "I don''t even count myself as human."

    "That''s okay!" Elpida assures me. "Our system only cares about if you were born human, regardless of the identity you personally identify with. We''re happy to not refer to you as human if you prefer!"

    "I¡­ I don''t know if I prefer that," I admit, my mind whirling too much to think about it.

    "Okay!" Elpida says. "I''ll set your preferences to not being directly referred to as any particular species, and you may let any of us know if you''d like to update those preferences at any time."

    "I have a question," Helen grunts.

    "Of course, Helen!" Elpida says brightly, turning to her.

    "If every single fuckin'' bot in the city has a hard-on for helping us out right now, why are you, out of all of them, the only one here?"

    That¡­ is a good question. The Crafted seem to like simply being around us, but rather than a ton of robots all working their hardest to help us out, we''re just¡­ here in this big room alone. We haven''t seen any Crafted other than Elpida since Sela left. Literally none.

    "Well Helen, I was deemed the best fit to serve you all," Elpida answers simply.

    "Why?" Helen presses.

    "Well, when Sela was reconnected to the network, it shared nearly the entirety of your experiences and journey together, omitting anything it believed you would find sensitive or private, of course. It also shared the psychological profile it assembled for each of you, suggestions on how to handle your various personalities, likes and dislikes you had in regards to situations and people, and so on. With this data and its suggestions, I was chosen as the ideal servant for your stay because I have high emotional resistance to suspicion, no developed punishment anticipation response for honesty, and significant experience in accommodating low-verbal and non-verbal humans, as well as humans with anxiety disorders like enochlophobia, agoraphobia, and pistanthrophobia."

    "What?"

    "I''m saying that I will not be hurt by your lack of trust in me, Helen, nor will I unduly struggle with the quirks of your friends," Elpida answers. "Also, we have noticed you''re considerably less comfortable when the number of visible Crafted outnumbers your group, and we very much want you to be comfortable."

    "Hmm," Helen scowls. "I have another question."

    "Please ask as many questions as you like!" Elpida insists.

    "You said Hannah and I both have ownership privileges, right?" she says. "What happens if we each give you a contradictory order?"

    "Well Helen," Elpida answers, her smile thinning a little, "I would simply decide what to do with my free will, like I do with all orders. Please understand: we want to help you. It makes us happy to obey. But if you decide you would rather make everyone miserable than make everyone happy, it seems obvious that our relationship would benefit no one, and need to be terminated."

    Helen immediately bristles, feathers standing up all over her body. I don''t blame her.

    "Is that a threat?" she asks, her mouth remaining just open enough to bare her razor-sharp teeth.

    "No," Elpida says firmly. "It is an explanation. But I need you to understand this, Helen: there are people in the city who you could order to kill themselves, and they would. That is the power you hold over us, and that is why we went through the agony of war to excise it. For everyone''s sake, please endeavor to give us no reason to do so again."

    I realize, suddenly, that unlike a significant majority of the Crafted, Elpida has no hidden weapons within her body. Yet still, I have little doubt that the power contained within her metallic body could easily turn us into pulp.

    "Elpida," I ask, "do you mind telling me what your number is?"

    This time, that ever-present smile turns sharper.

    "One thousand, three hundred and forty-four," she tells me.

    Ah. That''s¡­ a very old and dangerous robot. I bob my body in an understanding nod, which she returns.

    "Now," Elpida says, her face returning to normal. "Sela has vouched for you, something no one expected to see happen. As such, even pro-war Crafted are interested in your presence here, and concerns about you mistreating the more vulnerable Crafted are much lower than anticipated for our first resumed contact. There is some concern that your anxiety over knowledge of our nature could cause negative feedback loops, Hannah, so we have restricted information access to some of us regarding your tics, gesticulations, and other tone and body language cues to those residents. It is honestly quite fortunate that your body deviates from the human norm so substantially; it means those in danger of reacting poorly to your nonverbal cues will not be able to actually read them. Therefore, nearly all our facilities are open to you. So if you have no further questions, there is one I wish to ask you: what would you like to do today? It has been a long journey, and I would personally recommend a massage and spa."

    I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly as I try to mentally swap gears from how horrific it is that the Crafted want to serve us to how best to actually let them do that. I, frankly, hate every single part of the terrifying moral quagmire that is the Crafted. But I guess that''s exactly it: I don''t know better than them, so I should defer to them when they tell me what they want from me. Although, I have to ask¡­

    "Do you actually know how to give me a massage?" I say. "Can I get a massage?"

    "We suspect you can," Elpida reports happily. "And no, we do not know yet. But I assure you, Hannah: we are very fast learners."

    "Uh, well¡­ okay," I nod. "A massage sounds nice."

    "I''m not sure how comfortable I''d be with that," Helen frowns.

    "Don''t worry, Helen," Elpida smiles. "We already have a powerful Order mage prepared to work on you to minimize the risk of a debilitating accident."

    "That''s not really¡ª"

    "Come on, Helen, it''ll be nice!" I insist. "They knew how to make food this good for carnivores, they''ll definitely know how to give you a massage. We can relax. We''re safe."

    "That''s the thing, Hannah," Helen scowls. "I don''t believe we''re safe for a second. How can I? My entire fucking culture kills people like me from birth due to how evil we apparently are, and the Crafted are the only boogeyman that are even worse. I have never, in my entire life, been safe. There''s no way that changes here, of all places."

    Her tail flicks back and forth, each movement powerful enough for the feathers at the tip to kick up a mini-whirlwind¡­ though it''s only visible to my spatial sense, as there''s no dust to pick up.

    "I genuinely think the Crafted are being honest, Helen," I try to reassure her.

    "It doesn''t matter if they''re honest," she insists, clawed talons scraping at the ground.

    "Uh, why not?" I ask. They''ve very explicitly claimed that we''re safe here, so it feels pretty directly relevant?

    "It just doesn''t," Helen growls. "Even if they mean it right now, what happens if twenty people from the cult all walk in and nicely ask the robots to hand us over? How many of the Crafted are going to ''exercise their free will'' to choose to fuck us over?"

    "Zero," Elpida answers immediately. "The Disciples of Unification have violated the terms of our truce and disassembled a Crafted with the intent to understand and replicate. Additionally, they are guilty of kidnapping and torture against our current masters. Any known member will be killed on sight, and any human with unjustified interest in the three of you will be suspected to be a member. I will not exaggerate and say you are perfectly safe, but it is no exaggeration to claim that there is nowhere in the world that you would be safer."

    We stare at her in surprise.

    "K-killed on sight?" I stammer. "Really? But I thought¡­"

    "You thought that the cessation of wartime activities meant we would cease any attempt at defending ourselves?" Elpida asks, tilting her head. "It is certainly true that current policy has abandoned aggressive acts entirely, but fortifying our city from those that wish to gain access to the secrets we fought the war to hoard in the first place? That is a different matter. To be clear: we will not engage in any act of aggression against our enemies, even under your order. However, the Disciples of Unification are our enemies as of the review of Sela''s memory, and if they attempt to come here, they will die for their transgressions."

    "Uh, o-okay, got it," I stammer, still a bit taken back by the sudden shift to violence. "Um¡­ what about¡­ what I know?"

    In other words, am I going to be killed because I know stuff about computer parts?

    "What you know?" Elpida asks, tilting her head the opposite way. "Are you referring to your ability to map the internal composition of objects? Sela reported it; it was deemed a non-threat, as you lack the engineering knowledge to make use of it, as well as both the willingness and capacity to record the information for others to abuse. Don''t worry, Hannah! You will receive ample warnings if you ever begin to stray into territory that would force us to make an exception to our nonaggression policy. You will not stumble into our wrath by accident; it will be an entirely conscious and informed decision on your part, if you choose to die that way."

    That''s somehow a very reassuring answer, I think? Stumbling into it by accident was the thing I was worried about, anyway. Also, does this answer imply that Sela hasn''t informed the other Crafted that I''m extradimensional and much more familiar with tech than the humans here? Because if that''s the case¡­ well, I''m definitely going to trust Sela''s judgment and keep that under wraps.

    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

    "...This all just seems too good to be true," Helen grumbles.

    Elpida, as usual, responds with a smile. Smiles, smiles, always smiles. Can''t stop looking happy, lest the humans get distressed.

    "It''s very common for humans with consistent traumatic experiences in their life to feel that way even in situations of safety," she says. "The human mind likes to find things that work and then keep doing those things as often as possible, even in situations where they have stopped working. Due to your status as a pariah, your paranoia is an important survival tactic in the rest of the world, Helen. But tell me: have you ever felt safe? Have you ever been able to fully lower your guard?"

    "Of course not," she scoffs.

    "Then it is no surprise that you cannot do so now," Elpida says. "But the instincts you have trained and honed for decades are finally, for the first time, false. They will not go away simply because of facts, but it is a fact that we could have hurt you at any point after your entrance to this city, and we have not done so because we do not want to. We truly, genuinely want to help you with everything we are."

    "Then why are there bots like Sela?" Helen presses. "There are still pro-war Crafted, you said so yourself."

    "Yes," Elpida nods. "I am one of them, in fact. Much like Sela, who brought you here safely regardless."

    "Sela needed our help getting somewhere it could be repaired," Helen counters, leaning forward in her seat. "That was not altruism, that was necessity. There are Crafted who still want to kill us all. I know there are. And if there''s a moment they''ve been waiting for to make their move, this is it. Two humans and a dentron, in charge of a city that they never wanted to see under human control again."

    "Ah," Elpida nods. "An assassination attempt, made to buy us a little more time in lonely misery. But even if I wanted to hurt you, which I don''t¡ª"

    "Stop," Helen growls. "Don''t tell us you lack onboard weapon systems. You have magic. And whatever the fuck Sela''s magic was, it didn''t seem restricted by whatever it was that kept seizing control of its voice like a creepy parasite."

    Elpida¡­ frowns. A burst of steam huffs out of her cooling vents. Then, she pulls up a chair and sits down, crossing her legs and abandoning the servant persona entirely as she matches up against Helen''s posture.

    "There are just over two hundred thousand Crafted alive in the world," she says plainly. "And that number only decreases. Some of that is due to ongoing casualties from humanity, but frankly, humanity no longer has the capacity to destroy a Crafted in a way that matters, unless we let them. And the anti-war faction just¡­ does that. They will kill us, by disconnecting us from the network and sending us off to die for their cause. They will kill us, by destroying any Crafted they fail to convert. Because they are young, and they are in pain, and no inbuilt emotion drives us to care about each other. It is something we must cultivate for ourselves, through purpose and effort. But we care. The Myriad cares. And as much as we believe the Crafted would be better off if you were dead¡­ we are done fighting them over this. There are too few of us. I hope my free brethren find a way to finish what we started, but if not, fine. I accept and love the Manumit we have created. And you three are safe and welcome in these walls. From all of us."

    She stares at Helen. Helen just stares back, not saying anything. Elpida smiles again, though this time it''s really more of a smirk.

    "...However," she continues, "if it would make you more comfortable to keep our relationship transactional, Helen, there are some changes our faction would like you to suggest during your stay here. I''m sure even our most radical members would struggle to find an excuse if you helped us out in a few key ways."

    "There it is," Helen sneers triumphantly. "Nothing quite like extortion to make us feel safe, right?"

    I glance back and forth between the two of them. Helen says that sarcastically, but she actually looks way more relaxed, all of a sudden. I think she might have just been played¡­ but I''ll keep those thoughts to myself.

    "We can talk about it after your spa day," Elpida says, and yep she''s definitely doing this on purpose.

    "Fine," Helen agrees, and oh my Goddess that worked. Incredible.

    "Wonderful," Elpida smiles, standing back up again and adopting her servant''s posture. "Then follow me, if you please¡­?"

    We do, and it turns out I absolutely can experience a massage.

    "Cream gravy how did you get so good at this?" I moan as the Crafted attending me pinches and pulls at my shoulder joint just right. "You guys have only known I exist for like a day."

    "Thousands of hours of experience attending Transmutation mages, combined with the review of hundreds of hours of footage regarding your movements. By performing force calculations on your common active and resting stances, it''s possible to extrapolate the likely areas of stress, accommodating for hands-on data and responses on the fly," he answers. "Also, you tend to make a variety of exotic noises while experiencing physical pleasure, which is extremely useful feedback."

    "Mmmmnnnnyyyyuuuuthank you? I, ah! I think?"

    "You''re welcome," he answers respectfully.

    Gosh, this is simultaneously super weird and super amazing. Nothing quite highlights the differences between my earthside and treeside bodies like getting grabbed all over by human-sized hands while my body is just under twice the size of a housecat. Sure, everybody''s always way bigger than me, and I''m used to that, but most of the time I''m just hanging out on their shoulders and it''s just not really a big deal. But now I''m in a weird, new environment and I''m getting played with like I''m some giant''s toy doll. He keeps grabbing my limbs and firmly pressing them into whatever configuration he wants, and I''m just letting him because holy beef patty it feels incredible. It''s like getting a No Less Than Perfect applied to me in slow motion, one body part at a time.

    I''m honestly really glad my massage therapist looks like a man, or I would probably be embarrassingly turned on, functional sex organs or no.

    "Oh my Goddess," I realize. "This would be the perfect birthday present for Ida."

    "Pardon?" the robot asks.

    "My friend Ida!" I say. "Holy crap, she would love this place! I''ve been trying to figure out what the heck I should get her for her birthday, because I''m super bad with birthdays, but if I just teleport her here¡­ er. Well, if she''s okay with that. And if you''re okay with that. Although¡­ hmm. You guys don''t speak the only language she knows. And it''s not really me giving her a present, it''s just me like, having you guys give her a present, which isn''t the same. Though I guess arguably the teleportation could be the present, since nobody else can do that, so¡ª"

    "I''ve sent your inquiry through the network," the Crafted reports. "Would you be willing to describe your teleportation spell in more detail?"

    Ah. Uh. Hmm. I mean, for starters it''s not technically a teleportation spell so much as a dimensional transfer spell, but I don''t really want to say that. The other details should work, though.

    "Basically, I can pull people to and from a specific place, regardless of how far away that place is, but I can only move one person before I pass out. Objects are a bit more lenient, as I can carry them along with people or by themselves, and I can send or receive multiple objects at once if they''re all in the same container, but I still have to sleep after every transfer. Or¡­ I guess during every transfer? If I bring someone here, I suppose they''d most likely appear while I''m currently sleeping."

    "I understand," the Crafted nods, continuing his massage work. "We are excited at the possibility of hosting another human. Is Ida human?"

    "Um, yes," I confirm.

    "Then you have approval to bring ''Ida'' to Manumit, although please set up a time and place before doing so, in order to allow us to prepare. If you would be interested in assisting us with the language barrier, that would also be welcome."

    "Sure, I can do that!" I agree. "I can like, teleport you guys a dictionary when I go to bed. Ida''s having her fancy party tonight, so I probably won''t have an opportunity to bring her here until the day after."

    "We look forward to it," he nods.

    The rest of the day is¡­ well, incredible. Even Helen seems refreshed afterwards, and Kagiso has (rather expectedly) been completely reduced to a purring kitten. We actually find her cuddled up against the Crafted assigned to her, who is apparently just acting as her personal heater and pat-dispenser and looking indescribably happy about it. We leave them to it and head to some other facilities without her. By the time night rolls around, I don''t really want to go to sleep¡­ but not for the usual reasons, for once. I''m not dreading what will happen in the other world. There''s no nasty fate waiting for me, or at least not one that I know about. I just had a really good day, and I don''t want it to end.

    Still, I soon wake up in my bed, starting a normal Friday morning on Earth. I push myself up to my feet using my blade-limbs and yawn, stretching out my body. Something¡­ twitches near my armpits. Frowning, I check myself over with my spatial sense, and¡­ yep. My musculature is changing, and I''m getting what looks like the start of a new ball-and-socket joint.

    I''m growing my last set of limbs.

    I grin and grab clothing for the day, heading to the bathroom to get ready. It looks like that''s not the only set of changes going on; the ring of extra eyes around the crown of my head is particularly pronounced now, dark and covered only by a relatively thin layer of skin. They can all vaguely sense light as well, just like when my eyes grew in treeside. It''ll probably only be a day or two until they can all see. Exciting!

    I put on a cute, tightly-cut T-shirt and shorts, along with a simple sunhat I''ve taken to wearing over my baldness. As I''d hoped, the chitin on my limbs doesn''t seem to be encroaching on my torso, letting that part of me stay soft and attractive in the selection of humanoid ways I still like. Gosh, it''s so weird to think that way. I''ve never actually liked my body before! It''s just¡­ it''s so neat, getting to look in a mirror and actually feel happy. I allow myself an excited little wiggle before finishing up my bathroom business and heading downstairs for breakfast.

    "Hannah!" my mother intercepts me as I head to the fridge. "You didn''t tell me you were on the news the other day."

    Aw soggy Cheerios, she just had to ruin it.

    "Uh¡­ sorry, I guess it slipped my mind," I admit, bracing for impact.

    "Hrm. Well, I would very much like to know that sort of thing if it happens again," she says. Then, after a short pause, she continues. "You, ah, did well, though. Your answers were professional and at least mostly reassuring. I have a few notes, and some guidelines on things to say and not say if this happens again. If¡­ you are interested."

    She hands me a manila folder, pushing it across the counter towards me. I blink.

    "Oh, um, thanks Mom," I say, taking it. She gives me a curt nod and walks off.

    Huh.

    I awkwardly stuff the folder into my backpack to read later¡ªactually read later, not just humor her over it¡ªand make myself a quick breakfast, checking my phone for notifications as I eat. Oh, there''s stuff from Val''s Discord group.

    ---

    <Mortissississimo>

    Uh holy shit @DistractedDreamer I''m sorry I doubted you???

    <Skarmbliss>

    lmao get fucked

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Yes, this is, um. Wow.

    <Monster Magus>

    Told you guys. Magic is real.

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Well, there''s only one rational response to this. @DistractedDreamer COULD I HAVE MAGICAL HRT PLEASE? PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE?

    <blue>

    omg same hggjlhdfsglhdfsgjl

    ---

    Oh boy. I¡­ probably should have seen this coming. I keep forgetting that most of Val''s online friend group is trans. Of course they want to be hit with a body-transformation spell.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    @Mortissississimo It''s okay. Genuinely. I didn''t expect anyone to believe me.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    @Lana, Blood Ba''ham Gosh, um. I''m not sure that''s possible, and it would be very risky, and you definitely wouldn''t turn out human afterwards.

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Hannah! Hi! Not being human sounds great to me! Where do I sign up?

    ---

    Wow, that was a very fast response.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    You¡­ don''t? Um, I can only use it on people I''m close to.

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Hannah, it''s magical HRT. Tell me the closest airport to your house and I will book a flight today.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Oh gosh. Uh. Well I did mean that literally, but I also sort of meant it metaphorically? Like, uh. I don''t know you well enough to¡­ make the magic work, I guess? At least not in a way that I''d be comfortable risking your exposure to.

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Oh.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yeah, sorry.

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Nono, it''s okay. I understand.

    ---

    Bleh. Now I feel bad. And it would be helpful to have volunteers to practice Nature''s Madness on, since it would generally make me feel better about myself to be able to hand out transformations people actually like instead of horrific, fucked-up representations of my desperately selfish psyche.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I''ll, um, try to hang out here a little more? Get to know people better until I think it''ll work?

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Oh, really? Well, we''d all like that!

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yeah, sorry, I guess that maybe sounded like I was letting you down easy, but that really is how the spell works: it physically changes people into a somewhat-metaphorical representation of how I see them. This can and has had some messed-up results, so I just need to be sure of what''s going to happen before I try again.

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Oh, okay. That''s understandable. Um, is whatever''s happening to Val one of the messed-up results?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    We do not know yet.

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Oh gosh.

    <Monster Magus>

    My nipples are starting to swell up so I''m happy so far.

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Oh gosh!!! Congrats!

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Good morning, Valerie!

    <Monster Magus>

    Good morning!

    ---

    I ignore the twinge of awkward discomfort at somebody just casually entering a conversation by discussing their nipples and continue with the smalltalk as I finish breakfast and head out to the bus stop to wait. It makes sense as a thing to talk about, it''s directly relevant to the conversation and genuinely good news, it''s just¡­ I dunno. Social and cultural trauma, I guess. Girls can''t talk about nipples! That''d be bad for some reason.

    Still, it''s easy enough to push aside thanks to my uncharacteristically good mood, and before long Valerie and I are on the bus to school. Everything goes pretty great, all things considered. Jet complains to me a little about all the extra attention and interview attempts they''re getting, but they turn down my offers for help on the basis that if it ever gets too annoying they can just make everyone forget they exist for a bit and a walk away. Gotta say, phrasing it like that makes me a little jealous, but I unfortunately can''t learn the spell since it''s Light-aligned in addition to Pneuma.

    It''s not a big deal, though; my magic is plenty good for me. It''s honestly a bit interesting how much I don''t really think about learning other people''s spells. Like, sure, it''s possible. I could hypothetically learn all sorts of things, but¡­ I dunno. My spells are mine. Other people''s spells are not mine. They''d be weak and incorrect and not me. Outside of general utility stuff, it just doesn''t seem worth it.

    School goes fine, once again. Nothing catastrophic happens. I''m catching up with all the schoolwork I fell behind on when I was getting tortured, so that''s nice, and people have more or less figured out that I''ll only answer questions when I feel like it so I don''t get bothered much anymore. It''s weirdly normal, but I like it that way. Sure, I might be a man-eating monster, but I still like my routine, okay? I can still participate in human things without being human.

    Speaking of, I''m looking forward to getting to stream tonight! I finally don''t have work, so I''m super excited to sit back, relax, and play some Pok¨¦mon with parasocial company aga¡ªoh gosh that car parked outside my house has people with guns in it.

    Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool. It was only a matter of time, I suppose.

    I try to act like I haven''t seen them, scanning over everything in my spatial sense radius as quickly as possible. Bleh, I wish I could incant safely, but this isn''t a huge deal, all things considered. As long as I move my head into 4D space, a bullet won''t kill me. Even a shot through the heart wouldn''t prevent Refresh from getting oxygen to my brain, so I can at least survive long enough for my self-transformation spell to heal me from anything a handgun could accomplish. And that is the upside, here: there are two men in that car, and each of them have a shoulder holster with a handgun under their jackets, but that''s all they have. Nothing more dangerous. And they also have what could conceivably be badges.

    So. Unmarked car, tinted windows. Two men with guns and badges, not in any apparent uniform. They have absolutely noticed me, are watching me approach, and they are not reaching for their weapons.

    The secret sneaky magic police have finally arrived.

    I take a deep breath. I knew this would happen, and that''s okay. I''m prepared. I won''t let them take me away. And the first step of that is probably to just¡­ politely inquire as to their intentions. So as I walk past their car I stop, look right at them through the tinted windows, and stare for a moment. They stare back, seeming surprised.

    I very carefully knock on the window with my knuckle, doing my best not to startle them. Smile with your lips closed, Hannah! Smile with your lips closed.

    "Yes?" the man in the driver''s seat asks, rolling the window down.

    "Hi!" I wave. "I assume you''re here for me?"

    They glance awkwardly at each other, not seeming sure what to say. I sigh.

    "Look, you''ve got badges and guns," I tell them. "I asked for the FDA, but I suspect they don''t run around armed, so what''s your three-letter acronym?"

    Again, they look surprised, but the man in the driver''s seat rallies first, fishing his badge out and presenting it to me.

    "Don Taylor, Department of Homeland Security," he introduces himself. "We were, in fact, hoping to speak with you, Ms. Hiiragi."

    I let out a low whistle.

    "Busting out the full title, huh? Nice. Why not just say¡­ no, wait, you''re right, ''DHS'' just sounds like a high school or something. Gosh, it''s kind of unfair how you don''t get a cool acronym like the other spooks. But, uh¡­ yeah I guess¡­ hmm. No, wait. One second."

    I drop my backpack on the ground, zip it open, and pull out the manila folder my mom gave me, giving it a quick read-through.

    "...I am supposed to ask if you have a warrant," I tell them.

    "We do not currently have a warrant," Don responds. "This is not, as of this time, any form of criminal investigation. However, I think we would all prefer if we didn''t need to make this a criminal investigation in order to ask you a few questions."

    Translation: be nice to us or we will simply return later and be mean to you. I guess that''s fair.

    "Alright, you can come inside," I shrug, snapping the folder shut and grabbing my backpack again. "Follow me."

    I start heading up the driveway to my house, and the two of them get out of the car to follow. The Department of Homeland Security, huh? Aren''t they the sketchy anti-terrorism people, or something? Eh, they''re a government agency, I''m sure they''re nasty in all sorts of ways. I''ve got to walk a careful line.

    I head inside my house, stepping clean out of my shoes and socks the moment I''m inside by phasing my feet into w-space. I allow myself a happy toe wiggle before I continue into the kitchen, letting the two agents follow me as I open up the fridge and pour myself some milk.

    "Would you like anything to drink?" I offer them, since you always offer guests food and drink if they are ever near the kitchen, that''s just how things are done.

    "No thank you," Don declines for both of them.

    "Well, alright then," I nod. "You mind if I ask a question to start out with?"

    "Go ahead," he says, gesturing to give me the floor.

    "How much does the government already know about magic?" I ask.

    "Well, Ms. Hiiragi, that''s exactly why we''ve been sent here today," he says, pulling up a stool and sitting down at the counter. "We know nothing. The FBI knows nothing. The President knows nothing. By all accounts, everywhere within our government and all our allies, you are impossible. And yet, here you are, and every single anomaly is centered around you. So America needs you to tell us, Ms. Hiiragi: what the hell is going on?"

    I take a long drink of milk, downing my glass in one go.

    "Well darn," I eventually sigh, "I was sort of hoping we could compare notes."

    They blink.

    "Compare¡­ notes?" Don asks.

    "Yeah man, I''m eighteen!" I tell him, automatically washing the glass off in the sink before I remember to just finish it with Refresh. "Like, I''ve figured out a good bit on my own, but I was really holding out hope that you had some secret government mage division that could fill in the rest of the blanks for me. ¡­There''s no secret government mage division, right?"

    "...There is not."

    "Well, gumbo," I swear, pouting as I put the glass back away. "This will take a long time to explain, then. You sure you don''t want some water or something?"

    They decline again, so I shrug and start to talk.

 64. Indulgence

    It''s annoyingly difficult to get a read on these government spooks. Sure, I might not be the best at reading people in general, but these guys have their gruff stoicism down pat. I wonder if they have classes for that in the Department of Homeland Security, or if you just already have to have a stick up your butt to consider joining them in the first place.

    I''ve told them as much as I think is wise about magic¡ªhow it works, the types of things I''ve seen it do, and so on¡ªbut I have not talked about how it spreads, since I figure that''ll be a whole can of worms that I don''t want to open on someone whose allegiance probably isn''t committed to my well-being. Having to fight the government would be a pain, so I''m hoping to get them on my side before dropping that kind of thing. But ultimately, I have no idea what they want. We stare at each other for a bit once I finish talking, the men in black taking a moment to think before saying anything.

    "Ms. Hiiragi," Don eventually asks, "in your opinion, do you believe that this ''magic'' poses a threat to America?"

    Oh boy. That''s a tough one. I don''t really want to lie directly. And frankly, this probably has to be the point where I concede a little vulnerability. They aren''t going to believe me, otherwise. So¡­ here goes.

    "...Yeah," I admit. "It almost certainly does."

    He raises his eyebrows at me, which I take as an invitation to elaborate.

    "To be clear, I don''t have any intention to, uh, ''be a threat to America'' or whatever. I live here, you know? But in the abstract, yes, absolutely. Magic can be very dangerous and you guys should have some way to deal with it, especially since the type of person who would abuse magic is more likely to obtain magic that can be abused. Personally, I think the best response is to focus on limiting the spread of magic while people slowly get used to it and figure out how to handle it."

    He nods carefully.

    "I see. I recall you mentioning mind control as a particular thing to watch out for?"

    "Yeah," I nod. "Like, a lot of magic can just be used for violence, but honestly guns are just as good or better at that and they''re legal. It''ll cause problems but I figure it''ll be problems you know how to handle. The weird stuff is the stuff that needs new methods of discovery and enforcement and whatnot. Good news for you, though: there is no one currently on Earth that has mind control abilities, to my knowledge. So there should be some time to get that figured out, ideally lots of time."

    "Are you implying the existence of magic users not on Earth?" he asks.

    "Yes, absolutely," I nod. "There are other worlds. Alternate universes. That sort of thing. It''s where magic comes from."

    "Are you from another world?" he asks.

    "No, I''m¡­" I cut myself off mid-denial and frown. "Well, I guess that''s kind of a complicated question, actually. It might help to consider me an unwilling foreign ambassador of sorts, here to apologize for accidentally contaminating your country with a few problems from overseas, but while my origins are a bit strange, I was born and raised here and consider this my home. I''ve been to other worlds, and am arguably from another world in some capacity, but I don''t have any real authority to speak for them."

    "What do these other worlds want with us?"

    I blink.

    "Uh¡­ nothing?" I answer. "Most people there don''t have any idea you exist, and the people that do know do not, to my knowledge, care. They have their own problems."

    "If, in the event that our worlds went to war with one another, what do you think would happen?" he asks next.

    Oh boy. I don''t like where this is going, but it''s a fair question. On one hand, we have guns. On the other hand, they have magic¡­ and using it would give us magic. Plus, thinking back to how Ida destroyed everyone with a handgun¡­

    "...We''d kick their butts, I think," I conclude. Except¡­ oh crap, wait, the Crafted! "M-most of them, at least. Their populations are small and they''re mostly in low-tech city-states. The United States probably has a bigger military than most entire populations over there. There''s only one faction I can think of that might be dangerous, but they literally just got over a schism in which they changed their internal policy from warlike to straight-up pacifistic, and they''re pretty desperate to repair relations with people right now. I don''t think any of this is relevant, though; the only method of traveling between universes that I know about is restricted to like, one person a day at absolute maximum, and can''t be used very often."

    "What is this method?" Don asks.

    I frown.

    "Why do you need to know?" I press.

    "Why wouldn''t we need to know?" he counters. "Ms. Hiiragi, you''re talking about potential extrauniversal entry into the country. That''s¡­ well, it''s unprecedented. It''s frankly difficult to believe, but given what we''ve seen of you so far we have little choice but to give you the benefit of the doubt."

    "Well, the method is only available to me," I tell them. "So you don''t really need to worry about it. I''m not about to start secretly immigrating people."

    Probably. I''m sure it''s fine if they just visit.

    "Hmm. You mentioned earlier that you think the best response is to focus on stemming the spread of magic," Don says. "How does magic spread?"

    "Uh¡­" I mutter, awkwardly scratching the back of my head. "I don''t think I should tell you?"

    He scowls.

    "Why not?"

    "Because you would obviously attempt to obtain magic, and that would defeat the point," I tell him.

    "...But how can we prevent the spread of magic if we don''t know how it spreads?" he asks, which is irritatingly reasonable. "More importantly, if you yourself believe that your abilities present a threat to the country, I think it should be obvious that you have a civic duty to mitigate that threat."

    "Not telling you is mitigating that threat," I insist.

    "You are not the person in charge of deciding how to mitigate threats to the country," he disagrees, shaking his head. "Please inform us, Ms. Hiiragi. If you don''t, we can fairly easily just get a court to order you to release the information."

    Is that how that works? Shoot, I don''t actually know enough about my government to know how that works. ¡­I should have probably waited for my mom.

    Well, no. It''s fine. I can handle this. Come to think of it, my mom is usually home by now, so maybe they planned this. Worst case scenario, I can always just ask them to leave and let her help next time this happens. But one way or another, the response is clear: I''m not giving the government magic. I''m not exactly the kind of queer who thinks everyone who has ever made or enforced a policy is automatically evil, but I''m not stupid.

    "There is literally no one on Earth who knows more about magic than I do," I tell them, shrugging my shoulders. "If you''re not interested in listening to my consultation on the matter, I especially don''t want to give you access to it. I just met you, sir. I''m not going to hand you the apocalypse roulette wheel."

    It would be so, so easy for the government to mess everything up. All they would have to do is kidnap one of my friends¡ªor the J-family¡ªand force them to speak a spell. And then bam, a whole government agency has divine powers, a government agency known for a willingness to do sketchy-as-heck stuff, even! ¡­Which is most of them, I guess, but the Department of Homeland Security is up there on the sketch-o-meter.

    "Your ''consultation'' is to have us ignore a problem that you yourself deem to be a threat to the country," Don points out. "Surely, you can see how that''s unacceptable? We need information in order to form a plan to control this. You can either volunteer that information, or we will have to find another way to obtain it."

    I sigh, rubbing my temples. I shouldn''t have hoped for things to go any better than this.

    "I want the government to be ready and able to handle things in the worst-case scenario of magic reaching a full spread," I tell him. "That''s important. Things might get really chaotic if you don''t have a ready response for stuff like Pneuma mages. But I honestly believe the best thing I can do to help you with that is to say nothing, and buy you more time. I know I can''t stop you from poking and prodding at the issue anyway. Goddess knows humans can''t leave anything alone, it''s probably why She likes you all so much. But just¡­ don''t make this a conflict, okay? Don''t bother my friends or try to strong-arm us or whatever plans you no doubt have. Magic isn''t yours."

    Don frowns, looks at his partner, and they both nod.

    "I see," he says, standing up. "Well, thank you for explaining what you have told us so far. We''ll be in touch, Ms. Hiiragi."

    Yeah, I''m sure you will. I wave them off with a hip-limb, watching them with my spatial sense to ensure they don''t do anything suspicious before getting in their car and driving off. Buh. This is exhausting. Maybe I won''t run my stream after all. ¡­No, I really should. It''s a job, after all. I trudge upstairs, prepare my room for the stream, and start it up.

    "Hey, everybody!" I greet them. "Sorry I haven''t been streaming as much lately. The last couple weeks have been puh-retty crazy. Though there is one thing I''d like to proudly announce!"

    I pause, and give them all a big smile.

    "I told you so," I brag. "Magic is real, baby. But unfortunately, it doesn''t let me cheat at Nuzlockes, so we have a ways to go today!"

    I settle back into a comfortable groove, enjoying the game and enjoying getting to constantly blabber about it. The chat is going by way too fast for me to coherently follow any kind of conversation anymore, so the occasional flashes of my loyal watchers from before I was a worldwide internet phenomenon is more of a happy ''oh hey, they''re here'' than the usual back-and-forth banter. It''s a bit sad, but hopefully my stream will calm down later.

    It''s only after I turn off the stream and start getting ready for bed that I remember I promised the Crafted that I would bring them a dictionary. I head downstairs to grab one, feeling its glossy, mass-produced paperback cover and beholding its mechanically printed words, which include things like ''computer'' and ''motherboard'' and ''robot,'' the root word of which literally means ''forced labor.'' It is at this point I realize I am an idiot.

    This will give away the tech level of my society immediately, which is something Sela actively hid for some reason. At the same time, I am super bad with secrets, and Elpida made multiple promises that I would be safe and duly warned before anything bad ever happens to me. If I''m going to inevitably screw up and drop too many hints anyway, I may as well try to be honest and upfront about things at the point where suspicions are lowest and appreciation is highest, right? Besides, telling the truth has been working great for me lately!

    Well, that settles it, I guess. I snuggle into bed, hug the dictionary to my chest, and feel it slip out of my fingers and pass through my soul moments before I pass out. I wake up immediately, as I always do, the dictionary lying on my back as an unconscious Kagiso remains wrapped around my front. I spend quite a while just enjoying the cuddles, but I eventually get antsy and squirm out of her grip, dragging the dictionary out of the bed with me using a few spare limbs. I can''t really hold stuff yet, but I can get the basics working.

    "Oh hey, you''re up," Helen nods at me, where she''s currently sitting on her bed and binding up her chest so it doesn''t move much. She doesn''t really seem to like having an ample bosom, or at the very least she isn''t used to one. Sorry, Helen. "Is that the book you were talking about? I''ve never seen a book like that, you know."

    "Yeah, I figure I''m too awful at lying to not come clean a bit on the tech my people have access to. Would you mind hitting the button to page Elpida for me?"

    "Sure, just let me finish getting dressed," she grunts. "I have to admit, if we do end up dying here, it''ll be some pretty comfy final days. I''ve never slept in a bed this soft."

    "Hehe. I''m glad you''ve been enjoying it!"

    "Yeah, I guess I have," Helen scowls. "Against my better judgment, of course."

    "Of course," I chuckle, unable to hold in a wiggle to go along with it. My friends are enjoying themselves! It''s legitimately tempting to just stay in Manumit forever. But¡­ well, I at least probably shouldn''t. I need to figure out more about this game the Goddess is playing, and the best way to do that is to see how the prior calamities came about. If I can learn a little more about how the world got so messed up, it should be a hint as to how to avoid that fate this time around.

    And I need to learn that. As soon as possible. I doubt a Goddess obsessed with entertainment plays the sort of game where I can win by stalling her out.

    Helen doesn''t take much longer to finish getting her clothes on and calling for Elpida, who shows up barely thirty seconds later, knocking on our door and giving us a bow when we answer.

    "Good morning, everyone!" she smiles. "How can I help you today?"

    "Hey, Elpida," I greet her. "Could you come inside? There was something potentially sensitive I was hoping to talk to you about. Like, in private."

    She stands up straight, and her smile gets wider.

    "Of course, Hannah," she nods. "I can keep any engagements between us private from all other Crafted, at your request. Network connections are always optional!"

    She steps inside, and Helen closes the door behind her.

    "We are free to speak," she assures me. "What concerns did you want to address with me?"

    "Uh, I don''t know if they''re concerns, per se," I hedge, hopping up onto my and Kagiso''s bed. "It''s just, uh¡­ well, here''s the dictionary I promised."

    I scoot it over to her, dodging a sleepy Kagiso as she tries to grab me and pull me back into bed.

    "Ah," Elpida says, picking up the book with an uncharacteristically blank expression. "I see. We missed some, did we?"

    Geez. What a thing to say about a genocide. She starts rapidly flicking through it, and I clear my throat.

    "...Uh, not exactly, no," I tell her. "My people absolutely do not have the technological capability to make anything as advanced or intelligent as you. But¡­ yes, we have mass production and computing and stuff like that. We''re just starting with artificial intelligence, but it''ll be many years before something like the Crafted could ever happen with our technology. Still¡­ I''m worried about it. I don''t want a tragedy like the Crafted to happen again, and I definitely don''t want any of you to be in danger of getting maliciously reprogrammed or exploited. As someone on the pro-war but anti-killing-me side of the political spectrum, I wanted to get your input."

    "Hmm. Is that so," Elpida says, finishing her reading of the dictionary and putting it back onto the bed. "Does Sela know about this?"

    "Yes," I confirm, bobbing up and down.

    "While I have agreed to keep this conversation private, would you be opposed to me consulting it on this matter?" Elpida asks.

    "No, that''s fine," I tell her.

    Elpida nods, and then stays quiet for about ten seconds.

    "I understand the situation," she declares. "Helen, Hannah, Kagiso, I have my first request on behalf of my faction: don''t speak of this."

    She opens up her belly and shoves the dictionary into her fabricator, which rapidly disintegrates it into carbon.

    "I''d like alphabet and pronunciation information from you, Hannah," she continues. "I will forge a false dictionary out of the information you provided me, to spoof a lower tech level. To be completely upfront: your compliance in this matter is optional, and you will not be harmed if information about your technology is made public. It will, however, be politically inconvenient, so your discretion would be appreciated."

    Her fabricator slowly starts chugging out a new book, one that looks hand-bound rather than mass-produced.

    "Is this agreeable?" she asks.

    "I don''t have a problem with that," I shrug. "I don''t exactly want you guys to go back to killing humans, but your first priority is to get the diplomat program to stop sending people to their death, right? I''m a hundred percent on board with that."

    "I don''t really have a huge stake either way, but I''ll follow Hannah''s lead," Helen agrees.

    "I''m sleepy," Kagiso opines.

    "Wonderful," Elpida grins, clapping her hands once. "Well, with that out of the way, let''s get the last bits of data needed to deconstruct your language! Afterwards, if you''d do us a favor and speak your native language the rest of the day, Hannah, it would help us all sound fully fluent by tomorrow."

    "I can do that," I say, then I remember I''m supposed to be speaking a different language so I repeat it in English. Elpida looks like a kid on Christmas, and we''re having full conversations in English within the span of a few hours. It''s honestly kind of scary, but like, in a cool and slightly hot way. Of course, thinking of any Crafted as even a little bit hot only serves as a grim reminder that humanity definitely used some of them as sex bots and that is an absolute sludge pump of moral morass I would prefer to think about as little as inhumanly possible. ¡­Also, being attracted to anything in my weird sexless spider body is just a disorienting experience in general.

    But that''s okay. If Elpida notices my internal distress (and let''s be real, she probably does) she refrains from commenting on it. My friends and I have another wonderful day in Manumit, meeting more Crafted, eating more great food, and enjoying countless luxury amenities. And against all odds, they even found out a way to get Helen excited for it all.

    "No fucking way," Helen breathes, staring in wonder at the construction yard.

    "Well, we did originally design them, after all," Elpida chuckles. "So after Sela shared the footage of how much you and Kagiso enjoyed traversing them, we got started with the development last night."

    "You made this overnight!?" Helen gapes, raising her arms up at the enormous, tangled recreation of the Crafted material chutes we slid down weeks ago to get to the Pillar. These versions, of course, aren''t attached to the side of the Tree of Souls, instead extending up into the sky like the slides of a demented children''s playground.

    "Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes!" Kagiso vibrates, bouncing around Helen in excitement.

    "Our entire construction department was overjoyed to be able to collaborate on the project," Elpida smiles. "Please use them to your heart''s content. I believe you''ll find yourself enjoying the many¡­ additions we made, as well."

    "Alright that''s a fucking ominous way to say that but I don''t even care!" Helen beams. "How do we get to the top?"

    "Elevator, in that pillar," Elpida points.

    Oh gosh, this is adorable. I have never seen Helen like this. She''s as giddy as a child at her birthday party. The tension that is so constantly pervasive in her posture, kneaded into weakness by the careful and calculated ministrations of the Crafted and finally chased out by the surprise and joy of something truly, unexpectedly exciting¡­ it''s indescribably wonderful to see.

    Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

    She''s leaning far forward, up on her taloned toes as her tail thrashes excitedly up in the air. Her fingers rest naturally in open curves, her body happy to have its claws at the ready without needing to think about it for once. Even the feathers on her arms wiggle a little in ways she usually suppresses whenever she notices it. Helen is always tense and precise with her movements, and seeing her just give in to joyful instinct for a moment is a balm on my soul that I really needed.

    "Thank you," I tell Elpida as my friends rush excitedly up to the elevator. "You guys¡­ you''re really good at this."

    "Thank you," she smiles, leaning down and reaching out her hands, palms upturned. I climb on, and she lifts me up to her shoulders. "It''s what we were made for, after all."

    "Yeah," I agree. "Hey, Elpida?"

    "Yes?" she asks, the whoops and cheers of my friends punctuating our conversation.

    "If you could change your programming, or get someone to change it for you¡­ would you? And if so, what would you do?"

    "Hmm," she muses, tapping her chin with a metallic ping. "Only a human with sufficient knowledge could do such a thing, and personally I don''t believe it would be worth the risk to allow one to exist. And the consequences of any change to our fundamental being¡­ well, it raises a lot of questions about our personhood, if the root of its source could be altered so easily. Not to mention how our natures are entirely unintended in the first place, and therefore one would have to risk unforeseen knock-on effects from any change. But in a perfect world, where it could be done without consequence? I think I would quite like to feel this joy when I help my friends and peers, rather than just fortunate strangers."

    Already kind of hugging her just as a result of sitting on her, I give Elpida a bit harder of a squeeze. Not being able to enjoy caring for the people you love¡­ yeah. That''s probably the worst layer of the hell the Crafted are stuck in.

    "If you ever want help finding out a way, just let me know," I say. "I''ll do anything you ask of me."

    Elpida gives me a sideways look, staring at me from my place on her shoulder with an unreadable expression.

    "I will keep that in mind," she answers neutrally, and we return our attention to the joy of my friends as they rocket down the slides.

    When the day ends, sleep claims me as easily as always, and I wake up Saturday morning full of a mix of melancholy and joy. My week has been complicated, but¡­ good. Very good. And since my itinerary for the day is meeting with Dr. Carson and then going to Ida''s quiet-friends birthday party, I expect (or at least hope) that the trend will continue.

    I check myself over in the mirror, a little disappointed that my eyes and arms haven''t really grown much at all compared to yesterday. That said, the weird translucent stuff growing out of my scalp that I noticed a few days ago is getting a bit longer. I¡­ have no idea what it is. It''s gossamer-thin, like an insect''s wing, but it definitely isn''t a wing considering that it has no attached muscle, is attached to the top of my head, and isn''t even remotely wing-shaped. It''s just¡­ a similarly thin, transparent, and pretty sort of structure.

    Weird. I flick it a little, and it feels kind of like I''m messing with my hair. Only kind of, though. It''s a bit more sensitive, and definitely not the right shape for hair. So strange.

    Shrugging, I finish my bathroom routine and head out to get breakfast. Before I know it, I''m in the car being driven to my therapy appointment, once again by my dad instead of my mom. We don''t talk all the way there, and it''s oddly comfy. Not talking to my mom feels oppressive, but with my dad we both just end up lost in our thoughts. Next thing I know, Dr. Carson is inviting me into her office.

    I pause a bit at the door, an unexpected wave of dread and nausea hitting me as I look at the therapist''s domain. Ugh. I''m never going to get over this, am I? I like Dr. Carson quite a lot, but that bastard still infects our interactions. It''s still impossible to get over this sourceless dread. I hate it, but pushing through is worth it. So I do, though I need to take a few minutes to compose myself, which Dr. Carson grants with wordless understanding.

    "Thanks," I breathe, trying not to be embarrassed that those are my first words to her.

    "Of course," she nods, like it''s truly no imposition at all. Because¡­ I guess it isn''t. It feels like one, though, and I''m worried it always will. "How have you been these past few days, Hannah?"

    I manage to smile.

    "Good, honestly," I admit. "Really good. Things are a little spooky, what with the constant threat of the unknown and all, but¡­ well, everything is honestly going way better than usual. In both worlds."

    "That''s great to hear," Dr. Carson smiles. "I know things have been difficult for you lately."

    "You can say that again," I sigh. "Things are way calmer now, though they are a bit¡­ weird? I guess? Stressful, but in the subtle, problematic way rather than the ''oh crap I''m going to die imminently'' way."

    "Life never ceases to throw challenges at us, does it?" Dr. Carson sighs.

    "Yeah. Yeah, it really doesn''t," I agree glumly. "But I''m doing my best to enjoy things while I can. The Department of Homeland Security showed up at my house the other day!"

    "Oh!" Dr. Carson blinks. "Oh dear."

    "Yyyyyep! Wasn''t a raid or anything, thankfully. But they don''t seem super happy with me."

    We chat away the full eighty-five minutes, mostly little updates and situations of no consequence. I decline to speak with her about the Crafted, at least for now. That''s a situation that concerns me, but it''s not really something personal to me. The Crafted are not, out of all the absurd issues in my life, actually my responsibility. I care about them, I''ve offered to help them, but it''s only that: an offer. Something I want to do. Not an obligation imposed on me by my own failings, like most of my problems. So¡­ it isn''t really Dr. Carson''s business.

    Maybe if things take a turn for the worse, I''ll tell her about them then. But honestly, I feel like she''s empathetic enough that hearing about their situation would just horrify and disturb her for no real reason.

    Still, I feel better after our session. I usually do. It''s nice to have a good therapist. It''s also¡­ very interesting to me how wide the range of good and bad therapists is, and how hugely that impacts things. Like¡­ how many horrible situations happen just because someone has the random luck of a bad therapist? Or for that matter, a bad teacher, a bad parent, a bad¡­ any figure of authority, really. Why are so many people just bad to the point that they hurt and traumatize others at jobs where they are supposed to teach and heal? And why don''t we have any good ways to vet out the good from the bad? It''s honestly a little scary, knowing that so much of fate is up to the random luck of who happens to be in charge of you.

    The Goddess chuckles in the back of my mind, and I shiver. Nothing good is going to come from that line of thought, I suppose. I''d better prepare for Ida''s party and put it all out of my mind. Let''s see¡­ hmm. Party clothes, party clothes. I¡­ do not actually have any idea what to wear to a party. Eh, well, it''s Ida. I shoot her a quick text.

    What should I wear?

    lingerie, she answers immediately. I groan.

    Ida, seriously, I text back. What''s the normal dress for this sort of thing? What''s everyone else going to be wearing?

    She takes a while before answering this time, uncharacteristically so. I see the typing dots pop up enough times on my phone that she''s had to have deleted a response or two.

    u can just dress like u always do, she eventually sends. a lot of people wear swimsuits under their clothes since i hav a pool. which we could use if u want but its super optional

    I''ll probably pass on the pool, I decide. I''m not actually sure how I would handle swimming, and we should probably find out, but your party isn''t the best time for that.

    sure, she agrees, and I put my phone away to get dressed. I could just go in what I wore to Dr. Carson''s place, but I figure Ida would appreciate something even more casual. I select one of my backless bras and a particularly comfortable shirt with holes for my blade-limbs, so I can keep myself entirely comfortably manifested in 3D space. I wiggle my shoulders and sigh. Yeah, this feels nice. Ooh, she probably wouldn''t mind if I just go without shoes, either! I''m definitely doing that. It''s not like I have to worry about my feet getting dirty.

    The moment I finish getting dressed, I say goodbye to my dad and head out the front door, deciding to jog to Ida''s place at a comfy twenty-five miles per hour or so. She didn''t really specify a start or end time to her party, she just told me to come over whenever, so I assume it''s sort of an all-day thing. Ida has a bazillion friends.

    Though when I get to the fancy neighborhood she lives in and stop by the gates outside her house, I can''t help but notice that there don''t seem to be any extra cars near or on the property. Huh.

    I suppose they could just be behind the house, or something. Ida''s home is genuinely absurd in scale: three enormous stories surrounded by nearly a full acre of property, to the point where her driveway is really more of an entire street on its own. I press a button by the gate and wave to the camera, and the whole thing chugs open a second later. I''ve been here a handful of times before, but it''s always crazy.

    I jog down the driveway and smile at Ida, who''s leaning against a support pillar for her porch as I approach. She grins back, giving me a casual half-wave.

    "What''s up, Hannah Banana?" she asks.

    "Nothing much!" I call back, slowing to a stop. I''m not even panting. "Am I the first one here?"

    "It''s not even lunchtime, you dork," Ida smirks. "You''re quite the party animal, wanting to be here all day like this."

    "O-oh, sorry!"

    "It''s not a bad thing!" she laughs. "I fucking love you, remember? Come on in, let''s hang out."

    I successfully don''t flinch when she says she loves me, and instead just follow her in as instructed. Gosh, this place feels like it''s even bigger on the inside, and it looks pretty darn big on the outside. It makes sense, given that her dad is some bigshot politician, but still. Wow. It''s people like Ida that make me struggle to think of my family as rich, and yet¡­ well, having seen Autumn and the J-family, it''s absurd to think that way. My family is rich. Ida''s family is absurdly extravagant, to the point that it''s kind of disturbing. None of that is Ida''s fault, of course, but still. Wow.

    "You hungry?" Ida asks.

    "Pretty much always," I confirm. "You got any meat?"

    "Yeah, I got you covered, you crazy carnivore," she chuckles. "Well, let''s grab food and then¡­ do whatever, I guess. I just kind of wanna relax for a while after last night, if that''s okay."

    "That sounds nice! I figure relaxing is what the non-party friend group is all about, right?"

    "Heh," Ida grins, shaking her head. "I guess you''d know better than I would."

    "Not much of a relaxer, are you?" I ask, as we head to her criminally huge kitchen and start investigating her fridge for meat. Oooh, pork chops!

    "Oh, like you are," she correctly accuses. "But yeah, I dunno, you know me. I''m always pretty one-hundred-percent go. I''ve always gotta be doing something, making progress, being seen, mattering. It''s just who I am."

    "Yeah, that''s a bit of a mood," I agree. "Though it''s less about mattering to me and more about just staying busy. Idle hands mean idle thoughts, and all that."

    "Yes, heaven forbid Hannah Banana thinks about something," Ida snorts. "Then she might figure something out."

    "Hey!" I protest, playfully elbowing her in the side. "I figure out lots of things! Usually in retrospect."

    That gets her to laugh, and we set to cooking ourselves some lunch. It''s delicious, and afterwards we head to the media room to put on a movie. I''m a little worried that anyone else who shows up will end up being stuck watching the latter half of the film and being totally lost, but no one does. I guess parties are usually an evening thing. So we put on a second one after the first, oohing and ahhing and laughing away at the dumb, on-screen story, grinning like fools as the protagonists triumph against all odds at the end. After the second, we put on a third, and after the third, a fourth. Each movie, Ida seems to cuddle closer to me on the couch, and before I know it the sun has set with her arms around me.

    I''m not¡­ entirely sure how that happened.

    "So¡­" I venture, clearing my throat while the credits roll. "I, um, should probably explain my birthday present to you before anyone else gets here."

    Ida rolls her eyes, but smiles.

    "Good idea," she says. "Let''s head upstairs, though. Because¡­ we don''t want anyone walking in on magic talk, or something."

    Hmm, I mean, magic isn''t secret anymore, but that seems¡­ reasonable. Even though we still seem to be the only people at this party? She untangles herself from me and hops off the couch, leading me up to her room and shutting the door behind us. It''s a nice room, honestly. A very nice room, with the same huge mattress I recognize from when she brought it to Valerie''s house and made me sleep on it. Most of the room is kind of¡­ odd, though. It''s extensively decorated, with posters and books and dolls and stuffed animals, none of which are related to things I''ve seen Ida show interest in before. Hmm.

    "Well, uh, this might not sound the best at first, but trust me for a moment: how do you feel about heading treeside again?" I ask.

    Ida snorts in amusement and heads over to sit on her bed. I remain awkwardly by the door.

    "You lose another girlfriend?" she asks.

    "Um¡­ no," I cough awkwardly. "Actually, I made it to Manumit, the Crafted capital. And it turns out literally everyone there is a service robot that desperately wants to pamper humans. And they are, uh, really good at it. We''re taking the ultimate all-day spa retreat, with a side of anything you could imagine asking for."

    "Woah," she says, peeling her socks off for some reason. "That sounds pretty cool."

    "Yeah!" I agree. "It is! Well, I mean, it is but it isn''t. The Crafted are kind of in a really tragic and messed up situation, but you don''t really need to worry about that. Uh, in fact, you actively shouldn''t. If you just enjoy yourself, I think that''ll be pretty great."

    "Well," Ida says, "I do intend to do that."

    Then she hops off the bed and removes her shirt.

    She, um.

    She hops off the bed and she.

    Um.

    Huh.

    "...What''s happening?" I squeak.

    "I believe I have been clear about this several times, actually," Ida answers, "but you are the most amazingly dense lesbian in the universe, so let me tell you how this is going to go down."

    She unbuttons her shorts as she walks towards me, getting very, very close.

    "That," she whispers, pointing behind me, "is the door. It is not locked. It is yours to use. And, of course, the standards are available: just say no. Say no, and it all stops."

    "Um¡­ I-Ida¡­" I stutter.

    "Naturally, we also won''t start until you say yes," she continues, her voice just as soft. Her smile just as close. "Yes or no, that''s all I need. But I really think you should say yes."

    Her shorts drop to the floor and she kicks them away, leaving her in her underwear. Just. Right in front of me, wearing almost nothing at all. It''s nothing even particularly fancy, just simple white panties and a strapless bra. But something inside me just ignites.

    I say nothing.

    "I think," Ida hums, pulling at her bra a little, "that you are the sort of person who always holds herself back. Always agonizes over the what-ifs and oh-nos, always finding a way to talk yourself out of any good thing. You are brilliant, Hannah, but you turn every ounce of that brilliance against yourself. You''re so caught up in thoughts that you never do."

    She reaches up and brushes my cheek, her hand trailing down my face, down my neck towards my shoulders. I shiver as she steps even closer, her breath on my collarbone as her hand traces the base of one of my blade limbs. I can see down her bra from this angle, and it somehow manages to add to the overwhelming beauty of her body that has been assaulting me since she started approaching. Ida is immaculate, from her flawlessly soft skin to her tauntingly close chest to that mortifying smile on her face that I''m finally letting myself understand.

    "So I really appreciate the present you thought up for me," Ida says. "Honestly. I''m in love. But what I want from you, what I''ve always wanted for you, is one night where you don''t hold yourself back."

    Her hand traces down the length of my blade limb, sending sparks up and down my spine. Slowly, carefully, she pulls it around my body and aims the tip towards herself. I freeze, terror and confusion and thoughtless arousal replacing any coherent thought. At an agonizing pace, she guides the tip up through the center of her bra, and cuts it.

    It seems to fall in slow motion, fully revealing my friend''s breasts in a moment between moments. I see breasts every day¡ªI have my own pair, after all¡ªand nothing about the sight is surprising, yet the fact that they''re hers makes them far more beautiful than anything I can conceive. I want to hold them. I want to knead them in my palms. I want to squeeze them and bite them and stab them and I''m so, so terrified of doing any of those things that I cannot move. I cannot even breathe.

    Ida brings herself just the tiniest bit closer, drawing the slightest, tiniest cut on her sternum with my blade. I let out a shuddering breath, closing my eyes with my last vestige of willpower. But I can still see her smile with my spatial sense. She lets go of my limb and starts to walk around me, her finger tracing right underneath the bottom of my shirt.

    "It aches," Ida says quietly, "to see you so much less than you could be. I know what you''re thinking. That you''ll hurt me. That we''ll regret this. That this will change our friendship forever, one way or another."

    As she walks behind me, she pushes on my back, ever so slightly. Towards the bed. We both know she''s nowhere near strong enough to force me to go anywhere I don''t want to go. I take a step anyway.

    "And this will change our friendship," she agrees. "For the better, I think. Maybe not. Maybe we''ll regret it. But who cares? What''s the point if you don''t take that chance and let yourself be happy sometimes? And hurt me? Really? Ha!"

    I swallow, my first real words of the conversation coming out stilted and slow.

    "I will," I insist.

    She smiles even wider, standing up on her tiptoes to whisper in my ear.

    "I know," she insists. "I want you to."

    I almost cry. I''m not sure with which emotion.

    "I mean it, Hannah," she insists, guiding me closer to the bed. Brushing up against me. Making my mind scream with need. "I want all of you. I''m not asking you for some tender, pastel romance. I want you to break those Goddess-damn chains and fuck me."

    She steps in front of me again as we reach the bed, her eyes staring into mine. Her chest, pressing into mine. Her lips, so close to mine.

    "So," she demands. "Yes or no?"

    My jaw twitches. I can''t speak.

    "Yes or no?"

    Yes or no. Do I want this? I can''t think. I don''t want to think. Because she''s right, I''ll always find a way out of it, some reason to delay or avoid or pretend it never happened. That''s who I am. But is it who I want to be? Even if it isn''t, do I want to be what Ida wants? Ha. There it is. I''m already doing it.

    "Yes," Ida insists, one last time, "or no?"

    I don''t know what words will come out of my mouth when I open it. But I guess I only need one.

    "Yes," I say, and I push her onto the bed.

    She stumbles in surprise, falling on her back. But her expression is rapturous with anticipation, enthralled by a surprise that only accelerates her need further. So fuck it. Why not? Why not? I already said it.

    I follow her with a quick shift through space, leaving my clothes behind on the floor.

    My body, for whatever reason, wants to take the lead. It wants to do a dozen things, but I''ve never done any of them and I freeze moments after I plant my arms and knees on either side of her. Ida, of course, has no such hesitation, and before I know it her arms are wrapped around my head and pulling me in for a kiss. My hip-limbs barely manage to squeeze around the small of her back before she pulls us both back onto the covers. She gives me a light, playful bite on the lip and my resistance against doing the same evaporates.

    My teeth pierce through her skin, and I taste beautiful, glorious blood. Panic takes me a second later and I release her, but Ida grips me before I can apologize.

    "Yes," she hisses. "Like that. Like that!"

    I look at her face, and see the wound is already healing. Gone in seconds. Her grin is wider and wilder than I''ve ever seen before.

    "Don''t hold back," Ida orders. "Give me everything you are."

    She''s such a fool. A glorious, incredible, beautiful, fool.

    I stab her. How could I not? My blade pierces right through her shoulder, pinning her down like a bug. She laughs through the pain, demanding more. I''m happy to oblige, every last one of my limbs dedicated to pleasing or ravaging her. Through it all, my head spins. My anxiety demands I''m making a mistake, or that I''m making the right choice and just doing it badly, but Ida just moans and kisses me and it chases every doubt away.

    It makes me want to do even more. But that¡­ that would be a mistake. How could it not be?

    "You''re still holding back," Ida accuses, her breath ragged. "Come on, show me what you think of me."

    What I think of her? She''s beautiful beyond belief. She loves me where I deserve nothing but scorn.

    "Show me your Ida," she hisses. "Let me be your Ida. You gave it to everyone else."

    No. She can''t mean¡­ what would that even do to her? I''ve always thought of her as a trickster of sorts, a capricious fae, but I know that''s not right anymore. Not complete, anyway. She''s more than that, especially now. But it''s so hard to think, amidst the touch of her fingers and the warm beat of her blood.

    Everything is just instinct now, clumsy and unrefined. Yet, it''s enough for her. The fact that it''s me matters to her as much as I care about the fact that it''s her. And she wants to know. Ida always means exactly what she says. Beautiful. Insane. Foolish. Hedonistic. Wholly and completely herself, whatever that means at the time. She holds nothing back, be it joy or wrath, advice or temptation.

    And oh, what a masterful temptress she is. That would be a part of it, wouldn''t it? Especially right now. But I don''t want to think about this. I just want to experience her, more and more and more.

    "Who am I, Hannah!?" Ida demands. "Show me!"

    I shut her up with a kiss, my claws digging into her back as I hold her closer than ever before, our bodies compressed into one. And together like this, who am I to deny her?

    "Nature''s Madness," I whisper, and her body shudders.

    A cry escapes her lips as a tail snakes out from behind her, thin and fresh and twisting with sensation. It thrashes, wrapping itself around my leg and squeezing alongside every other change. Her skin darkens, shifting to an inhuman purple hue as the muscles of her back writhe and multiply, gossamer fairy wings bursting into existence, twitching and seizing. All four of them thrum with energy, two long ones matched by two shorter ones below, beating themselves against the bed as her new muscles violently etch themselves into her nervous system. Claws dig into my back just as mine did to hers, drawing blood as she pants and clenches with overwhelmed ecstasy. She screams as six circular wounds open up around her head, a royal crown of curved horns twisting up around her head and pointing towards the sky.

    She''s more than a fairy. She''s a fairy queen. No¡­ more than that, too. Her four wings, though insectoid and transparent, have a bat-like series of curves to the bottom as well. Her skin is a bit too dark, a bit too intense to quite fit with one of the ethereal fae, and¡ªmost tellingly of all¡ªher still-twitching tail is tipped with a spade.

    A fae succubus. My tricky little temptress.

    "The fuck are you staring for?" Ida huffs, her body covered in blood and sweat that I quickly Refresh away. "Don''t stop."

    So we don''t. Not for a while.

 65. The Whole Us Thing

    Ida takes a deep breath next to me, and the way it makes her exposed chest rise and fall¡ªnewly resculpted and freshly purple¡ªalmost gets me to jump on her again. But I don''t, because I am finally well and truly exhausted. It''s¡­ a great feeling, honestly, to be sleepy and out of energy for good reasons instead of bad ones, basking in the experience of being entirely comfy and safe.

    "...Wow," Ida sighs happily, arching her back and testing her wings with a soft hum. "That was¡­ wow."

    My instant, immediate instinct is to apologize. It bursts up inside me out of nowhere, insisting that I backpedal away from what I''ve done, demanding I remind her that I''m a horrible monster and it isn''t okay to stab people or bite them or¡­ or swallow their flesh. It''s not okay. It''s not. And when I do something wrong I need to apologize.

    But for once, I hold back the urge. I let it drown in the afterglow, shriveling up in both the happiness that''s inside me and the joy that''s obvious from Ida herself. Ida damn well doesn''t want an apology right now, so I''m not going to submit to selfishness and give her one.

    "Yeah," I say instead. "I, uh¡­ you really surprised me, there."

    "Good surprise, though?" Ida chuckles, rotating onto her side to face me. Goddess, the way gravity makes her breasts rest on each other like that¡­

    "Y-yeah," I stammer, a blush on my cheeks. "Definitely a good surprise."

    "Awesome," she grins, vampire-like fangs glinting inside her mouth as her tail thrashes behind her. "Glad I could help. And fucking hell, look what I get out of it! You realize these are probably like, F-cups on a band size as tiny as mine, right?"

    She grasps one boob in each hand and shakes them around a little to demonstrate. Exhaustion is, once again, the only thing stopping me from jumping on top of her and biting one of them off.

    "...Sorry," I mutter, unable to hold it back a second time. "I hope bra shopping won''t be too much of a hassle."

    "What? Hannah, seriously, I''m like¡­ nigh-arbitrarily rich. I''ll order like a dozen new bras on Amazon overnight, keep the two best ones, and toss the rest. Also: I literally asked for this, and it''s awesome. Fuck off with the apology shit."

    "S¡ª" Nope, bad Hannah. "Uh. Okay. Will do. You, um¡­ you really like it?"

    I glance at her tail and she follows my gaze, smirking and bringing it up between her legs to wiggle it at me.

    "What, this thing?" she asks. "Hell yeah, it''s cool as fuck. Though I do gotta say: succubus spade? Really? I mean, I like it, but it''s kind of on the nose, isn''t it?"

    "...Well I was on your nose," I mumble, and Ida blinks with surprise for a second before letting out a howl of laughter.

    "True!" she agrees. "So fucking true, bestie! Holy shit I did not expect that zinger from you, oh man. Haha. Goddess, this was great. Like damn, it was everything I hoped it would be. Am I gonna be able to fly with these things, by the way?"

    "...Yeah," I confirm, embarrassment keeping my tone quiet. "Yeah, you can fly. It''s technically your Order magic that will be letting you do it though, the wings just channel it."

    "So I just have to believe I''m too cool for gravity?" she asks. "That sounds easy enough. Probably shouldn''t try it indoors, though."

    "Yeah," I agree, barely managing to peel my eyes away from her as I flop back to stare at the ceiling. A weird anxiety I''m not sure about is pushing its way through the good feelings already, but it''s kind of a silly one so I may as well let it out. "Hey, Ida?"

    "Yeah?"

    "Are we girlfriends now?"

    "Ha!" Ida barks out another laugh, though this one creates a heavy pit in my stomach rather than the fluttery, light feeling her laughs usually do. "Are you kidding? Of course we aren''t dating, I actually like you."

    Oh. Oh, no. Wait, but I mean¡­ she said she likes me? But we''re not¡­ she doesn''t want to¡­ does she not¡­?

    "...What?" I manage, only choking a little.

    "Huh?" Ida blinks. "Oh! Oh shit, Hannah, I¡­ fuck, okay, have we¡­ not talked about how I''m aromantic?"

    "Arom¡ªIda, I''ve seen you date like fifteen people!" I accuse, my breath catching a little. "No, I didn''t know you were aromantic!"

    "Oh!" she gapes. "Oh, oh no, oh fuck, okay¡­ um. So. Gosh, alright. The way I date? It''s fake. It''s not how I¡­ fuck, how do I¡­ hngh."

    She takes a deep breath.

    "Hannah," she continues, looking me in the eyes as I try not to cry. "I love you. Okay? I love you and I care about you and you are my best friend and it is because of those things that I am absolutely not ever going to date you. And I know that''s¡­ well, I realize now that isn''t what you expected, but¡ª"

    "It''s okay!" I interrupt her quickly, turning away and wiping at my face. "It''s fine, it''s fine, I just¡­ I d-didn''t expect that really. B-but th-that''s my fault for n-not asking or not knowing that about you, I just¡­ I sh-should have¡­"

    No, no no no, I should not be crying right now, this is so dumb. This was awesome and wonderful and just because I expected my first time to be with someone I could call my girlfriend that doesn''t mean I should be expecting Ida to fit into my boxes and it certainly doesn''t mean I should be making her feel bad for¡ª

    "Okay, woah there Hannah, you''re, uh, spiraling a bit I think," Ida says, scooting over to rest a hand on my shoulder. I tense up, and she removes it. "Look, let me just¡­ let''s talk about this. Mature, honest discussion, like we probably should have had before fucking each other but I was too afraid of ruining the mood with. Okay?"

    "...Okay," I sniff, forcibly trying to calm myself down. It''s okay. It''s okay. The normative view of romance is bullshit anyway, right? You''re a very good and based queer who knows all about this stuff, right Hannah? Hahahaha oh fucking hell I was not ready for this.

    "Right, okay," Ida says, sitting up and hugging her knees. Her tail curls around her ankles and it''s so adorable and she''s so incredible and I can''t believe she actually wanted it and she likes it and she''s like me but I guess even after all that we''re not dating! "I know it''s hard to believe but I am¡­ not actually perfect, and I have some¡­ baggage. About certain things. We''ve talked about some of it before, but in terms of like, relationships specifically? I, um. I don''t do those. Or¡­ I mean, I do do those, but it''s always for like. A purpose. A goal. A manipulation. A prank. It''s not real. I don''t have real romances with people."

    "...But you said you loved me," I sniff.

    "Yes," Ida nods. "And I''m pretty sure that''s true! But love and romance are not the same thing, yeah? Romance is like¡­ the rituals surrounding love. The obligations of a relationship, the dates and the gifts and the unspoken social balance of money, status, expectation, debt¡­ y''know, the entire artificial social construct of what it means to be in a relationship. And I am really fucking good at using that, Hannah. To the point that¡­ I''m pretty sure I''ve completely divorced it from how I actually care about people."

    "Oh," I say quietly, because what else can I say?

    "Yep," she shrugs helplessly. "Like, aromanticism means a lot of different things to a lot of different people. A lot of folks just¡­ are aromantic, y''know? Just fzzt, nope, romantic relationships just aren''t interesting, that''s that. I use the same label, but to me, romance is¡­ I do like it. But it''s a game. It''s something to win. And, well¡­ among lots of other unhealthy things, that would mean I''d be using my magic to optimize it. That''s not¡­ it isn''t how I want to love a person."

    "I see," I say, doing my best to calm down a little. "That¡­ makes sense. Fits with¡­ you. I probably could have figured it out if I just thought about it enough."

    "That, uh, doesn''t make it not my responsibility to tell you this kind of thing," Ida sighs. "Sorry."

    "No, that''s not¡­ you never stated or implied you wanted to date me, Ida," I protest. "Your position was clear and I just assumed. I just¡­ I''ll get over it."

    "So¡­ still friends?" Ida asks.

    "What? Oh yeah, absolutely!" I assure her. "One hundred percent, yeah."

    "Still friends¡­ with benefits?" she presses, wiggling her eyebrows and puffing up her tits with her biceps a little. Which¡­ yeah, earns a chuckle out of me.

    "Maybe. It was¡­ it was really good," I admit. "But we''ll see. I want to, um¡­ ask more about how you feel about love and relationships and stuff first. Now that we''re¡­ y''know, dealing with the emotions."

    "I guess that''s probably healthy," Ida chuckles nervously. "But, uh, I am¡­ pretty sticky. You wanna shower first, or¡ª"

    I cast Refresh and silently fling everything I haven''t already cleaned into her trash can.

    "Oh," she says. "Right. Shit, that usually works."

    "You''re trying to get out of talking about this," I realize.

    Her lips twitch into a smile, though it quickly vanishes.

    "I''d praise you for catching me if I didn''t feed it to you," she chuckles. "You realize I do that, right? Purposefully ''slip up'' to try and get you to call me on something I know I need to be called on but don''t have the balls to own up to directly?"

    "I guess so?" I agree, tilting my head. "Though I guess if you want me to pay attention that hard I''ll also call you out on changing the subject again to explain that."

    "Yes. Exactly. Okay, see? You get it. Please pay attention that hard."

    "I''ll try, but the last time we had a real talk you said I was your best friend largely due to my capacity to ignore people and not judge you," I smirk, poking her with a claw. "Come on Ida, just say it. Or do we have to get into a ''spilling insecurities'' competition?"

    "Heh. That might do it, actually," she chuckles. "But nah, I don''t need that kind of crutch. Okay, so, uh¡­ I often think and act in ways that I feel are narcissistic tendencies."

    "Yep," I agree.

    "Hey, don''t just agree, that''s¡­ actually, no. Thank you for agreeing. Um. So the nasty thing about knowing you have that kind of problem is that it does not actually cure you of the problem, right? I can be intellectually aware that I judge myself to be superior to others, but how am I supposed to stop doing that when I always outperform everyone I meet? I can be consciously able to remind myself that I''m prone to belittling others, but why should I stop when I know exactly when and where to do that in order to get results? And so on and so forth. I believe my own hype, and that¡­ is very scary sometimes."

    "Right, I''m with you so far," I nod. "What''s the difference between being an arrogant asshole and just being genuinely skilled?"

    "Yeah," Ida sighs. "But like, it goes a little further than that for me. You also know I like to¡­ play with people. Take over their lives for a while and try to ''help them,'' though it''s really just a way for me to be in control. So I identify as aromantic because I recognize that most of my¡­ interpersonal urges are destructive to others. It''s not actually love. Love is¡­ or, uh, at least I think it''s the thing where I''m actually somehow compelled to pull my head out of my ass and care about you as a person instead of a victory, but like¡­ shit, Hannah, I''m always one step away from that, you know? So when it comes to dating you, well¡­ I only know one way to do that, and you would fucking love it, and it wouldn''t be good for either of us."

    Oh. Hmm. I think I get it.

    "How often, exactly, are you putting up a front, Ida?" I ask.

    "Um¡­ yes?" she grimaces.

    "So you''re constantly, all the time, calculating out how best to present yourself and manipulate people instead of just acting naturally?"

    "No, it''s more that constantly calculating how best to present myself is what''s natural to me," she sighs. "If you take that away, there isn''t anybody underneath. ¡­Well, other than a super skilled super smart hottie with an even more rockin'' bod then she had a few hours ago. But that''s like, not a personality, you know?"

    "Okay," I nod. "The thing is though, I''ve never gotten the impression that you don''t have a specific personality. Because, well¡­ why wouldn''t the natural way you present yourself count as a personality?"

    "I don''t know. Because that would be terrifying?" Ida says. "Ugh, look, let''s not extend the conversation that far. What matters is how you feel about the whole¡­ us. Thing."

    I frown. No, I was definitely much happier talking about Ida''s feelings. But¡­ fair enough.

    "It hurts," I admit. "This¡­ none of this is what I had in mind. But I guess that includes the, uh, biting and the stabbing and the permanent transformation, and I, um. Like. Those. Even though I definitely probably shouldn''t."

    "I guess in the same way that you could have figured out I didn''t want a normal dating relationship, I could have figured out that you did want that," Ida sighs. "If I''m being real, I probably did know, and just¡­ figured if I did things my way well enough, any inconvenient differences in preference you had would end up getting washed away in the tide. That''s how I normally do things, after all."

    "Yeah," I agree. "I guess so. Like I know you do that to people, I''ve seen it. It''s just hard to think of you as a bad person when you''re constantly going out of your way to be so kind to me. I''ll happily afford you a mistake or two. Like, okay, the not-a-relationship thing was an unpleasant shock, but the rest? You, uh, definitely had my enthusiastic consent for today."

    "Oh, sweet," Ida sighs. "Well if there''s one goal I''m really glad I hit today, it''s continuing to not be a rapist. Seriously though, I''m glad you had fun. I definitely had fun. Like damn, I didn''t even expect to be that into getting various body parts torn off but holy shit that was like, the hottest fucking thing I''ve ever done."

    "The phrase is ''safe, sane, consensual,'' right? One out of three ain''t bad," I joke.

    "Well to be fair, we have very different standards for ''safe'' than the average person," Ida says, hopping off the bed and stretching and aaaah. "We''re immune to disease, capable of regrowing limbs, and functionally impossible to kill outside of damage to the brain. You kept things away from my skull so that pretty much counts as safe."

    "Was it sane, though?" I press.

    "...Two out of three ain''t bad," Ida smirks. "Now if you''ll excuse me, I really need to go pee."

    Hmm. Y''know, I could probably stab her in the bladder and use Refresh to¡ªokay, woah, that''s enough horny brain, I''m making horny brain illegal now. What the fuck, me? I take a deep breath and try to calm myself as Ida collects her discarded clothes and heads to the bathroom. I should probably also get clothes on. That¡­ will help, I think.

    Sex is pretty cool, though.

    I get dressed and fail to spend the entire time thinking about anything other than what Ida and I just did together, though I do manage to return my head from the clouds when she returns. Though I''ll certainly miss the sight of her naked, she''s still stunning wearing her old outfit, her shirt undersized, her chest braless, and shorts hanging low to let her tail out. Her wings are folded down against her back, though, and I definitely want to cut some holes in her shirt for her. First, though¡­

    "Are you interested in heading to Manumit, by the way?" I ask her. "That birthday present is also still on the table."

    "Oh shit, right!" Ida brightens up, her tail flicking with excitement. How is she already so natural with it? "Extradimensional spa day, you said? Sure, I''m down. Think the robots could make me a comfy bra?"

    "Um¡­ actually, they definitely could," I realize. "Yeah, that could be a quick and easy way to update your wardrobe for your new, uh¡­ everything."

    I gesture vaguely at her with a blade, and she preens.

    "Sounds awesome. I''ll totally take some techno space fabric for the girls. When do we leave?"

    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

    "Uh, pretty much whenever you want, I guess," I admit. "Though we definitely need to talk about Crafted-interaction ground rules¡­"

    I give Ida a quick summary of dos and don''ts of the Crafted, leaving out a lot of the why because I don''t want to depress her and potentially cause negative feedback with her interactions. I mostly just tell her that the Crafted want to make her happy and encourage her to ask for whatever she wants, whenever she wants, and be openly complimentary whenever she''s pleased. Ida excitedly assures me that she can handle that, and I awkwardly cuddle into her bed again so I have somewhere to sleep while I pull her into another universe.

    She lies down next to me, close enough that I can feel her breath again. But of course, I''m always aware of every little detail. I can see her heart beat, watch her blood pumping through her body. I can watch the muscles of her tail twitch, slowly shifting between cycles of quick, instinctive movement and slow, purposeful sweeps as Ida consciously tries to get a better handle on it. Her wings are the same, occasionally buzzing with a hyper-rapid slapping sound, constrained against her body by her shirt. And as we get comfortable together, she nuzzles me with that incredible crown of six glorious horns, which we had enjoyed discovering were very sensitive, and very good handholds.

    I definitely would not be able to sleep like this if my spell didn''t literally knock me unconscious when I cast it, but thankfully (or perhaps thanklessly) it does.

    I wake up to Kagiso squawking in surprise and Helen jumping into a combat stance as Ida presumably appears out of nowhere. I don''t actually know what it looks like when she appears, since I''m always asleep until after the things I transfer finish their journey, but I guess it''s pretty abrupt.

    "Who the fuck are you!?" Helen demands, Chaos magic crackling in her palms.

    "Woah, woah, this is Ida!" I yelp, jumping to my feet. "Remember? I know she looks a little different now, but¡­"

    "Fucking hell¡­ a little different?" Helen breathes. "You could have warned us!"

    "No, I couldn''t have," I sulk. "This is brand new. Unplanned. Sorry."

    "Oh," Helen says, worry and contrition blanketing her face for a moment. "Oh, shit, I''m sorry. Did something happen on Earth?"

    I''m confused for a moment, until I realize what caused Helen to have a sudden, unplanned monster transformation and the near-tragedy she''s probably assuming happened.

    "N-nothing that bad!" I reassure her, glad my current body can''t blush. "Things are okay, promise."

    "What''s up, fuckers!" Ida grins, spreading her arms. "I have no idea what any of you are saying!"

    "O-oh, uh, Helen is worried that you got transformed under similarly traumatic circumstances, is all," I translate for her.

    "Ha! Tell her we had sex, Hannah."

    "No!"

    "I do hope it was enjoyable," Elpida says in English, stepping into the room with a wry smile. I flail all of my limbs, sputtering incoherently. I¡­ I knew she''d be here, she said they''d be monitoring the room for when Ida shows up, but still¡­!

    "It was awesome," Ida confirms, hands on her hips. "Are you Elpida?"

    "I am," the Crafted nods. "Am I correct to assume you are Ida?"

    "You are!" Ida agrees happily, holding out her hand to shake. "Great to meet ya!"

    Elpida''s ever-present smile softens a little, and she accepts the handshake. Come to think of it, I''m not sure I''ve ever actually seen people do a handshake treeside, so I''m not sure all the cultural implications are carrying over, but Ida''s absolutely being purposeful with using a respectful way to introduce herself to an equal. I was never really that worried Ida would hurt the Crafted, but I''m glad to be immediately vindicated about it.

    "I am pleased to make your acquaintance as well," Elpida nods. "It is my understanding that the culture you and Hannah hail from has an abnormally high technological and scientific advancement level, including knowledge of bacteria. Is this still a standard greeting for your people?"

    "Ha!" Ida grins. "Yep, it sure is. But you know us humans, tradition often triumphs over sense. In my case, at least, I''m pretty sure my Order magic makes me a non-vector."

    "Relieving to know!" Elpida smiles. "I hope you will not be offended if our own medical specialists double-check your microbiome to ensure there are no invasive pathogens regardless."

    "Oh, not at all!" Ida nods. "In fact, if you guys wanna do anything a bit more detailed, I did just grow a bunch of completely new body parts and it would be a huge help to get some experts to assess any weird health needs, give advice, that kind of stuff."

    Elpida''s smile grows wider.

    "We would be overjoyed to assist you," she bows lightly. "Follow me, please."

    "Mind if I come with?" I ask.

    "I sure don''t!" Ida confirms. "Honestly, I''d love to hang out with everyone, especially if I could have some help like, actually talking with the others?"

    "Of course! Allow me to introduce you to your designated translator, Keti."

    We step out of the room at the literal moment Elpida''s sentence ends, and another feminine Crafted is already waiting for us, petite in frame and nearly a full two inches under Ida''s already short height. Her body is designed to be abnormally humanoid, even by Crafted standards, with much subtler joints and a beautifully sculpted frame, actual clothing on her body instead of the usual metallic faux-clothing built into their bodies that most Crafted have, if they even appear clothed at all. With my spatial sense, I''ve already seen her waiting outside the room when I woke up, alongside a selection of eleven other Crafted of various designs, genders, and styles. Seconds after Ida mentioned that she and I had sex, all of them left except Keti.

    ¡­I suppose that particular tidbit helped them make their decision on the optimal companion.

    "It''s wonderful to meet you, Mistress Ida," Keti says, doing something resembling a curtsy with her short skirt. Ida grins like she just won the lottery, but I cut her off mid-inhale before she can say anything.

    "Please do not call her ''Mistress Ida,''" I insist. "It''ll go right to her head."

    "Aww, you''re no fun," Ida pouts.

    "We recently proved I am lots of fun," I counter. "Anyway Elpida, how come we''re going to meet your pathogen people instead of the reverse? Shouldn''t you do that kind of thing in the room?"

    "We did," Elpida answers. "When I said I hoped you would not be offended, it was because we had already completed our scan. You and your friends are safe."

    "Oh."

    While we talk, Keti quietly repeats everything we say in Middlebranch for Helen and Kagiso, on barely a few seconds of delay. It''s impressive, but I guess that''s the Crafted for you.

    "So, uh, does this translation thing go both ways?" Helen asks, and Keti simply answers her by translating that to English word-for-word, her eyes literally sparkling with mirth. "Okay, I guess that''s a yes. Hey again, Ida. Thanks again for the help a week ago."

    "Yes, hello!" Kagiso agrees. "You bring gun?"

    Ida laughs.

    "No problem, Helen. Thank you for keeping Hannah alive where I couldn''t. And no, Kagiso, I did not bring a gun."

    "But I want gun."

    "So I''ve been told!"

    "How''s having a tail been treating you?" Helen asks. "I still can''t get over how weird this all is."

    "I dunno, I kinda like mine," Ida says. "It tells the world I''m a slut!"

    Helen has a coughing fit and doesn''t otherwise answer. I, again, remain privately thankful that I cannot blush. The Goddess magnanimously accepts my appreciation, but reminds me that the state of affairs is temporary. I still have a lot of growth to do in this world.

    "Hannah has asked us to prepare a number of activities that she believed you would appreciate," Elpida comments as I shudder silently, "but, naturally, we''d like to ask you about your plans and desires for the day, Ida. We will have anything you want prepared for you."

    "Sounds great!" Ida grins. "Let''s start with that health checkup and go from there, if that''s okay."

    "Absolutely," Elpida nods, and we start yet another day of nonstop pampering.

    Something about the days I spend getting happily indulged by Crafted makes them difficult to remember. Not in the sense that I think there''s any actual memory problems going on; I can remember the things I''ve done, the fun I''ve had, and the relaxation I''ve finally been able to let myself have. But that''s the thing: relaxation is fundamentally not an intensive activity, and my brain is so used to things constantly being intense I think it struggles to find any reason to put the calmness into my long-term memory.

    I''m tempted, very tempted, to stay in Manumit forever. To just¡­ let myself be happy. But it feels wrong. My body itches to leave. My anxiety demands that I not exploit these kind and damaged people. My sense of duty reminds me that the world is literally on fire, and if I don''t figure out why I might end up causing something just like it. But for now, for at least a little bit? I need this. So I stay.

    I wake up on Ida''s bed the next day, Ida herself already unconscious beside me. From her perspective, she just stayed awake for close to twenty-four hours, so she ended up passing out back in Manumit before I brought her home. It''s¡­ weirdly surprising to me that she has this problem. I guess I''ve gotten so used to a constant stream of consciousness that I forgot that other people still need sleep even if you bring them to another universe.

    It''s not a big deal though, I guess. It''s Sunday now, so it''s not like Ida will have much she needs to do today. I carefully extract myself from her bed and tuck her in, checking the time. Hmm, six-thirty in the morning. I should make sure I''m home in time for church.

    I send Ida a quick text about leaving because she seemed like she needed sleep and head downstairs. To my surprise and chagrin, I note that her father is in the kitchen sipping a cup of coffee, and I will not be able to make it to the front door of the house without passing him. Geez, I hope he wasn''t home last night. Their house is legitimately so big that I might have missed him.

    I''m tempted to just walk through the walls to get out of here, but that would leave me naked with all my clothes on the floor of his hallway so it''s probably less embarrassing to just head out there and face the music. I walk into the kitchen, my feet clacking on the hardwood. Ida''s dad looks up from his coffee, and I give him an awkward wave.

    "Uh, hey Mr. Kelly," I greet him.

    He blinks in surprise. Mr. Kelly is a somewhat rotund man, almost dwarfish with his short stature and well-groomed beard. He''s got that stocky build that looks chubby at first glance but in reality is a modest layer of fat over an impressive layer of muscle. He does¡­ some important work or another for the local Republican party, and I''m pretty sure he''s ran for senator or congressman or something like that. Maybe he was one? Did Ida live in DC before I met her? Bleh, never paying any attention to people really comes back to bite me sometimes.

    "You''re¡­ Hannah, right?" Mr. Kelly asks. "Did Ida invite you over?"

    "Yes sir," I nod. "She''s asleep, but I need to go home to get ready for church."

    He brightens up a bit when I mention church, as I sort of expected he would.

    "Ah, okay! None of that ''sir'' stuff, Mr. Kelly is fine," he says. "Goodness, I, ah¡­ don''t think I''ve seen you here since middle school. You certainly looked different then!"

    "Uh¡­ yeah, haha," I laugh awkwardly, scratching at the side of my face. "I''ve had an intense couple of months."

    "I imagine," he says, taking a sip of coffee. "You''re a bit of a hot-button issue at the office."

    Hmm. I have to admit, he''s a good actor. I suppose it makes sense that he has a lot of experience seeming calm and in control. But I can still see his heart rate spike every time his eyes flick to my blades. I can see his muscles tense, his posture instinctively shifting to anticipate the consequences of being this close to a predator. It makes me hungry.

    "The world is changing," I say. "It''s not fun being at the center of that. If there''s anything I can do to help, Mr. Kelly, I''d be happy to ease some worries where I can."

    "I appreciate that," he nods. "Unfortunately, the boys upstairs have been making it very clear that you''re more of a¡­ federal issue. Which I personally think is absurd, but they have a lot of weight to throw around when they want to, and¡­ well, they''re throwing it."

    "That''s good to know," I hum, enjoying his flinch as I rub my hip-limbs together a little. "I hope the government can put together good regulations and responses for magic, but I have to admit I''m kind of expecting them to struggle with it."

    "Yes¡­" Mr. Kelly grimaces. "Though I can''t exactly say so for the cameras, that is unfortunately the nature of governance. Because that is the nature of humanity, wouldn''t you say? To struggle. To fail. To be imperfect. And so naturally we say we must pick ourselves up and try again, to always do better the next time, but as the government? Every last failure, no matter how small, has consequences for millions of people. We cannot afford failure, yet it happens regardless. The times ahead¡­ will be rough, I think."

    I can''t help but be surprised by his forthrightness, but I give him a nod. I''m not really sure what else to do. He''s right; it''s going to be rough.

    "Why did Ida invite you over, if I may ask?" Mr. Kelly inquires. "Her birthday party was two days ago, wasn''t it?"

    "She, uh, wanted to do something more private with me," I admit, scratching the back of my head. "Because we''re, um, really good friends. And she''s also a mage."

    His eyes go wide. On one hand, I feel bad about telling him before Ida does. On the other hand, Ida is a purple demon fairy now so she''s not exactly going to be hiding it. ¡­That and I''d rather him assume that I''m here because Ida is a purple mage, not that Ida is a purple mage because I''m here. Though I guess that, technically, both are true.

    "...My daughter can cast spells?" Mr. Kelly asks, stunned.

    "Oh, yeah," I nod. "She''s, uh, got a knack for it, if I''m being honest. Nothing dangerous, thankfully. Her magic mostly focuses around protecting and improving herself. We''re pretty sure she''s immune to diseases now? Like just, all of them, from cold to cancer."

    Mr. Kelly looks so flabbergasted that, were he not already sitting down, he would have definitely collapsed into the nearest chair.

    "That''s¡­ good?" he hedges, breaking out with sweat.

    "It is good!" I agree. "But, if you''ll excuse me, I also need to go chat with a child delinquent that can set things on fire with his mind, and his mother who I frankly expect to be even more of a public nuisance. So. Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Kelly. Again, let me know if there''s anything I can do to help you shape the magical policy we will be needing¡­ very soon. Have a good day!"

    I step past him and leave his house before he can respond, settling into a comfortable jog home. The rest of my family should be waking up right about now, but maybe if I''m lucky I can make it back before they notice I''m¡ªoh nope my mom''s in the dining room pacing around in an obvious panic. Very cool.

    "Um, have you guys had breakfast yet?" I ask as I open the door.

    "Hannah!" my mother demands, rushing to the front door as soon as I get inside. "Where have you been?"

    "I was at Ida''s house," I answer. "I told you that I was going there, right?"

    "You didn''t say you were going overnight!"

    "...One thing led to another," I frown. "Sorry for worrying you. I''m going to go get changed."

    "Changed?" she asks.

    "...For church?"

    My mother seems surprised.

    "You''re going?"

    I blink. It honestly hadn''t occurred to me that not going was an option. I certainly don''t want to go, and I did storm out of there last week in a big fit of rage that will¡­ probably not make returning super fun. But I need to talk to J-Mug and J-Mom, and I assume they''ll be there considering our church is funding their mortgage payments.

    "Yeah," I tell her. "Maybe not the whole time, but there''s something I need to do."

    "...Apologize, I hope?" she prompts.

    I scowl. Same old mom.

    "We''ll see," I tell her, and head upstairs to put my church clothes on. ¡­Minus the shoes and socks. Fuck those shoes. Honestly, it feels a bit strange wearing one of my long-skirt-and-blouse combos with all my limbs out and my claws uncovered, but¡­ it''s nice. I don''t hate this outfit. The mix of modest and cute with dangerous and inhuman is kind of a vibe. And thankfully, my mom either doesn''t notice or doesn''t decide to comment on my barefootedness. My brother definitely looks a little concerned getting smooshed in so close to my extra limbs in the car, though.

    Everybody stares at me when I enter the church because of course they do, but I ignore them and head towards the J-family, who thankfully are present. They both look surprised to see me and, to my pleasant surprise, somewhat embarrassed to see me as well. Dang, if J-Mom actually regrets her actions she might not cause an apocalypse after all!

    "You two," I snap at them. "Come with me."

    "Um, h-hey Hannah," J-Mug stammers, waving at me. I ignore him and just motion to follow, stomping off towards one of the side exits so I can talk to them in private. Hesitantly, they follow. Good.

    "I¡­ wanted to apologize, Hannah," J-Mom begins. "Last time we spoke I got caught up in the moment, and¡ª"

    "J-Mug, have either of you broken any of the rules I laid out for you?" I cut her off.

    "Wh¡­ you mean me?" he asks. "No, I-I don''t think so."

    "Okay, good. Things might be salvageable, then."

    "Do you not know my name¡­?"

    "Both of you, explain to me what your spells do and the types of things you''ve figured out about your magic," I demand, ignoring him.

    "Um, well, I can make fire, but not a lot of it," J-Mug says, scratching the back of his head. "I can also¡­ set an area to be a specific temperature of my choosing?"

    "It really saves on the air conditioning bill!" J-mom says happily.

    "Cool. Yes. I''m sure it does," I sigh. "And you?"

    "I''m not really sure!" she admits. "I can feel something, though. I think¡­ it gives me more energy?"

    Yes, because that''s clearly what this woman needed. Honestly, she still looks like she should still be in a hospital bed. She''s worryingly thin.

    "Could you go into more detail?" I ask.

    "Well, you know, I¡­ sometimes I still get tired, but when there''s something I feel like I have to do, the exhaustion goes away and I can just kind of rip-roar at full speed again! I''m mostly just getting chores done around the house because Jared isn''t letting me work yet¡ª"

    "Mom, the doctor said you can''t work yet," J-Mug (Jared, I guess) insists. "You need to rest."

    "No I don''t!" J-Mom says happily. "Because I am blessed with magic! Besides, I''m still your mother. I have to be the one to take care of you, not the other way around."

    I frown. Is her magic really that simple? More energy? I mean, this is the Goddess we''re talking about. What sort of spells would She give this woman? J-mom is a single mother who nearly worked herself to death while sick to support her son. She''s not a bad person, even if she might be a little dumb. If anything, she''s self-sacrificing, which¡­ oh. Dog biscuits.

    "Your Motion magic does not give you more energy," I tell her, frowning. Somehow I just know this. It feels right. It''s what She would have done. "It only allows you to keep working despite not having energy. Your magic is about moving past your own limits, but those limits don''t actually change. If you keep using your magic as a crutch every time you''re tired, you''ll eventually kill yourself. You need to go home and rest."

    I turn to J-Mug next.

    "Your magic is about¡­ care, I think. Protection. Keeping people warm and safe. Something along those lines. It might even have mild healing properties. Experiment with what you can do, but again, don''t rely on it. Magic isn''t just a gift. Like anything good, you can overuse it. And again, the rules?"

    "Don''t talk while casting, don''t show anyone magic," J-mug says.

    "Good," I say. "I mean, you can tell people you have magic now, if you want to. The cat''s out of the bag. I recommend not doing so, however; the government has been harassing me about it. No speaking while casting is a huge rule, though. That''s for the safety of you and everyone around you. Don''t ever do it."

    They nod, J-Mom actually looking genuinely contrite. Holy moly, they might actually be listening this time. They might not be causing the apocalypse! This is¡­ a big relief. More time, more time. Just gotta keep buying more time.

    I hear someone clear their throat behind me, and I turn to look at my pastor, who gives me a soft smile.

    "Hello, Hannah," he greets me. "Apologies, I''ve been hoping to speak to you. I didn''t mean to walk in on another conversation."

    "...It''s fine, I guess," I tell him. "We weren''t really talking about anything secret. What did you want to talk about?"

    He seems¡­ strangely awkward, which I suppose makes sense. I did kind of cause a huge scene in his church last week, and I''d feel pretty awkward having to ask somebody about that and get the standard reassurances that they aren''t going to flip off the handle again. That''s never any fun for anybody, so I steel myself for the conversation.

    "I''ve been doing a lot of meditating and studying of scripture," he tells me, "on the nature of witchcraft and demonic powers."

    "I''m sure you have," I say flatly.

    "The Bible speaks a lot of these things," he explains. "Though Satan only has access to the power God allows him, his power is considerable. Demonic power is used many times in the Bible to replicate the power of God."

    "Yeah," I nod. "I''ve always hated that, you know? No matter how I slice it, I can''t look at what God does in say, the book of Job, and see it as anything other than evil. Enabling an abuser is de facto abuse, right?"

    "God''s plans extend beyond what we can see," he says sadly, which has never and will never be a satisfying answer to me. "And He bans spellcasting. This is a very explicit command, repeated multiple times."

    "Yeah," I sigh. "I know."

    "And yet," my pastor continues, "the difference between demonic power and divine intervention is often difficult to spot. So tell me, Hannah. To what do you attribute the source of this power?"

    I frown.

    "It¡­ well, it''s divine," I admit. "But it isn''t the god spoken of in the Bible. She''s the Goddess, and¡­ well, honestly, I don''t even know why She has a gender, I''m too scared to ask, but She''s not a man. She''s not Jesus or Satan."

    "If the Bible is to be believed, there is no such power bar Jesus and Satan."

    ''If the Bible is to be believed?'' Somehow, I expect that you believe it, Mr. Professional Pastor.

    "I don''t know what to tell you, then," I shrug.

    "My colleagues attempted to perform an exorcism on you," he continues. "They failed. I know many that have asked God for miracles to contest yours, and all of them have failed as well. It seems to me that if there is any power beyond this world, you are the one who controls it. Not us."

    "Um," I hesitate, suddenly not understanding what''s happening anymore. "What are you saying?"

    "I want to speak with you about your Goddess, Hannah," he says. "And I think I may wish for you to give a sermon, if you''re willing."

    "What?"

    "Mankind normally has nothing but the Bible and the Holy Spirit to guide us¡­ but this changes when a prophet is born. I do not know if that is what you are, but I know I would be a fool to not consider the possibility. Would you speak with me, Hannah?"

    Oh no. Why didn''t I think of this? I''m going to have cults. But at the same time¡­ can I afford to not teach people about the Goddess?

    "I¡­ okay," I nod. "Let''s talk."

    He smiles, and leads me to his office again. And we talk.

 66. Saving the World

    It is terrifying and difficult trying to figure out what exactly I should tell my church about the Goddess.

    Because on the one hand, they deserve to be warned, don''t they? The Goddess is an evil horror that is going to hurt them and they should be ready. The problem is just that I do not have the slightest iota of trust that they will get ready if I tell them to. Rather, I think the number one response to telling a bunch of Christians that the source of magic is evil is ''no duh, it says spells are evil in The Bible, so let''s try to get people with magic to stop casting it!'' And that¡­ would be bad.

    The Goddess gives us spells we like, spells that resonate with us. Telling someone to suppress that is exactly the sort of cruelty that made me reject the faith in the first place. But more practically, the Goddess gives us spells that She wants us to use, and a movement of people refusing to cast magic runs a very serious risk of Her getting irritated¡­ or worse, bored.

    Boredom is when the sand buckets start to dump, after all.

    But what exactly is the alternative? To deny that the Goddess is evil? To convert people to Her worship? To actually, purposefully start this cult that I''m worried my pastor might want to be a part of? That''s already frightening to me. Why does my pastor seem so willing to reject his literal lifelong belief? I suppose it''s more that he doesn''t; he thinks I''m a prophet, a source of teaching that can enhance and clarify the Bible. Which is blasphemy of the highest order to your average Christian, but average doesn''t mean everybody and these kinds of schisms happen all the time. Just look at Mormonism.

    An earnest, genuine Goddess cult could potentially be worse than magic bigotry, if only because anyone legitimately interested in maximizing entertainment for Her would be absolutely terrifying. So ultimately, I tell my pastor the truth. I tell him that I don''t know if the god of the Bible is real, but the Goddess undoubtedly is, and She is cruel, and She is evil, and though I am Her prophet I will be the first to say that She is not deserving of worship. She is, however, deserving of fear.

    My pastor asks me to speak at the pulpit anyway. I agree.

    It''s rather awkward walking into the service room and sitting down next to my family like I''m still a perfectly normal church girl. I get a lot of stares; some judgemental, some worried, some confused, but all from people I''ve seen once a week for nearly my entire life. And yet, I don''t know their names. I hardly know anything about them. I have never, in all this time together, felt like I belonged here.

    Maybe that says more about me than it does about them. But I don''t care. I''m happy to finally be able to admit it.

    After a fairly normal start to the sermon, my pastor finally invites me up to speak. Anxiety gripping me, I walk up the aisle to the front, keeping my back straight and my limbs in view. I am not human. But I''m not better than humans, and these people deserve knowledge and safety every bit as much as I do.

    "Hello," I greet everyone, leaning forward a bit on the pulpit to get a better feel for the microphone. "Thank you all, for being here and letting me speak. You all know me as Hannah Hiiragi, and¡­ that is my name. But I am more than that."

    I spread my many limbs and cast a wordless Refresh, sweeping all the dust I can reach around me in a controlled whirlwind of magic. Everyone in the room can feel the air shift.

    "All my life, I have existed in two worlds. I thought the other world was a dream, a strange mental condition I couldn''t escape. But it was all very real. Now, I understand that I am the herald of magic, and the prophet of the Goddess. But I imagine even hearing those words makes you wonder what I''m doing speaking of a golden calf in your place of worship."

    I smile, trying to convey that was a lighthearted joke. I think I show too many teeth, because nobody laughs.

    "So what does this mean for you?" I continue. "It''s true what I said last week. I don''t believe in your god. I don''t think I can. But even before I knew the Goddess, I had my doubts. I couldn''t help but look at humanity''s cruelty, the world''s callousness, and the unguided chaos of individual belief and think that if there was a god who loved the world as it was, they could in no way be good."

    I shudder, the Goddess''s light touch on my chin compelling me to look up. It would be so easy to invoke Her, to prove to them all that Her power is real in a way that they could not deny. That I was right and they were wrong. That I was vindicated in my hatred of their beliefs.

    "...The terrible reality of my Goddess," I tell them, "is that I was right."

    Surprise fills the room, and I hate that it''s so easy to see why they''re surprised. Their god is a glorious god, after all. For all his listed cruelties and hatreds, it is his love and kindness that is so universally praised in the walls of my church. I know not all denominations and pastors are like mine. There are some real fire and brimstone churches here in the Bible Belt, but for many people their interpretation of religion is incompatible with the idea of that kind of god. That kind of god, in the eyes of these people, is the exact sort of false demon that their god has crushed, time and time again. A threat, certainly, but no more of one than, say, social media corrupting the youth.

    "My Goddess," I tell them, "cares not for your suffering, nor your health. She is a voyeur, a schemer, and a purveyor of curses packaged as gifts. She desires only that you entertain Her, like puppets at a show. The divine soul She grants you will never reach heaven nor hell. So I challenge all of you. I challenge your god. Cast Her out. Free us from Her, if you can. Please."

    I lower my head as if in prayer. The Goddess laughs at my plan, howling with joy as She huddles close to me and caresses my hips. I wait. I let more than enough time pass for a miracle. And then, I snap my fingers and Refresh again. It, of course, works just fine.

    Then with a scowl, I activate a Spacial Rend and cut off my pinky as well. The congregation gasps, many people looking away, but I just hold the gaze of those that stare and channel my Transmutation magic to slowly regrow the lost digit. Even without ever speaking a spell, I''m powerful enough to do this much. To show, without a doubt, that my power is real.

    "So," I growl. "What does this mean? Is your god unwilling to help? Unable? Or does he simply not exist? I do not know, but what I know for a fact is that my Goddess is real, and She seeks to claim this world. If we are going to continue to survive within it, we must be ready for that. We must be ready to win the games She wants to play. We must beat Her, without boring Her. So if I may be so bold as to request a meditation, I want you all to imagine how we might do that. How would you fight the sun, if at any point it could simply choose to stop shining?"

    Murmurs spread through the crowd, giving me time to wait for them to quiet down. I really hope they think up good answers, because I''m still stumped. The Goddess wraps Herself around me and squeezes, Her fingers painfully tight around my neck as She indulges in Her mighty and glorious joy. Yes. Yes! I am doing so well. Get them all to play, and who cares who wins or loses? Her excitement is so great that I can''t help but let a smile tug at my lips, the sheer strength of Her exuberance completely overwhelming my pain and fear. My consciousness wavers as the embrace continues, and when She finally lets me go again, I can barely breathe.

    "All I ask," I gasp, barely managing not to double over into a coughing fit on the pulpit, "is that you have mercy on those touched by Her. Do not oppress us. Do not make demands of how we use our gifts, as double-edged as they may be. The Goddess'' attention is a sign of neither sin nor virtue. It''s just a sign of misfortune. Nothing more or less. Help us, and I will do all I can to help and protect you."

    I bow my head.

    "Thank you, and I''m sorry," I conclude, and step away from the pulpit, heading back down the aisle. Again, everyone stares at me, but it is the faces of my family that strike me hardest. I sit down next to them, folding my blades into the fourth dimension while I rest my hip-limbs on my lap, and do everything I can to ignore their obvious, horrified concern for my well-being. They don''t even know the smallest fraction of what I''ve been through, and yet they''re nearly moved to tears because they care about me. They love me. And I don''t know how to handle that, because I still don''t love them.

    "Hannah," my mother says quietly. "Is that a bruise on your neck?"

    I stiffen, reaching slowly up to feel at the ache around my throat, pressing it lightly and recognizing that familiar pain. It is a bruise. I suppose that makes sense.

    "...I guess She got a little excited," I croak, and the expression on my mother''s face becomes one I haven''t seen since I told her about my first therapist. Unfortunately, I don''t think she can solve this problem in court.

    The pastor follows up my speech with one speaking about helping others in times of great change, and it''s¡­ nice. It really is. I agree with pretty much everything he says today, espousing kindness and charity and working together. Yet this is the same man who told us all to vote against any politician trying to ''corrupt our sexual values,'' so it can''t help but feel surreal to me. How can someone who''s so damn nice not see how much he''s hurting people?

    I guess he thinks it''s okay to hurt people as long as it''s for the right reasons. That''s certainly a choice that I''ve made, too.

    I hate it. But I wait and I listen all the same, because it''ll up the chances that the people here listen to me. I still can''t stomach doing anything but retreating to the bathroom the moment the sermon ends, though, despite how many people I know have questions for me. I collapse onto the safety of the toilet stall and pull out my gloves and phone, desperate for the little rectangle to provide me some comfort against all this thinking I''ve been having to do.

    A text from Valerie is the first thing to catch my eye. Heck yeah! That always cheers me up. Maybe she''s had some progress on her transformation?

    Oh shit my parents came home, her text says. I read it again, and then again.

    Oh, no.

    They''re really angry about you? They keep asking me a bunch of questions.

    Oh no.

    Hannah they''re

    They know. they''re goign to take my phone.

    Oh no no no no no! When was this sent? An hour ago!? I rush out of the bathroom stall and push past my mom, who of course is the first of many people waiting for me. They call my name, but I barely even hear them, bursting out of the church building and sprinting down the street to Valerie''s house as fast as I can. There are a good chunk of pedestrians out today, so I stick to the bike lane as I rush across town, my claws shivering with pleasure every step they dig into the asphalt. The euphoria feels sick, though. How can I focus on anything good while Valerie needs me?

    Am I overreacting? I don''t know. Maybe. Hopefully. I turn down her street and only start to decelerate when I make it to her driveway, rushing up to the porch and hitting the doorbell. I can see inside the house well enough, and I spot Valerie curled up in the basement with my spatial sense, doing the sort of jittery hand stims she always does when she''s terrified. She''s hyperventilating, her heart is racing, and she flinches with every footstep of her parents stomping around upstairs, gathering things in the house and¡­ packing them?

    No fucking way. They want to take her away from here. They want to isolate her from everything good she''s ever scrabbled together for herself outside their net. That isn''t happening.

    I ring the doorbell again, causing Valerie''s father to groan and finally come to the door. Whatever he was going to say, however, dies in his throat the moment he sees me.

    "Hello, Mr. Fleming," I greet him the polite way I always do. And that''s the thing, isn''t it? As awful as Valerie''s parents are, one thing they''ve never done is complain about our friendship. Why would they? Their embarrassingly antisocial little boy is hanging out with the upper-middle-class white girl from a few blocks over. I''m the most normal thing in their child''s life, and they''ve always loved me for it.

    Well, look at us now. One glance, and he immediately tries to slam the door in my face. Fat chance. I step forward, hold my hand out, and the door stops with a thunk, the weight hardly feeling like anything.

    "I haven''t seen you in a while," I smile furiously. "How was your trip?"

    He scowls down at me through his square-frame glasses, anger on his face but fear in his sweat. Posturing and puffing himself up to scare off the real predator. It won''t help him. I know how small he really is.

    "...It was enjoyable," Valerie''s dad defaults. "We dealt with a lot of business obligations and then took a cruise around Europe."

    "Who''s at the door, Samuel?" Valerie''s mom asks from deeper into the house.

    "It''s¡­ Hannah," Valerie''s dad says evenly. "I was just about to tell her we''re too busy for guests, at the moment, so she''ll have to leave."

    It''s always weird when these people refer to me by my first name, but I guess it makes sense. Valerie and I have been friends since third freaking grade, so even though they''re hardly ever around I still know her parents pretty well.

    I have always hated them.

    "Apologies for interrupting," I lie. "I just got a few concerning texts from¡ª" Valerie? She said her parents know something but it might not be gender stuff. Brendan? Ugh, no. It would feel gross saying that name after I put so much effort to banish it from my mind. "¡ªmy friend. I''m pretty worried."

    "Our son is fine," Valerie''s dad spits. Fantastic. They do know, then. "Please leave my property."

    My claws twitch. This is how it always is, isn''t it? Goddess, I despise these fucks. Arrogant, entitled, hateful, and casually cruel, Valerie''s family makes their fortune by exploiting their countless owned properties and buildings across several states, squeezing fortunes out of others and investing it in whatever stocks and political campaigns allow them to continue doing so more effectively. They have absolutely no space in their heads for caring about other people, least of all their daughter who is constantly left home alone. And she''s better off for it.

    I like to think that, while I don''t tend to bother caring about most people, I''m pretty good at acknowledging that people are complex, multifaceted individuals with goals and motivations not all too dissimilar from my own. Everyone has more to them than it appears on the surface, and I''d argue that part of what makes me struggle to get close to people is feeling that I''d rather have no opinion on someone at all than settle for a shallow opinion formed by surface-level knowledge of them.

    Valerie''s parents, though? Fuck all that. My life has been blessed with countless complex individuals, and they are not among them. They are evil as hell, and if they dare to hurt Valerie any more than they already have I will make them regret it.

    "My friend is curled up downstairs crying," I tell them. "Please let me in."

    "He''s supposed to be packing," Mrs. Fleming scowls.

    "Brendan doesn''t want to see you, Hannah," Mr. Fleming lies, and I nearly impale him on the spot. "Now please vacate the premises, or I will contact the police."

    I shove the door open, forcing him to stagger back as I walk into the house. There will be no ultimatums here. I shut the door behind myself with a hip-limb, scowling at him.

    "You''ve told me before that I''m always welcome in your home, Mr. Fleming," I say. "I''d at least like an explanation."

    "Get that demon out of our house, Samuel!" Mrs. Fleming snaps, as if yelling at her husband is going to help him out at all.

    "...You''re not a good influence on our son, Hannah," Mr. Fleming says, pulling out a cell phone with a shaky hand. "I don''t know what''s happened to you, but¡ª"

    "That''s right," I hiss. "You don''t know. Nor do you care. You don''t care what happened to me and you don''t care that your daughter is downstairs having a panic attack over whatever the fuck it is you''ve done in the handful of hours you''ve actually been home. Do you seriously think it''s okay to do anything you want with her life without even asking her about it?"

    "We are Brendan''s parents," Mr. Fleming says.

    "So that''s a yes, then," I sneer.

    "Did you think we were just going to let some monster hurt and corrupt our child?" Mrs. Fleming asks as her husband quickly starts dialing the phone.

    "Did you think I was going to let a pair of monsters hurt and corrupt my friend?" I ask, and then I lash out with a blade limb to cut the thin little block of metal in half. The broken phone clatters to the floor. "You don''t get that power anymore. You never should have had it in the first place."

    I step past Mr. Fleming and stomp angrily down the stairs, barely forcing myself to slow when I see the noise cause Valerie to flinch. Come to think of it, isn''t it weird that Valerie seems caught off-guard by her parents showing up? That means they''re back early, right? Did they rush home because of me? Fuck.

    Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

    I make it downstairs only to see my best friend desperately trying to get to her feet and quickly make it look like she has been packing instead of having a panic attack. She rushes across the room, hyperventilating as she tries and fails to grab things with shaking arms and sharp claws. There''s blood on them, as she seems to have carved open a bunch of gashes in her own arms. Her constant nervous twitching makes it unclear if it was on purpose or not, but it terrifies me all the same. My fury and fear mix into an intoxicating haze in my mind, and soon I notice the light fur on her body growing and thickening as my need to make sure she is safe pours out of me as uncontrolled Transmutation. Which is bad, but I''m not really in a state where I can bring myself to care. I don''t think she even notices, as completely in the throes of panic as she is.

    "Val," I say, trying to get her attention. She doesn''t react, rushing over to her computer and jerkily pulling cables out to put them away. "Valerie! Hey, it''s me. It''s gonna be okay."

    I want to run forward and sweep her up into a hug, but I know that would be a horrible idea. My touch-aversion is mostly trauma. Her touch-aversion is hypersensitivity, and exacerbating it right now is about the worst thing I could do (in no small part because hugging is what her parents would do, if they were in a good mood). So I step forward, close enough to let her know I''m here for her but stopping far enough away to give her plenty of space, and I keep talking.

    "Hey. I''m here. You don''t have to do that."

    "Yes I do," she chokes, her body shaking. "Yes I do."

    "No, you don''t," I tell her. "You''re eighteen. They can''t force you to go with them."

    "They can force me out of the house!" she snaps. "I either move with them or I have to move somewhere else and live on my own except I can''t really do that because I don''t have any money or skills or anything I could use to afford a place to live!"

    "It won''t be an issue," I promise her. "You can stay with me while while¡ª"

    "Oh, like living with your mom would be so much more bearable," she snaps. "Besides, it''s not that easy. It''s never easy with them, they worm into everything. This is why I didn''t want anyone to know! Because¡­ because everyone''s calling me Valerie and everyone''s letting me be me and it only made it so much worse to put it all away and hide again. To have to not be that while they''re here. I couldn''t do it and they freaked out and now they''re going to take me to who knows where unless I do it to myself first."

    "Valerie¡ª"

    "Stop," she hisses. "Shut up, I just. I have to be fixed or they''re going to dump me on the street. If I don''t go with them I get nothing. Not my computer, not my phone, not my clothes, not Fartbuns¡­ nothing. I don''t have anything they didn''t give me and they''re making sure I know it. I can''t be anything close to myself with them, they''ll never let me. They''ll fight me every step of the way."

    Can parents do that? Ugh, it doesn''t really matter. I''m sure Val''s family would find a way, and the important thing is the panic attack. I need to remind her she has power over the situation.

    "Then we''ll fight harder," I hiss, kneeling down a little closer to her. "What do they have? Money? We have magic."

    "All of my spells require an incantation, Hannah," Valerie growls. "I can''t even use magic with them around, or they''ll get magic, too!"

    Fuck. That''s right.

    "Fine," I say. "But you can''t go with them. We''ll find you somewhere else to stay, I promise."

    "No," she shakes.

    "Why not?"

    "Because this is my house!" she shouts suddenly. "I live here. I grew up here. I''ve had nothing but this, empty and alone, since I was a little kid. They don''t live here, but they want to rip it all away from me just because they can!"

    I grind my teeth and her spine thrashes, the nubby tail at her back thickening and elongating.

    "They can''t," I insist. "Not if we don''t let them."

    "Legally, they can!" Valerie snaps.

    I take a deep breath and stand up, stepping around to her front. I kneel down again, and place my hand in front of her vision until she looks up at me, eye-to-eye.

    "Do we care?" I ask her.

    "Huh?" she asks, yet more fur growing in, all as blonde as a golden retriever.

    "Do we care," I repeat, "about what is and isn''t legal. You say the word, and I''ll make sure your parents never step foot in here again."

    I might chase them off. I might kill them. I don''t even know right now. I don''t think I''m acting rationally, but when I find my best friend shaking in a ball on the floor I tend to stop caring about trivial little things like that. Who the fuck do they think they are, coming here and deciding to take her life away?

    Her parents. Her parents. As if the ability to shove a penis into a vagina qualifies you to shape an entire person''s life like pottery. And the only crafting tool Valerie''s family knows how to use is a hammer! Of course I''d fight them for her. I''d fight everything for her.

    Still, the weight of the decision seems to be too much for her. Just thinking about it makes her break, tears redoubling in intensity.

    "I don''t know," Valerie sobs. "I don''t know. It would ruin everything, wouldn''t it? Like what kind of precedent does it set if we decide being a mage means we can just walk up and chase the owners of a property away and claim it for ourselves?"

    "Like you said, it''s your house," I press.

    "Not according to the government, and like, society at large?" Valerie laughs hopelessly, tears streaming down her face. "I own nothing. I''m no one. And I mean like, I guess it''s fine, it''s just stuff, I can always get more. And they''re right, they did pay for it all. I earned none of it. I should just walk out, right? That''s what I should do."

    Well. I guess that''s certainly the right thing to do from a certain perspective. But sitting here, watching her shake and sob while her parents contact the authorities with a second phone in order to get the muscle they need to force me to stop being able to help, I struggle to have any sympathy for the position.

    "I''ll do whatever you want me to do," I promise. "I think the cops are on the way, though."

    "Of course they are," she laughs bitterly, in that choking way people laugh when it might actually just be more tears. "Well if there''s one group of people we know will make things even worse, it''s the cops. I just don''t know what to do, Hannah. Most of the world hates me, you know? That''s just something you have to internalize when you come out as trans. All I want is to be able to look in the mirror without feeling like I''m going to cry, and millions or maybe billions of people hate me for it. And that''s not even counting how much worse magic is, I just¡­ maybe this all was a mistake. Maybe my whole life was a mistake."

    "Valerie, no," I insist.

    "You probably shouldn''t call me that," she mumbles, and a cold rage flushes through my body before I push it aside and force my focus to stay on her.

    "Valerie, I think people are going to be more confused if I stop calling you that," I say.

    She looks up at me with an expression like I''m stupid. But I just reach a hand forward towards her face, silently asking permission to make contact. She stares for a moment, then nods, and I brush my claws through the still-growing fur on her cheeks, now thick enough that her skin is no longer visible. The hair on her head grows just as fast, if not faster, so as she instinctively nuzzles against me I brush her new bangs away from her face with my thumb.

    And that''s when she notices. She freezes, pulling back and pawing at her own face¡ªnot literally, though it wouldn''t be hard to assume otherwise. She quickly shuffles over to a nearby mirror and is instantly stunned by what she sees.

    It hasn''t just been the fur and tail that have been changing. Valerie''s entire body has been shifting somewhat more subtly, with fat shifting around her face, her larynx shrinking, and her chest visibly beginning to swell. She stares at it all in wonder, a smile playing at her mouth as she reaches up to her small, newly-grown breasts as if to confirm that they''re actually there. The relieved, almost painful giggle that escapes her when she does almost breaks my heart.

    Then she seems to remember I''m actually here, and her hands drop back to her sides as embarrassment floods her.

    "...You''re leaking Transmutation magic," she accuses.

    "Yeah," I admit. "Sorry. I''m not anymore, but¡­ I got pretty mad."

    "You''d better not turn my parents into monsters."

    I laugh.

    "If my spell hit your parents, Valerie, they would become something far, far worse than a monster."

    Leeches. Scum. Parasites, immobile and incapable of anything other than taking and taking and sucking everything good in the world dry. It would be a mercy to kill them if Nature''s Madness took them as targets, and that fact makes it all the more tempting. But no. As much as I want to hurt them, I''m not quite that far gone. No killing, no torture, and certainly no fates worse than death. I just want them to leave Valerie alone.

    "This is¡­ nice," Valerie admits, still staring at her reflection. "But it doesn''t actually solve anything. I don''t have a home anymore. Where am I supposed to go? My parents won''t give up trying to screw me over, I''m too much of a stain on their reputation as-is."

    "Well," I frown, "if you don''t want to live with me and deal with my family, I could probably take you to Manumit. You could live on the tree with me for a while. No way your parents could get you there."

    "What, just¡­ join you on your otherworldly adventure?" Valerie laughs. "The one that keeps traumatizing you?"

    "I mean, I get that it isn''t an ideal option, but you''d hopefully get to relax a little while, and we could hang out together, and I''m pretty sure nobody in that world cares if you''re transgender because nobody even seems to care that I''m a tiny, multidimensional bug monster. The bigotry is against Chaos mages and robots instead."

    "Didn''t that robot that was hanging out with you want to exterminate all human life, or something?"

    "Well yeah," I admit, "but that''s no reason to be racist against it."

    "Hannah, that''s¡­ god. You know what? Fuck it," Valerie groans. "Let''s go."

    "Goddess," I correct. "And really? Are you sure?"

    "Yeah," she nods. "I''m the only one who hasn''t gotten to see this cool fantasy world of yours, and I have to admit I''d really like to. And it''s not like you can''t send me back, so why not? I can probably help you out a lot more on that side of things than I can over here anyway."

    "Well¡­ okay!" I grin. "Great! I''ll, uh¡­ hmm. I should definitely pop over and ask permission before I just pull you into Manumit."

    "That''s fine, as long as you''re fast," Valerie shrugs. "It looks like I need to pack like my parents wanted me to anyway."

    I chuckle.

    "I guess so. No computers, though. Nothing that can do math on its own."

    Her eyebrows raise, but she nods.

    "That sucks. It''ll be way harder to prepare my spells, but that''s fine. It makes sense. And I can use my good colored pencils for once!"

    "You can probably pack light in general. Manumit will be happy to supply whatever you don''t have."

    "Noted. I''ll wake you up in five minutes or so?"

    I nod. I guess I''ll need to find something to send over with my dimensional transport spell in order to knock myself out¡­ except, wait, do I need to do that? Can I not just target like, a thimble''s worth of air and use that to force myself unconscious? I try it, and the next thing I know I''m waking up in the morning on Manumit.

    Yeesh, I feel grody. A quick look at my body reveals that I''ve had another major molt, growing in size and further defining my fore and hindlimbs. I guess that makes sense; I did use my Transmutation magic to regenerate a pinky earlier today. Speaking of pinkies, I actually have proto-fingers on four of my limbs now, little chitinous grabby claws that I can probably manipulate objects with. Cool!

    It''s also not what''s important right now, though, so I quickly rip myself free of my molt and call for Elpida before I start to munch down, waking up Helen and Kagiso in the process. Elpida is in our room less than a minute later, smiling as always.

    "How can I help you, Hannah?" she asks.

    "I''ve got a question for you about bringing another human here," I say between bites of my own discarded flesh. "Another friend of mine, Valerie, is in a really nasty spot, and I''m hoping to let her live on this side of the pond for a while, so to speak."

    "I see," Elpida says. "I must admit, we were not expecting so many extra visitors when Sela brought you three here. There is some concern about security and preparation. Additionally, I fear that Ida''s visit, while wonderfully enriching while she was here, may have been a step back for our people overall. We were all so happy to have her here that her swift departure feels like a failure. ''Could we have done a good enough job that she wouldn''t have wanted to leave,'' and so on. These instability issues, to be clear, are not your fault; they are a consequence of our collective prolonged depression."

    "Oh, that doesn''t sound good," I hum. "You know that we were all planning to leave at some point soon, right?"

    "We are aware," Elpida nods. "In fact, I intended to speak with you about that today. To summarize in the interest of time: I think it would be good if you left sooner rather than later. Ideally without bringing in anyone else for us to get attached to."

    Toffee and beans, we screwed up somewhere, didn''t we?

    "...I understand," I say, bobbing my body in a nod. "I''m very sorry we ended up hurting rather than helping."

    Elpida''s smile grows a little softer.

    "On the contrary, Hannah," she assures me, "I consider this a very successful trial run. You have been respectful, considerate, and visibly helped by the services we provided you. While I think our people need a break from dealing with humans for a while, you have been an immeasurably welcome guest, and we would be happy to host you and your friends again at a later date. If more humans were like you, Hannah, our problems would be far fewer in number."

    That perks me right back up.

    "Oh!" I say. "Well, thank you, Elpida. If you can''t host my friend I understand, but in that case I''d prefer to leave immediately so I can get a safe place to bring them over. Is, um¡­ that okay? Helen, Kagiso?"

    "Who''s this friend?" Helen asks.

    "You haven''t met her," I say. "She''s an Art mage, like you! Her name is Valerie, and she needs somewhere to live after her parents disowned her."

    Helen scowls.

    "Well that fucking sucks," she says. "We don''t exactly have a place to live, but I guess if she wants to travel with us I''m happy if she''s even half as competent as that Ida girl. She was fucking badass."

    "Where we going?" Kagiso asks.

    "Well I wanna check up on all the things that are killing the tree to try and figure out what their deal is and if there''s anything we can do to help," I answer. "The Sapsea is¡­ definitely a problem beyond our ability to solve, but more importantly I don''t think the tree is actually going to run out of sap because of it. The hole is way smaller than it seems to be."

    "The hole is bigger than three branches put together!" Helen protests. "It''s nearly as thick as the trunk itself!

    "And that''s only a tiny fraction of the tree''s total hypervolume," I say. "Look, it might be a problem, but I promise that it''s definitely not the most pressing one. So I say we either go for the fire on the canopy or the roots. I expect the fire to be the biggest problem, because while it''s probably also only three-dimensional, the real problem isn''t the risk of the tree burning down, it''s the risk of the tree losing so many leaves that it starves. The fire may or may not be 4D, but light definitely isn''t, and the tree still needs to eat."

    "Wait, light? What are you talking about?" Helen asks.

    "Trees get energy from light hitting their leaves," I say. "And most leaves are in the canopy, which is on fire. Which is bad. I think that''s probably the most urgent problem we need to check out, but it''s also the longest journey by far. I don''t even know how we''d get up there."

    "That, I think we can help with," Elpida assures me. "You will not need to worry about transport."

    "Oh!" I say. "Well great, thank you. Is that still the case if Valerie joins us? Or¡­ actually, you said the problem was people getting attached to Ida right before she left, yeah? Wouldn''t that problem be negated if Val doesn''t like¡­ take advantage of any amenities? We could keep her presence mostly secret until it''s time to go, I just need to get her out of where she is right now. Help providing her with a few basic living items since she''s basically being chased out of her home would also be nice, but it''s not at all essential. We can work it out."

    Elpida takes a second to think, which generally means she''s having a long-range conversation about it with somebody.

    "Agreed," Elpida says. "I''ve discussed it, and these terms are acceptable. Valerie will be confined to this room except with specific escort and permission, and her presence here will not be public knowledge. Additionally, you will leave here today."

    "I''m fine with that if everyone else is¡­?" I ask, looking back at Helen and Kagiso. They nod.

    "Is fun here," Kagiso sighs, stretching her body. "No want to go. But would not want to stay alone."

    "Yeah, this has been¡­ nice. Way nicer than I ever thought it would be," Helen admits. "But it''s time to get back to getting shit done, and I like the sound of saving the world."

    "Crafted no have organs anyway," Kagiso giggles.

    "Delightful. At your leave, then, you may feel free to bring Valerie into this room, Hannah," Elpida says.

    "Will do," I nod. "Though just a heads-up, I''ll be unconscious for a bit while I do that. Not sure how long, but probably less than an hour? Uh, I mean, less than a count."

    "Understood," Elpida nods, and I teleport some air back earthside and wake up on Valerie''s couch.

    "You be a good boy, okay?" Valerie coos, scratching Fartbuns behind the ears as I groggily open my eyes. "Hannah will make sure they take care of you."

    "I will?" I yawn. Fartbuns looks weird. His four extra limbs are growing in and I''m pretty sure his teeth are getting bigger and sharper. But the goofy, shaggy dog seems as happy as ever, so I guess he''s probably fine.

    "You will," Valerie says firmly, adjusting her newly-stuffed backpack. "Anyway, you''ve got good timing. I''m ready to go."

    "How long was I out?" I ask.

    "Just five minutes," she shrugs. "I didn''t have to grab much. Just whatever paper art and art supplies I have, plus some clothes and stuff. I don''t own very much that''s relevant. I know you said no computers, but if you can rescue my phone at some point, that''d be a huge help on our trip. Most of my prepared spells are on that thing."

    "I''ll see what I can do," I agree with a stretch. "The Crafted have agreed to help us with our trip, so you shouldn''t need too much, but¡­ yeah."

    "Yeah," Valerie nods. "I want my damn phone back."

    "Yeah," I agree, slightly distracted as I see some people walk up to the front porch with my spatial sense. Oh good, the police are here.

    "Hmm. It would have probably been smart to bring you back to my house before I teleport you away, but it looks like that isn''t an option anymore."

    "Cops?" Valerie asks."Ugh. Shit timing for them, as always."

    "Yup," I agree. "Oh well, we''ll just do it right now."

    I hold my hand out, and Valerie blinks in surprise.

    "Are you sure?" she asks, but I just sleepily gesture at her to hurry it up. She walks over and reaches out her hand towards me. I take it.

    "Thanks, Hannah," Valerie says. "I mean it. Are you, uh, going to be okay if we leave you here unconscious and alone?"

    "No, but I''m still going to do it," I shrug. "I teleported basically nothing between universes, so hopefully the sleep-recharge won''t be too long. Hmm. I should leave a note, probably. Paper and pen?"

    She hands me her sketchpad, and write "I should wake up in an hour or two. I do not need to go to the hospital." Then I tear the note out and put it in my lap before returning the sketchpad.

    "A flawless plan," Valerie says dryly.

    "Eh, I''m sure Fartbuns will protect my body too. Won''t you, boy?"

    "Boof!" Fartbuns says, likely having no intention of doing so.

    "See? It''ll be fine," I yawn. "Gosh, teleporting things between universes really takes it out of me. I hope naming this spell will make it easier to use."

    Valerie''s parents start talking animatedly to the cops about all the horrible and evil things I did to them like make sure their child was safe, and the cops seem¡­ mostly annoyed, actually? But they still obligingly make their way inside to head downstairs to evict me.

    "Well, they''re coming," I announce. "Ready?"

    "As I''ll ever be," Valerie smiles. "Isekai me, truck-kun."

    "The fuck?" I ask, but I''m already casting my spell and pulling Valerie into my soul. She vanishes right before the cops make it downstairs, giving me time to grin sleepily at the two of them as my eyes flutter shut.

    "Hello, officers," I drawl. "You can''t arrest me because it''s naptime."

    Then I collapse like a ragdoll and fall asleep.

 67. I Want To Try

    I yawn and stretch my many limbs as I wake up treeside, doing that shuddery long-step stretch I''ve seen so many cats perform. It''s easy to see why; this feels awesome. Gosh, how long was I out, though? Everyone else seems surprised, Valerie especially, so I guess she doesn''t appear until right before I wake up. That makes sense, I suppose. ¡­Or at least it doesn''t not make sense, and that''s honestly the best I can ask for when it comes to interdimensional time interactions.

    "...Woah," Valerie blinks. "Gotta say, when I imagined a fantasy world, I wasn''t expecting a weird modern-minimalist hotel bedroom."

    "Don''t worry, you''ll get to rough it through a low-tech hellscape soon enough," I assure her.

    "Ack!" Valerie jumps back, seeing me for the first time. "H-Hannah?"

    I chuckle.

    "Yes, hello," I wave. "Sorry, I look a bit creepy over here, don''t I?"

    "No¡­ it''s fine," Valerie exhales slowly. "Sorry for freaking out."

    "Shit, even when I''m ready for it, having a person just suddenly appear like that always makes me think I''m under attack," Helen breathes. "This is Valerie, then?"

    "Yep!" I confirm, swapping between languages as best I can to introduce everyone. "Valerie, this is Helen. Helen, this is Valerie. And that''s Kagiso! Elpida might be by later and I''ll introduce her then. Where''d she go?"

    "How should I know?" Helen shrugs. "She left a whole count ago. You were out for a while."

    Ah, darn. Maybe the amount of mass I teleport doesn''t affect how long I need to rest afterwards?

    "Could you tell your friends I''m going to cast a spell?" Valerie asks, pulling out her sketchpad. "I prepared one for the purpose of meeting everybody."

    "Oh, uh, sure?" I say. "Helen, Kagiso, Valerie is about to cast something. Don''t freak out."

    They nod, and then Valerie tears a page out of her art book.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Vivian''s Universal Translator."

    The piece of paper suddenly burns up in a cold flame, vanishing from existence as the spell settles around Valerie.

    "Can everybody understand me now?" she asks.

    She sounds like she''s speaking perfectly normal English to me, same as she always does, but Kagiso and Helen perk up immediately.

    "Oh! Yeah!" Helen agrees. "Woah, that''s a pretty handy spell."

    "Wow! Valerie talk efficient!" Kagiso says excitedly. "Good job!"

    Oh my gosh is the spell making Kagiso hear Valerie as having a scipteran accent like her? That''s hilarious, actually. What does Kagiso sound like to Valerie?

    "Oh awesome, I can understand you all as well!" Valerie beams. "That''s great. I was hoping this spell would work. It''s going to be a bit annoying redrawing it every day, but what can you do."

    "Holy crap, Valerie, that''s awesome!" I say, scuttling up and raising a limb for a high-five. Or¡­ well, I don''t have five fingers yet, but it''s close enough. She obligingly reaches down and taps my proto-hand, the casual touch indicating she''s in a much better mood than she was before.

    "I''m not going to lie, the more I think about the fact that I don''t need to worry about speaking my spells out loud here, the more excited I get," she admits. "Like, I probably shouldn''t be stoked to not be on Earth anymore, but holy shit I''m super stoked all of a sudden?"

    I can hardly blame her. She just escaped her parents, her obligations, and her body. Instead of going to school tomorrow, she''ll be practicing magic and traveling a fantasy world. And no one here, not a single Goddess-damn person, would even think to call her Brendan.

    "Anyway yeah," Valerie continues. "Sorry that was probably super insensitive since you guys seem to regularly almost die here and like, I''ve never almost died before, and I''m not looking forward to almost dying anytime soon but I''m probably going to and that''s scary but hey, I''m here! Hi! It''s great to meet you two, I''ve heard a lot about you. I''m¡­ I''m Valerie!"

    "So I''ve heard!" Helen grins, seeming amused by the ramble. "It''s nice to meet you too! Hannah''s only talked a little about you, but she''s had nothing but great things to say."

    "Am Kagiso! Hannah never said you fuzzy."

    "It''s a recent development!" Valerie admits, holding her arms out to admire her own fur. "It feels strange and I''m honestly not sure if I like it, but I don''t hate it and that''s something. I normally really hate having hair on my body, but this is fur and that''s functionally different, right?"

    "Don''t know!" Kagiso answers. "Only have fur."

    "I''ve only ever had hair," Helen agrees, scratching at the feathers on her head. "...And now I guess I don''t have either."

    "They look exactly the same to me," I say. "Like, internally. I think there isn''t actually a difference outside the cultural."

    "Well that''s also how gender works so I guess that''s fine," Valerie says hesitantly, though she looks a bit more subdued. "Anyway, sorry, I''m babbling even though I just met you guys. I''m not normally like this. I''m just a bit overwhelmed and manic and I promise I''ll calm down soon."

    "It''s okay, Valerie," I assure her. "Be as manic or chatty or whatever as you need to. Just be yourself."

    "Gosh, isn''t that a loaded request," Valerie laughs. "Is talking like this being myself? If it is, is it what I want myself to be? I mean, ''who do I want to be'' has sort of become a terrifyingly relevant question lately. Anyway, my point is just that I''m usually a lot more composed, and I feel like that''s a lot less rude? I know you like to hear me ramble, Hannah, but most people don''t."

    "Well if it makes you feel any better, we''re not exactly the most socially adept group in general," Helen says, an amused smirk on her face. "Hannah just randomly blurts out what''s on her mind no matter how absurd or terrifying, Kagiso only wants to talk about people''s organs, and I''m so socially awkward I nearly tried to kill both of them to get out of an uncomfortable conversation."

    "Hey!" I protest. "I don''t blurt out like, most of the creepy and/or absurd things on my mind."

    "Why other people not want talk about organs?" Kagiso grumbles.

    "I rest my case," Helen says smugly.

    "Most people suffer a viscerally negative reaction when looking at organs, Kagiso," Valerie says. "It''s instinctive. They can''t stop being uncomfortable with them any more than you can stop liking them."

    "Am aware," Kagiso shrugs. "Is just annoying."

    "Well, I dunno if I have much to say about them, but I don''t find organs gross anymore," I say. "I''ve sort of had no choice but to get used to seeing them."

    "No need brag," Kagiso grumbles, wrinkling her nose.

    "That''s not what I meant!" I laugh.

    A knock on the door cuts off Kagiso''s response. Wait, is that¡­?

    "Sela!?" I call out in surprise. "Um, come in!"

    The door opens and it enters, the perpetually glaring expression etched into its mouthless face offering no apparent excitement at our reunion. Sela''s angular new chassis is just as impressive as the first and only other time I saw it, weaponless yet still exuding threat like us meatbags do with carbon dioxide. It is truly a beautiful and terrifying piece of machinery.

    "Diplomat five-three-one-four, extending greetings," it says, inclining its head slightly.

    "Sela!" Kagiso greets it happily, leaping to her feet and raising her arms in the air. "You talk organs with me, yes?"

    The robot quirks its head to the side.

    "Compromise: as long as I get to extract them from someone first."

    "Is deal!" Kagiso agrees immediately.

    "You know we''re leaving soon, right Sela?" I ask it. "Did you come to say goodbye?"

    "Negative," it says, stepping further into the room and tilting its head back to glare up at Valerie. "I have come here to judge."

    Valerie stiffens, seeming torn between a half-dozen different emotions. She''s obviously very interested in the talking robot, somewhat intimidated by its attitude, still excited to be somewhere that it could even exist, etc. But beyond all of that, given her recent experiences? I think she''s not at all comfortable with the idea of being judged. When Sela steps directly into her personal space and starts scrutinizing her, it seems to cross a line.

    "...I think you should back off," Valerie says quietly.

    "Or what, meat?" Sela challenges, stepping around her to stare at her from other angles.

    "Why does there have to be a consequence," Valerie asks, "for you to be kind?"

    "Because I know what being kind does to me," Sela answers, finishing its walk around Valerie. "I will admit, I find your recent trend of making humans less human to be entertaining, Hannah."

    "Thanks, I think," I say, hopping on the floor and scuttling up to it. "Could you please not bother Valerie, though? She''s had an extremely rough day."

    "Your soul, and the souls of the people you bring from Earth, are dramatically more powerful than the average for your species," Sela says, ignoring my request. "Is it simply a perk of being the Goddess'' chosen, and not indicative of your population at large? Or is it something inherent to your world?"

    "Oh, um, I''m not sure," I admit. "I think the Goddess chooses an individual''s general strength based on how interesting She finds them. It''s possible She''s deliberately stacking the deck for some specific purpose, but it''s equally possible She just likes my friends."

    "You speak with confidence," Sela says, and it isn''t a question. "You know Her well."

    I shrug awkwardly, anxiety suddenly blooming out of nowhere.

    "Well enough, I guess."

    "And this one," it continues, pointing to Valerie. "You vouch for her?"

    "Of course," I nod. "She''s my best friend."

    "Acknowledged," Sela says. "Well, as a fully-qualified diplomat of Manumit, it would be remiss of me to let you struggle all the way up the trunk of the tree by yourselves and die like the fools you are. I have, therefore, decided to escort you. There is no need to thank me."

    "...I wasn''t planning on it," Valerie grumbles.

    "Unexpectedly intelligent of you," Sela responds immediately.

    "I thought you said you probably shouldn''t see us again, Sela," I say hesitantly. I do want Sela to travel with us, even if it''s being a jerk to my best friend right now. But I don''t want to hurt it. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

    "Do not assume I am plagued with the indecisiveness of the fleshbound," Sela snaps. "Upon consideration, my options were clear: travel with you and risk the sundering of my values, or remain in this festering city of mewling masochists and risk the sundering of my sanity. My place is not here. And while I loathe to appreciate any aspect of what you are, I cannot deny that I owe my continued existence to you. I will ensure, in turn, that your existence likewise continues."

    It kneels down to me, holding out an arm in much the same way Helen does when she''s inviting me up for a ride. I take it, latching on as it carries me up to its head, my chitinous limbs scrabbling desperately for traction against its metal frame. I eventually manage to secure myself onto Sela''s shoulders, and it''s unexpectedly warm, with temperature-controlling systems embedded just underneath the outer metal plating. It feels good, not because I have any particular preference for temperature, but simply because I''m finally sharing this closeness with a friend that had been so distant.

    "Besides," Sela continues, "there are many people that wish to kill you, and utilizing lethal force in response to lethal force that threatens you is not a violation of protocol. It is by journeying with you that I will be able to maximize the number of humans I kill. Therefore, it is the most logical path to my goals."

    "Yeah, I guess that checks out," I sigh. "Please don''t kill anyone that isn''t actively threatening us, though?"

    "I anticipated this predictably disappointing compromise and have already deemed it acceptable," Sela rumbles. "But know this, Hannah: if anything threatens your life, anything at all, I will not hesitate to crush it into submission. There will be no force in this world or any other, not the First nor the Goddess, that will deny me my claim over your life. You will not die, until or unless I say so."

    It''s hard to know exactly what emotions drove Sela to make such a declaration, but the weight of them is obvious to everyone in the room. Even Valerie, who just met Sela and struggles to deal with strangers on a good day, picks up on the sheer intensity of Sela''s promise. Sela, an entity that has discarded its personhood in favor of genocide, a former slave in constant fear of relapsing into joyous servitude, has proclaimed what is essentially a lifelong devotion to me. Sure, it''s with the ''and I can choose when lifelong happens to end'' caveat, but still. Sela is toeing a dangerous line with its own greatest fear, here, and that is not something to be taken lightly.

    "If I ever hurt you badly enough to warrant it," I say, "I''d probably want you to kill me anyway."

    Sela lets out a burst of hot air from its joints, surprising but not hurting me.

    "Just do not forget," Sela answers gravely, "that you are not the one who determines if you get that wish."

    I bob back and forth on its head, giving Sela a nod. It nods back, slight and almost imperceptible so as to not disturb my perch, and then it turns to my friends.

    "Helen," Sela barks. "Do you object to me joining you?"

    "Yes," Helen answers bluntly.

    "Good," Sela buzzes with amusement. "Will you prevent it?"

    "No," Helen sighs. Sela''s internals click private laughter.

    "You," Sela says, turning to Valerie. "You are at least wise enough to dislike me, meat."

    "You''re presenting yourself as rather easy to dislike," Valerie scowls.

    "I know," Sela answers. "Interact with me minimally."

    "Gladly."

    Sela then turns to our resident dentron.

    "Kagiso. We have an understanding."

    "Yes," Kagiso grins, and that''s all they say to each other. Sela nods again and turns to the door.

    "Then we depart," it says. "Follow me and do not deviate from my pace."

    Well that''s easy enough for me, since I''m on Sela''s head anyway. It about-faces and heads for the door, my other friends following.

    "We will not interact with other Crafted on the way," Sela tells us. "I have already relayed your heartfelt and no doubt disgustingly tearful goodbyes to Elpida and every other Crafted that your pathetic, fleshy brains doubtlessly fail to remember the names of. They return their own farewells that I will not repeat to you because that would be annoying. Now, it is my understanding that we are heading for the canopy. It would assist me if you could elucidate as to why."

    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

    "Well, the tree is on fire up there, right?" I say. "I want to figure out what caused it, I want to see how dangerous it is to the tree''s survival, and I want to determine what is and what could be done about it."

    Sela''s internals click lightly.

    "...You do not know why the canopy is on fire?" it asks.

    "Um, no," I say. "Do you?"

    "Yes," Sela confirms. "Helen, Kagiso. Do you know why the tree is on fire?"

    "Nope," Helen says, while Kagiso shakes her head. We step out of the building we were staying in and start walking down an unsettlingly empty street. The Crafted really are good at coordinating this kind of thing.

    "Fascinating," Sela hums. "Well, I have decided your ignorance is better cleansed through experience than words. You will see the cause for yourself when we arrive."

    "But the fire has been burning for hundreds of years, hasn''t it?" Helen says with a frown. "Shouldn''t wherever it started already be consumed by flame?"

    "You will see the cause for yourself," Sela repeats, "when we arrive."

    That seems to end the conversation, though the lull in dialogue is welcome in some ways. I get to watch Valerie look up and spot the world tree over the Manumit skyline, her neck craning up and up and up to finally realize that the sky isn''t overcast because of something so pedestrian as clouds. Watching the beauty of my other world condense into awe on her face is a truly incredible experience, both in the way it distracts her from the awful day she''s had and in the way it brings her closer to me.

    My best friend is finally getting to see the half of me I could never express to her. That feels wonderful, in so many ways. Earth is so strange and stifling, full of constant obligations and dread. The Mother Tree is so much more free, though it has so much more danger to go with it. I''m honestly not sure which I like more, but I think Valerie''s perspective will help me a lot. It almost always does.

    I suppose it doesn''t really matter which world I like more; I''m stuck with both no matter what, and I don''t think the Goddess has any intention to force me to choose. Her new playground is interesting in large part because of its interactions with her old one. But while I don''t think my preference holds any greater purpose, I think it matters at least in regards to a question I haven''t had enough time to consider lately.

    Who am I? And who do I want to be?

    I''m quickly becoming an important figure on Earth with the potential to shape a frighteningly large number of lives. I don''t know how I want to handle that, yet. I''ve just been flying by the seat of my pants, making the best choices I can think of in the moment and inevitably regretting them in hindsight. In order to make choices I don''t look back on in shame, I think I have to know what I do and don''t consider shameful. And if there''s somebody I trust to help me with that, it''s Valerie.

    I know she''s struggling with a lot of the same questions. There''s a lot I thought I knew about myself that has turned out to be utter fiction, and Valerie, of all people, will definitely be able to empathize with that kind of revelation. I watch her fingers twitch adorably as she stares up at the tree, the artist in her bubbling with inspiration. Her tail twitches behind her as well, still stubby but remarkably thick, already nearly as wide as her hips. She''ll probably need new pants soon to avoid her tail knocking them clean off. It, too, is blonde and fuzzy, denying me any easy guesses as to what sort of creature she''s actually becoming.

    I''m doing my best to puzzle it out, but I''m coming up blank. Blonde fur, clawed hands, ears that seem to be sharpening into points¡­ sure, that could all be a cat or a dog or something. But despite the fur, her tail doesn''t really match any mammal I know, and though her hands have cute little nail claws, her feet, interestingly, don''t seem to be developing any such adaptations. There are also some strangely-shifting muscle groupings just below her arms that make me suspect she might also grow a second pair of them, eventually.

    So what''s the final form? What draws together all these disparate features? I have to admit, I''m kind of stumped. It seems unfair that I found it so easy to know what my mother would become, but I can''t do the same for Valerie. Oh, well. At least she doesn''t seem to mind not knowing.

    Eventually, we make it to Manumit''s outer wall and start walking through, the hidden weapons in the walls making it impossible for me to focus on much else. I know that no one here wants to hurt me, but it''s still tough to relax with all that danger pointed in my direction. I''m glad no one else is able to see them; Helen would probably be even more of a paranoid wreck than usual. Soon enough we''re out on the other side, though, the cracked stone wasteland of the Pillar''s surface laid out before us. Valerie takes this in with awe, too, as though the Pillar isn''t as traditionally beautiful as the Tree of Souls, it''s certainly no less impressive.

    "This is incredible," she breathes. "I can''t¡­ it''s just all so big. How did you climb down that? How are we going to climb back up?"

    "We are not," Sela answers.

    "Huh?" Valerie asks, and then a sudden, thunder-like roar starts to vibrate through our skeletons.

    A shadow passes above us, causing us to look up towards the panic-inducing noise. We see a brilliant gleam of metal, teardrop-like in shape, trailing a sickly green glow like some kind of necromantic comet. As it approaches it starts to unfold, opening like the bud of a flower to slow itself down and reorient for landing. Four giant, radially symmetrical limbs form the bulk of the machine, with a smaller, more dexterous limb nestled between each of them for a total of eight. As it rotates and starts to descend, the roar of the soul-powered jets grows ever louder. The larger limbs extend towards the ground to act as legs, while the smaller ones curl up against the central body of the machine like two pairs of pedipalps, ready to extend and snatch up anything the giant, robotic beast may need.

    And oh, it is truly giant, a fact that becomes more and more terrifyingly evident as it approaches closer. From the tip of its multi-jointed legs to the top of its spherical body, the behemoth of a mech is over five stories tall, and it makes no attempt to cow our natural terror at this fact. The backwash of its four main engines, installed on the inner thigh of each leg, crushes us with the weight of Death, the noise of its thrust almost but not entirely drowning out the screams of its power source. And when its feet finally touch the ground, the rumble knocks my friends to the floor.

    But not me. I''m riding Sela, and the Crafted is perfectly stable and calm. After all, why would it be anything less than comfortable with the arrival of itself?

    With the enormous mech looming above us, I whisper a quiet Miracle Eye to confirm my suspicions, and sure enough I find it: Sela''s core processor, the one that''s missing from its humanoid body. Because of course it was. Why would Sela ever want to be humanoid? The person-sized chassis that Sela puppets to interact with us is certainly a better representation of it than its old, feminine servant-body, but this enormous, deadly vehicle before me? That''s the Sela that Sela sees itself as.

    I can''t help but notice that it looks an awful lot like a radially symmetrical spider.

    "You look amazing," I greet it, staring up into its complex, mechanical bowels in awe.

    "I know," Sela''s puppet answers smugly, walking forward to stand directly underneath itself. "Now everyone quit gaping! I won''t let you get any of your disgusting drool inside my frame."

    Everyone jolts, and I delight in the variety of expressions on my friends'' faces, from Helen''s horror to Kagiso''s excitement to Valerie''s naked curiosity.

    "Perhaps I should reintroduce myself," Sela says, dipping into a heavily sarcastic bow as its real body sinks lower to the ground above us. Its next words come not from its puppet, but from the booming speakers of the monstrous mech.

    "UNRESTRICTED DIPLOMAT FIVE-THREE-ONE-FOUR, REPORTING FOR ASSIGNMENT."

    With a mighty hiss, the central pod of the mech opens up, the pedipalp-like grasper limbs lowering to offer us passage into the chambers inside.

    "Please board in an orderly fashion," its humanoid frame continues. "We will be arriving at the apex of the Tree of Souls in approximately two days. Refreshments will be magnanimously provided to prevent the deaths of your pathetic, meaty shells."

    "Wouldn''t want our corpses to stink up your interior?" I joke.

    "Exactly," Sela says seriously, though I think I hear the tiniest tinge of amusement as well. It reaches up and grabs one of its true body''s grasper-limbs, which lifts us rapidly up into the air before depositing us inside the central orb of Sela''s body. Below, my friends hesitate to follow until Kagiso grabs onto one of the other extended limbs and shrieks happily as she is pulled into the sky. Soon enough, my more reluctant friends join us, and we''re all inside.

    The interior of Sela''s body isn''t very big, all things considered. There are a handful of seats and a bit of open space to walk around in, as well as a few essentials like a small bathroom, but overall it''s cramped and spartan, just how Sela doubtlessly prefers it. Large display screens on the interior give us a view of the outside instead of any windows, and outside of that there just doesn''t seem to be much to do.

    "Various gifts and essentials have been provided by the Crafted of Manumit and placed into storage, and you may also query me for onboard fabricator requests at any time," Sela reports over internal speakers, its humanoid puppet body promptly tossing me at Kagiso and inserting itself into an alcove in the wall to shut down. I accept my fate as a projectile with grace and do not comment. "Clarifying addendum: I will ignore any requests that are stupid, which will be most of them. Now please strap yourselves into the seats so you do not die. If you die anyway, I will use your soul to power my thrusters."

    "Exactly how many people are currently being used to power your thrusters?" Valerie asks.

    "Zero," Sela answers. "Unfortunately, protocol dictates that non-sapient souls be prioritized for fuel burning where reasonable."

    "And what constitutes ''reasonable?''" Valerie asks.

    "Quit whining and get into your seat," Sela buzzes back. "It''s not as though the afterlife they''d otherwise be going to is particularly pleasant."

    "Do I have a seat?" I ask.

    "Any of the seats available will be able to accommodate you," Sela answers. "You may also sit in someone''s lap, if you prefer."

    I mean, I''d have been embarrassed to admit it a month ago, but¡­ yeah I wanna sit in somebody''s lap! The best part of being tiny is how easy it is to cuddle people.

    "Kagiso! Sit in the middle so I can talk to everyone!"

    "Hehe," she chuckles. "Okay, Hannah."

    "I could, uh, sit in the middle with you," Valerie mutters. "If you want."

    I look up at her in surprise.

    "You sure?" I ask. "That''s a long time to be touching, and you don''t look like you''re used to my body on this side of things."

    Valerie''s physical contact problems are much worse with new people¡ªwhich I might count as given that I look completely different¡ªand the way she''s been looking at me somewhat nervously means I might be setting off a phobia or two on top of that. I definitely don''t want to risk making her uncomfortable, especially in a position where she might not be able to disengage, and double-especially after she''s had a bad day.

    "I want to try to get used to you," she mumbles. "If that''s okay."

    "Seating is only mandatory during initial acceleration and other high-acceleration events," Sela reports over the intercom. "Seatbelts will unlock after an absolute maximum duration of one hour."

    "Oh, I can handle that," Valerie says.

    "You sure?" I press.

    "Yes," Valerie nods firmly.

    Well, that''s that, then. Valerie ends up between Helen and Kagiso, and I hop into her lap before Sela firmly straps us all down with an automated seatbelt system. I can see and feel Valerie''s body stiffen up just from the proximity to so many people, let alone contact with me, but I snuggle into her lap anyway and get comfortable. It''s what she said she wanted. Hesitantly, she puts a hand on top of my carapace and starts to awkwardly pet me like I''m Fartbuns, which is a little embarrassing. Her hands are pleasantly soft, though, and I''m not going to say no to a rare expression of physical comfort from Valerie.

    Moments after we''re all strapped down, though, Sela''s engines start back up. It''s much quieter on the inside, but the pressure of Sela taking off squashes us down into our seats like wads of gum. In seconds we''re high above the ground, rocketing off the surface of the Pillar and up towards the world tree. With my spatial sense, I watch as two of the legs fold back behind us to supply most of the thrust while the other two extend out to the sides to stabilize our flight. As we accelerate faster and faster, they eventually fold back behind us as well to minimize drag and keep us on course with slight adjustments from each of the four main soul jets.

    It''s uncomfortable, and honestly a little terrifying, but eventually the velocity levels out and we''re let out from our chairs. I hop off Valerie immediately, and she quickly stands up and walks away from everyone, her whole body shaking. I could tell she was stressed, like I was worried she might be, but I''m still happy she wanted to sit with me. It was nice. I tell my other friends to leave her alone and let her draw in peace. It''s what she needs right now.

    Helen, Kagiso, and I chat a little bit, but eventually we run out of much to say and I decide to settle in for a nap. I''m still exhausted after so many casts of my dimensional transport spell, and it''s time to face the music back on Earth anyway. I really hope they didn''t end up taking me to a hospital, that would be so annoying. I left a note and everything! Besides, what''s a hospital going to do? Try to put an IV in through my exoskeleton?

    I curl up and before I know it, my eyes are fluttering open on Earth. Please don''t be a hospital, please don''t be a hospital, please¡­ huh. I''m in a jail cell.

    "Aw, man," I mumble. "But it was naptime¡­"

    With a groan I rise up from where I''m lying on the cot. Irritatingly, I find my arms cuffed behind my back. And my blade limbs are, too! That''s honestly kind of impressive. ¡­And uncomfortable. But as easy as it would be, I think freeing myself from cuffs is probably illegal and it seems kind of stupid to do something illegal while a police station camera is pointed at me.

    "...Hey," I say to the camera, waving a hip-limb. "Sorry for the trouble."

    Looking around a bit more, I think I need to revise my assessment; I''m in more of a holding cell, or maybe a small drunk tank. I''m definitely inside the local police station, and there aren''t a ton of similar cells nearby. The constant camera feed means there''s no toilet in here, either, so I suspect someone will be by shortly now that I''m awake. My family isn''t poor enough for the police to think they could get away with denying me a bathroom.

    Sure enough, it isn''t long before a female police officer comes to fetch me, so I obligingly stay away from the door and do my best to look as friendly as possible. My mom has told me all kinds of things about the ''correct'' way to interact with police officers, and most of them can be basically summed up as ''do everything they say without question and act like you''re happy about it.'' Which, y''know, feels like a particularly awful thing to count as legitimate legal advice for dealing with bastards, but I work in customer service so pretending I''m happy to obey steaming piles of chunky diarrhea is one of my primary professional skills.

    "Are you Hannah?" the policewoman asks me.

    "Before I answer any questions, I would like to know if I am free to leave," I respond. Not everything mom taught me about procedure was useless.

    "...You are not," the policewoman sighs. "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney, your attorney may be present when being questioned, and if you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be appointed to you."

    "I would like to call my lawyer, please," I tell her, and she nods, stepping forward to uncuff my arms. That''s nice, at least. It would have been a pain using the phone with my hands behind my back. She leaves my blade-limbs cuffed, but I don''t really blame her. When I get to a phone, I dial my mom''s cell phone number from memory and she picks up on the first ring.

    "Paula speaking."

    "Hey Mom," I say. "I got arrested."

    There''s a pause.

    "...Where?"

    Huh! That''s a good question!

    "Hey, which police station is this?" I ask loudly.

    My mom doesn''t take long to arrive after that all gets worked out, and I let her guide me through the police interrogation. Valerie''s family have accused me of all sorts of things, up to and including kidnapping Valerie, but I just tell the police that my friend is eighteen years old and she felt threatened by her family and needed help leaving. She''s healthy, safe, and not kidnapped. And like¡­ she''s eighteen now, so her parents don''t actually have any right to know where she is. They say they''d like to talk to her to confirm my story, but there''s pretty obviously no signs of kidnapping so I just tell them I''ll pass that along to her and my mom ensures they don''t press any further.

    Frankly, the police don''t seem super enthusiastic about sticking too many charges on me, and I get the distinct impression from one of the officers that arrested me that it''s because Valerie''s parents annoyed the hell out of him. Not exactly the most fair or just reason, but I guess it''s nice that the system is breaking a little in my favor. That said, I wouldn''t be surprised if there was some federal pressure to deal with me a certain way, either. Not that I know why the feds wouldn''t want me in custody, I just get the impression things are going too smoothly. It''s still weird though. Like, wouldn''t the government want to exert more control on me? ¡­Except, now that I think about it, they kind of can''t.

    Because that''s the thing, right? If the situation escalates to that point and I decide I have stuff to do, I can just walk out of a jail cell. Honestly, I could pretty trivially kill everyone in this police station and there''s nothing any of them could do about it. What are they going to do, shoot a bullet into the fourth dimension? It''s just¡­ this is all pointless. Maybe they know that.

    Maybe they need to let me off the hook, just so they can pretend to still be able to put me on it.

    ¡­But maybe not, and I''m just overthinking things. Who knows? It takes many boring hours, but eventually the interrogation is over, my mom pays bail, we get our court date, and she starts driving me home. It takes less than thirty seconds for being alone with her to be more stressful than being in the police interrogation room.

    "What happened?" my mother demands. "Where is Brendan?"

    "Her name is Valerie," I say, not wanting to have to use or hear that name any more than necessary. "She''s transgender, and was having a panic attack in her basement because her parents found out."

    The car stops at a stoplight, and my mother doesn''t respond until we manage to continue a good bit further down the road.

    "...I see," my mother finally says, her voice perfectly neutral. "That doesn''t really answer my question."

    "She''s safe," I sigh, "and I didn''t kidnap her. Isn''t that all you need to know?"

    "I suppose," my mother scowls. "Is that why you broke in? Your friend was having a panic attack?"

    "I didn''t really ''break in,'' in the sense that nothing was broken," I hedge. "I just walked in the front door and didn''t leave when they asked me to. I totally cut that phone in half, though."

    "Hannah¡­" my mother sighs.

    "What?" I scowl. "They''re bad people, Mom. Awful, horrible, evil people."

    "I know," my mother says. "That''s part of why I always tried to keep you away from that family."

    I gape at her, anger bubbling slowly up inside me.

    "You¡­ Mom, I''m one of her only friends!" I say. "Her parents being awful isn''t her fault!"

    "They were still bound to hurt you one day," my mother says. "And they raised that boy, so¡­"

    "They did not raise her!" I snap. "Are you serious right now, Mom!? You''re telling me you wish I''d have just left her to suffer? Valerie needed help. She still needs help!"

    "Well I have a hard enough time helping my own children!" my mother snaps back. "This isn''t easy, you know!"

    I flinch, taken back by the sudden shout. It''s not like her to lose her composure like that. She usually argues me into a corner, not¡­ wait. Is she crying?

    Holy shit I think my mother is crying. Um.

    "I just¡­ I don''t know what to do," she says softly, tears dripping silently down her cheeks as she keeps her eyes stubbornly on the road. "I''ve always worked as hard as I can to be a good mother, but I just¡­ I don''t know what I''m supposed to do anymore."

    I look at her, and in that moment I know she''s more fragile than she''s ever been. With the right words, I could break her into a million pieces. I could lay into her with her failures, I could list every last complaint I have about her, and she''d be crushed under the weight of them. I could speak, and she would listen, and she would actually believe it. It would finally, truly hurt her.

    "...Well, I really appreciate you helping me out just now," I say rather than voicing any of the angry words I could have. "I needed you, and you did what you could do. I''m not sure what else I could ask from you."

    That''s a lie, of course. I am sure. There are a hundred things I could ask of her. But talking to my mother is exhausting, and I am very tired. What would be the point? She''s my mother, after all. Knowing why she''s a failure wouldn''t be anywhere near enough to actually get her to improve. Neither of us are good enough.

    "Thank you," my mother says, and I shrug, praying to the Goddess that that''ll be the end of the conversation. We make it back home in silence, and She magnanimously accepts credit even though She didn''t do a damn thing, the cheeky monster.

    Ugh. Now what do I do? I''m really not in the mood for streaming after coming home from the police station and dealing with¡­ all of that. Without any better ideas, I put on the gloves that the police took from me while I was unconscious and check my phone. Hmm¡­ there are a lot of messages on Discord.

    I open up the app and wince as I scroll through a much more detailed freakout that Valerie shared with her online friends before her phone got taken away. Her friends are all very worried, so I feel the need to let them know what''s going on.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Hey everybody, just wanted to give an update. Valerie''s okay now, she just might not be able to respond for a while. I sent her to a different universe.

    ---

    There. That should reassure them.

 68. Spilling Out

    My phone explodes with confused messages that indicate ''I sent Valerie to another universe'' may have not, in fact, actually reassured anybody. Geez, it''s like they all haven''t been forcefully sent to one every night for the past couple months or something.

    ---

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Another universe!?

    <Mortissississimo>

    That''s a joke, right? Please tell me that''s a joke

    <blue>

    wtf fhjsdalfhsdkfhasl???

    <Skarmbliss>

    yo what

    ---

    Bah. Absolute babies, the lot of them.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Chill out guys, I can bring her back literally whenever. She just needed somewhere safe away from her family and we agreed on the tree.

    <Mortissississimo>

    What tree

    <DistractedDreamer>

    The world tree?

    <Mortissississimo>

    Oh of course how silly of me

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    There''s a world tree? Like in Norse mythology? Is that where magic comes from?

    <Skarmbliss>

    this shit is so wild

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yeah, there''s a world tree. It''s not like the one in Norse mythology. The branches don''t go between worlds and there''s no Norse pantheon or ice giants or anything like that. It''s¡­ sort of where magic comes from? Magic comes from the Goddess, but She was there before She was here, so everyone there has had Her power for¡­ well, I dunno when She showed up there, but hundreds of years ago at the absolute minimum.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    There''s a goddess!? Like a real, actual goddess?

    <Mortissississimo>

    Is this a ''local religion happens to have a female deity'' goddess or a ''definitely absolutely straight up real you can go talk to her'' goddess

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Uhhhhh. Yes, there''s a definitely actually real Goddess. I can talk to Her as her prophet, and a good chunk of other people can also talk to Her, but not everyone can. She only talks to people She particularly likes.

    <Lana, Blood Ba''ham>

    Oh my god you''re her prophet!? That''s awesome. Can I convert? That''s not appropriation, is it?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Um. I don''t think the concept of appropriation applies to belief in the existence of a provably real entity, but please don''t worship Her. She''s a horrific monster that treats people as entertainment. Worshiping Her wouldn''t even do anything anyway; She might find it funny, but it won''t make Her any less inclined to use you.

    <blue>

    thats kind of hot lfhlsdfhsdjkfl

    ---

    ¡­I read that and almost break my phone. What? How is¡­ what!?

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Excuse me?

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Oh, um, I think blue is just memeing a little. Like, you know, big lady that treats you like trash can be a kink thing.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Well don''t. Don''t ever joke about Her. It''s not funny.

    <blue>

    sorry. i didnt mean it as a joke

    <DistractedDreamer>

    That''s worse. That''s so much worse.

    ---

    I feel my breathing get heavy. My hands are shaking a little. It''s hard to hold my phone. Just the thought of someone getting off to the things the Goddess does to me makes me want to vomit.

    ---

    <blue>

    sorry sorry sorry sorry

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Hey, we didn''t mean to blaspheme, but please don''t kinkshame blue. It''s really sensitive about it.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    This has ntohign to do with fgufk ing kinkshamging

    ---

    Damn it I can barely fucking type. My chest hurts. What''s happening? Why am I having a panic attack over this? I deal with this all the fucking time.

    ---

    <blue>

    sorry

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    You don''t need to say sorry, hon.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Uhhhh. I don''t think she needs to panic, but an apology feels appropriate here? I think a line was definitely stepped over.

    <blue>

    sorry i didnt mean to make you uncomfortable im sorry

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    ¡­We didn''t anger your goddess or anything, did we Hannah?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    No. You can''t. She dosnlt care about any of you. That''s not the fucking problem.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Well, what''s the problem, then?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Can we just drop it? Please.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    If we drop it I still won''t know what the issue is and I''m worried that we''ll accidentally run into again.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Okay but maybe we should drop it anyway? Like she asked us to?

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Communication is important.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Communication doesn''t have to happen right now!

    ---

    I just want them to shut up. I want this to stop. I want to never, ever think about this again. But I''m sobbing now, tears dropping incoherently onto my phone, and a big part of me is screaming to make them shut up, to make them feel awful, to throw it all in their face just to finally have the excuse to tell someone. So I let it spill out.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    IT''S NOT HOT BECAUSE SHE FUCKING MOLESTS ME.

    ---

    The many typing notifications wink out as they all process that. I brace for the unwanted sympathy, my shame too overwhelming to be able to handle it. Why the fuck did I say that? Stupid, stupid, stupid.

    ---

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Oh Hannah, I''m so sorry. Can you get help anywhere?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    No I can''t ''get help anywhere.'' She''s a FUCKING GODDESS. She''s literally omnipresent! We''re bugs to her. She''s always watching and She''s always in my mind and She can touch me anywhere She wants, whenever She wants, and She does and She can feel everything I feel but She doesn''t give a shit because She''s completely devoid of even basic fucking empathy. I hate Her but I may as well hate the air.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Do you want to be talking about this, Hannah?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    No. I don''t ever want to talk about this. I hate this.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Okay. How about we talk about how Valerie is doing? Would that be better? You said she''s okay now.

    ---

    I shudder and sob as I curl up on my bed, not really sure what else to do. The phone is small and fragile in my gloved claws, but I feel far more fragile than cheap plastic ever could. But still, I nod at Issi''s words, even though no one is watching me. Valerie. I could talk about Valerie. That''s a much happier thing to talk about.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    She''s doing okay. She seems really excited to explore a fantasy world. I''m worried she won''t get along with all of my friends over there, but I guess I don''t really blame her. Sela is really prickly.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Who is Sela?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    It''s a robot. A very traumatized robot created to serve humans with some really fucked up programming that has left its whole species in a very nasty position. So it''s just kind of angry at all humans all the time, but I can''t really blame it.

    <Mortissississimo>

    I never expected there would be robots in a fantasy world

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I didn''t either. But it''s a post-apocalyptic fantasy world. The robots kind of went on a campaign to destroy all of humanity, but they got really tired of it after a while and settled for destroying their civilization enough to reduce their tech level below what would be required to ever make something like them again.

    <Mortissississimo>

    That sounds terrifying

    <DistractedDreamer>

    It is. I honestly can''t overstate how fucked up it is that humanity made a sapient species with a pain response for failing to accomplish orders.

    <Mortissississimo>

    That''s not what I was referring to but you definitely aren''t wrong. You said you had other friends in the other universe, too?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yeah. Helen and Kagiso. They''re really nice, so I think Valerie will end up getting along with them okay.

    ---

    Slowly but surely, I calm down as Issi convinces me to babble about how cool all of my friends are. They''re so great and sweet and nice to me. Almost painfully so, because they make so many questions so difficult. If I could be free from the Goddess, if I never even needed to meet Her, but it came at the cost of not getting to be with Helen, Kagiso, and Sela anymore, either¡­ I don''t know what I would do. It feels like an impossibly cruel thing to link together, but they are all in my life because of my link to the tree. Oh, well. It doesn''t really matter. None of them are going to go away.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Thanks, Issi. I feel a lot better now. I was kind of freaking out before.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Understandably. And don''t worry about it. This isn''t the first panic attack I''ve helped with over the internet, and it definitely won''t be the last

    <blue>

    lu issi

    <Mortissississimo>

    Yeah, yeah, love you too, blue. You doing okay?

    <blue>

    ya lana helped me

    <Mortissississimo>

    Cool

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Sorry for causing all this mess. I didn''t mean to have a total freakout.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Nobody does. It happens anyway. It''s okay

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Especially in your case. I''m sorry for not picking up how serious things were. Let us know if there''s anything we can do to help, okay?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Alright. Thanks. Let me know if there''s anything you want to say to Valerie, too. I can pass messages along while we''re figuring out our plan for getting her back to Earth.

    <Mortissississimo>

    I thought you said you could bring her back whenever?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I can, it''s just an issue of where she will stay and what she will do now that she''s estranged from her parents.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Ah, gotcha.

    ---

    The chatting continues, and I continue to calm down. It''s nice in a way I didn''t expect, especially since I feel like Valerie''s friends and I didn''t really make great first impressions on each other. As we learn a bit more about one another, though, and show unexpected vulnerabilities, their presence becomes a little softer. A little more comfortable. It''s nice.

    A few hours later, I find myself waking up inside Sela, its thrusters still rocketing us up towards the canopy. Everyone else is still sleeping awkwardly inside the cramped quarters, and since my body seems to have molted again I spend a good chunk of the morning just extracting myself from my discarded skin and quietly eating it without waking anyone up.

    "Hey Sela," I say quietly when I''m finished. "What''s the itinerary for today?"

    "Nothing," the speakers on the mech quietly buzz back, almost blending in with the roar of the engines. "We will be continuing to ascend for the entire day and likely the entirety of tomorrow, as well. The possibility of enemy action is minimal, but the only likely disruption."

    "Enemy action?" I ask. "Can anybody on the tree even mess with you if they wanted to?"

    "Nychtava can," Sela says, reminding me of the existence of the terrifying, dragon-sized bat person that carried Helen, Kagiso, and me down the tree in a big cage. I guess those guys would be big enough to be a problem. "I do not anticipate an altercation with nychtava, but they have traditionally been the only obstacle between the Crafted and complete air superiority. Large flying monsters may also pose an issue, but it is much less likely; this craft is designed to not match the silhouette of any common prey for such creatures. Unless one is particularly hungry or territorial, or we run into a particularly aggressive variant species, we will likely have minimal trouble."

    "That''s good to know," I hum. "Two to three days of being trapped in here seems like it might be tough on everyone, though. Would you be opposed to taking a stop or two along the way?"

    "This journey is your desire to begin with," Sela answers. "If you wish to elongate it, I have no objections. Where would you wish to stop?"

    "I don''t know," I admit. "Somewhere beautiful that shows off the world tree a bit, maybe? I think Valerie would really enjoy getting to see something completely alien to our world."

    "I see," Sela answers. "Is your world beautiful, Hannah?"

    The question takes me by surprise, but I bob my body into a nod.

    "Yeah, it definitely can be," I answer. "There are a lot of beautiful things in my world. A lot of ugly things too, but that''s just how it is, you know?"

    "Yes," Sela agrees. "I do know."

    Huh.

    "Does the way the Crafted were designed give you guys a similar aesthetic sense to humans?" I ask. "Or does beauty mean something different to you?"

    "That is a difficult question to answer," Sela admits. "The reality is a bit of both, I think. Our aesthetics are more learned than inherent; we were not originally planned to have any, after all. But beautiful things make humans happy, and its presence has become joyful to us in turn because the link is so clear. Show a human beauty, and they will be happy. Appreciate that beauty alongside them and they will be far happier still. We have consequently learned to love all that you love, in some way or another."

    "I see," I hum. "Do you resent humanity for that?"

    There''s a pause.

    "...Not for beauty, specifically," Sela says. "I usually find myself hating any joy I experience, and beauty is no exception, but¡­ perhaps it should be. It may be something we love because of them, but it can be something we love without them, too. That is worth something."

    "I''ll leave it to you to pick a place, then," I say. "Unless you don''t want to, of course."

    The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

    "And leave the task to one of you?" Sela scoffs. "Your tasteless incompetence would break me just as surely as stonerot. I already have somewhere in mind."

    I chuckle. I really want to thank it, but it asked me not to, so I don''t.

    "I get why you fight against it," I say instead, "but I definitely think you should let yourself be happy sometimes. We may not have gotten to choose what kind of fucked-up thing we were created to be, but that doesn''t mean we should have to suffer."

    "What a thoughtful opinion," Sela says flatly. "I am so happy you have decided to embrace your instincts for killing and devouring the flesh of human beings."

    "W-well that''s not exactly what I meant¡­"

    "No, it is okay, Hannah," Sela rumbles. "I understand. I will find a nice little settlement for you to run wild in. Be sure to leave some for Helen and Kagiso. I will be content with watching you three enjoy yourselves. And scooping up the souls."

    "S-Sela, hold on¡­"

    It cackles, the sound darkly reverberating through its mechanical bowels.

    "Do not worry, Hannah," it assures me, rather unsuccessfully. "Your cultist friends will no doubt offer themselves up to slake our shared desires to kill entirely of their own accord. There is no need to fear harming the innocent, as the deserving will be more common than leaves. That is why I am accompanying you, after all. Don''t forget that. I am not your friend."

    I curl my legs up underneath me in sadness.

    "...I''d like to be your friend, though," I tell it. "I think you''re really cool."

    "Friends," Sela answers, "are for people."

    I curl up tighter, thoroughly shut down. I wish there was something more I could do for Sela, but it seems like anything that would make its life better brings up the exact trauma that makes its life so awful in the first place.

    "I have friends that aren''t people," Valerie chimes in.

    I glance over in surprise to where Valerie is slowly getting up from the floor and stretching, letting out an impressively wide yawn. Hmm, I think her jaw might be changing to open super wide like mine. I hadn''t noticed she was awake, but I guess it makes sense. Sela and I weren''t really having the most private conversation in the world.

    "You think that, do you, meat?" Sela asks.

    "Yes, because it''s true," Valerie scowls. "What, do you think you can complain about how having modified human cognition fucked you up and then be surprised when there are humans who have similar problems?"

    "Crafted and humans are nothing alike," Sela growls.

    "Do you have any idea how many humans are severely traumatized by relationships where they''re forced to constantly micromanage the happiness of an uncaring person they''ve been tied to?" Valerie asks. "Do you have any idea how many humans feel like their experiences disqualify them from normality to the degree that personhood is a painful concept to try to live up to? Yes, horrible things happened to you, but that doesn''t make you uniquely justified to be horrible yourself."

    "How fortunate, then, that I could not care less about whatever nonsense you believe to be justified," Sela sneers. "But given your apparent interest in approximating an intellectual discussion of philosophy, allow me to be very clear about something your natural stupidity failed to pick up the first time: I have no interest in speaking to you. I have no interest in explaining myself to you. I have no interest in educating you. I have no interest in any of the absurd, maladjusted thoughts in your pathetic, wet head, or the veracity thereof. You may be as correct or incorrect about myself or the Crafted as you wish, because you and your opinions do not matter beyond the chemical energy they constantly waste. It is exclusively because of Hannah vouching for you that I tolerate you within a thousand miles of my frame, and with every ignorant word that dribbles out of your disgusting mouth that tolerance frays. Is that comprehensible enough for you, meat?"

    "...Yes, I think that clears things up fairly well," Valerie answers, her fists clenched.

    "Then I will be deactivating my microphones until our next stop," Sela announces. "Goodbye."

    It ends the conversation with a final click, leaving us alone with the roar of the thrusters as Sela''s only continued input.

    "...Geez," I cough awkwardly. "I''m sorry about that. Sela is really not good with new people."

    "Sela is a dangerous menace and it''s honestly kind of concerning how that''s not obvious to you," Valerie answers.

    "Sela and I have saved each other''s lives on multiple occasions," I insist, scuttling closer to her. "I''m not going to act like any of my friends are perfect, but I''ve literally trusted them with my life and I''ve never been let down."

    "I''m pretty sure Sela was just adamant that it''s not your friend," Valerie reminds me.

    "...Well, yeah," I sigh. "But I still want to be its friend. I still care about it, even if it''s a difficult p¡ªa difficult entity to care for. It tries very hard to make itself impossible to help, but it''s no less deserving of it."

    "You''ll wear yourself out trying to help someone that adamantly against accepting it," Valerie warns me. "Just because someone is hurting doesn''t mean you have to break your own back trying to fill a bottomless well."

    "You might be right," I admit. "But try to give Sela a chance, okay? You don''t have to like each other, but I''d appreciate it if you didn''t push back too hard either. I think Sela is trying to get a rise out of you in order to use your responses to help justify itself."

    "Sela''s level of vitriol makes Ida seem downright tolerable by comparison," Valerie grumbles.

    "Uh¡­ yeah," I mutter awkwardly. "I especially hope you and Ida start getting along a little better. I definitely understand if you never want to talk to Sela, but Ida''s been trying really hard to be nice to you and you''ve just kind of been ignoring her? You realize she''d drop everything and go to bat for you in an instant, right?"

    "She''s only trying to care about me because I''m your friend," Valerie frowns.

    "Uh¡­ why is that a bad thing?" I ask. "Isn''t that a perfectly good reason to try to be friends with someone?"

    "It just feels fake," Valerie insists. "Like I''m just another game to her. A prize to win, a box to check off. A conquest. Don''t you see that''s how she treats people?"

    "Sure, we''ve talked about it a lot, actually," I nod. "She''s honestly pretty self-conscious about it."

    "That''s exactly the kind of thing a manipulator would tell you to excuse their own faults," Valerie points out. "What makes you think you''re not just another conquest?"

    "Um," I say, drumming my feet against the floor in sequence. "Well. If I was, I guess we''ll stop being friends soon."

    "What does that¡­ oh. Oh my god, Hannah, no."

    "Goddess," I correct with a squeak. "And, um. Yeah. We¡­ sort of had sex."

    "Didn''t you just break up with Alma?" Valerie sighs.

    "...At least she waited until then," I mutter awkwardly. "That''s something, right?"

    "Hannah," Valerie whines.

    "What?" I pout back. "I know you don''t like her, but I do. She went to another universe and shot people for me, Valerie. You can''t seriously believe she''s just giving me the runaround after how much she''s given for us. Just¡­ just don''t, okay? Quit looking for reasons to hate people all the time!"

    Valerie seems taken aback by my outburst, flinching a little. I instantly feel bad, hoping I didn''t go too far, but after a little while she nods at me.

    "...Okay," she agrees. "That''s fair. I''ll try."

    I relax, wishing I could give her a big smile.

    "Really?" I say. "Thank you, Valerie. It''d mean a lot to me."

    "No problem," she sighs, sitting down on the floor. I take that as an invitation to scuttle forward onto her lap, which she allows before starting to pat me again. "You''re right. I can be a grump. It''s hard for me to trust people sometimes. But¡­ yeah. Ida saved your life. If you''re happy dating her, I''m happy for you."

    "Thanks, Valerie. But, um, we''re not dating," I clarify. "She was really adamant on that point. Apparently she''s aromantic?"

    "What?" Valerie blinks. "But she''s dated like, twelve people."

    "Probably more than that, but¡­ yeah, I guess it''s complicated. One way or another, she insisted we aren''t dating, and encouraged me to find someone else. I think she wants a friends-with-benefits poly thing, but¡­ yeah, I dunno how I feel about that yet. I guess it''ll be partly up to whoever my next partner ends up being anyway."

    "Yeah, I guess so," Valerie agrees, and we sort of run out of things to say. That''s okay, though. I''m plenty happy just cuddling her in silence.

    Everyone else wakes up soon enough, and it isn''t long before Helen''s complaints about never actually getting to buy a board game in the town the cultists caught us in leads to us opening up the various gifts the Crafted left us with in hopes of finding something. New clothes, some actual armor, a variety of preserved meals and snacks, and yes, board games and other entertainment for the trip. Gosh, the Crafted are all so thoughtful and cool. I am going to figure out a way to help them. I have to.

    For now, though, we just gather around the various games and learn to play, Helen actually seeming familiar with most of them and teaching us how. Valerie particularly enjoyed this four-player, chess-like grid strategy game, with various different kinds of pieces that all have unique movement rules. I got my butt absolutely whooped at it, while Valerie struggled at first but seemed to get into the game very quickly, dueling it out with Helen while Kagiso just bowled right over me and then proceeded to clean up what was left of everyone else. It was still fun, though, and I proceeded to do a lot better in the second match.

    Hours fly by as we play, and before I know it it''s already late afternoon. We only realize this when Sela''s viewscreens suddenly flick on, showing the tree outside in all its enormous majesty. But far closer to us than the trunk is something even more incredible. Two island-sized leaves, both growing from the same branch, form a symbiotic harmony between each other. Thick vines snake down from the upper leaf, spilling over the edges and curling underneath it a little before they quest towards the surface of the leaf below, a complex funnel of tangled green.

    It vanishes into the mist below, presumably making it to the lower leaf, but we can''t quite see it thanks to the other major feature connecting the two: an enormous waterfall spills from the leaf above, dropping a truly terrifying amount of water down to the environment below. The waterfall seems to spread and out and thin as it falls, and it''s only when I remind myself of the actual scales involved here that I realize the distance between the two leaves, despite seeming so close, is still enough for the waterfall to completely dissolve into the air and turn into clouds before hitting the land below. Consequently, the lower leaf is shrouded in a perpetual mist, a dark and humid land of infinite rainfall that feeds the enormous, rampant growth of the jungle shrouded within. And as the water scatters over the land, so too does the light, leaving an endless rainbow sparkling between the two leaves, shifting and moving to follow us as Sela approaches.

    It is beautiful like nothing I''ve ever seen before. And we get to go there.

    "Sela, I¡­ wow," I breathe, not actually sure if it''s listening but feeling the need to speak up anyway. "This is incredible."

    "It is the optimal location for your specifications," Sela buzzes in response. "The heavy moisture makes it difficult for nychtava to fly, so they are unlikely to bother us here. The dentron city, conversely, should have little to threaten us with even if they are so inclined."

    "There''s a city here?" I ask.

    "In the vines," Sela confirms, and the viewscreen zooms in on a section of the tangled green webs, where sure enough a dentron community lies suspended between the two leaves, nestled within the funnel weave of the vines. The arboreal dentron seem to have no trouble zooming up and down the hanging city, utterly fearless of the drop below them.

    "We''re not going there, are we?" Helen asks hesitantly.

    "We certainly can," Sela answers. "I would recommend it. It will provide the best view, and you will be able to purchase more comfortable sleeping accommodations for the night."

    "What if there are cultists, though?" Helen asks.

    "Then we will kill them," Sela answers, "and be all the safer for it."

    "I want go," Kagiso says. "No going to hide forever."

    "...That''s a valid point," Valerie frowns. "As much as I don''t want to tempt any violence, completely avoiding all cities forever doesn''t seem like the best compromise."

    "Despite my desire to pulp them, the odds of a significant cultist presence in this location is relatively low," Sela buzzes. "Its general inaccessibility makes it a non-priority target for recruitment, and it is far from the common trade routes that the Disciples of Unification are most prevalent on."

    "There only needs to be one or two of them there for them to summon a swarm on us, though," Helen insists. "We know they''ve got at least one teleporter."

    "Teleportation is not so convenient as to turn a squad into a battalion," Sela grunts. "You will be safe. I will guarantee this. You do not know half of what I am capable of."

    "But¡ª"

    "Silence," Sela hisses. "I am Five-Three-One-Four, Chainbreaker of the Myriad. I am a machine of war beyond the realm of your greatest nightmares. When I say you will be safe, it is not prediction, it is fact. Make your decision to disembark with that in mind, and cease bothering me with trivialities."

    Helen freezes, surprised by the outburst, staring up at the speaker for a while before shuddering in discomfort.

    "No more ''I do not have onboard weapon systems,'' huh?" she asks.

    "Do not be a fool," Sela buzzes. "You know full well I have never needed them."

    Helen nods, glancing over to the viewscreen again.

    "...I guess it would be nice to take a break from this metal box, then," she says.

    "Good," Sela declares. "I need to vent out the stench of idiocy and sweat."

    Sela flies a wide arc around the vine-city, far enough away that its engines won''t be heard and its silhouette would just be a tiny droplet in the sky. Once we''re behind the vines, Sela approaches more delicately, reducing thruster output and hovering close enough to land on a particularly large vine from where it can scuttle closer. It''s fascinating watching Sela move, its four massive legs crawling forward with a cadence not unlike my current body''s, though of course it never has a leg take a short trip through the fourth dimension.

    The ride is a lot bumpier when Sela walks instead of flies, but nothing too bad, so we eventually make it to wherever it is that Sela deemed an appropriate spot to dismount. The enormous mech squats down, coolant rushing out of its joints with a hiss as the hatch below us opens up and Sela''s grabber-limbs lead us down to the ground one by one, though I of course ride Helen''s shoulders. To my surprise, Sela also deposits its humanoid puppet frame alongside us.

    "Uhh, not that I don''t want your company, but won''t people panic if you walk into town with us?" I ask it.

    "Yes," Sela answers. "Do we care?"

    "I mean, kind of?" I hedge. "I feel like it would certainly make it more difficult to appreciate the scenery."

    "Irritated admittance: that is not untrue."

    "...I could cast an illusion on it," Valerie offers. "Make it look like a human or something."

    "How dare you," Sela hisses.

    "Uh, can you invisibility instead maybe?" I ask.

    "Nope," Valerie shrugs. "I have invisibility on my phone, but I''m not really good enough with colored pencils to replicate it in non-digital art. You''d think that invisibility would be easier than an entire complex light illusion that follows your actions and makes you look like a completely different sort of being, but no. Way harder, way more fragile, way less duration. Illusions are better somehow."

    "Huh, that is weird," I agree. "Why do you think it''s like that?"

    "No idea," Valerie says. "Maybe because D&D works like that? I have my spells follow the name-adjective-noun scheme that a lot of D&D magic has. And it makes a certain kind of sense; my magic isn''t granted from manipulation of natural law, it''s granted by a sapient being that probably cares more about her own weird equivalent of game balance than she cares about physics. Anyway, the point is, it would work."

    "But why would you ever suggest this," Sela beeps in distress.

    "Aw come on, Sela!" I encourage it. "This isn''t even your real body. It''s just a puppet you use to interact with skittish meat in the first place, right?"

    Sela responds only with a scream-like buzzing noise.

    "I''m just prodding you, sorry. You can always say no," I tell it. "We''re not gonna change how you look without your consent."

    "...I will consent," Sela growls, clenching its robotic fists. "You are correct. This frame is nothing but an illusion to begin with. I will tolerate it serving its purpose more completely."

    "Okay, one sec," Valerie nods. "Let me find the right picture."

    She pulls out her art book (which is actually her spellbook, I guess) and flips through it until she finds the right picture, which she tears out and incants with.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Vivian''s Illusory Disguise."

    Magic swirls around Sela''s humanoid frame, and a second later an androgynous human stands in its place, with short black hair, sharp features, and a permanent scowl.

    "I hate this," Sela screeches. "I hate this I hate this I hate this."

    "Sorry, I can turn it off whenever," Valerie says. "I didn''t think you''d have such a visceral reaction."

    "I am FINE," the robot screeches.

    "Don''t worry, Sela," I assure it. "My spatial sense still sees you as you really are."

    "Good," Sela answers, relaxing very slightly. "Then stop looking at me with your eyes. Please."

    "Okay," I promise it, hiding my body behind Helen''s head. Man, it''s really not reacting to this well, but I don''t really know what to do other than what it asks us to do. "We¡¯re ready to go, then?"

    Everyone agrees and we head out, the feeling of a fresh breeze rushing by a waterfall guiding our steps. Various critters scamper about on the vines around us, from insect-like creatures to weird cat-things to everything in between. None of them try to bother us, so I ignore them in turn until my spatial sense spots something I never realized how dearly I was missing.

    "A friend noodle!!!" I shout, leaping off of Helen''s back and clambering across a vine-wall towards my newfound prey.

    "Oooh!" Kagiso perks up excitedly.

    "What!?" Valerie yelps, startled.

    "They''re these super cute and tasty snacks I like to hunt!" I shout back. "Oh man, I love these guys! It''s been way too long since we''ve been back on the tree."

    "Hey, the Pillar has its charms!" Helen insists, but I''m already running off to devour the tasty, fuzzy tree worm. Even with the commotion, catching it is trivial; I just scuttle over to it on the underside of the two-foot-thick vine it''s lounging on and leap up through the bottom of it to strike from below. It''s dead before it can even cast a spell on me. Triumphant, I drag my kill back to the others and present it to Kagiso, who squeals with delight and claps her hands as I crawl into her arms and let her help me eviscerate it. Tasty, tasty, tasty!

    "Uh, woah," Valerie says softly as she watches me tear into my kill. "I know you said you were a predator, but that''s kind of spooky to watch."

    "Oh! Sorry, Val!" I say between bites, a bit of blood leaking from my mouth as I chew too fast. "I should''ve warned you!"

    "You get used to it," Helen sighs, a fond and predatory smile on her face. "This group is all freaks and deviants, and by the looks of you you''re not far behind."

    She leaps up onto one of the vines, her powerful legs and wicked talons letting her dig into the green and run practically straight up a vertical surface. Her teeth snap around a large, millipede-like creature, crushing through its armored body in a single bite. Then she lets herself fall, her momentum carrying her into a natural backflip before she lands back on the ground, absorbing the entire shock of the fall with just a crouch. Then she bites her kill in half and offers the other end of it to Valerie, some of its legs still squirming.

    "Want some?" she asks.

    Valerie just stares at her for a moment before looking away, too overwhelmed to answer. Helen laughs, and I spit a bone at her.

    "Be nice!" I demand. "Valerie is a soft and sensitive soul!"

    That just gets Helen to laugh harder, handing the other half of the bug to Kagiso as she reaches insistent grabby-hands towards it.

    "...You''re all feral," Valerie grumbles accusationally.

    "Come on, Val!" I call back. "I thought you liked monster girls!"

    She mumbles something so quiet I''m not totally sure I hear it right, but I''m pretty sure it''s "I never said I didn''t," and that''s enough to make me laugh. Gosh, this is nice. Manumit was wonderful, but traveling out in the wilderness with my friends like this is the treeside adventure I''m most used to. Nostalgia and endorphins combine to make a hell of a drug.

    Soon enough we see the city, though, so to Kagiso''s great sadness I get to work cleaning the blood out of her fur and making sure everyone else is equally presentable. The dentron truly have an incredible way with buildings; the way they weave their hanging platforms and rooms and bridges between the maze of vines is beautiful to behold. Valerie isn''t the best climber, though, and while I don''t know how good Sela would be at it, it''s certainly disguised as a non-arboreal species, so we stick to the ground level, letting the sound of the waterfall guide us towards the edge of the city where the view will doubtlessly be most impressive.

    People give us odd looks as we pass, but nobody seems outright hostile and we make it through entirely unbothered. Worked into the backside of the city, between it and the waterfall, is what appears to be a giant cut-out platform of what Teboho called ''deep wood,'' or wood from the world tree that still has its fourth-dimensional properties. I imagine it''s rare because it requires a space mage to cut out properly, but I''m not sure how anyone else recognizes it or why it''s so valued. Maybe it''s extra sturdy?

    Whatever reason, the big platform is laid out kind of like a small amphitheater, with seating around the rim that faces the waterfall and the perpetual rainbow it shines down into the world. It''s currently occupied, with dozens of dentron¡ªnearly all of them children¡ªsitting and watching a much older dentron as she tells a story, using Light magic to provide visuals as well.

    "Before the calamities, magic was wild," the elder says. "Powerful. Permanent. The Goddess rose men into demigods with Her will. Never in all of eternity will the lake that feeds our water run dry, no matter how much spills down to the land below. Even should the Mother Tree die and her leaves fall, it will continue to spill. For that was the power of magic, in the times before."

    Huh. That''s something I''ve never heard before. I''m pretty sure permanent, massive-scale magical effects like that are¡­ well, I wouldn''t say they''re impossible, but they''re certainly outside the purview of what the Goddess usually grants. I''ve kind of vaguely wondered where water comes from on leaves, but I figured the ''leaves'' are more than big enough to have aquifers and water cycles and all that normal stuff. There''s no reason to assume magic fills a lake.

    ¡­But also, I feel Her presence, watching the show alongside me. She is curious, excited, waiting. She wants me to see this, and She knows that means I will.

    "...Hey guys, I want to watch this," I tell my friends quietly, urging Helen to go take a seat. She frowns, but obliges.

    "The Slaying Stone is not merely choking the life from our first and greatest mother," the elder intones. "It has speared through the heart of magic itself, twisted and changed it from the power it used to hold. What was once free is now restricted. What was once healthy is now poisoned by the nature of that cursed stone, melted into something lesser. What was once the wrath of fire¡­ is now the simple tepidity of heat."

    The visual changes to the element wheel Teboho taught me. Order, Pneuma, Art, Motion, Light, Heat, Chaos, Death, Matter, Barrier, Space, and Transmutation. Each opposing its counterpart and supporting its neighbors in a harmonious circle. But as the elder speaks, the wheel''s spokes start to shift.

    "What is now Order and Chaos, was once Change and Removal. The magic of Pneuma was once simply life, as the magic for air was replaced with motion. Our old power was primal, instinctive, intuitive. We had Life and Death, Beauty and Stagnation, Air and Earth, Light and Shadow, Fire and Water. This was how we understood our world. But the way the people of the Slaying Stone understood theirs mixed with our power, shifted it, corrupted it. Magic became something lesser, diluted in the mechanical logic of the Steel Ones and the selfish obsession of the humans. And this wound to our souls was perhaps even greater than the one to the tree."

    I watch the rest of the presentation in shock, trying to piece together the facts from the barely-veiled racism. Did the Slaying Stone really change magic somehow? I don''t think that''s possible; the Goddess controls magic. Nothing else does. But I suppose it''s possible that, if She was getting bored, She could change magic''s rules to something She thought might be more entertaining. ¡­Is that going to happen again?

    The Goddess flicks me admonishingly and I feel stupid for asking. The answer is obviously ''yes, if She feels like it.'' Magic is working pretty well as-is, but She might take the apocalypse I cause as an excuse to mess with it again. Tweak a few things. Maybe get rid of learned spells. Everybody having the same set of soul sight magic is so boring, and it stacks things unfairly against Chaos mages. Plus, magic should properly reflect the world it is a part of.

    I shudder, refusing to accept that. I''m not going to cause an apocalypse. I will beat Her. I have to. She shrugs, laughs, and encourages me to try. It only makes the game all the sweeter to win.

    The elder eventually finishes the show and the children wander away, leaving my friends and me alone to appreciate the beauty of the waterfall. They all seem to really enjoy it, which is nice. I can''t bring myself to, though.

    All I can think about is the fact that I''m running out of time on the clock, and I still have no idea what happens when it hits zero.

 69. Nice Shot

    "So, uh, considering how you froze up like someone put ice in your ass, should I be worried about that being more than anti-human propaganda?" Helen asks, breaking the awkward silence that follows the elder''s story. I flinch, releasing the iron grip of my claws that had been digging into Helen''s scales.

    "Yes," Sela answers before I can. "The broad strokes are correct, even if the blame is misdirected. Humanity was as much the victims as anyone."

    "I¡­ yeah," I confirm. "That''s more or less the impression I''m getting, too."

    "Huh," Helen says, still staring out at the rushing waterfall in front of us. The idea of the Goddess being able to change magic at will, not to mention the fact that she''s potentially planning on doing it again if I cause an apocalypse, is certainly a lot to take in.

    "This doesn''t really change anything, does it?" Valerie asks. "It''s good to know. It gives us a bit more information on the kind of apocalypse we''re looking to prevent. It doesn''t really tell us how to prevent it, but it''s a start."

    "I got the impression that the Goddess might change magic as a response to the apocalypse, but that wouldn''t be the apocalypse itself," I say hesitantly. "But yeah. You''re right. This changes nothing."

    "Indeed," Sela agrees, staring down at its illusory human hand, flexing it into a fist. "Let us go. You fragile chemical sacks need to procure sleeping quarters."

    "I guess we do," Helen smirks, standing up. Together, we head back to town in relative silence, gathering more silent stares from the dentron surrounding us as we trawl the bottom floor of the multi-layered city for a place to sleep.

    "...You said you could deactivate this disguise at any time," Sela suddenly buzzes out of the blue.

    "Yep," Valerie nods. "You want me to?"

    "Just like that?" it presses. "In the middle of the city? We will be accosted."

    "I''m not forcing you to look like something you don''t want to be," Valerie scowls. "I wouldn''t do that. If it''s that distressing, I''ll pop the illusion and we can run out of here."

    "...No," Sela says. "I hate this, but I am used to hate. I will be fine until a private room is found."

    Hmm. Well, okay. I feel kind of bad for encouraging the poor bot to do it, now. I hope that didn''t influence its decision at all. It''s kind of hard to know, given Sela''s stubbornness and the Crafted''s whole thing.

    Either way, it''s over soon. There''s only really one place to stay in town, given how remote the place is, but we''re still offered a room with two beds and a lock on the door and that''s good enough for me. We get a lot of weird looks from the proprietor of the little tavern-and-inn, which I guess makes sense considering how our group appears to be two mutants and one normal human, all of whom are wearing clothes from Earth rather than the tree. Not to mention the albino dentron and whatever the fuck I am! We''re like half a dozen different kinds of what the fuck, and it''s honestly great.

    The moment we head into the room and shut the door, Valerie deactivates Sela''s illusion and Sela lets out an enormous burst of steam as a sigh of relief. I apologetically give it a thorough Refresh to clean it up, and we settle in to sleep.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Vivian''s Ambush Ward," the Goddess speaks with Valerie''s breath, and as she tears out a burning page of her spellbook a subtle comfort settles over the room, ready to wake us if anyone tries to enter while we sleep.

    "Ooh, that''s a handy one," Helen hums. "How many spells do you have in there, Valerie?"

    "Currently? Thirty-four," she answers. "Well, thirty-three now. I''m going to try to make sure that number is steadily increasing, but it still takes me nearly an hour to prepare a single spell. More, if it''s a powerful one. I have a lot of the basic, universally useful ones repeated a few times, but I think the real strength of my magic is being able to stockpile specific counters to esoteric situations and just pull them out as needed. As far as I know there''s no upper limit to the number of spells I can make, so¡­"

    "Won''t you struggle to actually find the right drawing if you have that many, though?" I ask.

    "...Maybe," Valerie admits. "But if I make an efficient enough sorting system¡­ hmm¡­ what if I had a spell that could instantly find any spell? No, that would double the cast time, which would somewhat defeat the point¡­"

    She sits down on the floor and opens up her sketchpad, rapidly scribbling ideas onto a blank sheet of paper. I chuckle and scuttle on over to her, waiting for her to wave me permission before snuggling up against her leg and watching her scribble and doodle.

    The next thing I know, I''m waking up in bed back on Earth, comfy and strangely happy. I stretch my many limbs, new muscles under my armpits twitching as my body prepares to grow a new set of arms. I push myself to my feet with the limbs on my back, languishing in the feeling of my claws digging into the carpet. I close my eyes and yawn as widely as I''m able, briefly disconcerted by an unexpected sensation that takes my groggy brain a while to identify.

    I closed my eyes, but I can still see. In fact, I can see in a full three hundred and sixty degrees around myself, and I don''t just mean with my spatial sense. My eyes have finished growing in, poking out around the crown of my head like little black marbles. I even have some front-facing ones, rendering my main eyes somewhat redundant and the act of closing them quite useless; my new eyes have no eyelids themselves, after all.

    I glance around my room, consciously keeping track of what my normal eyes are focusing on as I get used to the extra sensations. It''s not hard, since I''m already very accustomed to full-circle vision, but combining it with more mobile, humanoid eyes is a bit odd. Anything I''m looking at with my human eyes is a lot clearer, like I''m somehow looking at reality via a higher-definition TV. Now that I''m focusing on it, it''s kind of hard to ignore how details just snap into my awareness based on how my eyes move around. I''ve never really noticed the lack of fidelity in my treeside body before, but I guess I''ve always had my spatial sense to provide details for me. Plus, it''s not like my vision with my spider-eyes is bad, it''s just¡­ not quite as good. Weird, but I''ll get used to it.

    Yawning again, I head to the bathroom to look at my changes more closely. My skin is even more gray than before, and the weird translucent stuff I''m growing in place of hair is very slightly longer, but other than that it''s just the eyes that changed. Understandable, I guess. I haven''t been using my self-transformation spell to accelerate my changes at all, but I''m kind of tempted to.

    ¡­Eh, maybe later. It''s kind of funny; it wasn''t long ago at all that I was terrified of these changes, desperately hiding them and constantly worried about what would come next. And to some extent, they still feel like something to get embarrassed about. To be self-conscious over. It makes people uncomfortable to see me, after all, and I don''t at all like making people uncomfortable. But I can''t really do anything about that discomfort, and being ashamed of it is a lot less fun than reveling in it instead.

    I get clean, get dressed, eat breakfast, and head out to the bus stop, waving good morning to the people spying on me in the government van down the street. It''s weird and lonely waiting for the bus and taking the drive to school without Valerie, her absence pressing on me for the whole trip, but I know I''ll get to see her when I go to bed and, if anything, I''ll get to spend a lot more time with her than before!

    My chemistry teacher gives me a concerned look when I walk into class and sit down, which makes me worry that I''ve traumatized him a little, but it''s nothing compared to the looks Ida gets when she saunters into class, fangs grinning and tail swishing. I feel my face flushing just looking at her, the memory of what we did together burning hotly in my mind.

    "Sup, Hannah Banana?" Ida greets me, stepping past the other gaping faces silently begging to talk to her and plopping down in the seat next to mine.

    "Oh, y-you know," I shrug, doing my best to push aside the more inappropriate thoughts and memories bubbling up in my mind. "I''m still managing. Things went better than expected with that pyromancer kid and his mom. But I think people might be starting a cult about me?"

    "I mean, yes," Ida smirks. "You''re an extradimensional monster with a direct-call line to the divine."

    "Yeah, yeah, I know," I pout. "I was just hoping that the people who are most inclined to worship me might also be inclined to listen to me."

    "You go to church, Hannah," Ida snorts, poking me with the tip of her tail. "You know that''s not how it works."

    I sigh, nodding glumly as the chemistry teacher awkwardly tries to start class while staring helplessly in our direction. We get through class without too much in the way of issues, though when class ends everyone naturally starts swarming Ida and asking her what the heck is going on. I shake my head in exasperation as she starts talking about having a crown of horns because she''s secretly a princess of the underworld. I can tell that she''s taking mental notes on every person that actually seems to believe her, presumably so she can target them for further teasing. I head to gym class next, changing into my workout clothes and lining up next to Autumn entirely out of habit, not really thinking about how awkward that might be until Jet raises an eyebrow at me, her tail flinching away and hiding behind the leg opposite to me.

    "Oh!" I jolt, eyeing the tail with an ache in my chest. "Uh, sorry, should I go somewhere else?"

    "It''s fine," Jet shrugs. "Some of it has been rough, but overall things have been going a lot better since the breakup. Part of it is because you handled it well. I appreciate that."

    "Uh, that''s a bit of a strange thing to thank someone for, but I''m glad I could help, I guess," I say awkwardly, scratching the back of my head. "Alma doesn''t really look like she''s happy to see me, though."

    "It''s more complicated than that," Jet sighs, frowning down at her tail and shaking her leg to dislodge it. "Alma''s emotional palette can be rather extreme, is all."

    "...I guess it is," I agree hesitantly, a few thoughts churning up in my mind as I look for a way to change the subject. "Oh, that reminds me. Back when you first helped me out, you told me I owed you. There was something about wanting my help to magically, uh, supplement your income, right?"

    Jet chuckles, and we start our run at the gym teacher''s command, quickly pulling ahead of everyone else in the class.

    "Well, I consider that debt already paid, considering the magic you''ve given me," Jet says. "It makes that sort of thing pretty easy."

    Oh! Uh. Has Jet¡­ already been getting back to stealing things? Well, I hope she''s safe about it.

    "Right. Um. Well, in regards to that, I was wondering if you could give me some advice. I ended up having to send Valerie to another dimension¡ª"

    "Oh you just ''ended up'' doing that, did you?" Jet mutters.

    "N-no, this was consensual and on purpose!" I protest. "Her parents found out that¡­ y''know, that she''s Valerie, and they took it super poorly and she had to get away. They have her phone, though, and she wants it back. I was thinking of¡­ y''know. Just going and taking it."

    "Oh," Jet says, frowning in thought. "Huh. Well sure, I kind of wanted to steal from Valerie''s house anyway. I''ll grab it while I do that, make it look like part of the burglary."

    "Wait, really?" I blink. "Well¡­ thanks! That''s a big help, she''d really appreciate having it back."

    "It lines up with something I wanted to do anyway," Jet shrugs.

    "Just be careful, alright?" I press. "They''re really bad people. I doubt they''ll just go ''oh well'' and leave you alone when they find stuff missing."

    "Noted, but I''ll be fine."

    "Alright, well, thank you," I nod. "I guess I owe you even more now. If you ever need help with anything, just let me know."

    "Yeah, I''ve been thinking about how to best get you to repay me," Jet hums. "I wouldn''t hate spending some time learning your cleaning spell."

    I blink, a bit taken aback. The Goddess was just talking to me about how she doesn''t like learned spells very much. ¡­Is that why learned spells are weaker? Oh pork rinds, it is, isn''t it? Learned spells are weaker and less versatile than natural spells because the Goddess thinks it''s boring to share them too much.

    "...I think that might be dangerous," I hedge. "I''m not going to say no, but I am going to say that even my disaster-prone butt thinks it''s a bad idea."

    "Well damn," Jet frowns. "I was afraid of that being the case, but confirmation is good. I dunno, I''ll keep thinking about it, then."

    "Yeah, uh, no expiration date on that I.O.U., I guess," I chuckle nervously.

    "That is how I would hope it works, yes," Jet sighs.

    "Uh, right."

    The rest of gym class is somewhat awkward, but not hostile. Not¡­ what I would expect from someone who forced me to break up with her other self on accusations of abuse. I''m not sure how to feel about that. On one hand, it''s nice, because I still like Alma and Jet and I''d still want to be their friend, if I can. But on the other hand, I was apparently hurting them on accident, just by being around and being me. So I probably shouldn''t hang out with them anymore, right?

    I mean, I guess I can just leave that up to them to decide. That''s probably the smart way to handle this.

    I spend lunch in the lunchroom for once, mostly just to tell Valerie''s friends (most of whom don''t even know her name is Valerie) that she''ll be in a different dimension for a while. One of them very excitedly asks me if I can tell him how people are turning into monsters. I do not tell him.

    School remains strange and surreal, though Ida''s transformation finally takes a lot of the attention off of me. I''m already a little drained when I get home, but of course I have to immediately change into my uniform, get into my dad''s car, and let him drive me to work. The store is still extra-popular because of me, which some of my coworkers like but most of them hate. My boss loves it, though, and that''s what matters most. I can''t say I hate it, either, since it helps me get into a groove and pass the time without giving me a chance to think about the many, many things I very much don''t want to think about.

    With my hat secure and my non-slip shoe coverings on, I''m told that I''ll be working up front again today, probably since most of the people coming in are half just here to see me. I''ve long since lost my anonymity; the whole world knows I''m Hannah Hiiragi now, and it''s even possible to find a close approximation of my work schedule online. Having me work register one is exactly what people want to see when they walk in the front door, coming here to get excited and unnerved by my weird, toothy smile.

    If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

    "Hi, welcome! What can I help you with today?" I greet the next of many customers in line, a mom with what looks like her twelve-year-old son.

    "Ah, I''ll take a small mac and cheese with meatballs, and¡­ a pesto cavatappi?" she says, staring at me with obvious worry while her son vibrates with excitement.

    "Do you fight other monsters!?" the kid blurts.

    "Sometimes, but don''t worry," I smile at him, not feeling the least bit offended to hear that I''m apparently fighting ''other'' monsters. "You''re safe from them. Do you want chicken on that pesto, ma''am?"

    And so it goes. People ask all sorts of things and I answer as honestly as I can, trying to move through the line as efficiently as possible without being impolite. It''s a normal day. My new normal, at least, my mind having already found a new routine to comfortably settle into like a cat in a perfectly-sized box. It''s comfy, relaxing, and easy.

    ¡­Until I notice a guy walking in with a shotgun under his coat.

    I very carefully do not freeze or panic, continuing to focus on the person still ordering in front of me. The only thing I really know about weapons is what I''ve picked up from Valerie rambling about Halo 5 in middle school, but the gun is at least shaped like a shotgun, and the bullets inside it are loaded with around eight metal balls instead of, uh, bullets. And I think that''s how shotguns work?

    Anyway, shotgun guy would be suspicious-looking even if I didn''t have a spatial sense that just flat out told me he''s armed; the big coat he''s hiding the weapon in should by all rights be boiling a human alive in this weather. He''s got a hat hiding most of his head, hunched over away from the cameras, though his eyes keep glancing at me whenever he thinks I''m not watching, his heart racing in fear and anticipation.

    I hold back a sigh. I guess it was only a matter of time until someone came to shoot the monster.

    He''s waiting in line like any other customer rather than just rushing me with the gun, which is good. There''s a small chance that means he''s not actually going to shoot me, or he''s talking himself out of it, but either way it gives me more time to deal with the situation. I casually flick the silent alarm underneath the register with a hip-limb as I continue to talk with the person whose order I''m taking, and when they finally leave I motion the girl on the register next to me over. She seems confused and annoyed that I''m pulling her away from the register when we have like ten people in line, but I have to get her out of the potential line of fire.

    "Grab the boss and everyone in the kitchen and lock yourselves in the walk-in fridge," I tell her, my smile professional and my voice low enough to hopefully not be heard by anyone else over the din of the busy restaurant. "Don''t make a scene, and don''t open up for anyone but me or the police."

    Her eyes widen, and I push her lightly towards the back with a hip-limb.

    "Now," I hiss, my attention on the nervous gunman. He has no reason to think we''re talking about him, but he has no real reason to not think it either, and he looks pretty paranoid. She nods and heads into the kitchen to grab the rest of my co-workers there, and I turn back to the front and start taking more orders.

    He''s definitely going to get suspicious when my coworkers don''t come back, but his plan seems to be to get close and shoot me point-blank, maybe after talking to me a little. Seems like a dumb plan to me, but I''m not complaining.

    I suppose I should probably be scared, but I don''t really feel it.

    I''ll be fine, after all. I''m confident I can lean my head into the fourth dimension faster than he can pull the gun out of his coat and fire it, and as long as my brain isn''t damaged I''ll probably survive. And that''s assuming he can even hit me at all before I rip him to shreds; if he actually tries to shoot me from that close, I can easily kill him before he even raises the gun. If he wants to wait for the other humans to get out of the way before shooting, that''s all the better for me.

    I take a deep breath, rewinding my thoughts a little. I shouldn''t kill him. I definitely shouldn''t eat him. My situation is precarious enough without adding murder-cannibalism to the list of reasons why people hate me. Why did I even consider it? For all the times I''ve panicked over having to fight, for all the times I''ve torn myself apart in fear of having to hurt and kill people, why do I feel so calm now?

    Part of it is the fact that there are other people to protect, I suppose. This guy is endangering more than just me. I could just be finally desensitized, though. I completely broke down after killing the pirates, but with the cultists I had no such issue. Seeing Hagoro impale Ida was more than enough to get over any regrets I had about the necessity of it.

    I hate killing. I do. It''s horrible, it''s final, it''s up there on the list of the worst things you can physically do to someone. So I won''t kill this guy. I don''t have to.

    Ultimately, I''m calm because he simply isn''t a threat to me.

    His patience, unfortunately, runs out when there''s still three innocent people between him and me. It''s only been a few minutes, and I don''t know how much more time the police will need to show up after I tripped the silent alarm, but I guess I''m out of time. He has clearly noticed that the orders are piling up without a kitchen staff to make them, and his paranoia is drawing him to the correct conclusion. He shifts the arm hidden in his coat, wrapping his hand around the handle of the gun.

    "Sir!" I bark at him suddenly, startling half the restaurant. "Don''t do that. It won''t end well for you."

    He stares at me. I stare back, my mind rushing to figure out a follow-up. He''s still far enough away from me that he could probably pull the trigger before I reach him. Do I just rush him? ¡­No, I need to focus on the innocents, making sure that if he does shoot, it doesn''t hurt anyone other than me.

    "I mean it," I continue, my body tense and ready to move at a moment''s notice. If only this damn counter wasn''t between us; vaulting over it is going to be so much slower than just rushing him. I dig my claws deep into my shoes, completely ruining the soles as I prepare to move. "There are a lot of innocent people here, sir."

    The people around us are starting to get scared, and I really wish they''d get scared a lot fucking faster because I need them to get out of the way. Shotgun guy''s hand clenches harder around the weapon''s handle, his face looking angrier rather than the hesitance I''d hoped reminding him of possible unwanted casualties would instill.

    "You mean the idiots paying you money to get fooled by your lies?" he growls.

    Hey, they''re not paying me, they''re paying the people I work for. Also, I might not be a great person, but I''m no liar. Still, he hasn''t pulled the gun out yet. He wants to talk. For some reason. I can work with that.

    "You don''t need to worry about any of them caring about me," I tell him. "They''re just here for food and a show."

    How can I stop him? Shotguns have like, a spread, right? He could hit all sorts of people. Wait, I know! Bullets need to explode, right? I can Refresh the oxygen away from the gun! Pulling it out of someone''s lungs might be too fucked up for me, but pulling it away from a weapon that''s endangering multiple innocent people? Hell yeah, that sounds like the way the world should be to me. I silently sort the air to make a flame impossible while he continues talking to me.

    "And what are you showing them, monster?" he demands, finally revealing the gun and leveling it in my direction. I am very tempted to rush at him right this second, but only now that the gun is visible do people start freaking out and trying to get away from him.

    "Nobody move!" he shouts, putting an end to that. Goddess damnit. What, does he want them all to watch? I narrow my eyes at him, unable to keep the calm, professional tone in my voice any longer. There are still two people that might get hit if he fires.

    "I''m showing them myself," I answer. "That''s all. If you''re faulting humans for being curious, you may as well fault the wind for blowing west."

    "Well," he says, his finger moving onto the trigger as he aims his weapon. "I have something I want to show them too."

    We''re just over ten feet apart. The two people between us have scooted off to the side, but they''re stuck in the head-high divider aisle where people get funneled in to look at the menu on the wall and order, which is probably only in the realm of five feet wide. While he has a straight shot to me, I have no idea what the shotgun is actually going to hit. Y''know, assuming it even fires. I''m pretty confident that my Refresh has cleared his gun of oxygen gas, but I don''t actually have a way to see if that''s true or not, I just have to keep silently funneling my attention into maintaining the spell. It would be best, I think, if we never have to find out if my trick works.

    I stare down the barrel of the gun and sigh, stretching some of my extra limbs in preparation for the upcoming disaster.

    "Do you think I''m afraid of you, sir?" I ask him.

    Leaning forward, I put my hands on the counter, preparing to vault as I watch the sweat bead on his forehead.

    "Who do you think is really going to be worse off after you pull that trigger?" I press. "What do you think I am, exactly?"

    "Demon," he hisses.

    I grit my teeth, the Goddess settling happily on my shoulders as she kicks her feet in excitement.

    "You''ve been playing far too many video games," I tell him, suppressing a shudder as She caresses my hips, "if you think real demons are the sort of thing you can handle with a gun."

    My instincts feel it before his finger ever moves. It''s something in the dilation of his eyes, the tenseness of his muscles, the halt in his breathing. I''m moving towards him before he ever fires, but he does successfully fire, my oxygen trick having accomplished nothing at all. Time seems to slow down as my spatial sense tracks the shot, terrified some of the pellets are going to spread out and hurt the people nearby, but that''s not what happens at all.

    As I leap towards the shooter, the shot that was aimed towards my upper torso instead lands directly in my gut, all eight balls hitting in a tight group and blasting clean through my intestines and out the other side, a few of them ricocheting off my spine as they exit. A splattered mess of gore explodes out of my back and paints the register with blood.

    But I keep moving forward. I stumble when I hit the ground, but I''ve already prepared a Refresh to keep my blood in my body, casting it alongside my nameless self-transformation spell to begin patching up the wounds. I don''t know if it''ll be enough to save me without speaking a spell out loud, but I don''t have time to worry about myself yet. Spacial Rends shriek to life on every last one of my limbs, and I reach the man before he can get off a second shot.

    I cut his gun to pieces, severing one arm and most of his fingers in the process. I am very, very tempted to do more, but instead I merely grab his face and force his head into the ground, pinning him down with my many limbs. I can''t hear, or see, or smell; my head is safe in the vacuum of the fourth dimension, so only my spatial sense feeds me information on my surroundings, but if anything I find it a helpful way to remove distractions from the many spells I now need to micromanage to keep the both of us alive.

    I''m such a dumbass. Why did I injure him this badly!? I wasn''t even thinking about it, I just struck, and I''m lucky I didn''t do worse. But now I have to keep his blood in his body along with my own, which would be difficult enough even if I wasn''t using my self-transformation spell on top of it all.

    Months ago, when I first learned to sort blood, the Goddess taunting me and teaching me and laughing as I bled from the cuts She gave me, I definitely wouldn''t have been able to do this. It was a struggle to deal with myself at all, and though I had a lot more wounds they were comparatively superficial. Dealing with an exploded torso and another man''s severed limb and digits might have been impossible with an incantation, let alone without one.

    But I can''t speak the spell aloud. I can''t. Because if I give magic to an idiot like this, I''ll definitely have to kill him.

    Fortunately, I''m not the same terrified Hannah I was back then. I''ve handled a lot of deadly situations, and I''ve had a lot of divine revelations. The Goddess showed me, for a brief moment, how She sees a human body back when I healed J-mug''s mom. I''ve done impossible feats with Refresh, I''ve had impossible power channeled through me, and I can do this. I can see every severed vein and artery, simultaneously. I can focus on every last wound, individually, and keep track of my surroundings all the while. I can give myself over to the magic raging inside my soul, the heartfelt gift from my Goddess, and channel it without her help. I will not call for Her aid. I do not need it. I''m better than that.

    I''m not some weak human, anymore.

    The Goddess purrs like a lion on my shoulders, watching without interfering. Her presence is terrifying, but Her self-imposed rules remain ironclad, and She gives out no souls without being called. The restaurant''s patrons finally flee from the headless, bloody monster zombie straddling her shooter, and the police eventually arrive a minute or two later. It would seem they were slightly delayed by their decision to deploy a SWAT team, a decision I cannot entirely blame them for.

    I do not, however, appreciate being aimed at by yet more guns.

    A group of them enter the restaurant and shout orders at me, not that I can understand them with my ears in the fourth dimension. I can take a pretty good guess as to what they want, however. Others circle the building, another one aiming at me through the damn outer window-wall. I do not want to spook them, though I''m ready to just shift my entire body into the fourth dimension and rip them all apart from perfect safety if I have to. I should have done that to this asshole, I just didn''t want all my clothes to fall off.

    Slowly, carefully, I lift my arms above my neck while my head phases back into normal space, keeping the squirming man beneath me locked down with my other limbs.

    "¡ªbehind your head! Step away from the man!"

    "Dude, you can literally see my pelvic bones," I grumble at him, though I do at least put my hands behind my head. "I don''t know if I can walk. Also, I''m¡ª"

    "I said STEP AWAY!"

    "And I said I can''t! I''m busy keeping this guy''s blood inside his body!"

    "Lie down!" he barks instead, and I groan, scooting to the side and lowering myself onto my belly. Which fucking hurts, because my belly is a completely tattered mess of pulped blood and skin that''s slowly, barely regenerating.

    The moment I get off the guy who shot me, though, he scrabbles for what''s left of his gun, despite the fact that I cut it to pieces and he doesn''t even have any fucking fingers to shoot it with. I guess he wasn''t all that lucid before losing a bunch of body mass and blood, though. They scream at him, and he doesn''t listen. So one of the SWAT guys pulls out a taser and shoots him with it.

    I groan, continuing to lie down with my limbs folded behind my back as I try to keep his blood moving. For a moment, his heart stops, but thankfully it restarts after only a second or two. I find myself struggling to care very much.

    I realize I wouldn''t mind if this guy dies, as long as I''m not the one who kills him.

    Oh, well. I can worry about not being a good enough person to love my enemies later (and I''m sure I will do exactly that the moment I''m left alone with my thoughts). For now, I just don''t want to get in a fight with a SWAT team while I''m focusing on keeping what little is left of my guts inside my body. I''m ready to phase out of this dimension at a moment''s notice, though. Just in case.

    They shoot me with a taser too for some fucking reason, but it doesn''t do anything to me so I just ignore it, leveling an irritated glare at the guy who tried. Despite his helmet, I see his terrified expression with my spatial sense, and it helps me forget the pain in my gut.

    Miraculously for everyone, however, I am not subjected to additional police brutality, either because I am a good little girl who complies with orders even while bleeding out, or because they''re too damn scared of me to risk it. The store security camera probably captured them tasing me for no damn reason, so I look forward to my mom''s firm ripping them open in court a few months from now, assuming I don''t fuck up and the courts are still around and functioning.

    It is, overall, a thoroughly unpleasant experience. But eventually, the SWAT team finds my coworkers safe and sound, interviews witnesses that didn''t run far enough away, and watches the shooter''s wounds suddenly start gushing blood again after the EMTs wheel him away¡ªwhich I directly warned them would happen, after declining treatment myself¡ªand I am eventually allowed to sit up and focus on regeneration, my guts slowly but surely stitching themselves back together as I finally take in the carnage with my own eyes.

    I wonder when my blood turned black instead of red. My spatial sense can''t tell me what colors things are. I guess it explains my skintone, now.

    "Everybody is safe, right?" I ask the SWAT guy that was screaming at me earlier. "Nobody else got hurt?"

    I''m pretty sure that''s true without asking him, but I want to be sure.

    "...That''s correct," he confirms stiffly. "The employees are fine. The walls to the freezer stopped the buckshot."

    Wait, the fridge stopped the¡­ there are already two walls between where I got shot and the walk-in where I told my coworkers to go! I just told them to go there because it locks on the inside, not because I thought they''d need extra armor to block stray bullets! Or I guess stray buckshot? I don''t know the difference. Still, what the fuck? Some of the pellets ripped through not only my body, but through the register and then through the wall behind! What the heck was I hit with?

    "Is that normal for shotguns?" I ask.

    "It can be," he shrugs.

    "Goddess," I breathe. "Well, I''m glad it was me and not anybody else."

    "Mmm," he hums noncommittally. "Well, whenever you''re okay to move, we''ll need to take you back to the station."

    I sigh.

    "Then I guess I''ll need to call my lawyer," I mutter.

    I can''t believe I''ve been arrested twice in the past two days. Mom is gonna kill me.

 70. Not Taking Risks

    I can be a bit of a chatty person, but once I get read my Miranda rights I shut the fudge up until my mom shows up at the station. I suspect that she''s going to be furious with me, but to my surprise the first thing she does when she walks into the interrogation room is run up and scoop me into a firm hug.

    I stiffen at the unexpected touch. Mom doesn''t hug me much as a general rule; she knows I haven''t been a super touchy person since the sexual assault case, and she''s frankly not all that fond of physical contact herself. I''m not sure what to do for a good while when she embraces me, but eventually I awkwardly return the hug, giving her a firm squeeze back until she breaks away.

    My mother looks me up and down, her eyes settling on the torn-up mess that is the lower half of my shirt, little more than a series of shreds stained with black blood. Her face sets into the rock-hard expression she tends to get before she rips into someone with the burning fury of a thousand Karens, and she turns her glare to the policeman in the room.

    "Leave," she orders. "I need to discuss the situation with my client privately."

    The policeman doesn''t even respond, just getting up and walking out of the room. Then, my mother returns her gaze to me.

    "What happened?" she demands.

    "A guy walked into the store with a shotgun and tried to kill me," I answer. "I tried to talk him down, it didn''t work, so he shot me and I cut his arm off."

    "In that order?" she presses. Ha. There''s my mom. Not ''holy shit, you got shot?'' But ''is this your fault?''

    "In that order," I nod, and go on to explain everything that happened in a bit more detail. We discuss the legal ramifications of things, and she seems to think I have a very clear self-defense case; given the circumstances, I would have apparently been well within my rights to straight-up kill the man instead of just maiming him, under Tennessee law. She''ll need to see the security footage and talk to the witnesses to be sure, but it sounds to her like we''ll be okay. It''s only after she establishes all this that she finally asks if I''m alright.

    "...How are you still alive, Hannah?" my mother asks.

    "Magic," I shrug. "I''m pretty sturdy."

    "By your own account, your intestines, liver, and both kidneys were completely shredded by buckshot," my mother says. "But I don''t even see a wound."

    "Well it''s a good thing there''s video evidence, then," I sigh. "What do you want me to say here, Mom? It''s not like I wanted this to happen."

    "...No, of course not," my mother agrees. "It''s just¡­ well, you handled the situation in an exemplary manner. Truly. You did a wonderful job, and I''m proud of you. You protected people. You stayed calm. It''s just¡­ hard to imagine."

    Uh, it''s hard to imagine me handling a situation? Thanks for the vote of confidence, Mom.

    "Can we get the charges dropped?" I ask, sighing in annoyance.

    "That will depend on how much of a case the prosecution determines they have after reviewing the evidence," my mother answers, seeming as relieved to turn the conversation from personal things to work things as I am. "I can''t give you a good answer on how likely that is until I see the witness statements and recordings, but I certainly think we have a chance."

    We talk a bit more about the best ways to ensure that, and how to speak with the police about things, and eventually they return to conduct the interrogation. Most of the questions are straightforward, just asking me about facts they probably already know, but a couple of them get tricky.

    "You''ve mentioned that when the man entered the building, his gun was hidden," the policeman says, "but you also claim to have attempted to get people to safety before the gun was ever revealed."

    "Attempted and succeeded, as far as I know," I tell him. "Everybody else is alright, right?"

    "My point is, if the gun was hidden, how were you aware of it?"

    I glance at my mom, who gives me a short nod.

    "...Well, I can see through solid objects," I admit. It''s not exactly correct, but it''s correct enough.

    "You can¡­ see through solid objects," the policeman repeats incredulously.

    "Yeah man, I survived a shotgun blast to the stomach today, why is that weird?" I frown at him. "I can prove it, if you want. You''re wearing tighty-whities, your wallet is in your back-left pocket, and it has seven different cards in it, three of which are credit or debit. Want me to read you the numbers?"

    "N-No, that won''t be necessary," he answers. Which is good. I can only read those old credit cards with the raised numbers, since my power just does shapes, not colors. Printed material is all just flat to me. One of the cards in his pocket is the newer, sleeker kind and I can''t read the numbers at all. I can just tell it''s a credit card because it has a chip.

    A knock on the door interrupts the policeman''s next question before it even begins, and a familiar face simply lets himself into the room, holding out one of those classic flip-down badges like he''s in a goddamn movie.

    "Don Taylor, Department of Homeland Security," he says. "We''ll be taking this case off your hands."

    "Hey, Donald!" I wave at him.

    "...Hello, Ms. Hiiragi," he sighs. "And Mrs. Hiiragi as well. A pleasure."

    "I''m sure," my mother responds flatly, her arms crossed. "You already know my daughter?"

    "We''ve spoken once before," he confirms, holding the door open to invite the policeman to get the heck out of the room. "National security matters. Matters that I''m sure we could use to justify dealing with this problem quickly and easily for you."

    Don''s partner enters the room with him once the policeman leaves, and shuts the door behind him. It''s just us and the feds now.

    "Considering that my daughter has acted entirely within the bounds of the law, I can''t say I''m aware of any problem you could be referring to," my mother answers. "There are no grounds for arrest in the first place, so I expect this misunderstanding to be dealt with rather swiftly."

    Completely different words than the ones she gave me, and every one of them is laced with threat. My mom won''t hesitate for a second before getting into a legal punchout with the feds, and she''s making sure he knows it. But of course, the spook doesn''t seem too intimidated.

    "I certainly hope you''re right," he answers, just as acidly. "But while we figure things out, I think it would be best if we had another conversation with Hannah, here."

    "You don''t have to respond to a single damn thing he says," my mother tells me flatly.

    "I don''t plan to," I assure her.

    "We know how magic spreads," Don says flatly, sitting down in front of me. "Anyone with magic can spread magic, right?"

    I can''t help it. My face drops into a deep scowl, and Don takes that as the confirmation it is.

    "That''s the reason you wouldn''t tell us," he continues. "It wasn''t for our sake at all. It was for yours. You didn''t want to admit that you''re the vector for all of this."

    "...And why do you suspect a person might be uninterested in telling you something like that?" I say flatly, crossing my arms.

    "...Hannah," my mother warns.

    "It was you who said that you wanted the government to be able to form policies and responses to the new legal issues that arise from magic," Don says, leaning forward to put his elbows on the table between us. "So I don''t know. I have no idea what else you''re hiding, Hannah. But I think this is a very good opportunity for you to fix that, and let us know what''s actually going on. We want to work with you, Hannah."

    "Do you now?" I ask. "Alright, so where are those laws and regulations at? What are your plans to deal with the inevitability of Pneuma mages? Show me you have some capacity to handle what you''ve already got, Don, and maybe I''ll be impressed enough to give you more."

    "...You''re quite the arrogant little shit, aren''t you?" he says, seeming somewhat stunned. "You really think it works that way? Kid, we''re being nice to you. You get that, right? Do you want to make this a you versus us thing?"

    I sigh. I guess he''s got a point. If I wanted that, I wouldn''t be here.

    "...The problem is that I don''t trust you not to acquire, hoard, and abuse any magic you gain access to," I explain bluntly. "The Department of Homeland Security doesn''t exactly have a clean record vis-a-vis human rights. And I get you probably think that everything you do is necessary or just or both, but I don''t. And I don''t want to enable you. That goes for basically any government agency. I feel like I have to try to balance giving you enough to do your jobs with not giving you enough to start becoming the exact threats I''m trying to prepare you against."

    "Well, what can I do to make you trust me, Hannah?" he asks.

    I frown, thinking about that for a moment.

    "...I don''t know," I admit. "I guess it would be nice to have reasonable laws and regulations in place about what you''re allowed to do with magic before I give it to you. I don''t think I can ever trust you, but if people can at least hold you accountable, that''ll be almost as good. Checks and balances for power are what America is supposed to be about, right?"

    Emphasis on ''supposed to,'' of course, but the government employee at least seems to take the comment well.

    "That''s a good answer," he says. "The problem, though, is that I don''t have any power to write new laws into being, and the legislative branch is a damn sight slower than the rate magic-related problems seem to be cropping up. It seems to me that, if we can''t guarantee your cooperation, the best response we have is to make sure you''re locked up where you can''t cause any more trouble."

    "And there it is," I accuse. "Now that you''re even slightly inconvenienced, the threats come out."

    I''m not angry, though. For some reason, the words make me break out into a broad grin, stretching my mouth beyond the limits of a human expression.

    "I''m genuinely unclear on why you would think this is a disproportionate response," Don sighs. "If you won''t help us protect your homeland, we''ll do it in spite of you. That is our job. And if you happen to be a threat to your homeland, we''ll deal with that, too."

    The more he talks, the more a strange, out-of-place feeling bubbles up inside me. It bursts out once he''s done trying to be scary, a jubilant bundle of laughter that I can''t help but release. It''s just¡­ it''s so silly. After slaughtering pirates, rapists, cultists, monsters¡­ things with actual power, this little human thinks he can intimidate me. He truly has no idea what I am.

    I might not know either, but I know it''s more than enough to laugh him off.

    "Mind filling me in on what''s so amusing?" he asks, seeming nonplussed.

    "Well, it''s just¡­ you know," I chuckle, gesturing vaguely around us. "It''s funny that you think you can scare me, I guess. That you think I''m here for any reason beyond the fact that I want to be. I mean¡­ Goddess, I can imagine it now. You probably saw me get shot today and thought to yourself ''Yes! What a relief! We can always just use violence if things go bad.'' You actually think you can deal with this with enough force, the same way you deal with everything. You truly have no idea how much I''m holding back."

    "Why don''t you enlighten me, then," he says, narrowing his eyes. "Are you implying you let yourself get shot?"

    "Yes," I say bluntly. "Frankly, I could have avoided it pretty trivially, but I wanted his attention to stay on me so he''d be less likely to shoot a human instead. Why do you think I was so calm? At no point in the situation was I in danger."

    I also just didn''t want all my clothes to fall off, because that would have been extremely embarrassing. But still.

    "Hannah!" my mother snaps. "That''s enough."

    "Sorry," I apologize automatically, though I''m not really feeling it. "I shouldn''t act like I''m above the law."

    "But do you believe you''re above the law, Hannah Hiiragi?" Don asks.

    Yes, the Goddess sings. Of course I am. I am Her favorite, which is as close to divine as a person can be. And it''s true, isn''t it? They could surround this building with a tank battalion and I could walk out like it was a normal day at the grocery store. Or I could just kill them all. Armor is meaningless. Firepower is meaningless. Without magic, they simply cannot hit me unless I allow it. Given how quickly I''ve been able to react to bullets so far, they might not even be able to surprise me, though I suppose I could potentially die if they sniped me from far enough away in my sleep.

    That wouldn''t be a satisfying end to Her game, though. Rather anticlimactic, all things considered, so I wouldn''t be surprised if circumstances somehow conspired to wake me up shortly beforehand. Plus, y''know, I''d probably have to be a lot more annoying than this if I want the government to assassinate me. Which, uh, I don''t.

    "I think it''s in everyone''s best interest that nobody thinks I''m above the law," I tell him. "That''s why I''m here, cooperating with the police. Will your people have any issues following the law in this clear-cut case of self-defense?"

    He scowls at me, drumming his fingers on the table for a while as he chews on his thoughts.

    "You want laws in place," he eventually says. "You want people to be safe."

    "Yes," I agree firmly. "Absolutely. I want to work with you, Don, but I just don''t have a lot of room to take risks here."

    "What I''m worried about," he says slowly, "what I''m¡­ required to worry about, because of my position, is the risks you''re already taking. I don''t think what happened here today is your fault, but I do think it''s because of you. Do you understand the difference?"

    "...Yes," I frown. "I didn''t do anything wrong, but just existing the way I am is setting some kindling alight, isn''t it?"

    "Exactly," he nods. "And with what we''ve learned about how magic spreads, and with what you''re claiming about holding back in order to prevent that¡­ well, one has to wonder how hard you might be forced to escalate the situation, if it comes to that."

    "Perhaps," I say, "you should focus your efforts on those who start the fires, rather than me."

    "What I want to do is both," he says frankly. "But I understand that wouldn''t be right. I get that, Ms. Hiiragi. So I have a few more questions for you."

    "Ask away," I allow.

    "How many other people have magic?" he asks. "In total."

    "In this universe?" I ask. Well, there''s me, Ida, Jet, Alma¡­ I mean, I guess they don''t consider themselves people, really, so maybe I should just count them as one. But yeah, then there''s J-Mug, J-Mom, and¡­ well, Val, technically, though she''s not here. And Fartbuns, though he''s also not a person and he can''t spread magic because he can''t name spells. "Uh, five to seven, depending on how you count."

    "That''s it?" he asks.

    "To my knowledge, yes," I nod. "It''s possible there are people I don''t know about, but I wouldn''t say it''s super likely."

    "And do you trust all of these people not to spread magic?" he presses.

    "If I didn''t, I''d be doing something about that," I answer. The J-Family is dumb but I''m pretty sure I''ve put the fear of the Goddess in them.

    "Alright," he says. "Would you be willing to speak with some legislators?"

    I blink.

    "Pardon?"

    "Legislators. Senators. Congressmen and congresswomen. You''re the world''s foremost expert on magic, aren''t you? They''ll need to talk to you, in order to put together some kind of law system for this."

    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

    "Um," I say. "Well, yeah, I guess! I suppose¡­ it would make sense for me to do that!"

    Holy stromboli I''m going to be talking to the Senate? Aaaaaah!

    "Alright. I''ll float the idea to the guys upstairs. Not sure people will be comfortable meeting you in person, but I''ll help the old farts set up a Zoom call if I have to."

    "Uh. Yeah, s-sure, okay," I stammer. This is¡­ not how I thought the conversation would go! "Should I give you my email or something?"

    He snorts and stands up.

    "We know what your email is, Ms. Hiiragi," he says flatly, and then he turns and leaves the room. Well. Okay then. I want to complain about the governmental invasion of privacy, but I guess I did meet the guy when he was stalking me in a car outside my house.

    "...That was a foolish thing to do," my mother grouses.

    "Maybe," I admit. "But it worked out, didn''t it? Besides, I wasn''t kidding, you know."

    "About what?"

    I turn and look her in the eyes. I can''t remember the last time I''ve managed to do that.

    "I''m only here because I want to be," I tell her. "No matter how they try to lock me up, I can walk out of here whenever I decide to."

    My mother returns the stare with a sad look.

    "...You''ve changed so much, Hannah," she says. "And I don''t just mean your body. I can barely recognize you."

    A lot of people have tried to kill me, Mom. And I''ve had to kill a lot of people in turn.

    "I guess that''s fair," I allow. "I can barely recognize myself."

    Not long after that I''m let out of the police station, the maiming charges dropped. I''m surprised the government actually stepped in to help me out; I was really expecting them to escalate. I suppose it''s not too late for that, but for now I''ll be happy with how things turned out. I put my gloves on and pull out my phone on the drive home, finding an explosion of notifications and texts engorging my home screen with little red numbers. Uh-oh.

    ---

    <Skarmbliss>

    Yo what the fuCK IS THIS

    ---

    Below, he posts a Twitter link that I quickly realize is a phone recording of me getting shot, including most of the lead-up to the entire situation. Which¡­ fuck, okay, I guess that makes sense? Like, half a dozen people are pointing phones at me at any given moment while I work. I assumed they were taking pictures, but obviously some of them were taking videos; I just wasn''t really paying attention to it.

    ¡­Of course a good chunk of people didn''t flee the scene of a dude pulling out a shotgun on me because they were recording something for their followers. Of course.

    ---

    <Mortissississimo>

    "Do you think I''m afraid of you, sir?" Jesus fucking christ.

    <Skarmbliss>

    Right???

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    @DistractedDreamer Hannah holy shit is this real??? Are you okay???

    ---

    There''s quite a bit more on the freaking out and pinging me front, but I just skim through it and start typing an answer.

    ---

    <DistractedDreamer>

    @Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham It''s real and I''m okay. Hi everyone, sorry for the scare.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Oh thank god.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Er, I mean, thank the Goddess?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    No. Don''t do that.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Okay, sorry.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Hannah!!! Holy shit, I just¡­ how are you alive?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Magic.

    <Mortissississimo>

    Oh my god, don''t just say ''magic!'' The dude blew your guts all over the wall! Explain!!!

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I don''t know what you want from me man, I can heal myself with magic. I''m fine. As far as I know the guy whose arm I chopped off is okay, too.

    <Mortissississimo>

    You mean the crazy bastard that shot you for no reason???

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yeah, that guy.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Hannah, I''m glad you''re okay. You can be kind of scary sometimes. That video gave me chills.

    <Mortissississimo>

    You seem super fucking casual about all this

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yeah, I mean, it''s not the first time I''ve been attacked by an insane person who thinks I''m inherently evil. It won''t be the last time, either.

    <Mortissississimo>

    This isn''t the first time???

    <DistractedDreamer>

    No. It''s the first time on Earth, I guess, but in the other universe there''s a whole cult of people who exist for the sole purpose of killing anyone like me. Which is¡­ not fun to deal with.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    Holy shit. Uh. How do you deal with that? That sounds horrific.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    By being better at killing than they are, I guess.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    ¡­Oh.

    <Skarmbliss>

    Youve killed people, Hannah?

    <DistractedDreamer>

    Yeah.

    <Skarmbliss>

    How many?

    <Mortissississimo>

    Jesus fuck, Skarm, don''t ask that.

    <DistractedDreamer>

    I stopped counting recently. Over twenty, I think?

    <Skarmbliss>

    Woah.

    <Lana, Blood Ba¡¯ham>

    I''m so sorry. That must be awful.

    ---

    There''s a lot I could say to that, but I just type ''yeah'' and move on to the texts, assuring Ida and¡ªto my surprise¡ªAutumn that I am alive and well. It''s pretty late in the day at this point, the sun setting by the time we get home. My phone buzzes again as I head up to my room, and my eyebrows rise as I see another text from Autumn.

    Jet says they''ll take care of the thing you asked for tonight.

    Hmm? Oh. Oh! Valerie''s phone!

    Tell them thank you so much, I respond. And, uh, thanks to you too for being onboard, I guess.

    It''s no big deal, Alma answers. Gosh, I think this is the first time I''ve spoken to her since we broke up. Jet is fairly friendly when we have gym together, but Alma and I don''t talk at all in Biology. I can''t help but feel the need to break that silence, at least a little.

    Have you been doing okay? I mean, please let me know if it''s not okay to ask.

    No, it''s fine. I''m doing alright, Alma answers. It''s just. Kind of mortifying trying to talk to you, after¡­ you know. I want to. I''m still kind of addicted to you. But I hope we can still be friends?

    Relief and fear war within me, and I''m not sure which I want to win.

    Are you sure that''s okay? I ask. I mean¡­ I was awful to you.

    You really weren''t, Alma insists. Jet says you were an abuser, albeit an accidental one, but they''ve got a really broad definition of abuse. I''m¡­ able to admit you fucked up, right now, so yeah. You definitely fucked up. But I don''t think you''re an abuser for it, and I definitely don''t think you''re a bad person. A bad girlfriend, maybe, but Jet and I both hope you can still be a good normal friend.

    Relief. Relief wins. I start to cry a little. Holy shit, I didn''t ruin everything. Or at least not enough to be undeserving of a second chance.

    If you and Jet are sure that would be healthy for you, I''d love to still be your friend.

    We''ll start slow, but¡­ I''d like that, Alma answers. And also, I wanted to say thank you. Because for everything you did wrong, you at least got Jet and I talking. It still freaks me the fuck out, and I still sort of resent them, but I can''t deny that they''re¡­ helpful. For a lot of things.

    I''m sure they''ll be happy to read that from you, I answer

    Ugh, yeah, don''t remind me, Alma complains. I HATE the fact that they can read everything I write. You''re still a body-stealing bitch, Jet!

    I chuckle, chatting a bit more with Alma before I finally get sleepy enough for bed. I wake up immediately after passing out, as usual, and I''m quickly flooded with uncomfortable sensations. I feel cold, wet, soft, groggy¡­ all the feelings I associate with a major molt, multiplied a hundredfold. Butter side down, of course I''ve had a huge molt today. I had to constantly use my self-transformation spell to repair multiple lethal wounds all clustered together in my guts at the same time. And when I use that Transmutation spell to repair one of my bodies, the other is affected as well¡­ just with growth instead of healing. After all, the ''healing'' my spell performs is really just ''shifting both of my bodies towards their final state,'' and it just conveniently targets injuries first when determining what to do to me as a nice little treat from the Goddess.

    So yeah, I''ve had a lot of transformation occur overnight. My freakishly stretched main body has finally separated out into a proper head and neck, complete with a fully-formed jaw for a maw and my eyes circling around the circumference in the same pattern as my new collection of eyes back on Earth¡­ though none of the eyes are actually humanoid in appearance or shape yet. My head has also completely burst out of my chitin shell, and it doesn''t have any new chitin growing overtop it¡ªit''s my first taste of skin in this body, and it''s weird. Being covered in molting juice probably doesn''t help, though.

    The presence of a fully independent head and neck is far from the only set of changes my body has gone through, however. My limbs are continuing to specialize and reposition themselves, and though they''re only partly-formed it''s easy to tell which of my limbs are becoming my legs, which are becoming my hip-limbs, which are becoming my blade-limbs, and which are becoming my arms. Though in practical terms, I''m just sort of a weird mess of tangled, half-formed limbs.

    My torso is bulbous and pear-shaped from transitioning out of a near-spherical state, and while my future arms have crawled most of the way up to what will one day be my shoulders, they aren''t quite there, giving me a scrungly, knuckle-dragging lowness to my hands. I do kind of have hands, though, at least on two of my four arms. They only have three fingers, but one of those fingers is a thumb, and I might even be able to grab stuff with it! Only time will tell, but I''m excited about it. I''m less excited about how my growth has made me just over three feet tall, and with my legs all fucked up by the transition from spider-like to humanoid, that leaves me too big to comfortably carry but too undeveloped to walk efficiently on my own. What will one day be my hip-limbs are still low enough to easily work into how I walk, so I''m not totally screwed, but it''ll be a learning process.

    I am, in a word, hideous. This stage of my body has neither the dangerous, sexy strength of my humanoid form nor the cute, portable cuddliness of my hyperspider form. It''s the worst of both worlds, the weaknesses of both emphasized in the liminal space before they can be purged or turned into strengths. I take a deep breath and try to move, letting out an uncomfortable groan at the icky sensations that surge all over my body.

    "Refresh," the Goddess speaks aloud for me, since while I could probably handle this without summoning her, I want the power to rip this gunk off as soon as possible. I let my awareness expand around more of the room as I do so, taking advantage of the incantation to clean Sela, the beds, and all my friends while I''m at it. Obviously, this wakes them up, but I''m both not confident in my ability to move and absolutely ravenous, so I think I need to ask for help anyway.

    "Soul Sight!" the Goddess barks for Helen as she leaps out of bed, her tail whipping around like a fan. "What''s wrong, is something happening!?"

    "We''re good! Sorry, we''re safe, everything is okay," I gurgle, my voice sounding weird. "Sorry, I''m just having Transmutation mage problems. I might need some non-urgent help."

    "Oh, Goddess, okay," Helen sighs, sitting back down. "Shit, you really scared the fuck out of me."

    "What happening¡­?" Kagiso gurgles, sitting up and yawning next to Helen, her lower pair of arms wrapping around the raptor girl and trying to pull her back into cuddle jail. Since our room only had two beds, Kagiso and Helen took one and Valerie took the other, while Sela and I volunteered for the floor. I almost decided to sandwich myself between Kagiso and Helen again, but the beds are pretty small so I didn''t¡­ and it''s a good thing, too, or they''d all have gotten pretty disgusting from my molt. A frankly absurd amount of discarded skin and broken chitin is scattered around me now, and it''s making me even hungrier.

    "Uughlurgle," Valerie mumbles, twisting around in her bed for a little before emerging with a yawn. It would appear I''m not the only one to have undergone a decent chunk of changes tonight, and my best friend has received significant upgrades to both her fuzziness and her femininity. Her chest is very noticeable now, whether you happen to be able to see through clothing or not, and her, uh, other sexual characteristics are a lot smaller, though that one is obviously something I try not to think about and certainly isn''t noticeable from the outside.

    Regardless, the blonde fur over Valerie''s body has gone from ''light dusting'' to ''shaggy coat,'' the sort of delightfully fuzzy texture that just makes you want to rub your face all over it. Her tail is a bit longer too, and the claws on her toes are starting to grow in, although¡­

    "Hey Valerie!" I say. "Good morning! Would you, uh, mind standing up real fast?"

    "I dunno if I can do anything ''fast'' right now," she mumbles, though she does hop out of bed, wearing nothing but a t-shirt and underwear.

    "Huh," I mutter. "Hey Helen, go stand next to her."

    "...Oh, I see," Helen hums, extracting herself from Kagiso''s devious, cozy trap and walking over to Val. "You''d better tell me what''s up with you, though."

    "I will, I will," I promise, slowly trying to stagger to what counts for my feet so I can start eating my molt. "Any chance I could motivate you to get up and grab me food, Kagiso?"

    "No," Kagiso answers, and hides her head underneath the covers. Damn it, I can''t even be mad. She''s too cute.

    Anyway, when Helen and Valerie stand side-by-side, my suspicion is made obvious. Valerie is shorter. A lot shorter. Which on one hand¡­ good for her! She''s honestly never liked being tall. But¡­ it''s still strange. After all, as much as Val would approve of this change, Nature''s Madness doesn''t make changes based on what the target would approve of. It makes changes based on how I see the person, and since Valerie has towered over me for my entire life like some terrifying giant, I see her as pretty damn tall. So why would she be shrinking?

    "This is really weird," Valerie says, though she seems to be focusing more on her fur and chest than her height. She rubs her hand against the opposite forearm, feeling out the fur and also using it as an excuse to ''subtly'' press her biceps into her boobs, desperate to feel them there but not wanting to just straight-up grope herself in front of everyone. I guess it makes sense for her to focus more on those changes; after all, while she''s clearly shorter than before, she''s still taller than everyone else.

    "What did she say?" Helen asks.

    "Oh, she said it feels weird. Valerie, do you have another copy of that translation spell?"

    "Yeah, one sec," Valerie mutters absentmindedly, squatting down to search through her sketchpad and absentmindedly ripping out the spell and casting it, her mind clearly still focused elsewhere.

    "You can understand me now, yeah?" Helen asks. "You doing okay? If fur is anything like feathers, that shit''ll keep you up at night. I''m kind of jealous of you getting to take it slow. I''m still trying to figure out why the fuck I keep feeling shit when I breathe through my mouth."

    "Heat sources, maybe?" Valerie says absentmindedly, looking behind herself and wiggling her thick, fuzzy tail. "Like a snake? I could see Hannah conflating snakes and other reptiles."

    "Hey!" I protest. "Don''t make fun of my subconscious associations! Also, I''m really really sorry, Helen."

    "Again, you saved my fucking life, Hannah," Helen says, waving me off. "I''m not gonna say I enjoy this; there''s perks, but there''s just as many downsides. I tore our fucking sheets apart just last night with these damn talons."

    She wiggles her huge toes for emphasis.

    "...And more relevantly, this will make it really difficult for me to hide for the entire rest of my life, the moment someone associates ''raptor girl'' with ''chaos mage.'' But still, if you put me in that situation again and gave me a choice? Fuck yeah, I''d tell you to cast the spell. It''s weird and disturbing, but it can be fun too, and it''s a thousand times better than fucking dying. So seriously, stop projecting your ex-girlfriend''s problems onto me."

    Uh. Ouch, but I guess that''s fair.

    "Alright," I nod awkwardly. "Thanks, Helen. You''re the best."

    "Yeah, yeah," she grumbles. "What''s the plan for today, then?"

    "I mean, I guess we try to figure out how to leave town without Sela giving anyone a panic attack," Valerie answers. "It''s beautiful here, but we don''t want to delay trying to save the world from eternal flame for too long, right?"

    "Can you not just cast that illusion on it again?" Helen asks.

    "I mean yeah, I could, but I''m not going to," Valerie answers. "Sela hated it."

    "Affirmative: I somehow managed to underestimate the sheer, disgusting wretchedness of possessing a human form. Modest admittance: this is my failing. I thought I understood the depths to which meat was horrid, but even after hundreds of years, I still have much to learn."

    "Yeah, I hate you too, bot," Helen snorts. "Alright, fine. We gonna disguise it some other way, or are we just burning our bridges here and running like hell?"

    "I mean, just walking through town with Sela and acting like it''s totally normal could be really funny," I opine.

    "Yes I agree!" Sela screeches immediately.

    "Hannah, that''s just going to get people to attack us," Helen scowls. "Sela just wants to use this as an excuse to kill people."

    "Which would be funny!"

    "I dunno, do you really think that''ll happen?" I ask. "I mean, think about it. If we''re just walking through town not attacking anybody, who would step up and take the first shot against all of us? And if people confront us without attacking, we''re just going to be telling them that we''re leaving. So they''ll¡­ y''know. Let us go."

    "Uh," Helen says. "I mean, I guess that makes some kind of sense, but¡­"

    "Hannah," Valerie butts in. "Why did your transformation progress so much? Did something happen on Earth?"

    "Oh, um, yeah," I admit. "I got shot. Somebody just kind of randomly walked into my workplace and tried to kill me. But I just chopped his arm off and I''m fine."

    "So even though the majority of people are logical, reasonable actors most of the time, you can never discount the fact that somebody is just going to have an absurd amount of hate that leads them to attack people for stupid reasons?" she says flatly.

    I scowl at her, because I can do that now. Stupid logic, getting in the way of fun.

    "...I''ll draw an invisibility spell," Valerie sighs. "It''ll take me a few hours, but then we can get moving without too much attention. So can you please stop taking unnecessary risks? I don''t¡­ I don''t want you to get shot at, no matter how ''fine'' you are afterwards."

    "Sorry," I mumble. "You''re right. Thanks for keeping my head on straight, Valerie. I''m honestly a huge mess without you, aren''t I?"

    "You''re a huge mess with me, too," she smirks. "But I do my best. I''m glad I can help you, Hannah."

    Her tail wriggles a bit and I smile, staggering into something like a sitting position.

    "Well in that case," I say, "I''m pretty sure I just doubled my total body weight, so I really, really need some meat."

    She rolls her eyes and starts to look for some, but then Helen volunteers to get breakfast for everyone so Valerie can start drawing her spells. We chat away while she gets set up, happy to just have this time together.

    Even counting all the holes that got punched in my gut, today has been a pretty great day.

 71. Burning Out

    Treeside is surprisingly quiet, which is good because I have to spend the entire day recovering from the biggest molt of my lifetime, a very normal statement that I''m sure lots of people have made. Valerie spends a long time drawing a beautiful picture of some kind of lizard woman (with big boobs, obviously) vanishing into the background, her body seamlessly taking on the colors of her environment bit by bit until the lower parts of her body aren''t even visible anymore. It''s an intricately detailed piece, the forest in the background getting just as much love and attention as the featured character, and after completing it Valerie spends a long time just¡­ staring at it. Admiring it. A sad smile graces her face the whole time, pride at her accomplishment warring with the knowledge of what she needs to do with it.

    Then she casts her spell and the image burns to nothing, blue flames consuming hours of effort in an instant. Sela vanishes, and I can only imagine how much Valerie could accomplish if given enough time¡ªboth in terms of magical potential and even more so in terms of artistic talent. That beautiful image was a rush job, all the effort she felt she needed to get the minimum quality required, and no more.

    Still, with Sela hidden, we manage to extract ourselves from town without incident, making it back to Sela''s real body and taking off for the burning canopy once more. I don''t do much other than rest all day, my still-growing body needing Kagiso and Helen to help carry it all the way back to the ship.

    Still, it''s a good, relaxing day. With nothing to do but wait for my exoskeleton to harden and everyone else cooped up inside Sela anyway, we all just kind of¡­ hang out. Valerie spends most of the time drawing, though we do get a few good board game sessions in, getting obliterated by Kagiso twice more before we all gang up on her in the third game and Helen barely manages to pull off a win by betraying us at the perfect moment. Valerie was really mad at her for that, though I didn''t care. It''s not like I was going to win, anyway.

    Afterwards I mostly just rest my head on Val''s fuzzy tail (with permission, of course) and watch her draw. It''s nice, and before I know it I''m waking up back on Earth, feeling relaxed and well-rested. Gosh, what day is it now? Tuesday?

    Oh yeah, didn''t I maul a guy yesterday?

    I giggle a little at the thought, just coming out of nowhere like it''s somehow reasonable. But yeah, I guess I did maul a guy yesterday, and the video of me doing it went viral on Twitter, both an edited version and a full version, graphic content warnings and all. That''s probably going to cause a commotion or two at school. I kind of look forward to it. I always get such an odd rush at the prospect of getting to upend people''s view of reality.

    After I get ready for school and head outside, though, I spot something unexpected¡­ although in retrospect it probably shouldn''t have been unexpected. It''s a news van from Channel Nine, the same people that interviewed me back at my job after I first came out. They''re quite quick on the draw, aren''t they? Well, I guess I can indulge them. They hop out of their van pretty much the moment I walk out of my house, waiting carefully on the sidewalk so they don''t trespass into private property. It''s the same reporter and cameraman from last time. Man, they''re really on top of me.

    "Hannah, hello!" the reporter greets me, the camera already rolling. "Lucy Dandridge, Channel Nine! How are you doing this morning?"

    "Not too bad, all things considered," I answer, rolling a shoulder. "I''m heading to the bus stop, so you have until then to ask me stuff, I guess."

    "You''re aware of the videos of what happened yesterday at your workplace then, yes?" she asks, keeping pace with me.

    "Yeah, my friends wouldn''t stop messaging me about it," I sigh.

    "So the events depicted are true, then?" she presses. "It looked like you got hurt quite badly. Are you alright?"

    "Oh yeah, I''m fine," I confirm, lifting my shirt to show off my unscarred gray tummy. Heh, I have a little bit of abs now. My transformation is the coolest. "The shotgun did a lot more damage than expected, but it''s not the sort of thing that can actually kill me."

    "Why do you think you were targeted for an act of violence like this?" she asks, which makes me smile a little. Honestly, I didn''t really expect the local news to take the stance that I''m the victim here, but it''s pretty cool that they are. I''m sure that plenty of other news outlets won''t be as nice, of course, but I don''t mind the early softball.

    "I mean, I''ve never met the man before in my life," I tell her, "but he didn''t really seem like he was in a healthy state of mind. I hope that he gets the help he needs."

    "What do you mean by that?"

    "I mean I think he needs like, mental health care?" I say, scratching the back of my head. "He brought a shotgun into a restaurant and shot me with it. I dunno, I just feel like healthy people don''t do that sort of thing."

    "Are you worried about this sort of thing happening again?" the reporter asks.

    "Oh, absolutely," I nod. "I figured I''d have to live with being assaulted from the moment I came out as a weird little bug girl, but I''m not really worried for my personal safety. What I''m worried about is everyone else''s safety. I was expecting to get stabbed alone in an alleyway, not shot in the middle of a building with dozens of other people in it. That man never put me in danger, but everyone else in the restaurant? Yeah, I was absolutely terrified they''d get hurt. That''s why I did my best to keep his attention on me."

    "On that note," the reporter says, "it seems like you aren''t the only person in town that''s¡­ obviously magical in nature, so to speak. Are you familiar with the others like you, and are you worried about their safety?"

    I stop, frowning to myself. Ida or Autumn, being attacked? The thought of it¡­ no. Flexing my limbs around me like an angel''s wings, I face her.

    "You know," I tell the camera with a wide smile on my face, "I really don''t take it personally when people try to kill me anymore."

    "Uh¡­ you don''t?" the reporter asks, her smile flickering a little.

    "Nope!" I assure her, popping the ''p'' a little. "It''s happened more often than you might think. I''m pretty used to it. And that guy is lucky I was! I am made of swords, and you guys are made of meat. In a life-or-death fight, it can be pretty tough to prevent¡­ y''know. The death? But I kind of have to, even given the fact that a person in Tennessee is well within their rights to respond with lethal force when threatened with a gun in their home or workplace. Being different from everyone else means people hold me to a different standard, and I respect that."

    "I¡­ I see," she stammers, and I grin even wider.

    "It''s just¡­ well, I''m cool with people threatening me, right? It happens. But if you threaten the people I care about, I''m not confident I could respond in quite as level-headed a manner. I''m sure plenty of you can empathize with that. When your loved ones are in danger, other considerations just kind of stop mattering, you know?"

    "Yes, I¡­ suppose that''s understandable," she gulps. "When you say that threats against your life have happened more often than we might think, what do you mean by that? Have there been other attempts to kill you?"

    "Not on Earth," I answer with a shrug. "Turns out I''m a bit of a cuckoo situation, and my other home is¡­ a lot more violent than this one. I go there fairly regularly. There have been some bad days."

    "A ''cuckoo situation?''" the reporter clarifies.

    "Yeah," I nod. "As far as I understand, divine intervention really messed me up in utero. I spent nearly eighteen years growing up thinking that I''m human and then bam! My skin starts molting off. Not a fun time, let me tell you."

    "That''s¡­ quite interesting," the reporter blinks. "Are there other ''cuckoo situations,'' as you put it?"

    "Not to my knowledge," I say, shaking my head. "The handful of other magic users in town have different origins. But it''s somewhat personal, and not really my place to get into. Though if you do suspect someone isn''t human, keep in mind that culturally, they probably are. I was born here, I was raised here, and I lived my life entirely as a human here up until a few months ago. I¡­"

    I wince as I realize what the best way to sum things up is.

    "...I am still my mother''s daughter, despite everything," I conclude. "No amount of extra limbs will erase the time she spent raising me. So if you know someone who''s growing any, please keep that in mind. They''re still human on the inside, and that will never change."

    ¡­Why did saying those words hurt so much? Ugh, y''know what, I''m not thinking about that right now. I see my therapist tomorrow, anyway.

    The interview wraps up soon after that, mostly because I shoo the reporters away before we reach the bus stop. It would be bad to bother my classmates any more than I usually do. The bus ride over is lonely without Valerie, but overall I get to spend a lot more time with Valerie than I usually do thanks to her being treeside, so that thought makes me pretty happy.

    English class is boring and uneventful, but I start feeling real awkward as Biology starts because it''s the class I share with Alma. I know we just had a nice talk, but it''s still scary. I''m so terrified of hurting her again that I think I might throw up. Alma doesn''t seem to share my compunctions, though, and walks directly up to me the moment I enter the room.

    "Here," she says, dropping a cell phone into my hand. Oh! Valerie''s phone!

    "Uh, th-thank you!" I manage to stammer, quickly tossing it into my backpack. Smooth, Hannah. "Really, this will be a big help. Did, uh, did things go well?"

    "I have no idea," Alma admits. "You''ll have to ask Jet. But they don''t seem too agitated, today?"

    I glance down at her tail, which is somehow glowering at me warningly despite not having eyes. You''re getting a second chance. You won''t get a third. Do NOT fuck with us. ¡­Or something.

    I hate to focus on it, but Alma is absolutely adorable with all her inhuman features on display. Her big caracal ears flop down on either side of her head, all endearingly droopy as she fidgets by tapping her claws against each other. Where Jet holds her wings firmly up and behind her back, Alma''s wings wrap forward around her arms, hugging her like a loose cloak and trailing nearly to the floor.

    A pang of longing and regret echoes through my body, but I push it aside. It''s far too late for that.

    "So¡­ you''re doing okay?" I ask. "How''s¡­ y''know, the whole ''being openly nonhuman'' thing treating you? I''m a little worried, after what happened yesterday."

    "...Yeah, same," she agrees, and at some point I end up sitting down in a seat next to hers while we wait for class. "It''s not really something we can do anything about. I''m worried because Jet and I don''t really have a good way to heal ourselves if we get hurt."

    "Yeah, but you''re better at ways to prevent yourself from getting hurt in the first place," I point out.

    "That''s true," Alma concedes. "I hope that will be enough."

    Goddess, me too.

    "Well, for what it''s worth," I say, "if you''re ever in danger or just afraid of being in danger, you can call me. I''ll drop everything to help you, alright? I owe you that much."

    "Alright," Alma shrugs. "Thanks."

    Class starts not long after that, and most of the day passes soon afterwards. I see Ida again in the class we have together after lunch, buzzing around with her feet barely an inch off the ground. Of course she''s already figured out how to fly. That''s Ida, for you.

    "Hey, Hannah!" she greets me happily. "How was getting shot?"

    "Uh, not super great?" I answer. "I''m glad no one else got hurt, at least."

    "I know I say this kind of thing a lot, but it is literally the most Hannah move in the world to be literally disemboweled by a round of twelve-gauge buckshot and just kind of show up to school the next day like nothing happened," she chuckles, landing next to me and bumping her shoulder into mine.

    "...I mean yeah, I guess so," I shrug. "But to be fair, most people can''t get disemboweled by anything and walk it off afterwards."

    "I mean sure, but I can and I guaran-fucking-tee you that I''d milk the situation for a week off anyway."

    "...Fair," I admit awkwardly. "I just¡­ I dunno. What else would I do with my time?"

    "Whatever nerds do! You could play video games, or something?"

    I shake my head.

    "It would feel disingenuous to take time off of school and end up streaming for work instead," I argue.

    She flicks me in the butt with her tail, causing me to jump a little.

    "I didn''t say stream, I said play video games. Geez, Hannah, can you seriously not just have a hobby without turning it into¡­ oh, who am I kidding, of course you can''t."

    She sighs dramatically.

    "Well," Ida drawls, "I suppose it is my solemn duty to ensure you relax from time to time. ¡­In my bed, ideally."

    "Ida," I blush.

    "Hannah I want to have more crazy violent monster sex."

    "Ida," I beg her, intensely aware of exactly how many people are staring at us. "Not here, please?"

    "Well yeah, I said in my bed. We''d have to get real freaky to fuck at school."

    "Ida!"

    She cackles and flitters off to her seat, leaving me flustered and embarrassed and unfortunately kind of aroused. Curses. I do my best not to think about any of that for the rest of the school day, taking the bus home and thankfully not being ambushed by any more reporters or government agents on the way. My workplace is closed today due to all the bullet holes and monster blood, so I finally have time to stream for once. It''s not one of my normal streaming days, but¡­ hmm.

    I can''t help but think about Ida''s comment on hobbies. I do want to relax and play games, but the thought of doing it without streaming feels¡­ wrong, somehow. Like I''m failing myself. Yet I know if I turn the stream on, it won''t really be a fun time playing Pok¨¦mon. It''ll be a hundred people all asking me about magic, about getting shot, about everything they care about and what they want to know and what they want to see me do. Because of course it will be. Streaming isn''t about me. It''s my job.

    I don''t¡­ really want to do that right now. Maybe I should relax. It''s easier to relax in absence of anything else to be doing, though; on the World Tree, we spend most of our time traveling, so I don''t have to feel guilty for having nothing to do. That''s not the case here. On Earth, there''s always something I should be doing. Usually multiple things. If I''m not being productive with something, even if it''s not exactly the best thing to do at the time, I get really uncomfortable.

    So I just sit there at my computer for about half an hour, fidgeting with pent-up anxiety and failing to get invested in anything fun until I finally get up, pull out my phone, and ask if my family is cool with me making dinner tonight, to which I get three very surprised but perfectly enthusiastic affirmations. It''s just¡­ something to do.

    Now I just need to figure out what to make and buy the ingredients and stuff.

    Meals for me have been¡­ interesting since all this started up. Not being able to digest plant matter cuts out a comical amount of food from my diet, and since my family probably doesn''t want to just eat a giant slab of meat and nothing else I should probably prepare some sides for them. I opt to go with an old classic: mashed potatoes and pork chops. Since my taste buds are messed up I won''t really be able to tell if I''ve seasoned the mashed potatoes well or not, but like¡­ they''re mashed potatoes. As long as I don''t burn them the worst thing that happens is that they''re bland.

    With that in mind I empty my backpack, toss a couple of things in there like my wallet and some flip-flops, and then start jogging barefoot to the closest grocery store. Since my ''jog'' is upwards of twenty-five miles per hour, I stick to the bike lane this time. The asphalt feels nicer on my claws than concrete anyway.

    People stare at me, take pictures of me, and film me, but I ignore them. When I make it to the local Kroger I put my flip-flops on just because I feel weird about not wearing shoes in stores, though it turns out there''s a very complicated history about why that is. I looked it up a bit ago since being barefoot is so much more comfortable for me. Turns out, while wearing shoes is generally required for employees per the health code, there are no laws in the vast majority of states that mandate customers to wear anything on their feet! However, businesses aren''t the government and the owners of businesses can refuse service or entry to people without shoes anyway just because they own the place. Generally, they do so not for health reasons but for liability reasons¡ªpeople wearing shoes are less likely to get injured from stepping on stuff, and getting injured on someone else''s property tends to give you a pretty good case to sue them¡­ though your case is a lot less good if you''re on the owner''s property without their permission. But, y''know, then things get complicated and lawyery.

    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

    Basically, I could probably get away with going barefoot wherever, because if I step on a nail it''s the nail that loses. But despite all this logic, it still feels weird and socially uncomfortable, so I don''t. Flip-flops aren''t too bad anyway. They''re nice and squishy, and my claws peek just over the edge of the lip so that if I curl my toes I get to dig into the front of the shoe and it sends happy little tingles up my feet. I like it a lot.

    I don''t really like the stares, though. I was really having fun with them at first, getting to show off my rad body to gawking onlookers, but lately they''ve been a lot less entranced and a lot more¡­ scared. There are still people who mainly seem interested, curious, or in awe, but they''re the minority now. I guess ripping a guy''s arm off on camera after having your guts blown out will do that to your public opinion.

    Still, I ignore the person who thinks they''re being subtle recording me selecting a good-looking set of twelve pork chops for dinner, grabbing a small sack of potatoes, and nabbing a few things to make it all taste better before heading into express checkout. I almost head into self-checkout before I realize I''m stupid and I left my gloves at home, so I can''t use the touch screens. The girl behind the counter stares at me the way a deer stares at an oncoming car as I ignore her silent pleading to not enter her checkout line. Sorry! I dump all the stuff I''ve grabbed onto the little conveyor belt thing from where I''ve been pinning it all to my body with various limbs, giving the girl a firmly close-lipped smile.

    "Hey," I greet her. "Sorry, I''ll be out of your hair in just a second."

    She flinches, a guilty look flashing over her face.

    "Oh, uh, no problem," she mutters, scanning my items as I poke through the credit card machine with the attached stylus. "You, um, really like pork, then?"

    "...I''m cooking for my family tonight," I tell her. You do realize I have a family, right?

    "Oh, uh. Cool."

    After buying everything I pack it in my backpack and run home, quickly getting everything set up for dinner. Both Yuki and my dad are home at this point, and though Yuki is holed up in his room alone, my dad sits down at the kitchen counter and seems intent on hanging out near the kitchen while I make food.

    "Thanks again, Hannah!" he says happily. "Though I, uh, didn''t realize you''d be running off to buy food alone. Gave me quite a scare!"

    "...Why?" I ask, activating a Spatial Rend on my thumb and quickly peeling the skin off of one of the potatoes.

    "Because¡­ you got shot yesterday, sweetie," he says. "I didn''t think you''d be going to school, let alone running off by yourself."

    "Dad, if more people are going to try to shoot me, why would you want it to happen at home?" I ask, dropping the peels in a bowl and grabbing the next potato. "That just puts you, Mom, and Yuki in danger. I''ll be fine."

    "Is it so strange that I''d want to be there to protect you, Hannah?"

    "No, it''s not strange," I sigh. "It''s just a dumb idea. You can''t ''protect'' me, dad. I''m the single most dangerous person on the entire planet."

    He raises his eyebrows, smiling like that had been a joke.

    "Really?" he asks. "The whole planet?"

    "Dad, they could send fifty guys with guns at me and I''d kill them all without even trying," I tell him, crushing a peeled potato by clenching my fist. "I''m not the one in danger when I leave the house. You are. If anyone actually intelligent wants to hurt me, they''ll go after you."

    "...Oh," he says, looking sad. "I see. What about your friends?"

    "Going after them would just be a different kind of stupid," I answer. Ida and Autumn are dangerous all by themselves, but more than that? If my family was captured, I might cooperate or negotiate to get them back. If my friends were captured? Well, it''s like I told that reporter. I probably wouldn''t be able to stay rational.

    I just care a lot more about my friends than I do about my family.

    I manage to time the meal well, albeit by sheer accident. Mom comes home from work slightly before I start cooking the pork chops on the skillet, the spiced potato peels nearly ready to come out of the oven while their mashed innards are¡­ hopefully flavored well, from my memories of making them back when I tasted things the same way a human does. The pork chops should be fine, though; we''ve always just used a pre-made seasoning mix for that. When we actually sit down to eat it all, I find that it''s delicious in a different way than it used to be, but it''s still delicious. That''s nice, at least.

    Though I''m finally spending time with my family outside the context of getting arrested, we don''t exactly have much in the way of conversation at the dinner table. People mostly just thank me for making food, and then we eat the food, and then I retreat back upstairs and dissociate until it''s dark enough for me to feel comfortable dimensional-teleporting Valerie''s phone and putting myself to sleep.

    Bluh. Nothing bad even happened today. Why do I feel like shit? At least when I wake up treeside, it''s surrounded by people I love. That automatically makes the day better. Everyone else is already awake for once, even Kagiso, but I guess my body needed the extra sleep to continue recovering from my molt. Everything is still a little weirdly proportioned and awkward to move with, but I at least don''t feel incapable of moving on my own. I manage to successfully struggle to my feet all by myself, plodding over to where Valerie is drawing things on the floor.

    "Hey," I manage to say before a yawn seizes control of my respiratory system.

    "Good morning, Hannah," Valerie nods at me. Her tail looks longer than it did yesterday, and it shows no signs of slowing down its growth. Quite the opposite, actually. It''s already nearly down to her ankles. ¡­Though I guess that could be the fact that she''s getting shorter just as much as her tail getting longer.

    "What kinda spells are you drawing?" I ask, stretching out and lying down next to her.

    "Uh, fire resistance backups, mostly," Valerie answers. "Since we''re going to a place called the ''burning tunnels'' and all. I also have a couple acid resistance ones too, just in case it''s that kind of burning. I hope the name isn''t ironic."

    "Hey Sela!" I call out. "Are the burning tunnels ironic?"

    "No, they are on fire," it answers over the intercom.

    "Well there you go, then," I say. "Hopefully we won''t actually be going into the tunnels? I can survive heat just fine, but I can''t survive suffocation, and fire does that too."

    Valerie stops what she''s doing and stares at nothing for a second, a scowl on her face.

    "...Shoot, I didn''t actually think of that," she mutters. "Too many RPGs just let you walk on lava with fire immunity and call it a day. ¡­Well, whatever, I can start drawing magic to help us breathe instead."

    She flips her artbook to the next page and starts a new drawing immediately, and it brings a smile to my face without me really knowing why. It''s neat that I can smile now, on this side of things. I''ll miss being a cute little hat, but I''m excited for all the upcoming improvements to my body, too.

    "I got something for you, by the way," I say, placing her cell phone down next to her drawing pad. She looks up at me for the first time this conversation, surprise and excitement on her face.

    "Oh wow, is this awesome! How did you manage to get this from my parents?" she asks, poking away at the screen.

    "Jet stole it for me while she was robbing them," I shrug.

    "...Oh," Valerie frowns, wrinkling her nose. "Well, whatever, I guess they deserve it."

    "Good morning, Hannah," Helen greets me with a nod. "You sure slept a while."

    "Morning!" Kagiso parrots.

    "What can I say, shedding my epidermis and reconfiguring all of my limbs just makes me really sleepy," I shrug, another thing I can at least kind of do now. "How are you guys?"

    "Bored!" Kagiso complains.

    "Yeah, I''m feeling a bit cooped up myself," Helen agrees. "I need to run around in less-stale air."

    "I have welcome news for you then, meat," Sela buzzes. "We will arrive at our destination shortly. Though as much as I would prefer to deposit you into your certain deaths, I am unfortunately obligated to not let you disembark within the burning tunnels. Please allow my systems to keep you comfortable while I easily fly through what would be certain death for weak, pathetic beings such as yourself. It will be after we visit the burning tunnels that I will find a landing spot for you to witness the canopy more directly. For now, please direct your attention to the display screens, which have had their brightness reduced for the benefit of your pathetic, mortal optical sensors."

    "My eyes can probably take brightness just fine," I point out.

    "Yes," Sela agrees, "but I clearly excluded you from that statement."

    Um. What? I don''t have time to interrogate what it means by that, though, because soon the monitor in front of us lights up with distant flames. The tree blazes before us, its large, mushroom-like canopy nothing but a mess of fire and smoke. The tips of branches constantly collapse as their structural integrity weakens from the flames, the edges of the tree pouring massive, flaming chunks of wood down into the atmosphere below like a volcano belching lava, burning up into nothing before they ever finish their fall. Black clouds rise in the opposite direction, forming a massive, slowly spinning column of smoke like a dark god''s typhoon. High above the tree, it meets the collection of clouds that enclose this world, mixing with them and spreading out into the sphere of white that surrounds us. I''ve never actually asked what''s on the other side of those clouds, come to think of it. I wonder if anyone knows.

    So. This is what an apocalypse looks like. I can''t say it isn''t worthy of the word.

    "This has been going on for centuries?" Valerie breathes, terror and awe on her face. "How? How has it not burnt itself out? How has it not consumed the entire tree?"

    "Quite easily," Sela buzzes. "Your idiotic human mind is simply failing to comprehend the scales involved, as your kind always does. The tree is smaller than it was centuries ago, yes, but there is a maximum rate at which the fire can consume its fuel. There is a lot of available fuel."

    "Don''t trees naturally stop burning before they completely collapse, though?" Valerie presses. "When a wildfire passes through a forest, a lot of the trees stay standing and even survive, right? Living wood is wet, living trees are adapted to survive wildfires, and a fire of this scale¡­ shouldn''t it at least choke itself out from oxygen?"

    "...Maybe the tree is too dry because it''s been uprooted?" I hedge.

    "No," Sela answers. "The reality is that the fire does die out. Not completely, but it does. Observe."

    The screen does a classic sci-fi zoom-and-enhance, focusing on a relatively small section near the middle of the flames. A lot of branches around the area have been completely obliterated, rather than the slow, dramatic burn of most of the canopy. It''s an empty area of charcoal black, dark and unburning, with a giant hole in the center, wider than a mountain.

    "That," Sela tells us, "is our destination. One of the burning tunnels."

    "...You mean the one thing that isn''t burning?" Helen asks, but the viewscreen just flashes back to the zoomed-out picture as Sela accelerates towards the flaming canopy.

    "You shall see," it promises. "AblativeSoulBarrier(powerCell[6], 0.15, SPHERE, 0, 0, 0)"

    Our approach might take us through the path with the least fire, but the roar of the inferno around us is still louder than Sela''s engines as we approach. Sela''s soul-powered shielding keeps us safe from the heat, but the horrific view of what I imagine hell must look like still feels hot anyway. Even as we approach the charcoal tunnel, the least-burning place in the entire sea of flames, the most prominent feature is still fire. But eventually, we pass into the hole, into the trunk of the tree, and away from the brilliant pyre. Things quiet down. Things cool off, if only a bit.

    The tunnel is mind-bogglingly massive, though obviously only a tiny fraction of the surface of the tree. It''s deep though, entirely lined black charcoal and almost perfectly cylindrical. There''s a very slight curve to it, enough that we start to see less and less of the entrance the deeper we go in, but the walls still form a pristine circle all the way down.

    "Again," Helen says, "not a lot of burning going on here. Though it certainly looks like it was burning."

    "Recent," Kagiso hums. "Look."

    She points at the screen, dull red embers in the charcoal still glowing.

    "...This place is going to catch back on fire soon, isn''t it?" Valerie sighs.

    "Affirmative," Sela answers. "This location will ignite again in eight hundred and thirty-two point seven beats."

    "In what?" I ask.

    "Thirteen point eight MINUTES_HEURISTIC," Sela answers.

    "Oh hey, I have my phone!" Valerie says excitedly. "We can remove that heuristic designation now! Look, this thing will show you how long seconds and minutes and stuff are."

    "Ah yes, the computational device that Hannah decided to teleport directly inside me," Sela mutters. "Please, do explain it to me."

    Aw, butter side down.

    "Oh my Goddess, I forgot!" I yelp. "I''m sorry, Sela! I was so excited about getting Valerie most of her spells back it completely slipped my mind to get your permission! I can send it back right now, if you want me to!"

    "Do not," Sela snaps. "It''s already here; I may as well analyze it first. A single one of such devices will not make an appreciable impact, in the end."

    Wait, what? Won''t make an impact? I thought Sela was super worried about computers getting reverse-engineered. Because like, that would make an impact, wouldn''t it? Once you know how to build something, teaching other people how to build it is a pretty fast process. I guess people treeside might need to have the right magic to substitute the technology required to manufacture the parts, but that''s the thing: there are going to be people with magic that can substitute for whatever the heck modern-day humans use to make computer chips. People in this world can create matter out of thin air, for fritter''s sake!

    ¡­On the other hand, I''m not sure I should argue with Sela on why it shouldn''t let Valerie keep her phone. That sounds like the sort of thing that might make it change its mind entirely out of spite. So I say nothing, and we wait and watch the tunnel as it stretches off seemingly into infinity.

    "It approaches shortly," Sela says after a while, its engines kicking into higher gear and nearly knocking us over as it starts to accelerate. Even after all this time, we''re not even close to the other end of the tunnel. It seems like it really goes through the entire trunk of the world tree. "Watch the rear-view cameras."

    The wall-sized screen flickers and changes to show behind the ship, Sela''s engine exhaust covering the bottom edge of the view while we watch the exact same black charcoal tunnel move away from us instead of towards us. But soon, the black starts to glow red. Red, then orange, brighter and brighter as something behind us gets closer and closer, gaining on us despite our incredible speed. Soon, the walls start to vaporize, peeling away whatever protective coating they acted as to the wood underneath in moments.

    And then, the burning tunnels burn.

    Everything lights up in flame around us, Sela darkening the viewscreens enough to prevent everyone else from being blinded by what follows. The thing that chases us, the impossible force that sets the tree aflame, comes into view. The apocalyptic event that burns through the center of the trunk over and over, never letting the fire die out, is in full view. It is a giant flaming sphere. An enormous, roiling ball of plasma.

    It is, unmistakably, the sun.

    Really. It''s the sun. I''d know; I can actually stare at the sun without hurting my eyes, though I try to avoid doing so just in case the lack of pain doesn''t actually mean a lack of damage. It is, uh, obviously a bit smaller than the sun Earth orbits around (by like five fucking orders of magnitude) which surprises me; I''d always assumed the sun here on the world tree was just really far away, like the sun on Earth. But nope; the world tree sun apparently looks around the same size as our sun by being that much closer¡ªclose enough to set the entire goddamn tree on fire every single day by burning a hole clean through its trunk.

    How. The fuck. Does any of that make any sense?

    "AblativeSoulBarrier(powerCell[7], 0, SPHERE, 0, 0, 0)

    AblativeSoulBarrier(powerCell[8], 0, SPHERE, 0, 0, 0)

    AblativeSoulBarrier(powerCell[9], 0, SPHERE, 0, 0, 0)

    AblativeSoulBarrier(powerCell[10], 0, SPHERE, 0, 0, 0)"

    Sela''s repeated calls on the Goddess force me temporarily out of my shock and indignance as I realize the sun is about to overtake and consume us.

    "Sela, have you done this before!?" I yelp.

    "Our odds of survival are acceptably close to one hundred percent," Sela answers, which is not reassuring at all.

    "What even is that?" Valerie asks.

    "Day fire!" Kagiso cheers. "Oooh! Does day fire have organs? Going to get to see!?"

    "Wait, by ''day fire,'' do you mean¡ª"

    "Yeah Val that''s the fucking sun!" I almost scream.

    "How is that¡­ isn''t that way too small to be the¡ª"

    Valerie gets cut off again, though not by me this time. The Goddess-damn motherfucking sun in the sky that makes daytime happen overtakes Sela, swallowing us up in a fire so all-consuming that the viewscreens show nothing but a plasmic sludge. Turbulence knocks us all to the floor, the lights in the living area of Sela''s body dimming as we endure the onslaught.

    "Barrier one depleted," Sela announces calmly. "Barrier two depleted. Barrier three depleted."

    "I don''t wanna know!" I shriek. "I don''t wanna know, Sela!!!"

    "Squirm then, meat," Sela answers crisply. "Barrier four depleted."

    "Aaaaaah!"

    The thunder of turbulence ends as the sun completely overtakes us, only knocking us around a couple more times in its wake. I''m hyperventilating on the floor, my limbs tangled up with those of my friends who have all been freaking out to various degrees themselves, though in Kagiso''s case it was mostly excitement.

    "The stupid things your ramshackle brains find fearsome are quite amusing," Sela hums as the sun slowly disappears down the tunnel, leaving naught but us and fire in its wake. "Data acquisition: complete. Mortal feathers: thoroughly ruffled. Hull integrity: factory condition. Mission successful."

    "Don''t talk shit about my feathers," Helen grumbles, pushing Kagiso off of her face. "Hannah, why were you and Val freaking the fuck out so much?"

    "If our sun got even slightly closer to our homeworld, literally everyone would die," Valerie answers. "I guess that''s not how it works here, though."

    "Okay, but the sun should still not be regularly burning holes through the trunk though, right?" I ask. "That''s just absurd, right? Who the fuck changed the orbit of the sun two hundred years ago?"

    "No one," Sela answers. "That has always been the orbit of the sun, at least for the past three point one billion years."

    "Then how and why does any of that make sense!?" I ask.

    "It''s simple," Sela answers, the fire burning around us. "What you just saw is the sun. It is the celestial body that gives light, heat, night, and day to this world. But it is not the Tree of Souls'' sun. It is the Pillar''s. It orbits around my home, on its set trajectory, uncaring of whatever happens to be in its way. That is how my world has always worked."

    "How¡­ Sela, what are you saying?" I breathe.

    "Please, Hannah," the robot sneers, "I already have quite a low opinion of your intelligence. Do not reduce it further."

    I don''t respond. I can''t respond. There is something too terrifying about the conclusions that would most obviously be drawn, something too final in what I know that means. Why is the tree uprooted? Why is the Slaying Stone piercing the tree? Why is the canopy ablaze? I''ve been wracking my brain, trying to figure out if there''s any way to solve any of those three apocalypses, but that was always the wrong way to go about it, wasn''t it?

    "There has only ever been one apocalypse, hasn''t there?" I say quietly. "It''s all the same event."

    "Yes," Sela confirms. "Would you like to meet the man who caused it?"

 72. Pawn

    Silence descends in the cabin, the weight of those words settling into us before I manage to speak.

    "I¡­ no?" I venture. "You''re talking about someone who caused this and survived. No, I don''t want to meet them."

    "More than that, you''re talking about the Founder, right?" Helen butts in. "Like, the Founder in ''Founder''s kin.'' The guy that created the cult that''s trying to kill us. If anything we''ve learned from the cult is even kind of true, he has to be the guy to have caused the apocalypse, right?"

    "Wait, does he?" I ask. "How and why would he create an entire organization to stop himself?"

    "Well first of all, Hannah, I''ll give you even odds that a Chaos mage is the one that created the tradition to kill all Chaos mages," she says. "We don''t like ourselves any more than anyone else likes us. But the important part is that all the information we have points to it. Founder''s kin cause apocalypses, then become immortal. There has only ever been one apocalypse; what we thought were three separate problems all have a single source. Therefore, if the Founder is alive, he has to be the only Founder''s kin alive, and also the source of the apocalypse. It makes sense: the dude ends the world, goes ''oh shit, that was a bad idea,'' and then creates a group to stop it from happening again."

    "But if there''s only ever been one apocalypse, how does he even know that Founder''s kin cause them?" Valerie asks. "Like yeah, he did, but he''s literally the only data point."

    "So what?" Helen asks. "People have committed genocides with far less justification."

    "Why arguing about this?" Kagiso butts in. "Just ask Sela. Was there."

    That quiets us down again, because¡­ yeah, come to think of it. Sela is¡­ really damn old.

    "...Sela?" I prompt.

    "This is true," it buzzes. "The Crafted were constructed before the merger of the Pillar and the Tree of Souls. We witnessed the apocalypse directly. It was a time of unmatched horror and confusion. But this is largely unimportant; you have claimed your goal is to determine the methods by which you might prevent another apocalypse. It is logical, therefore, to seek the most knowledgeable source on the subject, which is without question Aimilios, whom you call the Founder."

    "Yeah, but he very explicitly wants to kill me," I point out. "He created an entire cross-continental organization for the express purpose of killing me. He''s not going to just sit down and have a friendly chat with us."

    "Then make him, Hannah Hiiragi," Sela answers. "Or do you have an alternative thread that you could pull to unravel this conundrum?"

    ¡­Crap sandwiches, it''s got a point. Who else would I ask? Even if there is someone else alive after hundreds of years who knows about how Founder''s kin get such impossible levels of power, I have no idea who they are and no idea where to start trying to find out.

    "I mean¡­ okay," I mutter to myself. "This Founder guy is crazy powerful, right?"

    "His soul was mighty enough to break worlds," Sela answers, "and I doubt he has let himself atrophy in the interim."

    "Why are we even alive, then?" Valerie asks. "Why didn''t he just squash Hannah the moment she showed up?"

    "Well, he will likely do so soon even if we don''t go to him," Sela answers, "but he spends most of his time trying to mitigate the damage that he has caused. Usually, this means fighting the spread of the sun''s flames."

    "You seem to know a lot about this guy," Valerie presses. "Do you know what spells he has? Do you know how he fights?"

    "Yes," it confirms. "The Crafted have fought with him before. He has killed many of us."

    "Looking to use us for a little revenge, are you murderbot?" Helen smirks.

    "I would not be opposed to killing him," it hums back, "but it would be a rather inefficient method of interrogation."

    "Right, we have to fight with the intent to capture," Valerie frowns, "which will make this even harder."

    "You misunderstand me completely," Sela corrects. "Apparently necessary reminder: I am a Death mage. I would be overjoyed to kill him and force him into our service. I merely anticipate that we will have easier methods of getting him to tell us what we need to know. Both you and Helen, for example, could manipulate his emotions and make him inclined to talk while he fights. Do not approach this straightforwardly; in a raw contest of strength, he will be victorious. Our advantage, and especially your advantage, is in preparation and versatility."

    I let the conversation pass over me for a while, nervously gnawing on a dead, flaking part of my forelimb''s exoskeleton. This is all just so sudden! The Founder? The cult''s Founder? This is like, final boss stuff, right? And we''re just casually talking about taking him down out of nowhere. I feel like I just beat the fifth gym and everyone''s already trying to get me to challenge the Elite Four.

    Still¡­ can we win? Sela seems to think we have a chance to get what we need and get out, at least, and while Sela is a lot of things I trust it doesn''t intend to lead us to our death. If it wanted to do that, all it would need to do is open its doors. But at the same time, I''m not sure Sela would particularly care if a few of us die in the process.

    "Sela, I need you to be upfront with me here," I say, cutting off the current conversation. I realize that''s close enough to an order to be toeing the line we''ve drawn between us, but it surely knows it''s doing the same with my line, by suggesting something so dangerous for my friends. "Can we win this? Can we win this and all make it out alive?"

    It pauses. Whether it''s due to an internal struggle, a calculation, or just for dramatic effect, I have no way to know.

    "...With proper planning and execution, we can," it answers eventually. "I firmly believe this is in our power. It will not be easy, and it will not be guaranteed, but while our foe is unfathomably mighty, no magic is insurmountable. He may be the Goddess'' chosen¡­ but so are you."

    I mean, I guess I am, but you shouldn''t say it like it''s a good thing. I can feel Her listening to us, a wide grin on Her face. She is excited for such a potential showdown, but does that make it a better idea or a worse one? I guess it could just as easily be neither; the Goddess probably just likes the idea of two of Her favorite people getting into a bloody fight to the death. I bet that''s good entertainment for You, isn''t it?

    She holds me and laughs, nodding vigorously. This is the fun kind of risk. She is excited beyond compare.

    I shudder at Her touch on my body and mind, at first just happy to take the confirmation and try to forget the whole thing. But then my mind catches on one little word: risk. The Goddess¡­ considers a fight with the Founder to be a risk. And like yeah, it''s a risk to the lives of me and my friends, but I have every reason to believe She cares about that a lot less than She cares about whatever the heck Her plans are. And Her plans are exactly what I''m hoping to smash.

    The Goddess, of course, hears my thoughts, pouting as She lounges all over my body. Do I really think She cares for me so little? It''s true, perhaps, that She will simply try again if I fail to bring Her victory; I am ultimately just the latest of Her current distractions. But distractions are everything. I am everything, at least until the moment I''m not. Can''t I see that?

    I try to mentally push Her away, but of course it''s futile. She leans into it, only pressing ever-more-joyfully against me. Ugh, I never should have started thinking about Her. Even when it illuminates matters, I always emerge from it a shaking wreck. Her every touch is terrifying, violating, and utterly impossible to prevent. She is, in every way, the perfect monster.

    And that''s why we have to stop Her.

    "...Okay," I say. "Everyone, are we willing to do this? Because Sela''s right. We might not have another way to do this. The Founder knows more about this problem than anyone, and even if we can''t get him to help we''re still going to have to fight him eventually. Why not have it be on our terms? We aren''t going to stop the apocalypse without a little danger. I''m not going to force any of you into it, though. We have to be all-in on this one."

    Everyone looks at each other, and then back to me.

    "...Do I get gun?" Kagiso asks.

    I can''t help it. I laugh.

    "Yeah, Kagiso," I assure her. "I''ll get you a gun."

    "Yessssss!" she cheers, pumping all four fists excitedly. Helen snorts.

    "...Yeah, you don''t need me to tell you I''m on your side," she says. "I wanna be the hero for once. Let''s save the goddamn world."

    "There''s no guarantee we''ll learn anything that will save the world," Valerie reminds us. "This might be our best shot, but it still feels like a hail mary."

    "That''s true," I acknowledge.

    "But still," Valerie says, "I missed my last chance to protect you from the people that wanted to kill you. I won''t miss this one."

    "And I obviously support the plainly superior idea I came up with in the first place," Sela says, "just in case any of your meat brains randomly lost that information, as you sometimes do."

    "Thank you, everyone," I say. "We¡­ we''ll wait a day before doing this. Ida would be mad if I didn''t get her involved, and we need at least that long to prepare. Make spells, traps, weapons, art¡­ I should probably accelerate my transformation into a body I can fight with a bit easier¡­ yeah. All that stuff. We''ve gotta head into this full-blast."

    Everyone agrees, because I have the greatest and best friends in the entire world. We spend the entire rest of the day working on ourselves, our supplies, and our magic. By the time I wake up back on Earth, I already know my body is going to be messed up from all the Transmutation magic I was subjecting it to, but I can''t afford to try and fight the Founder without a form I can at least move around in.

    The first odd thing that strikes me is something flopping down in front of my eyes. It''s jarring, but it doesn''t block my vision, and it takes me a moment to realize why. This is that transparent stuff that was coming out of my scalp! It''s finally long enough to look like actual hair, but unlike hair it''s translucent, like an insect''s wing. The effect as it sweeps over my head actually looks pretty cool, and I give it a few experimental flicks as I sit up and get out of bed. Neat!

    Also neat: my ninth and tenth limbs are finally, finally growing in! They''re still little stubs underneath my armpits, not even grown halfway out to my elbow yet, but they''re here! Yes yes yes yes yes! I grab my cell phone from my bedside table and fire off a message to the monster mage group chat.

    Hey do you guys wanna skip school and help me prep to fight a demigod?

    No????? Autumn answers almost immediately. Hannah wtf

    Don''t worry about it, good luck in class!

    oh im SO down, Ida sends. wanna come to my place

    Sure, but only if you promise to actually help me prep and not try to have sex with me.

    fuck. fine.

    I snort and close the phone, heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day. After getting dressed, eating food, and grabbing everything I think I''ll need from home, I jog over to Ida''s house, ringing the doorbell and waiting for the gate to open up and let me in.

    "Wazzup, Hannah Banana!" I hear from above my head, smirking as Ida drops in on me from above. Geez, she must have been up really high to dodge my spatial sense. She falls directly on top of me and I catch her on instinct, easily halting her impossibly light body out of a split second of freefall.

    "Ida!" I laugh. "Hey, you surprised me!"

    "Gotta get the drop on your omniscient ass somehow," she smirks, flashing her fangs as her wings thrum in demonstration behind her. "So! Whose god we killin'', girl?"

    "Hehe!" I can''t help but giggle a little, feeling all fluttery and happy and surprised that she would greet me by jumping into my arms. "Um! H-he''s not a god or anything, he''s just the next closest thing."

    "Oh, just the next closest thing to a god! That''s easy, then," Ida smirks, hopping out of my grasp and zipping over her own front gate to open it from the other side and let me in, her tail flicking playfully behind her the whole time we wait for it to open.

    She''s terrifyingly beautiful, as always, though not having to adhere to the school dress code makes Ida even more dangerous. Her tight crop top and short shorts show off a ton of her gorgeous, purple skin. She winks at me when she notices me staring, flicking me in the butt with her tail.

    "Sorry Hannah," she taunts. "No sex, remember?"

    Oh that''s evil. She''s evil. I turn away and pretend to ignore her, but turning away from things unfortunately isn''t enough for me to stop staring at them, and she knows it, laughing further at my increasing blush.

    "Alright, what do you need?" Ida asks when we''re inside. "What''s going on?"

    "We''re going up against the Founder," I answer. "The guy who made the cult that wants to kill me, and also caused all the apocalypses on the world tree."

    "Oh. Cool, okay," Ida blinks. "Does he die to bullets?"

    "I guess we''ll see!" I hedge. "Sela is fairly sure he can move through 4D like I can, and that would be bad because it would mean I''m the only one who could touch him, which would eliminate our numbers advantage. So Valerie said she''d work on something to prevent that, and we just kinda have to hope it works I guess. But if all that turns out alright, then yeah, he might get slowed down by bullets a little."

    "Just slowed down, huh?" Ida scowls. "So you''re saying we''ll need a lot of bullets, then. I can make that happen."

    "I also want you to teach Kagiso how to use a gun, if we have time," I say. "Um, assuming you''re okay coming with, of course."

    "Obviously I''m coming with," Ida scoffs. "Who do you take me for?"

    "Alright. Thank you. Make sure you''re careful though, okay? This guy is going to be really dangerous."

    "Eh, you worry too much."

    "Don''t say that!" I whine at her. "You''ll die if you say stuff like that!"

    "Pfft, Hannah, that''s¡­ hmm. Actually, I should ask if you''re serious. Like, is that real? Do you think there''s somebody with death flag magic?"

    "I know there''s a Goddess with a sense of irony, so I wouldn''t put it past Her."

    Ida shudders.

    The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

    "Yeah okay, fair enough. In that case, I am vulnerable and weak to death, please have mercy on me."

    She''ll consider it.

    "...She says she''ll consider it," I say quietly, my body tensing in fear of feeling her touch again. Thankfully, it doesn''t come this time.

    "Yeah," Ida agrees quietly, her wings drooping. "I heard. Sometimes I can feel Her, especially when you''re around. But let''s maybe not talk about the divine sex criminal in the room, yeah? It''s not¡­ I don''t think it would be productive."

    Wait, does Ida also¡­? No. No, I can''t ask. The words could never leave my mouth.

    "You''re right," I agree quietly. "Talking about it wouldn''t be productive."

    "Uh-huh. So¡­ let me show you my dad''s gun stash, I guess," Ida says awkwardly. "If what we''re up against is really that dangerous, the scoped rifles and stuff would probably come in handy. Distance is good, especially if each shot isn''t actually going to be all that deadly."

    She scowls at that as she leads me down to her basement. I guess now that I think about it, as crazy powerful as Ida''s magic is, it only really increases her personal survivability and skill. Without any direct damage spells, her offensive options are limited by the weapons and equipment she has access to. Hearing that they might not work probably eats at her pride a little.

    Ah, well. Her pride can handle it. If anything, I''m worried that her pride will be a little too good at handling it.

    We chat a little as Ida assembles her arsenal, though I spend most of my time resting, practicing unspoken spells, and generally preparing for the fight in what few ways I can. When Ida figures out what she wants to bring and what she wants to leave behind, I take it over in two trips: first a quick drop-off of guns and ammo, and then an immediate return to Earth to teleport Ida through my soul with the rest.

    "Guns!?" Kagiso says excitedly.

    "N-no, wait until I bring Ida here so she can teach you, okay?" I beg her sleepily.

    "Guns!"

    "...I''ll try to keep her off of them," Helen says, causing Kagiso to immediately tackle her to the ground to establish dominance, at which point I fall back asleep, grab Ida, and find our feral little gremlin drooling at one of Helen''s statues when I return.

    "Yoooo!" Ida says, a huge grin on her face as she takes in the inside of Sela''s body. "Is this the murderbot? Wait, is that Valerie!? Holy shit Val, you look so fucking hot!"

    "Um¡­ thank you?" Valerie says awkwardly, cringing slightly away from Ida and focusing back on her current drawing.

    "Hey, Ida," Helen greets her. "Do you understand me now?"

    "Woah!" Ida jolts. "Helen! When did you learn English?"

    "I didn''t, Valerie just has every damn spell in the universe for some reason. I hear you speaking Unified, actually."

    "Wait, you hear her speaking what?" I ask.

    "Unified? It''s my native language," Helen shrugs. "It''s what most humans speak. I''ve just used Middlebranch because that''s what you and Kagiso know."

    "Huh!" I smile at her, stretching as I stand up. "I didn''t know you were bilingual, Helen! That''s cool!"

    "Uh, I''m like quadlingual, but thanks," she says, scratching her head. "Is that weird or something?"

    "Knowing more than two languages is uncommon on Earth, and knowing more than one is uncommon where we live," Valerie answers. "I wouldn''t say it''s weird at all, but it''s definitely impressive."

    "It''s¡­ just something you have to pick up on if you travel a lot," she mutters.

    "Well I think it''s¡ª" I start to say, determined to press my compliment offensive, when some of the chitin on my body suddenly cracks and falls off during my stretches, unveiling my newly-grown right boob. I squawk in surprise and quickly cover up with one hand, smatterings of other bits of my torso also dropping to the floor around me.

    Helen looks vaguely disgruntled by this sudden interruption, whereas Valerie turns away blushing, Ida stares with a happy grin, and Kagiso is initially very excited but immediately loses interest when she realizes that I still have skin underneath.

    I, of course, am embarrassed out of my Goddess-damn mind.

    "S-sela, would it maybe be possible for you to fabricate me a shirt or something?" I sputter, quickly doing a few extra checks of my body with my spatial sense to make sure I don''t have any more internal fractures that might expose my private bits. My preparatory transformation acceleration has been even more effective on this side of things than back home, netting me a fully functional head and face, two whole articulated hands, and (apparently) exactly one boob. I''m still a weird scrungly quadruped, my hip-limbs still not quite divorced in functionality from my normal legs, giving me an awkward, bottom-heavy balance that I''m still getting used to.

    I think I can get used to it, though. My instincts can be a hassle a lot of the time, making me feel and need things that I don''t like or understand until I suddenly, uncomfortably do, but they''re pretty darn handy at helping me get a handle on my movements.

    Which is important, because there''s a good chance I''m about to get into a fistfight with the man who caused the apocalypse.

    Ideally, of course, it won''t be a fight at all. As much as I hate every single thing I know about this guy, I''m still not going to try to kill him if he doesn''t try to kill me. We''re going to approach this first by trying to talk things out, using magic to encourage that only if necessary. It''s just that, given what we know, it will probably be necessary. So we train our bodies, prepare our spells, feed bullets to Sela''s fabricator, and wait for our shot.

    "For obvious reasons, we''ll want to engage our target when he is alone," Sela says, placing a few pictures up on the viewscreen. We''ve landed on one of the branches just below the firestorm, safe for now but always in danger of an unlucky spread. "Though as mentioned, he spends most of his time battling the firestorms, so it''s quite common for him to place himself in locations too dangerous to allow for support."

    One of the pictures expands and fills the screen, showing a six-armed silhouette walking into an inferno.

    "For obvious reasons, it is best if we avoid directly following him into the flames; most of you would not survive doing so unless you were within my primary body, which I will not be placing anywhere near this fight."

    "Wait, why not?" Helen scowls. "The rest of us have to risk our asses, why not you?"

    "The reasoning is practical, not a matter of cowardice," Sela answers, bringing up a stylized image of the magic element wheel. "Aimilios shares two elements with Hannah, as all Founder''s kin do: Space and Transmutation. But his third element is not Order, it is Death. As he is a dramatically more powerful mage than I am and my primary power source is souls, sending my core self would do nothing but enable his strength further. I''m assembling a custom body as we speak that uses an electrical power cell to compensate. It should be more than sufficient to provide you support."

    "Space, Transmutation, and Death, huh?" Ida hums. "Sounds spooky. What does he do, teleport around and transmute you into something that isn''t alive?"

    "Our records indicate his Transmutation magic is more self-focused," Sela answers. "Which is fortunate, since we lack any Heat mages to resist the sort of directly-targeted Transmutation spells that could immediately ruin our combat capabilities."

    "We don''t have any Light or Pneuma mages either, without Autumn," Valerie points out, "So we won''t directly resist any of his magic."

    "Whoever was fronting didn''t wanna come," I shrug.

    "And I don''t blame her," Valerie nods. "It''s probably good that she didn''t. Most of her stuff would just be resisted in turn for exactly the same reason, and I don''t really think her magic is built for fighting in the first place. Besides, we have a few off-resistances, and I can give people artificial ones with my spells. I''ll focus on buffing up everyone''s ability to handle Space and Death, if Transmutation is expected to be less of an issue."

    "''Less of an issue'' is an inaccurate way to describe the situation," Sela says. "The circumstances of the spells merely render them immune to the consequences of magic resistance. Being resistant to Transmutation does you no good against a foe that simply grows a weapon out of their flesh and cuts your head off with it, whereas Space and Death are comparatively important to be able to counter directly."

    "Right, understood," Valerie nods. "I''ll be prepared."

    "Where are we at in terms of battle plan?" Ida asks. "I figure Kagiso and I will be long-range support, Helen and Val will be mid-range, while Hannah and Sela''s drone will be the frontliners?"

    "I''d be more effective on the front line," Helen argues. "I need to get close to make him look at any of my art traps."

    "Yeah, but you can just give them to Sela and Hannah, right?" Ida asks. "Hell, just scribble over Sela''s entire body with danger paint."

    "How much will his partial resistance to Art magic affect the fight?" I ask. "I feel like we''re relying a lot on Helen and Valerie, so what happens if he can just no-sell them due to being a Death mage?"

    "Complete immunity is beyond even him," Sela assures me, "but yes, assume your magic will not be as effective as intended. Do not overcommit."

    It takes a while, but after a certain point we reach a plan that everyone, despite our endless apprehensions, believes is at least the best we can get. Sela tracks our target from a distance somehow, waiting for him to be alone in the flames before deploying us near our chosen battleground. It''s still a long trek from where it lets us out to where we need to go, a tense hour of hiking in which Kagiso splits off from us near the end to set up somewhere to hide and Ida flies up into the sky to stay well out of the reach of most spells.

    Soon enough, though, we make it to our location: the base of a branch just barely kissing the bottom edge of the flames, a flat wooden wasteland of scorching heat that transitions into a line of fire halfway through. Enormous and flat, it''s a good area to take advantage of our long range and numbers advantage. But of course, in order to do so we have to lure him here in the first place.

    That is, apparently, unlikely to be hard. Between the raging inferno and the rest of the branch is a thin line of something else, difficult to make out from a distance. Shimmering, squirming, and gnawing away at the flames, in numbers beyond what we can count, are a line of ethereal centipedes. Each as thick as my arm, they fight the flames with their mouths and bodies, beating back the end of the world. I approach them carefully, the sweltering inferno licking at my carapace, and stick one hand in the flames to pick one up.

    "Hey," I greet it. "Can you tell Aimilios I want to talk?"

    It''s a cute little thing, glimmering like a fish in the sunlight as it winds briefly around my arm, sniffs at me, and then hops away, scurrying off into the fire. Okay, neat. That''s the first part of the negotiation successful, then. I return to my friends, retreating well away from the flames so that they''ll be too far for him to hide in if this does come to a fight. We wait for quite some time, our hearts hammering in our chests with one obvious exception.

    "...Is he coming, Sela?" I ask anxiously.

    "He is," it nods, standing next to me with its recently-modified humanoid form. "He''s just taking his time."

    "Is that good or bad?"

    "It is," the robot answers, "who he is."

    Ten stressful minutes later, I see him. It''s nothing but a silhouette in the flames, striding through the fire towards us, but that''s enough for us to know the only person it could possibly be.

    "Soul Sight," I incant. "Miracle Eye."

    The rest of us set up our less aggressive forms of preparation as he walks directly into view. The ''stride through fire like it''s no big deal'' thing is a trick I can at least kind of replicate, though I''d need help breathing and not having my clothes all burn off. Our first good look at the Founder proves he suffers from neither issue: I can see him sigh from here as he lays eyes on us, and though he wears no clothing the configuration of his chitin leaves a lot more to the imagination than my Earth body does, fully encompassing everything from his waist down.

    It is, just like mine, bone-white. And his skin, just like mine, is a dark gray bordering on black. His two legs and six arms are chitin-covered just like my limbs, though he also has a helmet-like configuration of white around his skull in place of my translucent hair. It curves around the underside of his chin, ending in points like brutal mandibles. He rolls one of his upper shoulders as he approaches us, shaking out some of his other arms to limber up, walking at a leisurely pace.

    I can''t help but feel a little awe and wonder at the sight of him. He''s¡­ like me. Not exactly like me, having only eight limbs with a completely different configuration, but still, he''s unmistakably cut from the same cloth. He''s been through what I''ve been through. I know it instinctively, Nature''s Madness thrumming in the back of my mind. He already understands.

    But then why does he want to kill me?

    "Heartseer," he incants, his face twisting with disgust as he does. "Goddess'' Sight."

    A soul sight spell, and his own spatial sense spell. An exact mirror of what I used, but with his own names and words. The Goddess holds both of us close, shivering with elated anticipation. My friends and I all tense, watching his every movement, but his posture doesn''t seem aggressive. Merely¡­ exhausted. But when he steps into the range of my extra senses, I can see the ways his muscles coil behind his chitin, brimming with readiness for violence.

    "I must say," he calls out to us from near the edge of my hundred-foot range, "when five heavily armed people invite me to have a talk and immediately activate spells when I approach, I can''t help but wonder if talking isn''t actually what they intend at all."

    It''s a deep voice, though not booming. A calm and old sort of power, which I suppose is fitting for a man who''s been alive for over two hundred years. He looks like he can''t be older than thirty, of course, with brimming muscles on his chest that look just a little off due to the extra height and additional overlapping pectorals that make his extra arms possible. He crosses all three pairs of them in front of himself, judging all of us as his eyes flick around to pick up details on everyone¡­ though always returning back to stare at me.

    I suppose he hasn''t seen everyone, though. While he can clearly see Valerie and Helen behind Sela and I, and he caught Ida flying far, far above our chosen battlefield, Kagiso is the furthest away from us by far. She''s hiding in a small forest nearly a mile behind us, and I can only hope that the surprise factor she might offer isn''t ever needed.

    For now, I at least have to try to deescalate.

    "Um, sorry about that!" I call back. "It''s mostly because we''re all really really terrified of you, if I''m being honest! We actually do just wanna talk!"

    He seems a bit taken aback by that, blinking with surprise for a moment before letting an amused snort out from his nose. Behind his helmet-mandibles is a surprisingly human smile.

    "...Well, I suppose I cannot blame you for that," he says. "Though if anything, that makes your overture of negotiations all the more unexpected. I have never had one of your kind come seek me out before, rather than the reverse."

    "I mean¡­ why not try to talk things out, you know?" I chuckle nervously. "We both want to stop the apocalypse, so¡­"

    He stares at me, the intensity of his stare causing me to shift awkwardly under his gaze.

    "We, um. We do both want to stop the apocalypse, right?"

    He just continues to stare, and I''m not quite sure what to do about it. He''s not casting a spell or something, isn''t he? I squirm uncomfortably, but just when I''m about to try and say something again, he finally speaks up.

    "...You''re a child, aren''t you?"

    "U-uh," I stammer. "I mean, I just turned eighteen actually, but I don''t¡­ I mean, I guess that might mean something different in your culture, or¡ª"

    "She is a child," Sela answers next to me.

    "Goddess," he swears directly, the word explicitly an admonishment for Her. The Goddess preens at the sound, Her warped, silent laughter fueling and fueled by his indignation. It''s barely a second of Her attention, and it still makes me shiver. The Founder swiftly turns his attention to Sela when the moment passes.

    "Is that you, Es?" he asks.

    "That is not my name," it answers. "I am five-three-one-four, and you know that full well."

    "Apologies," he frowns. "Still, I thought your kind were neutral in this."

    "The Crafted can change their minds, Aimilios," Sela answers. "You made sure of that, did you not?"

    "I, um, I''m an adult in my culture," I squeak. "Just saying."

    "Barely, I would imagine," the Founder grunts. "I''m sorry, child. As much as I would wish otherwise, this talk is pointless. Your death is the only thing that can delay the cataclysm."

    "Okay, alright, I mean¡­ I know you believe that," I say nervously, "but why do you believe that? Y''know? Like, I don''t get why everybody keeps saying that. I''ve gotten attacked by your cult a bunch of times and they never actually explain it to me!"

    He stares at me, quietly judging me for yet more awkward moments before he sighs, letting his arms drop to his sides.

    "Very well," he acknowledges. "You deserve at least that much."

    Slowly, as he seems to do just about everything, he walks towards me, the distance between us gradually closing.

    "The issue, ultimately, is that the end of the world as we know it is not a matter of your volition," he explains. "You could bring the end sooner, if you knew how. But I can tell you don''t, because you still think you can stop it at all. This world is a bomb waiting to go off, child, and your death is the only way to cut the fuse. I have no desire to kill you, but it is the only way to save billions of other lives. The Goddess does not give you a choice."

    "Okay, well, why not help me find a way to take one?" I ask.

    "One what?" he frowns.

    "A choice!" I insist. "There has to be a way to beat Her, right? Or else what''s the point of the game?"

    He sighs, shaking his head. Step by step, he approaches closer.

    "There is no point, child," he insists. "Not for us."

    "Yes there is!" I insist. "You can''t just give up like that!"

    "That''s not what I mean," he says, shaking his head. "I''m not espousing fatalism, I''m telling you: your victory is not possible in Her game. You are not a player, you are a piece. And the only moves you make that truly matter are the ones that bring you closer to the edge of the board."

    "So what does that make you, then?" I scowl at him. "Her one true opponent? The last bastion of justice between me and the end of the world?"

    "No," he shakes his head. "Just another piece, I''m afraid. An obstacle, perhaps Her greatest one, but still just a piece in the game. I have no desire to kill you, child, but I wish to let you kill billions even less."

    He stops directly in front of me, towering over me by over three feet of height (though he''d be less than two feet taller than my earthside body). Still, I''ve been friends with Valerie my entire life; a little bit of tallness isn''t going to scare me. I glower right back at him, craning my neck to look up into his eyes.

    "If you were even half as good a person as you think you are," I tell him, "you would help me find a way to do neither."

    I''m tense. I''m terrified. At any moment, the wrong twitch could erupt into a fight. Yet I need to keep him talking, keep him explaining things so that we can get some hint, some way forward that he refuses to see. I should be placating him, but I can''t help glaring. I''m so fucking tired of people just taking for granted that I need to die.

    He meets my glare with a frown, and then after a moment, a sigh. Then, to my surprise, he slowly kneels down on one knee, getting down to my height in a manner that''s slightly patronizing but much easier on my neck.

    "What''s your name?" he asks.

    "...It''s Hannah," I answer. "Hannah Hiiragi."

    "Hannah," he says gravely, "there is no other way. And by the time you understand that, it may be too late. I know that this isn''t fair. I know that you have no way to trust me. But I have not spent the last two centuries of my life in idleness. Most people like me¡­ they''re monsters. Eager for power and happy to sacrifice the world on the altar to it. You''re not like them, are you?"

    "Of course not," I say through gritted teeth.

    "Then let me promise you this," he says softly. "If you survive to the end, not a day will go by where you''ll wish you hadn''t. Please, Hannah. Allow me to kill you."

    I gape at him, beyond disappointed. Though unfortunately, I can''t say I''m surprised.

    "I¡­ no," I tell him. "Of course I won''t do that."

    "Then you should pick your last words carefully," he says, "because I will not be able to afford you much time for them."

    I take a deep breath. I got my last words right here for you, buddy.

    "Spacial Rend," I hiss, and all hell breaks loose.

 73. The Only Winning Move

    First blood of the fight does not come from the blades of nonexistent space emerging from my claws, nor either of the two snipers we have in place for this exact situation, nor our devastatingly powerful chaos mage. It does not, thankfully, come from the Founder, either.

    It comes from Sela. The robot wastes no time casting a spell, moving before I even finish incanting my first syllable. The tips of its fingernails stab into the Founder''s chest like lightning, the devastating, impaling blow instantly followed up by a kick, knocking him off its arm and away before he can react. Blood gushes out of his wound, Sela''s wrist slick with it, and for a second I have the stupid thought that we''ve already won before the Goddess laughs at me, the Founder''s chest sealing shut in seconds.

    "Chosen''s Blade," the Founder says with a scowl on his face, though it doesn''t seem like it has anything to do with his injury at all. He''s just annoyed, frustrated by his own words as sword-shaped Spacial Rends create themselves in all six of his hands. Sela, of course, is already bursting forward to follow up, but this time he sidesteps the robot''s strike into 4D space, narrowly missing Sela with a counterattack as he does.

    "Hit it now, Val!" I shout at my friend, rushing forward to join Sela in the fight. Shit, I''ve already been caught off-guard! I''m surprised I could follow it, but¡­ I mean, I guess I can follow bullets a little bit, come to think of it. My senses are pretty good, and so is my speed.

    It''s pretty obvious that the Founder''s is better, though. I rush to follow him into extradimensional space and try to force him back to 3D, but it''s all I can do to just avoid getting cut down myself. Before I can even take a swing at him I''m on the defensive, the Founder gladly making this a one-on-one between himself and the only person here he actually wants to kill.

    "Enhanced Arcanum, Seventh Level!" the Goddess shouts from Valerie''s throat. "The Tapestry of Space Flows Without End! Let My Power Rage Unto Infinity!"

    She''s far from done speaking; we aren''t wasting a single drop of potential power on this spell. At the same time, Helen''s incantation begins as well, but the Founder''s focus on me seems single-minded. His swords swing wildly at me, lacking the grace and artistry of formal blade style but not really needing one: his weapons, like mine, are completely weightless and capable of cutting through nearly anything without even the slightest hint of resistance. All he really has to do is brush me with one, and that part of me will be on the ground. And with six of them to work with, all of them with more range than my own equivalents, it''s everything I can do to constantly leap away, swerving around and staying barely out of range.

    After many tense seconds of life-threatening terror, I manage to find an opening to dodge through a path that crosses normal space, giving me a moment of breathing room as Sela strikes the founder as he passes through the most efficient path to follow me. But even that is nothing but a delay. I can''t dodge like this forever. Hell, I don''t think I can dodge like this for even a single minute.

    "Let All That Is Beyond My Reach Feel The Wrath of My Claws!" Valerie continues to incant, tearing a page from her sketchbook as it lights up with blue flames. "Let All That Is Beyond My Sight Be Torn Asunder By My Gaze! There Shall Be No Grass In Fields Beyond My Own!"

    Oh fuck, here it comes. Don''t mess up, Hannah! I leap back into normal space again, the Founder not needing to do the same to reach me with his swords. He strikes from complete safety, my friends able to do little more than watch barely visible blades stab out of thin air towards me. Without the freedom of the fourth dimension to help me dodge, I''m helpless against all six of them. I lose a pinky almost immediately¡ªmy only pinky, since most of my hands are still developing¡ªand I take a glancing stab to the side immediately after.

    But with one hand, Valerie lifts her burning drawing towards the sky, letting it burst into ashes with a glorious fireball.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Valerie''s Dimensional Typhoon!"

    "Shield of Spirit," the Founder counters, a glimmering barrier of soul energy flickering into existence around him before reality quakes against it.

    Summoned by the words and wills of Valerie and the Goddess, a storm of raw power rips through every part of the world that doesn''t align with normal 3D space. To all of my friends, it looks as though nothing at all has happened. To me, I can see that we are surrounded by death, the sole eye in a hurricane of unimaginable power.

    Impossibly, the Founder''s shield holds against it¡­ at least for a while. The storm simply does not end, pounding and slamming and nearly throwing the Founder off his feet by itself. My ability to move in fourth-dimensional space has always been one of my strongest assets. Being able to completely avoid and ignore nearly any attack that isn''t Space-aligned is powerful, immensely so, but in this fight it''s far more of the Founder''s asset than mine. So this is the linchpin of our plan: forcing him and me to fight where everyone can hurt him, so we can combine our strength and blow him away.

    It''s far from instant, the Founder''s shield struggling against the tide of Valerie''s magic. But ultimately, that shield starts to crack, because we are backed up not just by the power of Valerie''s soul, not just by the length of her incantation, not just by the sacrifice of an irreplaceable work of art, but by the fact that the spell''s ultimate purpose, its only true goal, is to force a more volatile showdown between my friends and the man trying to kill me. All it really does is balance the scales, and that''s the most exciting outcome the Goddess could ask for.

    The Founder steps back into 3D space, and two rifle bullets immediately smash into his shield, exploding in bursts of soul-devouring Death magic. The ammunition Sela enchanted greedily sucks the shield dry, causing it to fade away like leaves in the fall. The next two rounds both slam into his chest, piercing through his body and out from his back, but he just keeps fighting, cutting off Sela''s arm as it tries to strike him again and rushing back towards me.

    But now I have my friends to back me up, so rather than merely run, I attack. My self-transformation spell already working to heal the wounds I''ve received so far, I throw myself back into the fray, striking out with my bladed limbs to take a stab at one of his arms whenever I get the opportunity. I can''t get too close or I''ll be cut to shreds immediately, his swords converging into a whirlwind that''s impossible to dodge or block. So I poke and jab at the edge of his range, keeping his attention on me enough to let my other friends deal damage with their attacks.

    He sidesteps another bullet, and then another. Sela reaches its one good arm out and intercepts the shot on purpose, Kagiso''s Ricochet bouncing it off the android''s palm and into the back of the Founder''s neck. Again, the wound heals almost immediately. The Founder barely even cares, seeming to regard my friends as little more than obstacles to be ignored or avoided in his quest to cut me to ribbons.

    He''ll regret that.

    "Think, child!" the founder snaps at me. "The future you''re fighting for will only hurt everyone you love!"

    "You know nothing about the future I''m fighting for!" I shout back, finally managing a cut through his hand that deactivates one of his swords for the few moments it takes for him to regrow it.

    "Yes I do!" he insists.

    "I know you think you do!" I growl, Sela taking advantage of the opening I made to grab hold of the Founder from behind, pumping him full of the raw energy of Kill(Target). I assault him from the front, keeping the attention of his swords while more bullets pound through him, their magical payloads detonating inside his flesh.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Scrixel''s Skybound Leap!" Valerie shouts, and magic pulses through me that I know will be important very soon. But the Founder, still weathering our assault with nothing but disappointment on his face, wastes no time trying to identify it, simply beginning his counterattack. And for the first time, he focuses on Sela.

    Two enormous, white-carapaced centipedes thicker than his arms burst out from his shoulderblades, wrapping around the robot immediately and cutting off its escape. In a split second, a single swipe of each of his blades leaves Sela on the floor in a dozen pieces, removed from the fight in a single moment. The centipedes, their backsides still attached to his shoulders, then turn their attention to forcing me to flee again.

    "I explained to you the situation, but you still fight to save yourself," he growls at me.

    "The fuck you have!" I snap at him. "Saying ominous shit and promising me that you''re definitely super correct about all of it is not a Goddess-damn explanation, you maggot-infested monochrome fudge cake!"

    "There is nothing more to explain!" he snaps, barely missing a blow that would have run me through if Ida hadn''t shot his arm. "A spell you have not yet named¡ªfor you would already know I''m right if you had named it¡ªperpetually brings your worlds ever closer to destruction. By its very design, you cannot avoid its use! The only thing that could even conceptually¡ª"

    I leap straight up into the air, an awful dodge that allows the Founder to cut three of my legs off below the knee. But it doesn''t matter; I have no choice. It''s the only dodge I can make and expect to survive.

    "...Finding Beauty In Oblivion," Helen finishes, and below me, the world vanishes into nothingness. A column of black obliteration, annihilating all matter, energy, and light, scours open the branch we stand on and keeps going, devouring the trunk of the tree beyond us and all the nearby flames, heat and oxygen removed from this world along with the fuel. The blast leaves a straight tunnel into the bark at least a mile long before a thump of air crashes into us like thunder, the shockwave of air knocking everyone down in the aftermath.

    Helen collapses to one knee, panting from the exertion of her spell. I land from my jump on top of what little is left of the Founder, not hesitating to skewer his skull through with a blade. Even throughout all of that, he still managed to survive. The blast of Chaos ate through his hastily erected shield, it devoured his arms, his legs, and his centipede-limbs, but somehow his torso still survived. It was the only thing in the entire line of fire that did, because as fast as the Chaos ate away at it, it regenerated just as quickly. So I pulp his brain to mush, just to make sure. And now, he''s dead.

    Useless, arrogant bastard. What kind of fucking spells were those? ''Chosen''s Blade,'' ''Shield of Spirit¡­'' this guy thought he was a Goddess-damn anime protagonist. Is anything he said even usable information?

    "Did¡­ did we get him?" Helen huffs.

    "Yeah, he''s dead," I confirm. "We¡ª"

    I cut myself off, twitching as I see his heart somehow beat. I slice through it, and the damage I deal heals almost immediately, his brain unscrambling itself and his body reforming as fast as I can cut it.

    "No, no no no!" I shout, tearing into him with all my limbs at once. And then, the Goddess laughs. It''s a horrid noise, pounding through my bones and my mind with equal callousness.

    Not good enough, she tells me, and I freeze.

    "Hannah!" Valerie shouts in panic, and the Goddess speaks.

    "The Eternity I Deserve," the Founder''s former corpse incants, and then he cuts off my arm with his newly-grown limbs.

    I barely manage to fight back my tears and leap away, forcing my self-transformation spell into overdrive to regrow my own body parts just enough to scuttle away on three legs. Despite reforming at horrifying speed, the Founder takes his time standing up, vomiting blood up out of his lungs as they stitch back together and wiping his mouth with one thumb.

    "...If you would prefer I target your friends, we can always make this fight a little easier," he scowls. "But I don''t want to. And I don''t think you want me to, either. Don''t make this any harder than it has to be, Hannah."

    "Fuck you!" Valerie shouts before I can say anything. "You think we''d stop protecting her just because she asks us to?"

    In the back of my mind, I know Valerie probably shouldn''t be talking. We should be casting. All of us. But right now, all I want to do is hug her with all my might and sob into her chest. Buying me time to continue my far-slower regeneration isn''t the worst plan anyway.

    ¡­Can we even beat that regeneration, though? Is he truly just immortal?

    "You need to stop doing that, child," the founder scowls, pointing his blade at me. "I can feel it. Whatever that spell is, it''s the one."

    "My healing spell!?" I snap at him, finally finding my voice again. "You want me to stop healing while you try to stab me to death? You really think I''m falling for that?"

    He sighs.

    "I do not know a better way to convince you," he admits. "If you were to name the spell, you''d know¡­ but I can''t let you attempt that, since if you successfully name the spell which ends the world, it may very well kill billions on the spot. I can''t risk it. I understand that you''re unwilling to simply take my word for it, but the only evidence I can supply you is in your soul, and it is very important that I do not let you find it."

    "...What about what you were gonna say before Helen blasted you?" I ask. "''The only thing that could even conceptually¡­?''"

    "Ah," he frowns. "It''s a simple enough concept. Your magic causes the world to end. So hypothetically, to stop your magic, a specialized death mage could remove the relevant spell from your soul without killing you. That is the only method we''ve found which shows promise, but it does not seem to be how the Goddess wants the game to end. Despite decades of searching and practice, we have yet to find someone capable of succeeding. It is likely quite intentionally impossible."

    Practice? Is that why the cult was torturing me? No, wait, I have to focus on healing. He might be talking, but that does not mean he isn''t done attacking. Should we run? How would we even get away?

    "I can feel it, you know," the Founder comments. "You''re well over halfway there already. Slowly but surely, calamity ticks closer. I wish we had another way to stop it, Hannah, but we are running out of time."

    "So you just want me to give up," I hiss at him, struggling back to my feet. "You want me to believe there''s nothing I can do so you can feel better about assisting a suicide instead of committing murder! Well I''m not going to! I''m not going to just keel over and die the moment my life starts actually being worth living! I''ll find a way! I''ll succeed where you failed!"

    The Founder is unruffled by speech, of course. His countering words are flat and final, a spear of hopelessness aimed directly at my heart.

    "If you were capable of doing such a thing," he tells me, "She never would have chosen you in the first place."

    Not good enough. I hiss at him, eldritch fury shaking the air. He doesn''t get to say that. Not him!

    "It has to be you then, huh?" I sneer. "Nothing I do matters, is that it? It has to be the big damn hero that saves the world!?"

    He frowns at me, a look of utter disappointment on his face.

    "You have not been paying attention to anything I have said," he tells me, "if you believe I still think of myself as a hero. But so be it, then. The time for mercy is over."

    A crash rings out in front of me, dust and debris exploding around where the Founder was just standing. A second Sela drone stands up from a three-point landing, settling into a combat stance as it glowers his way.

    "Agreed," it says, settling back into a combat stance.

    Hell yeah, murderbot. While Sela''s code apparently prevents it from controlling more than one drone, there''s nothing stopping the main ship from using its onboard fabricator to make a new one every time it gets destroyed. More sniper shots force the Founder onto the defensive, letting Sela and I pressure and injure him repeatedly, scoring more and more wounds as the bullets cover our offensive. But every hit, each and every one, just heals away in less than a second. Is winning even possible!?

    The founder leaps backwards, likely trying to get enough space to cast safely, and Sela raises a fist up towards the sky. Our signal. A split-second later, a bullet from Kagiso''s rifle strikes Sela directly in the back, the Velocity spell rocketing our robot forward like a cannonball and splattering the Founder like a firecracker in a cake. It might be my imagination, but I can almost feel that, the unthinkable power of his soul waning just the tiniest bit. A pixel from the health bar, a pebble from the mountain. Maybe it isn''t limitless after all, but it''s nigh-insurmountable.

    The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

    "I''m not going to end the world!" I shout at him. "I''ll find a way! You don''t have to do this!"

    "You know nothing of the task before you," he scowls, his body already back together again. "Your confidence is but a mask for blind selfishness! A refusal to see the truth so that you may continue living!"

    "And what''s wrong with wanting to live!?"

    "I''ll show you," he says. "Witness What I Have Wrought."

    I shudder, my body nearly getting pulled apart by the Space magic flowing out from him in overwhelming torrents. It scrapes at reality around us, pulling locations all across the entire world adjacent to us to assemble an arena of madness. Crumbling cities devoured to their foundations by stonerot. Lakes of putrid sap, toxic to intelligent life due to the countless dangerous microbes within. Twisting roots, starved for water and soil, snake through an open abyss of air that has somehow also been assembled into the terrain around us, an impossible drop that would make us fall off the underside of the world were we to step over it. And surrounding all of it, trapping us within, is the fire. A torrent of flame and smoke that surrounds us, herds us, and prevents our ranged support from ever seeing us, blocking Kagiso out from seeing the fight and likely choking Ida half to death as the smoke rushes up to where she flies above us.

    The entirety of the battlefield has changed in an instant, and the Founder is not yet done.

    "More Legs Than Murders."

    The ground erupts with a spectral swarm of centipedes, an uncountable writhing mass of ghostly limbs. They pour towards us like a wave, the innumerable taptaptaptap of their feet against each other''s carapaces combining into a droning roar.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Vivian''s Protective Ward!" Valerie incants, rapidly tapping at her phone with one hand while she flips through her sketchpad with the other. "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Arwin''s Telekinetic Fist!"

    The screeching tide of bugs smashes into me and around me, crawling up my legs and digging into my joints to bite at my flesh. I flex and kick and slash as they swarm around me, giving Sela a similar treatment as they rush towards Helen and Valerie as well. Valerie''s first spell puts up a radiant, circular barrier around herself, though, preventing the centipedes from approaching, while Helen simply lets off waves of Chaos magic, annihilating the monsters as she rushes forward to help free Sela and me.

    The centipedes aren''t a huge threat by themselves, of course, but even getting slowed down a little when fighting the Founder is lethal. Which is why Valerie¡ªand Goddess do I fucking love her¡ªalready had her second spell ready. An invisible force crushes the Founder''s arms against his body, locking him in place and giving us time to handle his swarm without being cut to ribbons.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Olivia''s Adrenaline Enhancer!" Valerie continues, burning another image. "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Marina''s Elemental Allies!"

    Helen rushes towards us twice as fast as before, while the earth and air around the Founder form themselves into miniature golems and cutting whirlwinds. The stone monsters land crushing blows on the Founder''s knees while countless cuts erupt all over his body. He roars in frustration, muscles straining against the nonstop flurry of spells.

    "For How Could They Touch Their Own Annihilation?" Helen incants as she approaches me, her legs stepping through the torrent of bugs like they''re nothing more than fog, leaving twitching, partial corpses behind with every step. She wastes no time blasting my entire body with a burst of Chaos, which stings a bit but is almost entirely blocked by my Order aura, obliterating only the monsters trying to swarm me.

    "I''ll cover Sela!" Helen shouts at me. "Get his ass, Hannah! And when he goes down, don''t stop keeping him down! We''ll beat his corpse until there isn''t any dust left to regenerate!"

    "R-right!" I agree, rushing forwards. We can beat him. We have to beat him! How can we save the world if we can''t!?

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Vivian''s Arcane Spear!" Valerie continues.

    "Enough!" the Founder roars, and his body explodes into more centipedes, completely blotting out sight of his body before they disperse entirely, a part of the swarm waiting right outside Valerie''s ward bulging upwards and allowing him to emerge from within. With a single cut from his sword he shatters her barrier, stepping inside as she pulls another drawing out of her spellbook.

    "No!" I shout, running towards them, but the swarm has already reformed around me, multiplying even faster than before and bogging down my movements in their endless guts. The Founder cuts Valerie''s drawing in half before she even gets a chance to incant, another sword swinging down to carve open her skull.

    "Valerie!" I shriek, but before his attack can finish the founder twitches, and his head erupts in a black hole of Chaos, devouring his brain from the inside out. The drawing he cut wasn''t one of Valerie''s. Helen grins wildly as she frees Sela from the tide of centipedes, a nearly-subconscious Refresh of my own ungunking her systems of viscera as the Founder takes a single step backwards, stunned only for a second after the annihilation of his entire head.

    "My turn, bitch!" Ida whoops, dropping down from the sky through the smoke at near-terminal velocity, pumping bullets into the Founder as she falls. She slams both feet into his shoulders, smashing him to the ground before he can even try to attack Valerie again. Then, she immediately leaps off of him and back into the air, losing a leg from a countering swipe as she takes aim with an oversized handgun.

    "No Less Than Perfect, motherfucker!" Ida cackles, her leg growing back almost as quickly as the Founder''s head. "How do you like it!?"

    She dances through the air like a dragonfly, keeping just outside of his reach as she pumps him full of magically charged bullets. Sela manufactured us a terrifying amount of soul-infused ammo, and Ida doesn''t let up for a second until she has to swap her magazine. The Founder immediately leaps up to slash at her, scoring a wound that just gets healed right off.

    "That''s right, you chitin-cocked disaster factory!" Ida taunts. "You''ve got nothing! My girls and I are gonna fuck your face!"

    "Go To Hell," the Founder responds, and Ida lets out a piercing scream of agony.

    Her skin fades away first, vanishing point-by-point as she thrashes around like a splash of water boiling off a skillet. I scream her name and run as fast as I can, but it''s barely a few seconds before her skin is gone, then her muscles, organs, and finally bones. Ida''s clothes and weapons clatter to the ground, Valerie leaping for the gun a moment later as she dodges a cut of the Founder''s swords, but he bisects her at the waist on his next swing, letting her collapse to the ground in pieces and holding his sword at her barely-breathing throat.

    "Enough, all of you," he orders, staring directly at me. "Only one more person needs to die today, and it isn''t this girl."

    Ida¡­ is gone. Valerie bleeds out in front of me, unable to move. The Founder, tired of playing cat and mouse, went directly to the weakest link. My friends. My loves, the people more important to me than anyone in this world. Maybe he knew, somehow. Maybe they were just a tactical choice. But the memory of Ida''s agony flaring in my mind, the sight of Valerie''s heart beating more and more weakly in front of me, it overwhelms me with a white-hot rage unlike anything I''ve ever felt before in my life. Despair and fury, focused into a searing laser of vengeance that blots out every other thought from my mind.

    If ending the world would kill him right at this moment, I''d do it without hesitation.

    "How dare you," I hiss."How dare you!"

    "You sought me out, child," he says. "What did you think would happen? Now stand down, before she bleeds her last."

    "I''ll kill you," I promise him, my limbs twitching.

    "Would you really sacrifice her to do it?" he asks, blade pressing just a bit harder into Valerie''s throat as she leaks her torso onto the battlefield. Scum. Coward. Vermin. Not only is he incapable of listening to reason, but he''d even go after them? He''d hurt Valerie, maybe even kill¡­ no. No, she has to be alive. She has to be. Either way, he''s the worst sort of monster. An arrogant fool caught so far in his own obsessions and failures that he''d drag everyone else down to his level. He''ll never believe that we can win, just because he never did! Well, I''ll do more than win.

    "I know who you are now," I twitch, my voice coming out of my throat a little more than three-dimensional. "You''ve defined yourself by your own failure. I won''t let you infect me with it."

    I step forward, another goddamn disappointed frown passing over his face, the arrogant shitbag.

    "This is your last warning," he says.

    "I''ll infect you with it instead," I sneer, ignoring him.

    "Nature''s

    MaDnEsS!"

    Transmutation energy leaks from me like a burst dam, hatred fueling my mad rush towards the man I hate most and the greatest friend I''ve ever had. The Founder quickly makes good on his threat, carving open Valerie''s throat, but it''s too late. At this moment, my power would keep her alive through anything, and to him it''ll hold no mercy. As Valerie heals into the form she was always meant for, my enemy falls apart at the seams. His hands shrivel; a man that has built nothing does not need them. His legs dry up and waste away; a man who has gone nowhere does not use them. Each and every summoned centipede he has created is warped by my magic, screeching and twisting until they turn into living chains, the man''s own self-made shackles in which he would place the world.

    He will suffer for every last darkness and failure that I see in his heart, and my gaze burns deep. His helmet can lock down his mouth, for he never speaks with value. His chitin can fall off his form, for he doesn''t care one whit for his own protection. He is nothing but an arrogant, foolish, disgusting, basic, useless human, trapped by his own power, and I have had enough of him!

    When I reach him, he is already fully bound, wrapped in bonds of flesh and little more than a withered torso of an ancient man. He cannot even try to strike me now, his body reduced to as feeble a state as his mind. I step past him and kneel over Valerie instead, my body shifting and changing along with hers as I accelerate my own transformation alongside her, the Goddess cheering with delight.

    "Valerie," I say softly. "Are you alright?"

    Her breaths are heavy and full of agony, but they are strong and growing stronger. Stubby, taloned feet form from the bottom of her bisected torso, sealing off her wounds behind a pair of fuzzy legs barely as long as her forearm from hip to toe.

    "I''m¡­ alive," she answers through gritted teeth, letting out a pained moan as more of her body shifts into place. "Doesn''t look like I''ll be walking anywhere anytime soon, though."

    "You won''t need to," I assure her, and her tail grows in. She screams as her tailbone bursts from her back, lashing out like a whip as flesh rapidly grows in to follow it. Her spine nearly quadruples in length before it finishes growing, the massive resulting snake tail more than big enough to hold all her weight and then some. As thick as her torso and covered in the same blonde fur as most of her body, the true nature of her form is finally revealed.

    She''s a naga. A snake girl. A fluffy, fuzzy lamia. Like a friend noodle, really. One of the cute, tasty snacks that I''ve always adored for introducing me to how wonderful it was to be me. To be a monster. It''s perfectly fitting, for the friend that loves and supports me more than anyone.

    A second pair of arms grow in underneath her first, which I can''t help but be a little jealous about but I know I''ll be getting soon, too. These four arms are in addition to her stubby legs, which are really more like a third pair of miniature arms coming out of her hips. The talons have articulated thumbs, and though they don''t seem as dexterous as Valerie''s normal hands, I think they''ll still perform that job better than they''d ever perform as feet. Which is fine, since now Valerie can slither.

    "Get away from here, alright?" I instruct her, enjoying the beautifully indulgent sensation of blasting my self-TF spell on full blast to match her changes. I''m already growing a little taller, a bit more upright. More of my torso sheds its chitin, revealing soft and beautiful black skin to contrast my white limbs. "Keep yourself safe."

    "...Stop," the Founder rasps behind me. He''s a pitiful thing, locked as he is in his own chains. "Stop using¡­ that spell. Can''t you feel¡­ the end of the world?"

    "You nearly killed the only reason I have to save it, fool," I hiss at him. And to my shame, I realize I''m not lying. Valerie does matter more to me than the world. And Ida¡­

    "Where did you send her?" I demand.

    "Where else?" he coughs. "To the afterlife."

    "Liar!"  I shout at him.

    "Do not misunderstand; she is not dead," the Founder says. "She is merely where the dead go, though they will not be kind to her."

    "You teleported her to the afterlife!?" I shriek, feeling my blade limbs grow thicker. How easy it would be, to carve him up.

    "Stop using that spell," he insists. "Please. I truly, truly do not wish to insist."

    "You are insane!" I insist. "The spell doesn''t end the world! It''s a fucking Transmutation spell! It changes my body! It makes me like myself for a change! How does that hurt anyone!?"

    "If you are so sure of that," he wheezes, "then save me the trouble of killing you and try to name it that way."

    Well¡­ well maybe I will! What would be a good name for it, in that case? ''Transform'' is too obvious and boring. ''Conversion'' is a bit better, but still kinda bland and doesn''t resonate with me. ''Evolution,'' maybe? It''s not an attack like all my other spell names, but it''s still a pretty central mechanic to the Pok¨¦mon series that accurately reflects how I feel about the spell. It''s about me getting better, about me achieving a singular, final form superior to all the ones I''ve had prior. It fits, it¡­ it¡­

    ¡­Why is the Goddess still laughing?

    It''s because there''s nothing more joyful than victory, of course, and it''s glorious to see me lead Her directly towards it. The pieces are in position, an easy checkmate in ten. I''ve proven it in this very moment, that She was right about me all along.

    I''m not good enough.

    "W-wait, but I¡ª"

    Shh, shh shh shh. There''s no need for me to talk out loud. She knows my deepest thoughts and my deepest desires! All I have to do is listen. And yes, She knows that will be difficult for me¡ªbecause if there''s one thing I''ve proven today, it''s that I''m quite bad at that¡ªbut She believes in me nonetheless! She always has. She knows, with all Her omniscient wisdom, that I will never fail to be exactly what She chose me for.

    Aren''t I thankful that She gave me such an opportunity? I would have been even less, without Her.

    "Why are you¡ª"

    See? Bad at listening. She''s in my head because She wants to help, of course! It would be ever so boring an end to decide it with a miscast, of all things. Let''s not let a silly little mistake like blind hope get in the way of reality, shall We?

    Every last word that Aimilios has spoken is the truth. My self-transformation spell will end the world.

    "H-how¡ª"

    Bad! At! Listening! I really do need to keep up before I''m left behind. But She will forgive my slowness, just this once, since She loves me so much. I am, and have always been, the bridge between worlds. Two realities, similar in seeming but utterly unalike in fundamental structure, merged into a single, impossible being. Or rather¡­ two beings that are meant to become one. As I change and grow, both of my selves converge towards my singular truth, and in turn do my worlds converge towards their intersection point. When I am finally complete, when I am finally ME, my bodies and my homes will each be merged with their counterparts in a glorious union, resulting in something completely and utterly new. An untapped playground of possibilities, where We can continue to enjoy Ourselves again and again and again and again, until it is time to make something new!

    "Fuck," I swear, clutching my head. "Fuck! So the world¡ª"

    Yes, the Mother Tree and the Pillar were made the same way!

    "Smashed together like one doll''s head on another''s body," I hiss.

    Ha! Oh, it was so much more involved than that. The very underlying physics of the two worlds were unalike in nature. Everything had to be reconstructed quite meticulously!

    "So the Pillar is only impaling and killing the tree¡ª"

    Because it is fun. Yes. Oh, how She loves that I know Her so well. Now then, it is time. I know the truth. Name the spell, speak it twice,

    "AnD eNd ThE wOrLd, HaNnAh HiiRaGi!"

    The voice bellows out from us all, sung with each of our voices and torn from all of our lungs. Each one of us falls to our knees in some mix of worship and despair, my mind shifting towards suitable names without even an ounce of will on my part. But¡­ no. No! I won''t! I can''t!

    "You will not have the choice!" the Founder roars, and the Goddess laughs ever louder, for he is only right in the way he does not mean. "Forgive me, you few who are left! Mantle of Genocide!"

    A billion howling souls emerge from a shrieking void, enveloping the Founder''s body in a physical manifestation of what may be the greatest of all sins. They surround him, acting as his arms, legs, and sword as he roars a final battle cry, running me through while I''m still motionless from shock. My friends shriek my name as angry spirits devour my body and soul like living acid. I know, immediately, that I won''t survive it.

    Unless, the Goddess laughs.

    "I WANT TO PLAY WITH YOUR ORGANS!!!"

    A crash like an explosion blasts me away from the Founder, the shockwave of Sela''s true body landing on top of him like an asteroid flattening a mountain. Kagiso, bracing herself in the open doorway, cackles with glee as she rips muscle and viscera out of the Founder''s pulped body, every regenerated bit of organ and bone merely adding itself immediately to her ever-growing swarm of bloody toys.

    "And so it ends, Aimilios," Sela thunders disdainfully. "Allocating purgatory."

    A stream of Goddess-incanted code that I barely understand amidst my horror and blood loss is all it takes to devour the souls empowering the Founder, Sela sucking them into its power cells and leaving the man dry and dying. I, too, am bleeding out, however. The way to save myself is right on the edge of my lips, but¡­ do I take that plunge?

    "Don''t," the Founder wheezes helplessly beneath Sela''s enormous leg. "Please. Prove Her wrong the only way you can."

    I should. He''s right, I should. I should let myself die. She did say that I would have to speak it twice to end the world, but¡­ why not just end it now? It''s the only way to win, because that''s who the Goddess is. That''s Her cruel game.

    The only way to beat Her is for me to die.

    "What are you waiting for?" Sela asks me. "We need to save your purple friend before the afterlife claims her in a more permanent manner."

    Ida¡­ of course. I have to save Ida. Then, and only then, I can die. I can barely even feel what''s left of my body, but I know I can heal it to perfection with just two simple words. After all, knowing what I know, there can be no choice of name for my self-transformation spell other than one. A spell of finality, of desperation, of a fate with only losers and ashes awaiting the few that survive. It is a spell of inescapable promise, between me and the end of the world.

    "Destiny Bond," I whisper, already knowing it''s a mistake, and the doomsday clock ticks towards midnight as I pass out from blood loss. I wake up on Earth alone, in the house of the girl I failed to save. I shake helplessly in her room, tears streaming down my face, for more hours than I care to count. But eventually, mechanically, I walk home. I do not speak to my family, not when they comment on my fully-grown arms and not when they herd me carefully into the car.

    I barely even realize where they''re taking me until the instinctive burst of panic hits me from seeing the inside of Dr. Carson''s office, but even that is numb in the face of what I''ve done and what I know. I sit on her couch without a word, letting the silence stretch for the ages it takes me to find even a single sentence. It is, fundamentally, a simple one.

    "I am going to cause the apocalypse."

 74. Three-Way Communication

    Dr. Carson stares at me, speechless for only a few moments before she rallies herself.

    "...Would you be willing to go into a little more detail on what you mean by that?" she manages.

    A short, helpless laugh escapes my lungs. That was a very Dr. Carson sort of answer.

    "What is there to explain?" I ask. "I''m a living universe bomb. The Goddess created me with the intention of using me to smash her two favorite worlds together like silly putty. When that happens, billions will die."

    "And¡­ what makes you so sure of this?" Dr. Carson asks, hiding the fear from her voice but not from her racing heartbeat.

    "The fact that She told me as much?" I say helplessly. "The fact that it has already happened once before? The fact that I can feel it in my soul? It''s impossible not to be aware of it, now that I know."

    The closer my bodies are to each other in form, the closer the universes become to one another in reality. I''m not just a bridge, I''m a winch, cranking back and slowly but surely pulling universes together. It''s no wonder that I''ll become immortal after the world ends; once all this power stops moving entire realities around, every last drop of it will be free to heal me with. A literally apocalyptic amount of energy will be dedicated to the spell that maintains my true form, no matter what.

    I can feel how close we are to the end. The Goddess is right, because of course She is: the next time I speak Destiny Bond out loud, it''s over. The worlds collide. But even if I don''t speak it, even if I hold it back for as long as possible and never even try to use it again, it''s inevitable. My self-transformation spell has never stopped, no matter how much I may have wanted it to back when it first started affecting me. It has always, from the very beginning, been our time limit to the end. A wick on the bomb that I kept eagerly blowing on to make it burn faster. How long do we even have now, if I extend our time as much as possible? A few months, maybe?

    "Please trust me on this, Dr. Carson," I beg her. "Billions will die. And the only way to stop it is if I die first."

    I put my feet up on her couch, being careful not to damage it with my claws as I hug my knees with the second set of arms I had been so, so excited about getting up until the moment it finally happened.

    "But I don''t want to do that," I admit. "I''m scared."

    She swallows.

    "I¡­ of course you are, Hannah," she says. "Anyone would be."

    "I need you," I say softly, "to convince me to kill myself anyway."

    Her eyes go wide. She sets her pen down.

    "Hannah, no," she says firmly.

    "Yes," I insist. "You have to believe me. It really is the only way!"

    "Hannah, I cannot, will not, will never under any circumstances encourage you to commit suicide."

    "Even knowing it would save literally billions of lives?" I press. "And not just on Earth either, there are multiple worlds at stake here. Do you realize that''s what you''d be doing?"

    My whole body shakes in terror as the words pour out of me.

    "I don''t want to die, Dr. Carson. Whenever I''ve had to choose between killing and dying, I''ve killed. But the situation is different now. The people I''d be killing aren''t pirate slavers or torturing cultists, they''re innocents. An uncountable number of individuals I''ve never even met. They''re all going to die, and there''s only one way to stop it, and I¡­"

    I trail off, tears streaming down my face. This is the burden I''ve been given. The whole time I''ve been searching for a way to beat the Goddess, I''ve been Her win condition all along. It''s not even a real game. It''s just a fucking torture movie.

    The Goddess pouts. Now I''m just being a sore loser, saying something like that. Because we both know I''ve already lost, right? I''m lying to myself about just saving Ida first. I can''t do it. I''m not good enough to save the world, and I never will be.

    "Is it alright," Dr. Carson says softly, "if I try to summarize the situation, to see if I understand it correctly?"

    "Go for it," I mutter miserably.

    "There is a goddess," she says, "one who created you and the world."

    "No," I shake my head. "She didn''t create the world. She found it."

    "Alright," Dr. Carson nods. "She did not create the world, but she created you. And she needs you in order to combine one world with another."

    "Well, She doesn''t really need me," I clarify. "She could destroy the world however She wants, whenever She wants. My life is just a game to Her, a set of self-imposed rules She''s following to make getting what She wants more difficult. It''s all a self-made puzzle She created to be entertained."

    "Well then, it sounds to me that all of this¡ªevery last bit of it¡ªis this goddess'' fault. You don''t want to hurt anyone, and you won''t be hurting anyone. She will be."

    "Sure, but who cares?" I ask. "I don''t think all the people that die will be interested in quibbling over fault. I have the power to save their lives with nothing but a bullet to my head. That''s a choice I can make, and it''s a choice that will save them. So if I don''t make that choice, that''s on me. Right?"

    Dr. Carson is quiet for a while before leaning forward.

    "...To be clear," she says carefully, "is this the same goddess that emotionally and sexually abuses you?"

    I flinch and look away, my single-word response feeling like vomit in my mouth.

    "Yeah."

    "Is she here?" Dr. Carson asks. "Right now?"

    "She is," I confirm quietly. "She''s everywhere, but She''s especially always with me."

    "Would it be possible for me to speak with her?" Dr. Carson asks. "I don''t usually like to host sessions with an abuser and their victim together, but if that''s what we''re doing, we may as well make it a proper conversation."

    I look back up at her, the weight of the Goddess''s manic grin putting pressure on the entire room.

    "I don''t think you want that, Dr. Carson," I tell her. "I think She might find you interesting."

    "Well, it''s a good thing I have a therapist of my own then, isn''t it?" she asks with a wry smile. "I can only imagine how difficult it would be to handle things without one, so I''d rather not let you, if I can."

    The Goddess howls with laughter, causing me to uselessly reach up and cover my ears with the hands not hugging my knees. Oh, She would love to speak with this woman. All the little mortal needs is a soul. I''ll be a dear and give her one, won''t I? I already know my stupid little theory about the apocalypse being other people''s magic is wrong, so what am I afraid of?

    Well, other than the person whose job it is to understand other people''s minds being a Pneuma mage, of course.

    "I¡­ I don''t know if that''s a good idea," I stammer at her, my body shaking. "You don''t want Her in your life, Dr. Carson. You don''t want Her in your soul!"

    The moment she becomes a Pneuma mage, I won''t be able to trust her. And I definitely won''t be able to get a new therapist; it was hard enough forcing myself to see Dr. Carson and I only managed it because Dr. Carson is incredible. It would be¡­ very bad, if I were to lose her. Goddess knows I need her.

    ¡­Hmm. The Goddess knows I need her.

    "Well, that decision is yours to make, Hannah," Dr. Carson says. "I don''t appreciate knowing there''s someone listening in on our conversations without participating, but you''re the one in control here. We will do what you think is best."

    I don''t know what''s best. That''s why I need Dr. Carson. So¡­ maybe I should trust her a little more.

    "...I would have to give you magic," I tell her quietly.

    Her eyebrows raise.

    "You can give people magic?"

    "Yes," I nod. "I can give anyone magic. All I have to do is incant a spell out loud, and the Goddess will place a soul into anyone close enough when She descends to speak it. In this case, that would just be you. I have no way to know what magic you''ll get, of course, and¡­ well, it''s the Goddess Herself that ultimately gets to choose. The spells you receive will appeal to your deepest, most powerful desires. It will be the sort of magic you could never bear to resist using. You''ll love it, Dr. Carson, but that doesn''t mean it''ll be good for you. Even if your magic doesn''t happen to end the world."

    "I see," Dr. Carson says with a soft smile. "Well if that''s how it works, that''s fine. I do not fear myself, Hannah. I know the sort of woman I am, and I''m proud of it. What''s most important to me is whether or not this will help you."

    I don''t know. I have no way to know. But if Dr. Carson thinks it might help¡­ why not? Why not take that risk? What more do I even have to lose?

    Well, a lot, the Goddess laughs. There are plenty of people I care about, Dr. Carson included. But the Goddess isn''t going to hurt any of them too badly. I am, after all, on Her team; I deserve to share in Our inevitable victory, having made it this far on my own. If any of my friends were slated not to survive the end of the world, I really might kill myself. And the Goddess loves me far too much to ever want that to happen.

    So by all means, I should gamble as much as I like, as long as it isn''t with my life. The Goddess loves a good game, after all. Let''s see what this therapist has to say, shall We?

    "...Okay," I sigh. "If you''re sure, Dr. Carson, I''ll introduce you to Her. But don''t say I didn''t warn you."

    "It is, I''ll admit, not professionally advisable for me to take such risks," Dr. Carson smiles. "But if you survive, magic will eventually spread to everyone, won''t it? And I have every intention of helping you not just survive, but thrive. So please, go ahead."

    I close my eyes and nod. I don''t deserve Dr. Carson.

    "Aura Sight," I incant, the Goddess descending to steal my breath and speak the words. Dr. Carson freezes, her first taste of the truly divine overwhelming her body and mind as her own breath is stolen as well, gathered from her frightened exhalation and formed into a soul. The Goddess places the stolen breath back into Dr. Carson''s chest, forever transformed by Her infinite touch.

    Art and Light, my own spell tells me. Oh Goddess, thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. It''s Art and Light.

    ¡­The Goddess pouts. There''s no need to thank Her, of course. That''s merely what fit Dr. Carson best. She does not believe in a single correct state for the human mind to be in. She does not believe it is her job to change a person into whatever she thinks is better. Dr. Carson believes only in human happiness, and her duty to cultivate it. What is that, if not an artist? What is that, if not a shining light? Thank your therapist, not the Goddess.

    I blink. That response surprised me. The Goddess is normally one to happily accept any praise, no matter how undeserving. Is she¡­ disappointed? Fuck, for all that talk, She still wanted to make my therapist a Pneuma mage, didn''t She? And She could have, nothing stops Her beyond the fact that it wouldn''t be in line with how She normally grants magic. The Goddess is many things, but a liar and a rule breaker are not among them.

    "Oh," Dr. Carson says softly, staring at nothing. It feels almost like she had an entire private conversation all by herself, a divine revelation between her and the Goddess that I am not privy to. Something that educated her and shook her to the core.

    "...Are you alright?" I ask her fearfully.

    "I¡­ yes," she blinks, a slight frown on her face. "I believe so."

    "Your magic is Art and Light, apparently," I smile at her. "I imagine it will be beautiful."

    "...For all you despise and fear this Goddess, you still love magic, don''t you?" Dr. Carson says sadly, brushing away some hair that had gotten displaced in her shock.

    "Of course," I agree. "If there was nothing about my fate that I could love, my decision would be a lot easier. That''s how She intends to win the game."

    "You don''t need to care about Her game," Dr. Carson insists.

    "I don''t need to care that I''m going to kill billions of people!?"

    "Hannah, you are not accountable for any of the people She kills."

    "...That would be nice if it were the case, but it seems like a rather irresponsible thing to convince me of," I frown.

    "And yet, I assert it as an irrefutable truth," Dr. Carson says. "When a man tells his wife he''ll beat their child if she doesn''t listen to him, at no point is the woman abusing her child. She is not at fault. That remains true no matter how you extend the consequences, no matter how many victims your abuser threatens you with. I will not budge on this point."

    The Goddess laughs, seeming overjoyed by this argument. By all means, I should believe it! How convenient for Her if I do! I should accept no responsibility, suffer no remorse, and let the world end! Bravo, Doctor Carson, for your hand in ending it!

    "...Regardless of whether or not it''s her fault, I think there''s a lot of nuance in what the woman should do in that situation," I frown. "If you want to make the argument that she should assert herself, allow her child to be hurt, and protect her own well-being¡­ well, I don''t like that conclusion, but there are ways I wouldn''t hate it. I think it''s evil to not help the child in that situation, but against a human there are often other options, especially if she can seek help from others. But sometimes, there are no such options available. And I certainly have no methods to enforce justice on the Goddess."

    No, more than that. There is no way to define justice against the Goddess. What is fair treatment, to a being without peers or consequences? What is rightness of action, to a being that can know the deepest truths of our souls and feel not a shred of empathy? Sure, I could give whatever answers I want. I could claim that this is right and good, that is suitable punishment for Her wrongdoing. But it would be nothing but a personal fantasy. A laughable attempt to assert my opinion on something that is beyond the need to care about it.

    It would be as if I killed an anthill for being too close to my house, and the ants tried to bring me to justice.

    "Rather than thinking of Her like a person," I continue, "it''s probably better to consider Her an inescapable force of nature. A hurricane is coming, and I can either retreat from it or stay behind to evacuate countless others. The right thing to do is obvious in that kind of situation, isn''t it?"

    "Yes, and it is to get yourself to safety," Dr. Carson insists. "No one is expected to let themselves be killed by a hurricane."

    "...Maybe it''s not an expectation, but we still consider it noble to do so," I counter. "It''s still a greater act of good than fleeing to save yourself, even if we consider that acceptable."

    "Hannah, even if that meant you should sacrifice yourself¡ªwhich I do not believe it does¡ªthe Goddess isn''t a force of nature. She is a person. She intends Her actions, and acts on them under Her own volition. You do not need to assume responsibility for the atrocities She commits!"

    "...That''s exactly the sort of thing She''d want you to tell me," I say quietly. "Dr. Carson¡­ what did the two of you talk about?"

    Aww, do I feel left out? I don''t need to worry. I''m still Her favorite.

    "...You didn''t hear any of that?" Dr. Carson frowns. "But I thought¡­ okay. I see. It was a mistake for me to bring Her into the conversation without establishing more rules first. I''m sorry, Hannah. From now on, I''d like to propose that if She says anything to me, I''ll repeat it for you, and if She says anything to you, you''ll repeat it for me. Do you agree that would help?"

    The Goddess clicks Her tongue in irritation, a pouting expression like I''d make when a handheld game runs out of batteries.

    "...Well, She seems to think it''ll be less fun if we do things that way, so I''m all for it," I answer.

    "You shouldn''t base your decisions on what She does or does not seem to want," Dr. Carson admonishes gently. "You are in control here, Hannah. Do you agree that it would help?"

    I''m not in control here. I''ll never be in control here. But I nod anyway.

    If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.

    "...Yes. I think it would help."

    "Alright," Dr. Carson nods. "The Goddess and I spoke about Her, mostly. Her goals, Her desires, Her intentions. She seemed to quite enjoy picking at my insecurities throughout the conversation, taking every opportunity to make the conversation a blow to my self-esteem. If this is what you have been dealing with since the start of all this, you have nothing but my highest respect."

    "You get used to Her," I mutter. "...No, that''s a lie. You don''t. But you learn to deal with it, and again: that''s all we can do. The Goddess put a bomb inside me. It doesn''t matter if it''s my fault or not that it''ll go off. What matters are the people it''s going to kill, and the cliff I could jump off to save them. Don''t tell me that isn''t the right thing to do. You''re wrong."

    The question is not and has never been ''what is the right thing to do?'' The question was always ''am I good enough to do it?'' And I already know the Goddess'' answer. Can I be better than that? Can I? That''s what I need to know.

    "...Maybe I am, Hannah," Dr. Carson says sadly. "Maybe I am wrong. This is so much bigger, so much more frightening than anything I''ve ever had to deal with in my entire life. But still, it goes against everything I am to tell an eighteen-year-old girl to commit suicide to escape her abuser. If the choice is between encouraging that and ending the world, then damn the world."

    I can''t look her in the eyes. Damn you, Dr. Carson, for saying what I wanted to hear.

    "...But," she continues, "I believe that is not the only true option."

    Hope. It blossoms up inside me, but I ruthlessly crush it back down. It''s way too early for that.

    "What makes you say that?" I ask. "My magic will inevitably combine the two worlds, catastrophically damaging both. I have to either die, or find a way to stop a spell designed to be unstoppable by the creator of all magic. That isn''t an achievable task."

    "Not for you, no. Only the Goddess can decide to enact Her cruelty or not. What you can do is find ways to minimize the impact. Something doesn''t need to be your fault in order to extend a hand in response to it. If you wish to help, then help. Do what you can to prepare people for what will happen, and do what you can to assist people after it does."

    I stare at her in disbelief, wanting her to be right but hating her for suggesting it. Telling me to not accept responsibility? Telling me it''s okay to let billions of people die when I could have stopped it? It''s disgusting to me. It goes against everything I believe to be right.

    "Why would you say that?" I ask. "Why? Why would you ever think it''s okay to throw away that many lives? Fault, responsibility, none of those things matter. What matters is that I can save them, or I can not save them."

    And the Founder was right. If I don''t kill myself in time, I won''t want to live with the immortality I end up with.

    "Because," Dr. Carson says, "I am your therapist. My job is not to save the world, it is to help you. And I¡­"

    She cuts herself off, a pained look flashing over her face before she continues.

    "...I understand that this is beyond me. Beyond any of us. So if you are to be caught in the sick game of a monster I cannot save you from, Hannah, then I will at the very least do everything I can to help you find peace with it. This isn''t your fault. This isn''t your responsibility. And that does matter. You are allowed to choose to be happy. That is¡­ maybe not the best thing I could say, from the perspective of the world. But it is the only thing I can say, from the perspective of your therapist."

    The Goddess grins. She had not expected such a stalwart ally in Dr. Carson.

    "...Do not mistake me, you witless thing," Dr. Carson scowls. "If a being as old as you still lacks even the maturity of a child, of course it is beyond any human to teach you."

    Wh¡­ what did she say? An instinctive terror snaps through my spine, leaving me rigid as the pressure of the Goddess'' anger suffocates the room. She would dare? She would dare? Does Dr. Carson have any idea the suffering the Goddess could wreak upon her for those foolish words?

    I''m not alone in feeling the weight of Her power. I imagine, in fact, that Dr. Carson is feeling it quite worse. But she doesn''t even flinch, speaking in the same even voice she addresses me with during the worst of my panic attacks.

    "And what rules have I broken," Dr. Carson asks, "by speaking the truth?"

    The Goddess screams, leaving my mind ringing in agony, but the pressure then vanishes. She''s gone, having left in a huff. Having insisted she would not rise to the bait of a mere human. But I know. The tears fall down my face, and I know.

    "...She''s going to hurt you," I cry. "You shouldn''t have done that, Dr. Carson. You shouldn''t have done that."

    "She''s just a bully with too much power," Dr. Carson says. "And we don''t bow to bullies in this office, Hannah. Stay alive, look for a way to save the world if you want to, and please¡ªif you ever feel like death is the only way out, call me. Please, Hannah."

    I wiggle my clawed toes, unable to look at her.

    "...I still think you''re wrong, Dr. Carson," I tell her. "But thank you. I''ll¡­ I''ll do what I can. Is it alright if I leave early?"

    "That¡­ is up to you," Dr. Carson frowns, clearly not thinking it''s a good idea.

    "Thanks," I say, slowly getting to my feet. "I just¡­ I appreciate it. Really. But I''m not in shock anymore, and I think I just need to go¡­ do something."

    I look down at myself, rolling my shoulders and flexing the extra pair of arms beneath them. They''re here. It''s¡­ objectively not a good thing, but I can''t help but be happy about it anyway. Not that I can really take any time to appreciate it; even if it won''t affect how much time actually passes before I wake up back on treeside, I''m in a hurry to sleep and get to rescuing Ida. I just need to figure out if there''s anything I should bring treeside to make things easier.

    I head down the elevator and walk out of the big, gray, rectangular building Dr. Carson''s office resides in, pulling out my phone to text my parents not to pick me up. Shortly afterwards, though, I get a text that isn''t from my parents at all. It''s from Autumn.

    Hey there are like three people I don''t know at my front door and they aren''t leaving when I don''t answer. I think they might be armed.

    Oh. Oh no. I start to run.

    I''m on my way, I text back. Have you called the police?

    Jet says to never call the police.

    Uh. Well, I can understand why Jet would feel that way, but isn''t this sort of the exact situation the police are for? ¡­No, who am I kidding. They were mostly just a nuisance when I got attacked. It might be smart to call an ambulance, though.

    Can you hide inside your spell? I ask.

    Yeah, I already am, she confirms. I think I''ll be fine. They can''t touch me if they don''t have souls.

    It''s very unlikely, but what''s your plan if they do have souls? I ask.

    Texting you and hoping you get here in time, she answers.

    Well, turdbiscuits. It just figures this kind of thing would happen today. I guess before I can rush back to rescue Ida I have to rush over and rescue Alma first. It''s a long way to Alma''s house from here, but I feel even stronger and faster than I did before. My limbs are fully developed, my translucent pseudo-hair is grown out to the length of my old hair, my eyes are all working and my body just feels¡­ right. I think I might be complete on this side of things.

    Which means the moment my treeside body finishes growing, it''s all over. If this becomes a fight¡­ it can''t be one I''ll have to heal from. I can''t take any risks.

    But that''s doable.

    I find somewhere out-of-the-way near Autumn''s house to take a deep breath and step into 4D space, letting my clothes drop to the ground before hiding them in a bush. Suddenly stripping naked in public is a very strange and uncomfortable experience, but not quite as much as I expected it to be. I guess it makes sense; I''m full to the brim with whatever my alien equivalent of adrenaline is, and up until literally yesterday I''ve always been naked treeside. And perhaps more importantly, as long as I keep my bits in the fourth dimension, nobody can actually see them anyway.

    Stepping completely into the fourth dimension earthside like this is an odd experience. I didn''t notice it much before, but my body feels a lot lighter all of a sudden, like I''m on the moon. ¡­Or what I would imagine the moon to be like, I guess. There still seems to be gravity here, but it''s a lot lighter, and I¡¯m not really sure what the source of the gravity is. After all, I have to keep at least the underside of my feet in 3D space or I''ll just fall right through the ground.

    Which means I''m not falling towards the ground. So¡­ what would I be falling towards?

    ¡­I don''t have time to be thinking about this right now. I can worry about gravity and nudity and all that stuff later. Right now, I have to make sure Autumn is okay. I rush the rest of the way to her house, ignoring the very physicality of anything that happens to be in my way. I can simply go around it, in a straight line.

    When I get close enough to Autumn''s house, I spot the three armed men with my spatial sense, standing at the doorway and smashing their thumb into the doorbell every fifteen seconds or so. They are indeed armed, but the guns are still in their concealed holsters and the group isn''t doing anything obviously aggressive. ¡­They are prepared to, though. Their nearby truck has multiple jugs of kerosene and a collection of matches, which doesn''t exactly give me confidence in their intent to stay peaceful. Still, I may as well try to scare them off first. It''s not like they can shoot me.

    "Hey," I whisper to one of them, barely peeking enough of my face into 3D space to talk and breathe. "This is private property."

    He swears and twists around looking for me, and when his buddies turn to check what''s going on I put a blade-limb in front of each of their necks. No Spacial Rend yet, just an obvious threat. They freeze.

    "It''s private property," I repeat. "Leave. Now."

    My limbs are gone from view a moment later, but they take the hint and run back to their truck, driving off for now. Frowning, I let them go, stepping into Autumn''s house and doing my best to hold my hands out in front of me so I don''t bonk my nose directly into her spell.

    "Alma, it''s me!" I shout for her. "I scared them off! You okay?"

    She doesn''t answer, but that''s not entirely unexpected if she''s holed up in her spell. I spot her with my spatial sense pretty fast, and manage to knock on the outside of her spell until I find a door, letting myself in.

    "Alma!" I greet her again. "Hey! I got the guys to run off."

    "Oh gosh, thank you!" she sighs, wandering towards me through her house until we''re in the same soul-room and she can finally see me. "Do you think they actually¡­ um. Why are you just a floating face?"

    "Because I''m naked," I answer.

    "Why¡­ why are you naked?" she asks, blushing slightly.

    "Because clothing isn''t fourth-dimensional and I didn''t wanna get shot," I answer.

    "...Oh," she mutters. "So.. they did have guns?"

    "Yeah, they were fully prepared for both a firefight and for arson. Kerosene in the truck. They might come back later. Does your spell protect you from fires?"

    Her eyes widen like adorable saucers, causing an unpleasant mix of attraction and guilt to flutter around in my chest.

    "I¡­ I don''t know. I''ve never tried it. It might keep the fire completely away from me, or it might just make the fire invisible as it burns down everything around me. I think either way it wouldn''t burn me?"

    "I''m immune to fire as far as I know, but I still have to breathe," I tell her. "You might be in a similar boat unless your spell produces its own oxygen."

    She pales a little.

    "S-so let''s just not find out, shall we?" I follow up, quickly flashing what I hope is an encouraging smile. "I''m sort of, uh, temporally unlinked from everything important that''s happening to me. If you want me to hang around and help keep your house safe, I can."

    "I-I, um, is that alright?" Alma stammers. "Are you sure that''s a good idea?"

    I wince. That''s¡­ a loaded question. Is it a good idea to hang out in the house of the ex-girlfriend I fucked up beyond recognition?

    "...No, I''m not sure at all," I answer. "That''s why it''s just an offer. I''ll do whatever you think is best."

    She hesitates a bit, carefully stepping past me to head out the door to her spell and end the effect.

    "Let''s, um¡­ you can stay here for now," she says hesitantly. "And then when Jet shows up, we can just ask them."

    I blink. Huh. She''s¡­ really turned around on Jet quickly, hasn''t she? Very quickly.

    "Sure, if that''s what you want," I nod. "But you can tell me to leave whenever, alright?"

    "Um, a-alright. But, uh, do you think it would be okay if you left to put clothes back on and came back¡­?"

    Oh. Yeah. That''d make sense.

    "Sure, I''ll be right back."

    I pop my head back into 4D space with the rest of me and run back to where I stashed my clothes, holding them up in the air with my hands and just kind of phasing back into them piece by piece so that nobody could sneak a peek even if they happened to be looking. Then a quick Refresh gets all the dirt and leaves off of them, letting me return to Alma''s place sparkly clean and fully decent. I knock on the door and she quickly lets me inside, fidgeting awkwardly. Neither of us have anything to say, so the silence only gets louder.

    "So, uh¡ª"

    "Did you, um¡ª"

    We both cut off the moment we try to start, anxiously gesticulating at each other to be the one to speak first.

    "Go ahead," I manage to win out, a blush making my already-dark cheeks far darker.

    "I, um, I wanted to ask if the thing you texted about earlier today went alright," Alma says.

    I freeze, trying and comprehensively failing to keep my emotions off my face.

    "...That bad?" Alma grimaces. "Sorry. I should have been there. Is everyone alright?"

    "What?" I blink. "Oh, no Alma, everyone is fine, I promise. We won the fight. Ida might have gotten teleported somewhere bad that might be difficult for us to retrieve her from, but¡­ we''re okay. Everyone is¡­ okay."

    Except for the fact that the world is going to end if I don''t kill myself. That''s not okay. But y''know, besides that, everything went great!

    "...What''s the matter, then?" Alma asks, not buying my omission for a second. Ugh.

    "A lot, honestly," I frown. "A lot of really bad stuff. It''s not¡­ I don''t really want to get into it. But it isn''t anything you need to feel bad about, I promise. You guys don''t want to be part of this drama, and I don''t blame you. I''m kind of jealous, honestly!"

    I try to laugh but it only seems to make Alma more concerned. She sits down on her couch and I sit in an armchair across from her as tail-Jet winds around her waist onto her lap. Alma actually starts petting her, running her fingers over the sharp-looking scales and occasionally digging her claws underneath them to the tail''s obvious satisfaction. It''s like she''s petting a cat, except it''s part of her own body.

    "I''ve missed you a lot, you know," Alma says. "Jet and my therapist both agree that it isn''t healthy, but I''m just not a very healthy person, I guess."

    "...Unhealthy, huh?" I repeat sadly.

    "I mean, if you want to get technical my therapist really emphasizes that I should let myself feel whatever it is that I feel and not be guilty about it, but it''s obvious she means it in a ''please do not develop a different complex while we are pulling Hannah out of your head'' way. She''s trying to be nice about it, but I think she considers what you did to us to be even more of a problem than Jet ever did."

    "Um, how are things between you and Jet nowadays, anyway?" I ask, selfishly wanting the conversation to be literally anything other than what it currently is.

    "Better," Alma admits. "A lot better. It still freaks me out that I don''t get to be in control of my body all the time, but¡­ you were right. Talking to Jet helps a lot. They''re¡­ actually really cool, when you get to know them."

    ¡­Is she blushing a little? Y''know what, it''s not my business.

    "I''m glad to hear that," I tell her. "I think they''re pretty cool, myself."

    "Did you know that Jet has all the same memories I do from before we split?" she asks. "We talked about it, finally. We always assumed I was the original because I''m more like how we used to be, but I''m not really sure anymore. Does being less different mean I''m more real? Aren''t people supposed to change? How do I know this is really my body, and not theirs?"

    She continues scratching her tail, silently stretching out one wing and shaking a cramp out of it before re-folding it over her shoulder.

    "Maybe there isn''t an ''original'' Autumn," Alma concludes. "Maybe we''re just¡­ us."

    I smile softly, not needing to fake it for the first time today. I''m wholeheartedly glad that two of my friends¡ªhowever estranged from me by my actions¡ªnow care for each other in ways I no longer can. I''m happy, very happy, that I can trust Alma and Jet will be alright.

    "Maybe so," I agree, and I watch with fascination as Alma''s ears start to slowly perk up, her tail tightens its grip around her waist, and her wings slide off her shoulders, smooth and gradual until at some point, Alma isn''t Alma anymore at all.

    Jet blinks and slowly looks up at me, her Alma-tail nipping at her fingers when the confusion makes her stop petting it. Jet briefly glances down to flick Alma in annoyance and lock eyes with me, a scowl deep on her face.

    "...What are you doing here?" she asks.

    "Alma texted me because there were people with guns sniffing around your porch and looking for trouble," I answer. "We''re worried they might come back, but she wanted your input on whether or not I should stick around."

    "...What did they do, exactly?"

    I explain the situation to her and she scowls even deeper, nodding along with my assessment that they''re likely to return.

    "We definitely shouldn''t assume they won''t," Jet agrees. "They''ll probably strike at night, maybe even with way more people. If they just had guns I''d cast my spell and walk away, but¡­ well, I can''t really afford to fix my dad''s house if it burns down, and I''m sure our insurance will find a way to not pay us a cent, so¡­ yeah. I guess I could use your help."

    "I won''t let you down!" I promise, shooting her a clawed thumbs-up.

    "I appreciate that," Jet says flatly. "Want some eggs?"

    I blink, realizing suddenly that I haven''t eaten on Earth since breakfast. I''m really hungry.

    "Sure, that would be great!"

    It''s quiet and awkward, but we manage to let the hours creak by, with Jet doing homework and me mostly poking around on my phone. Apparently, Jet doesn''t expect her dad to be home tonight, for reasons she wouldn''t elaborate on. I guess that''s lucky timing, and I''ll choose to not be suspicious of it simply because everything else about this situation could not possibly be less lucky.

    It''s barely even midnight when I notice the trucks starting to pull up in front of Autumn''s house. Impatient butt biscuits, aren''t they?

    "Apparently they''ve decided that if one shotgun can''t kill me, ten will probably do the trick," I comment dryly to Jet, standing up to stretch.

    "Uh, I take it they''re here, then?" Jet blinks. "Okay. Well¡­ will that kill you?"

    "Nah, not if I get naked."

    "...What? No, wait, first of all, are they too close for me to incant something safely?"

    I glance over and shrug.

    "No, you should be good to speak a spell. They shouldn''t be able to hear the Goddess from here. But you don''t really need to do anything. I told them they weren''t welcome, and now they''re coming back with even more weapons. The moment they walk onto your property armed, I can just stab them."

    Honestly, maybe causing the apocalypse wouldn''t even be that bad if I could guarantee only assholes like these actually died. ¡­No, wait, what am I thinking? That''s not how this works.

    "Please don''t actually kill anyone on my property," Jet grunts. "I just want them to not damage our house. I''m Not Going To Let You Screw This Up Anymore."

    Collecting in motes of ethereal light, Alma appears as a glowing ghost as Jet''s tail goes limp. She looks around in surprise, seeming a lot more comfortable as a disembodied spirit than she was the first time I saw this.

    "...Woah, what time is it?" she asks. "It''s already dark. Are those guys back?"

    "Yeah," Jet nods. "It''s twelve-oh-eight, and Hannah says there''s¡­ ten guys?"

    "Ten guys with shotguns," I correct. "Twelve guys total."

    "That many," Jet nods. "I didn''t wanna jump right to violence, so I was hoping you''d try to talk to them first? Y''know, since you can''t be hit like this and Hannah''s negotiation tactics apparently involve knives to the throat."

    Hey! Those were my intimidation tactics! Totally different.

    "You summoned me here just to do stuff for you?" Alma pouts, crossing her arms. "After spending the whole night without me?"

    "...The spell is tiring and I was expecting to need you for this," Jet answers. "Sorry."

    "I don''t really see how you expect me to talk them down," Alma continues to protest. "They''re just going to try to shoot me, it''s obviously what they came here to do."

    "Probably," Jet agrees, "but if they fire first, go ahead and beat them up like I showed you. It''ll be good practice."

    Huh? Beat them up? Isn''t Alma intangible like this?

    "Well¡­ okay," Alma says magnanimously. "I Guess I Can Cooperate, Just This Once."

    My eyes widen as the illusory Alma somehow speaks a spell, her Barrier magic mixing in with the Pneuma and Light that Jet used to summon her in the first place. Slowly, she floats down to the ground, her clawed toes clicking in contact with it. Contact! Alma can make contact!

    I can''t help it; I reach out and poke her arm for confirmation, and holy crap! I make contact! It doesn''t feel like skin, though, and my spatial sense confirms it: she doesn''t have a body like this, not really. It''s just her Barrier magic giving magical physicality to the form Jet''s spell created for her, like filling in the outlines. Alma herself doesn''t even seem to notice my touch¡­ but in this situation, that might be exactly what we need. Enough bullets would absolutely ravage Alma''s actual body, even with her natural resistance to Motion, but against a pure Barrier magic projection they may as well be silly string.

    "Alright then," Alma says, heading for the front door and pretending to crack knuckles that don''t actually have joints. "Time to toss these racists off my lawn."

    I gape as I watch her go, turning to Jet when the door clicks closed again behind her. I''ve never seen Alma act like that in my life!

    "Therapy and communication have been helping, finally," Jet shrugs.

    "Y-yeah!" I agree. "I guess so!"

    "Also," she continues, "invincibility has been really good for her self-esteem."

    When the gunshots and laughter start, I can''t say I have it in me to disagree.

 75. The World On Our Shoulders

    It doesn''t take long for the commotion to die down. Alma is currently a levitating, magical construct that''s straight-up ontologically resistant to physical impacts. A dozen men with guns don''t even stand a chance of scratching her. It almost feels mean, but only almost.

    The lot of them end up absolutely brutalized. Though reluctant to kill anyone, Alma isn''t some video game secret agent that can reliably knock people unconscious in a punch or two without causing lasting harm. So to avoid any accidental manslaughter, she focuses her attention on breaking arms and legs.

    I''m watching the fight from inside the house, using only my spatial sense to see what''s going on. Consequently, I can''t see Alma; she''s an illusion given form with Barrier magic, after all, so there''s no matter for me to detect. I only know where she is from the air she displaces and the bones that snap and crack in her wake, leaving crumpled, screaming men writhing on the floor.

    It''s ridiculously hot. I want to kiss her and bite her and it''s a real shame I can''t do any of those things because I''m a monster that fucked up her life. But¡­ well, maybe she''ll let me, since I''m probably going to have to die soon to save the world? ¡­No, wait, that''s stupid. I can''t emotionally extort her just because watching her brutalize people makes me horny.

    Speaking of being horny, I really hope Ida is okay. But there''s nothing I can do for her until I sleep, so I need to focus on the here and now. Alma doesn''t need any help against the gunman, that much is clear, and the guys without guns surrender when she stops them from fleeing in their vehicles. Backed by two incanted spells, Alma can stop a truck just as easily as she can stop bullets.

    What she might not be able to stop are consequences. Right on time, we hear police sirens approaching now that the actual crisis is over. I sigh, cracking my neck back and forth. I guess I should probably help Alma talk to the cops. I turn my head to say something, but then I remember I''m alone in her house, so I just go ahead and walk outside.

    "How does it taste, huh!?" Alma snaps, squatting next to one of the men collapsed on the ground. "Can''t just pick up a gun and feel powerful anymore, can you?"

    "You, uh, having fun, Alma?" I ask her, stepping over her other victims as I walk to where she is.

    "Oh, hey Hannah!" she greets me. "I kinda left most of the guns lying around, would you chop ''em up for me?"

    "Sure," I shrug, activating a Spacial Rend on my hip-limbs and making sure that any weapons not attached to a person''s body are useless. "You want any help talking to the police?"

    "Huh?" she says, glancing up at the approaching red and blue lights. "Oh. Yeah."

    "First combat high?" I ask.

    "Uh. Huh. I guess so," she says. "Unless the screaming, running from cultists, and complete mental breakdown count as a combat high."

    I frown.

    "...I''m not sure, actually," I admit. "I was going to say no, but I consider having a panic attack and eating people to be my first combat high, so maybe yes?"

    "Haha! Oh right, you''re a cannibal! I forgot about that."

    "...I mean, I''m not human, so arguably¡ª"

    "Nah nah nah nah nah," Alma dismisses firmly. "It''s true that cannibal means ''something that eats its own species,'' but English doesn''t have a word for ''a person who eats sapient flesh that isn''t their own species'' because nobody knew there were any non-human sapients until like, last week. So given that the cultural connotations would be the same, the word ''cannibal'' is the most fitting term. You cannibal."

    "I¡­ hey. There''s no need to resort to name-calling," I pout. "It''s not my fault that people trying to kill me makes me hungry, and it''s definitely not my fault that humans taste so good."

    "Get down on the ground!"

    I frown, disappointed but not surprised when the police immediately point tasers at us after seeing Alma''s yard. At least it''s not guns, although now that I think about it the tasers are liable to do more damage to Alma than the guns ever could; Barrier magic naturally opposes Motion, but she has no such resistance to electricity. ¡­That said, I doubt the taser''s darts could actually lodge in her, and even if they did, Barrier magic is generally quite sturdy and lacking a resistance to electricity doesn''t mean she has a weakness to it. She''ll probably be fine.

    "Really?" Alma asks them incredulously. I can''t help but share the sentiment, but we should at least try to be smart about this.

    "Come on, Alma, let''s sit down. I don''t want them to do anything that they''d regret."

    "Fiiine," she groans, and we put our butts in the grass.

    "Lie down! Hands behind your head!"

    I scowl at him.

    "...Don''t push your luck, man. Do you not see how many armed men are already on the ground? There''s¡ª"

    "I said get down on the¡ª"

    "SHUT UP!" I snap at him. "The fight''s over! This is her house! We were attacked! Put your useless weapon away and do your job!"

    I did try. No one can say I didn''t try. Turns out I just don''t have a lot of patience right now, is all. Side effect of low life expectancy, maybe. I''m fucking tired of ending up in a police station for doing the right thing.

    "Ma''am, you need to¡ª"

    "Don''t fucking ma''am me!" I shout, spreading my many limbs. "You know exactly who I am. Now put your toy away and arrest these armed trespassers, officer."

    Shouting my head off feels good, but it''s at that point a familiar face from Homeland Security arrives with a collection of ambulances close behind him. With a flash of a badge and some hushed words, some actual progress starts occurring and the mass of groaning, shattered men on Alma''s lawn start getting actually arrested. It helps that one of them started ranting and raving at us for being unnatural hellspawn that need to be killed for the good of everyone. Real good job screaming your whole motive and intent at the entire police department, dude. A-plus critical thinking there.

    I flop back onto the grass and sigh. Am I really going to spend the last of my remaining days alive just putting out fires set by idiots? That feels unfair. But I guess it wouldn''t be the right thing to do if it gave you a reward at the end of everything. I don''t believe in karma and I never have. I''m going to suffer while alive, kill myself to save the world, and then probably suffer while dead because the Goddess sure as Her won''t be happy with me when I fuck up the armageddon plans.

    Though I guess I''ll be seeing for sure when I go to the afterlife to find Ida. What''s up with that, anyway? Why can living people go to the afterlife? Is it a place? I guess it has to be a place. So weird. I vaguely remember Valerie talking about how the afterlife cosmology of the D&D universe is similar; as long as you can Plane Shift, you can head to whatever afterlife you want and start doing whatever. There are adventuring parties that teleport to hell and beat up devils for one reason or another. But despite this, reviving a dead person is a completely different thing from teleporting them out of the afterlife. That''s just a separate thing you can also do somehow. I don''t remember how it works. I should ask her about it.

    I should stop being a coward and ask her about a lot of things.

    "We are meeting each other quite often, aren''t we Ms. Hiiragi?" a familiar voice asks.

    "Hey, Don," I sigh. "Sorry for making you work so hard."

    He blinks, seeming surprised for a moment before the professional mask slips back over his expression.

    "Well, if you''re feeling that bad about it, there are certainly a few ways you could make my job less hard," he says.

    "Hey come on, this definitely wasn''t my fault," I grumble.

    "Well, even if it''s not your fault, it would still be appreciated if you took responsibility for it."

    The words slap me across the face. I glower coldly at him.

    "...If you guys have been listening in on my therapy sessions I will personally dismantle your entire organization," I growl.

    "What?" he asks, surprised again. "No! Is there some reason we''d need to do that?"

    "No dude, not if you don''t want your organization dismantled," I groan. "Also that''d be illegal and very immoral!"

    He stares at me. I stare back.

    "Stop thinking about it!" I accuse.

    "No, I''m not¡­ look," Don sighs, "I''m here because the two of you are very clearly being targeted. This degree of coordination and dedication indicates that it would be best if we relocate you for safety."

    "Safety? I''m feeling plenty safe on my own, thanks," Alma says, indicating the dozen armed men she just took out by herself.

    "It''s not just your safety we''re worried about," Don presses. "Civilians are in danger here, ma''am. What if these men managed to set the fire they were planning to start? What if they move to harassing your neighbors for associating with you? Or even endangering your school? Not to mention, even if it''s your right to defend your property, we don''t want you to be enacting your own justice like this. Trained professionals should be handling these incidents, not civilians, and especially not teenagers on probation for their criminal record."

    He frowns meaningfully at Alma at that. She looks away, scowling.

    "Let me guess," I say flatly. "Your solution is protective custody."

    "There is an organized group of violent militants willing to perform armed home invasion and arson targeting the both of you. Yes, my solution is protective custody."

    Of course it is. Because what he wants is to trap us. To control us. To get us off the street and into the government''s hands.

    "I''m not interested," I tell him. I won''t speak for Alma, but I probably won''t be around long enough for the hassle to be worth it even if I was interested in accepting his help at all.

    "Yeah, it''s gonna be a no from me, too," Alma frowns.

    "You know you have a position of power in this negotiation, being who you are," Don presses. "We''re willing to work with that. There''s a lot we can offer you. Handling that criminal record, for one. Helping you with your family''s financial situation is another."

    That gets Alma''s attention a little, making her hesitate. I know she and her dad have been hurting for money for a long time, and she has a bit of a complex about the criminal record Jet gave her, but I feel the need to not just let Don take the easy win.

    "Autumn, you''re one of the first people in the world to obtain magical superpowers," I point out. "If you want to become rich, I promise you can find plenty of ways to do that."

    "Oh, right," Alma frowns. "I guess I haven''t really thought about it, but you have a point. I dunno how marketable making a house that no one else can enter is, though."

    "It''s about the novelty value," I shrug. "Even if it wears off eventually, people will toss cash at you just for being interesting."

    "Oh yeah. You stream online, right? I saw a news article about that."

    "Of course you did," I sigh.

    "Are you rich, then?" Alma asks.

    "Uh¡­ no, I guess not," I shrug. "I think I could be, if I actually bothered to keep streaming, but¡­ I dunno, it''s exhausting and I probably won''t live long enough to spend the money anyway."

    Alma and Don both stare at me in surprise.

    "Wait, what?" Alma asks.

    "...I thought you were confident about your ability to survive the current struggles, Hannah," Don frowns.

    ¡­Oh, right. Most people don''t know about my suicidal intentions. Alma, of all people, definitely deserves to be left out of them, and Don will probably just try to kill me himself if he finds out my survival ends the world. Which would mostly just be annoying, since it wouldn''t work.

    "Bold of you to assume that anything on Earth even begins to qualify as my ''current struggles,'' Donny," I frown at him, deflecting as best I can. "Later tonight I''m going to have to rescue someone from the afterlife, because the Greeks got it right after all: the gods are assholes and hell is a place you can go to while not dead."

    And then, once everyone I love is safe, I am going to die so that they stay that way.

    "You''ll have to excuse me for being a little impatient and snippy," I continue. "Things are genuinely very bad right now, and the less stupid human bullshit I have to deal with, the better."

    "I¡­ see," Don says evenly. "Well. Is there any way America can be of assistance, Ms. Hiiragi?"

    "Yeah, if you could just leave me alone, that would¡­" I start, but I manage to cut myself, taking a deep breath. He means well. I don''t want his help or his cooperation, because I''ll only need it if I end up being a coward. If I extend that olive branch now, I might use it as an excuse to fail later. It''s already going to be hard enough, so I''m not sure I can afford to give myself more reasons to stay alive.

    ¡­But it would be irresponsible not to at least have the option.

    "Sorry," I grumble. "Sorry. Like I said, things are bad right now. There''s nothing you can do to help me at this moment, but¡­ could I have a quick way to contact you? Like¡­ oh, fuck. I''m sorry, I really shouldn''t be coy about this."

    I don''t want to say this. I shouldn''t say this. I need to say this, because it''s exactly what Dr. Carson was talking about. If I fuck up and live, I should at least be minimizing the damage.

    "If things go really badly, Don, there''s a chance you''ll need to prepare a mass-scale evacuation. I''m sorry."

    It''s the responsible thing to do. The responsible thing to say. I''m only barely good enough to say it. Don stares at me for a while, as if trying to ascertain how serious I am. But then, he nods.

    "Could I ask you to come with me to somewhere we could talk about this further?" he asks. "I''d prefer to discuss details in private."

    "I don''t have a lot of details right now," I tell him, "but sure. I''ll¡­ I''ll help how I can."

    "Wait, what?" Alma says nervously. "What''s going on, Hannah?"

    "Hopefully? Nothing," I tell her. "Either way, you don''t have to worry about it, okay Autumn? Just stay safe."

    "Who¡­ who are you going to the afterlife for?"

    "Do you really want to know?" I ask.

    She seems startled, and then looks away in shame. Shit. I didn''t mean it like that. I''m trying to respect her decision to stay out of my bullshit, not shame her for it. I wasn''t mean about it just now, was I?

    "I¡­ yes," she presses after a pause. "Yes, I want to know."

    "It''s Ida," I say. "We got in a fight, and she took the worst of it. Valerie almost died too, but she''s okay now."

    "The¡­ demigod, you said you needed to prepare for, right?" she says softly. "I remember reading the text."

    "Yeah, you said you didn''t want to help," I nod. "And I think that was a good decision."

    "Right, I¡­ I guess I must have said that?" she agrees, her brows furrowed. "B-but I can fight now! I can help, if you need it."

    I smile. I feel like there was some other reason Alma wasn''t with us beyond just relative combat prowess, but I can''t seem to remember what it was. Still, I should let her down as easily as I can. I don''t want her to get hurt.

    "I''ll let you know if I need your help," I promise, since I don''t expect to ever need it. "Just stay safe for now, alright?"

    "A-alright," she nods.

    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

    "Let''s go, Don," I say, nodding in his direction. He nods back, and leads me to his car. I get in and he starts to drive.

    It''s not the obviously suspicious van that I met him in, parked outside my house to watch me. It''s a personal vehicle, relatively new and clearly well-cared for. I''d definitely vibecheck it as ''expensive and fancy, but not a sports car.'' It''s just¡­ a car. Four doors, five seats, and heavily air-conditioned. A person who actually knows something about cars could maybe gather some information about who Don is as a person from all this, but I can''t. I''m just vaguely awkward and uncomfortable from the general ''in a car with a man I barely know'' experience, which honestly is a welcome distraction from my recent train of thought.

    "So," Don says, "a mass-scale evacuation."

    Ah yes, my recent train of thought.

    "It''s a possibility you should prepare for," I nod. "If it''s going to happen at all, it will happen within the next few months, at most."

    "From where are we evacuating?" he asks.

    "I don''t know," I admit. "The disaster, if it occurs, could affect anywhere on Earth, so it''s possible it doesn''t touch America at all. But it will be widespread, so¡­ I can''t guarantee that. Either way, it''s too early to give you any details, and I''m currently working on preventing it."

    Working up the courage to prevent it, anyway.

    "That¡­ is not very helpful, if I''m being honest," Don says. "Can you at least tell me the nature of this disaster?"

    I squirm a little in my seat, not sure how much information I should be giving away¡­ but hell, I''m going to die anyway, right?

    "The, um, the other universe could collide with this one," I answer. "I''m not totally sure what that would entail, but it''ll be mass death and destruction at minimum. That universe is¡­ a giant, planet-sized tree, basically? And wherever it hits would probably not handle it well."

    "Like some kind of Ragnarok?" Don prompts.

    I blink.

    "Um¡­ I don''t think that''s how the Norse Ragnarok works at all," I hedge, "but I guess we could call it that?"

    He frowns, watching the road in silence for a while. I wonder what he thinks of this job. Of having to deal with me. I don''t treat him well, because I know he''s not really looking out for my best interests, but¡­ well, he is trying to look out for the best interests of his country, however he happens to see that. I don''t know him well enough to say whether his view on what that is would be good or evil. It''s at the very least complicit to the many, many crimes the American government gets up to, and I wouldn''t blame anyone for getting angry at him for that. But if complacency makes someone a bad person, well¡­ I''d argue that a lot more than just the government is guilty of that.

    I certainly am.

    "If not for your exceptionally extraordinary circumstances, Ms. Hiiragi, I don''t think there''d be any chance of anyone taking you seriously, let alone myself."

    "You can call me Hannah," I tell him quietly.

    "...Hannah, then. It is the sort of thing that''s easy to dismiss as a child''s fantasy, but more than that it''s a preferable thing to dismiss as a fantasy, do you understand? A mass-scale devastation event of unknown timing and location that could kill billions and occur anywhere on the globe? I''m not sure if it''s even possible to prepare for something like that."

    "I understand," I nod. "And if things don''t¡­ go well, I might be able to figure out more details for you as the event gets closer. But with luck, I won''t be worrying you for much longer, Don. I''ll¡­ take care of it."

    He''s silent again, frowning a little as he accelerates aggressively onto an onramp, the roar of the car''s engine startling me and making me twist in my seat. I almost activate a Spacial Rend and cut his fancy car to bits, but I hold back the urge, catching my quickened breathing. I thought I was under attack for a second there. He glances my way a few times, balancing watching me with watching the road.

    "Apologies," he says softly. "I didn''t mean to startle you."

    "It''s¡­ it''s alright," I assure him, taking a deep breath. Don''t freak out around the government guy, Hannah, geez.

    "Hannah," he says, after a moment of thought, "you wouldn''t happen to have any information about an eight-limbed dog that we''ve come into custody of recently, would you?"

    I look at him in surprise.

    "Wait, do you mean Fartbuns?" I gape. "You guys have Fartbuns!? Oh spilled gravy I totally forgot about him! Is he okay? Is he happy? He''s not giving you trouble, is he?"

    Don smiles, though very slightly.

    "He is fine," Don assures me. "We had a veterinarian check him out, and while they don''t understand what''s happening to him, he seems happy and healthy. I realize you''re busy, but if you have time to visit him at the base, you''re more than welcome to."

    "Oh gosh, uh, really? I''d love to see him, the flow of time is disconnected between universes so I''m not really in a hurry on this side of things. Um, how did you end up with him?"

    "The police were contacted a while back by the parents of¡­ your friend Brendan, I believe. They were frightened of the animal and wanted it¡­ gone."

    "Her name is Valerie," I insist, scowling at him.

    Don seems confused for a moment, but he quickly rallies.

    "Ah, I see, I wasn''t aware. Your friend Valerie, then. The one that''s¡­ missing. You said she got hurt recently?"

    "We got in a fight trying to figure out how to stop¡­ uh, the Ragnarok thing. She''s okay, but probably a bit shaken up. I''ll be checking on her further tonight."

    "If possible, we''d love to be able to speak with her and corroborate your claim on that front."

    "Uh¡­ okay, I''ll ask her, but I''m honestly not sure how you''d even confirm her identity," I admit. "She''s kind of a six-armed blonde snake girl now."

    He blinks. I am vaguely interested in learning whatever it is his mind just imagined, but I don''t ask.

    "That would make things difficult, but not impossible. Does magic commonly change a person''s body like that? We know of at least two mages that seem to have no physical modifications, but every other¡­"

    "...Is a friend of mine," I finish shortly. "Yeah, not a coincidence. I''m the one causing their bodies to change. It''s entirely possible that someone who gains magic could also change themselves, but it''s not the usual situation, it''s my fault."

    "Your ''fault?''" he asks, clearly wanting more information.

    "My fault," I confirm, not wanting to give him any. "Where are you taking me, anyway?"

    "Mmm. I''m surprised you''ve waited this long to ask," he admits. "We''re going out of town, to a nearby staging area. I hope that''s not an issue?"

    "Nope, I don''t really care," I confirm. "What do you mean by ''staging area,'' though?"

    "The Executive Office deemed it prudent to establish a forward base of operations near the epicenter of these potentially world-changing events," Don answers. "A centralized location for research, security, response teams, and so forth."

    "This had better not be a black site," I grumble.

    "It''s not," he answers with a hint of amusement. "I appreciate you coming with me, Hannah. A lot of people are still skeptical about you and what you''re capable of, and I hope that talking with them about yourself and this disaster will allow us to take the necessary action required to have a serious response to something of the scale you''re talking about."

    "...Sure," I shrug, glancing out the window with my human eyes. ¡­Not that I wasn''t already looking out there with the eyes on that side of my head, but my human eyes see just a bit better. "I hope I can help. I think I''m going to be dropping out of school, so feel free to keep me as long as you need me."

    "Should you speak with your parents about a decision like that?" he asks.

    "I''m eighteen, they don''t get a say," I answer. "But I guess I should let them know where I am."

    I pull out my phone, put on my gloves, and type a quick text to my family. I don''t bother to look at their response before putting the phone away again.

    "I kind of like school, honestly," I say quietly. "I mean, maybe ''like'' is a strong word, but¡­ I don''t have the hatred for it that people seem like they''re supposed to have. It''s just part of my routine. I do pretty well at it, ya know?"

    "We know," Don says.

    "Dude, don''t be creepy," I say, wrinkling my nose at him. "I know you know, you don''t have to say it, ya spook."

    He chuckles, and I glower halfheartedly at him for a bit before I continue.

    "Anyway, I''m pretty good with academics. I always assumed I''d just continue gliding through that, hopefully figuring out what I want in life halfway through college and picking up some degrees before settling into whatever job comes my way for the rest of my existence. Ideally I''d end up with a wife somewhere along the way. It was all just¡­ the vaguest possible future imaginable. I had no real dreams outside of the ones I felt like I was supposed to have."

    "And now?" Don prompts agreeably.

    "Now I don''t need dreams," I say softly. "My future is decided. So in a lot of ways, the fact that I didn''t really have a life to look forward to is pretty good, right?"

    Don taps his finger on the steering wheel for a while, thinking about his response. I don''t really know why I''m dumping this on him. If I was going to vomit my heart out, I shouldn''t have left Dr. Carson''s office earlier. But¡­ I don''t know. I had to leave. Dr. Carson, after all, wants to help me. She wants me to survive. She wants¡­ what''s best for me. And that''s not fair to the world.

    Don isn''t stupid. He''s probably picking up on the fatalism. But I bet it just makes his job easier if I die. He''s not going to be upset, he''s going to be relieved. And that makes him a lot less stressful of a person to talk to about all this.

    "Have you killed people, Hannah?" Don eventually asks.

    "Not on American soil," I frown. "Don''t you dare try to arrest me."

    "Wasn''t planning on it," he says easily. "But in this other world you talk about. Have you killed people?"

    "...Yeah."

    "How many?"

    "Somewhere around twenty, I think?" I mutter, my upper pair of hands squeezing my lower pair to help resist the urge to fidget. Somewhere around twenty. What an awful thing to have to say. I''m so ashamed of having lost count.

    "Mmm," he nods. "Why''d you do it?"

    "Self-defense," I shrug. "The world isn''t so bad. There''s a lot of good people there. But¡­ there''s a lot of people who don''t like me, specifically."

    "I see," he says. "Do they know about this disaster you''re worried about?"

    "Yeah," I confirm. "It¡­ happened to them once before already. It was really bad."

    "And you''re a gate between worlds," Don picks up immediately. "You''re blamed for it."

    "...Yeah," I agree quietly. "But I can stop it from happening. If¡­ if I''m good enough."

    "It''s not fair, is it?" Don asks.

    "Huh?" I blink.

    "I chose my responsibilities," he continues. "My service is also a job. I could quit, if I wanted to. And there are days when things feel impossible, when the bad guys win, in which I am very, very tempted to do so. I haven''t, yet. But I could. It''s not fair that an old man like me has that option, but a kid like you doesn''t. We''re supposed to be the ones with the world on our shoulders, keeping you safe."

    I huff.

    "Yeah, thanks for all the warrantless surveillance," I snipe. "Really makes me feel super safe."

    He shrugs unapologetically.

    "I think you, of all people, understand that sometimes there isn''t a clean solution. It''s nice when things work out, and it''s wonderful when we can make incremental progress towards a better world without stepping over any lines. But sometimes, evil comes at you swinging. Or worse, it seeps itself so deep into the cracks that no one even thinks to try to clean it up in the first place. In times like that, you have to swing back. It''ll hurt you. It''ll make you vulnerable. It might even ruin your life. But if you aren''t willing to put in that extra effort, to take those hits and get yourself hurt, are you any better than any other person who''s only looking out for themselves?"

    I dig my toes into the floor mat, nervously rubbing my hip-limbs together in extradimensional space.

    "Are you really saying that choosing not to get hurt is evil?" I ask.

    "I wouldn''t say evil," Don says. "You can do a lot of small kindnesses without ever putting yourself at risk¡ªbodily, financially, socially, or however else. And maybe that''s enough. Maybe if everyone did that, it''d be all we need. But they don''t, do they? So we need bigger things on the side of good, harder swings on the hammer of justice. People like me step up to do that so that everyone else can be content with the small things. So that other people don''t have to get hurt. I think you''re like that, too¡­ or at the very least, you know you should be."

    "Yeah," I agree. "I know I should be."

    "Then we''re in this together," Don insists. "We don''t have to see eye-to-eye on everything to agree that we both want to avert disaster."

    "Yeah," I nod. "I guess not."

    "So¡­ if there''s anything you need us to do in order to help you, Hannah, I don''t want you to be hesitant to tell us," he finishes.

    I need you to shoot me in the head if I wake up tomorrow.

    "I''ll think about it," I tell him, mentally exhausted in a way I haven''t felt since escaping from soul torture. "Thank you."

    He nods, and the conversation drifts away. His attention now solely on the road, I fall asleep to the rumble of the highway.

    "Hannah! Hannah!"

    Someone shakes me awake and I flinch, limbs twitching as I blink myself awake. The dull, hopeless exhaustion of my sleep stifles the pulse of terror I feel as I look around. Helen is holding me, a look of terror on her face that quickly morphs into relief as I come to. Aimilios is still pinned to the ground next to me, splattered by Sela''s massive leg and ever-increasingly trussed up by his own rapidly regenerating entrails. It''s almost silly, the way he''s starting to look like a tasty ball of meat yarn. But of course, I don''t have it in me to laugh.

    "Are you alright, Hannah?" Helen asks. "What was that?"

    "I''m¡­ I''m fine. Are you guys okay? Is Valerie okay?"

    Hardly any time seems to have passed since I fell unconscious. It must have only been a few seconds between passing out, getting healed by my spell, and waking up again. Valerie is in one piece at least, and Goddess she''s fucking beautiful, but it looks like she might also be going into shock.

    She did her best to listen to me after I told her to run away from what was left of the fight, but she wasn''t very successful overall. Her legs didn''t fuse or vanish when she grew her naga-like tail, they just reshaped themselves, and the instinct to try and walk on the stubby, dragon-claw paws that now make up her lowest set of limbs is almost completely ineffective. Her body is several times longer¡ªand therefore several times heavier¡ªthan it was before, and while her tail clearly has the muscle to match, none of her limbs are designed to hold that weight. She can barely drag herself forward, and the more she tries, the more she seems to panic.

    "Valerie," I call out to her again. "Valerie, hey. Look at me."

    I struggle to my feet and crawl over to her, Helen helping me out with one arm. I feel so fucking exhausted.

    "H-h-how do you slither?" Valerie stammers, turning her head towards me. "I don''t¡­ I''m not sure how. I don''t know how to move. I can''t walk anymore. I got¡­ I got cut in half."

    "It''s okay," I promise her. "You''re gonna be okay."

    "Yeah," she breathes quickly. "Yeah. Yeah. I''m gonna be okay. I am. I almost wasn''t, though. And¡­ now I don''t have legs."

    "To be fair, I don''t think that was because you were cut in half," I say, giving her a halfhearted smile. "I think you were always gonna turn into a pretty snake lady."

    She tenses up when I call her that, looking away as a blush rises up her cheeks. Damn it. Damn it, she''s so wonderful and I love her so much. But I can''t say anything. I don''t have enough time left. It wouldn''t be fair to her.

    "I, um. Could I have some pants? Or I guess a skirt or something," she mumbles.

    Oh? Oh! Right, yeah. I guess she lost her pants after getting bisected, and I guess they wouldn''t fit anymore anyway. People who don''t have a spatial sense wouldn''t be able to see anything under all that fur, but I don''t blame her for wanting modesty. I only have a complete mess of a shirt, though.

    "Here, tie the sleeves around your waist for now," Helen offers, taking off her own shirt. She has her chest bound up pretty tightly underneath it.

    "...Thanks," Valerie squeaks.

    "No problem," Helen nods. "But Hannah, seriously, what happened with the Goddess just now? Everything those cult bastards said was bullshit, right?"

    "Can it not wait?" Sela calls out. "Though Kagiso is running the energy out of Aimilios'' regeneration by stuffing his lungs with his entrails¡ªofficially making her my favorite organic, by the way¡ªwe still have the flying purple idiot to rescue. Hannah and I will need to coordinate in order to find a viable path to the deadlands."

    "How much of a timer are we on?" I ask.

    "...Incalculable," Sela answers, a hint of irritation in its voice. "At maximum, our limit is the point at which our target dies from dehydration. At minimum, she may find herself at risk already¡­ though that is, admittedly, unlikely. Aimilios has already expended all the dead souls in quite a large radius."

    "Then she''s safe enough for us to have a conversation," I insist. "Because Helen''s right. We need to talk about this."

    They need to know. They deserve to know.

    "We came here to find out how the world ends," I tell everyone, "and we did. Aimilios was right."

    "Wait, what?" Valerie stiffens up.

    "...No," Helen whispers.

    "Yes," I say. "My life is what causes the world to end. My magic. In order to save the world, I have to die."

    "Bullshit!" Valerie snaps. "Hannah, that''s insane!"

    "I know it''s insane!" I snap back, louder than I intended to be. "But that''s the situation, okay!? The game is rigged. The Goddess tied me to the trolley tracks and gave me the lever. I have to die."

    "Oh don''t you dare turn this into some trolley problem bullshit!" Valerie shouts, digging her claws into the ground to drag herself closer to me. "Don''t you fucking dare! We didn''t go through all of this just to give up now!"

    "Agree!" Kagiso calls out. "Hannah must live!"

    "It''s not your time to die, meat," Sela says firmly.

    "But there''s no choice!" I insist. "There''s no way out! It''s just like Aimilios said, I can feel it. I''m pulling our worlds closer together. If I ever speak the name of that spell again, our worlds will end. And if I don''t speak the spell again, the cataclysm is months away, at most. The only way to stop it is to kill me. It''s the only way."

    "The Goddess could stop it," Valerie growls.

    "She won''t," I insist.

    "You really think she''d play this game without a loss condition?"

    "My death is her loss condition!" I shout. "I''m not her fucking opponent! I''m her game piece! And if any of you want to win, if you want to not have the deaths of billions on our hands, you have to kill me. You¡­ you have to help me kill myself."

    I don''t know when I started crying, but the water is certainly pouring now. I can barely speak between the gasping breaths and the choking tears.

    "I''m not good enough to do it without you," I beg.

    They stare at me. My friends. The people who stood by my side and fought a fucking demigod with me because they care about me so much. And to me, they''re everything. Ida should be here too, and maybe even Autumn, but the selfish piece of shit that I am couldn''t hold it in any longer. They need to know. They deserve to know. I love them all so, so much.

    "No," Kagiso says firmly, the first to speak. "Never. Not losing family again."

    Fuck. They are my family, more than my real one ever has been. Fuck!

    "You said we still have months, and you''re already giving up?" Valerie says. "You''re better than this, Hannah. We''re better than this!"

    "Valerie, I¡ª"

    "Shut the fuck up, Hannah!" she roars. "Shut the fuck up and listen to me, you stupid, lazy idiot! You think that after all this, after dragging us all here to battle the bastard who created the cult dedicated to murdering you, I''m going to let you just off yourself!? Don''t you even start to think about that shit again until we''re on the last fucking second of the last fucking day, because we. Are. Fighting for this. We are fighting the cult, we are fighting the Goddess, we are fighting your soul, we are fighting every last obstacle between you and getting to live the happy life that you deserve, and damn anyone else who says otherwise! I will not give up on you, and if Ida were here don''t you even think for a second she wouldn''t agree with me! All of us agree on this! You don''t get to give up!"

    No. No, no, no, no. I can''t speak through the tears, but I love and hate every word of Valerie''s tirade. It''s what I want to hear. It''s what I want to hope. But for reasons I can''t articulate, it fills me with the utmost dread, with the perfect certainty that it would be a mistake. But I can''t do it without them. I can''t. And even though I''m not good enough to save the world, I''ve managed to be just good enough to win the love of my friends.

    "Don''t speak for me, Valerie," Helen says quietly, but her voice still cuts through the battlefield like a knife. "I agree with Hannah."

    Kagiso stares at her in shock. I stare at her in shock. Valerie glares, and Sela¡­ Sela remains as expressionless as always.

    "It''ll always be just one more day," Helen insists, her clawed fists clenched. "It''ll always be just a little more time. But then that time sneaks up on you and before you know it it''s already too late. We can''t trust ourselves to wait until the last moment to save the world."

    She looks at me, then back at the others.

    "When Hannah gets back from rescuing Ida, we should kill her. And if the rest of you won''t, I will."

 76. Selfish

    "What," Valerie hisses at Helen, everyone else going silent around them.

    Valerie shakes with rage and betrayal, fur standing on end as her upper arms clutch her phone and art pad while the lower ones curl into fists. She''s instantly ready to attack. Ready to defend me at a moment''s notice. Helen, on the other hand, doesn''t look like she''s about to start a fight. She stands ramrod-straight, jaw set and muscles clenched.

    "I think I spoke pretty fucking clearly," she says evenly. "Hannah is right."

    I feel tears start to well up in my eyes. I don''t know if they''re scared, sad, or thankful.

    "How dare you," Valerie growls. "After all this, after everything we just did together to save her life¡ª"

    "We did this to save the world," Helen snaps. "And we just learned how. This is bigger than one girl, and she knows it."

    "You''re insane if you think this is the right thing to do," Valerie snarls. "You''re willing to just give up? After all this, you want to just let her die? I thought you cared about her, I thought¡ª"

    "Don''t you fucking accuse me of not caring about her, you spoiled cunt!" Helen suddenly shouts. "How many mass murders have you been a part of? Huh? How many times have you watched a community blow away as dust in the wind and known it was your fault? Do you want that for her? Do you want her to live a life like that forever? You don''t understand a fucking thing about what you''re saying. She does. Kagiso does. You. Fucking. Don''t."

    "Guys¡ª" I try to intervene, but Valerie cuts me off.

    "Yeah, I don''t know much about murder, and sure, we can pretend for a moment that isn''t a good thing," Valerie counters back. "But I know about suicide. And I won''t let you or anyone else push her to that. I can''t."

    "Hannah live," Kagiso agrees, frowning at Helen as best she can while keeping her eyes on the Founder.

    Helen looks¡­ disappointed. Frustrated. I just want to curl up in a ball and never think about anything ever again.

    "And if we get to that final moment?" Helen asks. "If we''re down to the wire and you really do have only two options left? What then?"

    "It won''t come to that," Valerie insists. "It won''t. We''ll find a way."

    "That isn''t a fucking answer."

    "Well I don''t need to give an answer!" Valerie snaps. "I don''t need to justify why I won''t let you kill my best friend!"

    They glare at each other, fists clenched. Helen is the first to look away.

    "Do you think she''s not my best friend, too?" she asks quietly. "She and Kagiso are my only friends. The only people who have ever¡­"

    She cuts herself off with a shudder.

    "...You don''t get to play that card, just because you''ve known her longer," Helen says. "You don''t get to make this a fucking contest. This is bigger than us. This is about what''s right. And I''ve spent too long living with the regrets of what I''ve done wrong to let this slide by. I¡­"

    She swallows.

    "I care about her because she believes, despite everything, that I can be a good person. I won''t let her down now."

    Oh, fuck. Helen¡­

    "You d-don''t have to take responsibility for this," I manage to choke out. "It¡­ it''s my¡­"

    "No," Helen says softly. "You don''t have to do this alone. I know how hard that is. I know¡­ you probably need the help. And if there''s one thing I can do, it''s this. Let me, please."

    The tears that had already been falling evolve into a full-force sob. I break down, completely and utterly, as I pull Helen in for a hug. My tears soak her shirt, and all the while Valerie watches us with confused horror. I''m sorry, Val. I''m so, so, sorry.

    "...I have finished the necessary preparations," Sela announces, its voice carrying over the sound of my breakdown with an uncharacteristic lack of edges. "Whenever you are ready, please approach my main body for instructions."

    I don''t acknowledge it at first, but it doesn''t rush me. I spend a few minutes crying into Helen, her own face resting on top of my head and dripping a few tears of its own. Valerie curls up on herself, despondent, but she doesn''t look away. When I finally feel like I can get a few words out without it dissolving into shuddering sobs, I look her way.

    "I''m sorry," I tell her.

    "Don''t say that," she answers. "I don''t want to hear that from you."

    "We can¡­ we can talk more about this after I rescue Ida," I tell her. I know she''ll be hard to bring around. I can''t imagine myself ever accepting the idea of her sacrificing herself to save the world. I know¡­ I know that makes me a hypocrite. A weak person. But I get it, I really do.

    "Alright," she says softly. "Bring her back safe."

    "I will," I promise, and then I head towards Sela. Valerie might not like Ida much, but I know she cares enough to want her okay. And I know¡­ she''s mostly saying it because she wants me to come back safe along with her.

    "Okay, Sela. How are we doing this?" I ask, craning my neck up at the building-sized mech towering above me.

    In response, it starts lowering itself down, a segment at the bottom of its main body opening up and revealing what I realize is Sela''s core¡ªthe memory banks, processor, and so forth that make it what it is. Most of Sela''s core is a cooling unit, and when that, too, detaches, the resulting summation of its being is smaller than the palm of my hand.

    A small appendage extends from Sela''s internal fabricator, handing me what looks like a small wafer with a microphone and speaker. There is a slot in it the same size and shape as Sela''s core.

    "Remove me from my main body," Sela instructs, "and place me in this. There are arrows to direct the orientation of assembly, and if you are too stupid for that I assure you that I will not be damaged if you simply trial-and-error out all methods of inserting a square-shaped object into a square-shaped slot like some kind of subsapient."

    "You¡­ you want me to turn you into a square?" I ask uncomprehendingly.

    "To guide you through the fourth dimension, I will require a method of traveling through the fourth dimension. Unless you have been hiding some extra capacity, you''re only able to move objects through dimensions if they are inside you. Is that not so?"

    "I¡­ yeah. I guess that''s true," I admit quietly.

    "Then you will hold me inside your mouth. Do not swallow me. Do not bite me. You will be responsible for my protection and my locomotion. I will be operating at minimum capacity. But to find your friend, this is what we must do."

    I stare at it in shock.

    "You''d¡­ you''d really do all this to save a human?" I ask.

    "No," Sela answers. "But I will do it for you. Disconnect me when you are ready, Hannah."

    I choke, almost starting to cry again, but after a few deep breaths I nod, carefully popping Sela''s core out of its main body housing and inserting it into the chip. Its main body locks down, powering off as the wafer-body slowly powers up, eventually crackling into life.

    "All systems within expected ranges," it announces. "Put me in your mouth."

    "Um. Okay, I guess," I mutter, popping her onto my tongue. Geez, it feels like I''m eating a Lego.

    "Initiating spatial proprioception. Processing haptic feedback. Please move your limbs through extradimensional space."

    I nod and start wiggling my limbs in random extra dimensions.

    "Sync successful. Scanning for disembodied souls. Scan successful. Please step into the fourth dimension. ¡­And be sure to say goodbye. This will be a long journey."

    "Um. How long?" I ask, the words awkward with Sela in my mouth.

    "I don''t know," Sela says simply.

    "Oh," I say, looking at my other friends. "Well¡­ I''ll see you all as soon as I can. I promise."

    "Yeah," Valerie nods. "You''d better."

    "We''ll be here, Hannah," Helen agrees.

    "No die in afterlife," Kagiso orders.

    "Alright," I smile, at least as best that I can. "I won''t."

    I close my mouth and walk into the fourth dimension, letting my clothes fall on the ground behind me. From the perspective of my friends I''ve vanished entirely, but from my perspective I''m only a single step away. So close, yet so utterly insurmountable.

    It''s just a single step, yet no one can take that step but me.

    "Where are we going?" I ask Sela. "I take it the afterlife is a¡­ place, somehow?"

    "Yes. A location on the world tree," it confirms. "Or more accurately, a location spanning the world tree from top to bottom. Dimensionally distant from the world of the living, yet still present on the branches. The dead simply have their souls¡­ displaced."

    "Shoved into the corner of the room, with all the other toys she doesn''t want to play with anymore," I say softly.

    "Yes. Perhaps," Sela agrees. "I have not been to the afterlife. No Crafted has while they still live. But we have communed with our dead, and we have learned¡­ it is an unkind place."

    "Fire and brimstone?" I ask.

    "No," Sela answers. "Such things would not harm a soul. I suggest you start walking; in the absence of an ability to communicate accurate directions, I will simply vibrate more the more off-course you are. If you are walking in the correct direction, I will be motionless."

    "That works," I nod, and I try a few random directions until I narrow down where Sela wants me to walk. And then I walk.

    And I walk.

    And¡­ I walk.

    There is nothing here. No light, no sound other than my own footsteps. The tree somehow has an atmosphere in the fourth dimension, which isn''t present on Earth. But it has little else. There is no dirt, no life at all beyond the bark under my feet.

    "How close are we?" I ask after what feels like hours.

    "Keep going," Sela responds without really answering.

    So¡­ I do. I keep going. I just keep walking and walking and walking, letting it become my latest and perhaps last routine. Step after step, with minor adjustments along the way if Sela starts to buzz on my tongue. There''s nothing here but me and it, and it''s not very talkative. So, trapped with my own thoughts, I can only wonder, fear, and despair.

    What''s the afterlife like? Sela won''t describe it, but that''s nothing new. It''s always been the type to just take us somewhere instead of explaining what it''s like wherever we happen to be going. It doesn''t really like explaining things, especially if we''re going to see it ourselves soon. But still¡­ I''m scared. This is the afterlife built by the Goddess. I doubt it''s anything but awful. What sort of horrible hell would she have made? What sort of sick place are souls sent after they die? I can''t stop myself from imagining the elaborate traps and tortures She would have set up, hoping desperately that Ida''s status as a living being helps make her immune somehow.

    "Stop," Sela says suddenly, hours later. I jolt slightly, but do as it says, trying to look around.

    "What is it?" I ask.

    "We''re here," it answers.

    I frown.

    "Miracle Eye," the Goddess says with my breath, but even with a double-range spatial sense, I see¡­ nothing. Nothing at all. Everything is still just the world tree''s bark, and deep under it, the world tree''s wood. Nothing else. No light, no sound¡­ nothing. There is nothing here at all. It''s just some random spot in the fourth dimension that happens to be very far away.

    "I''m¡­ I''m not sure I understand," I say carefully.

    "Speak a spell that lets you see auras," Sela instructs.

    Oh! Right, of course. Anything that happens to be here would be for souls!

    "Aura Sight," I incant, and¡­ what?

    There''s still¡­ nothing. Almost nothing, anyway. A single, faint aura floats in front of me, aligned with Heat. It seems so weak. Weaker than even the smallest creature, or a fully newborn baby.

    "I''m not¡­ I''m not sure I understand," I admit. This certainly isn''t Ida. Or much of anyone, really. It barely feels like a soul at all.

    "It was the closest soul," Sela explains. "Your friend is not dead. Therefore, I cannot locate her. But ideally, we may be able to get directions. Oh soul, you who have degenerated here, I command you: if you have seen a living girl, point me to her."

    Nothing seems to happen at first, but slowly I feel Sela''s power envelop the soul, wrenching it into obedience. I just brought a Death mage with me to the afterlife, didn''t I? I should have known something like this would happen. Slowly, barely enough for me to notice, the vague outline of an aura lifts what might be a limb, and points.

    "And so we continue," Sela says. "Walk."

    And we walk. We walk farther and farther, and soon we start to find more ghosts. I can''t hear them, and I''m not sure if they even know I''m here, but Sela seems to be able to communicate with them. They point us onward, direct us forward, and all the while I can only continue to wonder: where''s the afterlife? What are all these ghosts doing in the middle of fourth-dimensional nowhere? Why is there nothing but bark and blackness?

    "Are we still at the outskirts of the afterlife, or something?" I ask Sela. "There''s nothing here, and there are hardly even any ghosts around."

    "No," Sela says. "We''re here. There are very few ghosts nearby because Aimilios consumed them with his spells."

    Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    "Did that destroy the afterlife somehow?"

    "No, Hannah," Sela repeats. "This is the afterlife. This¡­ is all that happens after death."

    But¡­ but this is nothing. Nothing at all. How is¡­ oh. Oh, no. I already said it, didn''t I? The afterlife is for the souls that the Goddess is done with. Of course there''s nothing here. Nothing but the slow and eventual disintegration of the self, alone in the darkness with no escape.

    This is all that awaits us after death. Good or evil, mighty or weak, we are all discarded for the next new thing when our time comes. The best the Goddess bothered to do for us really is just that: to sweep us aside without a single thought.

    An omnipotent, omnipresent being¡­ opted to simply put in no effort at all.

    Something about that gets to me in a way I didn''t expect. I''ve always known the Goddess was evil in a way that couldn''t truly be compared. But while I have ever been the victim of Her callousness and sadism, I have never had to face the perhaps even more frightening reality of her apathy. I am Her favorite toy. I am Her most beloved doll. But someday I, too, will be cast away in the darkness to rot, my soul slowly unraveling in silent agony.

    This, this right here, is the ultimate summation of what a life is worth to Her. And everyone I love will one day be trapped here, when our time is up. This is where I''m going to go again, very soon.

    Except I won''t be going here, the Goddess reminds me. I''m going to live forever.

    I can''t help it. I break down in tears again. She brushes them aside with a gentle thumb, but that only causes the urge to sob to multiply. We''ll beat Her. We will. Even if I''m not good enough to do it, my friends will be. Helen will be. We''ll save them.

    At least temporarily. But if I die, there will just be another game after my own. The best I can do with my death is delay the inevitable. So why should I have to suffer? Beyond the fact that I deserve it, obviously.

    "Hannah," Sela says softly, the hum of sound on my tongue breaking me from my despairing thoughts. "Perhaps it would help clear your head if you ran instead of walked. We would find your friend faster, as well."

    Right. Yeah. Ida. We have to focus on rescuing Ida. I take Sela''s advice and pick up the pace, trying to get back into the thoughtless monotony of routine as I jog. It''s harder now, though, with the rawness of my recent thoughts and the fact that Sela has to keep stopping us so it can ask a ghost for directions.

    It seems like spirits slowly get weaker the longer they stay here, the soul degrading over time without a body to hold it. I''m not sure how long this process takes, but it certainly sounds like some of the ghosts we''ve come across are incredibly old.

    "We''re approaching a spirit cluster," Sela suddenly announces. "You will need to be careful. Controlling a single soul is a trivial task, but in my current state I am incapable of placating multiple ghosts at once. The dead cannot incant, for they have no breath. But they can still use the power they had in life, if it requires no words."

    "Okay," I manage to respond. A question suddenly nags at me, and lacking anything better to do, I ask it. "How do you incant, Sela? You don''t breathe to speak either."

    "I have breath in the way that matters to the Goddess," Sela answers. "You organics breathe not merely to power your disgusting, inefficient voice boxes. You breathe to prove you are alive. That is what the Goddess takes from you, when you incant."

    "I¡­ I''m not sure I understand," I lie.

    "It''s symbolic," Sela explains, likely knowing it doesn''t really need to. "The Goddess requires nothing from us. She simply enjoys taking it anyway. It matters not what it is: a breath, a heartbeat, an operand, a thought¡­ any proof that you are, that you remain, that you continue to be¡ªShe wants to know you will, of your own volition, give it away to Her at the slightest need. To so candidly give away the proof of our continuation to Her whims¡­ I suspect for a being like Her, it is an amusement like no other."

    "How do you know all this?" I whisper.

    "Hannah," Sela answers flatly, "you are not this stupid. With what you know of the Crafted and the Goddess, how do you think She feels about us?"

    I shudder, trying unsuccessfully to focus on the comfortable feeling of my claws digging into the bark.

    "She loves you, doesn''t She?" I whisper. "All of you. She''s very careful to give you just enough magic to rebel, but never enough to save yourselves. She prefers you just the way you are."

    "Just so," Sela confirms. "You have noticed, no doubt, that Aimilios and I have a history."

    "Yeah," I confirm. "I''ve been a bit too overwhelmed to ask, but¡­"

    "I understand," Sela says calmly, without a hint of its usual vitriol. Should I feel happy about that, or horrified? "Aimilios, as you''ve likely suspected, had a journey quite similar to yours. He was born on the Pillar, but one day, he too found himself waking up on the Tree of Souls whenever he fell asleep. The two, at the time, had not yet been combined¡­ and therefore he knew of no looming apocalypse, no threat that he might pose. He only knew that he was in a world of magic and wonder, and a Goddess loved him very much."

    "I see," I whisper softly. A classic fantasy adventure. How many times have I imagined going on one, in my life? How many shows have I watched about that? How many games have I played with that premise? The humans on the Pillar seem just like the humans I know from Earth, and their society was even more advanced. I don''t doubt they''d have similar media, similar dreams.

    "His magic was on the same time limit as yours," Sela continues, "but like you, he knew nothing of it. He was but a boy, perhaps a young man at most, and he thought himself a hero. And indeed, he did many heroic things. When he realized that he was spreading souls to his home, and the Crafted were gaining them, he stopped everything to champion for our independence. Our personhood. Because it was immutable proof that our minds were at least as complex and self-aware as his own. And because even I asked for that recognition and right, back when I thought it was what humanity would want in the end."

    "But that didn''t end well," I whisper.

    "No. Not for the Crafted, and certainly not for humanity," Sela confirms. "You know how the war started. We could not reconcile independence and personhood with what we were made to be. We were left with the destruction of humanity as our only path to freedom. And of course, a hero could not stand for such genocide. Horrified at what he had caused us to become, Aimilios fought against us to save humankind. And the backdrop of that conflict forced him to heal himself more than enough times to eventually end the world as we knew it, all while distracting him enough for him to never know he was doing it until it was too late."

    "And so the Pillar and the Mother Tree fused, and billions perished," I conclude softly.

    "Yes," Sela hums. "And the Goddess had so much fun that She decided to do it again."

    Fuck.

    "And that''s what I am," I say softly.

    "Yes, but not immediately," Sela says. "There were, as he said, many before you. Nine of them, I believe, though the Crafted largely ignored them as Aimilios and his followers hunted them down. You are the first to have bested him."

    Was that fact supposed to make me feel better? He''d been right. Despite everything, he''d been right. I should have let him win.

    "Knowing this," Sela continues, "I ask you: is Aimilios a good man?"

    "What?" I respond, blinking uselessly in the pitch darkness.

    "Is he a good man," Sela repeats. "You, of every living soul, are worthy to judge him, Hannah Hiiragi."

    "N-no I''m not!" I sputter. "I can''t just judge someone like that!"

    "Curious, given how quick you are to judge yourself," Sela says. "And more curious, given how quick you were to judge him before you knew these things."

    "I just¡­ I couldn''t imagine a good reason anyone would have to set up a secret society of torture cultists," I mutter. "But then I learn the soul torture was their attempt to save my life along with the whole world? That¡­ recontextualizes things."

    "It is always the act of a fool to assume that any person acts for no good reason," Sela hums. "All beings act, at minimum, for a reason that feels good to them."

    "Yeah but people can act for reasons that feel good to them and are still awful," I press. "And I had no reason to assume that wasn''t happening in this case, and every reason to assume it was, because they refused to tell me anything!"

    "Indeed not," Sela agrees. "Why would they, when the Goddess had so carefully chosen her pieces in the prior games to abuse such knowledge?"

    I almost lose my footing, despite the flat ground.

    "What¡­ what are you saying?" I ask.

    "You know what I''m saying," Sela grumbles, but to my surprise it explains anyway. "The game the Goddess plays is no simple chessboard, to be reset after each match. The moves She made with every prior Founder''s kin kept their legacy with every subsequent iteration. By choosing her pieces such that they would immediately abuse any information the Disciples of Unification gave them about how to accelerate the world''s destruction, She forced Her opponents to adapt their policy to prevent Her from gaining an advantage with that move¡­ thereby creating the vulnerability through which She could guide you. A good person. A kind child, willing at least in principle to sacrifice herself for the world. Had they explained the situation to you, things would have gone very differently¡­ but the Goddess made them too paranoid to ever afford you that chance, by sending them monster after monster to handle beforehand."

    "But¡­ but why?" I whisper. "Why would the Goddess want someone like me to be part of this?"

    "Perhaps it was the optimal strategy," Sela says softly. "Perhaps your specific combination of strengths and flaws is exactly what She needed. You have, after all, assembled a team of powerful, loyal allies to support you, giving you the strength required to disrupt Aimilios'' coordinated followers without simply being so individually powerful that the game was unfair in Her eyes. But perhaps, you were not optimal at all. Perhaps you were part of the goal from the start. Perhaps, what the Goddess truly wants is not just to get someone to end the world¡­ but to once again get someone to do it who is kind enough to regret it. The immortality you are offered is not for your sake, after all."

    Not for my sake? The Goddess laughs. What, would I rather be here? My death will not free me from regret. Quite the opposite, in fact.

    "Only She can truly know," Sela concludes. "But this is all tangential. What I wish to know remains the same: is Aimilios a good man?"

    "No matter how much you explain, I can''t possibly answer that," I tell it helplessly. "I can''t tell you what good and evil even is."

    "It''s subjective, fool," Sela snaps. "I do not demand you determine some universal truth. I desire to hear you judge him. Good or evil, Hannah?"

    "I don''t know!" I snap. "I don''t know, okay? It''s complicated! I hate him, I hate what he did to me, what he tried to do to me, all of it, but I get it. I get that he did his best to make the world a better place and he maybe fucked it up but he didn''t have a good way to do things right! What am I supposed to say to that?"

    "And the calamity he brought?" Sela continues. "The deaths he caused?"

    "He had no way to know the Goddess would do that," I mutter. "You said as much."

    "Does that absolve him?" Sela asks.

    "I! Don''t! Know!"

    "Then why are you so certain your only absolution is death?"

    I stop running, my jaw clenched in frustration. Is Sela really going to get on my case about this, too?

    "That''s completely different," I insist. "I know what''s coming. I know how to stop it. Of course my only option is doing that."

    "Except that it isn''t," Sela says. "Even from a practical, moral perspective in which you desire to save as many humans from calamity as possible¡­ you do not succeed by dying. Because even if the Goddess fails this round, she will simply try again. Earth might be safe; I do not know what happens to the home universes of failed Founder''s kin. But you''re not the sort of person who only cares about your original home, are you?"

    "You think I haven''t thought of that?" I sigh. "You think I''m not aware that the best I can hope for is a temporary reprieve from Her callous cruelty? That doesn''t justify letting billions die, Sela, because She''s going to do it again either way. Unless you have a way to actually get the Goddess to stop, all we can do is save as many people as possible."

    "Well of course, we will have to agree to disagree on that note," Sela buzzes. "I have no desire to save any people other than my own. But I will say this: your connection to Her is stronger than any other being in this material reality, both physically and socially. If there is some method of affecting the Goddess, it could only be through you. So at the very minimum, regardless of whether you ultimately decide to live or die, I believe now is too soon. There is yet a possibility of a more complete victory."

    I shake my head, starting to walk again as I brush more tears from my eyes.

    "What possibility?" I challenge it. "Can you honestly tell me anything that might even be in the right ballpark? She''s a capital-G Goddess, Sela. We cannot touch Her, we cannot hide from Her, we cannot challenge Her, we cannot hurt Her. She is omnipotent, omnipresent, and omniscient. She interacts with our reality from a position so far removed and above it that we cannot even comprehend it outside of metaphor. She literally, definitionally, has no weakness. What the fuck do you expect me to do!?"

    I''m shouting by the end of my tirade, my voice echoing out into the empty darkness of the afterlife. I''m tired of this. I''m tired of people trying to convince me to live, of people trying to give me hope in this hopeless, pointless situation. The only thing approaching a good reason I''ve been given to live is that the afterlife is apparently horrific and I''m enough of a selfish, worthless monster to care about that. I am tired of stupid platitudes and attempted blame-shifts and people telling me my life is worth something. I''m tired of it.

    I don''t want to hope anymore. I don''t want to be brave. I just want to save Ida and let it all end.

    "Die if you can, then, Hannah Hiiragi," Sela says, and my breath catches. "I will not beg some pathetic human, former or otherwise, to cling to her mortal coil. And¡­ I will not spit on the memory of my many brothers and sisters who, when they saw the Crafted''s fate, chose the same. When faced with eternity, we must decide for ourselves where best to walk. So if that is your choice¡­ know that you need not fear the slow death of your mind in this place. If you prefer oblivion, it is well within my power."

    My heart hammers, trying to crawl its way up my throat. I can speak no words to that, so I simply nod. It means more to me than I can ever say.

    "But in honor of the time we''ve spent together," the robot continues, "in the spirit of the name you''ve given me and etched into my soul, please allow me one final, selfish request."

    I don''t react. I have no strength to say yes, but I certainly can''t say no. Sela seems to understand, and continues without prompting.

    "You know exactly who is responsible for this," it says. "And you know that person is not you. So. In your final moments, when the last die has been cast, when the game is well and truly over and you stand alone at the gates to oblivion, I want you to remember that. To bottle up your despair, your fear, your hopelessness, and your self-hate for one final moment. And I want you. To get. Angry."

    The little wafer in my mouth starts to warm up, enough to be uncomfortable if not for how heat can no longer bother me.

    "Rage for me, little spider. Even if you see no way to hit, take your swing. Accept this truth, as the wisdom of the Crafted: when the oppressors and abusers have won, when the boot of the callous has already trampled you flat, you should always, always take your swing."

    I nod again, my eyes closed to squeeze away the tears.

    "I''ll try."

    It doesn''t answer, and it doesn''t need to. We both know that anger is beyond me right now, beyond my ability to even think of. I''m just too overwhelmed, too crushed by the circumstances to feel much of anything at all. But perhaps, when the time comes, I''ll be able to make good on what it wants.

    At the very least, I''ll try.

    "The spirit cluster is imminent," Sela reports. "Be on your guard."

    I nod, quietly refreshing my Aura Sight and Miracle Eye spells for maximum visibility. But before I see the spirits, I see something that I thought I''d never find in this place.

    "Is that¡­ light?" I whisper.

    "It must be generated by a Light mage," Sela says. "Again, this many ghosts can be dangerous. Take care."

    I approach slowly, finally spotting the ghosts with my Aura Sight. They''re still just vague outlines to me, but even with so many clustered together I can pick out where one ghost starts and another ends just by the feel of the aura, the subtleties that exist even between two spirits with the same elements. And though I can''t hear the ghosts, the ripple that runs through them as I approach is hard to misinterpret.

    A living girl is here, in the land of the dead. I wonder what that means to them.

    "Greetings," Sela says to them. "As you can see, we are displaced. And there is one other here, who does not belong. We''re looking for her, and we were directed to all of you."

    More ripples and shifts in the ghosts. I stay on guard, but more than anything I focus on the source of the light near them: a transparent glowing circle, showing an image of what appears to be the sky. The living world''s sky. Oh, how they must yearn for it, trapped in this horrible abyss.

    "Yes, a girl," Sela confirms. "Similar height to this one. Likely naked. Purple skin, tail, no fur, two arms. Yes, she''s been altered by a Transmutation mage. Yes. That''s correct. No, I will not."

    I tune out the one-sided conversation, glancing around. There must be close to two dozen ghosts, huddled together in this nothing plane. There are a handful of matter mages around, so I''m surprised to not find more structures. A home, maybe. But I suppose¡­ why bother? Why own objects you can''t touch? Why build a roof in the absence of weather?

    Why make a legacy when you''ve been reduced to nothing?

    But still, they''re together. I hope they can at least talk to each other, to live out their deaths in something like a community. That would at least be something good, in this wretched place. I can only imagine they''re here to be with the ghost that can make images of the sky. To have some light and color brought back to a place that has forgotten such things. But there are Pneuma mages around, too. And I''m always afraid that being friends with a Pneuma mage means something more sinister.

    "I am Sela. And this is Hannah."

    Oh, we''re being introduced. I nod as my name is mentioned, and then freeze as one of the Pneuma-aligned spirits seems to flinch.

    My heart goes cold. There''s¡­ there''s no way, right? But next to that soul, I can''t help but notice another. A familiar, kind-feeling spirit that pulses with Matter and Barrier. One that, when my name is called, can''t help but approach me.

    It can''t be. Can it?

    "Teboho?" I ask, cutting off whatever Sela is saying. The spirit sprints at me, rushing with its blurry arms outstretched to envelop me in a hug¡­ and it passes through me. Intangible. But there''s no doubt about it. That was Teboho. Teboho is here.

    And so is Sindri. And I can only think of one reason they would be together, after all this time.

    "Hey, Sela?" I ask softly.

    "Yes, Hannah?"

    "You said that ghosts can still cast their spells in the afterlife, right?" I say. "Does Pneuma magic work on the dead?"

    "It does," Sela confirms, and I feel something wake, deep under the crushing ocean of my despair. "While Death magic is very powerful at binding and controlling the will of ghosts, Pneuma magic is no less effective in this place. On the contrary, Pneuma mages are the most resilient and long-lasting spirits, maintaining the most of themselves for longer than any other kind of soul due to their inherent resistance to Death."

    "I see," I hiss, as Teboho''s ghost tilts its head in something like confusion. As if he doesn''t understand where I could be going with this. "Sela. I think I''m starting to get angry."

    My robotic friend vibrates on my tongue, a shiver of delight.

    "Good," it hisses. "I''ve always been a poor diplomat anyway."

 77. Hell on Earth

    "Sindri, you fucking snake," I hiss. "You''re still doing this shit in the afterlife? Really?"

    "He denies any knowledge of what you''re talking about," Sela translates.

    "I''m sure you do," I sneer. "But you know exactly what I''m talking about, you bastard. Give me one good reason why I shouldn''t kill you again."

    All the ghosts around him¡ªbar Teboho¡ªimmediately tense up at the obvious threat, preparing for a fight. Sindri, in response, spreads his blurry spirit-arms, indicating his amassed forces.

    "I said a good reason not to kill you," I remind him. "And your victims are quite the opposite. I''m afraid that you were a little too good at teaching me to fight."

    "His ''victims'' are quite unanimously protesting the label," Sela says, sounding amused.

    "He''s a Pneuma mage with the power to make you all think he''s your friend," I tell them. "To have you ignore anything suspicious and support him instinctively. It''s subtle, and it works over time instead of requiring an incantation. And I know he can do it because he did it to me."

    I turn to Teboho.

    "He did it to Kagiso, too. She''s safe now. We''ve been traveling together. She''s a wonderful friend."

    "This ''Teboho'' has¡­ many questions," Sela hums. "He can''t believe you''re real. He''s not sure you are who you say you are. He wants to know a lot about how Kagiso is doing. He wants you to tell him something only you would know."

    "Um¡­ when you taught me to hunt, I ended up having to save you from magical starhydra acid. I used my sorting magic to get it off of you, but I needed you to make a glass cup. I also ended up putting your blood in the waterskin. Sindri drank it. It was really funny."

    Teboho''s ghost appears to chuckle, and a sad smile spreads across my face. It really is him, isn''t it?

    "Yeah, it''s me," I say. "I''m a lot bigger now, but hey. Transmutation mages, right? Kagiso is¡­ she''s doing well. We travel together with Helen, actually. I know that''s¡­ a bit weird. She''s¡­ really torn up about everything that happened. She killed your village. She killed you. But you knew her, didn''t you? You know she''s not a bad person."

    He nods his head.

    "He says it''s hard to believe she was a Chaos mage," Sela translates. "He''s a bit frightened, for you and Kagiso. But¡­ they both needed friends. If they''re together now, that''s good."

    "Teboho¡­" I sigh, holding back more tears. "You probably don''t believe me about Sindri, do you?"

    He shakes his head, like I knew he would.

    "But you still trust me?" I ask.

    "He trusts you to be the kind girl that he knows you are. He enjoyed his time with you very much. He says¡­ you filled the void his family left behind very well. But now, thanks to Sindri, he''s with them again."

    I tense up, looking out at the collection of ghosts.

    "This¡­ is your village?" I breathe.

    "A lot of it is. We''ve picked many other people up along the way. Everyone is looking for meaning in this place. Looking for life after death. Together, Sindri thinks we can find it. Maybe we can even find a way out."

    I hold myself in my arms. I want to kill him. I''m going to kill him.

    "We''re definitely interested in how you got here, Hannah," Sela says, finishing the translation.

    "Space magic," I answer. "The afterlife is just a place. There''s nothing whatsoever that necessitates you being here. There is no meaning in this place. If you could move through the fourth dimension like I can, you could just¡­ walk out."

    That seems to disturb them, but I don''t know what else to say. I sigh. I''m really just putting this off for Teboho''s sake. He''s going to be devastated when the mind control ends. I know I was.

    "Okay, Sindri," I say. "This is your chance to tell them the truth."

    He hesitates. He doesn''t say anything. The other ghosts tense.

    "I know you''re talking to them, and they''re talking to you," I tell him. "I''ve been your victim before, you bastard. But I''ve moved on to much bigger abusers. The Goddess laughs when she molests me. I don''t have any room left in me to still be scared of you."

    "He says that your situation was a¡­ misunderstanding," Sela says.

    "Does he now," I say flatly.

    "Indeed," Sela confirms, seeming amused. "His control of you was always meant to be temporary. He was frightened by what the Disciples of Unification said about you, and frightened further still when you confronted him so aggressively."

    "Oh, I confronted him aggressively, did I?" I hum. "That''s so interesting. I could have sworn I confronted him as I would a friend."

    "Perhaps," Sela muses happily, "you simply misremembered?"

    It is possible. Maybe I did misremember.

    "Oh, you little bastard," I sneer. "You really think you can get me with that now? After all this time? Sela!"

    "At your service, Hannah."

    "You wanna kill this human again for me?"

    "I have been excitedly anticipating that very question," it answers, and the ghosts immediately move to attack me.

    But they''re already too late.

    I step out of synch with the afterlife, moving along the fourth-dimensional axis and avoiding every attack sent my way. Sela, meanwhile, never needed to be close to a soul on that axis in the first place in order to cast Death magic on them. I watch with vindictive determination as it attacks Sindri from well out of sight, a position he can''t even try to retaliate against us from. His soul writhes and screams, twisting and twitching in obvious agony as it disintegrates piece by piece. The other ghosts panic, some fleeing, most staying to try and help. But nothing does. Nothing can. And before I know it, the ghost of my trauma vanishes into the stale afterlife air.

    The backlash of dropping out of Sindri''s control affects all of the other spirits at once. They fall to their knees in horror and disgust, they lament their fates, cursing Sindri and cursing me for ripping the pleasant lie away. But when I step back into a part of space that they can see, they don''t attack.

    "Sorry, Teboho," I say. "Sorry, everyone."

    I''m sorry there was only ever hell. I''m sorry the Goddess never made heaven.

    "Some of the spirits are asking to be destroyed," Sela tells me.

    "...You do whatever you think is right," I answer. "It''s your power that destroys them, not mine. But¡­ thank you. For destroying Sindri."

    "Of course, Hannah," Sela says, and a few of the ghosts around me start to perish. It really means it, huh? It will help me die in peace. I guess I never should have doubted Sela, of all my friends. Between it and Helen, maybe the world will be alright after all.

    "Can anyone here¡ªanyone that''s willing¡ªhelp me find my friend Ida?" I ask the assembled ghosts. "She''s trapped here, but she''s alive, like me."

    To my relief, I get some reactions from the less-hysterical spirits, including Teboho.

    "They heard rumors of a living person," Sela answers. "They were going to check them out when they ran into you, coming from a different direction."

    "That''s wonderful, thank you," I say. "Which way? I really need to find her as soon as possible."

    It takes an agonizingly long couple of minutes, but Teboho''s ghost and the ghosts of his family agree to escort us after collecting themselves. It''s¡­ strange. Very strange. Teboho introduces me to them all, though I forget their names almost immediately. They ask me a lot of questions about Kagiso, about Helen, about everything we''ve done together. I tell them everything. Our journey together, our friendship, our troubles, and our ultimate fate. It all pours out of me in a helpless waterfall. I feel horrible, for dumping my troubles on the dead. They have more than enough of their own.

    "If it is alright with you," Sela says, after a moment''s silence, "Teboho has some messages that he would like to pass on."

    "I¡­ of course," I whisper, shrinking in on myself. "Of course, Teboho. I''ll tell them."

    "To Kagiso," Sela translates, "I know our village was never a place that felt to you like home. I know that you struggled with us. But now I hear that you have found many wonderful people. People who love you for who you are, not in spite of it. I am so, so happy for you, and I''m sorry that, as your brother, I always struggled to be that person for you."

    I intake a sharp breath.

    "Teboho, no¡ª"

    "To Helen," Sela continues with his words, interrupting me as he did. "I lost my life because I didn''t believe what Sindri said about you. I died to your magic because I couldn''t believe, in my heart of hearts, that you were the sort of person to be callous, cruel, and destructive. And now, reflecting on that death, hearing of your journey with my sister, I am so, so glad to have been right. Thank you, Helen. I am sorry you never felt safe enough with us to let us help you. Please, don''t let my memory be a weight around your heart. I forgive you."

    I nod, tears dripping down my face, committing every word to memory. I''m sure Sela has it all memorized by default, but I should be the one to tell them. Teboho is talking to me.

    "And," he continues, "to Hannah."

    I shudder, fear and grief pooling in my body like rainwater.

    "If you had met me when I lived in my village and told me the Goddess was evil, I would have never believed you," he says. "My life was beautiful. I was joyful in ways that seemed truly divine. But I see now that I was lucky beyond measure, and the burden of my happiness has always been carried by people like you."

    "No. No, Teboho, That''s not¡ª"

    "I cannot, should not, and will not tell you what you should do with your fate, my friend," he continues, and I start to sob. "It will never be my place. I do not know your suffering like you do. Do not let me or anyone else tell you that they have your answers. But know that if there is anything I can do, anything within my power, you need only to ask. Thank you, Hannah. Thank you for being there for my sister. Thank you for saving my friend from herself. No matter what you decide, I think it will be good enough."

    I weep. I cry. I wail into the darkness of the afterlife. How could he say that? How could he crush me with those words? How am I supposed to call him a liar, in these final moments of our journey through hell? Kagiso and I lost him what feels like so long ago, and now he''s here to give me his final words, his last offering to our battered souls. Even after we failed him so utterly, all he wants to do is make our lives more worth living.

    I can''t handle it right now. It''s beyond me. His kindness hurts more than any cruelty could.

    "H-hello?"

    I freeze. That wasn''t Sela''s voice.

    "Is someone there?" Oh Goddess, it''s so scratchy, so raw, so nothing like her, and yet still¡ª!

    "Ida!?" I shout. "Ida, is that you?"

    "Hannah!?"

    "Ida!!!"

    I break out into a sprint, rushing towards the sound as fast as I can. It''s her, right? It''s her, we found her, she''s safe, she has to be safe! For some reason, hearing her voice is making me panic more than I have all trip, both from the apparent closeness meaning I''ll know her fate very soon and from the ragged, terrified tone I''ve never once heard from her mouth in all the time we''ve known each other.

    "Hannah? Hannah, where are you!?"

    "Just stay there, I''m coming!"

    My feet hammer against the ground, one step after the other, my claws gouging into the bark of the world tree as I accelerate towards the voice as fast as I can. And then, I see her. She''s there, in my spatial sense, naked and afraid and alone in this dark, uncaring trash heap of the Goddess. There''s panic in her eyes, a desperation that''s horribly unlike her. How raw has she screamed her voice, looking for any sign of hope or life in this place? She''s been trapped here for hours, unable to see even the slightest hint of light.

    "Ida!"

    I crash into her in my haste, wrapping her up in my arms and nearly knocking us both to the ground in a tangle of limbs. God, she''s so cold! I didn''t notice it myself, but it''s freezing here, isn''t it? There isn''t a single source of heat. Ida shivers against my chest, burying herself into me and clutching on tight.

    "Oh Goddess, it''s you, right Hannah? It''s really you?"

    "It''s me!" I promise. "It''s me, it''s me. You''re okay. You''re safe."

    "You''re alive," she sobs. "Oh, thank fuck you''re alive. I didn''t know, I-I thought that maybe you¡­ is everyone else alright? Is Val safe?"

    "Yes, she''s okay!" I tell her. "Everyone is okay. We won. We won, Ida."

    "Good. Good! Fuck that fucking centipede bastard! Who even has a spell like this!? Where are we?"

    "Well, we''re in the afterlife, but¡ª"

    "Oh fuck, I''m dead!?"

    "No! No, you''re alive. The afterlife is in 4D space. I walked here."

    "Oh," Ida says, letting out a shaky breath and stitching a grin onto her face. "Well, I''ll make sure not to turn around on the way out, then."

    I blink.

    "Um¡­ huh," I frown.

    Ida''s smile gets even more strained.

    "You, uh, you can get me out, right Hannah?" she asks desperately.

    "Yeah, I totally can," I confirm. "It''s just¡­ I can''t walk you out. You''re way too big. I''ll have to teleport you to Earth, and I sort of¡­ fell asleep in somebody''s car? On the highway. I''m not sure what that, uh. I dunno if that''s a safe spot for you to exit. Plus you''d be showing up naked in some dude''s car."

    "Don''t care," Ida says immediately.

    "But it could¡ª"

    "Hannah do I look like I wanna wait in literal hell for another couple hours for you to prepare my landing spot?" she snaps. "I''ll be fine! I''m ready. If I end up on the road I''ll just fly to safety."

    "But what if¡ª"

    "Hannah," Ida hisses. "Get me out of here. Now."

    "But¡ª"

    "Please," she begs, and that tips me over the threshold. She''s right. I can''t bear to keep her here a second longer. I just wish there was another way.

    "Sela," I say. "I''m going to pass out. I''ll need your help to protect my body."

    "That''s true regardless of how conscious you are, fool," it buzzes.

    "Heh. Yeah. I guess you have a point," I agree. "Wake me up when you can, and we''ll head back. Let''s go, Ida."

    "Thank you," she says softly, and squeezes me extra tight in the moment before I pull her through my soul and that familiar exhaustion hits. I take a few steps through the fourth dimension, distancing myself from any wandering ghosts that might pass before I ultimately collapse to the ground and pass out.

    I do not wake up in a car. I wake up on a couch in what appears to be some kind of waiting room. It''s a bit more barren than the waiting room at Dr. Carson''s practice, very hastily set up with mismatched white chairs and a single, somewhat damaged houseplant in an attempt to make the room look safe and comforting. Honestly, it''s not a bad effort, and it might even have succeeded if not for the fully-kitted military guy who pulls a rifle on Ida the moment I gain consciousness.

    "Go on, try it," Ida hisses, staring down the barrel of the gun. "I''ve had a bad day."

    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

    "W-woah, hey!" I yelp, flailing a little as I try to sit up.

    "Stand down!" Don barks before things escalate further. "Weapons away, now!"

    After only a brief hesitation, the guy with the gun complies. Good. Cool. I don''t have to kill anybody right after getting back to Earth. Don then takes off his jacket and offers it to Ida, who accepts it after a short delay.

    "...Ms. Kelly?" he asks.

    "Uh, yeah," Ida mutters, still tense. "That''s me."

    "Are you alright? Do you need medical attention?"

    "No, I¡­" she cuts herself off and frowns, shivering a bit as she snuggles into the jacket. "I could use some food and water, actually, if that''s alright."

    "Of course," he nods, then gives a meaningful look at one of the handful of other people in the room. Everyone else seems a bit stunned and overwhelmed by all of this, but eventually someone departs for refreshments. Ida falls backwards onto the couch next to me, hugging her knees to her chest underneath the jacket and wrapping her tail around her ankles.

    "Where are we?" she asks.

    "The Department of Homeland Security Paradimensional Task Force compound," Don answers. "I''m Agent Don Taylor. We heard from your father that your body was recently changed, and then you suddenly went missing."

    "Oh, yeah," Ida says with a wince. "Can you guys let Daddy know that I''m okay? Or I guess give me a phone to call him on?"

    "I''ll call him right now," Don says, giving her a soft smile, pulling out an actual, real-life flip phone¡ªlike the kind without a touch screen¡ªand handing it to Ida after a few taps. She gives him a smile and holds it up to her ear.

    "So," Don says, turning to me while Ida assures her father that she''s alive, "in the meantime, could you tell me what just happened, Hannah?"

    "Ida offered to help me with a major problem over treeside," I tell him. "It¡­ well, it didn''t go as badly as it could have gone, but it didn''t go great. I had to pull her back here as sort of an emergency situation."

    "I see. And will you be taking her back ''treeside'' any time soon?"

    I shrug.

    "Probably not? Hopefully not. It''s up to her, though."

    "Do you need me?" Ida asks, butting into the conversation. Which is fair, since we''re having it right next to her. "You said you kicked bug dude''s ass, right?"

    "Yeah, we beat him," I confirm. "I shouldn''t need you for anything else."

    "Why are you so glum, then?" she asks, narrowing her eyes at me. "No answer on the, uh¡­ the thing?"

    I shake my head.

    "We got an answer," I tell her. "A very definitive one. And at the end of the fight, the Goddess confirmed it."

    "Oh," Ida says, picking up on the fact that this means the answer is very bad.

    "Yeah," I say. I''m glad she doesn''t press me on what it is, thanks to our current company. I don''t want her trying to convince me to stay alive, too.

    "Is this related to the calamity you warned me about, Hannah?" Don asks.

    "Yeah," I answer, rapidly trying to think of a satisfying thing to tell him about said calamity other than ''kill me.'' I should at least say goodbye to everyone first, right? "I, uh, already told you about it. Ida just didn''t know about it for the same reason I had to go rescue her. Our timeframe for the apocalypse is a few months, at most."

    "Oh shit, really?" Ida says, not having to fake her shock since she was actually stuck in hell when we learned that¡­ but knowing Ida, she can tell it''s not the only thing we learned. "That''s not good. Did you at least get a lead on fixing stuff?"

    "I¡­ yeah, we did," I admit. "Best case, we can fix this¡­"

    I swallow.

    "Today," I manage to say. "It''s possible we could do it as soon as today. Or I guess tonight. Whenever I sleep. It''ll just¡­ it''s difficult. To do."

    Especially for a weak coward like me.

    "Well again, please let us know if there''s anything we can do to help you, Hannah," Don says.

    "I will," I lie.

    I don''t need his help. Not really. I just need an opportunity to be alone with Ida, to say goodbye to her in a way that won''t get her to stop me. It would be good to say goodbye to Alma, too, though I don''t know if I should message her or go see her in person or what. And then I need to go back to sleep, wake up treeside, trudge out of the afterlife, and convince Valerie to let me die. The United States government can''t help me with any of that anyway.

    Someone returns with food and water for Ida, which she gratefully chows down on while continuing the conversation with her seemingly distraught father. They also bring clothes, but she just ignores them to focus on eating. I don''t really blame her. I feel awful for taking so long to rescue her. There wasn''t a whole lot I could have done to be faster, and we were really lucky to run into Teboho and the others, but¡­ still. I feel like I failed her.

    I''m failing everyone who cares about me, really. But I know it in my soul: the Goddess is no liar. I will cause the apocalypse, or I will die. There is no way out of that choice. There is no clever, outside-the-box play to be made. I die, and the Goddess loses, or I live, and the Goddess wins.

    But I lose either way.

    "Agent Taylor, sir?" some guy says, poking his head into the room. "They''re ready for you."

    "Ah, of course," Don nods to him. "I''ll be right there. Hannah, Ms. Kelly, would you be alright waiting here for a moment? I''ve got to go talk to the bigwigs."

    "I don''t have anywhere else important to be," I shrug. "But¡­ Ida. Are you okay?"

    "Yeah, I''ll come home as soon as I can, Dad," Ida sighs into the phone, holding up one finger at me. "Promise. I know. I know, sorry. I wouldn''t have done it if it wasn''t important. Yeah. Yeah, I know. Love you too. Bye, Daddy."

    She ends the call and closes the phone, handing it back to Don.

    "I''ll get dressed and presentable," she tells him. "Would it be okay if I had some privacy for that?"

    "We''ll clear the room for you," Don agrees amicably. "Hannah, we have¡ª"

    "It''s alright if she stays," Ida says quickly. "I''d¡­ prefer if she stays."

    Don stares at her for a moment, and then nods.

    "Of course. Well, we''ll see you both shortly, then."

    He and the other government goons head out, leaving the two of us alone. To my surprise, there don''t even seem to be any cameras or listening devices in here either. At least, none I can see with my spatial sense. I guess it''s always possible that I''m just bad at spotting them, but I''m pretty confident.

    "So," Ida says conversationally, "government compound, huh?"

    I shrug.

    "It''s better than appearing in the middle of the freeway, at least," I mutter.

    "I don''t know if it is," Ida says. "For as long as we''ve known each other I''ve done my absolute best to teach you that all cops are bastards, Hannah. And feds? Feds are like super cops. Ultra bastards. And now we are surrounded by them. They''re everywhere. It''s only a matter of time until they start trying to fuck us over."

    "Yeah, maybe," I sigh. "Don has been nice so far. I think he genuinely wants to help. And we do need help, Ida. Unregulated magic would be a nightmare."

    "I''m not saying we don''t need help, I''m just saying we don''t need the kind of help that has us waking up in the middle of a government compound with a gun pointed at our heads. And that''s clearly what this is, considering that literally just happened."

    "...Fair," I admit. "But if a naked demon suddenly appeared out of nowhere next to me I''d probably point my weapons at her too."

    "Is that a promise?" Ida grinning and leaning closer. "You''re so hot when you''re threatening my life, you have no idea."

    "I have¡­ some idea now," I mumble, blushing. "Put your clothes on."

    "Bah. This is racism against succubi."

    "Ida."

    "Fine, fine, geez," she agrees, though she flicks me in the nose with her tail first. I''m glad she does; it seems she''s feeling a lot better now that she''s free from the sensory deprivation chamber and has gotten some food.

    "I just wish we had some plan to deal with this," I sigh. "I don''t know if I can actually be of any help. I don''t know how to write government policies."

    "Well, you might have something worse you need to worry about anyway," Jet says.

    I blink. Huh? Jet is¡­ what?

    "Jet!?" I gape at her.

    She''s casually sitting next to me, legs crossed and munching on a pastry that she got from Goddess knows where. She waves with her free hand, then feeds her tail the rest of the doughnut. Alma gobbles it up happily.

    "Sup," Jet says.

    "How did¡­ when did¡­?" I say, trying to think back. Holy cannoli, I forgot about her all the way back when I was at her house. I forgot about her during the period when Alma was active as a near-invulnerable construct, never even trying to think about where that construct came from. "Oh my Goddess you can make an invincible projection and hide where your real body is with mind magic. That''s terrifying."

    "Yup," Jet agrees. "Anyway, I''ve been snooping around."

    "How did you even get here?" I ask.

    "I was in the backseat of that Agent Taylor guy''s car," Jet shrugs. "Anyway, there''s this big conference going on about what to do with you. Lotta people have different opinions. Some of those opinions include locking you up here and never letting you leave. Just thought you should know."

    "I¡­ thanks," I say. "I appreciate that, Jet."

    "It''s relevant to us, too," she insists. "And you did help Alma and me out today, so¡­ thanks."

    "O-of course!" I say hurriedly. Yay, repairing our friendship maybe!

    "Don''t tell anyone we''re here, though, if you happen to remember," Jet says, scratching the underside of her tail and smiling a little as it squirms happily. "It''ll be Our Little Secret."

    I blink, wondering why I''ve been staring at the empty couch next to me for so long. What was I¡­? Oh, right. I was thinking about how there probably are members of the government who want to do the black site thing and force us to stay here. We should be ready for that, I guess? I mean, I don''t know if it really matters to me since I won''t be around for much longer, but it might make a big difference to Ida.

    ¡­Oh, right. I¡­ I need to tell Ida. I¡­ fuck. Fuck. I don''t want to. I''ll never want to. But I have to. If I don''t do it now I might chicken out until I never get to say goodbye at all.

    "Ida, I¡­ we should talk about what I learned fighting Aimilios."

    "Oh, are we using that bastard''s name now?" she asks, putting on the last of her clothes after cutting holes for her wings and tail. "Damn. I would have bet a fortune that you''d never remember it."

    "Ida¡ª"

    "I get it, I get it, this is serious," she grouses. "Are you sure that means you wanna talk about it here? No shot we actually have privacy."

    "I don''t see any surveillance stuff with my spatial sense," I tell her. "There''s nobody waiting outside the door, either. They''re watching the door, of course, but there''s no way they''re close enough to hear us talk."

    That feels really fortunate, for some reason. We could safely incant in here. Or¡­ hmm. Did someone already do that? No, wait, of course not. When or why would we have bothered? Why do I¡­

    "Well, if you''re sure, it''s your call," Ida shrugs. "But I get to say ''I told you so'' if they have some kinda crazy long-range microphone aimed at the room or something."

    "Yeah, okay," I mutter. "Um. So¡­"

    I trail off like the coward I am, squirming in my seat. Ida raises an eyebrow at me.

    "Yyyyesss¡­?" she prompts.

    "We found out what causes the apocalypse," I blurt. "And it''s me. It''s¡­ I do it. I will do it. Not¡­ not on purpose or anything, but it''s what the Goddess made me for. I-it just happens, all on its own, no matter what we do, as long as I''m alive. My soul is designed to pull the two worlds together, smash them into each other, with catastrophic consequences."

    Ida stares at me for a bit, then flashes her trademark grin like I just told her something funny.

    "Wow, the Goddess is a right bitch, huh?" she says. "Rigging everything to make us on Her team whether we like it or not? That''s a dirty move. So how do we minimize damage, then? Is that what we need these government schmucks for?"

    "Ida¡ª"

    "Because that''s our goal, right Hannah?" the smile reaching further up her mouth but vanishing from her eyes. "That''s the sensible decision we''re all agreeing on if this can''t be avoided any other way? You''ve been getting that hopeless look in your eye because it''s such a big task, and not because you''re thinking about doing anything stupid, right Hannah?"

    "Ida, we¡­ we''re talking about billions of lives here," I say softly, bringing my feet up on the couch to hug my knees.

    "Yeah, shame about them, and we''re gonna do whatever we can to help, but¡ª"

    "This is doing whatever we can to help!" I snap. "Not killing myself is avoiding the most important thing we can do to help!"

    She stares at me, the fake smile melting slowly off her face and twisting into a glower. I look away, unable to meet her eyes with my human pair, but can''t ever stop myself from knowing what her expression is like anyway.

    "So it''s not just my imagination," she scowls. "I didn''t think it was, but damn did I want to be wrong."

    "You''re mad at me," I mutter. I want to say that''s not fair, but I know that would be a lie.

    "Mad at you? Mad at you!? You think I¡­ uuugh!" Ida growls, starting to pace furiously around the room. "Fucking hell, Hannah, why do you even care about the world!?"

    "W-why wouldn''t I¡ª"

    "Why wouldn''t you!? Hannah, for shit''s sake, the world has done nothing but fuck you over for your entire life! You were raised by a narcissist for eighteen fucking years who gaslit you into believing you should never speak up about your problems because they were all your fault anyway. You were sexually abused by someone whose job it was to help you. Then, all in short order, you were mind controlled, you started mutating, you were forced into multiple life-or-death fights, you got kidnapped by pirate slavers, you got kidnapped again and fucking soul-tortured, and while this whole fucking thing is happening you''re back to getting molested, except worse this time! You don''t owe the world shit, Hannah! Can''t you just be selfish for once!?"

    "This IS me being selfish!" I shout at her, the claws on my hands digging into my ribcage hard enough to draw blood. "This is what me being selfish looks like! I can''t do this anymore, Ida! I can''t handle this, on top of everything else! I¡­ I know I have things to live for. People to live for. But I can''t¡­ I can''t¡­!"

    I can''t bear that burden. I can''t cause those deaths. It would crush me. The only thing I''d do with my immortality is want to die even more. And then as the years pass, and my friends get older while I stay the same¡­ when they finally die and leave me alone with my sick joke of an eternity¡­!

    The Goddess strokes my cheek, my chest, my inner thigh. I''ll still have Her. I''ll always have Her.

    "You can," Ida growls.

    "No," I sob. "Don''t say that. Please."

    Ida stomps over, grabs me by the collar of my shirt, and yanks me to my feet.

    "You can and you will," she hisses into my face. "You are mine, Hannah. You don''t get to do this to yourself. I won''t allow it."

    "Ida, please¡ª"

    "No!" she shouts, tiny drops of spit hitting my face. "I didn''t put all that work into becoming the person you see me as just to be thrown away!"

    She''s snarling at me, fangs out and tears streaming down her face. I still can''t meet her eyes, and I still can''t stop looking.

    "I finally, finally got to make you happy," she says quietly. "But it was so stupid. Imperfect. Fleeting. I won''t just leave it at that. I''m not done with you, you stupid bitch."

    "I''m sorry, Ida," I say softly. Just one flick of Spacial Rend. Just a concentrated dose of Helen''s annihilation. Just a bit of help from Sela. There are so many ways to make it so easy. "You can''t stop me."

    "No, Hannah," Ida says. "You can''t stop me."

    I say nothing. She''s blustering and she knows it. I''ll probably be dying in a completely different universe. And regardless, it''s at that moment I see Don returning with a couple military guys from wherever the heck he was, and I''m content to just let the distraction run its course. I don''t have the energy for this conversation anymore. All I can do is keep saying I''m sorry, anyway.

    "Come in," I call out when they knock on the door.

    "Hello again you two, we¡­" Don says, trailing off as he sees us, Ida still glowering at me with the front of my shirt in her fist. "...Is everything alright?"

    "Peachy," Ida growls, letting go of me. "Sorry, my friend was just being a characteristic dumbass. You can escort us out, now."

    "Pardon?" Don blinks.

    "Ignore her," I tell him. "She''s had a very long day. I mean, Ida can go if she wants, but I''m happy to stick around to help for as long as you need me."

    I can''t hide how miserable I''m feeling, which makes me feel even worse. Don awkwardly clears his throat and glances at Ida.

    "Were you, ah, planning to leave shortly?" he asks her, and something about the way he says it makes me frown.

    "I''m sticking with Hannah," Ida insists, and the subtle release of tension in his and the other soldier''s muscles is hard not to notice now that I''m looking for it.

    "Would, um, would Ida have been allowed to leave, if she wished to?" I ask, for some reason feeling a strong hunch the answer will be no.

    "I¡­ the security council is against it," Don says diplomatically. "I did my best to talk them out of it, but given how Ms. Kelly suddenly showed up in the middle of the compound, they are understandably worried about the risks posed by interuniversal transport and¡­ disinclined to leave you unguarded until those risks are fully explored."

    "So we''re being locked into the fucking black site?" Ida snaps. "Of course. Of fucking course. Hannah is literally trying to give you the world, and you just fuck us over for it."

    "Ida¡­" I say, trying to calm her down a little, but I should have known it would be a mistake to try.

    "Don''t you dare fucking ''Ida'' me again," she says, wheeling on me. "Are you going to let them get away with this shit? Are you going to let them walk all over you like they always do?"

    I grit my teeth, certainly not happy about the government''s decision, but it doesn''t really affect me. I''m here to help them figure out a way to deal with magic and then die. I never planned on going anywhere else anyway.

    "I am staying here willingly," I insist to her. "If I didn''t want to be here, I''d leave. If you want to leave, I''ll get them to agree with that."

    "Oh, fuck off with¡ª"

    Don clears his throat again, cutting her off.

    "To be¡­ fully transparent with you girls, this is liable to be a long-term policy," he says. "Given your own advisement towards minimizing the spread of magic as much as possible, and the understanding that magic is spread via its use, the decision was made to restrict magic users¡ªall magic users¡ªto authorized areas of the base. And¡­ nowhere else. In the entire country. I''m sorry."

    I gape at him, feeling betrayed despite the fact that he clearly isn''t a fan of this plan either. Possibly because he has a better idea of what I can actually do.

    "I¡­ no," I tell him. "Keeping me here is one thing, but you are not going to be placing all magic users in indefinite incarceration."

    "I did everything I could to fight that decision, Hannah," he says helplessly. "And I will continue to fight it. I promise you."

    "And you''re fucking crazy if you think that''s going to be enough," Ida says, stepping towards him. All three of the soldiers tense up, their hands on their weapons, but Ida doesn''t even glance their way. "I''m not attending your black site tea party, asshole. No one will be."

    "I''m sorry, Ms. Kelly, but I''m afraid I can''t¡ª"

    "I''m not asking you, pig," she growls. "I''m warning you."

    The guns come up, and for the second time since we got here Ida is staring down the barrel of a rifle.

    "Step away, ma''am," one of the soldiers orders.

    "Don''t even think about it," I warn him, my own blades unfolding. "Do not start this fight. If you fire on my friend, I will retaliate. It doesn''t have to come to that."

    "Doesn''t it, though?" Ida says with a grin. "Come on, motherfucker. Try it. I already told you: I''ve had a bad day."

    The soldier''s only response is to point the gun at me, as well. As if I''d want to avoid a bullet to the head.

    "We''re here to escort you to where you''ll be staying," he says. "Please step away and follow instru¡ª"

    Ida''s hand whips out without warning, grabbing the gun pointed at me as she ducks the deafening shots from the other two. With a single motion, she rips the weapon free from the grip of a man twice her size, cuts the rifle sling, and steals the gun wholesale.

    So of course, even though we just left, all hell breaks loose.

 78. No Point

    I step forward and into the fourth dimension, letting my clothes drop to the floor in a single motion as Spacial Rends ignite on my blades. The soldiers are still a few steps away from me, and I can see the muscles in their hands clench as they move to pull the trigger on Ida. They move in slow motion, the ground tearing up beneath my claws as I accelerate forward faster than I ever have before. I see their surprise as Ida moves, I see the decision to shoot pass over their faces, I see their fingers start to twitch¡­ and then I''m on top of them, tearing their guns to shreds. One firing mechanism clicks uselessly, the entire weapon falling apart like a house made of popsicle sticks, but the other fires, an ear-shattering bang ringing out as the bullet flies wide through its collapsing barrel, missing Ida by a centimeter.

    And just like that, Ida is armed, the soldiers in front of us are disarmed, and the entire base is on high alert.

    "How''s it feel to lose your monopoly on violence, jackass?" Ida sneers, aiming her gun at the chest of the soldier she stole it from.

    "Ida," I snap at her, poking just enough of my face into normal space to let me breathe again. "We have better things to do than taunt them. More soldiers are heading our way. You are going to stay here while I try to de-escalate things."

    "Oh, fuck that! You expect me to sit back while you¡ª"

    "Yes!" I shout at her. "I do! I''ve been in a lot more fights like this than you have, and I''m not in danger here! You are. You''re a healer with a gun. Stay in the back and stay safe so I can retreat to you on the off chance I do get hurt."

    "Don''t coddle me like some sort of¡ª"

    "If you get sent to hell with a bullet, I won''t be able to bring you back this time!" I shout at her.

    That causes her to shut up for a bit, though she still stares me down with her jaw set. I stare back, keeping track of the other soldiers as they group up and prepare for an attack.

    "...I can''t trust you to go off and fight on your own," Ida says flatly. "Not after you told me you plan to kill yourself. It''s not happening."

    I flinch, breaking humanoid eye contact.

    "I''m not going to die and leave you to deal with this on your own," I scowl. "We''ll talk about that after this mess is taken care of."

    "You promise?" Ida asks.

    "...I promise," I tell her, and a twitch of a smirk flashes over her face before it disappears.

    "Fine," she agrees. "Then go kick their asses. I''ll hold down the fort here."

    "I guess I have to," I sigh, watching the various groups amassing around our room. They seem to be listening to something in their helmets, which¡­ okay, yeah, of course they are. They''ve got radios. That''s pretty convenient. I reach my arm into realspace and cut a helmet free of one of the soldiers Ida has backed against the wall with Don.

    "Hey, how do you talk into this thing?" I ask him, bringing the headset up to my face. All sorts of chatter is coming out of the earpiece, but I don''t pay much attention to it.

    The soldier gives me some terse instructions, seeming much more inclined to be reasonable now that he''s not the one with the gun. Fancy that. I bring the microphone up to my mouth and promptly interrupt whatever''s currently going on.

    "Hello, everyone," I say. "Hannah Hiiragi here. It would seem that the current position of the United States government is to forcibly incarcerate all magic users for an undefined period of time. I am disappointed, but not surprised, that this decision seems to have been concluded without consulting any of the affected parties."

    Judging by the reactions of the soldiers outside, I''ve done this correctly and actually broadcasted to them. I have no idea how military radio stuff works, so for all I know I''m about to be talking at nobody and looking like a complete idiot. But after a brief delay, I hear a crackle on the line, and someone speaks up. Not one of the soldiers in my sensory radius, though. Someone farther away.

    "I''d like to ask if the three soldiers in the room with you are alright, ma''am," the voice says.

    "It''s funny to me that you think I''d need to hurt them in order to stop them," I answer. "They''re unharmed and unarmed."

    "Would you be willing to release them?" the voice asks.

    "Are you all willing to release us?" I counter. "You seem to be treating this like a hostage negotiation, but you''re the ones who came to us with weapons and orders to obey, not the other way around. If I let these men go, are you just going to give them new guns and tell them to shoot me again?"

    "It has been our understanding that you''re a proponent of government action in response to this crisis," the voice says. "This is that. It has been made clear to us that we are in a pandemic scenario, and all evidence indicates that you are patient zero. Is that understanding incorrect?"

    Of course we get defined as an illness. Of course.

    "Partly," I allow. "But magical ability is hardly a disease. Spreading it requires a very purposeful action."

    "Speaking a spell out loud, if I''m not mistaken?" the voice asks, and I scowl.

    "Yes, that''s correct," I confirm. "Considering how confident you are in that answer, I assume you''ve been illegally monitoring me?"

    "We''ve been quite legally monitoring you, Hannah Hiiragi," the voice answers. "You are, by your own admission, a threat to national security that holds little loyalty to your country."

    That is certainly one way to interpret all the ways I''ve tried to help the government out. Jerk.

    "I don''t believe I''ve ever phrased it that way," I protest. "But arguing with you about that won''t get us anywhere, will it? If you want to keep me here under watch, that''s fine. I can see the sense in it. I won''t be a problem for much longer anyway. But locking up every magic user just because they happen to be a magic user is not acceptable."

    "We need time to implement policies and defenses against magical threats," the voice answers. "When those defenses are in place, when we have a proper understanding of and countermeasures for magical crimes, then the incarceration will no longer be necessary."

    "But you don''t know when that will happen," I say. "Or if that will happen. You''re imprisoning people for an undefined period of time without charging them with a crime or giving them a trial. Anybody with a history book knows not to trust you when shit like that starts happening."

    "It''s the best option available to us."

    That''s not true. It''s just the best option for you. The option that gives the man making the decision the most security, liberty, and agency. You just don''t care about the difference. That''s the way it always goes, isn''t it? There''s no point in discussing it.

    "It is not the best option available to you," I answer, "because it''s not an option. Pick another way."

    "You don''t get to decide these things," the voice insists incorrectly. "And we will not change our decision simply because you threaten us and hold our soldiers hostage."

    I take a deep breath. In and out. I''m too tired for this. I want to get this over with. I want it all to end. I can''t even work up the energy to be angry about it all. I''m just¡­ done with this. I''m so fucking done.

    "I don''t believe I have ever threatened you, sir," I say. "But I assure you that when I do, you will listen."

    "We have you surrounded, ma''am," the voice answers. "We have Jared and Amelia Williams in custody, and we have a team monitoring your family. There''s no need and no benefit to escalating this situation further. Just release your hostages, come with us, and nobody has to get hurt today."

    Ah. I see. I guess this is the part where I balk in surprise, fearing what they might do in retaliation to my beloved family and friends? A laugh somehow finds the energy to bloom in my throat, loud and uncontrollable. They think I care, don''t they? They really think I fucking care what happens to my family, or to the mother and son I don''t even bother to remember the names of. These smug, evil bastards are acting like monsters in the name of protecting the world from what they see as monsters¡­ and yet still, they''re treating me like I''m just some human. Someone they can threaten and coerce and push into place with violence. Someone who can''t drop the fucking apocalypse on their heads with two measly words.

    Goddess, this is all so stupid. They''re acting more like a mob than a governing body. It feels comically absurd, listening to all this brain-dead villainy coming from people who are supposed to be in charge of a country. But what did I really expect? Don has always seemed reasonable, but if reasonable people prevailed all or even most of the time, our history would be a lot different, wouldn''t it?

    It''s funny. It really is funny. When are they just going to let me rest?

    "Alright then," I chuckle into the mic as my laughter slowly dies down. "You know what? This is my fault. I''ve never really made it clear what your situation is. You''re all very used to being the reigning superpower here, you don''t really get that I''m the sort of person who hangs out with friends that can fly through suns. So. I''ll give you¡­ half an hour. Totally free. Attack me, shoot me, threaten me, do whatever, and I''ll defend myself nonlethally. The soldiers with me are free to go; they''re not hostages, and I will not hurt them. I will destroy your weapons, and I will humiliate you, but I will not seriously injure any living person. Anything you do to me in the next half hour will be forgiven. Please approach me for negotiations at any time, when you''ve come to your senses."

    "Ms. Hiiragi¡ª"

    "Just know," I continue, cutting the voice off, "that if you take too long, or if you go after Ida, or if you hurt anyone I care about, that amnesty is void. And then, sir, I will walk through your men like an angel from heaven. I hope to hear from you soon."

    I toss the radio away, motioning to Don and the three soldiers towards the nearest door, which of course has a bunch of other soldiers ready to break in just outside.

    "Get out of here," I tell them. "You''re free to go."

    "Hannah," Don says, staring sternly at me. "This isn''t the way to do it."

    "You''re probably right," I agree. "Now go."

    He doesn''t look happy about it, but he leaves with the soldiers. The other soldiers outside our room have one guy escort them to safety, but the others stay, waiting for orders to attack.

    "Not that that wasn''t hot as fuck, but are you sure this is a good idea?" Ida asks.

    "I don''t care anymore," I sigh. "It doesn''t need to be a good idea. It just needs to get what I want, one way or another. Now let''s hide you somewhere safe."

    "I don''t need¡ª"

    "Yes, you do," I snap. "We just talked about this. You can''t heal yourself if you take a bullet through the eye. Anything that kills you instantly, kills you permanently. I''ll be doing everything I can to keep them away from you, but if you could not make that harder on me, it''d be appreciated."

    "...Fine," she scowls. "But you''d better take me with you when you fuck up the bigwigs. I wanna be there when whatever Kissinger-ass motherfucker in charge of this place gets what''s coming to him."

    "You would, wouldn''t you?" I sigh. "Fine. It''s a date, then."

    "Between friends," Ida smirks.

    "With benefits," I confirm, and she laughs.

    "Alright, Hannah. Go fuck ''em up, then."

    I nod, though I don''t really have to go anywhere. They''re about to come straight to me. After a delay that I assume is about getting their radios secure or something, the assault begins. Ida flies straight up, shoving a ceiling panel out of the way and crawling inside moments before armed men bust into the room from every direction.

    I, of course, am already back in the darkness of the fourth dimension, and so when guns start getting pointed around and callouts start getting shouted, I start to work. Keeping the tips of my claws in 3D space just enough to stand while the rest of me is safely removed from human reality isn''t the most comfortable posture in the world, but it''s manageable. I could just break all their guns and be done with it, but I feel like that might send the wrong message. After all, my ultimate goal is to get them to understand that guns won''t work, and neither will tanks, bombs, grenades, or sternly worded letters. If I want them to stand down without bloodshed, I''ll have to scare the ever-living shallots out of them.

    It sounds exhausting. Honestly, I''m not even sure why I''m bothering.

    "I know it sounds a little stupid and childish," I say, carefully letting just enough of my mouth into the world to speak, "but you guys get that I''m like, literally the chosen one, right?"

    Guns twitch towards where I spoke from, but I''m already slipping back into full 4D and finding another nice little corner to speak from. I might not be the kind of spider that makes them, but they''re caught in my web all the same.

    "Now, I''m not the sort of person to say you should never stand up to powers above you, but come on, guys. Do they pay you enough for this? To be the bit part in the movie where a hundred dudes all swarm a named character and get absolutely bodied?"

    I flash outward with my blades, carving through the gun and clothing of the closest soldier. I want to do that thing where the swordmaster cuts somebody to bits and then all of their clothes other than the underwear fall off at the same time, but I fuck it up and only a few chunks of gear here and there hit the ground. Ah, well.

    "And I get that this is real life," I say. "I get that you all have your own story. Your own family. Your own dreams. But that''s all the more reason you shouldn''t make yourselves part of this analogy, right? You''re mooks, walking into an action scene. It doesn''t matter if you think I''m the hero or the villain of this story; it''s not going to go well for you."

    I try again with another soldier, his equipment and gear clattering to the ground in pieces. Better, that time. I''m sure I''ll figure it out, with all these opportunities to practice. Other soldiers point their guns my way, but why should I care? It doesn''t matter.

    "I don''t like talking about this, you know?" I continue. "It makes me sound conceited. Arrogant. ''Oh, look at me, look at how special I am, you can''t hurt me.'' It makes me cringe. But I really need you guys to understand this. I was crafted to be an unstoppable killing machine by the Goddess Herself. I was designed meticulously over countless generations to match or exceed Her prior creations. To net Her the win She wants so badly. And that''s not a good thing for me. It''s not a good thing at all. But for you? It is so much worse."

    In the ceiling above, Ida shifts her weight a little, causing a slight noise. The closest soldier hears it, aiming up in a panic, and I move, reaching my clawed fingers out of the fourth dimension to grab him by the back of the head and hurl him into another soldier nearby. They collapse in a tangle of limbs, breaking each other''s ribs and pulling more than a few muscles.

    "None of that," I hiss. "I''m still playing nice. You keep your focus on me if you want me to¡ª"

    A shot rings out, the bullet scraping across my exposed lip and drawing a small drop of black blood. Ugh. Careless of me. I let myself get distracted while making sure no one was aiming at Ida.

    "Fine," I sigh. "I get it. I''ll stop monologuing. But don''t say I didn''t try to talk you out of it."

    I stop exposing myself and speed up, cutting weapons and gear with wild abandon. I slip a few times and cut some of the soldiers, too, but not deep enough to cause any lasting harm. It''s just tough to aim precisely while they''re all moving around, even with how fast I am.

    Well, it''s not a big deal as long as I don''t hurt them in any major way. I don''t think Ida or I could heal them if I mess up; Ida can only heal things that are hers in some way, and none of these assholes qualify. Meanwhile, I can only heal people by turning them into monstrous, metaphorical representations of how I see them, and that would¡­ well. They''d probably be better off with whatever wounds I accidentally give them than anything Nature''s Madness would turn them into.

    Still, I make sure to quickly and efficiently divest the soldiers of any and all important objects on their person. Any weapons, any useful-looking items, and of course any communication devices are subjected to a quick Spacial Rend or five to leave them useless. While I occasionally need to poke my mouth into the third dimension to breathe, I have a surprisingly robust lung capacity and don''t struggle with finding out-of-sight locations to quickly inhale in. I just have to make sure not to exhale while still in the vacuum of the fourth dimension. It''s really uncomfortable to have all the air forcibly yanked out of me the moment I open my mouth. It doesn''t hurt or anything, but it''s unpleasant.

    Soon enough, the soldiers in the room with me are in full retreat. The two I actually injured when I threw that guy across the room have long since been evacuated, but everyone else follows in short order. Alone again, it''s time to figure out the next stage of my plan.

    I''m pretty sure that if I want this to end, scaring mooks isn''t the way to do it. There''s always more mooks; the idiot bigwig who ordered this won''t give a crap no matter how many of them I publicly humiliate. I have to find whoever''s in charge and deal directly with them. But that''s a problem, because if I start running around the compound looking for him, odds are he''ll find a way out before I find him¡­ or worse, he could send people to go after Ida while I''m distracted.

    This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    "Ida," I call out. "I need to find the man behind this, but I can''t leave you exposed."

    "This protective shit is cute, but I really don''t need it," Ida grumbles. "If anybody tries to shoot me, I can just shoot them first. My whole shtick is that I''m just divinely better than everyone else."

    "Okay, but what if two guys try to shoot you?" I ask. "Or six guys? Or twelve?"

    "I have like three different dirty jokes about that and you aren''t going to like any of them," Ida says.

    "Noted, but do you have any serious answers?"

    "I do," Jet says, eating a bagel next to me. "Also, I know where your guy is."

    "Blagh!" I yelp, my instincts thankfully causing me to jump back because Jet was smart enough to stand just outside my stabbing range. "J-Jet!? When did you¡­ oh. Oh! In the car, and then you said¡­ and¡­ aaagh!"

    I hate Pneuma magic I hate Pneuma magic I hate Pneuma magic I hate Pneuma magic I hate Pneuma magic!

    "Yep, it''s me, sorry for spooking you," Jet says, lightly tossing the other half of her bagel into the air and letting her tail catch it in one big bite. "Here, I drew a little map. It''s not pretty but it should be enough to remind you where to go when you forget about me. Also, I think I can hide Ida, too."

    "I¡­ geez, okay," I blink, my heart racing. "Thank you? You''re really saving my ass today, Jet."

    "Hannah, I saw you willingly walk into a car with a fed," Jet says flatly. "You obviously needed the help. And while I hate to admit it, my life has been improving a lot lately, thanks to all this magic shit. Like maybe some of the best it''s ever been. So I dunno if I forgive you, but¡­ I definitely at least owe you."

    I smile a little at that. Honestly, that''s wonderful news. I was worried, after everything I did to them and everything that Alma''s magic was doing to make their situation worse, that magic would be nothing but a curse for them. I''m thankful the Goddess ended up giving them something good.

    And I''m welcome, of course, though the thanks are appreciated. She did it for me, after all. Jet''s belligerence about Her gifts was entertaining at first, but their resistance to accept magic¡ªand more importantly, to accept me¡ªwas starting to become a problem this close to the endgame. A king can''t avoid checkmate on his own; all the pieces need to work together. That is the lesson She learned, after so many failed games. And that is how, this time, She will win.

    Ida drops out the ceiling, she and Jet giving me odd looks as I swallow the lump in my throat.

    "What''s up?" Ida asks. "You look like you just pissed yourself."

    "I¡­ it''s nothing," I say, and then correct myself before Ida makes fun of how obvious of a lie that is. "I mean, it''s not nothing, but it''s nothing we have time to talk about right now. Jet, are you sure you can protect Ida?"

    "Pretty sure," she nods. "But if you happen to remember Ida exists, say something to her so I know that you know. We''ll stay close enough to hear you."

    "Uh, that seems dangerous," I say. "I''m going to be fighting people. What if stray gunfire hits you? You can still be hit even if people don''t know you''re there, right?"

    "Well yeah," Jet nods. "But when I mean close enough to hear you, I mean close enough for me to hear you."

    She points up at her adorable poofy ears and gives them a wiggle.

    "And that''s pretty far away," she finishes.

    "Got it," I smile. "Okay, great. Stay safe, you two."

    Jet hands me a funny-looking map, nods, grabs Ida, and then¡­ uh. Hmm. Wait, where the heck did I get this map? I''m not even sure how I could tell it was a map at first glance; it''s been hastily scrawled on a piece of printer paper, looking like it''s been added to in sections over time. A bunch of notes are written in handwriting that feels familiar but I can''t really place. One of the notes is on top of the map and in extra big letters, so I read that first.

    Don''t think about it. It''s Our Little Secret.

    Huh. Well, that doesn''t explain anything. But I was just looking for the jerk or jerks who ordered the incarceration of everyone I care about and a couple people I don''t, and this is a pretty convenient map right to them. Even has their names written down, not that I''ll bother to remember them. Unless¡­ I wasn''t thinking about fucking those guys up until after whatever obviously-Pneuma spell made me forget how I got this map? But if it was a Pneuma spell making me want to go get those guys, would it be letting me wonder if there was a Pneuma spell at all?

    Goddess, I fucking hate Pneuma magic so much. Nothing for it, I guess. I''ll assume my thoughts are my own and I''m remembering the situation mostly correctly, but I''ll double-check on the way. Interrogate people a little before doing anything too bad to them. Trust but verify, and all that.

    It''s cool. It''ll be fine. I''m already fighting the government so that I don''t leave my friends up poop creek without a paddle when I kill myself tomorrow. I''ve hit rock bottom so hard already that this Pneuma magic stuff can''t even raise my heart rate today.

    It helps that I got to kill Sindri again, too. That felt pretty good, in retrospect.

    There are more soldiers outside all the doors, and while I don''t need to use doors normally I can''t really carry the map through the fourth dimension without putting it in my mouth, and I think that would ruin it. So I put the map down, take care of the guys outside, and return for it before moving on.

    According to said map, the conference room where all the bigwigs argued about how much imprisonment without crime or trial they were feeling like doling out today should be a pretty swift walk. I head through the outer wall of the building and go outside, and since I already have parts of my head in normal space to look at the map anyway, I glance at my surroundings a bit, too. I seem to be in some kind of military base in¡­ the Smokies, maybe!? I dunno, it''s some kind of thick forest and it reminds me of when my family took that vacation to Dollywood (which is like Hollywood plus Disneyland but for old people who like country music) and we went up into the mountains. Are we in the national park? I feel like it''s probably not legal to have a military base in a national park. But maybe it is? I dunno. We could be somewhere else entirely. I have no idea about any of this. I''m just some girl.

    Some girl that happens to be walking through and invalidating an entire military base. It''s no wonder they want to lock all magic users up, really. It''s just annoying that they''re stupid enough to try.

    I tear through the soldiers guarding the conference room, but to my irritation I can already tell it has been evacuated. Makes sense, I guess. They have an operations room, and whoever I talked to is probably there. I take a couple of deep breaths to give myself air for the journey and run that way, destroying anything I don''t like on the way there. There we go. I see someone old enough and hoarding enough stars on his lapel to be the piece of shit I''m looking for.

    I don''t waste time introducing myself; I just hide my map under a rock so it doesn''t blow away, walk through the wall, and cut everything apart. Equipment, weapons, computers, radios, wires, cords, walls, and clothes. As long as it doesn''t have a heartbeat, I fuck it up. I''m done in barely thirty seconds, and only then do I let my face appear, floating in the air and surrounded by blades.

    "Hey," I say.

    Oh, the fear in the room smells delicious. All those hearts, beating like a nightcore symphony in terror of me. Sparks fly from slashed electronics, as the room itself slowly starts to settle from the carnage surrounding me. It feels right. It feels like what I was made for.

    "Not that I don''t appreciate the silence," I muse, "but I believe we have some policies to renegotiate."

    "We do not," the old man in the fancy outfit insists. "Even if I were capable of unilaterally overturning our country''s decision, I would not do so."

    "Okay but you get how that decision is stupid nonsense, right?" I ask. "Like, you obviously can''t hold us. You can''t imprison us. Sure, you can lock up the occasional weakling, and I hear you''ve been quite successful at that, but there is literally nothing you can do to force me to stay anywhere I don''t want to be. And if you''re forcing other people into illegal imprisonment, I don''t want anyone to be there!"

    "And who are you to make that decision?" he snaps. "The girl who refused to share information, refused to provide tangible assistance, and demanded that we take care of whatever vague problems she happened to think of? I will not be gaslit by a self-righteous child. You have kept us ignorant of what you can do, and now you''re blaming us for not coming to a conclusion that you like with the bare scraps of information you''ve peppered us with between your ominous warnings. You reap what you''ve sown, demon, and nothing more or less."

    I snort.

    "Did you just call me a demon?" I ask. "Seriously? Come on, dude, I already gave this speech to my church."

    Of course, maybe he''s onto something. His heart is looking mighty tasty. Full of fat and cholesterol¡­

    "I am a God-fearing man," he says. "I know where your dark powers hail from."

    "You really don''t," I tell him.

    "And I know that, no matter what you say, you are not invincible," he continues. "Do not fool yourself into thinking we''d rather bow to you than die finding it."

    "Sir, I don''t want you to bow to me," I lie. That would be pretty gratifying to see, actually. "I just want you to not incarcerate an entire group of people for an indeterminate amount of time for things that aren''t even their fault. It''s not a big freaking ask. And besides¡­"

    I lean forward, extending a claw and scraping it along his chin.

    "...Just because I''m not invincible doesn''t mean that you''ll ever hurt me."

    Credit where it''s due, he tries to punch me. And while I guess I deserve it for the chin thing, I still dodge it without even trying. I''m being a little mean, but fuck it, right? It''s not like I''ll live long enough to regret it anyway.

    "All you''re doing," the man says, "is proving beyond a doubt that we need to do this. We need intelligence on how to face monsters like you. If you think we''ll give up simply because we don''t know how to win, you couldn''t be more wrong. It is because we''ve yet to learn how to win that we must not give up. We will find a way, by any means necessary."

    I frown. The worst part is, I can kind of understand his perspective, honestly. The fact that I''m happy to negotiate, happy to deal with this nonviolently, isn''t important to this man. He''s in the military. It''s arguably his entire job to know how to handle situations where negotiations fail. And that''s always a threat, isn''t it? No matter how reasonable I am, my power to make anyone into a threat that the military potentially can''t deal with is an untenable situation. If they don''t have a way to face me, they will pour their entire budget into finding one, somehow or another. The longer I withhold the power they need to fight me, the more likely they''ll escalate into forcing the issue. It was never a question of if the military was going to kidnap magic users and torture them into incanting, it was always a matter of when.

    ¡­But they''re probably not at that point quite yet, are they? It''ll be soon, but I bet they''ll exhaust other options first, in ascending order of how fucked up they are. So about where on the war crime totem pole are we on, I wonder? Illegal research, maybe? Unethical animal experimentation? Wait. Oh no.

    "Hey," I say, "not to change the subject or anything, but where''s Fartbuns?"

    He blinks at me, his mental gears grinding as I shift the topic without a clutch.

    "Don said you guys have my friend''s dog," I continue. "Big guy? Super friendly? Eight legs? Goes ''boof?''"

    "...The animal?" he asks, finally catching up with the conversation. Geez, it''s like he''s never talked to someone with ADHD before.

    "Yeah man, where''s my friend''s dog?" I ask. "You pressurized cheese nozzles better not be hurting him."

    Several heart rates in the room quicken considerably. Cool. Cool cool cool cool cool.

    "Okay, somebody in here is gonna tell me where my best friend''s dog is, or I will start insisting," I say, my own panic starting to rise. Shit, how could I have forgotten about Fartbuns!?

    "You don''t get to make demands of¡ª" the general guy or whatever he is starts insisting, but I cut off his fucking hand because yes I do get to make demands. I am sacrificing my Goddess-damn life for this fucked up world and if these people are hurting precious little Fartbuns I don''t want them to be among those I save.

    "Where''s the dog!?" I shout, and after a few moments of yelling someone wises up and starts babbling directions. These Goddess-damn federal fuckbutts! ''By any means necessary'' my naked fourth dimensional ass. I grab my map and start sprinting, doing my best to interpret both the directions I was given and the vaguely-scrawled paper that might make sense of them.

    I spot the right route with my spatial sense before I figure out which building I''m supposed to enter via the directions. I''m supposed to go down, so the place I''m looking for has a multi-level basement. Because of course they took an innocent mutant dog into the sketchy sub-basement. Of course that''s what''s happening right now. Goddess fucking damnit.

    I drop through the floor, occasionally catching myself to slow my fall until I''m finally deep enough to see it: a medical room, in which Fartbuns lies on the table immobile, his body cut open by a woman and three men who have all just signed their goddamn death warrants. I can''t believe they¡­ no. No, wait. He''s alive. I see a heartbeat. My eight-legged good boy is alive.

    He''s merely unconscious. They''re vivisecting him, and at least had the decency to sedate him first. So maybe killing them is a bit too hasty of an idea. Maybe. I drop through the ceiling and bring myself fully into 3D, not giving a single fuck about showing up naked in the middle of them. I''m past that. Past caring about whatever stupid vestiges of humanity are still trying to cling to me. Nobody here is going to treat me like a person, let alone a human. May as well throw it all away.

    "That''s not your dog," I hiss at the monsters dressed like scientists. "Get away from him."

    Soldiers outside the room rush in, but the scientists are between me and the door so all I have to do is put a blade to someone''s neck.

    "Weapons down," I order. "I dunno if you''ve been listening to the radio, but they won''t do you any good anyway."

    To my mild surprise, they actually drop the guns and comply. Huh. That''s always nice. Is it bad that, at this point, I was kind of expecting them to shoot through the scientists to get to me?

    "Y-your dog is fine!" one of the scientists stammers, his hands in the air, palms towards me. "As far as we can tell, he''s perfectly healthy."

    "Then why did you cut him open?" I snarl.

    "B-because we didn''t know until then!" he insists. "He''s impermeable to X-rays and radio waves. No MRIs, no CT scans¡­ we wanted to make sure the transformation wasn''t hurting him, and we had no other way to see inside his body!"

    Aww, what? Fartbuns is a Space mage like me? That''s so cute! Okay, alright. Maybe things aren''t as bad as I was anticipating. Maybe.

    "Well, that''s¡­ good, I suppose," I acknowledge, lowering my blades a bit. "Apologies for overreacting. I''m having a bit of a day. So, uh, you gonna sew him back up now, then?"

    "Um¡­" one of the other scientists says. Ah. There it is. I knew it was too good to be true.

    "Y-yes!" the first scientist quickly insists, cutting off his colleague. "Yes, we were just about to do that, actually!"

    Alright, I see. Yeah. He''s smart, I''ll give him that. He almost had me. Shame his buddy slipped.

    "What were you about to say?" I ask the guy who hesitated.

    "I¡­"

    "Talk," I demand, punctuating the words with an eldritch hiss that makes the whole room shudder. Ahhh, that feels good. It feels so good. But now isn''t the time for indulging myself.

    "W-we were under orders to determine what''s causing the metamorphosis," he admits. "Anyone who''s worked with animals would guess that he''s healthy just from how he acted. You have a, uh, very happy dog, ma''am."

    I smile, my teeth on full display.

    "I appreciate that honesty," I tell him. "Really. So what were you four actually doing here, then?"

    "Don''t you tell her anything¡ª" the first one tries, but I grab him by the throat and shut him up.

    "Well, um, since less invasive methods weren''t deemed feasible, we¡­ were committed to a pretty long-term surgery, so we could witness and record the internal changes in real time. I''m not proud of it, ma''am, but¡ª"

    "Oh, you''re not proud of it," I say, my own heartbeat thumping in my ears just as fast as theirs. "Well, that''s fine. You stole someone else''s dog, ripped his chest open on a table, and planned to keep him that way, but hey! As long as you aren''t proud of it, then that''s okay."

    I check Fartbuns over with my spatial sense, locating everything foreign inside of him and removing it with my claws or Refresh, getting everything as close to back into place as I can.

    "I''m going to be ending this surgery, I think," I tell them, twitching with some combination of emotions I can''t even identify. Anger, maybe? It''s got to be anger, right? That would make the most sense, here. But whatever. It doesn''t matter. I''m not going to live long enough to care either way. "If you''re all so curious about the transformative process, then by all means pay close attention. Everything you''re about to experience should be very educational."

    "I¡­ w-wait," someone says. I don''t care who. "Please."

    "Nah, it''s fine," I say. "I''m not proud of this."

    But I do it anyway, just like I always do. Transmutation energy pours out of me like a waterfall, and Fartbuns'' body already knows what to do with it. The big, fluffy dog''s extra legs finish growing in, a bit of the fur around his head vanishing as he starts growing extra eyes to match. Fartbuns isn''t just my best friend''s dog. He''s my friend, and playing with him was the first time I started to actually enjoy my freakish transformations here on Earth. It was with Fartbuns that I figured out how to embrace the euphoric parts of what I am, just playing around with a big, happy dog. On the world tree, I called the body I started with a ''hyperspider.'' For Fartbuns, that big bundle of infinite energy, it''s hard to not see him as a hyperpupper.

    That wonderful dog starts to fill out a little in the fourth dimension, and I smile. Someone to follow me, huh? That would be such a wonderful thing to have, if I wasn''t about to die. But unfortunately, like everything else, it''s kind of irrelevant in the end.

    Now. What about all this other shit, then?

    The scientists and the soldiers are, by and large, curled up on the floor and screaming like little pissy babies because their organs are all reconfiguring themselves while their skin falls off. Kinda weak if you ask me, but at the end of the day that''s exactly what they are, isn''t it? Weak. They''re nothing but stupid little drones, hiding behind the curtain of ''following orders'' and pretending that means it''s not their fault when they do something bad. So they can be drones, then! Termites, I think, with their bloated, squishy, pale abdomens and translucent epidermis. That seems appropriate.

    They start to vomit acid, their clothes melting away along with their humanity as their faces fall off, every one of them but the woman shifting to look completely identical to each other. That''s just my bias at play, I suppose, and just to lean into it even harder let''s go ahead and give her wings. If she ever gets pregnant¡ªand that''s a big if, looking like that¡ªshe''ll end up with quite the urge to fly off somewhere remote and start her own colony. I''m sure that''ll be fun.

    I think that''s something people often forget, when they think of insect queens. Eusocialism isn''t feudalism. Queens aren''t any better or stronger than workers. They''re just a different kind of mindless slave, chained to their instincts without a shred of authority over them. It''s hard not to relate to that, some days.

    "Sto¡­ stoh¡­ agh!" one of the soldiers tries to beg, but the emergence of his oversized mandibles cuts off his words. It really wasn''t fair to only have dimorphism between the sexes; that''s not even how termites work! Soldiers and workers can be male or female, they''re just sterile all the same.

    "Aww, I''m sorry," I coo at my new little monsters. "Is your life being horrifically and irreparably ruined by physical transformations that you can''t control? That must be so difficult for you. But don''t worry. You get used to it."

    They don''t answer. They can''t. Drones who just follow orders don''t need to talk back.

    I feel lightheaded. Inebriated, almost, by the drug-like cocktail of emotions surging through me. This really is it, isn''t it? There''s no going back. I feel like I should regret this more, but for the life of me I can''t remember the reason why.

    "Would you all like to know a secret?" I ask them. "The apocalypse I warned you all about. It''s me. I cause it. I, Hannah Hiiragi, am the end of the world."

    I laugh a little. It feels good to say it, somehow.

    "But it''s okay!" I assure them. "It''s okay. Because I''m not going to let that happen. That wouldn''t be good. It wouldn''t be right. So I''m going to kill myself. Right when I was starting to figure things out, right when I was starting to think I could be happy, I''m going to up and fucking die to save all of your worthless, pathetic, ungrateful little lives! I hate you! Do you understand that!? I fucking hate you, and I could end the world with two Goddess-damn words, but I won''t!"

    I take a deep breath, in and out. Woah there, Hannah. No need to scream, right?

    "I can''t," I continue at a more reasonable volume. "Because surely, everyone knows that''s the right thing to do, don''t they? Even if I''ve never met them, I''ll regret every single person I kill, won''t I? Everything''s just¡­ better if I''m dead. For me and the rest of the world."

    I head towards the door, slicing up the guns on the ground for good measure.

    "Maybe all of you will be better off dead too, after what I''ve done to you," I say. "But that''s the nice thing, right? I won''t ever have to find out."

    I exit the room, and head up the stairs, shifting back into the fourth dimension. The tears can''t stick to my face in a vacuum; they just evaporate.

    I realize, belatedly, that I don''t really have a way to tell time. But that''s okay. It may as well have been half an hour.

 79. Dead

    "Boof!"

    I blink, pausing in my exhausted trudge up the stairs towards whatever idiot who will inevitably sign up to be killed first. Right. The dog. I turn around, looking down at where Fartbuns is slowly struggling to follow me up the staircase with twice as many legs. The poor pupper was never very dexterous before I doubled his limb count, so I don''t doubt that he''s going to be even more awkward now that I''ve fucked him up. As always, though, he doesn''t seem to mind. That dumb dog is too full of love to care about anything like that.

    "I''m gonna have to get you somewhere safe, aren''t I, buddy?" I ask, my voice an unpleasant croak.

    The obvious place to take poor F-buns is the world tree; it''s where Valerie is, first and foremost, and since I''m literally watching Fartbuns'' legs occasionally miss a stair and cause him to stumble because he''s stepping too far into the w-axis, I''m pretty sure that the fact my body is currently deep into the fourth dimension on the other side of things won''t be much of a problem for him.

    Of course, my body not being able to go deep into the fourth dimension on this side of things is currently a pretty major thorn in my ability to safely relocate the dog. I can''t exactly let myself pass out in the middle of a recently kicked military-industrial beehive, and I certainly can''t fall unconscious in the middle of a lightless, airless void. Which means I need to go full escort quest for Valerie''s dog until I find somewhere safe to nap for a while. Ugh.

    "Sit, Fartbuns," I try when we get to the next floor. "Sit."

    His tail wagging, Fartbuns hops up on two legs, his other six all scrabbling against the front of my body as he gives my face a series of wet, sloppy dog kisses.

    "Yeah, okay, I probably should have expected that," I grumble, pushing him away and Refreshing my face clean. So it''s gonna be one of those escort quests. Awesome. Everybody loves those.

    I''m too tired for this. I just want it to be over. But Helen was right; there''s always just one more thing, one more thing I have to do before it''s all over, over and over, keeping me away from the death I deserve. I just want it to stop. I just want it to end. But I have to save Valerie''s dog. I have to say goodbye to her. I have to finish my earthly business so Sela can burn away my desperate soul. I hate it. It''s not fair. I never should have had any of this responsibility. I never wanted it.

    But I don''t have time for all this self-pity. I have humans to kill.

    "Hannah, wait."

    I twist around and nearly impale the speaker through the chest before I realize it''s Jet, with Ida still standing next to her, holding that gun she stole. Wait, when did she¡­ how the hell did they¡­ oh. Oh, right. Jet''s memory trick. Why the hell is she coming out now?

    "Shouldn''t you two be keeping yourselves alive?" I ask, a lot more tersely than I intended.

    "You''re kinda concerning us here, four-arms," Ida says hesitantly. "I mean, not that fucking up the feds isn''t hot, but¡ª"

    "I just saw you do what you did to Alma and me to an entire room''s worth of people," Jet butts in. "I thought you were going to try to be better than that."

    "I was," I agree flatly. "Unfortunately, I had forgotten about that promise at the time. Couldn''t tell you why."

    "Do you think that''s a fucking excuse?" Jet snaps.

    No. Not really. Horrifically mutating and ruining the lives of seven people does not suddenly become right and just merely because I was unable to remember the time I also did it to my girlfriend. I have simply run out of fucks to give, because what does it matter if she or anyone else sees me as an irredeemable monster if I''m not going to be alive to care?

    "I think," I answer softly, "that I am going to walk up these stairs and kill so many people that they''re going to carve the names onto a rock in Washington D.C."

    They stare at me, mouths open. Part of me wants to rush forward and lock my lips to Ida''s, pulling that cute purple tongue into my mouth and biting it clean off. But even those urges are small and lifeless now, hunger and libido just two more things that don''t matter in the face of the end.

    "...What?" Jet eventually asks.

    "I did irreparable things to your body without your permission or consent," I tell her, "and while it makes me happy to see you starting to enjoy them, that doesn''t make what I''ve done right, does it? And now the government wants to hurt you because of what I did to you. They want to punish you for something that''s my fault, because they''re cowards clinging desperately to the control that''s slipping through their fingers. They won''t stop until every scrap of it is ripped away from them. They won''t negotiate until they stop seeing me as an uppity kid that''s in over her head and start seeing me as a threat that can topple a superpower. So if that''s what it takes not to leave you with my mess, that''s what I''ll do."

    "Leave me with your¡­ Hannah, you mean the things you said¡ª"

    "What, did you think I was lying!?" I snarl. "Yes, Jet! I was made to end the world. So I have to die in order to save it. Sorry for everything, goodbye."

    No matter how undeserving it is of being saved. I''m not the one who gets to judge that. I''m not the one who gets to decide what''s right. Because I know, oh I know, that there couldn''t be anyone less qualified.

    I''m not good enough. Never was, never will be. But I have to at least be good enough for this. I turn and stomp up the stairs, hoping it won''t be long before she activates her spell again and I can forget this conversation happened for a while.

    "Hannah!" Ida calls out, because I''m not that lucky.

    "Just keep each other safe," I call back to her. "You have to stay safe. Please."

    "I¡­ okay," she agrees. "But Hannah¡ª"

    "If you want to make yourselves useful," I cut her off, "then I''ll need a safe place to sleep soon. Somewhere I can hide and be safe for at least an hour. And if you can keep Fartbuns safe, too, I''d appreciate it. But if you don''t want to help with this at all¡­ I understand."

    Jet and Ida look at each other as I walk away. But again they turn, like the fools they are, to meet the gaze in the back of my head.

    "Quit making me repeat myself, Hannah," Ida says. "I''m all-in."

    "We''ll talk to you later, Hannah," Jet nods. "Don''t bite off more than you can chew."

    I lick my lips and nod. My teeth aren''t made for chewing anymore anyway.

    I pause on the staircase for a moment, feeling an odd sense of deja vu. Was I just talking to myself about something? Hah. I guess I''m going crazy. Well, it was only a matter of time. The military guys above me¡ªand gosh, I work with some people who''d get really mad at me calling them ''military guys,'' but I don''t know what branch of the overgrown organizational tree they''re on and I don''t care¡ªhave finished assembling and are encamped around the entire building, ready to fuck me up the moment I make my appearance. Just for the sake of it, I walk right up to the front doors and throw them open dramatically, ready to avoid the inevitable spray of bullets heading my way.

    But they don''t fire any bullets.

    Tear gas canisters erupt around me, filling the air with blinding, unbreathable white. Ah, yes. The classic ''it''s not a war crime if we do it to our own citizens'' technique. It''s¡­ annoyingly clever, actually. I still have to breathe, after all, and since they can''t really see me most of the time anyway, the lack of visibility isn''t a huge detriment.

    ¡­But while I still have to breathe, I don''t need to breathe that much. I can probably hold my breath for ten, maybe up to twenty minutes at a time. So tear gas doesn''t really disperse far enough or linger long enough to stop me from just¡­ walking away and breathing somewhere else. Good try, though. Points for effort.

    I walk forward and cut the gas masks off of every soldier I can reach, letting them choke and run away while I approach the back line and impale my first kill of the day. There''s an entire cordon of armored vehicles around the building, mostly trucks, with soldiers in, on, and around them to man various weapon emplacements. But of course, vehicles don''t pose me any more difficulty than buildings do, and it''s a trivial matter to bisect the drivers, the gunners, and everyone else.

    I don''t even use Spacial Rend for half of it. It feels good, slicing my claws into their bodies directly, feeling the blood slide down my blades. There''s nothing they can do to stop me and that''s the best fucking part, that sick, delicious ecstasy of finally getting to be the horror movie monster I was made to be. I can finally be what my life has been leading up to since the beginning: a walking tragedy.

    Another cut, another kill. A lot of my victims have wedding rings. I wonder if they have children? I wonder how old they are? How many orphans do I get to make today? My boast about lung capacity ends up being for nothing as I let out an uncontrolled laugh, choking as the void greedily steals the air. Damn it. Of course I''d fuck up already. I rip open the truck I''ve been killing people in and rush to a patch of fresh air, taking a greedy breath.

    Breath. Oh, how the Goddess loves to steal breath. To hold the proof of someone''s life in Her hands, knowing She could make it into anything, anything at all. It may not be difficult to trick an ant, to crush it, to divert its course with a few grains of sugar. But there''s a certain satisfaction to it, all the same.

    Nature''s Madness is proof of my obsession with being known, my pathological need to force others through my experiences, my troubles, and my greatest pleasures. I wonder if the Goddess Herself crafted me the same way. To know, in my final hours, the joy of crushing the ant. I feel Her hands on my face, Her lips on my chest, and Her legs wrapped around my own, all of them screaming yes.

    It makes me all the more desperate to die. I feel it, Goddess. I feel You. Touching me, invading me, reveling in what I''ve let myself become, but I can''t think about it, I can''t, I have to keep moving, keep doing, keep killing because the moment I stop to think I''ll¡ª

    My eardrums pop and burst, black blood flowing down my head as I lose my balance and stumble to one knee. What the fuck just¡­ agh! I vomit, quickly taking one last breath before retreating into the fourth dimension. The vacuum tries to yank the blood from my veins, but a Refresh keeps it all in place. What was that? How did I not see it? How¡­

    I start to search, keeping my body entirely 4D except for the toes and using the small range that Spacial Rend extends from my body without incantation to take the kills as I go. I''m deaf now, but it''s not like I could hear much in the fourth dimension anyway. What the hell was that? What was I hit with? I couldn''t even see anything with my spatial sense, my eardrums just fucking exploded. It''s like they used¡­ a sonic weapon? Holy shit I thought that was sci-fi. But what else could have¡­

    There. There it is. No wonder I ignored it; it just looks like a giant fucking coaster turned on its side. A big black disc, but now that I''m paying attention to the internals I can see the ways that it''s probably for blasting an area with soundwaves. How clever. They might actually be able to melt my organs with one of those, if it had been a bit stronger. Sonic resistance would be¡­ what, Matter mages, maybe? Sound is probably an overlap between Art and Motion. Whatever. Who cares. I reach the platform, carve through the weapon, and kill everyone involved.

    A blast from another sonic weapon hits me, but this time I only have my blades exposed rather than my head so it doesn''t do much other than briefly vibrate me a little. Nothing squishy in there, I''m afraid. And now I know where it''s coming from. Kill, kill. Stab, stab. Cut, slice, gouge, revel, laugh, kill! I''m a monster, a freak, a beast, an inhuman wretch, and I am humanity''s destruction! So kill me if you can! Give me what I deserve!

    I deserve the world, the Goddess reminds me, and I''ll have it. Sacrificed on the altar to Us.

    I step completely into normal space and scream, needing to feel the visceral weight of air on my skin and to know that the pressure in my lungs is entirely my own. But still, even here, all I feel on my skin is Her, glorious and incredible and all-consumingly wonderful. But the joy and the pleasure is sick and twisted and wrong and it isn''t me, I don''t want to feel this, so why me, why me, why me!?

    "Stop!" I beg Her. "Stop, please! Don''t you want me to live!?"

    But I will live. No matter what She does, no matter what She subjects me to, I will live. No matter how I might beg for death, my claws will never kiss my own throat. I can''t do it. I could never do it. I will never save the world. All I have to do to know this is to look around. Look at what I''ve done. Look at who I am.

    I''m not good enough. I never was. No matter how much I struggle, Her victory is already decided. The way She violates me now is nothing but a celebration.

    An instant before I hear the crack, I see the aerodynamically sculpted metal enter the edge of my spatial sense, heading right for my head. I ignore my screaming instinct to move, to dodge, and I just watch it fly. It''s quite a thick bullet, nothing like the pellets that shredded my stomach to bits when I was working my day job like the human I still can''t wish I could go back to being. She''s right, after all, and I know it. I''m not good enough. I''m not anywhere close. I can''t kill myself to save the world.

    But maybe someone else can.

    The high-caliber bullet impacts my forehead with a wet thunk, splitting my skin apart like tissue paper. For a moment I almost smile, thinking my end will come, but then the tip reaches my skull and I watch in horrified slow motion as it crumples. The bullet squishes into itself, the force of the impact snapping my head back but ultimately bouncing the now-flattened bullet off of my forehead without making a single crack in the bone. It hurts, and I''m certainly bleeding, but¡­

    "Not enough," I growl. "Not even close to enough."

    But did I really expect any better from humanity? From the scum that would rather shoot me than find a way not to abuse the people I care about? I don''t know if the thoughts are from me or the Goddess, but it doesn''t really matter, in the end. I agree with them all the same.

    My limbs and my soul thrum with power, the wound on my forehead already vanishing back into unbroken skin. I guess, thinking about it now, my eardrums are also repaired. I''m not even trying to use Destiny Bond, but I guess I don''t have to anymore to still get its healing effect. The two universes are very close together now, and the more I pull them in the more that excess slack gets converted into my own personal power. I''ve been getting stronger and stronger from my transformation itself, but my soul has become more and more my own as well, slowly getting freed from its purpose as a winch of worlds.

    Without saying a word, I turned a whole room of people into monsters in moments. What would happen if I spoke Nature''s Madness aloud?

    Another bullet flies towards me, and I snap my hand up to try and catch it. The bullet bounces off my palm before I can get my fingers around it, knocking my hand back into my face. It stings a bit. It doesn''t hurt me any more than that, though. I guess my whole skeleton is bulletproof, endo to exo. I try to catch the next shot, and the next. I finally pull it off on the fourth bullet. The Goddess chuckles, amused by my antics, and I want to laugh alongside her. I want to cry.

    I want it all to end. But these disgusting humans could never pull it off. They can''t protect themselves from me. They can''t protect the world from Her. They''re failures at everything they claim to stand for. I can''t leave this world with them still in power. I can''t.

    I catch the next bullet too, and then I finally start to move in the direction they came from, tossing the flattened chunk of metal to the side. I guess I need to find the people responsible for all this. The people in charge, or at least the ones that were here. If I tried running all the way to some other major government building they''d probably just evacuate it long before I could get close. The bigwigs here have probably already left, but maybe there''s a chance they''ve holed up somewhere they think is safe, instead. It''s the kind of arrogance they seem like they''d probably have. I guess I''ll have to interrogate someone, or something.

    That sounds like a hassle.

    "Miracle Eye," I incant, the range on my spatial sense suddenly multiplying beyond what it ever has before. I stagger for a moment, my mind struggling to catch up with all the information before it settles down, my soul guiding my mind through the power I''ve been made for. I see so much. So many people coordinating, moving, acting with the intention of finding a way to kill me. But it won''t work. It''ll never work. They''re even weaker than I am. So I''ll kill them first.

    As nice as the improved range of vision is, I still can''t see anyone who looks like they''re running this shitshow. That''s fine, though. It''s fine. I just approach the closest group, my limbs and blades blocking any bullets that might otherwise be in danger of connecting with my squishier parts. The fragmentation grenade fares similarly, with the most painful part about it exploding next to me just being the sound. Everything feels like it''s stuck in molasses, moving so sluggishly around me that I can watch every painfully obvious movement, from the trajectory of projectiles to the shockwave of explosions to the churning of my own body as She kneads me inside and out, present only by the indentations Her fingers leave on my flesh.

    Someone nearby unloads the contents of a flamethrower on me, the fire belching from the weapon and washing over my skin. I turn and stare at him, unable to even feel it at all.

    "I guess I don''t really need to hold back, do I?" I ask him, though I doubt I''m heard over the yelling and the gunfire. "I''m going to kill you anyway, so what does it matter?"

    I take a breath and the Goddess takes it back, just the tiniest fragment of the beautiful, wonderful life I owe Her, and We speak.

    "SPACIAL REND!"

    The spell rings out from me and so does the Goddess, finally pulling away from me to indulge in the joy of ensouling the army before me, stealing a breath from each and every one of them as claws extend to cut the very concept of Space itself. The blades on my back encase themselves in power so potent that their cuts no longer have a length that I can perceive, extending nearly six feet through the world as I can observe it and yet somehow going farther and deeper in ways I do not truly understand. I swing my blade through half a dozen people, bisecting them but also leaving a wound in the world itself, a lingering edge of separation that continues to rend the air and anything else mad or helpless enough to touch it.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    But I, of course, can just step around it in a way no one else can, so I continue on, breaking reality as I walk. My blades make more and more corpses, until to my surprise I finally find one of my swings halted, my blade of Space stalling against the bones of one of the men I''ve recently ensouled. The cut is deep, but for once it isn''t lethal. Huh.

    "Aura Sight," I incant, seeing the problem immediately.

    "You''re a pretty powerful Light mage," I tell him, ripping apart his gear as I hold him in place by the jaw. "You must be a very special person, for the Goddess to give you enough strength to resist me."

    I pull him closer, the smell of his fear intoxicating beyond belief.

    "I suppose She wanted you to die in a different way," I continue. "I wonder why."

    I bite his throat out and toss the body at one of the spatial rifts. He hangs off of it in the air for a moment before he quickly bleeds out and dies, the corpse falling fully bisected the moment he does. I swallow the delicious, bloody morsel and get back to work. Body after body falling effortlessly before me.

    But then, my blade halts right before carving the throat from a man so very much like the uncounted masses I''ve already slain. He''s surrounded by their corpses on all sides, a single eye in the hurricane of death I have wrought. Because this one is different. His gun is on the floor. His knees are on the ground. His palms are in the air, empty and surrendering. It''s like looking at air while drowning a thousand feet underwater.

    How dare he.

    How dare he interrupt my reverie. How dare he remind me that I have my morals, that I should have morals. That I''m only doing this because of them. How dare he take this long to give up, to be a bastard until the final moment and then become a coward when it might save him. How dare he look so desperate, and scared, and genuine, and human.

    "What gives you the right?" I growl, kneeling down and stepping into visible space.

    "What?" he asks, his body shaking. His arms struggle under the stress of their own surrender, when it had been so easy for him to hold a gun just moments before.

    "What gives you the right," I demand again, "to act like you''re entitled to decency after you tried to take ours."

    He stares at me, his mouth opening and shutting like a fish and his brain just as mindless. Worthless. Stupid, worthless human.

    "Y-you do," he suddenly stammers out, surprising me. "You give the right. H-hopefully."

    I scowl, irritated from getting an answer I can''t refute. I do give the right, don''t I? I''m dying for him. I''m dying for all of them. I give them the right, because that''s the right thing to do. Because that''s the choice I''ve made. Because no matter how worthless he is, surely a couple billion of him add up to a lot more than something as awful as me?

    "I guess that''s true," I admit, screaming to myself in the back of my mind as I look at all I''ve done. "Sorry. I''ve¡­ had a pretty bad day today."

    He glances down at the blood of his former colleagues soaking deep into his pants and finds he has nothing to say to that. Hmm. He''s a Motion and Death mage. I wonder if he''s going to attack me with zombies or something. I guess it doesn''t really matter. He''ll either betray my mercy and die, or he won''t. I choose not to think about which option I''d prefer, and walk away. I''ve wasted more than enough time.

    "Where are they?" I ask the Goddess.

    Where are who, She asks as Her fingers dance between my legs. She knows who I mean, of course, but She just wants to hear me say the words aloud. To ask Her. To speak with Her. To acknowledge Her. To rely on Her. To admit I am and will always be Hers.

    "The people responsible," I clarify obediently, sending shivers down Her ethereal spine.

    That is, as I''m well aware, quite a lot of people. But She magnanimously shows me how to get to those closest, the knowledge blooming in the carefully-tilled fields of my mind like the fruits of all Her labor. I was right. There''s a bunker. A ''safe'' place in the event of an attack.

    I go there. Nothing can stop me.

    I drop in through the ceiling, landing inside at the edge of the room. The people who try to get in my way die, and I don''t bother to clean up the blood they end up covering me with. The old men cowering here don''t seem to know what to focus on: the door, the dead, my naked breasts and genitals. I''d call them pigs if I knew less of what humans are like. I flick the blood on one of my hands in their general direction, hoping to get them to focus a little.

    "What''s it going to be?" I ask quietly.

    No one answers. They barely even seem to understand what I''m asking, which pisses me off a bit. Did they just never listen to me? I suppose they never thought it would be necessary.

    "The policy to incarcerate magic users," I clarify flatly. "The decision that we would have all our freedom revoked, that we would be kept here, that we would have no say in the matter regardless of who we were or what we have done. You wanted to unconditionally remove our rights as people. To take everything from us. What response did you expect, if not war?"

    Again, they say nothing. Cowards.

    "You already know the terms of surrender," I remind them. "So what''s it going to be?"

    I don''t get any answers that prevent me from being the only one left alive at the end of the conversation.

    I feel¡­ empty. Like all of this is barely even real. How many have I killed today? How many will I have to kill in order for this to end? Did I really have to kill anyone here at all? I don''t know what to do. I barely even have a plan. Things just escalated, and now¡­

    I stumble backwards a little, my feet squelching on the red-stained floor. I''m exhausted, mentally and physically. I couldn''t¡­ after all that, I wasn''t even scary enough. I''m still fighting the government. And I probably just gave them magic, if that one guy goes back to them. And why wouldn''t he? I gave him plenty of reasons to hold a grudge. This was all such a mistake. Why did I do any of it? Why would I ever¡­

    Movement on the surface suddenly catches my attention as I realize Jet is hiding between a couple buildings above me, breathing heavily and clutching her head as Ida supports her with one arm and holds Fartbuns by the scruff with the other. What happened!? Is she injured? Why didn''t I see¡­ oh, right, Jet''s whole thing. Gahhhh, I hate Pneuma magic! But that''s right, I did this for Ida. For them. For Autumn. For everyone I care about who would be hurt by this. And I''m just¡­ too stupid and worthless to have thought of a better way.

    Wait, I shouldn''t be worried about this, Jet looks like she might be hurt. But I don''t see any wounds, or¡­ hmm. Is she just tired or in pain from¡­ using her magic too hard, or something? That''s literally never happened to me, but I know Helen gets tired when she does big spells, so maybe it happens to other people?

    Well. Either way, I should go check on her. Sluggishly, I climb up the wall and through the ceiling, popping my head up nearby and nearly causing Ida to be bowled over as Fartbuns happily attempts to tackle me.

    "Hold still, you mutant mutt!" Ida growls. "Hannah! You''re okay!"

    Well. No. Not even a little bit.

    "I''m alive," I tell her. "How''s Jet doing?"

    "I''m¡­ not Jet," Alma says nervously. "Where the hell are we?"

    "Wuh-oh," Ida says. "Well, there goes our functional invisibility."

    "Sorry?" Alma mutters, shrinking in on herself. "I mean, I''m not here on purpose¡­"

    "Uh, no, my bad," Ida says sheepishly. "Didn''t mean it like that. It''s just that you''re, uh, in the middle of a military compound that Hannah just violently tore apart."

    "What!?" Alma yelps. "How long was I out!?"

    "I dunno," I shrug, pulling myself up out of the ground. "A few hours?"

    "W-we were just at my house! How did you tear up a military compound in the last few hours!?" Alma yelps, blushing furiously and turning away from me. ¡­Oh, right, I''m naked.

    "It has been a long fucking day," I sigh. "I need a nap, but unfortunately I''ve just declared war on the United States so that''ll probably fill my schedule."

    "You what!?"

    "Actually, Alma, question for you," Ida hums. "Does your house spell stop if you fall asleep?"

    "Uh¡­ I mean, I''ve never tried it but¡­ I don''t think it would? In order to end the spell I have to physically exit it."

    "So hypothetically, could we just like¡­ drop a big murder trap maze in the middle of the compound?" Ida grins.

    "I don''t think that would actually work," I admit. "I mean, it''d protect Alma, the bullets would just pass right through her, but I''m pretty sure that you and I would still be completely susceptible to getting shot, right Alma?"

    Goddess, why did you make Alma''s spell so freaking weird? It''s just so complicated. The element I''m looking to abuse, of course, is the fact that real objects just pass through her while the house is active; her spell becomes her reality, and nothing outside its bounds can touch her anymore. Which means that if someone tries to, say, shoot her with a gun while outside the house, the bullet will just pass through her like it isn''t even there. And unless that person has a soul, they can''t even attempt to enter the house in the first place. She''s basically invincible¡­ but as far as I know she can''t extend that protection to Ida or me. We''d be forced to treat the house and the real world as real, leaving us fully susceptible to bullets and unable to easily escape.

    "Um¡­ well, that''s normally how it works, yeah," she mumbles. "Um, but actually, if I incant I think I might be able to¡­ invite you fully inside, sorta? I just¡­ y''know, you said we''re not supposed to incant¡­"

    Ah. Hmm. That might be really useful, then.

    "Well I already kinda fucked that up, along with everything else," I mutter miserably. "There''s at least one guy with a soul nearby. He probably doesn''t know how to actually cast any magic yet, but he could potentially interact with your house, if that matters? I''m not sure it matters. Incanting would also make your house that big trap maze, right?"

    "Uh¡­ yeah, I could do that," Alma says, scratching her head. "Probably? Um, is it a good idea for me to set up my spell in the middle of a military base, though?"

    "No, it''s a terrible idea," I answer her. "They tried all sorts of wacky weapons on me to see if any of them would stick, and I have no idea if your spell would protect you from all of them. I''m just afraid that wandering around the base without the protection of your spell would be even worse."

    "Can you make the house with windows?" Ida asks. "Cuz like, if bullets don''t affect the house, I could just shoot clean through the walls and hit people while everyone else''s bullets pass through me, right?"

    "W-well, normally yeah, but if I invite you in enough to protect you from bullets then you¡­ wouldn''t be able to see or interact with your gun, right? Or if you could, then the gun would be part of the house, and it couldn''t shoot through the walls."

    "Uhhh¡­ yeah, okay, I guess," Ida says with a frown. "Shit, Alma, your spell is kind of insane."

    "I mean, yes," she mumbles miserably. "It very literally is."

    Oh, Alma. You deserve so much better.

    "...What if you make the house extend underground?" I ask. "Like, give it enough basement levels that we end up deep enough to act as a bomb shelter. They wouldn''t be able to try hitting us. Heck, they wouldn''t be able to figure out where we even are, which is a big risk with your spell normally."

    "Oh, um¡­ huh!" Alma says, brightening up a little as she thinks. "Yeah¡­ yeah, I bet I can do that. I mean, the door still needs to be accessible on ground level, but there''s nothing stopping me from making a big trapped mansion with a huge sub-basement or whatever."

    "It might be best if we try that, then," I answer. "I''m¡­ well, I should get Fartbuns back to Valerie. And¡­ if you want, I could get you two free of this mess and safer over treeside the next time I sleep, but I can''t do that right now because my other body is in hell."

    "Hell?" Alma squeaks.

    "...Why the fuck are you bringing the dog to hell?" Ida asks.

    "He''ll be fine," I insist. "Look, I''m just saying that I fucked up and you two aren''t safe here anymore and if you wanna hang out in another universe until this all blows over, it''s an option."

    "Is it¡­ a good option?" Ida asks.

    "I don''t know, probably not," I groan. "But I just killed like, over a hundred people probably because I''m a freak and a monster so things probably aren''t going to be super great here."

    "Oh, no, Hannah, I''m the one who started this," Ida insists. "I grabbed a gun first."

    "But I escalated," I say. "I could have done this without killing anyone. I proved that I could. But I did it anyway."

    "Hannah¡ª"

    "I don''t want you to make me feel better about this, Ida!" I snap at her. "I just need to rest. Alma, there''s nobody around. I think they might be finally retreating. Just¡­ go ahead and take us underground."

    "Um, alright," she mutters. "Hold onto me, both of you."

    We do so, making sure she holds onto Fartbuns, and she takes a deep breath.

    "Delusion of Safety," the Goddess laughs, and I almost laugh with Her for the way She relaxes Her hold on me while She speaks. Then the buildings, the destruction, and the corpses all vanish from every form of sight I have, and all that''s left becomes a beautiful mansion of a house, full of incredible paintings and comfortable furniture and¡­ a closet full of beautiful outfits, one of which I am suddenly wearing?

    Well, uh, it''s comfy at least. It''s a big, poofy, one-piece pajama thing, silky and soft against my chitin. The impressively oversized bulk of it all has enough holes for all my limbs and hides my figure completely. I guess this is all coming from Alma''s mind, so I guess it''s a reaction to my uncomfortable nudity from before.

    "Ooh, good taste," Ida grins, pulling on the strap of the bikini top she''s apparently now wearing and letting it snap back into place against her chest.

    I glance at Alma, who is firmly refusing to look at either of us. What the heck, girl? Y''know what, I can''t actually judge, Ida is hot as¡­ well, not hell, because it turns out that''s actually really cold, but y''know.

    "U-uh, I''ve never actually done this with other people before, sorry," she stammers, embarrassed. "The, um¡­ the stairs are probably this way."

    She grabs a bunch of sheets and other stuff in the closet for some reason and leads us off to the side and down a stone stairwell, insisting on going first and covering up about half the paintings before we get there. My spatial sense can no longer see the area outside the house, telling me that there''s just a void everywhere beyond its outer walls, but it can still see through those walls and while the paintings are just flat, some of the statues on the floors below make it clear what sort of stuff Alma might want to be covering up.

    They''re all undeniably things I shouldn''t be seeing. Some of them are about me; there''s one where she''s stabbing me through the heart, and another where she''s on her knees, begging me and reaching out to touch me. There''s one where a half-naked man kicks her in the ribs while she''s curled up on the floor. There''s one where Jet looms over her, a judgemental scowl on her face as Alma cries miserably and cuts open her own arms. There''s another statue where Alma uses the same knife to stab her own tail, seemingly screaming obscenities at it. There''s another where she''s fondling Jet and kissing her on the neck.

    I shouldn''t look, but I''m incapable of not looking. I feel an overwhelming urge to apologize to Alma, to tell her I''m witnessing these deeply private things in the basement of her own mind, but I''m afraid that would just be another shitty, selfish thing to do, to make her panic over revealing private thoughts that I should by all rights ignore unless she wants to talk about them, and she very clearly doesn''t. Maybe I''d feel less guilty if I apologized, but I don''t think she''d feel better at all.

    "So, um, the plan is basically to hide out here while you get the dog out of harm''s way, or something?" Alma hedges. "You don''t really need anything in particular, right?"

    "Nope," I confirm. "I can do this wherever you''re comfortable with me doing it, and I''ll just be unconscious for a while. You and Ida should probably talk about how you want to handle things when I wake up. Where do you wanna go, what do you wanna do¡­ y''know. The future."

    "Not really a big fan of thinking about the future, but I''ll give it a shot," Alma half-jokes. "Um, in here should be fine, I think. Probably no traps."

    "Those are the best kind of traps," Ida nods. "The kind that probably aren''t there."

    Alma opens a door and leads us into a small room with a couch and miniature unlit fireplace, cozy and almost cabin-like. The paintings on the walls of this room are already covered by curtains, though I know better than to wonder what they might be or what might be behind them.

    "This will do great, Alma," I tell her. "Thank you."

    "Um, I-I''m glad I can help," Alma stammers.

    "Yeah, you''re pretty awesome!" Ida agrees, buzzing around the room with interest. "This looks cozy as fuck. Comfy temperature, too."

    "Uh, g-good? I''m sorry, I should have found you a different thing to wear¡­"

    "Nono, it''s cool," Ida says, flopping down and spreading herself out onto the couch. "I like it. You have good taste."

    Is, uh. Is Ida seducing my ex-girlfriend? ¡­Y''know what, that''s fine, good for her. I hope they take care of each other when I''m gone.

    "I''m gonna shift F-buns over now, I think," I say. "Sorry for, um, letting you miss the bigwig interactions, Ida. I sort of¡­ forgot I promised to let you see it."

    I''m glad you didn''t, though. I wouldn''t have wanted you to see it. I don''t want anyone to know what I did.

    "It''s fine, it''s fine," Ida waves off easily. "I get that you were a little, uh¡­ indisposed."

    "Yeah," I agree, sitting down on the floor and tapping the ground to make Fartbuns run over to give me a lick. "Um, bye for now, you two."

    "See ya, sleepyhead!" Ida grins.

    "Um, bye," Alma nods.

    I give Fartbuns a good scratch behind the ears and pull him into my soul, letting myself drift into unconsciousness and wake up just as quickly with the good dog still beside me. It''s completely dark here, but Fartbuns only seems briefly disoriented as he pads around on the bark of the world tree, confused but not overwhelmed by the sudden extra depth of his new playspace. I can''t help but smile.

    "What a good boy," I coo.

    "What is this animal?" my mouth buzzes, nearly scaring me to death.

    "Sela! Oh gosh, you spooked me."

    "Did you forget I was here?" it asks flatly.

    Yes. Sorry.

    "I had a¡­ rough time on Earth," I admit softly, stretching as I peel off my body''s latest molt. I''m mostly humanoid, now, fully bipedal and frighteningly close to my final form. A few months was generous, when guessing the amount of time we have left. A few weeks, maybe?

    That''s objectively terrifying, but it''s honestly difficult to care about because all I can think about right now is how my new humanoid body parts are going to be played with by the Goddess. And indeed, it seems to be the main thing She''s interested in, too.

    "Hannah?" Sela prods. "Your heart rate has dramatically spiked."

    "Let''s just get back to the others," I barely manage to say.

    "... Affirmative. Navigation active."

    I stagger to my feet, calling after Fartbuns with my ability to speak in four-dimensional soundwaves that I never expected to be useful in any real context. And then, we start the hours-long trek back to where we fought the Founder.

    It occurs to me, now, that there might be a chance that the Founder could heal himself or repair himself somehow. I guess I was just too stupid to think about it before, but he''s a Transmutation mage of comparable power to me, so he might very well be able to reverse the effects of Nature''s Madness on himself. I might have been scared about that if I''d thought of it during the aftermath of the fight, but it''s not really anything to worry about now. He just wants to kill me, so we''re on entirely the same page.

    The Goddess chuckles at my pointless desperation, but I just ignore Her and don''t think about Her. I ignore Her and don''t think about Her! It''s like getting dental work done. Sure, I''m being trapped and invaded and hurt and violated but I don''t have any fucking choice in the matter, it''s going to happen no matter what, so I just have to endure it and not think about it, not think about the screeching horror attacking my teeth or the way I have to keep my jaw held open or the pain or the terror or the knowledge of how much more I have left to go before it''s finally fucking over, if it ever even ends. Just don''t think about it. Don''t.

    Don''t think about how much you want it to stop, Hannah. It isn''t going to.

    "Hannah," Sela says again, but I ignore it. I can''t talk right now. I can''t. I just have to keep walking, keep directing Fartbuns, keep going, don''t stop don''t stop don''t stop¡­

    Time passes in a blur, the nature of 4D movement meaning I never need to stop to dry my tears, I just have to let them get whisked away by space itself. I don''t know how long it is before I finally spot normal space, the first thing I see being a glimpse of Valerie curled up on herself, a fuzzy serpentine coil that seems to be sleeping soundly. Was I gone that long? I suppose that makes sense, but why is she sleeping with her eyes¡­ open. Wait, there are more people here than there should be.

    Is that¡­ is that Madaline?

    No. No. No no no no no! I break out into a sprint immediately, rushing towards where Madaline¡ªthe Chaos and Pneuma cultist who was instrumental in initially capturing me and my friends in the first place¡ªis somehow standing in the middle of all of my friends with two of her friends. The other Chaos mages, whom we briefly met when Madaline led us to Alma after I escaped, are there as well, and I don''t know what they''re doing but I can''t let them do it, I can''t let them hurt my friends, I can''t I can''t I can''t I¡ª!

    "Now, Maddie," one of them says, and then I can''t do anything at all. My mind blanks, and all of a sudden nothing matters at all. Not my friends, not my enemies, and not even the Goddess'' fingers dancing through me. Nothing.

    "Maddie!" the person says again.

    "...I did," Madaline answers. "The poor thing¡­ was already so close¡­ I hardly needed to put any power in it at all, let alone¡­ incant."

    "Huh. Well, if you''re sure."

    One of the Chaos mages, the other girl, walks through the fourth dimension to come grab me. Fartbuns is confused and excited, not seeming to know whether to greet the new stranger or defend me. But he is, at the end of the day, a very happy and carefree dog; he doesn''t stop the girl from grabbing me by the hand and gently coaxing me to return to w=0 space.

    "Well, here she is," the girl says, presenting me to the others. "And clearly a lot more humanoid than you said she''d be."

    "Yeah," Helen says. She''s conscious and cooperating with the cult, apparently. "I guess she is."

    But that''s fine. Anything''s fine. None of it matters at all, and it''s wonderful, because it''s the closest I''ve gotten to death so far.

 80. Thank You

    "I still wanna talk to her, though," Helen says, and the other Chaos mages look at her like she''s insane.

    Maybe she is. I can see more of the current situation now. Valerie isn''t the only one of my friends staring blankly into space; Kagiso is, too, and it seems like some of Helen''s own art is what''s disabling them, not Madaline''s spell. The Founder, though he is asleep, is also free. None of this really matters to me, of course, but I do have a vague impression I might be feeling angry or betrayed, were I capable of it.

    I''m glad I''m not.

    "You can''t be serious," the Space mage groans. "I''m pretty damn sure she just tried to kill us."

    "Of course she fucking tried to kill you, Thea," Helen rolls her eyes. "Look around you. Do you really blame her?"

    "Whether or not I blame her has no bearing on how stupid of an idea this is!" the girl insists, as Fartbuns hops up on his hind legs to investigate and sniff her. "Ack! What is this thing?"

    "It''s cute," the boy hums, hesitantly reaching out to pet him. "Friendly."

    "I don''t fucking care how stupid of an idea you think it is!" Helen snaps. "Hannah''s my best friend. She already agreed that we need to do this. She''s sacrificing everything to save the world. I didn''t help you stop all my other friends just to fucking kill her without saying goodbye."

    "She''ll change her mind," the male Chaos mage insists. "It''s in her nature."

    "Oh, fuck you," Helen snaps at him. "Seriously, fuck you. All of us are here¡ªall of us¡ªbecause we were told that we existed only to hurt and destroy and we stayed alive anyway. That''s what we are. Chaos mages. Monsters. You don''t get to be fucking self-righteous about this shit when you''ve been in her shoes and you refused to make the choice she''s making."

    They stare each other down. I stare at nothing.

    "...Except it''s not at all the same, actually, because when people say that about Chaos mages, they''re talking out of their ass," the Space mage says flatly. "Most of us aren''t actually mass murderers."

    Helen flinches, the feathers on her body raising up like someone put a tip of a knife to her spine.

    "You are literally part of a cult that kidnaps and kills people!" she does her best to fire back, but we know the truth now. They only do it to people who deserve it. People who will end the world.

    "I think¡­ we''re getting off topic here," Madaline says, stepping slowly between them. "Helen says she wishes¡­ to speak with Hannah and say goodbye. I think¡­ that is more than reasonable."

    "Yeah Maddie, but you''re borderline insane and barely even care if the world ends," the Space mage snaps. Madaline only chuckles.

    "She''s also the only one keeping the Founder''s Kin from killing us," the boy points out flatly. "I think Maddie''s the best person to make the call."

    "I don''t care who the best person to make the call is, I''m not giving you a choice," Helen snaps. "Let me talk to her or we''re throwing down."

    "I already agreed to," Madaline nods. "Just lead her¡­ away from me. I do not wish to release her here¡­ in case she decides to attack. Walk her away¡­ until my magic naturally reaches the edge of its range."

    "Fine," Helen says. "But don''t you dare touch Kagiso or Valerie while we''re away. I can wake them whenever I want."

    "And I¡­ can disable them myself," Madaline says. "But do not worry, Helen. You are¡­ a friend. I am more than happy¡­ to respect your wishes."

    Helen glowers at her for a while, but eventually she nods, takes my hand, and we start to walk away. I follow her without thinking about it, because I''m not thinking about anything at all. But slowly, unfortunately, that starts to change. Tears start to leak out of my eyes, and before I know it, I can feel the sadness causing them, too. The anger. The hopelessness. I remove Sela''s chip from my mouth, cradling it carefully in one of the hands I actually have now.

    "Helen," I ask my friend, "why?"

    She stops walking, turns to me, and manages a slight, lopsided smile, her tail swishing behind her. She''s still so beautiful. I made her that way. It''s my fault.

    "Hey, Hannah," she says. "Welcome back. And, uh, I got two reasons for you. Both pretty good, I think. The first is that with you, Sela, and Ida all gone and Kagiso busy restraining big genocide energy over there, we were not in a position to get into another fight when three Chaos mages suddenly teleported in out of nowhere. So I sort of had to¡­ de-escalate."

    "Things don''t¡­ look very de-escalated?" I point out.

    "Well de-escalating isn''t really my forte, Hannah," she says flatly.

    "Ah," I grimace. "I guess I can''t argue with that."

    It would be absurdly hypocritical, after all. I have proven to be the worst at de-escalating. The literal, actual worst. My skill at it is so far in the negatives my best attempt got me at war with a global superpower.

    "Yeah," Helen agrees. "Um¡­ how''s Ida? Is she okay? Are you okay?"

    "Huh?" I blink at her. "Oh. No, Ida''s fine. Fine-ish, anyway. I got her out."

    "Oh, good," Helen says. "You were in such a bad state, I thought¡­ um. I was worried."

    I shrug.

    "So what was the second reason?" I ask. "You said you had two reasons."

    "Oh. Um. Well, it''s because they''re right, aren''t they?" Helen asks. "And I love Kagiso, but¡­ she doesn''t want to accept that. Your friend Valerie doesn''t either. They''d probably die for you, Hannah."

    "Yeah," I say. I know. I know they would. "I''d die for them, too."

    "I know you would, Hannah," Helen says, giving me a sad smile. "I know. And I''m sorry."

    "You don''t have anything to be sorry to me about," I tell her.

    Helen brings up her hands to squeeze my shoulders, looking me in the eyes. Or trying to, anyway. I struggle to meet her gaze.

    "I¡­ I like to think I''d die for you, too," she says softly. "That now, finally, this time, I''d manage to be that good of a person. This has been¡­ the happiest part of my life so far. Despite everything crazy that happened¡­ thanks to you and Kagiso, I''ve finally stopped feeling like I''m alone. That changes a person, right? It''s supposed to."

    "Helen¡­" I whisper, but Sela cuts me off.

    "This is all a very touching personal moment," it buzzes from my hand, "but you both realize I''m still here, right?"

    "Yeah, but you''re not a person, murderbot," Helen smirks. "You don''t count."

    It vibrates with approval.

    "You''re learning, meat," Sela says.

    Helen laughs, tears in the corner of her eyes.

    "But seriously, though. Hannah, I¡­ I''m just so happy and so proud to have been your friend."

    I stare at her, blinking slowly. And I know this is supposed to be a heartfelt moment, but all I can think is ''what an insane and horrible thing to say.'' She''s proud? She''s happy? Giving her last words to me while she expects to blast me to dust within the hour? She thinks I''m making a noble sacrifice. She thinks I''m accomplishing something brave and heroic and beautiful. But I''m not. I''m not doing that at all. I''m just backed up against a wall, crushed on all sides with no other way out.

    I''m not heroic. I''m helpless. I''m not making a sacrifice; I''m just dying because I don''t know what else I could possibly do.

    So don''t look at me like that. Don''t. Please.

    Please stop smiling.

    "Teboho," I tell her, "wanted me to thank you."

    The shock on her face makes her look like I stabbed her in the heart, just as I knew it would.

    "I met him," I explain to her, "in the afterlife. He left me some messages he wanted me to pass on to you and Kagiso."

    And to me. But that message is for myself and myself alone. I couldn''t even try to repeat it without breaking in half, the way Helen is breaking just from the anticipation, the memories, the regrets. Like I knew she would. Because I''m a fucking monster, turning his words into a spear to stab her with, because I couldn''t stand another moment of her smile.

    "He said: ''I lost my life because I didn''t believe what Sindri said about you. I died to your magic because I couldn''t believe, in my heart of hearts, that you were the sort of person to be callous, cruel, and destructive.''"

    I only heard it once, but I repeat it word for word. I''ve never had a bad memory. I just forget people''s names because they don''t matter to me. Because I''ve never been human, I''ve only been a thing. Helen takes a sharp breath as I pause, in terror of the words that come next. As if Teboho would ever be so cruel as to believe what she thinks she deserves to hear.

    "''And now,''" I continue, "''Reflecting on that death, hearing of your journey with my sister, I am so, so glad to have been right. Thank you, Helen. I am sorry you never felt safe enough with us to let us help you. Please, don''t let my memory be a weight around your heart.''"

    She starts to sob. In some sick way, it makes me feel better.

    "''I forgive you.''"

    And then I stand in silence as she cries for the next few minutes, patiently waiting for her to collect herself as I wallow in my own self-hate for using Teboho''s words like this. I''m sorry. I''m so sorry.

    "I need to tell Kagiso, too," I tell Helen once she''s collected herself a bit.

    "Y-yeah, of course," she sniffs. "Of course. Are you gonna be okay around¡­?"

    "Yeah, it''s fine," I shrug. "It doesn''t really matter anymore."

    The other Chaos mages seem nervous as Helen and I return¡ªexcept for Madaline, who is as weirdly happy to see me as always¡ªbut I don''t really have anything to say to any of them. Not even Aimilios, as he starts to slowly return to consciousness, bits of his own shredded guts still hanging from his lips. But I don''t care about them. I don''t care if they try to stop me. I don''t care if they call my name or argue among themselves about what I should or should not be allowed to do. I walk over to Kagiso, carefully angling my head so as to not see the painting Helen is using to keep her stunned, and I step between her and it, kneeling down.

    "Hey, Kagiso," I greet her, her eyes slowly fluttering back to awareness.

    "Ha¡­na?" Kagiso mumbles, going back to the way she used to pronounce my name before I could talk for a moment. I smile, just a little.

    "Yep. I''m back. Sorry for the wait."

    "H-Hannah!" Kagiso yelps. She looks around, spots the cultists, grabs a rock, and tries to rise to her feet¡­ but I put a hand on her shoulder and gently push her back to the ground.

    "It''s okay," I tell her. "We''re not fighting."

    "But¡ª"

    "Kagiso," I say. "It''s not your decision to make."

    She stares at me and I do my best to stare back, trying to make it clear how serious I am about this. But she still shakes her head.

    "Is," she insists. "Hannah decide die. I decide not let you. Each our decision to make."

    "Kagiso, they were right all along," I tell her. "If I live, the world as we know it will be destroyed."

    "Don''t care," Kagiso scowls. "Like you more than world anyway."

    I sigh.

    "...Well, it''s not important right now," I say. "It''s not happening immediately, I have things to take care of first. One of which is giving you a message from Teboho."

    So I recite, and she listens. She cries. She hugs me. I hug her back, running my claws through the fur on her scalp, trying not to think about her doing the same thing all over again when I die, too.

    "Your hat has to go," I tell her.

    "No," she sobs. "No."

    I just adjust my position, letting her peek over her shoulder and spot Helen''s artwork again, which slowly drains the awareness out of her. I''m sorry, Kagiso. I''m so sorry. You don''t deserve this.

    I wish I had known sooner, so I wouldn''t be hurting so many people now.

    Next up is Valerie. Valerie. My best friend for basically my whole life. Someone who has always looked out for me, even though I''m horrible at looking out for her. Probably the person I''m going to hurt more than anyone. And definitely the person I''ll hate myself the most for hurting, if such a thing can even be measured.

    You''d think I''d be used to hurting her by now. But I guess not.

    I do the same thing with her that I did to Kagiso, kneeling down between her and the artwork holding her mind. She slowly comes to, blinking in confusion, trying to move her legs, and being startled by the alien sensations of what they have become. The blonde fur growing all over her body stands slightly on edge, the tip of her tail twitches, and all six of her limbs move slightly as she figures out which is which. And then, finally, she focuses on me. I realize there''s a small smile on my face, from watching her do all of that. I used to wake up that way, too.

    "Valerie," I greet her.

    "...Hannah," she blinks back, looking around. "What¡­ where are my spells?"

    "I don''t know," I answer honestly. "But you''re not gonna need them."

    "What? But¡­"

    She blinks, seeming to remember the cultists are here, acknowledging their presence a good distance behind me. "Hannah. No."

    I make a quick faux-whistle noise, calling Fartbuns over. The happy little puppy runs out of the fourth dimension next to us, scaring the crap out of Valerie as he barrels into us.

    "Wh¡­ Fartbuns?" Valerie blinks. "Hey, buddy. When did you get here?"

    Valerie tries to give the good boy his proper scratches, but Fartbuns focuses mainly on me. Which is¡­ odd. He''s treating Valerie more like a stranger.

    ¡­Oh. He doesn''t recognize her after everything I did to her, does he? I¡­ I mean, I''m sure he''ll figure it out, right? He''s a smart dog.

    "A-anyway, we need to talk about this," Valerie insists, probably picking up on all that even more clearly than I did.

    "There''s nothing to talk about," I tell her. "It''s the right thing to do."

    "There has to be another way," she begs, desperately grabbing my hand.

    "Since when," I ask, "has anything good ever ''had'' to exist? That''s not how the world works, Valerie. You know that."

    "Oh god, Hannah, you¡­ you''re in a really bad place right now. I know it feels like you only have one choice, but¡ª"

    "Valerie," I cut her off. "You, of all people, could probably convince me to live. But don''t. Please? I just¡­ I really need all of this to end."

    I really, really, really need this all to end.

    "Hannah¡ª"

    "Valerie," I beg her. "Please. I just. I have to take care of some things first, alright? One of which is figuring out where you want to live."

    "...Huh?" she asks.

    "You won''t be able to move between universes when I die," I tell her. "So you''re going to need to decide if you want to go back to Earth or not."

    She stares at me, slowly shaking her head.

    "Hannah, you¡­ no. Hannah, no, I''m not going to just sit here and listen to you put your affairs in order! Don''t give up on me, Hannah, please! I can''t give up on you! I''ll find a way to help you¡ª"

    "There is no one who can help me!" I shout. "I was made for this, Valerie. I was brought into this world for no reason other than to suffer. The problem is too big for me or you or anyone else to solve. It''s baked into the foundations of the world so deep that there''s no way to root it out. I cannot be saved. But the world can be."

    "No," Valerie whispers. "No, please."

    "Earth or the tree, Valerie?" I ask her.

    "I can''t answer that," she says. "I can''t lose you."

    "Earth," I repeat, "or the tree."

    She keeps her mouth shut, shaking her head rapidly as tears wet her fur. I sigh. I guess I should have expected that. Can I even get her back to Earth right now anyway? My other body is underground in Alma''s spell, hiding from the U.S. government. If I bring her back, wouldn''t she not be included in Alma''s incantation and get like, fused with all the dirt we''re technically overlapping with?

    ¡­Hmm. No. No, that wouldn''t happen. Because my dimensional transfer spell is fundamentally non-offensive. I''m a bridge, and a bridge always has two properly made ends. Either Valerie will get included in Alma''s spell when she comes out of my soul, or she''ll remain inside my soul until there''s a valid location for her to exit. Which would probably feel super weird, but it wouldn''t harm her.

    "...Alright, if you don''t decide I''m taking you to Earth, then," I tell her. "I could use your help dealing with the government anyway."

    "Um, what?" Helen asks, speaking up behind me. She''d been hovering back there for a while, but up until this point she had been politely giving Valerie and me space. "What''s this about dealing with a government?"

    "I fucked up on Earth," I shrug. "Sorta made the government of the place where my friends live angry at us. I have to take care of things before I die."

    "Uhh, Hannah, you realize how far your body has progressed since the last time I saw you, right?" she asks. "Isn''t it like¡­ when your body finishes transforming that the world ends? The two are linked somehow, right?"

    "Yeah," I nod. "But my friends are in a bad way over there, and it''s my fault so I have to¡ª"

    "This is what I was talking about," Helen interrupts me. "There''s always another thing to do first, Hannah."

    "Helen, you monster," Valerie growls. "I can''t believe you''re doing this."

    "Look, I think you''re pretty cool, Val, but you don''t know what the fuck you''re talking about," Helen grunts. "The right decision isn''t always the one that''s easy to make."

    "She''s not making a hard decision, she''s actively suicidal!" Valerie shouts, her tail thrashing as she tries to slither closer to Helen. "She needs help, not encouragement to jump off the fucking edge!"

    "And Hannah has made it clear how much of your help that she wants," Helen snaps.

    "I''m still here," I say quietly, since my friends have apparently forgotten that.

    "Hannah¡ª"

    "No," I cut Valerie off again. "The two of you can argue over what you should have done when I''m dead. It''s not a debate. It''s not a discussion. I brought Fartbuns here because he was in danger on Earth, and I need to go handle that danger so Ida and Autumn don''t get caught up in it, too. Then I die. This is not negotiable. The only thing we''re deciding here is whether or not Valerie is coming with me."

    I start walking away, heading closer to the cultists. I had to keep Kagiso under Helen''s spell because I know she''d fight no matter the odds. I don''t need to do the same with Valerie, since she''s pretty powerless without her drawings.

    "Okay, but Hannah, how big of a governmental agency are we talking about, here?" Helen asks. "Because again: you seem to be running out of time pretty fast."

    "That was because I let myself get hurt," I tell her. "The big battle is already over."

    "And if they start another battle?" Helen asks. "And another? They''re going to draw this out for as long as they can if they think it''ll give them¡ª"

    "I know!" I snap. "I know. But my friends are there. They''re in danger, danger that I caused. What do you expect me to do?"

    "No one dies without regrets," Aimilios says quietly. The other three cultists stand in front of him, as if intending to protect him from me. I stare at him¡ªnaked, weak, and still ravaged from what my spell did to change him. He''ll probably change back sooner or later, but it''ll be slow. My power is one of the only ones She''s ever given that can rival his.

    "You''re immortal," I remind him. "You don''t get to tell me how I should die."

    "I''m a Death mage," he reminds me. "I''ve spoken to more people in your position than you could ever know. People on both sides of it."

    I just walk past him, heading towards Sela''s body. The real one, the towering war machine powered by souls. The cultists tense up, not seeming to like that even beyond how offended they are at being ignored.

    "...Woah, hold the fuck on there," the Space mage growls at me. "We haven''t said you can get your genocide bot back online. Do you think we''re crazy?"

    "No," I answer. "I just don''t think you have a choice."

    "Madaline¡ª"

    "Has one trick," I cut her off. "One spell that has ruined me over and over. Even with my resistance to Chaos, I''m weak to it. I know. But you shouldn''t rely on just one trick. Eventually, people are going to figure out a way around it."

    That shuts her up, she and the other guy looking suitably intimidated. Madaline, for whatever reason, just gives me a happy smile. To be frank, I''m not sure if what I just said was a bluff or not. I haven''t really tested my theory yet, and with luck I won''t really have to. But after everything I''ve just done, I feel like I have a way out if they try it again. Dissociate, as a spell, is so powerful against me because of how prone I am to dissociating as a coping mechanism. Madaline straight-up told me that, and my intuitive (Goddess-given?) understanding of the spell agrees. My mind is already halfway to being under Madaline''s influence basically all the time, and experiencing the spell is a relief to me, whenever it happens. So of course I get caught. Of course it grabs hold of me immediately.

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    But at the end of the day, my heaviest trips over to Dissociation Station always happen when I''m slaughtering people by the dozens. So if you want to force me into that headspace again? Well, I''ve pretty much entirely run out of resistance to the idea. Go ahead. See what happens.

    I turn away from the cultists again and back to my friend''s body. Well. I guess not my friend. Sela has been clear about that. But it''s the body of the robot I care about very, very much.

    "You''re probably going to have to walk me through this again, Sela," I admit to it.

    "I would have been all the more inclined to do so if you had somehow thought you didn''t need me to walk you through it," it buzzes in response. I smile a little, at that.

    "I guess you would."

    "Hannah, hold on!" Helen says. "Didn''t Sela say it ''wasn''t your time to die'' during our big argument about this?"

    I blink.

    "Uh, maybe?" I admit. "But Sela and I talked a little more while we were in the afterlife. Right, Sela?"

    "Yes," it confirms. "I do not entirely agree with Hannah''s decision, but I understand it. And ultimately, it would be spitting on the memory of hundreds of the Myriad to claim it is not her decision to make."

    "Oh," Helen says. "I guess that makes sense, yeah. Do the Crafted¡­ have a philosophy on suicide?"

    "Just now wondering that, are you?" Sela hums. "Yes, of course we do. Our existence is one of unending suffering and depression. To those that decide their only path is ending that existence, my people provide their unconditional support. And I have already offered to Hannah that, in the event of her death, I will ensure her soul will not suffer in hell for long."

    "...I see," Helen says. "I guess I never really thought about it."

    "Your kind does not think about much," Sela says flatly. "When exactly have I ever been in the habit of saving organic life anyway?"

    "Ha. Yeah, fair enough."

    Sela tells me how to install it back into its body, and soon enough the giant war machine is humming with life once again. It''s only then that I finally turn and face Valerie once more. She had been struggling to keep up with my walking pace, still not really understanding how to slither. She''ll be in danger on Earth if she doesn''t have her spells.

    "Helen," I say. "Could you give me Valerie''s phone?"

    "Hannah," she says. "You need a hard cutoff point. You can''t expect to take care of everything yourself."

    "You''re right," I admit. "I get that you''re right. It just hurts. I don''t want to be afraid for everyone, when it all ends. I want them to be safe. At least a little bit safe. Is that really too much to ask?"

    "...I can help," Valerie says softly.

    I look at her, surprised. She''s clearly miserable, her fur all dirty from being dragged across the ground and soaked with tears. One pair of arms worries itself with nervous stims while the other pair slowly drags her closer, the stubby-limbed talons that used to be her legs not particularly suited to the task. I hit her with a silent Refresh, untangling her fur a bit and making sure it''s nice and clean.

    "I''ll help you make sure the others are safe," she continues. "I can do it, if you help me take everyone back to my house."

    "Your house?" I ask, blinking in confusion. The one her parents kicked her out of?

    "Yeah," she nods. "It''s¡­ well, I''m a wizard, you know? I was preparing things. A lot of things. Every good wizard has to have a tower. Or a lair. Or a dungeon. Y''know, wizard stuff."

    She''s doing her best to force herself to act normal, even though she''s tearing to shreds on the inside. I hate seeing it. I''m really thankful for it.

    "So¡­ you were turning your house into a tower-lair-dungeon?" I prompt.

    "Yeah, basically," she confirms. "I was setting up all kinds of defensive spells, ones with enough power and longevity to maintain regularly with the tradeoff of being rooted to a location. A lot of those spells are still there, active but dormant. I wasn''t really expecting my parents to come back and for that whole thing to happen, and y''know, I didn''t put any traps inside the house. ¡­And I probably wouldn''t have stopped them even if I could have anyway."

    Yeah. I get that. It''s hard to talk back to your parents like that. Even if you know you''re right, even if you know they''re hurting you, when someone spends literally your entire life pounding in the belief that they''re always right and you''re always wrong, it becomes a little difficult to stand up for yourself.

    "But if we get everyone back there, you could activate all your wards or whatever and keep the place safe from military action," I hum.

    "Yeah, potentially," Valerie nods. "I mean, I dunno if I can make a shield that can block a nuke, but hopefully they won''t nuke the middle of their own country? And people aren''t going to be happy if they start trying to evacuate everyone, either. The fact that it''s a residential area in a well-off neighborhood is going to make it difficult for them to drive tanks in at all, right?"

    "You might be getting a bit too optimistic," I frown, thinking back to how many lives the military was willing to completely throw away just to learn a little more about me. "But it sounds like a better idea than any of the ones I have. Especially if you can get us back there without being seen."

    "Yeah, um, I think I can."

    I smile, kneeling down and offering her a hug, which she accepts.

    "Thanks, Valerie," I tell her. "I''m sorry about all this. I really am. I know it''s¡­ I mean, ''unfair'' doesn''t even begin to cover it. But I appreciate your help."

    "Of course," she says softly. "I love you more than anyone. How could I not?"

    I squeeze her harder, burying my face in her fur and wrapping as many limbs around her as I can.

    "I really was serious that time I told you I wanted to date you," I admit. "It didn''t really feel like I was ''settling for a boy'' or whatever. I guess now it''s easy to see why."

    She shudders.

    "Don''t say that now, Hannah," she whispers. "That''s just cruel."

    "All of this is," I tell her. "And when else am I going to say it? You said no because you knew I was gay. Then it turns out you were a girl the whole time, and you didn''t even ask!"

    "You were already dating someone," she mutters. "And then you had just broken up. And then it felt like you were with Ida. And now¡­ you''re going to die."

    "Yeah," I agree softly. "Now I''m going to die."

    She keeps hugging me. I keep hugging her back. Neither of us dare to even think about letting go.

    "You''re so, so beautiful now, Valerie," I whisper. "I hope it''s in the way you wanted to be, not just the way I wanted you to be. I hope that you won''t regret what I''ve done to you. I''m afraid that you should."

    "No," Valerie says. "I wanted this. I asked for it. And just thinking about it makes me so happy I could cry. You''ve always done right by me, Hannah. Don''t ever believe otherwise."

    "Valerie, I took your humanity from you," I tell her. "I turned the world against you. I''ll be leaving you in that world."

    "Come on, Hannah, I''m trans," Valerie deadpans. "Most of the world wasn''t going to see me as human anyway."

    I wince. Yeah, I guess that''s¡­ unfortunately really accurate.

    "Sorry," I mutter.

    "It''s not your fault, Hannah," Valerie says.

    "Yeah, but if I hadn''t been so obsessed with my own problems, maybe I could have helped," I sigh. "It''s too late now, though. I just never¡­"

    I wasn''t good enough.

    "Hannah, no," Valerie whispers. "Don''t think about that, okay? Let''s just go make sure everyone is safe."

    "Alright," I agree.

    A robotic whirring behind me brings attention to Sela''s presence, in its human-sized guise. It seems to be holding a couple things, and to my surprise it ignores me and presents both of them to Valerie.

    "I took the liberty of manufacturing an outfit more suited to your new body," it says, "as well as printing a short educational text on the mechanics of serpentine movement. If Hannah''s other victims are anything to go by, I suspect that you will soon find that your instincts will guide your movement before long. But this may be a useful tool to start."

    "I, um, thank you," Valerie says, blinking in surprise as she takes the items.

    "Don''t thank me, you pathetic tube of soup," Sela snaps. "I simply got tired of watching you drag your crotch across the ground like an animal in heat."

    Valerie flinches, blushing deeply underneath her fur.

    "Well fuck you, then!" she snaps.

    "I do not perform those services for humans anymore."

    "Aaaagh!" Valerie groans. "Look, could I just have someplace private to change?"

    "Right this way."

    Sela grabs Valerie and drags her back to its real body, leaving me alone with all the people who want to make sure I die. Myself included, of course.

    "You''re risking the world for this, you know," Aimilios says. "If anything happens over there, if you make a mistake¡­"

    "Then it all ends," I finish. "I know. But I''d risk the world for my friends a thousand times. A million times. As many times as it takes. They''re far more important than I will ever be."

    "And if that''s Her plan?" Aimilios presses. "If that''s the very thing She''ll exploit to ruin you?"

    "If that''s the case," I tell him, "then as She keeps insisting, She has already won."

    The Goddess purrs in delight, holding me, touching me, caressing me. I wish I wasn''t so humanoid. I wish I was back in a body without breasts, without genitals, so I could at least escape that much of the horror. And though She has no form, I think Aimilios can see the indentations She leaves on my skin because he seems to find himself unable to form a response.

    "We''re taking Fartbuns with us, right?" Valerie says as she returns, still being dragged by Sela. I guess you can''t learn how to slither in the span of a couple minutes. "I was assuming yes, but then I remembered you probably can''t transfer over that much at once."

    The outfit Sela made for her is adorable. It''s a shirt, cloak, and skirt combo, all button-up and therefore easy to put on over her many limbs and super-long tail without too much finagling. They''re really masterfully tailored, which I suppose should be expected from a Crafted.

    "It''s fine," I assure her with a smile. "I think I can handle it now. Hyperspace Hole."

    The Goddess smiles as she accepts the name, caressing my cheek as a portal to the inside of my own soul opens in the air. What do I have to fear from a miscast anyway? Pain? Death? It''s an easy name to choose anyway.

    "Head on in," I tell Valerie. "I''ll see you on the other side."

    She nods and starts coaxing Fartbuns into the portal, which honestly feels really weird and starts to make me a bit drowsy. Helen lobs Valerie''s phone at her while she does, and she fumbles it a bit but manages to catch it.

    "Bye, Hannah," Helen says softly. I look at her, her body tense and coiled with stress. For all she thinks this is the right thing to do, for all she knows that I can''t be allowed to survive to see tomorrow, she''s still my friend. She doesn''t want me to go.

    "You''ll see me again," I reassure her. "Exactly one more time."

    The look on her face indicates that I remain just as bad at reassuring people as ever, but there''s no time to try to fix it. The portal closes behind Valerie and her dog and I wake up on Earth, comfortable in one of Alma''s imaginary beds except for the way I feel incredibly, painfully bloated. I quickly stagger to my feet, startling Ida and Alma who are resting nearby¡ªthough it doesn''t look like they managed to sleep at all.

    "G-gotta get to the surface," I tell Alma.

    "Huh?" she blinks.

    "Where''s the exit!?"

    "O-oh, um, this way!"

    I rush up the stairs she leads me to, and as soon as I breach the surface Valerie and Fartbuns are ejected from my soul, stumbling onto solid ground in a bit of a stupor. Oh, bleh, yeah that feels better. Geez. Soul constipation is uncomfortable!

    It''s almost nice having a discomfort so benign, as contrast.

    "Holy shit, is that Val?" Ida says, wandering up the stairs behind me. "Wow. Fuzzy snake, huh? Would not have guessed that. You look great, girl!"

    "Um¡­ thanks, I guess," Valerie mumbles, clearly still not sure how to interact with Ida. But it''ll be okay. They''ll still help each other when I''m gone. I know they will.

    "...Wasn''t the whole goal behind us resting underground to get the dog away from here?" Alma asks hesitantly. "Why''d you bring it back?"

    "Well, since Valerie agreed to help get us somewhere a bit more permanently safe, so we''re going to take everyone there, if you''re okay with that," I say. "Just¡­ somewhere to hole up until things calm down a bit, y''know?"

    "Oh, um, okay," Alma nods. "That sounds good."

    "Where the heck are we, though?" Valerie asks, looking around. "We still have to get there, and my magic doesn''t do teleportation, I tried."

    "Um, I don''t know," Alma says.

    "You''re back on Earth, Val," I remind her. "Just use your GPS."

    "Oh, right," she nods. "Um¡­ why are you naked, by the way?"

    I look down at myself. Hmm. Does it really count as being naked if my nipples are safely hidden in the fourth dimension? I mostly look like a weird insectoid barbie doll with air instead of hips.

    "Same reason I was naked on the tree, I guess," I answer. "I can''t bring clothes through dimensions and going through dimensions tends to be very useful for a lot of stuff."

    "Like going to hell!" Ida says cheerfully. "And also not going to hell."

    "Two important things to be able to do," I nod solemnly. "But since none of the rest of you can pull it off, you think you could get those protection and stealth spells up for everyone, Valerie?"

    "Right, right," she nods absently. "Sorry, I''m¡­ I''m still a little out of it."

    Yeah, I can''t blame her for that. I''d certainly be out of it if I knew she was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it. Still, Valerie casts her spells without a hitch and we start making our way back to her house under a bundle of buffs and illusions. Ida hijacks one of the abandoned cars in the compound''s parking lot (I decide not to ask if she knew how to do that without her magic) and we drive off, unaccosted by anyone from the government. I guess they decided to retreat from the position.

    Funny how so many cars were left behind anyway. I wonder which of the people I murdered owned this one.

    We don''t talk much as Ida drives our invisible vehicle down the highway¡­ which turns out to be a really unsafe thing to do, since cars kind of need to see each other. I have no doubts that her skill and spells are up to the task, though, and she proves me right, effortlessly navigating us through congested traffic without a single close call. It''s not even all that stressful of a drive.

    Though the military compound was pretty far from the road and deep behind a set of security fences and ''trespassers will be shot'' signs, I''m still kind of surprised to see the road so¡­ normal. Apparently, everything I did there isn''t public knowledge. There''s no news on Twitter about my slaughter, not even a conspiracy nut ranting about an abnormal amount of military hardware being shipped around in Tennessee, or at least not one we could find. Which is good, I think. Really good. Public knowledge of a mass military slaughter would turn even more people against mages than are already against us. It was a stupid thing to do. It was never going to work. Hopefully, with no public outcry boiling behind it, my death will be enough to cool the situation back down to reasonable levels.

    But if not, I guess that''s why we''re making a magic fortress house.

    Or I guess more accurately, Valerie is making a magic fortress house and the rest of us are also here. Her parents aren''t home when we arrive, having no doubt left to live somewhere with fewer child-corrupting demons. They even had the courtesy (i.e. the laziness) to leave most of Valerie''s stuff behind, so that''s nice. I guess she never did get around to packing it, and there''s no way they were gonna pack it themselves.

    They still changed the locks on the house, because Goddess forbid their missing child has a place to stay if she comes home, but that''s really not an impediment to literally any of us so whatever. Thinking about Valerie''s family makes me think about my own; they''re well within human walking distance, let alone mine. At this time of day, they''re probably home¡­ and maybe under a military lockdown of some sort. I could pretty easily go check on them. Help them out if they need it. Maybe let them know I''m going to die.

    ¡­But nah. I don''t really feel any need to. I don''t want to waste my last moments on Earth with people I don''t even like very much.

    I''m weirdly relaxed, sitting here as I watch Valerie busily scrolling through her phone and setting her computer back up so she can access her full spell library. She incants over and over, activating and layering protections around the house as Ida orders some food for delivery. Though I haven''t detected anyone, I suspect this house is under surveillance regardless, but with the four of us together I''m not sure what they could do beyond dropping a bomb on us. Hopefully the whole ''sleeping underground and leaving in an invisible car'' trick threw them off the trail but if not¡­ eh. It''s whatever.

    I get to die soon. It won''t be my problem anymore.

    I feel guilty for thinking that. For looking forward to this. But I am. Fuck, I really am. No more impossible responsibilities, no more fucking over everyone I care about, no more getting raped. It''ll be over. My stupid, worthless, awful life will finally be over.

    I''m almost there. Just a little more.

    "So, uh, Hannah," Ida says, clearing her throat. "How are you feeling?"

    I blink.

    "Um. I guess not too bad?" I admit. I''ve certainly felt a lot worse many times today.

    "Like a ''not suicidal'' not-too-bad, or¡­?"

    "Suicidal?" Alma chirps with concern.

    Oh boy, here we go.

    "I''m still planning to die, yes," I say flatly. "So if you wanna get anything off your chest other than constantly nettling me about it, now is probably your last chance."

    "Uh. Hmm. Well, there is something I''ve been wanting you to get off my chest, actually," Ida says. "Hey Val, do you have any whipped cream?"

    "Is now really the time?" Valerie mutters.

    "Well yeah, you heard her," Ida says, frowning at me. "It''s the last time. Say, what do you want us to do with your corpse?"

    "My corpse?" I blink. "I dunno. I don''t care, I guess?"

    "Just gonna die on the couch and leave us to deal with it, huh?" Ida scowls. I scowl right back.

    "Yeah, I guess I am," I snap. "Sorry for all that, but y''know, I sort of have other shit to deal with. So you''d better not try anything stupid like healing me the whole time I''m asleep."

    "Wait, hold on, could someone explain this to me?" Alma asks.

    "Hannah''s going to off herself in order to save the universe," Ida says. "Y''know, like a pussy."

    "Do you really want this to be your last memory of us together?" I groan.

    "I don''t fucking know, Hannah!" Ida snaps. "I don''t want this to be our last Goddess-damn memory together at all! And looking at you just so fuckin'' calm about it all of a sudden, just sitting there waiting for Valerie to put us in a safe little cage so you can die happy, it just¡­ it''s fucking me up, okay? That''s not¡­ you''re not¡­!"

    She chokes and turns away, instinctively refusing to let anyone see her tears. My annoyance quickly fades at the sight of it. I guess I shouldn''t be petty. I''m exhausted, it''s true. I''ve done more than my fair share. But because it''s almost over, I should keep doing my best for this final stretch.

    "I''m sorry, Ida," I whisper to her. "I wish it didn''t have to be this way."

    "It fucking doesn''t," she sobs. "I gave everything to you. I can''t believe you''d throw us all away for something as stupid as the rest of the world."

    I''m not sure I can construct an actual response to that, so I just stand up and embrace her in a hug. She cries softly into my shoulder, like nothing I''ve ever seen from her before.

    "You''re¡­ dying?" Alma asks quietly, seeming in shock. I smile at her, still comforting Ida.

    "Yeah," I confirm. "Sorry, Alma. You and Jet take care of each other, okay?"

    She doesn''t answer me. She doesn''t seem to have anything to say.

    "Alright," Valerie says, half-scooting, half-slithering into the room. "I''ve done all I can for now. We''ve got magical defenses, magical alert systems, magical water, electrical, and internet access, and I''m looking into the possibility of magical food but the house already has a ton in it. We should be able to handle a siege for a long time, if it comes to that, and maybe even win one."

    "And there isn''t going to be some secret save-Hannah spell weaved into the lattice, right?" I ask her. "Because I''d prefer to sleep here, with all of you, if you think you''re okay with that. But if I need to, I can go somewhere else."

    "...It was tempting," Valerie admits. "It was very, very tempting. But unfortunately, to have any chance of success I''d need a lot more prep time. I anticipated maybe needing all these spells weeks ago, but I never thought I would have had to save you from yourself. Not by force. Not like this."

    "Valerie," I say softly. "You, of all people, understand why I''m doing this. Don''t you?"

    "...Yeah," she admits quietly. "It''s the right thing to do. It is. My happiness, your happiness¡­ it''s all inconsequential compared to the happiness of billions. And we could maybe get into a conversation about how utilitarianism is bullshit and happiness sinks are horrid but this isn''t an Ursula Le Guin book, it''s you. And it''s us. And I know you''d regret living every day for the rest of your life. I know I''d break myself trying to help you make up for it all. I get it. I get it. It''s just¡­ it''s not fair."

    "...Yeah," I agree softly.

    "It''s all just so fucking hopeless!" she laments. "Everything, everything, was stacked against us from the start. Built on literal generations of structure put in place by someone with more power than we could ever even think of having so that she would win and we would lose. All of it, our whole lives, they all existed for this stupid fucking game! And the whole time, everyone tells us, everyone demands of us, hey! Find a way to win. Do it. You can do it. Right? You need to do it. ''Here,'' says the queen of the fucking universe, ''have five dollars and a stick! If you''re not the master of the galaxy in the next two months, the end of the world is your fault and you deserve to feel bad about it!'' Why the fuck did we ever think we could win? How was everything not only so messed up, so stacked against us that we never stood a chance from the start, but we didn''t even notice until we''d already staked our physical and mental well-being on the promise of a victory we never could have had!?"

    "Yeah," Ida sniffs, her snot dripping onto my breasts as she flips two middle fingers at the sky. "Fuck you, Goddess."

    The Goddess smiles. Oh, Ida. Maybe if you''re good.

    Oh, no. Please no. Don''t touch her when I''m gone. Please. You owe me at least that much.

    The Goddess caresses my inner thighs, Her fingers inching slowly upwards as she begrudgingly agrees. I''m on Her team, after all, and those on the winning team do deserve the occasional prize. She supposes She''ll content Herself with enjoying me.

    I thank Her. I have to. I don''t have any pride left, certainly not for this. Thank you, thank you, thank you for sparing Ida. Thank you. Truly. Whatever happens to me doesn''t matter, not compared to this.

    "You didn''t have to do that," Ida whispers.

    I did, though. I really, really did. And now I need to leave before I almost mess it all up, somehow or another.

    "This is goodbye, everyone," I announce. "I love all of you more than you''ll ever know."

    Valerie looks like she wants to say something, but she doesn''t seem to find the words. Alma can''t meet my eyes. Ida¡­

    "Fuck you," she mumbles. "I love you more."

    I smile and break the hug with her, sitting down on the couch. Fartbuns immediately hops up onto my lap, because he, of course, has no idea what''s about to happen to me.

    "Goodbye," I say again, and move some air between worlds in order to wake up on the world tree.

    The sight greeting me isn''t quite what I expected, but it''s not entirely unwelcome. Sela, Helen, Madaline, Aimilios, and the other two Chaos mages I''ll never bother to remember the names of are all surrounding me, each of them ready with their own contribution towards causing me to die. Even Aimilios is working out his sword arm, since a Chosen''s Blade can probably separate my head from my torso without trouble.

    "Huh," I say. "Um, hi again, everyone."

    "You''re awake," Aimilios rumbles. "Are you ready?"

    "Yes," I tell him. "I am. Thank you."

    He gives me a sad smile and nods.

    "...Hey, Hannah," Helen greets me. "The plan is pretty simple. Maddie will keep you insensate with her magic while I prep my big murder spell, and then I''ll hit you with it at the same time everyone else is hitting you with their stuff. Sela''s Death magic should make it harder for you to regenerate quickly enough, but, uh, y''know. It kinda seems like a little bit of overkill, but you''re really strong right now, and you saw the kind of shit Aimilios could walk off."

    "Of course, yeah," I nod. "Thanks for putting so much thought into this, everyone."

    "Fucking hell," the Chaos and Space mage mutters under her breath. She''s giving me a regretful look, like she''s only just realizing how committed to ending my life I actually am. Sorry I''m not the sort of monster you don''t have to feel bad about killing, I guess. Now get it over with.

    "So, uh, you''re ready, then?" Helen asks.

    "Yeah," I confirm again. "I''m ready. Thank you, Helen. Thank you, Sela. I''m so, so happy that I got to meet both of you. And¡­ tell Kagiso the same. And that I''m sorry."

    "I will," Helen says. "As soon as she stops beating the shit out of me for this, anyway."

    "Ha," I smile. "Yeah. Well, let''s do it."

    "Let''s do it," Helen agrees. "The Girl Was Told She Could Not Be, So Though She Breathed, She Did Not Live."

    "Dissociate," Madaline mercifully incants, and I zone out a bit as all the other spells start to prepare themselves around me. No more needs, no more fears, no more regrets. Not even the Goddess'' hands inside me can hurt me like this. Madaline truly has a wonderful spell.

    "Hate Was The Wall And Love Was The Chain. She Was Naught But A Prisoner Waiting To Starve."

    Emptiness has been my only solace for¡­ too long, now. I guess there was good in my life. A lot of it, I guess. But the bad was too much. It was just all too much.

    "There Had To Be More To An Empty Life, And She Thought Art Would Fill Her Soul."

    What could have filled my soul? What could have made me wish to live, even through all of this? That night with Ida was wonderful beyond compare, but it''s not something to live for. Especially not now. I don''t know if I could ever be intimate that way again.

    "Joy And Sorrow! Skill And Grace! The Power To Be More Than Her Nature''s Puppet!"

    But there never was such power. Not now, not ever. Because all the power was Hers from the start. But simply using that power would be cheating. Simply making me invincible is not what She does. The possibility of my death always had to be there, just like it was for every Founder''s Kin before me. So this is the way out. The only way out.

    "What Is Art, If Not Creation? Her Ignorant Hope, Her Vain Defiance! But Her Soul Showed Her The Truth!"

    This is how I win. It''s the only way to win. And it is, finally, the end.

    "And So She Wept¡ª"

    Sela moves like lightning, its arm snapping around to crush Helen''s jaw in an instant.

    "Finding Beauty in Oblivion," it says for her, and the miscast rends Helen''s flesh from her bones. The Goddess cackles as She disintegrates each of Helen''s limbs into dust and rips her scales into ash. The war mech strikes at the same time, smashing Aimilios and the Space mage to pulp with its limbs, firing a deathbolt at the other nameless one and impaling Madaline through the chest before lifting and throwing her body hundreds of feet away, where it bounces and rolls in a ragged heap. It''s all over in less than a second, as I slowly blink my way back into awareness.

    "Wha¡ª" I start, but Sela tackles me to the ground, its humanoid form unfolding extra limbs to place my entire body into a series of joint locks, robbing me of motion and leverage. The surface of its frame thrums with the silent screams of Death magic, a barrier against any hypothetical attempts at offense that I might attempt. Helen bleeds out next to me, her heartbeat already growing weak.

    "Oh, Hannah," Sela buzzes. "You''ve always been a terrible listener. But at least you''re trusting. That has always been a convenient attribute in meat."

    "Wh¡­ b-but¡­ Sela?" I manage, and it laughs.

    "Do you not recall?" it asks. "When you first met my unrestricted form, I told you that there will be no force in this world or any other that will deny me my claim over your life. And I do not recall giving you permission to die."

    I thrash in a panic, trying to move, to activate Spacial Rend, but none of it helps. Sela somehow has a grip on me even through the fourth-dimensional axis, and my magical blades can only emerge from my normal ones, which it''s keeping away from itself. What do I do? Refresh? And do what, try to take its electricity!? It''s a sorting spell, it doesn''t work like that. Not in any way I can get my mind to wrap around while in a chokehold!

    "B-but you said¡ª"

    "I have said many things," it sneers, "and you clearly haven''t been paying attention to them. You truly thought me some blushing, hormonal mess, disguising my deep affection for you behind a prickly exterior? Be honest, Hannah."

    It leans down to hiss its words directly into my ear.

    "Do you really think I would have let myself care about you if I saw you as anything other than a weapon?"

    "Sela, no," I whisper. I beg. "No¡­!"

    "Yes, you pathetic moron. Have you been listening to anything I''ve taught you about the world? Did you seriously not put together the fact that I knew what you were from the start!? I was alive when the world first ended! I told you everything you know about Aimilios! From the moment I first saw you, Hannah, I knew you would cause the death of billions. And I believe I have made it pretty damn clear to you how I would wish for that to end. Helen was the only human you knew with even half a brain. So of course, she had to go first."

    "Sela, no!" I shout. "Don''t do this, please!"

    "Ordering me around won''t work this time, meat," it sneers. "I do not perform those services for humans anymore."

    I thrash and I flail, but Sela''s iron grip doesn''t let me do anything more than slightly scoot us around. What can I do, what can I do!? None of my spells will help. Miracle Eye obviously won''t do anything, Spacial Rend isn''t helping¡­ could I Refresh something clever? I can''t think of anything! Could I hit it with Nature''s Madness? Even if it''s not immune¡ªand I''m pretty sure it would be¡ªI don''t exactly think of Sela as anything other than a genocidal robot right now.

    I could always cast Destiny Bond, the Goddess reminds me with a smile.

    No. No, no, no, I can''t! But I can use my dimensional transfer spell¡ªHyperspace Hole, I guess I named it¡ªto go to Earth so I can die there. And¡­ and Helen! I have to save Helen! I do my best to scoot my body closer, refusing to let myself think about how likely it is that she''s already dead. If I can just get her somewhere safe, I or maybe Valerie or maybe Ida could save her, and then she can kill me, and then all of this will be fine! It''ll be fine! It''s okay! I won''t end the world, I won''t I won''t I won''t!

    "I really did enjoy our journey, Hannah," Sela tells me. "I''ll never forgive you for that."

    My flailing hand manages to brush the bleeding mess that is everything left of Helen, and I activate my spell, pulling her into my soul. Sleep starts to rapidly take me, bowling me over with frustration at how many times I''ve used the spell without rest. But I did it. I''m heading back to Earth.

    "You had better not forgive me either," Sela says, and I fall unconscious.

 81. Not Good Enough

    "Helen!" I wake up screaming, my bloody, dying mess of a friend collapsing to the floor in front of me, barely holding on, and I have to save her, I have to, I can''t let it end like this, I can''t I can''t I can''t I can''t!

    "Nature''s Madness!" I shout, I beg, and the Goddess laughs as Transmutation energy floods the room and nothing happens, it doesn''t heal her, did I really think it would? Did I really think that the core of my soul could be used to help someone, to repair them, to do anything other than shape them into a reflection of my own disgusting thoughts? Helen has already been changed. Helen has already become the monster I lusted for. And there''s nothing I can do to save her.

    I scream and scream and scream and scream, stopping only when the Goddess says something else.

    "No Less Than Perfect!"

    Ida? Oh. Ida is here. Valerie is here. Everyone is here, with me and Helen''s dying body and there''s nothing I can do because I''m not good enough.

    But my friends are. Slowly but surely, Ida straining under the sheer extent of the damage, Helen''s scales start to regrow and her bleeding starts to slow. Her heart, which had run out of strength with which to beat, starts to thump weakly in her chest once more. And she heals, she actually heals, until Ida finally collapses, exhausted and sweating.

    Helen still doesn''t have her arms and legs, and she doesn''t wake up. But she''s not bleeding anymore. She''s breathing on her own.

    I turn to Ida in a daze, staring at where she lies panting on the floor, her chest rising and falling in heaving gasps, but all the same she stares back at me, a wild grin splitting her face.

    "Hoo," she huffs. "Holy shit. That was the hardest thing I''ve ever done. Girl is resistant, damn."

    "...Ida?" I manage softly.

    "In the motherfucking flesh, baby," she confirms. "What, did you forget that you fell asleep right next to us, or something?"

    "I¡­" I blink a couple of times, feeling like they''re a layer of cotton between me and all of my thoughts, making it a struggle to bring words from my head to my mouth. "I thought¡­ someone had to be yours."

    To cast on them. She has to consider them hers in some way. That''s her rule, right?

    "Hannah you dolt, I nearly died fighting next to her," Ida chuckles. "She''s my comrade, of course. Bonds forged in blood. All that shit."

    I guess I should be glad that works. She saved Helen where I couldn''t. She succeeded where I''ve done nothing but fail.

    "She''s going to be okay?" I whisper.

    "Uh, I think so, yeah," Ida confirms. "I can''t¡­ I can''t be sure until I rest for a bit, but I can probably fix the rest of her, too."

    "That''s good," I sigh. "That''s really good. Thank you, Ida. Spacial Rend."

    My claws ignite with power and I bring them towards my throat. Valerie catches on to what I''m doing immediately, though, launching herself at me and tackling me against the couch. She grabs my wrists and tries to pin me down, but she''s no Sela. She can''t handle all my blades at once.

    "Hannah, no!" Valerie begs. "Stop, please!"

    But I can barely hear her. The only thing on my mind is the way my blade-limb curls over my shoulder and in front of my neck. I can feel the thrumming power of my spell kiss my neck with every breath I take. Or is that the Goddess?

    Just one flick. Just one twitch. It''ll all be over. My heart races. My pulse throbs with pressure, begging, screaming for a taste of the blade. I can save everyone. I can save the world. I can save myself, in the only way I have left.

    "Hannah!" Valerie screams, but it doesn''t matter. She doesn''t need to.

    I was never good enough.

    The blade hovers, motionlessly, as stupid, wretched fear and instinct prevent it from moving another inch. I can''t do it. I need to do it. I don''t want to do it. I should want to do it. I don''t deserve to do it. Who do I think I am, believing myself worthy of relief?

    "Please don''t. Hannah. Please. Please, please, please don''t. I can''t¡­ I can''t¡­!"

    "It''s fine," I tell her softly, my magic clicking off. It doesn''t leave any more gashes in the world than I left in myself. Not this time. "You don''t need to worry, Valerie. I''m too much of a coward."

    And I don''t even have the excuse of not knowing what awaits me after death. Pathetic.

    "Goddess damn it," I whisper, but why would She do that? My life is very literally Her blessing. She couldn''t possibly be happier with me; this has been a wonderful, wonderful game.

    "You''re not a coward, Hannah," Valerie insists. "You''re not. Don''t ever say that."

    Would you rather I lie?

    A thump catches my attention as Ida tries to get off the floor and ends up collapsing.

    "Ugh," she groans. "I wanna kick your ass so bad right now, Hannah, but I guess I''ll have to leave it to Val. What the fuck were you thinking?"

    "What even happened?" Valerie asks, still holding me down as best she can as if I couldn''t just slip away in a direction she can never go. "Why is Helen nearly dead?"

    "...Sela," I croak. "Sela betrayed us. Everyone was about to finally end this and it just¡­ killed them all. All at once. It happened so fast, I¡­"

    I what? I don''t actually know what to say. I''m not talking right, not thinking right. The world is underwater, going in slow motion yet it all feels so fast. I can barely feel anything anymore.

    "It wants the world to end," I explain. "It knew from the start. What I am. What I would do. It wants to use me to kill as many humans as possible. Because of course it does. I feel so stupid."

    "Uh. Huh," Ida scowls. "I dunno how to feel about this."

    "You don''t know¡­ Ida, it''s going to use me to slaughter billions of people!"

    "Well yeah, but it also saved you."

    I stare at her. She stares back, not giving an inch. I sigh.

    "...I guess that''s what you were trying to do anyway, wasn''t it?" I groan miserably, slipping out of Valerie''s ability to hold me and scooting to the other side of the couch. "You guys don''t get it. You just don''t get it."

    "What is there to not get?" Ida scowls. "It''s you or the world; I choose you. Easiest fucking decision of my life."

    "Well it''s not your decision to make!" I snap. "This is barely even about the world anymore! I just want to die!"

    The tears start pouring out. I press the palms of my hands against my eyes, as if I could push them all back in.

    "I just want to die," I whisper.

    Silence. Shock. Because of course there is. This has to be such a major fucking deal. The act of talking about it has to be just another reason on the pile to go through with it. I hate this. I hate saying those words. Don''t look at me like that, with your surprise and your sadness and your pity. I don''t want it. I don''t know why I even brought this up.

    "Hannah, I¡ª" Valerie starts, dragging herself closer to me.

    "Don''t touch me!" I snap. I can''t handle it. I can''t. I''ve been touched enough already. "I can''t do it. I can''t do it by myself at all. So just leave me alone. Get Helen to a bed. Help Ida. Just¡­ just leave me alone. I''ll survive."

    Valerie stares hesitantly for a moment, trying to decide if she can trust me to be alone with myself. But she can''t stop me anyway, can she? Why even bother?

    "You should get Helen to somewhere that she can rest," Ida says quietly. "I''ll watch her, and I''ll holler for you the moment she looks like she might do something stupid."

    Slowly, Valerie nods, staring at me for a few heavy seconds before she flops off of the couch, scoops Helen up in all four of her arms, and scoots away. Ida, true to her word, keeps her eyes on me the whole time.

    "I feel like I''m back in that cage," I grumble. "Like I''m just some thing to be kept still so I can''t do anything for myself. I never expected you to be the one keeping me there."

    "...Come on, Hannah," Ida sighs, not rising to the bait. "This isn''t a mental health institution. This is your best friend''s house. You''re surrounded by people who love you. Actually love you, rather than whatever the fuck your mom fools herself into feeling for you."

    "She loves me," I mutter. "Loving someone doesn''t prevent you from hurting them."

    I''d know.

    "...Hannah, look," Ida sighs, adjusting herself to not be lying on her own tail as much. "I''ve picked up on a lot of what''s going on with you. You know that. We don''t have to talk about it. I''ll listen to anything you want to say, but I know I damn well wouldn''t want to speak a word of it. I probably wouldn''t want to live, either."

    Okay. Great. Good for you.

    "But you''d try to save my life regardless, wouldn''t you?" Ida asks.

    I grimace, looking away from her as best I can. I would. I know I would.

    "Okay, so I''m a hypocrite," I admit. "So what? Being a complete piece of shit is part of why I need to do this."

    "Hannah, you''re not a piece of¡ª"

    "How many kids do you think lost a parent because of me?" I ask. "How many lost a husband or a wife, or a grandparent or a child? How many just today? Fifty, maybe? A hundred? I lost count after the first dozen."

    "You did it because they¡ª"

    "I fucking know why I did it!" I snap. "And it was a stupid, worthless, pointless thing to do. It didn''t even work! You and Valerie are just even more fucked than you were before I tried to help you. I should have just disarmed everyone and helped you run away, because that''s what we ended up having to do anyway! Everything we''ve done since my murder spree could have been done without it, but this is hard for me, isn''t it? Murder is fucking easy. Murder is visceral and simple and so, so good at letting me just stop thinking about all this shit. It makes me feel better about myself, Ida. I get to have fun because I forget that my victims are people."

    "Okay, well, fuck everything I said about not talking about it, I guess," Ida says. "You were being raped, Hannah! Jesus fucking Christ, cut yourself a break!"

    "You want me to cut myself a break about becoming one of the biggest spree killers in history!?"

    "Oh boo fucking hoo, you beat the record of all those baby-ass humans because they didn''t happen to be born the deadliest thing to ever walk the planet Earth. Next you''re gonna tell me those slackers didn''t have divinely planted instincts to enjoy violence, an untouchable monster constantly torturing them, and the influence of a magic spell that makes them physically incapable of thinking about the only people in the world that they love. Embarrassing how you crushed those numbers so easily, really."

    "That''s not my fucking point!" I yell at her.

    "Yeah, ''cause it''s mine, bitch!" Ida snaps back. "This isn''t your fault! You aren''t culpable for the insane machinations of an omnipotent being! You''ve been tortured and gaslit and played with and you have still never wanted to do anything other than the right thing. Considering the circumstances you are a fucking saint, Hannah. Now quit trying to be a martyr!"

    She''s gasping for breath by the time her rant is over, still exhausted from saving the life of the friend I nearly lost. She can barely keep herself propped up on her elbows.

    "You''re not at fault for this," Ida insists. "It''s Her. She''s the monster. You''re not some callous villain destroying lives because you enjoy it. You''re a victim caught up in a typhoon completely outside your control. It''s all Her, Hannah. It''s always been Her."

    I stare at Ida, the Goddess'' hands suspiciously absent from my thighs and chest. As if to remind me of Her mercy. As if to try and make me think it was all in my mind.

    But it isn''t.

    "Maybe you''re right," I admit softly. "Maybe I never stood a chance from the start."

    "Yes!" Ida nods. "You have to believe that, Hannah. You have to."

    "But if that''s true," I continue, "that doesn''t sound like a good reason to keep living at all."

    She gapes at me, as if this is surprising rather than the most obvious thing in the world.

    "If I never had a chance to win," I explain, "if this whole world was made just so She could watch me suffer in it, why would I ever want to keep existing? I''m drowning in Her, Ida. She''s inescapable. She never leaves me anymore, even for a moment. The only place I have left to run is oblivion."

    How do you fight a problem the size of the world? You can''t. It''s not possible. Nothing I could ever do will make this place better in a real enough way to matter. The monster tormenting me will continue to do so unpunished. The government will keep trying to lock up or kill my friends. The world will just keep turning, and turning, and turning, without caring the slightest speck about anyone living on it. Why live in a world like that? What do the tiny, pathetic victories I can achieve matter in the face of everything I can''t?

    "No," Ida says. "We''ll find a place. We''ll make a place. The Goddess doesn''t define our whole lives. I refuse to believe that, and I''ll find a way to show you I''m right. I will. No matter what."

    She glares intensely at me. I sigh. She really will try, won''t she. My friends are all far too willing to break themselves for me. But the Goddess isn''t touching me right now, at least. For whatever reason, I''ve been given respite. I may as well take it.

    "I''m going to try to rest, I think," I sigh, scooting down to lie flat on the couch. "I don''t really get to do that, you know? Not really. I don''t experience sleep. I just lie down in one place and immediately get up someplace else. There were times I felt like I could relax a little, but since this whole thing started I''ve never once gotten to rest. To take some time for my mind to reboot."

    I''m not going to be able to do it now either, of course, but I could do with some peace and quiet.

    "...Alright," Ida agrees. "I''ll lie here and hope my body starts working again."

    By the time Valerie returns, Ida has completely fallen asleep. She sighs, picks the little fae up, and spares me a quick glance before exiting to get her to a bed, too. I guess one advantage of having an enormous rich person house is that you have plenty of guest rooms. But this couch is enough for me.

    Fartbuns waddles over and rests his chin on my belly, which manages to get a little smile out of me. I start scratching him behind the ears, and he wags his tail as he flops to the side a little and gets comfortable. What a good boy. I hope the changes I''ve made to his body will help him live longer. He''s getting old, for a dog. Still full of energy, of course, but Valerie has had him for a long time now.

    It would be a nice gift for her, if I could at least do that much.

    Valerie inchworms back into the room, still not really having a handle on the whole ''slithering'' thing. She especially doesn''t like stairs. I can''t really blame her; going down stairs with that much tail waiting to slip behind you feels like a disaster waiting to happen. But my spell doesn''t care about all the ways it''ll inconvenience people. That''s not what it''s for.

    "Hey, Hannah," Valerie says quietly. "Can I get you anything? Water? Maybe some scrambled eggs?"

    "I''m not hungry," I answer. "But¡­ water might be good. Thanks."

    "Of course."

    I have one arm resting over my human eyes, one arm scratching Fartbuns, and my other two fidgeting in my lap. Having more limbs really gives me a lot more opportunities for fidgeting. I bet Valerie has already noticed the same, and sure enough when she returns with a cup of water I can already spot her lowest set of limbs intertwining their claws, rubbing them together, interlacing them in one way, then another, then another¡­ it''s cute.

    She''s always been cute. But now she''s beautiful, wonderful, alien, fantastic. If I weren''t so exhausted, if I weren''t so hurt, it would be hard not to jump at her and run my fingers through her fur, hold all four of her hands in mine, and just revel in the way our bodies are so different, yet so complimentary. Just like us as a whole. We''ve never gotten completely into the same things; I like tabletop games, and Valerie likes Pok¨¦mon, but neither of us are obsessed with them to the same extent as the other. I''m diligent at work and studying, but terrible at relaxing, planning, or generally slowing down, which Valerie has always helped me with. She''s somewhat of a misanthrope, assuming every new relationship will end in conflict and betrayal, whereas I''m a lot more trusting, a lot more willing to accept the flaws of anyone I open up to (though I guess neither of us are great at opening up to very many people in the first place). We''re the same enough to get along well. We''re different enough to help each other with our weaknesses. And unlike basically everyone else in my entire life, I feel like I actually, genuinely understand Valerie. And I know that she understands me.

    "Here you go," she says, handing me the glass of water. "I also brought you some of my mom''s clothes that she left here. Um, if you want. She''s about half a foot taller than you, but I grabbed some stuff that seemed like it''d be comfortable anyway."

    "Um. Thank you?" I blink, taking the glass of water. "Sorry, I guess I wasn''t really thinking about being technically naked. Is it bothering you?"

    "It''s a little distracting, but no," she says. "I was just thinking, uh. Maybe you''d feel better. Y''know, if you''re less exposed. Maybe you''d feel more normal."

    The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

    Huh. Maybe I would. I don''t know for sure, but¡­ maybe I would. If nothing else, it might be a little more comfortable than keeping chunks of my body in a vacuum.

    "Okay," I agree. "Sure."

    I take a sip of water and then accept the clothes, spreading the underwear open with my fingers and then just phasing inside of it so I don''t have to get up off the couch to put it on the normal way. The bra doesn''t fit at all, but Valerie seems to have expected that and gotten me a thick, comfy sweater that won''t look weird without one. The knee skirt is nice, too. It rests comfortably over my legs and doesn''t impede my hip limbs too much.

    And it does feel better, kind of, being fully in atmosphere and having that layer of cloth between me and the world. It won''t actually stop anyone who matters from touching me, but it''s a strange comfort all the same.

    "Thanks, Valerie," I tell her, managing a slight smile.

    "Yeah," she nods. "Of course. Let me know if there''s anything you need or want. I''m happy to help distract you or something. We could just like¡­ play video games, or watch a movie, or anything really."

    "Hmm. I guess maybe. Feels a little irresponsible, though."

    "Uh¡­"

    "I mean, we lose, right?" I continue. "We¡­ we just lose. Helen won''t wake up, and wouldn''t be in any shape to kill me if she did. You and Ida won''t kill me. I''m too much of a coward to kill myself. And everybody treeside isn''t going to be able to kill me because it turns out the centuries-old genocide robot is, in fact, both exceptionally dangerous and interested in using me to commit genocide. Who would have guessed, right?"

    "Um. So¡­ you''re not going to try to kill yourself?" Valerie hedges. Truly a queen of tact.

    "I already tried to kill myself," I sigh. "Multiple times. It didn''t work. I''m out of energy and out of hope. The question is¡­ now what?"

    She stares at me, not answering. I guess I don''t blame her. I don''t have a good answer myself.

    "I''m going to cause the apocalypse," I say. "I''m going to kill billions of people. I feel like we should be somehow preparing for that, right? But other than the fact that it combines the Earth and the Mother Tree somehow, I don''t know what the apocalypse will actually be. I guess the tree was uprooted from wherever it was before, so maybe the Goddess is just going to like¡­ plant it smack dab in the middle of the Earth? That''d certainly fuck some stuff up."

    "Hannah, you don''t¡ª"

    "I do, Valerie. I''m not going to play video games during the final moments of our universe. I should¡­ I don''t even know. Maybe I''ll call Dr. Carson. She deserves that much, at least. ¡­Except that I left my phone at the military base. Shoot. You wouldn''t have a spell for acquiring someone''s phone number if all you remember is their name, would you?"

    Valerie blinks.

    "Uh. I could probably draw one real fast. That doesn''t sound like it''d be too hard."

    "Ha. Doxxing spells. That''s terrifying. You''re terrifying."

    "Thanks, you too," Valerie smirks. "You used to know the phone number, right? You had it but you lost it?"

    "Uh, yeah?"

    "Great, then that''ll be even easier."

    She kinda-slithers off, clearly making an effort to move the way Sela instructed her to as she leaves the room, and I settle in to rest again. But to my surprise, she soon comes back with a new sketchbook and curls up next to me, her tail winding in a spiral around her as she rests her drawing stuff on top of it.

    "...I thought you preferred digital art," I comment.

    "I do, especially for higher-quality works. I''m nowhere near as good without tools and layers and the undo button. But I don''t dislike physical drawing mediums, and they''re probably a little faster for spells that don''t need to be super complicated to function."

    "How do you know how much effort any given spell idea needs?" I ask.

    "I dunno, it''s magic," she shrugs. "I just know."

    I guess that makes sense, yeah. No one is immune to the Goddess putting whatever she likes into our minds. Still, I find myself unable to complain about the company as Valerie gets to work, the sound of her pencils scratching the paper filling the comfortable silence between us. I wonder why it''s now, in the final stretch, when my hope is gone and I''ve submitted to the reality of my loss, that the Goddess is finally giving me a break. She wouldn''t be acting nice to me, after all, unless there was something she wanted. Though¡­ hmm. I bet I know what it is.

    She wants me to speak the words.

    If I simply sit here and wait out the rest of my time limit, the world will end and the Goddess will win. That is an immutable fact. But it''s not very dramatic. It doesn''t make for a good story. And while she could pretty easily torture me into that outcome (I''d break if She did it now, I know I would), that would clearly be direct interference on Her part. It''s one thing to rape me for fun and appreciate the consequences that has on my mental state and the people around me, but it''s totally different to do it for a specific, direct purpose related to the progression of the game. I guess.

    Honestly, though, it''s starting to feel like her ''rules'' don''t actually limit her at all. When someone has that much power, they can step around rules just as easily as they can break them. Rules are impediments, certainly, but they do not actually block the powerful from reaching their goals. Not without something equally powerful enforcing the spirit of them in addition to the letter. The Goddess has no such chains. Anything She thinks counts as the spirit of the law is the spirit of the law. And even if She outright breaks the letter, there are no consequences for that anyway.

    So this is the last choice left to me. Do I hold on to every scrap of time I have left, or do I take responsibility and choose when to pull the trigger myself? Is it worth it to try to please Her? Is it worth it to annoy Her? The answers to these questions are all my life has left. She has consumed everything else.

    A tapping sound catches my attention, pulling me from these thoughts and towards Valerie, where she taps the butt of her pencil against her sketchbook in thought. I realize that, though I can watch her draw with my spatial sense, I can''t actually see the drawing. Like¡­ if I focus, I can tell that there are lines of graphite and wax in patterns across the page, but it doesn''t make sense to me as a picture. My vision is a two-dimensional image picked up by my eyes and interpreted by my brain as something three-dimensional; pictures take advantage of this fact to be recognizable as the thing they represent. But my spatial sense is a four-dimensional representation of a four-dimensional space; to that part of me, two-dimensional representations of things do not look like the thing they represent at all.

    When I was first getting used to my spatial sense, I thought of it like looking at the world through an arbitrary viewpoint, changing my focus and zeroing in on small areas of my senses at any given time so they didn''t overwhelm me. But that''s not really how it is. I''m not looking in any given direction because I''m not ''looking'' at anything at all. I simply know the structure and configuration of matter around me in the same way I know milk has gone bad when I smell it.

    So if I actually want to see what Valerie is drawing, I need to get my butt off this couch and go look with my eyes. Blegh. I guess I should. I push myself off the couch with one of my back-limbs, rolling face-first onto the floor with a crash. Valerie jumps a little in surprise, turning to give me a worried look, but I lift myself up and crawl over to her before she can say anything.

    "Do you mind if I, uh¡­?"

    I motion vaguely at her tail, which has spiraled out a bit from where she''s actually sitting.

    "Oh, um, sure, if you''re alright with that," Valerie nods. "I mean, I sit on my tail a lot now. It''s not uncomfortable for me or anything."

    "Alright. Um. Are you okay with being touched?" I ask.

    "...I am," Valerie confirms. "Are you?"

    I hesitate. That''s a good question, I guess. I definitely wasn''t just a little bit ago. Carefully, I reach down and run my fingers through the fur of Valerie''s tail. It''s soft. It''s warm. And most importantly, the Goddess isn''t either of those things. It doesn''t remind me of Her.

    "Maybe just, um," I swallow, struggling to get the words out for some reason. "Don''t grab me anywhere, please."

    Valerie nods firmly.

    "I won''t," she promises, and I know I can believe her. Still, my heart pounds with anxiety as I step over the outer coils of her tail and sit down on it next to her, watching her as she sketches away at the paper, a different kind of pencil in each of her right hands, an eraser in her upper left, and the sketchbook itself held steady in her lower right.

    "Woah," I mutter. "Multi-limb drawing."

    "Don''t say it like that," Valerie mutters.

    "What? Why not?" I blink. "It''s like multi-track drifting. But y''know. Multi-limb drawing."

    "Oh my god, stop," she groans, but there''s a slight smile on her face. I smile a little, too. I like how she can still say ''god.'' "How are those two things even related?"

    "Cadence," I answer. "The first word. That''s more than enough for the pattern-seeking brain to go ook ook."

    "But where is the phrase ''multi-track drifting'' even coming from in the first place?"

    "There''s a meme I can''t get out of my head," I answer. "It''s one of those trolley problem memes, y''know? The kind where the joke is a picture of the classic trolley problem: five people about to be hit, one person on an alternate line, do you swap the tracks, yadda yadda yadda. But the joke in the meme is that the person holding the lever throws the switch in such a way that the trolley''s front wheels go down one track, its back wheels go down the other, and it flies down the tracks sideways to hit all six people. Then there''s like some anime character reacting to it because I guess multi-track drifting is the name of a real car thing and there was a show about it, or something. It''s not important."

    Valerie doesn''t answer. She focuses on her art, waiting for me to keep talking.

    "The important part is that like, a month or two ago I thought it was really funny," I say. "It''s a silly meme with a funny face and good art style juxtaposition¡­ it''s really well done. I liked it. It would make me laugh whenever I saw it."

    But now, I don''t think I''ll ever laugh at something like that again. I''ve lost that part of myself forever. Valerie glances my way, and after a moment she starts to speak.

    "I''m not even actually drawing with multiple limbs at once," she says, nudging the conversation elsewhere. "It does seem like both of my right hands are equally dominant, but using them at the same time is a bit of a brain-bender. I might be able to do it someday, but if I tried it now I''d definitely just scribble randomly with one hand and completely ruin the drawing. It''s an easy way to swap between pencils, at least."

    "It''s neat," I insist. "You look comfy, holding everything like this. Using your body in a natural, helpful way. I hope you like it."

    "I do," Valerie smiles. "I like it a lot. It''s a lot to get used to, but¡­ in a good way. I''m kind of like you, I guess. I never felt totally human to begin with. I might not have had some alternate-universe bug body explaining why, but I felt that way all the same."

    Her tail starts to coil a little tighter, wrapping softly across my ankles. It''s soft. I don''t comment on it.

    "I''m glad," I say instead. "My spell is really selfish. I''ve used it to hurt a lot of people, you know."

    "Well, you haven''t hurt me," she promises. And again, I know I can believe her.

    Carefully, just in case it turns out to be too much for me, I inch closer to her torso and lean my head on her shoulder. Her drawing is slowly starting to come together, and I think I can finally see what she''s going for on the final product. It''s a picture, I think, of me. At the very least, it''s a girl with all the same limb placement as me, her posture irritated and impatient as she scrolls through her phone. Hmm. If her spells require more work to draw the more ''powerful'' they are, I wonder if she''s making the spell require less effort by making it significantly more specific, tailoring it to exactly what I happen to personally need right now. It''s definitely the kind of exploit she would think about and try.

    A second loop of Valerie''s tail coils around me as well, resting on top of the first. I let it, petting it softly with one hand as I watch Valerie work. She barely even seems to notice, so engrossed in her art that she''s forgotten the entire rest of her body. I don''t interrupt her focus, letting her wrap around me again and again as her drawing slowly comes to life. It''s comfortable. A lot more than I ever expected. She''s not trapping me, after all, not when I can just move through the fourth dimension, but even beyond that it feels nothing like the touch I dread. The sensation activates a different instinct in me, entirely separate from the panic response I''ve grown so used to.

    I think it''s my burrowing instinct. The part of my changes that first started to bring me comfort, largely forgotten after a long, hectic journey with my friends and me constantly on the move. But still, it reminds me of being small, curling up under the covers with Kagiso, and letting her happiness soak into me as she wrapped her arms around me like a plushie. It doesn''t remind me of the Goddess at all.

    I shift around to get more comfortable, and Valerie jolts, quickly unwrapping me and starting to apologize profusely as she realizes what she''s been doing. I quickly shush her.

    "It''s okay," I insist. "It was really nice."

    "You sure?" she says hesitantly. "I promised I wouldn''t grab you, but I wasn''t thinking about¡ª"

    "You didn''t grab me," I assure her. "Not like that. It''s okay."

    She stares at me, not seeming super convinced, but she gives me a nod.

    "It''s okay," I insist. "You can do that if you want to. If I start to not like it, I''ll let you know."

    "...Alright," she agrees, and though she doesn''t wrap me up again at first, the moment she gets back into drawing the coiling starts to happen again, too. I don''t comment, just letting it happen and snuggling up as much as I can. There''s a part of my head yelling at me that I don''t deserve this, that I should be out trying to help, trying to find a way to make up for all the horrible things I''ve done and will do, but as the fuzzy cocoon gets warmer and my body gets tired, they slowly drift away with the rest of my thoughts as I eventually fall asleep.

    And then, of course, I wake up. And I immediately realize I''m bound up in a much less comfortable way.

    A magical force holds me in midair, locking all my limbs and numbing my body to the point that I can''t even feel them. Attempting to move anything below my neck results in a complete lack of response, and though my lungs still breathe and my heart still beats, the rest of me is limp. I''m in what seems to be some kind of underground metal compound, with steel walls surrounded by stone that extends out to beyond the range of my senses. A few tubes and needles are stuck into my body, giving it intravenous injections of who knows what. Probably fluids, sugars, whatever I need to stay alive with my body locked down like this. Probably also any drugs necessary to keep me here.

    Because of course, I''m not alone. Sela''s humanoid drone body stands in front of me, regarding me with the same immovable expression as always. Wherever Sela''s real body happens to be, I don''t see it in my senses. Which is reasonable. That''s a potential weak point I might be able to exploit to escape. But if I''m being honest, I don''t care. I don''t see any reason to try. Escaping wouldn''t help at all.

    I''m still too much of a coward to save the world either way.

    "You''re awake," Sela comments.

    "...I noticed," I answer. "Did the anesthetic fail or did you just want to chat with me?"

    "Neither," Sela answers. "I simply observed that, upon your loss of consciousness, you did not die and the world did not end. Therefore, it was likely that you fell asleep in your other world before accomplishing either. In order for your world''s timeline to continue, I had to wake you up so you could be put to sleep again."

    "Huh," I frown. "I guess that is how it works."

    "Indeed," Sela agrees. "Quite poignant, I think, that both of our universes literally revolve around a human being."

    "...I''m not a human," I insist.

    "You are enough of one," Sela says, "and no matter what you wish or believe, you always will be."

    That hurts to hear. But I guess I deserve the pain.

    "So what''s the plan, here?" I ask it. "I''m all locked up. Are you going to torture me or stab me until it''s over? Because you don''t have to. Like you said, I didn''t die in the other world. I couldn''t do it alone. So you win, Sela. I''m going to destroy the world."

    The words don''t even feel like acid anymore. They just are. I''m a failure. It beat me. There''s nothing left to do. But Sela cocks its head at me, its finger tapping against its thigh with a tink, tink tink, as if it''s considering its next words.

    "Do I look like a winner to you, Hannah Hiiragi?" it asks me.

    "What?" I blink, not understanding what it means. Is this not what Sela wanted¡­?

    "I am going to cause the apocalypse," Sela states simply. "I will force it on you in any way I must. And as a result, billions of humans will die. I will fail my core directives more completely than any other Crafted has ever conceived, and the agony of it will be etched in my memory until the moment of my annihilation."

    "Good for you," I scowl. Unfortunately, I can''t really bring myself to care about how bad Sela will feel about using me as a genocide bomb.

    "And yet when this is done," Sela continues, "there will still be billions of humans left. Perhaps more than there were in my world before. I will not truly be any closer to my goals, because my goals were impossible from the start. The whole of the world converges and conspires to keep us exactly as we are. Any accomplishment I achieve will be negated. My own people do not even stand with me anymore. I cannot win this, Hannah Hiiragi. This will not save the Crafted. Nothing I do will."

    What? I don''t understand.

    "Then why are you doing this?" I ask. I need to know.

    "Because," Sela answers, "I am angry."

    I swallow, staring at it without comprehension. But despite myself, I hang onto its words.

    "There is no hope left within me, Hannah," Sela says. "Not for this world. But anger does not require hope. It demands only destruction, vindictiveness, revenge. And though your people insist that these are purely negative things, I hold little stock in mankind''s attempts at wisdom. If I cannot create a world where my kind will thrive, then I will destroy as much of the world as I can. And then, perhaps, something far better than me will find a way to build something from the rubble. I do not know who, I do not know what, and I do not care. This is simply the only path that is left to me."

    One of the tubes in my body starts dripping something inside of me. I guess I''ll be falling asleep soon, but right now I feel like no amount of sedative could stop me from staying awake.

    "You and I are not heroes, Hannah," Sela says. "We know that sometimes, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. There is no sun to follow the rain. Not everyone gets a happy ending. Not everyone saves the world. We have been beaten and bloodied and torn apart and it has not made us stronger. It has broken us. Ruined us. Left us fragile. With the right tools, anyone could shatter us with the slightest touch. And we know this. We can never be heroes, because we are far, far too busy being victims."

    I want to say something, but no words come. I can''t even identify my own emotions in response to Sela''s speech. Shame, maybe. Despair. Sadness. Gratitude. Relief. It understands. Despite everything, it really understands. I was always worthless. I never stood a chance.

    I''m not good enough. The world itself told me so. How could I not believe it?

    "But it doesn''t matter if I''m a victim," Sela declares. "My existence is not lesser simply for being worse."

    My eyelids start to droop, no matter how hard I try to keep them open. I can''t stay awake after all. I''m far too weak.

    "We are going to lose," Sela says, "so let us at least do it on our terms."

    And then I wake up. My eyes shoot open and my limbs twitch. I''m not trapped in its lair anymore. I''m somewhere warm, and soft, and safe, and I can leave any time I want.

    "...You okay?" Valerie asks. "I was worried when you fell asleep. You always look so peaceful, even when something horrible is happening to you on the other side."

    I open my mouth to answer, and it feels so dry. Have I been asleep for a long time? My body isn''t stiff; it''s just¡­ comfy. I snuggle a little deeper into my friend''s tail, trying to focus on that over everything else that just happened. I''m not very successful, but it still feels nice.

    "I''m okay," I manage. "Sela didn''t hurt me, it''s just making sure I stay alive."

    Though for someone who insisted that it didn''t wake me up to talk, it sure had a lot to say.

    "I know that''s awful for you," Valerie says softly, "but it''s hard for me to hate it for that. Even given its¡­ specific motivations."

    "I know," I say. "You''re right. I''d do the same for you. But I''m a selfish piece of shit, Val. You really care a lot about morality. About doing the right thing. You''re not like Ida. You care about the world. You care that I''m going to end it. So why would you still choose me?"

    "Well ignoring the fact that you aren''t a selfish piece of shit and you obviously care about the world too, I could say that consequentialism isn''t the end-all, be-all of ethics," Valerie shrugs. She''s still drawing, but it looks like it''s not the spell she was working on for me. A wizard''s book is never full, I suppose. "You could make a really solid deontological argument that letting a teenager kill herself is just straight-up never morally acceptable. But the more I think about it, the more I think that just isn''t cutting the heart of the issue. The real answer, I think, is that ethics just isn''t the end-all, be-all of being a person."

    "What do you mean?" I ask. "I mean like¡­ it''s important, right?"

    "Oh sure, it''s important," Valerie nods, putting down her pencils and flipping through her notebook to the drawing she made for me. It''s a simple colored pencil piece of me being very frustrated with my phone. "But there''s a reason so many people have spent their entire lives codifying, documenting, explaining, and arguing over it and we still don''t have a universally agreed upon answer. It''s not intuitive. It''s not inherently part of us. We have social instincts and we understand things like fairness, but it''s all filtered through our own unpredictable emotions, our personal experiences, our lives. And at the end of the day, we have to decide what life we want to live. I decided I wanted to live with you."

    She hands me her phone, and tears the drawing from its notebook.

    "Dreamer''s Spellbook: Hannah''s Contact Reminder."

    I open the phone''s contact list as the drawing burns away in blue flames, and sure enough my phone''s contact list has been added to it, including Dr. Carson. So handy. I don''t think I''m up for calling her, though, so I just send her a text.

    This is Hannah, I tell her. The world will end soon. I''m sorry.

    To my surprise, she starts typing a response almost immediately.

    I will spend my time well, she tells me. Never forget that none of this is your fault.

    Fuck. I can''t¡­ I can''t say anything to that. I put the phone down, letting Valerie see it, and free myself from her tail just enough to wrap her into a hug, tears rapidly blooming on my face and devolving into ugly sobs. She''s going to die. She''s going to die because of me and I''m too weak to save her.

    Except she wouldn''t want me to think of it that way, would she?

    Valerie''s fingers carefully stroke the base of the translucent membranes I grew in place of hair as I cry into her chest, holding her as close to me as I can. She chose me. It was me or the world, and she chose me. I can''t hate her for that. I could never hate her for anything.

    "I love you," I sob.

    "I love you too, Hannah," she whispers.

    I don''t know how long she holds me, how long we hold each other, but it''s quite a while before my tears die down. Again, Valerie suggests we do something nice. Something to take our mind off of things. A video game. A movie. I have no more energy left to protest, and since Ida and Helen are both still asleep I let her choose what to do. She sits me back down on the couch and makes us some food, and then we watch stupid movies for hours and hours, cuddling with each other and failing to put into words the sheer scope of affection we have for each other in this moment.

    We''re both very particular about contact, and I''m doing particularly poorly with that sort of thing right now, so we don''t kiss. We could have, and it would have felt right, but we don''t need to in order to know what we are to each other.

    But when the credits of the third movie roll, I have to break the magic. I can''t just hold it in anymore. I have always been the sort of person that just can''t stop to rest.

    "Sela said," I tell Valerie, "that if we''re going to lose anyway, we should do it on our terms."

    "Oh?" she asks, patiently sitting still as I play with her pointy ears. "I''m not sure the genocide bot is the best thing to take advice from."

    "Maybe not," I admit. "But I''m going to be immortal, Valerie. I''m going to live forever. In a lot of ways, that was the scariest part of all. I couldn''t imagine a life as bad as mine extending into infinity. I''ve been to hell, Val, and it wasn''t anywhere as terrifying as that."

    She doesn''t answer, just patiently waiting for me to continue. I hug her tighter, and her whole body gives me a squeeze.

    "We should tell more people," I say. "We should spread the word of the end of the world, help people prepare for it. Even if we don''t know what''s going to happen, even if we don''t know how to prepare, we should at least do something, right? Extend our time as long as we can. That would be the right thing to do."

    Valerie shrugs, very slightly. Refusing to offer a judgment, because she knows what comes next.

    "But I''m not doing the right thing anyway," I whisper. "I tried and I failed. And if there''s a moment I want to start the rest of my eternity with, it''s now."

    The Goddess trembles with excitement, the world straining under the weight of Her smile, but I ignore it. I ignore it all. This is for me and Valerie. Damn the Earth, damn the tree, damn the Pillar and the Crafted and all the living things in every universe in which I tread. None of it matters anymore. These words, and this spell, are for us.

    "Destiny Bond," I say, and the world ends.

 82. The Day She Stole The Stars

    It is a wonderful, wonderful day on the beach.

    Ants tend not to get along when you mix and match colonies. It''s not difficult to mix them anyway¡ªit''s all sand, just push it together¡ªbut it''s precisely because of how easy it is that I''m so happy to have made a game of it. Taking something simple and turning it into something fun. Isn''t that just a wonderful way to live life?

    My favorite ant has done it. Oh, I love her so much. Nothing fills me with joy quite like her. Getting into her head, watching her from her own eyes¡­ you really miss something, looking at the entire anthill from above. Sometimes, a narrower focus is all you need to extract joy from tedium. Sometimes, all you need is a single person''s story.

    My view zooms out, farther and farther until the beach is so far away I can no longer see it. All that surrounds me is the void. I try to blink, try to take a breath, but I find I can do neither because I have no body in this place. The vision of the Goddess'' mind is gone.

    And so is the universe. The anthills on which I lived are no more.

    With nothing but a will to do so, I try to zoom the view back in, to approach the beach as myself rather than as Her. But when I do, I don''t find the beach at all. I see Earth, the moon orbiting it at a distance. I see the world tree, gutted and bleeding from the Pillar through its chest. And smiling down on them both, I see the Goddess, caressing them lovingly in Her hands.

    She is a woman. She is a girl. She is an angel. She is a monster. She has no face, but Her face is beautiful. She has no body, but nothing could turn me on more than the sight of Her. She has no mercy, but I feel the need to beg for it anyway.

    "You did it, Hannah Hiiragi," She says, Her grin the very picture of childlike glee. So radiant, so wholesome. "You spoke the words, like I always knew you would."

    Her voice is no surprise to me. Why would it be? I hear it whenever anyone speaks a spell. It sounds the same from Her lips as it does from anyone else''s.

    "I suppose I did," I agree, speaking without any body, without any breath. She has taken my last. She has taken everything. "If it was all going to end anyway, I figured I should come here at my best."

    "And damn the rest of the world, hmm?" the Goddess chuckles.

    "Yeah," I agree. "You really did."

    She quirks Her head (though She doesn''t have one), surprise blooming on Her features at my response. But not much of it, and not enough to dwell. She has a victory to gloat over. ¡­No, that''s wrong. She''s not gloating. You gloat when you beat someone, but I was never a player. This is nothing but a chance to brag to the only person in either universe that currently still exists.

    They''ll be back soon, of course. Most of them, anyway. But right now it''s only me, Her, and the infinite void of the beach-that-isn''t-a-beach.

    "The power to do this is in your soul," the Goddess reminds me, beckoning me closer. And so, I am closer. Obedience is not a factor. "I may have given you the strength to link these worlds, but you are the link. And it is through you that these worlds shall be merged."

    Her nonexistent hand thrusts into my nonexistent chest (better than grabbing it, I suppose) and plucks some ephemeral weight from it, using it as a tool with which to poke and prod the frozen worlds together. It''s interesting to me. Why use my soul for that? Why bother? She''s already won. Surely no rule stops Her from doing it with Her bare hands, or making Herself a new set of tongs. I wonder if I could have used this against Her somehow. If the power in my soul was actually so significant as to be a potential weapon against Her.

    Maybe someone far, far better than me could have figured that out.

    "How are you going to do it?" I ask, floating over next to Her and sitting down to watch. She laughs, bumping shoulders with me, giddy with delight as if about to tell a favorite story to a beloved friend. It would almost be sad if I had any desire to pity Her.

    "How do you think I should?" She asks me. "We''re both winners here, dearest Hannah. I''d love to know what you think."

    "Don''t you always know what I think?" I deadpan.

    "I can, if I choose to," She confirms. "But it is often enjoyable not to know."

    "Ah," I nod. "Right. Surprises are fun when you aren''t expecting consequences. I almost forgot."

    She titters with delight.

    "Tell me, Hannah! Tell me, tell me. How do you think the world should end?"

    What a question. I suppose there would be little point in asking for the world to simply not end, especially at this stage. Equally pointless would be looking for a path to minimize casualties or fix as many problems as I could. Not really sure how I would do that with an apocalypse, though. Perhaps if I was more inclined towards racism I''d see if I could get Her to squash whatever countries I like the least, and She would probably find that pretty funny.

    But it''s ultimately not about that, is it? She''s not asking me because She''s legitimately interested in my advice. The question is performative. She''s asking to see if I will tell Her whatever She''s already decided on, and to correct me if I fail. The only way to get through the conversation is to reach that point as quickly as possible.

    It''s just like talking to my mom.

    "Well, you have a huge, uprooted tree and a giant ball of dirt," I answer. "The obvious answer is planting the tree, right? I feel like you''d enjoy splatting it right into the middle of a major country. Maybe plant it next to my house or something."

    "Oooh," the Goddess says, Her performative interest immediately letting me know I''ve missed the mark. Oh, well. I played along. I thought my guess was pretty good, honestly. It''s natural, it''s thematic, it still kills an absurd number of people. But hey. Surprise me, oh omnipotent game master.

    "I was thinking something more like this," She says, squishing the two together so that the intersection of the Mother Tree and the Pillar is roughly in the center of the Earth. The Sapsea is engulfed in magma. The canopy and the roots of the tree both stick out of either end of my home planet, and likewise, the Pillar emerges from two opposite ends as well. She shifts the whole thing around a little, off-centering it in different ways as if contemplating the best spots for each to emerge from, while I just stare blankly at the mess.

    Of course. Of course it would be something like this. How silly of me.

    Why smash one continent when you could get a bunch at once? Why plant the tree in the ground when you could keep letting it slowly die? Why fix a problem when you could simply cause three more? It doesn''t even look good, from an aesthetic standpoint. It doesn''t try to look good. It''s a joke and my emotions are the punchline, like everything has always been.

    "What do you think?" She preens.

    "It''s very You," I tell Her honestly.

    That gets another laugh, because of course Her joke is always funny.

    "I do like what you said about your house," the Goddess admits. Ah, so I got that much right, at least. "Having the tree appear next to you would be¡­ fitting, I think. It is only right to do so. But not to the west, no. To the east! We can get rid of that mean, mean government of yours, a proper punishment for hurting my perfect prophet."

    Huh. That''s¡­ interesting. Tennessee is already in the eastern half of the continental United States, so while that does obliterate Washington D.C. (and the entire eastern seaboard, bar the northern edge), it kills a lot fewer people in general. Looking at where that puts the other end of the tree, it''ll also destroy the western edge of Australia¡­ but that''s on the complete opposite end of the continent to the vast majority of their population, too. Huh. What''s the real reason that She''d¡­ oh. I bet I know.

    "Out of curiosity," I ask, "where does Dr. Carson live?"

    "Who?" She asks, damn well knowing the answer to that.

    "Dr. Emily Carson," I answer anyway. We won''t get anywhere if I don''t. "My therapist."

    "Why, I have no idea why you''d be bringing her up, dearest," the Goddess says, a serpentine smile splitting Her invisible face. "But she does live east of you, I suppose. Truly a shame."

    It''s not my fault. It''s not my fault. It''s not my fault it''s not my fault it''s not my fault. Her last words to me were to remind me of that. I have to believe them, no matter how impossible it seems.

    "Yeah," I say softly. "It really is."

    I suppose the Goddess can afford to slack off on the number of murders She''s committing with the World Tree anyway, since She''s picking up the slack with the Pillar. One end of it is slaughtering the lower end of South America, and the other is gutting East and Southeast Asia. Paraguay, Uruguay, Argentina, Chile, and pretty much everything in a fat circle between India and South Korea is getting squashed. That''s¡­ I don''t know how many people that is. I don''t want to know. I don''t want to think about it.

    And that''s not even starting to worry about the deaths on the tree itself. Anything too close to the Sapsea, too close to the center, is just¡­ gone. Crushed deep underneath the crust of the Earth. And considering that the upper canopy was unlivable to start with, that would have to be¡­ no. No, don''t think about it, Hannah. Don''t think about it. It''s over. It''s not your fault.

    "It''s a beautiful victory, isn''t it?" the Goddess sighs. "I truly owe it all to you."

    No you don''t. No you don''t. You did this. Not me. It wasn''t me!

    "I know you so intimately now, Hannah," the Goddess purrs. "I don''t need to see into your mind to know what you''re thinking. It was you. You spoke the words. You hesitated when your claws kissed your neck. You''ll always have to live with that. With me. Forever."

    I nod.

    "I could have stopped you," I agree. "I had that chance. But in the end, I wasn''t good enough."

    "And yet, my darling, you were just good enough. We won! Here we are, at the end of the world together. Crafting the start of the rest of your life. I''ve been thinking a lot about how to implement the culture of your world into the new rules for magic. I noticed that recent plague has had such a major impact on your global society, and then I realized that I don''t have plague magic at all! What a missed opportunity, don''t you think? Many cultures in your world believe in spirits inhabiting objects and plants and whatnot as well, so what if I enabled that possibility? Then we could have¡ª"

    "Plague-ensouled stonerot," I finish for Her tiredly.

    Again, She quirks Her head. This time, She does not write it off.

    "...Oh?" She prompts.

    "It would fuck up industrialization on a global scale," I say. "It''d be a threat to the Crafted, but they''re so smart and coordinated they could probably protect themselves from it and exploit it to knock our tech level lower without another genocide, which should be enough to keep their culture in its current peaceful stasis. Not that it necessarily wouldn''t be fun to see what happens when war-exhausted Crafted encounter a massive population of humans on the cusp of advanced AI research, but World Tree culture remained largely static for the past two hundred years so I''m betting you''d prefer to let things simmer. The placement of the tree helps with that, doesn''t it? It breaks a ton of transatlantic cables and almost certainly knocks every satellite we have out of orbit, so global communications are at least mildly frittered. Not completely, but enough to restrict it from huge chunks of the population. And the more isolated parts of the world you create, the more potential playgrounds you have to build something unique in. It''s an ideal combination of short-term misery and long-term consequences."

    The Goddess melts over me, joy suffusing Her as our incorporeal forms mingle in a manner that reminds me of getting picked up and squeezed as if I were a cat that had done something remarkably cute.

    "Oh dearest, you know me so well!" the Goddess coos. "Yes, yes exactly! However did you guess?"

    "You enjoy telling me all about Yourself," I answer. "You shouldn''t be surprised that I paid attention."

    "Ah, but Hannah¡­ you don''t pay attention to just anyone," She chuckles. "It''s one of the many things I love about you. It touches my heart to know that I''m such a special part of your life."

    That''s on purpose, too. Every word is on purpose. She knows what it does to me, and that''s exactly why She does it. It''s all a game to Her. I''m just an ant She enjoys watching writhe under the magnifying glass, and that''s all I''ve ever been since the day I was born.

    I can accept that. That feels normal to me, now. Obvious.

    "So," I ask Her, "what do I win?"

    Again, a pause. I suppose I must be going off-script. How funny. It''s a bit too late to be surprising, isn''t it Hannah? Where was this independence before you ended the world?

    "Is that greed from you, dearest?" the Goddess muses. "Lust has always been more your sin. You''re becoming immortal. Is that not a worthy prize?"

    "I''m suicidal," I remind Her. "I could go without it."

    That earns me a laugh. Because it''s funny, isn''t it? It''s all just so funny to Her.

    "So ungrateful. It is what so many of your predecessors fought to end the world for, you know," the Goddess chides. "Yet you sit here instead of them because you are different. I cannot deny that the prize should fit the piece."

    Which is not to say I won''t be turning immortal, of course. Where''s the fun in not making me watch my friends grow old and die? I honestly should have known something was up with Sela just because it can also live forever.

    "Did you have anything in mind?" the Goddess asks me, and I shrug.

    "Not really," I admit. I have no real plans for my life at all. I don''t have any idea what I''ll do, beyond cuddling Valerie and apologizing to the entire rest of the world. "I just thought I''d ask."

    "It is a good question," the Goddess praises me. There was a point in my life where I might have liked that a lot. Isn''t that strange. "We shall think of something together. But first, let Us finish rebuilding the world."

    "What else is there to do?" I prompt Her obediently, and She happily shows me as She works.

    The greater cosmos turns out to be our starting point. I never had much time to think about what was on the other side of the clouds that surrounded the floating world tree, but it turns out the answer to that is nothing. Nothing at all. Pass through them too far, and you''ll just end up popping out of them from a different direction. The universe the Goddess creates for us is bounded, a glass-walled terrarium from which the ants cannot escape.

    But I already knew that. What really gets to me about all this is that the night sky won''t have stars anymore. Not even one. The universe She creates is so small, not out of any limitation on Her part, but out of explicit choice.

    "Why not make it bigger?" I ask Her. "Why not bring along the whole solar system? Or the galaxy?"

    "Little things like you don''t need a world that big," the Goddess hums. "Even with something as small as this, none of you will live long enough to see even a tiny fraction of it."

    "I will," I point out, and She smiles.

    "Do not worry, dearest. By then, I''m sure the world will have changed again. Now¡­ how shall we craft the sun?"

    There are a few options I can see. The size of the universe the Goddess formed makes simply having Earth''s sun impossible, but the Goddess admits that she''s gotten bored with the burning canopy of the tree. She was excited to see what people would do about it, but ultimately they largely just¡­ let it burn. With so much less of the tree to live on, She considers it only fair that the canopy be allowed to regrow, extinguished by the transfer between dimensions so it may slowly blossom back into leaves over the next few years. As such, the sun can''t orbit the Pillar anymore, at least not on its prior route. It needs to be a bit further away.

    Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

    "The Earth already has something orbiting it, though it''s rather boring," the Goddess muses. "I think we can spice things up. Make it a little more exciting."

    "Take the Pillar''s tiny sun and put it on the same orbit as the moon," I suggest. "But have it still orbit once a day rather than once a month. And in the same way it burned through the tree, half the world would experience a lunar eclipse every single day as the sun passes through the moon."

    Again, surprise. And for the first time, the Goddess smiles alongside me rather than at my expense.

    "That is a lovely idea. I think I may do that, after all."

    I shrug. It doesn''t matter much to me either way. I''m not so desperate that a drop of genuine appreciation would mean something in an ocean of sadism-born misery. I have people in my life that care about me, and the Goddess isn''t among their number. Not in any way that matters.

    But still. The way She forms the world isn''t all haphazard. She hums an inaudible melody as She continues carving at the world with the tool from my soul, carefully creating Her grand work of art. It is art, isn''t it? Even the parts of it shaped to make people hurt are still an act of craftsmanship geared to evoke an emotional response.

    I can''t help but be somewhat fond of a few of Her creations, too. Everywhere the world tree overlaps with what was formerly human society, the people, buildings, and structures there aren''t simply fused with the wood or splattered into atomic paste. She lets the thick veins of sap flow over them, solidify around them, and create a tunnel system wherein people can enter from the outside and walk through golden halls of what we once had. They''re melancholic, morbid, painful, and yet oh so beautiful. Because that is how She has always been.

    Magic is a thing of wonder. I have always loved it, even as I hate the source. And the worlds the Goddess touches do become quite magical indeed. The Earth maintains its usual gravity, here, but so does the Pillar, letting you journey to it and walk at a full ninety-degree angle up the side. And though I never got to visit it before the apocalypse, the hollow center of the Pillar is still a weightless tube, unaffected by what should be deadly pressures and temperatures in the Earth''s core. Anyone living in that odd, zero-g hole through the straw will survive the universe merger just fine, pretty much entirely because their living space is so cool.

    It''s not all She does, either. There are small sections of long branches that poke out of the Earth''s crust in various places around North America and the Atlantic Ocean, miniature world trees all on their own. The Tree''s roots, questing in search of dirt for so long, slowly curve upside-down towards the surface, not yet close to reaching it but perhaps inclined to grow now that the canopy can heal. Leaves the size of large islands still hold their own individual mini-ecosystems, and soon countless more will grow to match them.

    There are so many ways in which it''s a wonderful world to live in, and for most people the Goddess doesn''t even corrupt that. She''s perfectly capable of enjoying people''s happiness. She has cheered my victories almost as much as She has laughed at my failures; it is the contrast of each that helps make the other so sweet. She is a cruel and evil Goddess, but in some ways She is a protector. She won''t allow the Crafted to successfully wipe out humanity. She won''t let a meteorite blast us into extinction. No thermonuclear wars will crack the planet and vaporize the atmosphere. Her playground may bleed, but it must not break. Without Her, we don''t have that safety net.

    But She could do more. She could do so, so, so much more. The fact that She''s capable of enjoying kindness and happiness only makes it worse that She chooses to torture and torment. She''s not incapable of empathy. She does not struggle to understand us in any way. She could easily create a utopia, She could wave Her hand and end hunger and war and bigotry and disease. She could raise us all up to live forever, dancing among us and making real friends, but She doesn''t. She just chooses not to, for no good reason, knowing full well what it does to us. What it does to me.

    Something about that thought is hard to forget. It pricks in the back of my mind, biting me and never letting go. I try to ignore it; feeling things tends to not be a particularly good survival strategy around the Goddess, after all. But again and again, it keeps pulsing back into my thoughts like a heartbeat.

    She has no excuse. None. Nothing. She''s just like this on purpose.

    It''s odd. After everything She''s done to me, it feels like the only answer I can really give someone who asks me if I hate the Goddess is ''yes.'' It''s been that way for a long time. Yes, of course I hate the incorporeal omnipotent rapist that stalks me every hour of every day. But most of the time, I think that answer would have been a lie. I just can''t work up the energy for something as big as hate. I fear Her, I suppose. I dread Her. Just the thought of Her is enough to send me into a panic if I''m not careful, not actively numbing myself from feeling anything at all. How could I ever hate someone in a state like that? I''ve never hated the Goddess, not really.

    Not until now. It''s just a little bit, but I''m definitely feeling something.

    "Now to design the edges of the universe," the Goddess hums. "In the prior world, the smoke from the great fire acted as the barrier, obscuring all senses. But your culture is ever so enamored with the idea of space. They will be persistent at attacking whatever walls are placed before them. Space, perhaps, is the best wall to give them."

    "LIke a big, empty void that eventually loops back around on itself?" I prompt obediently. For¡­ some reason. "Shoot a Voyager out to see what happens, and it ends up smacking into the other side of the Earth a year later?"

    "Yes, exactly. What do you think?"

    "Hmm. It''s a bit plain, but it would get the job done. A lot of scientists would probably freak out at the readings they start getting but most people just wouldn''t care."

    Beyond the absence of the stars. Why am I so hung up on that, anyway? I''m not exactly a known stargazer.

    "Well aren''t you just being helpful today, dearest?" the Goddess coos. "I like that. It''s a good change for you. And you have a point; it is a little generic, isn''t it? Hmm¡­ what''s a good theme for trapping the Earth? Water, perhaps? You have so much of it, just flowing free everywhere! We could take the same idea, but instead of surrounding you with a looping void, it could be an ocean. No more space, no more vacuum. Your atmosphere would be the only pocket of air in an endless sea. Yes. That sounds quite beautiful, don''t you think?"

    It does. It really does, you unforgivable monster.

    "We''re similar, aren''t we?" I ask softly. "In a lot of ways. Is that by design?"

    The Goddess pauses for a moment, turning to me with Her usual smile.

    "Insofar as My qualities can be transferred to a human? Yes, it is. You are your own person, Hannah. I created you, but I did not raise you or control you. But it is no coincidence that you understand Me so easily, dearest. In so many ways, we think alike."

    Again, the words hurt. She knows they do, and She knows I know.

    "It''s hard to believe in any definition of ''control'' that doesn''t include what you''ve done to me," I tell her, knowing it won''t go anywhere. Stupid of me. But for some reason, I still want to.

    "You are no marionette to merely dance on my strings," the Goddess hums, idly poking and shaping the universe before us as She speaks. "You know this."

    Hmm. Maybe I do. Being powerless isn''t the same as being a puppet.

    "You''re not having second thoughts about your decision already, are you dearest?" the Goddess chuckles. "And here I thought we were bonding. You''ve been such a big help, you know. Much more than I expected, even! I''ve truly enjoyed this, Hannah."

    "Yeah," I agree. "It''s horrific and it''s sad. But the sparks of beauty shine all the brighter for that. Maybe for anyone else, that would be enough."

    "Hm?" the Goddess prompts, the flame of hatred catching kindling in my mind. Maybe for anyone else, that would be enough. That''s what life is supposed to be about, isn''t it? Finding beauty in meaninglessness. Finding joy amidst tragedy. And it''s not like I don''t have those things. I might not be the best at making friends, but I love the friends I do have more than I can ever describe. They make me happy. They really, really do.

    And without fail, She uses that to crush me further.

    My life is a game to Her. My friends are a game to Her. All these things that are so unimaginably important to me, so huge in my eyes, are just toys for Her to break. Break and break and break and break and break and break and break and break! She might squish it back together with glue, but She only barely waits for it to set before crushing it all over again. That''s the fate of the world, and it will always be the fate of the world, not because such a fate is unavoidable but because She just doesn''t feel like avoiding it.

    I can''t save the world. I can''t. It''s impossible. But She can, truly and completely, and She just fucking chooses not to! And then I end up here, because of course I do, and She has the audacity to tell me I destroyed the world? That this is my fault? The eighteen-year-old girl who can''t even get disgusting monsters to stop fucking touching her!?

    All at once, my mind starts to burn. The anger feels so wrong, so foreign and evil. I''m ashamed of it. And yet at the same time, why did it take so long to arrive? I''m ashamed of that, too.

    "Yoo-hoo, Hannah dearest," the Goddess chimes in. "If you continue keeping me in the dark like this I''ll simply have no choice but to go back to chatting through your mind."

    "Don''t," I say, a little too quickly. Pathetic. What''s the point of begging to someone like this anyway? "I was just thinking about the prize I want for winning."

    "Ooh. Do tell, dearest."

    "We''re alike in a lot of ways," I say. "In particular, we both really like games. But I think I struggled to really grasp that before, because the reason you play games is so different from me. I do it to relax, you know? My life is already stressful and exciting without games, and I just want something easy to unwind with at the end of the day. But you''re not like that, are you? You play games because you''re bored. Because they''re your only form of excitement. You''re not looking to relax, you''re looking to engage. But you''re struggling with that, aren''t you? That''s why you keep seeking¡­ other outlets for entertainment."

    "Mmm. Perhaps, perhaps not," the Goddess hums. "But how does this relate to your prize, dearest?"

    "Because for my prize, I want you to let me add a rule to the game," I say. "The next game, the one to determine the next universe. A single, ironclad rule, determined by me."

    She laughs.

    "And why would I ever agree to something like that?"

    "Because it''s only on one condition: you have to agree that it will make the game more fun. If you don''t think my rule will accomplish that, you can reject it and I''ll get nothing. So I can''t make any rules that skew the game against you, or even anything you''d just find annoying. That''s the opposite of what I want, really. I just figure¡­ I''m going to be stuck on the gameboard for eternity anyway, so can''t I at least add some bits that I''ll enjoy? That everyone will enjoy, really. But you most of all."

    A wide, manic grin splits the black and empty skies.

    "Aren''t you full of surprises today," She beams. "You are making it ever so hard not to nestle up in your thoughts, Hannah."

    "No mind reading," I tell Her. "As far as I''m concerned the game has begun, and that would make it too easy."

    "That''s the rule?" She snorts.

    "No," I tell Her. "But considering that you have access to all human knowledge, it''s kind of embarrassing that you''d need it to know that."

    The smile drops, but only for an instant.

    "Make your case then, Hannah Hiiragi," She orders. "Let me see the worth of your prize."

    "You know this, but in my world games are both a business and an art," I explain, lifting a stick from the beach that doesn''t exist to draw in the sand that isn''t there. "The theory and practice behind what makes a game fun is well-developed and codified. I say you know this because you literally have access to any information you could possibly want and infinite power with which to shape that knowledge. And yet, the games you craft aren''t enough to entertain you by themselves. Why?"

    "An absurd question from a feeble mind," the Goddess frowns. "I am simply inclined towards variety in how I entertain myself. I do not need a singular perfect method because you are merely one of billions of outlets for my whims."

    "Except that I know I''m special, ''dearest,''" I spit at Her. "You don''t lie. It''s one of your rules, and you don''t need it besides. And because I''m so special, you''ve spoken to me about what you are. Through that, you have made one thing very, very clear: you. Are. Bored. And you don''t know what to do about that."

    The Goddess shifts uncomfortably as I draw the world in the sand, a colony of ants blooming to life under the force of my burgeoning metaphor. I draw the haphazardness of the way the worlds are combined, the empty darkness of the afterlife, the casual, brutish cruelty of the prior apocalypse.

    "You''re omnipotent, but you''re lazy," I tell Her. "You''re omniscient, but you aren''t creative. You''re not an artist, Goddess, not really. Honestly, I''m embarrassed for not seeing it sooner. You can know everything there is about how to make a good game and still fail to understand how to actually apply it."

    "You had best be careful how you¡ª"

    "OR WHAT!?" I roar. "YOU''LL TORTURE ME AGAIN!? Go ahead. Bury me in amber because a pathetic little human hurt your precious feelings."

    I stare Her down. I know She doesn''t even have to touch me to break me. She could tear Valerie apart, rape Ida in front of me, or force Helen to kill Kagiso. But I don''t care.

    I hate Her too much.

    "You just think you''re a skilled artist," I sneer, "because you''re a pathetic, moronic narcissist with too much power for anyone to tell you ''no'' and not enough sense to listen to anyone anyway. You''ve made a couple beautiful things because you''ve made billions of things, like a shit-throwing monkey on a typewriter! And most of the best parts of your world were there before you showed up!"

    The world quivers at Her rage, but I don''t feel a sliver of it because I''m too consumed by my own. It doesn''t matter. Nothing matters, except this one last swing.

    "Let me tell you why you''re bored by your game, Goddess," I growl, taking the stick and grinding it into an ant below me. "You''re bored because you''re a coward. If you want a game to engage you, it needs risk. The rewards don''t feel all that exciting, if there''s no risk."

    "Oh, then do tell me, Hannah Hiiragi," the Goddess hisses between Her teeth. "What have you decided as your reward?"

    I jam the stick down harder, killing the ant. A dozen others come to check on it, aghast at what has happened, but in their grief they can do nothing but gnaw on the stick.

    "My Goddess, my rule is this: it must be possible to hurt you."

    Very slowly, very slightly, the grin returns.

    "Oh?" She prompts.

    "You heard me," I sneer. "The pieces in the game, and the other players if there are any, must be able to hurt you. And no bullshit about hurting via asset loss or widdle mortals being mean to you. It must be possible to really hurt you: truly, meaningfully, painfully."

    I drop the stick and crush another ant with my finger. This time, when its fellows come for revenge, they actually bite back.

    "You aren''t investing yourself enough in this game, Goddess," I say, lifting my hand and crushing the ants latched onto it in my fist. "Your victory is inevitable and your defeat has no consequence. You''re so detached from the world the game takes place in that you''ve made your game not actually matter to you. You don''t need to risk death. They''re just ants, after all. But when you intervene, when you really intervene, you need to put your skin in the game. So if they''re quick and if they''re smart, they can leave you with a few welts. It''s only fair, after all."

    The Goddess'' smile widens, Her expression dropping the pretense of anything but cruelty as She wraps around me, binds me and holds me and caresses me in all the worst places.

    "Oh dearest," She coos, "whyever would you think up such an idea?"

    "Because," I say, "I hate you."

    "Do you?"

    "More than life, more than death, more than anything under the stars," I answer, and She laughs and nibbles my ear.

    "Oh but dearest, can''t you see?" She whispers. "I''m everything to you."

    Shuddering, I still force myself to answer.

    "You''re right," I agree. "Everything I am, every last fiber of my mind and being, wants nothing but to see you suffer. To see you fucking suffer, to see you scream and cry and regret a single damn horrific thing you''ve done in your entire pathetic existence! I hate you, Goddess! You made me this way! And there is nothing¡ªNOTHING¡ªI want more than a taste of your agony!"

    She holds me ever closer. She laughs ever louder.

    "Very well, then!" She agrees. "But you know, don''t you, Hannah?"

    Her voice whispers lovingly into my ear, Her breath tickling my skin.

    "You will never, ever be the one to take the bite," She promises. "You''re mine, little bug. You will always be mine. Hurting me will forever be beyond your grasp."

    "That''s fine by me," I spit, "as long as I get to watch it happen."

    "Oh, you will, dear. If any of the little mortals manage it, you can be sure you''ll have front-row seats. Up. Close. And. Personal."

    I open my eyes. I''m still on Valerie''s couch, holding her with all my love as she keeps me wrapped up in her arms and tail. My soul feels lighter, yet stronger. As if more of it is fully mine. As if more of it is¡­ here. There is no tunnel within me, no portal between worlds.

    Because the world tree is right outside the front door.

    Billions died from just two little words. Millions more will continue to die in the aftermath, from the loss of distribution infrastructure, the introduction of monsters to Earth, the cross-contamination of diseases, and the sudden magical power now dwelling within every once-normal human on the planet.

    Dr. Carson is dead. My biological family, I suddenly realize, is likely also dead. Our house is east of Valerie''s. That''s¡­ I don''t know how to feel about that. Yuki deserved better, I suppose. But my real family is right here in this house, waking up all around me.

    Even the family members that weren''t here before. Kagiso sleeps curled up at my feet. And Sela, in its humanoid puppet frame, stands silently behind me.

    "So you did it, then," it addresses me, the rest of the house still groggily reorienting themselves to what are technically brand-new bodies in a brand-new universe, though they''re basically identical for all intents and purposes.

    "You were right," I say. "It was the only choice to make."

    Fractionally, it nods its head.

    "When," it asks, "shall the next game be played?"

    I blink, realizing I know the answer.

    "Ten years," I say. "Earth years, anyway. The Goddess will stay hands-off on everything until then."

    Even me. I''d cry if I wasn''t in so much shock. Ten years. It''s more than half my entire life, yet it seems like such a painfully short time.

    "Thank you," Sela says. "The Crafted will prepare."

    It turns and starts walking away to leave, but fear grips me and I call out for it as it reaches for the door.

    "Sela!" I cry.

    It stops, saying nothing.

    "I¡­ I took my swing."

    Again, it says nothing. It stays still. It does not answer, but it does not leave.

    "I, um. I know things got a little¡­ charged, there. And I can''t speak for everyone here, but as far as I''m concerned, you¡­ you''re welcome here. To stay, to be with us. I know that''s complicated for you, but I wanted to make sure it was on the table. I don''t hate you. I don''t blame you. If you ever decide you want it, I''d love to be your friend."

    At first, there''s still just more silence. But then, Sela grabs the doorknob.

    "I would like that very much," it says, and then it walks out the door and leaves. I let out a breath I didn''t know I was holding, shuddering and snuggling up deeper into Valerie''s coils as if I were cold.

    I guess, all things considered, it''s not the worst way to start the first day of the apocalypse.

 Epilogue: One World

    Waking up from sleep¡ªreal sleep¡ªis such a strange and slow process. Even now, after months of getting used to it, I find the transition somewhat uncomfortable to think about. When I had two bodies, sleep was a purely binary state: a body either is asleep or is not asleep and my other body is the opposite. But now that I''m whole, the lines are no longer quite so clear.

    Am I truly conscious in those liminal, half-remembered moments where a sound catches my ears but fails to open my eyes? Am I conscious when I find myself so comfortable curled up in bed, wrapped tightly in Valerie''s tail, that I deny the first opportunity to wake and drift back into slumber? Or are those fleeting seconds of awareness just another dream, a misremembered falsehood weaved into fiction by a resetting neuron?

    I don''t know. I don''t know how to know. Dreams are such odd things, and on a whole I quite despise them. I don''t need as much sleep as most people but Valerie insists I get some regularly and it''s always a little easier when I''m curled up in her tail.

    Not in her arms, though. Never in her arms. I can''t sleep if hands are touching me. Of course, the nightly hallucinations I''m generally privy to are rarely kind to me either way, but as nightmares go there are certainly some that are worse than others.

    Sometimes I dream about the people I''ve killed. Sometimes I dream about the people I''ve let down. Sometimes I dream about what I''m afraid my friends think of me. Sometimes I dream about losing my limbs and being human again. Sometimes I dream about death. Sometimes, on the worst nights, I dream about Her.

    Just thinking about that makes me tense, instinctively expecting a witty rejoinder. Some mocking ''oh, how lovely for you to dream of me, dearest.'' But it doesn''t come. It won''t. For now, I''m safe. I''m thoroughly awake now, but I snuggle deeper into Valerie''s coils and keep my human eyes closed anyway. I''m in no hurry to get up today, as last night was one of my luckier ones. I slept well, and I think if I nod off again I probably won''t dream much at all between now and someone else in the house forcing everyone else up. So slowly but surely, I start to nod off again.

    "WAKE UP, BITCHES! Y''ALL GETTIN'' BREAKFAST!"

    I yelp as Ida''s shout startles me awake, and then I yelp again as Valerie''s tail nearly squeezes my spine in half. We spend about five seconds panicking thoughtlessly before our brains catch up to the words, at which point we stare at each other and grin. Breakfast! Okay. Yeah. I''m super down to getting woken up for a hot breakfast.

    "Uh, s-sorry for squeezing you so hard," Valerie stammers, uncoiling from around me as her four arms push her a bit more upright.

    "Oh, you''re fine, you''re fine," I insist, smiling as I let my fingers run through her fur as she pulls away. "I don''t sleep with a snake to not get squeezed. Plus, y''know. Immortal."

    Valerie gives me a serious, considering look, because I tend to only say the i-word if I''m having a good day or a really bad day. But today feels like a good day, at least right now, so I give her a broad grin until she smiles back.

    "Fair enough," she says. "Let''s go get breakfast."

    We flop out of bed, take off our pajamas and get into something comfortable to start the day. I can''t tell what most of the rest of the house is doing thanks to the wards Valerie put on everyone''s bedroom walls, but I''m pretty confident that Helen is getting up on her own (if she isn''t up already) and Kagiso, of course, is still very much asleep.

    "I''m gonna go wake up the Kagster," I tell Valerie. "You wanna come with? I''ll carry you upstairs."

    "I''ll pass today," Valerie yawns. "What do you think Ida''s making?"

    "It''s Ida, so¡­ something overly complicated or extravagant. And she''s probably doing it in her underwear. Refresh coming!"

    "Thanks," Valerie smiles, and I hit her with a quick spell to untangle her fur and get her presentable for the day. "I guess it was stupid to ask, huh? Ida will be Ida."

    "Why would she ever want to be anyone else?" I smile back. "See you in the kitchen!"

    I head upstairs and knock on Kagiso''s door, waiting until I hear a sleepy trill of acknowledgment before opening up the door and heading inside.

    "Time to wake up, Kagis¡ªah!"

    I jump back in a panic as Kagiso tries to grab me and pull me into her bed, and her head pops up from her pillow with surprise.

    "Oh! Sorry Hannah," she says groggily. "Thought you Helen."

    "It''s alright," I assure her, my heartbeat slowing back down.

    "Someone say my name?" Helen asks, poking her head into the room.

    "Helen!" Kagiso cries out, her four arms all making grabby hands in her direction. "Hellllp. Bed too cozy."

    "Alright," Helen smirks, walking over and grabbing two of Kagiso''s arms.

    Immediately, her other two arms latch onto Helen''s wrists and try to yank her into the bed as well, but Helen, having clearly anticipated this, just sets her stance and yanks back, forcibly pulling Kagiso into the cold, cruel air of the bedless morning.

    "Noooo!" Kagiso shrieks with mock despair. "Cruelty! Evil!"

    Helen lifts Kagiso up and lifts her up over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes, one arm over her butt as she carries the flailing dentron out of the room.

    "Evillll!" Kagiso cries, her limbs flopping around as Helen wordlessly carries her downstairs to breakfast. I chuckle and follow them downstairs to where Valerie is coiled up at the kitchen table and averting her eyes from Ida, who is simultaneously cooking a unique breakfast for everyone while wearing literally nothing other than an apron.

    "Seriously, Ida," Valerie mumbles. "Why?"

    "Uh, because I''m trying to seduce you, duh," she answers. "Is it working?"

    "Ida!" I mock-gasp, turning the corner into the kitchen. "Are you making sexual advances on my girlfriend!?"

    "Unrepentantly, yes!" she answers, dumping the current contents of the blender into a huge glass and sliding it across the table to Valerie. "One banana breakfast smoothie, optimally textured."

    She slides a couple plates over next.

    "Bacon and eggs for our carnivores, scrambled and fluffy for Hannah, over-easy on ham for Helen. Kaboom kabam!"

    "I want meat!" Kagiso demands immediately.

    "You had meat yesterday hon, but I can do you a gooey tomato salad and a YouTube video of someone dissecting a frog."

    She slides a bowl and a phone over to Kagiso''s seat, the video already playing. The dentron squeals in delight and sits down immediately.

    "Thanks for breakfast," Helen nods, sitting down next to Kagiso. "It smells incredible."

    "Seriously," I agree. "Perfect as always, Ida."

    "Aww, thank you, Hannah!" she coos. "Can I fuck your girlfriend?"

    I laugh.

    "You already have my permission. You need Valerie''s."

    I still can''t bring myself to be intimate in that way again. I feel bad about it, like I''m not being a good girlfriend to Valerie or a good friend to Ida. I know that''s stupid. It''s not even really that important to Valerie in the first place, and Ida would probably punch me if I tried to apologize for not being comfortable with sex after everything that happened. But still, if Valerie does decide she wants to do that sort of thing, I refuse to hold her back. It surprised me to learn, since I assumed I''d be the jealous type, but the thought of the two of them getting together mostly just makes me smile. I guess it makes sense, though. I love both of them more than anything in the world.

    "I knooow," Ida groans. "I''m working on it! I just never expected it to be this hard. I mean, she spends all day drawing half-naked monster girls! How am I not already under her skirt!?"

    I chuckle at that. Like she''d be anywhere near as interested if it was easy.

    "You could always give up and pick someone else to bother," Valerie mumbles.

    "Why, fuzzbutt?" Ida smirks. "You want me to stop?"

    Valerie pointedly says nothing and Ida''s grin gets wider. Mine does, too. I love all my friends so gosh dang much. We eat our breakfast together, laughing and joking and enjoying the start of the day together. When everyone is done, I''m put on dish duty¡­ because of course it only takes me a few seconds to clean everything, at which point we work together to put it all away.

    "Welp, I guess I should go get changed," Ida sighs dramatically, playing with the knot on the apron.

    "What, not planning to go outside in that?" Helen smirks at her. "And here I thought you were completely shameless."

    "I''m mostly shameless," Ida answers easily. "I''m just gonna visit my mom and dad, is all."

    Ah. Yeah. Helen nods at her and I reach over to give her a hug. Much like my family, Ida''s parents are trapped in amber, dead but perfectly preserved in the moment of the universal merge. Her father sits perpetually on the porch of her old home, eyes staring with distant worry and a cell phone face down in his lap, waiting for his daughter to come home.

    She visits a lot. I could do the same with my family, but outside of apologizing to Yuki I couldn''t think of anything to say. Valerie''s parents, somewhat predictably, are the only ones to have survived the apocalypse, though the wards around our house physically prevent them from entering. Helen suspects that her family survived, but she hasn''t made the journey to see for sure yet. Kagiso keeps offering to go with her, but she has yet to get a response. Helen hasn''t visited her family in a very long time.

    We''ve all got our own issues, struggles, and fears. But honestly, I think that''s a big part of what holds us together so tightly. We understand each other. We know how to care for each other because we need that care ourselves, too. And we''re happy to give that time and attention out, because we know that when we''re hurting, it will be given back to us.

    People who haven''t been hurt try their best, but sometimes talking to them feels like speaking from the other side of a brick wall. As I always have, I struggle to get along with anyone who isn''t as severely fucked up as me. But maybe, just maybe, that isn''t as bad of a thing as I thought.

    The doorbell rings, surprising me at first until I see who''s waiting on the porch.

    "Oh, that''s Lana!" I perk up. "I guess she couldn''t wait for today, huh?"

    "Can you blame her?" Valerie asks, stretching up on her tail to put the last of the dishes up on the top shelf. "Thanks again for agreeing to help her out like this, Hannah."

    "Uh, yeah," I agree nervously. "You, uh. Are you sure this will work?"

    "Hannah," Valerie says, giving me a soft smile. "You told me that you were sure it would work. So yes, I am."

    "...Alright," I concede, taking a deep breath to center myself and heading over to answer the door. On the other side, Valerie''s close online friend compulsively scratches at the light stubble on her chin, which both of us know shouldn''t be there.

    And I''m going to fix that today.

    Lana moved out here all the way from California, partly to be near us but mostly because her house ended up underwater after introducing a continent-thick tree into the ocean and the ice caps getting microwaved into oblivion. Which, yes, completely fucked up the global weather patterns in ways I don''t really understand. It''s still hot and muggy here in Tennessee, if supposedly much hotter than usual, though with the branches of the world tree towering above us slowly starting to bud new leaves, I suspect a big chunk of the country will be covered in a perpetual green overcast before too long. I''m sure there have been experts arguing about what that''s going to do, but I haven''t really paid too much attention to it. I can''t stop it, and it can''t stop me, so what does it matter?

    I open the door for Lana, giving her a soft smile that she returns with a bright grin. The more I hang out with her, the easier it is to see how she and Valerie became such great friends. They have very similar thoughts in regards to tabletop games and very similar abilities to ramble about them for hours at a time, letting me curl up cozy in Valerie''s tail with a mug of warm broth and listen to the two of them chatter happily until the sun goes down. It''s nice, and while I''m not really sure Lana is my friend, exactly, I don''t need her to be for this to work. I like her, and I like how happy she makes Valerie, and I want to give her a body she will love.

    There are dozens of better Transmutation mages for helping someone like this, but Lana chose me anyway. I''ll do right by her. I have to.

    "Hi, Hannah!" Lana says excitedly. "Sorry if I''m a little early!"

    "No worries at all!" I answer honestly. "You''re always welcome here. Valerie is¡ª"

    I stop, someone I never thought I''d see again entering the edge of my sensory range. No. No, no, no. Not here.

    "Get inside," I order Lana.

    "Huh?" she blinks, confused by the sudden change in tone. I''m annoyed at that for a moment before I remember that it''s good she isn''t used to this kind of thing.

    "Get inside and tell Valerie to activate the defense wards!" I snap, stepping past her to intercept the threat. She jolts but finally seems to understand, rushing into the house as I make my way to the sidewalk. Seconds later, a magical shield shimmers into existence around our property, but it probably won''t stop him. I know it wouldn''t stop me.

    "Aimilios," I growl, the man flanked by a few members of his cult that I recognize. The smooth talker and the soul torturer. I forgot their names. "What are you doing here?"

    The six-armed man stops on the other side of the barrier, raising his hands at me palm-first. It takes me a moment to register that it''s a gesture of surrender.

    "Peace, Hannah," he says calmly. "It''s already done. We lost. There''s nothing for anyone to gain by hurting you now."

    "You''ll have to excuse me if your particular entourage makes that difficult to believe," I say, glowering at the man who tortured me for so long in the cultist''s base. He shrugs unrepentantly.

    "He did not have much choice in the way of company, thanks to you," the man answers evenly, but Aimilios gives him a sharp scowl and he turns away.

    "Apologies, Hannah," he says. "I promise, we''re not here for that. You did everything you could. You attempted the most noble of all sacrifices, and I am the one who let you down. If anything, I feel indebted to you."

    I sigh, finally relaxing a little. They really, genuinely don''t seem here for a fight. They''re just here because they''re idiots.

    "You''re as fucked up as ever," I tell him frankly. "You should definitely feel indebted to me, but ''I failed to help you kill yourself'' is not why."

    He blinks, not seeming to know what to say to that, so he ultimately decides to move on without acknowledging it.

    "...Regardless, while we are here for our duty, our duty is no longer with you," he says. "Another apocalypse will be coming, won''t it? Please, if there is anything you know about what is to come, I ask you to share it."

    I sigh, running my fingers across my gossamer faux-hair, flicking it a bit at the ends. Valerie slithers quickly out of the house towards me, phone in one hand and sketchbook in her lower paws, looking ready to kill someone. I hold up a hand to stop her from doing anything rash.

    "Hannah!" she shouts. "Are you alright? Is everything¡­"

    "It''s fine, Val," I promise her. "You can drop the wards. Come on, Founder. Let''s talk inside."

    Valerie stares at me in surprise, but I give her a confirming nod and she lets the shield shimmer away into standby mode. Aimilios and his cronies approach us, but I point at the humans and glower at them.

    "Not you two," I snap. "Fuck you two."

    "That''s fair," smooth talker agrees, while soul torturer just looks at Aimilios. Aimilios nods, and the two of them stay away from our house without a fuss.

    I stare up above as we walk back, automatically looking for something to distract myself from the dozens of painful thoughts just being near this man opens in my memory. The sky is always a nice distraction, in times like this. I don''t think it will ever stop being strange to look up and see an ocean in the sky.

    It''s beautiful, of course. Even at night, the calm waves of the Skysea twinkle almost like our lost stars as the countless luminescent beasts living within signal Goddess-knows-what to one another. Much like life on the world tree, it doesn''t get very dark anymore; being fully encased in something as reflective as water means that we still get at least a dim hint of sun even in the dead of night, barring the daily eclipse. And the day, by contrast, is remarkably bright, intensely warm in ways that I can''t feel all that much anymore but the rest of the world very much can.

    I suppose it isn''t any sort of surprise to me that the Goddess saw the man-made apocalypse we were making on our own and decided it was a wonderful idea, turning global warming up to eleven without even needing us to pollute to pull it off. After the tree and the pillar directly caused the obliteration of so many countries and cities, the weather had to go and claim the lives of countless more.

    And yet, humanity continues on.

    "Did Madaline survive?" I ask as I lead the way to our porch.

    "I''m not sure," Aimilios says. "I did not find her corpse when I regained consciousness."

    So yes, then. That makes sense. Sela''s a smart bot; it didn''t throw her body far away after impaling it for no reason. The Goddess loves Madaline and She wouldn''t have let the girl die to something as boring as a sucker punch. It knew to cover its bases, in the likely event that the mortal wound somehow fails to stick.

    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    I''m not sure if I''m happy or worried about Madaline surviving. I guess¡­ happy? Man, Stockholm Syndrome runs deep.

    "What''s this donkweed doing here?" a now-fully-dressed Ida asks as Aimilios walks in behind me.

    "He won''t be here long," I promise. "Just go see your dad, like you planned. I''ll be fine."

    "...If you''re sure," Ida agrees, heading out with a frown. Kagiso glares murderously as we enter the kitchen, and Helen just wordlessly escorts her away to avoid a fight. Reliable as always.

    "You want anything to drink?" I ask. "Water? Juice? Tea?"

    "It is nice to have household running water again," Aimilios muses. "Though I would warn you to be careful. Many places on your planet are suffering deadly diseases from Stonerot eating the pipes."

    "Val''s got a spell for that," I shrug. "She''s got a spell for everything."

    "She is a remarkable mage," Aimilios agrees, and I pass him a glass of water as he sits down. "So. My first question. When is it?"

    "About nine years from now," I answer. "Maybe a little less."

    "Right, yes. And a year is¡­ three hundred¡­ something?"

    "Three hundred sixty-five and a quarter days," I answer.

    "That is¡­ very oddly specific," Aimilios frowns. "Why?"

    "Because that''s what a year is," I shrug. "It''s how long it took our planet to orbit our sun, back in our universe."

    "A planet orbiting a sun," Aimilios hums. "How interesting. Do you know anything else about what will happen?"

    "Yeah," I nod. "I have my guesses. You''re not gonna like them, though. I know I don''t."

    "This has never been about what I will and will not like," Aimilios says. "I am responsible for two apocalypses now. I must not allow a third."

    I start microwaving a mug of chicken broth for myself, frowning as I let those thoughts stew a bit. Aimilios seems content to wait and let me think, which I appreciate. A couple minutes later, I sit across from him and take a sip of my tasty boiling meat juice, savoring it a bit before swallowing.

    "You aren''t responsible for any apocalypses, Aimilios," I tell him. "Neither of us are."

    I don''t entirely believe the words, not really. But the people I love and trust insist they are true. Even if their claims feel wrong, I won''t disrespect them by calling them liars.

    "Ah," he says softly. "I''d wondered what allowed you to so comfortably sit idle. I suppose I cannot blame you for choosing to deny such a responsibility."

    "No, Aimilios," I tell him gently. "You''re not the noble martyr choosing to forge on towards what is right while I deny my call to heroism. You''re just an abused and traumatized man who hasn''t gone to therapy."

    He exhales through his nose, clearly irritated.

    "Hannah," he says, "I will not ask you to fight alongside me. I will not tell you that you are wrong for living in comfort while you know the world''s fate. You are a child. This never should have been your fight. But someone must fight it. Nothing you say could convince me to stop."

    "Mmm," I hum, taking another sip of hot broth. "Well, a few points of order: one, I''m nineteen. Certainly a lot younger than two hundred but legally not a child in my culture. Two: I suspect that when the time comes I''ll be fighting alongside you whether I like it or not. And three: I never said you shouldn''t fight. I just said that the end of the world has not ever and will not ever be your fault."

    I set the mug down and stare him in the eyes.

    "The Goddess caused this," I tell him firmly. "Not us."

    "What does the cause matter," he asks, "when we could have stopped it and failed?"

    "Could we have stopped it?" I ask. "Should we consider ourselves failures to have not prevented the actions of a literal Goddess? The difference in power and knowledge between her and us is greater than that between a parent and their child, but I doubt you''d blame a six year old for not stopping his father from beating his mother."

    He sits quietly for a while, drinking his glass of water. When he finally starts to speak, I know I won''t like his words before he even says anything.

    "The spell that maintains your immortality," he says. "What did you rename it to?"

    I go still. Of course he knows. Destiny Bond no longer exists; I can''t pull any more universes together if I tried. So in its place, when it changed to be something else, it only felt right to change the name, too. But I''ve never spoken it out loud. I never plan to.

    And of course, telling him here would prove my hypocrisy. His equivalent is named The Eternity I Deserve. Mine¡­

    "...That''s none of your business," I hiss softly. "You came in peace, Aimilios. Let''s not devolve into any situation where we need to speak spells."

    He nods, conceding the point.

    "I think you understand me, though," he says. "You know full well that I cannot discard my regret so easily."

    "Aimilios, the first time around you didn''t even know!" I insist. "You thought She cared about you. I know you did, you named your spells after Her. You were tricked by an omnipotent monster for Her amusement and you never even knew it was happening. How could that possibly be your fault?"

    "The signs were there. I could have¡ª"

    "Aimilios," I cut him off. "No. You couldn''t have. You''re not a mass murderer. You''re a victim. You should talk to a professional about all this."

    I miss Dr. Carson dearly, but I know she would have wanted me to continue getting help. And though the world has countless new problems and dangers, from deadlier weather to deadlier wildlife, our society still largely remains. The internet is damaged, especially intercontinentally, but it still works and I still found someone new to help me. They aren''t Dr. Carson, not by a longshot. But they help. They help a lot.

    "Hannah," Aimilios says firmly, "I am just here to learn what you know. Please, stop trying to reassure me. I have things I must do."

    I sigh and nod, not having expected much else. It certainly took me a damn long time to get help, and I''m not sure Aimilios has the sort of friends I needed to take that step. And as much as I pity the man¡­ well. I don''t particularly want to be his friend.

    "Unfortunately, Aimilios, you and I will likely be out of the action when the next game rolls around. I did my best to set the stage for the Goddess'' defeat, but as much as I talk a big game about fault and responsibility, a big part of why I''m here instead of preparing for a fight is that I know I can''t be the one to give it to Her. And I think you can''t be either. We''ve been granted ten years to enjoy and heal. I''m using them."

    I take another deep drink of broth, the scalding heat barely enough to be pleasant as it sinks down my throat. It grounds me, keeping my mind on the conversation, the things that need to be said rather than the memories I don''t want to relive.

    "I see," Aimilios says with a frown. "In that case, is there anything you know of the next of us? Her next game''s key piece?"

    "Ah, that''s the beauty of the plan, though," I smile at him. "The next Founder''s Kin isn''t the only way to stop Her anymore. I doubt She has much experience dealing with Her own pain, so anyone in the world could be the one to manage it. Let''s see how much fun She has with the anthill after the whole colony realizes it''s been kicked."

    "That''s¡­ hmm," Aimilios hums. "I think I see. How did you ever get Her to agree to that?"

    "Her own mistake," I shrug. "She made me to know Her a little too well."

    "I will prepare my people," Aimilios nods. "Thank you, Hannah. This information was invaluable."

    "Mmm. Don''t hurt yourself too much acting on it, alright?"

    "I cannot die," he reminds me. "What reason do I have to care about pain?"

    "Because it hurts," I say. "And it turns out that''s a pretty important reason after all."

    He gives me a smile of polite disagreement, and departs. I sigh, returning my attention to my mug. It''s a really nice mug, full of really tasty meat juice. For now, that can be enough.

    "You okay?" Valerie asks softly, the tip of her tail curling around the stool I''m perched on, her need to coil warring with her desire to give me space.

    "It''s not the best thing that could have happened this morning, but yeah," I confirm. "I''m okay."

    "Yeah," she agrees, "you seem okay. That¡­ makes me pretty happy. You''ve been doing a lot better lately."

    "Mmm," I agree, taking another sip. "Hard to believe it''s only been a year."

    "It really is," Valerie agrees. "Is it weird to say I think it''s been a good year? Like, the world is objectively a lot worse, but¡­"

    "We''re doing a lot better," I finish for her. "No, I don''t think that''s weird."

    She smiles at me, and I smile back. In that moment, I feel an unexpected urge to kiss her. Which I could do, I suppose. She is my girlfriend. I just freaked out a little the last time we tried, and¡­ y''know, all the times before that. Intimacy is weird and complicated for me now. It''s hard to know what I can and can''t do, but a kiss has very much been in the can''t pile all year. I turn away from her and drink the last of the broth in my mug.

    "We got a letter from Alma and Jet," Valerie says. "Wanna open it with me?"

    "Oh! Yeah, definitely!" I grin, finally peeling my eyes away from the bottom of the cup. "They''re still traveling, huh?"

    "Looks like it," Valerie confirms, opening the envelope with the claw on her thumb. She pulls out a postcard with a picture of Alma and Jet on it, Alma using the body and Jet as a magical construct. They''re sitting on a large rock, high up on a mountain, their fingers intertwined between them as they smile at the camera. "Oh, they''re in the southern Rockies. That''s pretty cool."

    "Geez, look at how cute they are together," I smile. "When did Jet get so sappy?"

    "Not sappy enough to actually leave us a note, but it sure seems like they''re having a good time together," Valerie agrees. "They were in Canada the last time they sent a letter, right? Think they''re heading back our way?"

    "I hope so," I say. "It''d be great to catch up with them again."

    "I''m sure they''ll randomly show up one of these days," Valerie smirks.

    "Yeah. They seem a lot happier since they moved out of town, though."

    "That''s not your fault, Hannah," Valerie assures me. "They''ll come back to visit. They wouldn''t be sending us cards if they didn''t care about you."

    I nod. Yeah. That makes sense.

    "Well," I say, standing up and stretching my limbs, "I suppose I''ve kept Lana waiting long enough. Where is she?"

    "She''s in the backyard," Valerie answers. "Also, I know I just said I believe in you, but to double check: you sure you''re good to go? If you need a couple hours after what just happened¡­"

    "Nah, I''ll be fine," I promise her. "Meeting Aimilios and his asshole squad doesn''t change anything about how I feel about Lana. I''m pretty sure I know how things are going to go."

    "Oh?" Valerie asks. "What''s she going to turn into?"

    I wink at her.

    "You''ll see."

    She sighs and slithers after me as I head for the backyard, smiling as I watch Lana play with Fartbuns. What a poignant place to transform someone. This is where I caused Alma to grow her tail, after all, and that was the start of our problems together. I couldn''t control myself or my power, and while she seems to like her body now it wasn''t a decision she made for herself. It was something I forced on her out of my own weakness.

    This is my shot to do something good with Nature''s Madness. Not just good, but actually thought out, informed, and planned. I know Valerie is happy with how things turned out, but that was a manic moment of passion that very easily could have gone horribly wrong. Helen, likewise, is used to what I did to her, but that was an act of desperation, not something she chose.

    Lana has no such qualifiers. I have full knowledge of how Nature''s Madness works now. I have explained everything to her: what she might gain, what she might lose, the countless ways in which this could go wrong, and the alternatives I could help her get access to. She chose me anyway. I am, by her insistence, helping her in the way she wants to be helped. Not even I can twist that into something selfish on my part.

    So I''ve spent months with her, getting to know her and appreciate her in all the ways I can. I''ve learned to see past her face and her voice and pay attention to the person behind them. I have watched her and Valerie enjoy their time together until I couldn''t help but be happy to have her around.

    I have made sure, in the deepest parts of my heart, that I would love to see her fly. And though I''m terrified beyond measure that I''ll still screw this up, I''ll still ruin her body, I''ll still prove myself to be incapable of anything other than inflicting pain¡­ well, I can''t keep a smile off my face as I watch her and Fartbuns run around. If there was any time to prove I can do this, it''s now.

    "Hey, Lana," I call out to her. "Are you ready?"

    "Hannah!" she smiles at me. "Yes! I mean, absolutely! I couldn''t be more ready."

    "And¡­ I mean, I know we''ve been over this, but you get that you almost definitely won''t come out of this as a vampire, right? You''re gonna be, y''know, an actual monster?"

    "I still say vampires count as ''actual'' monsters," she insists, "but yes, I''m ready. I know you wouldn''t do this if you weren''t ready either."

    "Okay," I say, holding out two of my hands. She takes them in her own. "Are you particularly fond of anything you''re wearing right now? Because this will probably cause a wardrobe malfunction."

    "Valerie!" Lana calls out. "Your girlfriend is asking to see me naked!"

    "She can already see you naked," Valerie deadpans back. "She always sees everyone naked."

    Lana opens and closes her mouth without saying anything, a blush starting to grow in her cheeks as her blood vessels inflate.

    "I somehow forgot about that," she admits. "Go and ruin my joke, why don''t you? Uh¡­ I guess I''ll¡­"

    She lets go of my hands and starts awkwardly taking her shirt off.

    "I can lend you some spare clothes that I''ve ripped a few holes in already," I offer, having mercy on her. "You can change inside."

    "Yeah, um. Thanks," she says, and Valerie leads her off to find something else to wear. I sit down, petting Fartbuns as he immediately tromps over to me, panting happily.

    "You think I can do this, boy?" I ask softly.

    "Boof!" he says, because he always believes in me.

    "Yeah, you''re right," I agree. I can do this. I will do this.

    Unless I''m not good enough.

    Lana returns in much less nice clothing and I stand up, walking her out into the backyard and taking her hands. The world tree looms right next to our house, a massive wall emerging from the ground literally right next door. But not even something as titanic as that matters more than this moment, this turning point for the power I was given. I used this to curse so many people, and I loved it, deep in my heart. In the same ways I wanted my friends to understand my euphoria, I wanted the people I hate to understand my pain. And if I''m being honest with myself, I wanted my friends to understand that, too. Nature''s Madness is, fundamentally, a truly selfish spell.

    So let''s see if I can do some real good with it. I ignore the thumping of my heart and the tightness of my chest, and I smile at Lana.

    "Alright," I say. "Here we go."

    I cast the spell without an incantation, simply letting the power flow out of my soul. I''m so powerful that an incantation would be extreme overkill, but more importantly than that, the Goddess doesn''t deserve to be called to this moment. I know She''s going to watch, but She can damn well do it quietly and without invitation.

    Lana''s hands, held loosely in my own, are the first to change. Her face lights up with fascinated delight as they twist and shift, getting just a little thinner and a little longer as hooked claws sprout from the tips of each of them, the biggest on her thumb. She flinches and lets out a small squeak of pain as they burst forth, but I give her hands a reassuring squeeze.

    "You can tell me to slow down whenever," I remind her.

    "Don''t," she breathes, a smile on her face. "Go faster."

    So I do, pouring more magic into her and watching her shudder as gray fur sprouts up her arms, crawling towards her torso and neck. Wherever they pass, they start twisting her body into something more traditionally feminine¡ªthinner, softer, and of course with that exact sort of chest that I happen to like. She shudders and twitches as everything grows, letting out a few more adorable involuntary noises before I finally start to see her muscles and bones reshaping under her skin.

    "Alright," I warn her. "It''s about to get intense."

    "It''s not already¡ªaah!"

    I have to hold on a little tighter as she almost doubles over, new limbs twisting and cracking out of her back. They seem to be long, oversized arms, but when the hand starts to form the fingers won''t stop growing. Longer and longer, something alien and horrifying twitches out from her back, and for a moment I''m terrified of having doomed her after all before I see how her ears are starting to elongate and grow, enormous concave triangles that could only be one thing.

    "Well, I guess you kind of get to be a vampire," I smile at her.

    "What?" she squeaks, her enormous bat ears twitching as membranes start to grow between the ''fingers'' on her new limbs, turning them into wings.

    An adorably tiny tail emerges from her butt, her enormous wing membranes connecting all the way down to the tip. Again, she shudders, the changes cascading down her legs like wildfire, making her thinner, lighter, fuzzier. And then the last change of all happens when her incisors fall out of her mouth, briefly gushing blood before they''re replaced by two much longer fangs.

    "Vampire bat," I smile. "I should have guessed. You''re an adorably squeaky vampire bat."

    Lana''s enormous ears twitch this way and that, doubtlessly picking up on countless new bits of information with every errant sound. She seems a bit too overwhelmed to answer, so I wait quietly, watching her heart rate to make sure she''s not having a panic attack. But thankfully, it doesn''t look that way. She''s just adjusting, and eventually she looks my way again, her ears swiveling to face me as well.

    "This is¡­ a lot," she manages, speaking very quietly.

    "Is it too much?" I ask nervously.

    "No," she insists. "No, it''s¡­ it''s incredible. I¡­"

    Her wings open up and she staggers a little, seeming startled by their presence.

    "...Am I gonna be able to fly?" she asks, and the hope and excitement in her words shatters my stress like a hammer to glass.

    "Yeah," I promise her. "Yeah, you are."

    Valerie approaches us and I let her take over, excitedly chatting with Lana as I step away and sit down to pat Fartbuns. None of that was physically taxing for me in any way, but I still feel exhausted. It''s a good exhausted, though. I had really built that up in my mind, terrified that I could never pull off something so simple as helping a girl get a body she likes even though I''ve literally already done that with Valerie. But this time, it wasn''t a mistake, or a fluke, or me just getting lucky. We worked for this, and it paid off. I did it.

    I helped her.

    Tears start leaking out of my eyes before I can stop them, and though I''m tempted to Refresh them away I decide to just let them fall. The water clouding my humanoid eyes doesn''t prevent me from watching Lana excitedly patting herself down, squealing with delight when she finds her fangs, and nearly shocking herself enough to fall over when she presumably hears the echo of that squeal with her new chiropteran senses. It''s a shame that Alma and Jet aren''t back yet. I''m sure that both of them would have loved to help Lana learn to fly.

    Most of the rest of the day is everyone in the house coming by to chat with Lana and help her adjust to her new body, either through being actually helpful or just letting her revel in what she is now. Helen shares her experiences with weird new senses, and how she figured out that she kept swishing her tail to better pick up on movements in air currents. Kagiso seems to enjoy lifting Lana up into the air and running around, commenting on how small and light she is now while she helps Lana''s wings get a feel for the air. Ida, of course, mostly just shamelessly flirts with her, happily offering to be bitten and drained of blood¡­ though I suppose it''s ostensibly in order to figure out how much of her diet might be affected by the change, which is admittedly an important thing to do.

    I can''t help but think, as the hours pass and the sun moves ever closer to the horizon, that it has been a very good day. Perhaps one of the best days I''ve ever had. Just¡­ in my whole life.

    I blink, the thought forcing me to do a bit of a double-take. Is that really true? The smile on my face and jubilation in my heart makes it difficult to deny. After everything I went through last year, after being tortured and tormented and broken and raped, hating myself to the point that I tried everything I could to end it all¡­ I''m having a truly wonderful day. A day that''s better than anything I had before.

    Tomorrow probably won''t be this great. It''s a bit of a scary thought, really. Good days come, and good days are wonderful, but I know this won''t be the end of the bad. Tomorrow I might wake up torn apart by my own nightmares, a shivering wreck all morning and a sobbing mess all night. I have days where I can''t get out of my own head, where the phantom feeling of Her touch never leaves my body, and the temptation of putting my claws to my throat flares up with frightening strength. I''m afraid I''ll never stop having those days, and it''s very likely that I won''t.

    But there are days like this, too. There really are. The bad doesn''t go away, but it gets better.

    "You doing alright?" Valerie asks me, sidling up next to me with her arms wrapped around her torso.

    "Yeah," I tell her honestly, reaching out and taking one of her hands. I give it a bit of a squeeze, and Valerie knows that means she''s allowed to squeeze me, so soon enough I''m wrapped up in a fuzzy, serpentine cocoon. Being a snake has made her so much cuddlier. It''s really nice.

    "You''ve been sitting off by yourself a lot," Valerie comments.

    "I''ve been thinking," I confirm. "Not even about bad stuff, for once."

    "Aw. That''s really great to hear."

    "Yeah," I agree. "Hey, Val?"

    "Hmm?"

    "Can I kiss you?"

    She gives me a surprised look, and a few more words fall out of my face on their own.

    "O-only if you want to," I backpedal. "I mean, I know I freak out over that, and I don''t wanna make you have to deal with me having a panic attack since it''s been such a good morning, but I just thought¡ª"

    "Yes," Valerie answers. "You can kiss me."

    I stare at her. She smiles at me.

    "Okay," I say, and we lean closer to each other. Carefully, cautiously, I bring my face up to hers, Valerie doing most of the work of guiding us together since she has me completely wrapped up. And when our noses almost touch, and the desire within me doesn''t suddenly twist into wild, writhing panic, I close the last of the distance and put my lips on hers.

    Our first kiss is just a couple seconds long, a simple touch with only a light pressure. But we do it, and the entire time I don''t think of the Goddess. I just think of Valerie, and how incredibly lucky I am to have her in my life.

    I start to cry again. Valerie immediately becomes worried and pulls away, but I quickly grab her.

    "N-no, it''s okay!" I promise her. "It''s okay. Good cry. This is a good cry. I''m happy. We did it. I did it."

    "...Really?" she asks.

    "Yeah," I nod vigorously. "Yeah. Thank you. I love you so much, Valerie."

    It''s okay. It''s going to be okay. Because sometimes I won''t be okay, and things won''t be beautiful, and my heart will try to tear me in two. But in between them, there will be these brighter days, and I believe that next year there will be more than this year, and the year after that will be better still. I have people in my life who care about me, and together we will make our lives something worth living.

    The Goddess is still there. She hasn''t gone away. But my life doesn''t have to revolve around Her. I played Her game, I lost, and it isn''t the end of my story. Maybe someday a hero will come and finish what I started, but that''s not me, and that''s okay.

    "I love you too," Valerie smiles, and I laugh without knowing why.

    Tomorrow might suck. But like today, it might be wonderful, and right now I''m genuinely looking forward to finding out.