《Unbind》


 1 - ReJuven

    ¡°I promise you, this is gonna be fun.¡±


    ¡°It better not be like last time.¡±


    ¡°Okay, fine, last time was pretty lame. But this will be cool. I swear.¡±


    ¡°Uh huh. You¡¯re so dead if it¡¯s just as bad.¡±


    ***


    What the fuck?


    Cora lurches violently, one moment careening through a tunnel of endless light, the next deposited into a void. She rotates her hands and stares through her palms. Tendrils of vapor hiss along her skin, forming loops and swirls that turn into solid shapes and lines.


    Just a second ago, she¡¯d been fighting her former best friend.


    And now, she¡¯s in geometric hell.


    Lines and hard angles intersect on planes stretching infinitely into the void. Circles eat triangles, rhombuses pierce ellipses, and cubes glitch into cylinders and ride along rectangular spines.


    Cora¡¯s head pounds. Her chest heaves, stomach squeezing bile into the back of her throat. But when she reaches to rub her temples, her hands phase right through.


    ¡°Am I dead?¡±


    Among the interlocking shapes, her question echoes back, voice distorted into a whine.


    She¡¯d known the risks. That¡¯s why she kept the equivalent of a nuclear ICBM on her bed stand, and every night she slept facing it, her dreams plunging into so many different worlds.


    Cora thought she understood it.


    But the box had magic. And magic doesn¡¯t obey any law. There was a risk, however small or big, that she wouldn¡¯t step into a world with the same physics. Much less anything resembling sanity.


    It¡¯s not supposed to be like this!


    Cora shakes. She sheds plumes of vapor, rising into a mist, dividing and solidifying into pure geometry. She stares at her arms, halfway eaten through, ethereal wounds shedding her very essence into the void.


    Oh, Mari. I¡¯m so sorry.


    Tears stream down her face, only to exit as streams of vapor, curling into circles and spheres. ¡°Help!¡± Her scream multiplies tenfold. She curls into a ball and squeezes her eyes shut, but her eyelids, too, are translucent. ¡°Help!¡±


    A cube floats beside her. She latches onto it, and surprisingly, it¡¯s as cold and unyielding as steel. This came from her body, right? Cora scavenges other shapes, stacking them on top until she builds an artist¡¯s nightmare, a conglomeration of shapes held together by sheer will.


    Yet she continues to disappear. Most of her right half is gone. Her right hand finally disconnects from her wrist and becomes a trapezoid, fingers little rectangular prisms drifting off.


    Stop.


    It¡¯s the only thought screaming in her head, and out her mouth, as her legs break away into cylinders. Arms snapping off into isosceles triangles.


    Stop!


    Then everything vanishes.


    The void¡¯s silence leaves her ears ringing. Its darkness hurts her eyes. I¡¯m dead. Cora swivels around. I died.


    Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.


    If she still had her heart, it¡¯d explode. She silently screams. No vocal cords carry the weight of her despair, no physical body shakes and heaves and collapses.


    Cora¡¯s dead.


    I died, I¡¯m dead, and I¡¯m going to be here for all of eternity.


    A pinprick of light twinkles. Four threads of light knit into a square. Within it, images flit by. Inverted and distorted, some bright, some dark. A river, a planet, a cave, a lake.


    Her thoughts break apart. The square is rushing toward her. No, she¡¯s rushing toward the square, even though she¡¯s supposed to be dead. Reincarnation? Is she going to end up like those characters from the stories she read before the incident?


    No, no, no, no.


    Her thoughts project into the void. It screams back at her, harsh feedback and squeals and what sounds like a string of high-pitched laughter in the background. The colors of the square brighten, and it swells in size, and beyond is a single static image like it¡¯s on a television screen, and then she plunges through the screen


    Veil


    And her entire life changes forever.


    ***


    All she remembers by the time she plunges through the portal is crushing, existential dread.


    Cora flies over a dark, bristling forest. Warm winds propel her, even as the icy air slashes at her arms and face. Shadowy mountains fade into the distance, discolored like an old movie film. But the bruised skies, mahogany clouds, and blood-red moon tell her everything.


    This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    This isn¡¯t home. She isn¡¯t anywhere near it and won¡¯t be ever again.


    She¡¯s a human comet, a superhero, a girl terrified out of her fucking mind. She hurtles through the skies screaming, flailing her arms and legs in the hopes she¡¯ll somehow catch herself midair, maybe lower herself gently to the ground.


    One moment, Cora tastes fleeting freedom, the next the cold sweeps under her and yanks.


    The last thing she glimpses is a world wreathed in twilight before she plummets through the canopy, branches scratching her arms and face, leaves nicking her cheeks. Her leg catches on a branch, and it carves through her shin and ankle before freeing itself from her jeans.


    Her screams are short-lived. She crashes onto a carpet of leaves; her left wrist suddenly hurts, and her legs turn into jelly. But as Cora lies there bloodied, bruised, and cut, her scrambled brain pieces together the most important thing.


    I¡¯m alive.


    She heaves, lurching aside, emptying her stomach. Her mouth tastes sour. She licks her dry lips. How long since she drank water? Those last few moments seem years ago for how stark the contrast is.


    Her room, sleek and modern. Her decorations, warm, inviting, shelves full of plushies and golden light spilling from her lamps. The forest, dark, desolate, despairing. Dead. A cold breeze stirs life into the shadows, branches creaking and leaves fluttering around her, but there are no animals here.


    No people. No light, apart from the sickly reddish glow pouring through the hole in the canopy she left behind.


    And God, the cold. Cora shrinks into herself, tucking her legs in. The cold creeps into her flesh, strangling her heart. Leaving her throat tight as she struggles to suck in a breath.


    At least I¡¯m alive.


    Her right leg throbs. There¡¯s just enough light to make out a dark liquid trickling down her shin. Already, the fabric of her jeans is stained, a blotch of wet darkness running along the length of her leg below the knee.


    She doesn¡¯t want to look. She can¡¯t. Her left wrist is cherry red and hot to the touch. Swollen. Cora bends it, and instantly she feels her bones grind against each other, producing shockwaves of agony that leave her clenching her teeth, shaking.


    At least I¡¯m alive.


    Cora rises to a kneel. She sways, nauseous, before forcing herself onto her feet. The world swims around her, but she doesn¡¯t care. Anywhere is better than here. Her heart beats so hard she fears her ribs will shatter.


    ¡°Mari!¡± Cora shouts. Her throat hurts as she continues to yell her best friend''s name. ¡°Mari!¡± She sucks in a deep breath. The cold, dry air hurts her nose and lungs. She steps in no particular direction, clenching her fist.


    Mari was right there. They¡¯d been touching, hadn¡¯t they? Mari had tackled her to the ground. ¡°I¡¯m sorry! I¡¯m so fucking sorry for everything.¡± She trembles. ¡°Mari!¡±


    She touches her eyes. Her fingers come away wet. Why is she crying? Isn¡¯t this what she wanted? A break from her world?


    ¡°Mari. Please, come back,¡± Cora sobs, stumbling. She crashes into a tree, leaning onto it for support. An ugly sensation rears its head inside her, and what comes out is more like a strangled gasp than anything human.


    It¡¯s all gone. Her life, her family, the few friends she had. Cora is never, ever going to see them again. She howls and slams her fist into the bark. ¡°It wasn¡¯t supposed to be like this! I wasn¡¯t ready!¡±


    She drops to her knees. Doubles over and stares at the black fabric of her backpack, resting just a few feet away. Is she dreaming? Cora touches it. She unzips the front pocket, and inside is the bloodied rag she¡¯d wiped her hand off on.


    If the backpack is here, then that means¨C


    Mari. The box. Cora lurches onto her feet again, swinging her backpack over her shoulder.


    The box. She needs the box. She limps around the area, keeping the hole in the canopy in her sight. She checks behind trees, inside bushes, inside piles of leaves for any disturbances.


    Every search worsens the pain. Whittles down her hope until it¡¯s a nail stabbing into her heels. She cups her hand around her mouth, turning her head in every direction.


    ¡°Mari!¡±


    Still no response. Cora braces herself for the final short trek. She sucks in a shuddering breath and sets out toward several trees. Piles of leaves crowd around their trunks, decayed like the rest of the world.


    Carpets of leaves crunch under her boots. She limps around the trees, between them, kicking at the mounds, scattering even more leaves over the ground. She kicks down every last mound, checks around every tree, and checks the surrounding trees for good measure.


    The environment is as barren as a desert.


    Cora feels the all-too familiar sting of incoming tears. ¡°Don¡¯t,¡± she whispers. ¡°You¡¯re stronger than this. Fix this!¡± The knot in her throat grows as she goes around another pair of trees, beyond sight of the hole in the canopy. Every foot of scoured ground twists a dagger into her heart.


    It has to be here! It has to be! She checks one more tree. Her eyes rove over the land, past several decaying logs, past mounds of leaves she knows have nothing.


    Suddenly, light glints at the corner of her eye.


    So dull she almost misses it. Cora digs her nails into her palm, approaching the glint. Nestled among mounds of leaves, nearly buried, she finds the box.


    With its lid closed.


    ¡°Jeez,¡± she gasps, slamming her hand over her chest. Willing herself to calm down until her breathing is slow and steady. She struggles to suppress a smile. Everything¡¯s going to be okay.


    Cora buries her good hand under the leaves and spreads her fingers to raise the box by its bottom. It¡¯s a little more scratched up than she remembers, and a corner piece chipped off, but the box is intact.


    That¡¯s all that matters. As long as the lid is closed, everything¡¯s going to be okay.


    Cora carries it back to the tiny clearing, where weak light trickles through the canopy hole. Gingerly, she sets the box on the ground, double-checking that the lid stays closed. Her hand trembles when she pulls back. She stuffs it into her pocket, craving the meager warmth it offers.


    Memories flash before her. Mari shouts at Cora, her face blotchy red. Cora shields the box, standing in front. Mari gets too close and Cora shoves her back. Mari punches her and Cora swings back. Cora wipes her hand off on her cloth after breaking Mari¡¯s nose. Mari tackles her, their bodies crashing into the nightstand.


    And then, teetering in the world¡¯s most dangerous dance and losing to gravity, the box plummets onto the carpet, lid cracking open and light consuming them.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Cora says, shaking her head. She needs to focus on getting home. She pictures a hazy image of her bedroom and superimposes it over the forest. She blocks out the cold and silence, and replaces it with warm air and her speakers belting out classic rock.


    Her focus doesn¡¯t waver. She bends down, sliding her fingernails under the lid¡¯s groove. This was what she was supposed to do. Before Mari came.


    But Cora will fix everything. When she gets back, she¡¯s going to make the biggest apology cake for Mari and beg for forgiveness. Cora doesn¡¯t care about her pride anymore. Not after coming so close to being trapped here. Mari can laugh at her, slap her, punch her again for all she cares.


    Cora just wants to make things right again.


    She clenches her jaw and starts to lift the lid. Pauses, looks back at the world she¡¯s leaving. She stares at the moon, that bloodied eyeball staring at her. Judging her.


    Then, she yanks open the lid.


    A ghost of a memory traces its way along the edges. Light should¡¯ve come out like water from a broken pipe, gushing all over her. She checks the inside, shocked that it¡¯s so basic, shocked that the light that teleported here is missing.


    ¡°No. No, no, no¡­¡± Cora flips the box upside-down. Nothing. She grabs it by the lid and rotates it. She inspects the box¡¯s bottom, sides, interior, even the protruding hinge. Nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. It can¡¯t be! Cora slams the lid closed and yanks it open.


    Why? This time, she can¡¯t stop the tears from stinging her eyes. Warmth trickles down her face. Her vision blurs. She feels the heaviness of despair sink low into her gut. The full weight of her situation slams into her like a pile of bricks.


    Cora growls and seizes the box by the lid. She slams it into the leaves over and over. Keeps going until her arm hurts, and then she throws it as far away as she can, tucking her knees into her chest and burying her head between them.


    Seconds later, she shrieks.


    Home is gone.

 2 - PathFinder

    ¡°Hey, you wanna come along? We have room for one more.¡±


    ¡°Sure. How long will it take?¡±


    ¡°Most of the night, if you¡¯re cool with that.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m down. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ***


    Cora doesn¡¯t remember what happens.


    One moment, she¡¯s curled up on the ground, silently crying long after her vocal cords fail her. The next, she¡¯s venturing deep into the woods, backpack with box slung over her shoulder, repeating to herself that this is the way to the mountains.


    At least, it¡¯s the direction she remembers seeing them before falling.


    The cold worsens as she walks, seeping under her t-shirt and jeans and chilling her to the core. She nurses her injured wrist to her chest and stuffs her good hand into her pocket.


    Using the little moonlight streaming through the canopy, she avoids the muted shapes that must be trees. On she goes, trudging through carpets of leaves, leaving a wake of crushed bits that fly into the distance whenever wind pelts Cora.


    She can¡¯t feel her ears, nose, fingers, and toes. The sharp sting of the freezing air travels down her body. She¡¯s a living husk driven by the sheer desire to live, fueled with adrenaline, and maintained through the tiniest hopes that she can still fix everything.


    Fat chance. The box grates into her lower back, an unwelcome reminder that it¡¯s dead weight. Cora cinches her backpack straps, tightening them, but no matter what she does the box sags and stabs into her lower back.


    Her throat is raw. Her body hurts in too many places. Pain spikes through her wrist if she jostles it. The blood on her shin dried quickly, sure, but the cut is long, jagged, and deep. That leg hurts every time she steps too quickly.


    And somehow, she continues her merciless trek through the vast, gloomy wilderness.


    Shadows reel wherever she passes. Trees creak, skeletal branches reaching out to grab at her. Leaves rustle everywhere, their corpses animated by the cold winds that never stop coming.


    More than once, Cora stops to shake off the feeling something is watching her. Every time she checks behind trees or glances behind her, however, the land is desolate.


    What would Mari do? She¡¯d probably kill Cora herself. She presses her lips tight and adjusts the box so it¡¯s flat against her back, then resumes.


    Mari would fight until the end. Cora imagines her striding shoulder to shoulder, tossing her hair back, and straightening her posture. She¡¯d project an aura of confidence, maybe smile and say something inspirational, and lead them forward.


    And Cora would follow. Mari is¨Cwas¨Cthe popular girl at school, the class president, the perfect student every teacher fawned over. The girl who volunteered, who hosted food drives, who tutored classmates both familiar and total strangers.


    The one person everyone agreed would change the world.


    Yet, Mari picked Cora as her closest friend. They knew each other since they were practically babies, sure, but for their friendship to last that long, through so many problems over the years¡­


    Cora kicks a pebble. It bounces off a trunk, spraying a plume of leaves where it lands. More pebbles litter the ground, on the bare patches of dirt. She kicks them all, and they shoot into the darkness, dull thuds registering moments after.


    Their friendship was something more. Something Cora should¡¯ve appreciated.


    She trembles, and it¡¯s not because of the cold. ¡°Mari?¡± she whispers, hoarse. Of course, zero reply. God knows how much she begged for Mari to appear, or at least some sign telling her that she was okay.


    Somehow, the loneliness hurts worse than the cold, her cuts, her bruises, her wrist. At least she can pretend to ignore those. But the loneliness settles inside her chest like a bad congestion, and though Cora keeps her focus on the forest ahead, checking she won¡¯t run headfirst into a tree, she keeps thinking of her.


    Mari was the more dominant one, the risk-taker, the one who faced everything head-on. The person who picked Cora up after a bad date, cheering her up by driving her to Mari¡¯s house and binge-watching Netflix movies until they slept on the couch tangled together. The person who did dumb things and passed out on Cora¡¯s bed whenever she needed a break from the world.


    The person who reached out to her, every day after the incident, until her patience snapped.


    That¡¯s the side of her nobody else got to see but Cora. And she knows that if Mari didn¡¯t want to beat her into a bloody pulp, she¡¯d tell her to never give up.


    Cora touches her cheeks. Not again. She sniffles and wipes away the tears before they freeze on her face.


    Gradually, shadows peel away. Moonlight breaks through several holes in the canopy. Pastel red washes over the forest, bathing her in soft light. The change is so jarring she rubs her eyes and blinks, afraid that the image will vanish and thrust her back into her darkest nightmares.


    She steps under a shaft of moonlight, glancing past the hole at the red moon, a lot bigger and brighter than the moon back home. It looks almost like Mars does in the pictures, aglow with an atmosphere and deep channels carved into the surface.


    And it looks like an eyeball, pinched at the sides and rounder at the poles. A massive crater consumes the center area, and channels lead away like blood vessels.


    A bloodied eyeball, truly. One that mocks her.


    Cora bites on her bottom lip. She tears her gaze away. Maybe that¡¯s why she feels she¡¯s being watched. It¡¯s been above her this whole time, the haunting reminder she¡¯s nowhere near home.


    Something glimmers ahead. She squints, making out a glittering purple tree. Unlike the cone-shaped canopies of the other trees, the purple tree¡¯s branches sweep out into the shape of a mushroom cap. Needle-thin leaves jut out of willowy branches.


    It¡¯s the first she¡¯s seen of its kind. Is that a sign?


    The mountains don¡¯t just offer protection. Somewhere in a dusty corner of her brain, Cora remembers rivers can start at mountains. Forests need water. The forest seems endless, so there must be huge sources of water.


    It has to be a sign. Cora pauses before the tree. She scrapes off dirt with a flick of her foot, then bends low and drags her fingers over the unearthed sections.


    They come away wet. She can¡¯t help the shudder of relief that runs through her. Water. Actual water, or it feels like it, wetting the soil.


    She gazes back at the moonlit sections of forest. Leaving it is harder than she wants it to be. But Mari would push her to search for more. Some immaterial part of her tears and stays by the hole, soaking in the moonlight.


    The other part of her, the part that wants to survive, to fix everything and find her best friend, carries on.


    Layer by layer, the gloom and forest peels away. Carpets of leaves become carpets of needles. They crunch under her feet, and roll instead of fly whenever the wind pays a visit. Some time after spotting the first tree, the purple trees dominate the forest, leaving the others a rare sight. The moist dirt turns into a reddish brown, caking her boots a rusty color.


    A sudden urge itches for her attention. She slides her phone out of her pocket and points it at the forest. Even in the dim lighting, her camera sensors work overtime to compensate, and the image comes out bright as day.


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    She takes pictures of the moon, the starry skies, the trees and bushes and straggler weeds breaking through the dirt. Every image comes out bright and detailed.


    Then she creates a new folder and saves the images inside. Her thumb hovers over the folder name, hesitant.


    Another Dimension.


    She erases the line. Cora¡¯s heart twinges. What would Mari call it? ¡°You do you,¡± she¡¯d say, grinning. Cora shakes her head. Happiness is the furthest thing she feels. It¡¯s trapped back home, an echo of herself when she didn¡¯t know better.


    That doesn¡¯t stop her from basking in the beauty of this world and appreciating that she¡¯s the first, and possibly the last, person to see it. A complete ecosystem, rich in history, complex beyond her wildest understanding.


    And it¡¯s so lonely.


    Home away from home. Cora deletes the line, biting on her bottom lip. My mistakes. Cora slides her phone back into her pocket.


    ¡°You guys wouldn¡¯t believe what I¡¯m seeing,¡± she says. She claps a hand over her mouth, then pinches herself for being so stupid. Who¡¯s going to hear?


    Her mouth moves of its own will.


    ¡°What I¡¯m living through.¡±


    Pain jostles through her wrist as she paces down the forest. She stares at the moon. In it she sees red, deep red, gushing out of a broken nose, framed by brown eyes widened in shock and betrayal.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Mari. You deserved better than me,¡± she starts, her throat choking up. ¡°I¡¯d do anything just to see you again. But it¡¯s all my fault, and I¡¯m here because I fucked up. I did horrible things. I thought it¡¯d be okay, because then I¡¯d be gone and people would move on.¡±


    Her voice is barely a whisper. Every nerve ending in her throat fires away. Swallowing saliva burns. ¡°You¡¯re either here, or you¡¯re somewhere else. And I hate that I don¡¯t know. You were always doing so much for me, and I just¨C¡± She balls her hand into a fist. ¡°I treated you like shit.¡±


    Cora touches her cheeks. The sharp sting of the cold air slashes at her cheeks. Her bottom lip trembles. Not again. She got rid of all her tears, sobbed until her ribs hurt and throat was raw and bloody from screaming. There should be nothing left inside her.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Cora,¡± Mari says. For a second, she¡¯s there, tall and proud, like she came back from the beach. ¡°What happened happened. At least you¡¯re trying to fix things, right?¡± She gives a small smile, wiping at the bruise blossoming over her cheek.


    Cora stares at the apparition. ¡°Mari?¡±


    One blink, and the image vanishes. ¡°Wait, come back,¡± she whispers, reaching, grabbing nothing but air.


    I¡¯m going crazy.


    She takes a step back, then another, until her back meets against a purple tree. She stares at the space where Mari has just been. The proportions were three-dimensional, her voice was soft and caring.


    I¡¯m going crazy.


    Pain jams like a dagger into the back of her elbow. Cora yelps and tears away from the tree. Scathing pain scrapes her nerves raw. She turns her arm sideways, glimpsing a glossy pink welt rising from her skin.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± she screams. Knives rake her throat, and she lets out a strangled cry, grinding her foot into the dirt to distract herself. No sooner do her fingertips touch the welt than she feels a sharp jab tear into her flesh. Recoiling, she withdraws her hand.


    Her fingertips begin to burn. Not as badly as her elbow, but it feels like the time when she¡¯d gotten bits of habanero stuck under her nails. She moans, hopping from leg to leg, doing anything to distract from the crippling pain.


    Why her? She planned out everything so she¡¯d be in paradise.


    What did I do wrong?


    Lying to everybody, for starters. Cora¡¯s chest aches. Like a storm, the aching swells in size until the pressure threatens to blow her apart. Lying to her friends, who trusted her, whose trust she took and stabbed them in the back with.


    Breaking and entering, robbery, extortion¨Cshe did things she thought were necessary. She didn¡¯t hurt anybody, not physically. She was supposed to disappear, and the world would move on.


    And for what, this? Cora¡¯s hand tightens into a fist. Screw the feeling that her fingertips are melting off. Everything was going to plan. She was so sure. Until her delicate lies to herself crumbled when her best friend came to stop her.


    Mari approached her with the right perspective, lacking the right context.


    And. Cora. Punched. Her.


    It doesn¡¯t matter that Mari landed the first hit. She¡¯d been driven by emotion, hurting, that Cora used her. It wasn¡¯t supposed to be like that. Cora cared about her. She even tried to fix up the things she damaged, the emotional wounds she inflicted, but it was too late.


    For the first time, she physically hurt someone to get what she wanted. Her best friend, who was only trying to help. And Cora ended up trapped in this world for her cursed ambition.


    She slams her fist down onto one of the brown trees. The bark biting the underside of her palm feels good. She does it again, relishing the specific pain that contrasts against the broad burning variety of pain.


    Her fractured, possibly even broken, wrist. The gash in her leg. The welt on the back of her bad arm and her burning fingertips.


    Soon, the pain lessens to a dull throb. Her whole world is pain. It gnaws away at her, chipping off pieces of her sanity. It sinks its fangs into her wrist, lashes her feet, constricts her legs, and bites above her elbow.


    Her mind goes blank. More than once, she¡¯s jarred out of her pained reverie by her foot catching under a root or a branch snagging on her clothes. She lingers in the pain, then retreats into her memories, doing everything she can to distract herself.


    Memories of before the incident play in a rickety pattern. Here she is, five years old, crying because Mari pushed her and Cora skinned her knee. Here she is on her eighth birthday, squealing with laughter as Mari chases her around the house. Here she is, fourteen and a half, hugging Mari after a bad break-up.


    Cora doesn¡¯t want to think about her. Anybody but her. But she¡¯s replaying in her memories over and over. Every iteration grows more extreme. Here is a memory of Mari pushing her into the pool. In another, Cora play-wrestles her. In yet another, Mari donates her homecoming dress and lets her keep it, then shows off her matching dress.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Cora moans, rubbing her temple. ¡°Please.¡±


    The leaves and dirt abruptly vanish in a straight line ahead. She snaps back to reality and jerks her head, relaxing when she sees the gloomy forest behind her.


    She hears trickling water. In the biggest clearing she¡¯s seen yet, she follows a path built of needles and pebbles, growing slick until she finds the source of the trickling sound.


    Cora¡¯s being generous when she thinks of it as a stream. It¡¯s more like a creek, or a brook, or something even smaller, if a word for it exists. Lilac-tinted water churns over flat expanses of pitch black rock. Sediments form the illusion of cracks between rocks, like some giant slammed its hammer down.


    She won¡¯t drink the water. Even if she licks her lips and stares hungrily at how the water wets the tree roots worming their way into the stream. It¡¯s a start. She¡¯s headed in the right direction, and she¡¯s right about there being a river, probably, but there¡¯s no happiness.


    Only a deep relief soaking into her bones.


    The vegetation grows too thick at either side of the stream, and too many purple trees block any alternate routes she can take. She could try to find a detour where she came from.


    Theoretically. The weight of her exhaustion cripples any desire to continue walking.


    Her muscles protest as she sinks to a sitting position. Her wrist, unsurprisingly, hurts more than her legs as she shifts position and leans against a brown tree. Soon, they¡¯ll disappear, and she¡¯ll have to get used to the ground.


    For now, she¡¯s content basking in her hard-earned comfort.


    As her breathing slows, the cold seeps into her body. She hadn¡¯t even noticed it in a while. Teeth chattering, she draws her legs in for added warmth, making sure her wrist doesn¡¯t jostle.


    She shivers. ¡°Day one, I guess.¡±


    She loses herself in the slow-moving stream. Her eyes follow the trees up to their mushroom canopies, then back to the ground, down the stream to a mound of leaves and needles near a sharp turn. The mound rises to her height, maybe more.


    On either side of the mound, where the water doesn¡¯t touch, the soil peeks through. She squints. The dim lighting blurs the details, but she swears footprints mark the mound.


    Paw prints. As long as her forearm. It has to be the lighting. Or her brain. Didn¡¯t her psychology teacher once say that the brain is good at finding patterns where there are none?


    Of course the world chooses at that moment to send a breeze her way. She hugs herself tight, keeping her wrist immobile. It¡¯s too cold. She¡¯d do anything to get a jacket. Even a long-sleeved shirt would help.


    Mari would''ve given her one.


    Cora tenses her jaw. Still, despite the shivers wracking her body, her eyelids start to droop. She jerks herself awake and stifles a yawn, careful to keep her wrist pinned to her chest.


    Her limbs are iron, her head foggy. Cora shakes her head. Just a slight break and she¡¯ll get moving again, maybe reach the mountains before she collapses from exhaustion. The more time she waits, the more time everybody back home will realize she disappeared into thin air.


    What would her parents do?


    Cora shuts down the line of thought before it explodes in her face.


    Her attention settles on the markings. The more she focuses, the more the markings stand out as paw prints. She imagines the animal pausing and drinking from the stream, all rippling muscle and fur. Like a wolf.


    Except the paw prints are too long, too rectangular. Three holes dot the end of the imprints. Shouldn¡¯t they look more like dog footprints?


    Over the mingling static of water trickling over stones and her own heavy breathing, a lone howl pierces through.

 3 - NeDriven

    ¡°You guys don¡¯t want anything? Snacks? Drinks? They have a restroom here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good, thanks. Is this really the last gas station before we get there?¡±


    ¡°Yup. Hey, not sure if you need to pee? Trust me, it''s better to have no regrets.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s just we¡¯re so far out from you know. Civilization. But it¡¯s fine.¡±


    ***


    After a while, the howls fade. They loop in her head, however, and she can¡¯t stop thinking about the origins of those sounds. She imagines that¡¯s how a wolf might sound, if a wolf¡¯s pitch wavered from a deep, throaty rumble to a whistle¡¯s sharp note.


    Maybe, like the stream, they don¡¯t deserve to be called howls.


    But it¡¯s the best description she has. If only because it helps keep her from panicking. Comfort in the familiar.


    Then her eyelids are like leaden weights. She jerks her head up more than once, bashing the back of her head on the rough bark. Even the cold can¡¯t stop her from drifting off.


    Yawning, Cora rubs her eyes with thumb and index finger. The mountains¡­ She has to reach the mountains. But slumber is tantalizingly close. How long since she¡¯s felt truly sleepy? Countless nights staying awake back home exacted their toll on her. She¡¯s run on nothing but caffeine and adrenaline for so long that she¡¯s forgotten what being awake even feels like.


    The abyss calls to her. She listens.


    And she responds.


    Cora blinks, and the shadows are all wrong. What shadows? There is so little light to go by. She groans, stretching her arms out. A horrible, rending pain in her wrist bursts through her foggy awareness. Cora cries out, shaking her wrist, but the pain follows, spearing through tissue and bone alike.


    Her wrist is swollen. Hot to the touch. Painful. Broken? She tries to stand, but her legs protest, so she stays still. Thinks. Digs through her memories, up to the moment everything changed.


    Of why she isn¡¯t in her room, tucked deep into her blankets. Why the air is so cold and dry. Why so many trees surround her, and there is no sign of civilization.


    How did I forget?


    Cora wants it to be nothing but a bad dream. A nightmare she¡¯ll snap out of and shake, then laugh about it with Mari at school. Yet, the pain is too real. A blocky outline presses through the fabric of her backpack. She stares at the thing that doomed her.


    It all happened.


    Somehow, she keeps herself from breaking down, though her stomach tightens and she can¡¯t stop staring at the box. Cora cried and sobbed and punched trees. Nothing is left within her. This world knows who she is, and she knows what this world is.


    Too much. Trees, leaves, and needles take root inside her mind. They leech off her memories of home, already degrading by the second. She can¡¯t remember what she last ate.


    Her eyes widen. Cora produces images of her parents, her friends, her home, her stuff. They float up to the surface, better than 4k. She can still picture her dad¡¯s wrinkles, or her mom¡¯s frown. Mari¡¯s smiles, her house¡¯s rickety porch, her dog¡¯s diamond crest of white fur on his chest, the dead outlet by her bed.


    She sighs. Her breath billows in a cloud before her. Good.


    The last memory that returns is her dozing off after the howls disappeared. She closes her eyes and listens. At first, she hears the familiar rustling of the forest and the burbling stream. The breezes that blow through are fickle, but the current breeze must be blowing high above her, because she doesn¡¯t feel the biting chill blowing on her skin.


    Then the howls appear. Not appear, but materialize, like they split off from the two dominant sounds and formed an echo of each. They¡¯re faint, easy to chalk up to her head, if the howls didn¡¯t vary in frequency and pitch.


    Closer. Farther. Higher. Lower. Each howl sounds distinctly different, and it raises the hairs on her arms more than the cold does. After a few minutes, the howls fade away.


    Whatever those things are, Cora does not want to meet them. The closest thing she has to a weapon are scissors, and she¡¯s no fighter. Even landing the punch on Mari happened because she was caught unaware.


    Mari. Cora clenches her jaw. It¡¯s amazing how much blood comes out of a broken nose. Cora had stood there in shock as her best friend cried.


    Enough. I can¡¯t keep thinking about what happened.


    Easier said than done, when Cora digs into her backpack for her scissors and finds the blood-soaked cloth. The blood long since dried, leaving the cloth crusty to the touch.


    She can¡¯t stay, not while the howling creatures are out there. But she can¡¯t let this sick trophy of her actions ride inside her backpack, either. She pulls it out gently, thumb and index finger pinching the hem of the material, where the fabric is still a light gray.


    The stream is an arm¡¯s reach away. She can¡¯t stand just yet, but she stretches toward the stream, paying close attention that her injured wrist stays put.


    Cora dips the cloth into the running water. Her fingers submerge, and the shock of the icy temperature sends her reeling. She wrings out the wet cloth, which amounts to little more than tightening her fist. In the gloom, the blood looks nearly black. The water takes on a red tint, swirling on the surface and being carried further downstream.


    It doesn¡¯t take long until the cloth takes on a lighter gray color. The stream itself returns to its lilac hues not long after.


    If nature can go back to normal, why can¡¯t she?


    It gives her that stupid, annoying feeling that clears some of her doubts. Hope. Hope kept her running when nights grew long and she struggled to sleep, so she focused on researching different biomes or browsing shopping sites or planning what to bring over with her to another world.


    And all for this? She had a plan. Even if the incident with Mari¨CCora sighs. Her shoulders sag. There¡¯s no point blaming her. There¡¯s no point blaming herself. Stewing in her self-hatred won¡¯t help Cora survive and return home.


    Just like her hope won¡¯t do a damn thing.


    She drapes the dripping wet cloth on a low-lying branch. Colored a grayish brown, she carefully notes. If the howls return, Cora will snatch the cloth, her backpack, and leave. Simple as that. Otherwise, she needs more rest. Everything hurts.


    Except¨CCora wiggles her fingers. She can¡¯t feel them. When she presses her hand to her ankle, the shock of her icy touch steals her breath away.


    Her fingertips are pale. A blue hue travels down the length of fingers, bleeding into her palm. Cora stares at her hand. Back home, she never dealt with anything colder than the 50s. Low 40s, maybe once or twice a year.


    She scours her memories for those countless hours researching. Did her searches cover frostbite? Does she have frostbite?


    The answer is sudden, clear, as if she¡¯s sitting in front of her laptop. Heat. She needs to warm up her fingers. Frostbite develops through several stages, but Cora¡¯s sure she has the first stage: frostnip.


    Careful to keep her wrist from bending, she lifts her arm and stuffs her frozen hand into her armpit. She bites down on her lip as the cold air attacks her from all sides. Only her hand is spared the onslaught, warming up too slowly for her liking.


    Eventually, the aches spread through her hand again. She wiggles her fingers and feels her fingertips graze the cotton fabric of her shirt. Cora pulls her hand out, examining it. The blue is receding, but the color of her skin is far too pale.


    Howls break out somewhere on the other side of the stream. They¡¯re loud enough to leave her trembling.


    She¡¯s running out of time. With her wrist and leg injured, though¡­ Cora shakes her head.


    I¡¯m gonna make it out. Easy to think, hard to believe. The howls keep approaching. They rip through however many trees stand between the mysterious creatures and her.


    With one hand, stuffing the cloth into her backpack is a slow, painful task, her fingers still stiff, while her wounded leg supports half of her crouched weight and her injured wrist hurts.


    By the time the howls sound close enough that the creatures are probably right across the stream, Cora zips up the front pocket and wears her backpack.


    The scissors¡¯s plastic bites into her palm. She pictures herself as a seasoned soldier prowling through wilderness. Hacking away at shrubs, beating down beasts, laying quiet where necessary.


    Her hope is feeble. It gives her just enough strength to swallow her terror and step away from the stream.


    A shadow flits by at the edge of her peripheral vision.


    Adrenaline spikes in her veins. She whirls around, scissors outstretched. Another shadow flits by, beyond the stream. The woods are eerily silent. As if they¡¯re waiting with bated breath, afraid of attracting unwanted attention.


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    Her hand shakes, scissors starting to slip out of her numb fingers. She tightens her grip, the coil of anxiety growing in her stomach. More shadows move between trees, beyond the stream, between the trees there.


    Leaves crunch nearby. She presses herself against the tree she¡¯d slept against, holding her breath. The crunching continues in a wide circle on her side of the stream. Each crunch sounds just a little closer.


    Then a howl breaks out right next to her. Cora shrieks, slamming into the tree. The impact jars her muscles, bruises lighting up on her back, pain exploding at the back of her head. She clenches the scissors, plastic bending under her tight grip.


    A shadow stalks out of the adjacent bushes.


    Even in the gloom, even with her vision swimming from the impact, she trembles at the sheer monstrosity of the creature.


    Four lithe legs support a long, muscular body. A rope-like tail curls over its back. The creature¡¯s head is bulbous, yellow eyes set deep into its skull. Horns curve out of its brow bone. The creature¡¯s skin is pockmarked with scars or pores or whatever the jagged circular markings are, and the color is a deep gray, almost bordering on black.


    Razor-sharp teeth snap open within the mounds of flesh hanging from its lower face. A wet black tongue shoots out of its mouth, tracing over the mounds of flesh. They quiver like a plate of gelatin. Saliva dribbles down its deformed face.


    All the horrid details, Cora commits to memory in a split second. The next, the monster rushes forward.


    She throws herself aside.


    The creature flies past her. Its gelatinous mass bounces on the dirt once, twice, before claws burrow into the dirt and the creature lunges at her. Again, she leaps sideways, her backpack straining against her sore shoulders as she lands, crouching, and shoots onto her feet.


    She feels a root under her foot and adjusts her position so she won¡¯t trip when the creature lunges again.


    The creature¡¯s momentum carries it forward like its last attempt, but its tail lashes out at her. Like a whip, it snaps over her thigh and retracts.


    Cora screams, jumping away from both the creature and the purple trees. The strike didn¡¯t break through her jeans, but the underlying skin and muscle throbs, a tight band of pain.


    The creature lunges again.


    Her thoughts are too fast, body too slow. A projectile of hardened muscle slams into her. She crashes to the ground. The corner of the box stabs into her shoulder blade as she rolls, tumbles through a bush, then stops, sprawled on her back.


    Cora hisses through her clenched teeth. The creature opens its mouth, bristling with jagged teeth. Spittle flies on her face and neck. They burn, like the spittle is acid eating away at her flesh.


    She shrieks and throws as much force as she can behind the scissors. Her hand sinks until her knuckles brush against leathery skin.


    The creature howls, so loud Cora¡¯s eardrums are left ringing. She rips out the scissors, coated in a dark blue liquid. Blood. The creature crashes into a purple tree, and immediately she hears a faint sizzle.


    Howling, quaking, the creature slams into several trees before its stumpy legs collapse beneath itself. A ragged hole spews out a steady torrent of blood from its side.


    It takes a minute for the blood to stop pouring. It takes two for the creature to stop moving. It takes three until Cora breaks out of her dazed stupor, getting onto her feet, staring at the bloodied scissors.


    ¡°I did that?¡±


    There¡¯s nobody left to answer, of course. Cora clenches and unclenches her good hand. She¡¯s not sure if the cold is why her hand is shaking so much.


    ¡°It¡¯s a monster. It was going to kill me.¡±


    Her words sound hollow to her own ringing ears. Because the moment she drove the scissors through the creature, she remembered what she had wanted to do to Mari the moment she punched back.


    ¡°Fuck,¡± Cora sobs. She crouches, staring at the bloodied corpse. More howls echo in the distance. Too many. Make it stop! She touches her cheek, the area where some of the creature¡¯s saliva dripped on her. The resulting pain feels like a knee scrape.


    At least it isn¡¯t worse. She half-sobs, half-laughs, the result a choking noise that leaves her face flushed for air. The howls are closing in. She can¡¯t fight in this state, not when she¡¯s broken, not when she doesn¡¯t have Mari at her side.


    Cora clutches at her chest, the pressure intensifying. She grimaces as her insides threaten to tear apart.


    Never did she think what being alone, truly alone, feels like. Or how unforgiving the real wilderness is, without parking lots, park rangers, and the occasional facility. There¡¯s a stark difference between imagining the cold and actually experiencing it.


    What little cold Cora felt back home is nothing. Nothing compares to how the cold air numbs her skin, prickles the back of her neck, or hurts her joints.


    Without walking, she can¡¯t generate more warmth. The cold digs its talons into her and doesn¡¯t let go. Cora shakes, wrapping her arm around herself. It does little to ward off the chill.


    Howls erupt close enough to hear the different vocals. Three creatures, minimum. Bushes rustle beyond the gloom. She tenses, holding her breath.


    ¡°Mom,¡± Cora gasps. Speaking hurts. Her throat is tight. ¡°Dad.¡± The creatures are coming. More bushes rustle. She glimpses a shadow dart past several trees. She rises, clutching the scissors, trembling violently.


    Bushes rustle behind her. She glimpses a sickly gray creature, head tossing back and forth, loose folds of skin flapping wildly. Another creature emerges, stockier than the first, gnashing its teeth.


    She¡¯s going to die.


    Cora shrieks. She stumbles forward, her vision blurred and her limbs heavy like lead. Maybe if¨Cshe doesn¡¯t make it past a few feet before a sinewy mass leaps on her back.


    She sprawls, landing on her forearms and legs. Cora draws out a long, ragged scream as a spike of pain shoots through her left wrist.


    Howls deafen her ears. The creature¡¯s claws stab through her legs. It bites at her side, tearing through her t-shirt and grazing her ribs. Cora screams again, thrashing violently, gritting her teeth from the pain until the weight disappears off her back.


    At the moment the creature is airborne, she swings her good arm out and stabs it where its leg connects to its body. The cut isn¡¯t as deep as she wants, but the creature howls and rushes at her.


    There¡¯s little she can do to stop its charge. She¡¯s knocked down to the ground again, the creature biting her shoulder first, then the side where it¡¯d bit her.


    She drives her elbow into its side, but the creature howls and snaps at her arm. She jerks it back and drives a knee into its abdomen. It pauses, enough hesitation for Cora to drag the scissors across its meaty neck.


    Like a popped balloon, blood spurts everywhere. Cora turns away and scampers back to her feet. The moment she steadies her balance, the creature lunges at her again.


    She¡¯s able to sidestep it this time, but another sinewy mass barrels into her side. She goes flying, crashing on the ground with a loud thud that lights up every injury at once and shakes her to her core.


    Two more creatures stalk behind the injured one. It limps to the side and collapses, where it doesn¡¯t move after. In Cora¡¯s peripheral vision, she spots at least three more striding toward her. They¡¯re bigger than the first and second she fought off.


    Too many. Get up! Cora gasps and shuts her eyes, bracing herself against a fresh wave of fiery pain. Too much. Howls give the forest life where the breeze is lacking. The footfalls of the grotesque creatures thunder in her ears.


    ¡°No!¡± Cora shouts as the first breaks into a sprint.


    Everything happens in slow motion. Cora never gets a full recap of her life. No life flashing before her eyes, no final memories unfurling before her.


    Instead, she pees herself out of sheer terror. Her heart seizes. She wheezes, shaking violently. She raises her arm. The creature leaps high, about to rip her apart.


    She screams.


    The bushes rustle. Suddenly, a blur of colorful motion erupts out of the gloom, slamming into the creature. Bright blue showers the forest. The sharp glint of metal drags down its hide, the wielder clinging to the knife as the creature bucks and writhes, spraying blood everywhere. The wielder jumps back, knife in one hand, other hand free, a human hand.


    It¡¯s a boy. He¡¯s not much older than her, and to her shock he¡¯s wearing an ultramarine blanket like a cape, the cloth stitched with white stars. Darkening as he lunges into the bloody spray and stabs his knife through the creature¡¯s head.


    He barely straightens his posture when two creatures barrel into him. He¡¯s thrown onto the ground, but rolls into a crouch and slashes through the first creature. The second shoves the body aside and howls. The boy punches the creature and slams it onto the ground. He stomps on its stomach, snarling. She hears the soft cracking of bones.


    The rest is drowned out in a wet gurgle when the boy stabs the creature.


    She stares at him. He lifts his head and makes eye contact with her. Shadows hang beneath his eyes. He looks like she used to, on those restless nights where a few hours of sleep was a luxury. Yet, his eyes glimmer a brilliant gray, piercing through the gloom, determined.


    He¡¯s panting, clutching his knife tightly. Cora can¡¯t stop staring at him. Where did he come from? Who is he?


    Then more creatures stalk towards him. Their howls are deafening. They flock toward the chaos, swelling in numbers, tails lashing at the air and serrated teeth snapping together. Despite that, despite fighting alone against alien horrors, he stands like his body is carved out of steel. As if the planet could shatter beneath his feet and he¡¯d keep standing, untouchable.


    Cora holds her breath. He¡¯s only one person. Armed with one knife, and nothing else. She can¡¯t tear her eyes away. Can¡¯t stand and help him fight back, even if she¡¯s wounded.


    Howling, the first mutants leap at him.


    Like a coiled spring, he bolts forward, cleaving apart the closest mutants. She gasps. They tumble on the ground, bleeding, dead. More creatures drop wherever he goes, left as bleeding heaps of monstrous flesh. He whirls and targets their sagging lower faces or backs of their heads. Mutants lash at him, and he severs tails and limbs in return, his face a mask of fury that strikes a chord of fear inside her.


    The knife captures the little light there is and magnifies it tenfold. She loses track of him, but not the knife, gleaming and dulling and spraying blue blood with every gleam that appears. The gleam twists and turns and pivots around whenever the boy jumps out of a creature¡¯s way.


    Soon, blood dulls the polished metal. By some miracle, none of the creatures target her. They bound past her at the maelstrom of furious kinetic energy, fists and knife and a few well-timed kicks.


    Bodies heap on one another. He¡¯s so busy striking down the mutants that he fails to notice a mutant raising its tail behind him, prepared to strike. Cora¡¯s thigh throbs painfully in reminder.


    She grits her teeth and shoves herself on her feet. Its tail starts to swing at the boy when she brings her scissors down on the fleshy portion. The creature howls, retracting its tail, just enough time for the boy to kick a creature mid-air and whirl around.


    He stabs the creature instead, his fury ebbing. The final creature pauses at the center of the mounds of bodies, gnashing its teeth. It uses its tail like a third leg to push itself backward, but he rushes forward and stomps it down. He tears into the creature moments after, silencing its high-pitched howls.


    His breathing is heavy, forehead slick with sweat, clothes bloody. His blanket sports dark splotches, drowning the stars. His hands shake as he sheathes the knife into a leather pouch strapped to his belt. Several long scratches trail down his arms.


    Suddenly, his statuesque image breaks, and he''s just a boy¨Chuman¨Cwho looks¡­ worried. Scared, like her.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± he says, clenching his fists. He looks around him, at the carnage made by his hand. Cora can¡¯t stop staring at him. Her eyes are tearing up.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± His voice comes out in a tremble. He coughs, and smiles weakly, raising his hand as if to comfort her. Then he retracts it, probably realizing both arms are coated in blue blood. ¡°Stupid question, sorry.¡±


    ¡°N-No. Not a stupid question. Yeah, I¡¯m okay.¡± Her teeth chatter. She''d forgotten about the cold. As her adrenaline ebbs away, the cold nips at her. ¡°Wh-who are you? I¡¯m C-Cora.¡±


    The boy frowns, raising his hand again. He pauses, but keeps his hand raised, grimacing. ¡°Liam. I¡­ I thought this was a nightmare.¡± Liam screws his eyes shut. ¡°I heard your screams and didn¡¯t want to check. I thought it was all part of the nightmare. But if I hadn¡¯t come¡­ fuck, I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be sorry. You saved me,¡± she whispers, her throat closing up. She lets the scissors drop and clenches and unclenches her hand. She¡¯s alive. Horribly injured, but alive. ¡°You saved me.¡±


    His hesitance breaks. He wordlessly hugs her. She sinks into his shoulder, wrapping her good arm around him. Some blood smears on her cheek, but she presses tighter, sobbing.


    She weeps for the world she gave up and the life she stole from the boy who saved hers.

 4 - Synabond

    ¡°Trust me, you¡¯ll have a blast. We¡¯re chill. No deadbeats or anything.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But what?¡±


    ¡°Why is there a bed there?¡±


    ***


    ¡°I can¡¯t take this.¡±


    ¡°Why not?¡± Liam presses his blanket toward her, and Cora pushes it away, shaking her head.


    ¡°I don¡¯t¨C¡± Don¡¯t deserve it, she wants to say. I¡¯m the reason you¡¯re here. But the words die at the tip of her tongue. She itches to grab the blanket and be done with the theatrics. Her selfishness is unparalleled in any world, she knows.


    Mari would agree.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to, because then you¡¯ll be cold.¡± The lie slips out so easily. Cora is a natural. Even she believes herself. ¡°Besides, I got used to the cold.¡±


    He frowns. ¡°Just take it.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°I just can¡¯t, okay?¡± Because if I do, then the bad side of me wins. Once more, Liam presses his blanket toward her, and she snaps, slamming the back of her hand against his offering. ¡°I told you, I¡¯m fine.¡±


    He presses his lips thin. His nostrils flare, and he frowns, but offers the blanket once more. Looking at her pleadingly. ¡°It¡¯s bloody, I know, and you¡¯re probably wondering when I last washed it. I get it. It¡¯s a dirty rag, but it¡¯s a dirty rag that¡¯ll keep you warm.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m warm.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re fucking shivering!¡± Never has Cora heard a voice boom like that. She recoils, drawing back from his six feet of musculature, eyeing the sheath strapped to his waist. He sighs and drops his arm back to his side, blanket bundled in his fist. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    Back home, she played Russian roulette with her friends, her family, daring herself to go a little farther, pushing the boundaries of her research for knowledge¡¯s sake. The more she learned about the box, its powers, its subtle effects on everything and everyone, the more confident she became.


    She thought she knew everything. She thought she had her life under control, knew her future and what she¡¯d do to achieve it¡­ until Mari knocked on the door.


    And everything spiraled from there. Am I sure? She knows that if she says no, he won¡¯t ask again. More than that, she knows she¡¯ll break something between them.


    Ha! You don¡¯t know this guy! Why do you care?


    They¡¯re Cora¡¯s thoughts, in Mari¡¯s voice. Cora reaches and runs her thumb over the blanket, avoiding the dark splotches. Traitor, Mari whispers. Goosebumps ripple down Cora¡¯s spine.


    You¡¯re not real. Shut up.


    ¡°Sorry for being a jerk,¡± Cora mumbles, taking the blanket from Liam. She braces herself and drapes the blanket over her shoulders. The blood is dried off, leaving thick crusts that she does her best to ignore.


    He raises an eyebrow, mouth slightly open. ¡°Is there something you want to talk about?¡±


    ¡°Nothing. I¡¯m fine.¡±


    Cora shrugs off her backpack and rifles through the front pocket. She removes her hair claw clip, holds it open, drags both ends of the blanket over her chest using pinky and thumb, and lets the hair clip snap its jaws closed. The result means the plastic bites into her chest, but it¡¯s a small price to pay.


    She¡¯s made a brooch, and the blanket a coat.


    Liam nods. ¡°Huh. That¡¯s pretty cool.¡±


    She allows herself a small smile. It feels forced, unnatural. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ¡°I have water bottles back at my camp. It¡¯s not too far from here. Did you drink that water?¡± He gestures at the stream, untouched by the carnage mere feet away.


    Camp? Cora¡¯s pulse quickens. Maybe she isn¡¯t responsible for Liam being here. ¡°No, I didn¡¯t trust it.¡±


    ¡°Mmm. Can you walk?¡±


    ¡°I think.¡± She walks to the edge of the stream, but shuffling is a better way to describe her movements. Her legs hurt, her thigh especially, bruised from the creature that struck its tail on her. She can¡¯t stop herself from grimacing every time she tests her weight on her cut leg. She deflates, hanging her head. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°I can help.¡± Cora snaps her head up, staring at him. He shrinks from her gaze and rubs the back of his elbow. ¡°If you¡¯re fine with it.¡±


    ¡°How¨Cwhat can you do?¡±


    Liam approaches her. She shrinks, feeling self-conscious, as if her bloody, beaten current state doesn¡¯t speak volumes about her appearance already.


    ¡°I¡¯ll support some of your weight. That cut on your leg, that¡¯s the side I want you to keep your weight off of.¡± He drapes his arm over her shoulder and rises to his full height. His broad, muscular shoulder brushes against her own, and she feels self-conscious again.


    She drapes her arm over his shoulder, leaving her injured wrist pressed to her chest. ¡°I¡¯ve never done this before,¡± she admits, staring at her feet. They¡¯re so much smaller than his.


    ¡°Just walk. Trust me.¡±


    Cora is tired of feeling pain. She gulps, watching Liam take the first step. She follows. She tenses, expecting the familiar spike of pain to drive into her cut shin, but the pain barely registers. They take a few more steps, slowed by her hesitation.


    Step after step after step. She gains confidence. They walk a little circle around her backpack, repeating the motion, until Cora straightens her back and matches Liam¡¯s stride.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± The next smile that appears comes out of nowhere. To her surprise, he smiles back, eyes crinkling and gray softening.


    ¡°I¡¯m carrying your backpack.¡±


    He says it as a statement. No question, no apprehension. She doesn¡¯t dare voice her objections, not if it means that horrible inner voice shuts up. He lifts the back in one easy swoop and shrugs it on.


    They slide their arms over each other¡¯s shoulders. The motion is natural, and the walking is too. Liam takes them beyond sight of the stream, but the trickling of the water stays in the background, something the gloom can¡¯t hope to stifle.


    His long-sleeved shirt probably isn¡¯t doing enough to ward off the cold. He¡¯s wearing black joggers and boots, but still. The cold is everywhere. Her body might be warmer, but her face is numb, lips chapped and nose frozen to the point she fears it¡¯ll snap right off.


    Liam, though, marches them forward with a grim look of determination. His knife¡¯s handle bobs on its sheath, pushing against her, the very tip grazing the shallow bite wound the creature left.


    She keeps quiet. The pain is nothing compared to her thirst. It burns, and she works up what little saliva she can and swallows, giving her a few moments of relief. The sooner they get to the water, the better.


    Liam¡¯s eyes are locked on some target ahead. Whatever it is, she can¡¯t tell through the gloom that envelops them, as the canopy seals and moonlight trickles through tiny patches.


    How he remembers the route is beyond her understanding. He¡¯s more well-suited to living in the alien world than she is. Maybe because he¡¯s native to this world. He did say they¡¯re headed to his camp, after all.


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    A thorn of pain buries itself into her side. It takes all of her concentrated willpower to remain unbroken, a living statue, the same way Liam is. The handle rubs against her bite wound, and even through the fluffy blanket the contact aggravates her pain. They can¡¯t stop now, especially not in the darkest parts of the forest she¡¯s seen yet, so dark the purple trees melt into shadowy blobs.


    She shudders. She leans into him, savoring his extra warmth and steadfast presence. How he stands strong after killing so many creatures, too, is beyond her understanding. Nothing seems to faze him. Not the cold, not the burden of helping her, not the monsters he sliced and hacked his way out of.


    He¡¯s untouchable, while she¡¯s been broken. The creatures tore out some irreparable piece of herself. Could she have survived if she¡¯d gone through the portal with her plans and materials?


    Sure.


    Thrived, even, if she had time and resources at hand. But the constant cold. The threat of predators ambushing her. The overabundance of the horrific purple trees and the crushing loneliness.


    How was I so stupid? Her breath hitches in her throat. She clenches and unclenches her jaw. Not again. Cora thought herself invincible, beyond such weak emotions when she¡¯d cracked the box¡¯s purpose. It gave her a shield to hide behind whenever her guilt attacked for treating Mari so badly.


    Yeah, and you¡¯re treating this guy like a king while you treated me like shit. Everything¡¯s quid pro quo for you, right?


    She screws her eyes closed. The left side of her temple aches. She imagines Mari the way she last saw her, bloodied nose and all, and shoves her into the deepest recesses of her mind.


    You¡¯re not real! Leave me alone!


    Liam stops. The change in momentum is sudden, and Cora¡¯s arm acts like a lever so she thuds into his chest. Oh, no. Did she say that out loud? It¡¯s too dark to tell what his expression might be.


    He¡¯s going to know she¡¯s going crazy. Marbles spilling out in hordes.


    ¡°We¡¯re almost there,¡± he says, quietly.


    She removes herself from his chest, rocking on the balls of her feet. His arm withdraws, and she¡¯s left bearing her full weight. Her cut leg and bruised thigh light up. She stares into the gloom, unable to make out more than blobs heaped upon blobs, bleeding into each other. Her pulse races in her ears.


    ¡°Then why are you stopping now?¡±


    ¡°Look, I don¡¯t know how to say this without sounding weird or anything¡­¡± Her eyes widen. Sheepishly, he scratches his neck and clears his throat. The image is so unexpected she stares at him, mouth gaping open. ¡°I¡¯ll keep you safe, okay?¡± For good measure, he pats his sheath. It bounces under his fingers. ¡°You barely know me. I barely know you. But with how fucked up everything is, and because you¡¯re injured as hell, I figured I could protect you. If you want.¡±


    Nothing about what he said is funny. Yet, she chokes out a giggle, cheeks straining from the smile that¡¯s one hundred percent real. It¡¯s absurd. Liam swooped in like a superhero and annihilated hordes of monsters armed with sharp teeth and claws, and yet he can¡¯t speak to her directly.


    ¡°No, it doesn¡¯t sound weird. I appreciate that,¡± she says, between bouts of giggling. The congestion in her chest clears, her airways loosen, and she takes what she feels to be her first real breath since grappling Mari onto the carpet. Even as the memories and pain push against her shored-up defenses. ¡°Where¡¯s this camp of yours?¡±


    ¡°Pretty close. I think you¡¯ll find it interesting.¡±


    ¡°Interesting?¡±


    His expression is impossible to read. She thinks she makes out a smile, but it could well be him biting his lip. ¡°We¡¯re almost there. I swear. I can patch you up and then we¡¯ll figure out what to do from there.¡±


    Cora nods. They set out, arms linked together, toward his ¡°camp.¡± The more time she spends with him, the more she suspects his confidence is a lie. The more the dread in her stomach twists and punches the air out of her.


    The trees don¡¯t change at all. The steady trickle of the stream stays at a constant background level. Then, something almost imperceptible changes.


    One moment, Cora loses herself in the gloom. The next, she sucks in a deep breath, wide-eyed. Weak light streams in through a sizable hole in the canopy.


    At the center of a clearing, the shattered remnants of a toilet are scattered across the ground. The bowl is cracked but intact, lid dangling by a fractured bolt. The water tank is currently hundreds of porcelain shards thrown around the clearing.


    Hulking, angular shapes lean against several trees at the far end, straddling the muddled boundary between distinct outlines and amorphous blobs.


    Until they step into the clearing, and the pieces click. The shadows are medicine cabinets cracked open, the doors askew and their contents strewn out like a gutted animal¡¯s.


    Pills, bandages, gauze, tape, bottles, even more pills. The sheer variety, the eerie geometric symmetry of the remains compared to the forest, unleashes a torrent of blurry memories. Her fingers had snapped off, but no, that doesn¡¯t make sense. They¡¯re still attached to herself, clenched into a fist. The other brief vision of her psychiatrist prescribing anti-anxiety meds¨Cnow that makes sense.


    Too little, too late. She did drag Liam into her mess, after all.


    Checkmate, Mari says, her voice smug.


    Cora can''t help it. She laughs. The sound, shrill and high, must sound more like a desperate cry for help, because she hurts and everything sucks and the bathroom¡¯s remains remind her of her worst choices, but Liam laughs too, and Cora can''t control the half-sob, half-laugh escaping her before she processes what''s going on.


    ¡°You said it was a camp,¡± Cora wheezes. She doubles over, groaning in pain as her wrist complains and thigh hurts. ¡°This is a bathroom.¡±


    ¡°Was a bathroom,¡± Liam says. He gestures at the ridiculous, unnatural scenery. Cora¡¯s fault. ¡°When I came here¡­ fuck, give me a second.¡± He sighs and plants his hands over his face.


    Cora¡¯s left to stand on her own. The sudden increase in weight on her legs hurts. She keeps her mouth shut, tuning every fiber of her being to him.


    ¡°When I came here, all of this came with me. Even my fucking toothbrush.¡± He drags his hands down his face, exposing his eyes. The piercing gray is still there, but the whites are bloodshot. ¡°I still don¡¯t think any of this shit¡¯s real. Do you?¡±


    ¡°If you don¡¯t think I¡¯m real, then why are you asking me at all?¡± Cora says.


    The words appear rude. She winces at the bite in her tone, but it''s too late to take them back. She swears she hears an echo of Mari¡¯s laughter. Liam digs his fingers into his cropped hair.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought. Fuck. Sorry for leaving you like that.¡± He returns to her side and helps her close the distance to the debris.


    Cora frowns as she hears Liam¡¯s heavy, uneven breathing. He wears the same grim look of determination when he led them through the forest. Only his eyes are downcast, brow furrowed so low she glimpses the barest hint of gray.


    ¡°Hey, we¡¯ll get through this together.¡± Her words clash with the final images of punching Mari and the short-lived fight afterward. She had said similar words, once, in the aftermath of that horrible day. Long before she learned about the box.


    Traitor.


    Cora ignores it. ¡°I promise.¡±


    She reaches over her shoulder and lightly squeezes his hand.


    Liam pauses. The mask breaks, and once more he¡¯s a terrified person, putting on a brave front for somebody who doesn¡¯t deserve an ounce of help. She bites down on her tongue, savoring the fresh new wave of pain that distracts from everything else.


    It¡¯s impressive how many emotions flicker on his face at that moment, while her fingers brush against his and she softly repeats her flimsy promise.


    No, not flimsy. She refuses to let her past define her.


    Let it crash and burn. Let her old self wither away. Cora won¡¯t, refuses, to be like how she was up to the moment she broke Mari¡¯s nose. That moment injected awareness Cora had happily buried in pursuit of knowledge. Liam needs her, just as much as she needs him.


    She¡¯s the monster that ripped him from his old life and threw him here. Briefly, the more inquisitive part of her wonders why he came, and Mari didn¡¯t.


    How many others, then? How many others did I bring here, if Liam¡¯s here? Her hand shakes. But she can¡¯t pull away, not when she wants to change herself, fix her mistakes so both of them can go home.


    Home. The word tastes both unfamiliar and familiar. Was she ever really ¡°home?¡± Did she expect to find home in another world, too far from her real home, or is home something else entirely?


    Neither of them have said anything, and Cora¡¯s hand is still on his. Blushing, she pulls her arm back, stuffing her fingers into her jeans pocket.


    ¡°I¡¯m not gonna lie, I¡¯m scared as fuck,¡± Liam says.


    Cora already knew, of course. Still, her heart wrenches again at hearing him confirm it. All because of her.


    ¡°So am I,¡± she says. One of the few things she isn¡¯t lying to him about. ¡°I¡­ I had a fight with a friend back home.¡± That word. Cora longs for her family. She would do anything to go back, punch herself again, if needed, screaming at her to listen to Mari.


    But some actions are unforgivable.


    ¡°Oh, that sucks. And it¡¯s been bothering you, hasn¡¯t it?¡±


    Cora shouldn¡¯t be saying anything. He didn¡¯t even ask! Yet, she can¡¯t stop herself from talking anymore than she can stop her racing heartbeat. ¡°Yeah, a lot. I can¡¯t stop thinking about it, even when I¡¯m this,¡± Cora pinches her thumb and index finger, ¡°close to not making it. I¡¯m scared, yeah, but I¡¯m also scared for her.¡± Liar. Mari¡¯s voice, but Cora ignores the stray thought. ¡°We were together when I¨C¡±


    Her stupid throat is clamming up. Once again she feels Mari¡¯s nose crack under her fist, and the wetness trickling down Cora¡¯s knuckles. Some things are unforgivable. She wipes away at the tears she knows are freely streaming down her cheeks.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Cora mumbles.


    Liam¡¯s eyes are downcast. ¡°No, it¡¯s fine. I get it. When I got taken here, this shit came with me. I don¡¯t know how, I don¡¯t even want to think about it. You¡¯re probably the same, right?¡±


    She nods, sniffling. She¡¯s supposed to keep her head up, stay strong. If Liam can do it, she can, too.


    Every time she thinks of Mari, Cora¡¯s strength dissolves.


    ¡°We¡¯ll get through this shit. Together, like you said. Thank you for that.¡±


    He offers a fist bump. She doesn¡¯t see that, though, only sees his outstretched arm, so she wraps her hand around his fist, shaking it awkwardly.


    ¡°Oh, uh, oops. Yeah.¡± She isn¡¯t alone. She has Liam. ¡°Together.¡±


    ¡°There are some bottles of water over there.¡± He points at a roughly rectangular shadow outside the perimeter of faint light. Her thirst roars into existence. She forces herself to stay rooted at her spot.


    ¡°We have time to think about what to do, then.¡± Cora already has her objective: the mountains. But it¡¯s not enough. She needs to flesh out the details.


    ¡°Not much, probably,¡± he says. Right. He kicks porcelain shards aside. He sits, and she gently lowers herself, sitting with her legs crossed. Something stabs the back of her thigh. Cora plucks a sliver of porcelain under her leg and flicks it away.


    ¡°Then we should start,¡± she says. Though she only wants to lie down, wrapped snug in his blanket, and wake up back home.


    ¡°True, we should. But we can¡¯t go anywhere until we fix up your injuries.¡±


    She glances at the medicine cabinets. The only blessing to come out of the long chain of horrible disasters. ¡°Do you know how to use them?¡±


    He sighs. His hands clasp together on his lap. ¡°Please, I¡¯m not an amateur.¡±


    A wisp of her old self demands an answer. ¡°Awesome. Good thing I have a talented doctor from Harvard to help me.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t treat uninsured patients.¡±


    His deadpan delivery overwhelms walls the cynical aspect of herself built up. Her sides hurt as she doubles over, laughing. For once, she forgets about all the bad things that are going on and revels in the moment.


    Liam¡¯s face flushes. He cracks a smile in return.

 5 - InterWoven

    ¡°Legends say Billy¡¯s ghost will fuck you up if you show disrespect.¡±


    ¡°Not me.¡±


    ¡°You dare challenge Billy like that?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, because I can beat a ghost any day.¡±


    ***


    ¡°Gah!¡±


    Cora twists her back so she faces Liam, or at least the top of his head. He jumps and stumbles back. A bloodied strip of cloth dangles from his hand.


    ¡°That hurt,¡± she says, narrowing her eyes.


    ¡°It¡¯s all part of the process. No pain, no gain,¡± Liam grumbles.


    ¡°Easy for you to say. I¡¯m doing a lot worse than you are right now.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean I don¡¯t sympathize or anything.¡±


    He pushes back his sleeve. Several bloodied bandages go up his forearm. Cora winces, even as she¡¯s the one with cuts, bruises, scrapes, and a swollen wrist which she¡¯s nearly a hundred percent certain is broken.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± She mentally slaps herself, remembering he asked her the same thing. ¡°I mean, do you need help with anything? Two hands are better than one.¡± She gestures to him, then wiggles her fingers.


    ¡°Not anymore, but later, yes.¡± He runs a fingernail over the edge of the bandages, testing their grip to his bloodied skin. ¡°First, we need to take care of you.¡±


    She eyes the rubbing alcohol wearily. He hasn¡¯t made a move to reach it yet, but memories race of paramedics treating her cuts and scrapes after the incident.


    ¡°That¡¯s a nightmare in a bottle. Even you know that.¡±


    ¡°The lesser of two evils.¡± Liam unscrews the cap and presses a clean strip of cloth over the bottle opening. Quickly, he flips the bottle and rights it again, the cloth damp with rubbing alcohol. ¡°Are you going to let me clean your wounds? Or will you do it yourself?¡±


    She shakes her head. With one functioning hand, doing anything beyond picking the bottle up is impossible. ¡°Can you please be more careful, though?¡±


    ¡°If I hurt you too much, pinch me so I can fuck off.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡± Cora sucks in a deep breath and holds it. Liam approaches, cautiously, as if he were approaching a wounded snake, which isn¡¯t too far off the mark.


    She lifts her shirt up to her mouth and bites down. Exposing herself like this to him makes her heart race. Nothing romantic about it. He¡¯s doing an important job. But Cora can¡¯t help but wonder what Liam thinks about her. If he¡¯ll wonder about the jagged scars running along her waist, or the moles near her ribcage resembling a crude smiling face.


    Between the cold and Liam¡¯s fingers grazing the skin above and below the bite mark, she shivers. Her eyes widen and she struggles to keep her breathing level.


    The wet cloth sticks to her side wound. Fire incarnate races across the injury and deep into her organs. It burns as badly as the purple trees, only the pain coats her entire side. She screams into her shirt, which sounds more like a muffled scream than the shrill noise she¡¯s sure would¡¯ve deafened him.


    Cora moves to pinch him, then backs off. It¡¯s not fair to him. His eyebrows are knitted and his eyes focus solely on cleaning and bandaging the bite wound. Nothing more.


    Her shoulders sag. She focuses on one of the few brownish-gray trees left while Liam sticks a bandage over her side wound. When he¡¯s finished, she lets her shirt drop and shudders.


    You deserved that.


    Cora twists her face into a grimace. The thought is not her own. It¡¯s like Mari is watching everything through Cora¡¯s eyes, criticizing her. But she isn¡¯t real. She¡¯s a hallucination born from trauma.


    It still doesn¡¯t stop Cora from listening to her. Considering that maybe the pain she feels is a small price to pay for the pain she put Mari through.


    No! I¡¯m gonna be a better person.


    Liam stares at her. Embarrassed, Cora realizes she¡¯s raised a fist, ready to fight off any apparitions of Mari. ¡°Did I do something wrong? Is the bandage messed up?¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s fine,¡± Cora says, putting on the best display of a smile she can. Always a liar, Mari whispers. She suppresses a shudder and focuses on the new strip of cloth he¡¯s holding, plus the rubbing alcohol beside him. ¡°Just sucks. I can¡¯t catch a break.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s still a lot more to do,¡± Liam says.


    Cora grimaces. ¡°I know¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll finish as fast as possible. By the way, that bite wound¡¯s pretty shallow. I think you¡¯ll heal fast with no problems.¡±


    ¡°Gee, thanks, doc. And on we go,¡± she sighs. She turns her arm toward him next and watches Liam wet the cloth, the third of many more dips to come.


    ***


    ¡°I have an idea. The mountains,¡± Cora says. She¡¯s busy pacing a hole into the ground. Sure, walking still hurts, and her cut shin doesn¡¯t make it any easier, but moving helped her think back home, and moving helps her think here. It also helps the air isn¡¯t as chilly with her body warming up from constantly moving, and her wounds nicely bandaged and protected from the scathing cold.


    ¡°I saw them before I fell. What about them?¡±


    Her breath puffs out in a white cloud. Liam¡¯s blanket flows behind her while she paces. ¡°I think we have to go there.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°There might be a river. I¡¯m pretty sure there is one. The stream¡¯s proof of that.¡± Cora gnaws on the inside of her cheek, watching herself place one foot in front of the other. ¡°I walked here from where I had fallen. I thought there¡¯d be water near the mountains, and I was right. What do you think?¡±


    Liam¡¯s hands are knitted behind his head. He taps his foot repeatedly, sitting on a medicine cabinet. ¡°What else can I say? It¡¯s our best shot.¡± His fingers unclasp and he spreads his hands over his thighs. ¡°You¡¯re one hundred percent confident that there will be a river there?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, if it¡¯s anything like back home, then there will be a river. This forest had to grow using something.¡±


    He stops tapping his foot. ¡°Magic, maybe?¡± She levels a glare on him. Nothing in either world seems to worm past his defenses, and he meets her stare with a coolly composed gaze. He could be wearing a pair of sunglasses and the effect would be exactly the same.


    ¡°Come on, you know it might be a possibility,¡± Liam says.


    ¡°If it was, and that¡¯s a big if¨C¡± Cora paces again. Past lessons resurface at an astonishing pace. The pieces click before she finishes the sentence. ¡°Then that implies those things grew to their sizes using magic. Those monsters? Magic. If the trees didn¡¯t depend on water, if water wasn¡¯t a thing here, the moment we stepped through, we would¡¯ve died. That stream we saw? Probably water. Weird-looking water, but water.¡±


    That was one of her biggest fears, and the situation she deliberated during some of the countless nights spent awake. The box could tear open portals. That violated physics on a fundamental level. She often wondered if the physics on the other side would be equally screwed-up, and her body wouldn¡¯t cope with the drastic change.


    In the end, she wrote off the risk level. Stupid. She tightens her jaw. Stop thinking that.


    ¡°Wait, you lost me. Why would we have died if water wasn¡¯t a thing here?¡±


    Cora stops pacing. She runs her hand through her hair and turns to face him. ¡°Physics. If the forest is magical, then this world has different physics than the stuff that controls us. And we wouldn¡¯t be here. We¡¯d be dead.¡± They could¡¯ve died. She had been so close to getting mauled to death. She tears herself from that single terrifying moment, grounding herself in the fact she¡¯s alive, and she has Liam. ¡°Sorry. Therefore, the forest has the same physics as us. Which means it probably grows using water.¡±


    ¡°Damn.¡± Liam lets out a low whistle, eyebrows raising high. ¡°That makes sense.¡± He pushes himself to his feet, rubbing his forearm after he rolls back his shoulders and mimics the seasoned soldier he isn¡¯t. ¡°You¡¯re pretty smart, actually.¡±


    The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.


    ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t mean for her voice to come out so accusatory, or for herself to stiffen while she studies his reaction. ¡°I''m lucky I met someone like you. That¡¯s it. I¡¯m not trying to say anything else.¡± He raises his arms in a placating gesture. ¡°Well, you were being kind of dumb not taking the blanket.¡± He smiles. ¡°Looks like you like it now.¡±


    Cora unclasps her fake brooch and flings the blanket at him. He yelps, ducking to avoid the incoming projectile, exposing himself for just a moment.


    She gets away with punching his shoulder before he grabs the blanket and tosses it back to her.


    ¡°Hmph,¡± she pouts, fixing the hair claw clip back on again. Beneath her stern expression, her heart is racing at a million miles per second, and a warmth that hadn¡¯t been there before envelops her chest.


    Liam pulls on the hem of his shirt, breaking off a few flakes of dried blood. ¡°Next time you won¡¯t catch me off-guard.¡±


    ¡°We can bet on that.¡±


    He breaks off a few more flakes. ¡°The mountains, then. Got it. I can¡¯t think of anything better, and plus, I trust you.¡± He continues breaking off flakes as if the words didn¡¯t just knock the warmth out of her chest. ¡°Congrats. Usually I don¡¯t trust people. Lots of bad ones. But you¡¯re a good person.¡±


    I trust you. Anything but those words, so she doesn¡¯t feel like complete trash, sunken to the lowest level of morality.


    Especially with him being infuriatingly calm when he should be thrashing her back and forth for what she¡¯s done. Her short-sightedness, her selfishness.


    Mari would¡¯ve done it, Cora¡¯s sure. She doesn¡¯t think Liam is the type to flip out, but he has a knife, scarily experienced with it. One thing bothers her, though. Who carries a knife with them into the bathroom?


    Unless¡­ no. Liam doesn¡¯t show any signs. He stands tall and proud and is just as determined to survive as she is. More than that, though he¡¯s turned away from her while he sorts prescription bottles, she can still see the smile on his face.


    Then why did he throw himself so recklessly into the creatures? Those memories play out in crystalline detail. Those swings and pivots and slashes and fluid movements, they didn¡¯t scream out as reckless to her.


    It¡¯s the opposite, in fact. Confident, calm, collected, calculated. Or at least, while he puts on his mask. She¡¯ll never forget the fear in his eyes, or him admitting he¡¯s just as scared as she is.


    They¡¯re an accident away from ruin, but neither voices the reality. Anything can happen in the forest and nobody will come save them.


    Maybe he is right, after all. He¡¯s lucky he met her, and she¡¯s lucky she met him. Cora set the cards in place, but fate shuffled and dealt them in ways she¡¯s only beginning to understand.


    ¡°I¡¯m glad I met you,¡± she finally says. He lifts his head, squinting as if he¡¯s seeing her clearly for the first time. What she hides beneath the mask.


    Tell him! Tell him about the box! Mari shouts. Cora tunes her out, humming a soft melody, hoping Liam can¡¯t hear her.


    ¡°Same here.¡± But he doesn¡¯t resume sorting the bottles.


    ¡°Is there anything useful there?¡± Cora gestures with her foot at the neat row of orange bottles Liam lined up. He nods, then plucks a bottle off the ground. ¡°Tylenol,¡± he reads, glancing at her. ¡°Do you have space in your backpack for some of these?¡±


    Cora nods. ¡°A lot.¡± Too little things are her own. When she lifts the backpack with her good hand and brings it to him, she¡¯s painfully reminded of the weight that should¡¯ve dragged her down with it.


    Instead, Liam unzips it and stuffs the bottle of Tylenol deep into the front pocket. If he shows any interest in the box, he hides it well.


    ¡°The mountains it is.¡±


    ***


    Cora leans over a bush. The bloodied rat-like tail sticking out the leaves is enough to tell her what happened to the actual rat, or whatever the small, furry mound is.


    ¡°Did you do this?¡±


    The sharp whiff of cleaning alcohol reaches her first. She gags, sick of the stuff, but Liam is unfazed. His nose cells probably got burned off. ¡°Yeah, it attacked me when I came here. Why?¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t it weird that we¡¯ve seen no animals?¡±


    Before he opens his mouth, she presses on. ¡°Not those things. And not this thing. I mean in general. Why aren¡¯t there more?¡±


    ¡°I never thought about it. Not much time with everything going on.¡±


    Cora¡¯s treated wounds and fresh bandages are proof of that. The only thing that cost them both trouble was her wrist. Of course it did. She hadn¡¯t wanted to bandage it after they finished packing the medicines.


    Liam, though, fashioned a sling out of some gauze and medical tape. It¡¯s not much, and it bothers the back of her neck, but she¡¯s infinitely grateful.


    ¡°Just saying, we haven¡¯t heard any of those things since you killed all of them.¡±


    ¡°I think that answers for itself.¡±


    She resists the urge to punch his shoulder again. ¡°But what if something¡¯s really wrong and we don¡¯t realize it?¡±


    ¡°Cora.¡± She jerks her chin up. He tests the backpack¡¯s weight with one hand. ¡°You¡¯re overthinking it too much. The forest is fucked up. No surprise there¡¯s almost nothing out here when the trees burn you and it¡¯s cold as fuck.¡±


    ¡°Liam. You¡¯re overthinking it too much.¡± She relishes the surprise on his face. ¡°I mean, yeah, the forest is fucked up, but that¡¯s exactly proving my point. Being out here sucks. But where would it be a better place to live, though?¡±


    He glares at her. ¡°Not the mountains.¡±


    She lets her shoulders drop. ¡°The mountains.¡±


    ¡°Shit. This is perfect, right? The one place we might have a chance in, we¡¯ll have to share with a bunch of friendly animals.¡±


    ¡°Friendly?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m being sarcastic.¡± Liam runs a hand through his hair. He plasters his bangs back. ¡°Besides, there¡¯s probably a lot more of those things we¡¯ll run into¡­¡±


    She blanches. ¡°You think?¡±


    ¡°Those couldn¡¯t have been the only ones. Impossible.¡±


    They tore literal pieces out of her body. And they would¡¯ve done so much worse if he wasn¡¯t there. She shivers. Whatever progress she¡¯s made since Liam took her to his ¡°camp¡± crumbles.


    Cora¡¯s cowering on the ground before she registers what¡¯s going on. Liam drops beside her and hugs her shivering frame.


    ¡°Fuck, I shouldn¡¯t have done that. I¡¯m sorry,¡± he says softly.


    His heavy breathing draws her back from a world of terror. She blinks, surprised that there are tears in her eyes. Why? She¡¯s supposed to stay strong and move on from whatever happens.


    Why is she crying?


    Why does it have to be now that she can¡¯t control herself, after they¡¯ve mentioned the creatures several times already?


    Or the mask is slipping. She¡¯s let herself get too complacent. There are real monsters out there, and she¡¯d tried to forget that by messing around with Liam.


    ¡°Hey, Cora, are you listening to me? I¡¯m keeping you safe for as long as I can. I won¡¯t let a single one of those fucking monsters get to you, okay?¡±


    She sniffles. ¡°It¡¯s so dumb. I thought I was doing fine.¡±


    He rubs her back in small circular motions. It soothes her in a way talking can never hope to accomplish. Liam¡¯s touch reminds her she¡¯s here. Alive, with somebody who can protect her, and they have a goal to follow.


    ¡°But you are. Even after what happened, you¡¯ve got grit. I admire that. I respect that. But you don¡¯t have to push yourself that hard. Let me handle them.¡±


    Should¡¯ve told me that when I found the box. It feels like someone carved out the insides of her chest, leaving a vast cavity that floods with a torrent of regrets.


    So much for thinking herself above her limits. That brief period of hopefulness and elation was just that. A mask she put up to protect herself from what happened. Just like Liam is, probably. Or was. It¡¯s hard to tell.


    She almost died. Her fingers tremble. She reaches and brings Liam closer. ¡°We need to get to the mountains. We don¡¯t have enough time,¡± she says. She gulps down the snot dribbling down the back of her throat.


    The creatures aren''t the only threat.


    And she has to be strong. Better, smarter, kinder than the girl that punched Mari. If it means Cora pushes through her pain, grief, and terror, so be it. She needs to get back home. Fix her mistakes, and maybe, help Mari.


    ¡°We have time. Let it out.¡±


    She giggles weakly. ¡°Already did. Thanks.¡± She is lucky, indeed, that she met him. Blessed in more ways than one. He reminds her so much of Mari, back before the incident. Cora hasn¡¯t known Liam for long, and already she¡¯s sure she trusts him, one hundred percent.


    And he probably does the same. You haven¡¯t told him about the box, Mari says. Cora sniffles, wiping at her runny nose.


    Soon.


    The ache in her chest reduces to a dull throbbing. She closes her eyes and imagines everything they¡¯ll find as they near the mountains. She erases the ghastly things and produces images of flowering fields, water clearer than glass, and downy grass rather than the rust-colored dirt and carpets of needles crunching too loudly wherever they step.


    For a moment, her mask drops, and she smiles.


    ***


    Liam shoulders her backpack. He releases a steady stream of cloudy white breath and frowns. ¡°Ready?¡±


    ¡°One sec.¡±


    Cora traces a finger over her splint. Layers of gauze and medical tape can¡¯t replace the real deal. She wiggles her fingers and bends her wrist slightly. Pain spears through the bone and she stifles a gasp.


    If she¡¯s careful, it¡¯ll hold.


    She stands among the ruins of Liam¡¯s bathroom, testing several porcelain shards in her good hand. She runs her thumb over the most vicious-looking shards, pricking the tip, frowning and tossing them aside when they don¡¯t feel right.


    Then she finds the perfect shard, thick around the base and tapering to a point sharp enough to actually hurt.


    There. Another weapon apart from her scissors.


    A heavy weight settles on her shoulders. She takes one last look at the clearing before squaring her shoulders, wielding the shard like Liam wields his knife.


    ¡°Now I¡¯m ready.¡±

 6 - TranSpire

    ¡°Follow the flashlight, don¡¯t go off the tracks. These parts get dangerous.¡±


    ¡°Hey, wait.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    ***


    Cora is beaten, worn down, bruised, bloodied and aching all over. Liam is doing his best, of course, but her feet still grind against her shoes, her soles hurt and her toes are numb.


    Three hours. Three hours of checking her phone, watching the minutes tick by, and eventually the hours, before she notices a change. If she hadn¡¯t been bored out of her mind, she probably would have missed it.


    ¡°Hey, Liam,¡± she says.


    ¡°Mmm?¡±


    ¡°Do you see that?¡±


    Past the bristling canopy, through another cleft in the vegetation, is the change. The sharp outline of an object darker than night itself is hard to miss, ironically.


    Liam pauses. He follows her outstretched hand, past her index finger at the black outline. The frown on his forehead deepens. He squints, frowns even more deeply, and purses his lips.


    ¡°I think¡­ yeah. What the fuck is that?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s my question. It¡¯s different.¡±


    Through a rare, sparse section of the canopy, the red moon bathes the area in soft light. The outline contrasts against the moon, neatly bisecting it. Unfortunately, thick foliage blocks sight of where the rectangular outline ends.


    Cora can¡¯t judge its size. It might be just behind the next tree they pass, or it might be miles away, humongous enough that they can see it clearly.


    Like the mountains. She knows they are far away, because their images looked hazy, and mountains, by logic, have to be big. Right? She has no metric for the outline. It just is.


    Too perfectly rectangular. Too artificial.


    She¡¯d seen something similar, stranded in the vast chasm of an unimaginable hell. Stripped of sensation, a non-Euclidean nightmare that never ended. It hadn¡¯t been a dream, had it? She gulps down the knot forming at the base of her throat.


    While Cora stares at the outline, Liam stretches his hand toward it and makes a fist. ¡°We should check it out.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± He stares at her. She blushes, turning away so the most she glimpses of her flustered reaction are locks of her hair. ¡°I mean, we should be careful. We don''t know what that thing is.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why we should check it out.¡±


    ¡°That''s why we shouldn¡¯t. There''s no way that thing is natural.¡± Fragments tickle her brain. Cylinders, cubes, spheres drift into and out of awareness. A horrible sensation squirms like a snake inside her. ¡°It could be dangerous.¡±


    Liam''s nostrils flare. She¡¯s seen that expression before, and again he schools his irritation, hiding it behind a veneer of weariness. ¡°We''ve been traveling for hours, and for the record we don''t have a lot of supplies.¡± Understatement of the century. Even with the backpack¡¯s seams close to bursting, it¡¯s still so pitifully small, dwarfed by his muscular bulk. ¡°Somebody must¡¯ve built that. Maybe recently. If they¡¯re out there, they¡¯re our best chance for help.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m scared that something¡¯s gonna happen to us.¡±


    It¡¯s hard, painful, really, feeling so helpless. Where did that girl Cora dreamed of go? Where did those visions of being an explorer, a pioneer, a strong, independent person who wouldn¡¯t bow before danger go?


    Never existed. You¡¯re a coward, remember? Don¡¯t tell me you forgot already, Mari says.


    Cora ignores her. You¡¯re a figment of my imagination gone crazy.


    Whatever floats your boat.


    Yet her bravery had been an illusion. Cora worked under the assumption she¡¯d be stronger, smarter, better in the future, when the day came to activate the box.


    She¡¯d had so many dreams of exploring new worlds. Girl against the worlds. Braving true wildernesses, reveling in vast landscapes unfolding before her eyes, charting unfamiliar territories. And experimenting, observing, cataloging, photographing.


    Cora knows better. She would¡¯ve never had control, not really. Starvation or dehydration or the brutal reality of nature controls them. If they die, they¡¯ll never come back.


    Some risks are not worth taking. At least, that¡¯s what she wants to tell herself, but another smaller, quieter side steps up. Pioneers take risks.


    Why can¡¯t she?


    ¡°I can go myself.¡±


    Cora startles out of her reverie. She stares at him, and he nods slowly, locking his eyes on the outline. Reddish moonlight warms his face.


    ¡°It¡¯s important. If you don¡¯t want to go, I understand,¡± he murmurs. ¡°But I can¡¯t let an opportunity like this pass. Not without seeing if it¡¯ll help us get out of this shithole.¡±


    ¡°No. I¨C¡± She what? She gnaws on the inside of her cheek. She doesn¡¯t have the bravery to accompany her actions. But if he¡¯s planning to go¡­ she hardens her expression.


    You won¡¯t! You won¡¯t!


    ¡°I¡¯m coming with you.¡±


    Liam tilts his head to the side. ¡°But you just said¨C¡±


    ¡°I know, I know what I said.¡± She exhales and settles for focusing on a mole on Liam¡¯s face. ¡°Forget it. I¡¯m stupid. I know.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that. You¡¯re not.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, whatever. Is going there risky? Yeah, probably. But staying out here is risky, too, and we don¡¯t get shit.¡±


    He raises an eyebrow. ¡°Am I being a bad influence?¡±


    Seriously? Cora can¡¯t stop her lips from quirking into a smile. ¡°Shit, shit, shit. Yeah, I think I¡¯ve been close to you for too long. Fuck this shit. You¡¯re right, we have to check it out. We don¡¯t have any better choices, anyway.¡±


    The smile she hadn¡¯t noticed on Liam¡¯s face vanishes. ¡°You sure?¡±


    ¡°I promised we¡¯d stick together, didn¡¯t we?¡± She¡¯s already failed one person. She can¡¯t bear to fail him, too. ¡°Unless I¡¯m gonna slow you down or something. Then it¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll just wait for you.¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter.¡± He shakes his head, breaking his concentration. His eyes gleam. ¡°We don¡¯t need to hurry.¡±


    Their limited supplies disagree, but Cora ignores it. ¡°If it¡¯s gonna get bad, or something feels off, we leave. Promise me that.¡±


    Liam withdraws his arm from around Cora¡¯s neck. He thumps his right hand over his heart and leaves his left rigid by his side.


    ¡°I swear.¡±


    ***


    One moment, they¡¯re traveling through some of the thickest parts of the forest she''s ever seen.


    It takes skill to avoid touching any part of the purple trees. That doesn''t stop them from getting scratched up by shrubs or tough weeds nicking their ankles, but neither leaves them in horrible pain.


    The next moment, while Cora is stepping over roots and ducking below the sweeping branches of a purple tree, the terrain smooths out. It¡¯s like somebody circled an area at random and pressed delete.


    Cora gasps, jaw dropping. Liam pauses too, his hand slightly squeezing her shoulder.


    Here, the land is flat and even, colored reddish by the vast amounts of moonlight raining down. Rusted metal corkscrews out of the dirt. They dot the landscape, seemingly at random, but cluster around what she can only describe as a beetle carapace. It squats at the center of the clearing, easily consuming a quarter of the area. Lines bisect its ovoid surface, and inside she glimpses a dark cavern-like space. Behind the corkscrewing metal and rusted carapace, though, is the outline.


    A monolith of black stone. Too dark to make out any flaws. It reaches high into the sky, past the bloated clouds, tapering off into a needle-like point. Aimed directly toward the moon.


    The moon, that hauntingly beautiful omen, hangs like a bloodied eye over them. Stretches of bare metal gleam under the moonlight, rusty with slivers of silver slipping through.


    The reflections whisper at her, soft and light. Cora shivers, her skin breaking out with goosebumps. It¡¯s just the wind, blowing through pores in the metal structures. Producing light notes like a windchime, and freezing her.


    She returns her attention to the carapace. Weeds break through cracks in the ovoid sheets. Roots dangle over their surfaces. She gets the impression that the metal is bleeding, then pinches herself. Ridiculous.


    Dotting the edges of the clearing, several pylons jut out of the earth like metallic skeletal hands.


    Bent, their fingers stretched outwards, like their creators cried out for help that never came.


    ¡°Holy shit¡­¡± Liam whispers. His voice isn¡¯t much louder than the howling wind. Her blanket¨CLiam¡¯s blanket, she has to remind herself¨Cbillows outwards like a cape. Her hair blows back, too, and she¡¯s chilled to the bone.


    If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    It¡¯s so lonely. So terribly lonely. Whatever people lived here, or fought here, must¡¯ve died long ago.


    ¡°A fight. A war, maybe.¡± Cora doesn¡¯t catch what she¡¯s saying until they¡¯re approaching one of the corkscrewing pieces of metal. In several places, the metal is folded inwards, creating pockets not much bigger than her.


    Rust ate away at whatever construction the metal used to be part of. Near the bottom of some metal shapes, drops of metal streaked down the outer shell, lumping together like soap bubbles clustered near the bath drain.


    Scorch marks scar the surfaces of many. ¡°Hot enough to melt metal. Bullet marks, too, I think.¡± This time, Liam voices her thoughts. He runs a hand over the scorch marks, digging his fingernails under a large mark. Pieces of charred metal flake off. ¡°But why?¡±


    They go from metal to metal. Each bears the same damage. One chunk is almost cleaved in half. Whatever weapon had cut through left a gaping cleft within the metal.


    ¡°The better question is how,¡± she says, running a hand down the piece of metal.


    She trails her fingers over grooves, going down and down until she feels the rounded beads of solidified metal, which must¡¯ve once been part of the thinner sections of the twisted metal beam, flowing downward, practically lava.


    Liam kicks the metal. His foot dings rather than thumps the metal. ¡°Huh. It¡¯s hollow. An even better question is where did they go?¡±


    The forest grows haphazardly around the clearing. There are no roads or towers or any infrastructure. Not even the trees show any signs of damage. It¡¯s just them and the ruins.


    A sinking feeling settles in her gut. ¡°Liam¡­¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    The cold¡­ the darkness that never forfeits its overextended stay¡­ the asymmetrical beasts¡­ the lack of stars¡­ the ruins. A sudden pain rushes down her jaw. She winces. She didn¡¯t realize she¡¯d clenched her jaw that hard.


    Cora shudders. The thought sickens her.


    ¡°Do you think we¡¯re in a world where nuclear war broke out?¡±


    Liam doesn¡¯t respond at first. His eyes glaze over and he sighs. His eyebrows scrunch together, and then he frowns, and then his pupils contract and his mouth opens, but no words come out.


    ¡°No. No way, no, no¡­¡± He pulls back his arm and combs through his hair. He paces back and forth, muttering under his breath, kicking the piece of metal several times.


    It dings and stays standing. It endured the wrath of whatever group of people came and fought here. Liam¡¯s venting is nothing.


    ¡°Cora?¡±


    His voice is a meek version of his usual self-assured words. The mask drops. Her heart aches again for throwing him into her situation.


    ¡°Yeah?¡±


    She draws her arms into herself. The stupid cold is getting to her again because she can¡¯t stop shivering. At all. Her stomach is cold, hard ice, nauseating, while her hands sweat and her heart goes into overdrive.


    ¡°I hate how everything adds up.¡± She stares at the scorch marks. He stops beside another lump of metal, kicking it. ¡°It¡¯s different here because of that thing, right?¡± His breath comes out chilly. It blooms like a mushroom cloud in her periphery vision. ¡°Nuclear winter.¡±


    She''s surprised he knows what it is. Then again, he struck her as highly intelligent the moment she got an honest look at him.


    ¡°Some version of it,¡± she mutters. She feels over her sling. Her wrist barely bothers her.


    ¡°What does that mean for us?¡±


    Everything. Nothing. She refuses to consider the possibility they¡¯re irradiated beyond salvation. ¡°Maybe that¡¯s not it and we¡¯re overthinking everything.¡±


    But no matter what she tells herself, she can¡¯t shake off the dread or anxiety killing her from the inside. She draws in the blanket tighter as another bout of violent shivering breaks out.


    ¡°Fuck, I hope. But anything¡¯s possible, apparently.¡±


    He''s right on so many levels, except one. Returning home.


    ¡°We can check out everything else and then think about that.¡±


    Her mind is restless. Images of ruined cities pop up. The entire planet flashing from bomb after bomb obliterating entire cultures. A civilization, as large and as powerful as her home¡¯s.


    Erased, and left for nature to devour.


    You don''t even know if it''s true. But the more she realizes about the environment, the quieter that doubting part of herself becomes.


    ¡°We should leave.¡± Liam squares his shoulders and returns to her side, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. ¡°Doesn¡¯t feel safe anymore.¡±


    Cora can''t help the harsh, barking laughter that comes out of her. It sounds foreign to her own ears. Dry hacking more than how her laughs used to sound, really.


    ¡°If it¡¯s true, everywhere we go it¡¯ll be the same danger. Here, we have a story we can read,¡± she says. She clenches her one good hand. ¡°Or are you gonna chicken out?¡±


    Liam¡¯s mouth gapes open. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, chicken out. Because you¡¯re the one who wanted to come here, and now you¡¯re gonna flake out?¡± She points at him. Under the weight of her glare, he shrinks back.


    The invincible person who swooped in and saved her is missing. In his place, the current Liam is pale. Where the first version she met fought methodically, fearlessly, this version trembles, his frown standing out.


    Of course it¡¯s not his fault. But she needs him to stay steady, because she herself is teetering on the brink of insanity.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that, it¡¯s about these things.¡±


    ¡°What about them?¡±


    Liam kicks the nearest one. ¡°Why would these be hollow?¡± He walks to the next metal chunk and kicks it. The effect is the same, a hollow ringing that mildly hurts her ears. ¡°You know what could¡¯ve been in here? Chemicals. Bombs. Dangerous shit that caused this.¡±


    In one broad sweep of his arm, he gestures at the ruins.


    Cora¡¯s eyes trail from his shoulder down to his fingers, then to all the different metal structures wasting away. Liam moves to another metal chunk and kicks it.


    One of the folded-up sections is low enough that his foot connects at the dead center. She expects another hollow ringing noise, but suddenly he shouts in alarm, alongside a quick, loud thump reverberating through the cold air.


    ¡°Liam.¡± But her words never reach him, because he shouts again and dashes from the metallic pocket. She jumps, heart racing. ¡°Liam!¡±


    He brakes to a stop. He cups his hands around his mouth. ¡°Get away from that fucking thing! I told you!¡±


    He¡¯s shaking. He¡¯s actually shaking, and the sight stirs primordial anger in her. ¡°How the fuck am I supposed to?¡± Maybe he is becoming a bad influence on her, like he said. She limps toward the metallic pocket.


    ¡°Wait! Sorry. I¡¯m not thinking straight,¡± he says. He jogs back to her, hand outstretched.


    She continues. The anger evaporates, but the residue still smolders.


    "Wait, stop¨C¡±


    "I''m gonna check it out."


    Where Liam¡¯s foot had connected, a piece of rusted metal the size of a dinner plate caved inward. And what she sees inside, though the moonlight is barely enough to even tell there¡¯s a hole in the first place, she recoils from.


    A body is nestled inside the exposed cavity. Skin long since dried to a leathery husk tore away where metal shards cut through. The face is unrecognizable. The partially mummified body lacks a nose. Clothes that might''ve once been crisp and clean long since decayed, leaving little more than rags. A few plastic buttons remain, what must¡¯ve pinned a military uniform or something fancy.


    Where the shoulders are supposed to be, muscle rotted away, exposing bleached white bone and a desiccated trail of unidentifiable purple pulp. Below chest level, the rest is smashed in, dried purple pulp spewing out of what used to be its stomach, she guesses.


    Cora stumbles backward, grimacing. She has enough time to drop to her knees before nausea claws its way up her throat.


    She can¡¯t bear to look elsewhere. Not even when Liam arrives and places a warm hand on her shoulder, ever the silent sentinel.


    ¡°What the fuck¡­¡± Cora gags again, doubling over. No vomiting. But her eyes water.


    ¡°I know,¡± Liam says. He lowers to a kneel. She doesn¡¯t try to push him away, because she isn¡¯t angry at him at all. She deserves to be abandoned.


    They spend several moments side by side, shoulder to shoulder, while they refuse to glance at the corpse a few feet away.


    Why the metal¨Chow the metal¨Cfolded around the body, she¡¯ll never know. She can¡¯t begin to guess at what happened. Nor does she want to. That folded pocket isn¡¯t the only one.


    Most metal chunks have one. Several have two, some folded pockets near their peaks, others at the base like the one Liam exposed.


    All of them, she suspects, with her stomach churning, have somebody inside.


    She opens her mouth, then hesitates. She can¡¯t handle the pauses between them, a void of uncertainty where they pretend they get better and move on.


    All they¡¯re doing is putting up an act. Liam isn¡¯t some cartoon superhero. He¡¯s flesh and blood, he¡¯s real, and she¡¯s the reason why he¡¯s trapped. Worse, he protects her, he comforts her, he fights for them, while Cora mopes and vents and doesn¡¯t try to get to know him better.


    The boy who had every reason to run away from the corpse, yet swallowed his fear and came back for her.


    He¡¯s just like Mari. Sacrificing himself to help Cora, for reasons she doesn¡¯t understand.


    She should¡¯ve snapped her neck and died in the forest from that fall. She should¡¯ve been torn apart, eaten alive by the mutants. She should be stabbed by Liam the moment she tells him why he¡¯s here. She deserves all of that and worse.


    Especially after what happened that day.


    Cora digs her nails into her palm. Did she just think that? Those weren¡¯t her feelings. She¡¯s sorry, she¡¯s drowning in regrets, and she hates herself, but not like that. Anything but that.


    That wasn¡¯t her. Right?


    Selfish, always selfish, you piece of shit, Mari says. She doesn¡¯t reappear like she did that one time, but if she did, Cora will know her sanity is well and truly gone.


    Maybe it is, and she¡¯s pretending otherwise.


    She erases the vestiges of those horrible thoughts from her head. I¡¯m sorry, Mari. Hollow, unspoken words that will haunt her until the day she dies, because she¡¯s starting to think she¡¯ll never see her again.


    Cora wonders if Liam has any regrets back home. She wonders if the soldiers had any regrets before they fought. She wonders if the soldier she saw died regretful. She wonders about a lot of things, and the lack of answers weighs on her every passing second.


    Before the fight, she had one question: what lay on the other side. After the fight, there are too many.


    What happened to Mari is the biggest question, and it bounces around Cora¡¯s skull and strips away her focus until she wonders why Mari didn¡¯t come with her, when they were grappling each other right as the box opened.


    ¡°Cora.¡±


    She returns to the present. Liam is standing now, and his hand is offered for her to take. Her legs feel like jelly, and it takes longer than she likes, but she takes it and rises to her feet.


    ¡°Thanks.¡± She doesn¡¯t let go. His hand is warm and strong and inviting. It steadies her in a way Mari¡¯s hugs used to.


    Traitor.


    Cora laces her fingers with his. If he¡¯s surprised, he doesn¡¯t show it. She should be a stuttering mess, but her heart is elsewhere. Attached to a girl who might as well be dead to her.


    ¡°We have to check out the rest,¡± she says finally. Liam nods.


    By silent agreement, they walk past the body. Cora keeps her eyes trained ahead. They pass the other metal chunks and arrive at the metal carapace.


    Inside, enough moonlight streams through holes that she sees that nothing internal remains. No bodies, no parts. Simply the outer shell resting atop packed dirt, and the cavernous space left within.


    They circle around the shell, but the rest is the same. No bodies this time, mercifully. The monolith is their last destination, and it¡¯s the thing that beckons to her the most.


    Up close, Cora notices the imperfections, the scars, cracks, and clefts marring the black stone surface. Chunks of rock are missing from the base, but it¡¯s so wide that Cora can lay herself down ten times head to toe and still have space left with her arms outstretched.


    It ends at a peak, too high to distinguish any features. The monolith just is, as strange in the clearing as the carapace and skeletal pylons.


    An idea clicks into place. ¡°Wait,¡± Cora says. She whips out her phone and takes pictures of everything.


    The photos come out grainer than she likes, but her phone¡¯s software does a good job adding more light. She drops his hand and limps away from the tower, approaching the forest boundary.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Liam says. He starts toward her, but she shakes her head and waves her phone in her hand.


    ¡°Photos. Need this for later.¡±


    She lifts her arm and takes a landscape view of the clearing.


    It takes a few seconds for the image to clear up. And when it does, Cora almost drops her phone.


    It can''t be a coincidence. It can''t be. The world feels like it''s dropping under her feet. She''s nothing compared to how vast and complex reality is.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Cora breathes.


    Liam jogs up to her. ¡°What happened?¡±


    She passes her phone to him. Liam¡¯s forehead creases. He raises his head and looks at the field.


    Then he passes her phone back wordlessly. His body is tense, shoulders squared. The shock written on his face mirrors her own.


    Because the metal chunks are too evenly distributed. The carapace sits at the center of the metal chunks, and they form a circular border while the monolith is the thing that¡¯s completely off.


    The pieces come together. Her head feels like it¡¯s going to explode. It¡¯s too much to handle.


    The metal corkscrewing chunks and the carapace all belong to one object. One big, circular object that crushed a whole section of the forest.


    One big, circular object that crashed because of a pillar of sharpened stone that shot out and pierced its hull.

 7 - BeFriend

    ¡°What the hell are you doing? Get the fuck out of here!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Sally. She¨Cshe¡¯s not moving.¡±


    ¡°Did that thing get her? Is she okay?¡±


    ¡°I-I don¡¯t know. Shit, oh my God. Sally, please, wake up! Sally!¡±


    ***


    Cora sighs as she sits and leans on a gray tree.


    ¡°My back is killing me,¡± she groans, massaging her lower back with her one good hand. Her muscles feel like she¡¯s run a marathon and swam an ocean.


    She doesn¡¯t want to move ever again. The blanket preserves most of her body heat so she¡¯s cocooned from the cold, except her face. Her nose stings, her ears hurt, and her lips are chapped. Yet, she fights to keep her eyes open.


    Liam sits across from her. He stretches his legs out, crosses his arms, and leans into the other tree. In his pants and long-sleeved shirt, he looks suspiciously at ease, but she knows better.


    She can tell by the trembles wracking his body that it¡¯s not enough.


    ¡°Same.¡± Liam closes his eyes and sighs. His shoulders slump and his posture sags. The trembles don¡¯t stop. ¡°Are you sure this isn¡¯t a batshit insane dream?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m real. You¡¯re real,¡± Cora says. She stops massaging her lower back and rests her hand on her sling. The gauze wears the grime of several hours¡¯ worth of travel through the forest.


    The cold long since numbed most of her hand and wrist. She can wiggle her fingers and feels the hardened edges of the sling, but the pain doesn¡¯t bother her much.


    It doesn''t take too long for the familiar fiery ache to return, however. Buried beneath the blanket, she slowly warms up. But Liam, though¡­


    The words roll off her tongue before she can process them. ¡°Hey, do you want to share the blanket?¡±


    Slowly, Liam¡¯s eyes peel open. A sliver of his dark gray pupils is all she gets to see. ¡°It¡¯s not big enough for both of us.¡±


    Her face heats up as she realizes what she''s asking him to do.


    If there¡¯s anything she learned after meeting him, it¡¯s that there won¡¯t be much privacy between them. It¡¯s a world of difference between meeting him at, say, a coffee shop or movie theater, and meeting him in the middle of an alien forest an unmeasurable distance from home.


    They can¡¯t be shy when their lives depend on working together. In a different place, a different time, she would¡¯ve been mortified even thinking about the possibility of sharing a blanket with a boy she barely knows.


    She still is, actually. The blush doesn''t go away. But she needs to stay warm and so does he, and there''s one blanket that could fit both of them if they huddle together.


    She gathers every ounce of her willpower and shoves down the part of herself screaming for privacy.


    ¡°But you¡¯re cold.¡±


    His half-sunken eyelids don¡¯t move. Neither do his pupils. The only shift in his body is the lazy flick of his foot in the air. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    Is she? He¡¯s been trembling since they left the clearing. Since they both agreed that the metal structures belong to some ancient machine whose purpose they could only guess at.


    Maybe his trembles come from elsewhere. After all, the occasional chill creeps up her spine, and she knows exactly where they come from.


    ¡°It¡¯s the safer option, anyway.¡±


    Liam breaks his position and stretches. It¡¯s followed by several loud pops, and then a couple arm circles. He sits next to her, cross-legged, his sheer presence making her forget why she called him over.


    Cora isn¡¯t short, not even by men¡¯s standards, but Liam is still nearly a head above her. His broad, muscular shoulders dwarf hers, and his calloused hands and fingers could probably close over hers, palm to palm.


    She feels so tiny next to him¨Cslightly intimidated, even¨Cand he hasn¡¯t adopted another mask. Instead, he looks sheepish, thrumming his fingers on his legs.


    ¡°So uh¡­¡± he says.


    Cora lifts the blanket and pulls it toward him. The edges of the blanket trail over her own leg, while Liam scoots beside her, leaving a gap between them. She lets the blanket drop. It doesn¡¯t fully cover both of them. She can feel the chill bite into the side of her exposed leg.


    ¡°You¡¯re cold,¡± Liam says. She doesn¡¯t protest. Between her leg and her exposed head, shivers wrack her body. ¡°If we get closer together¨C¡±


    ¡°Yeah, let¡¯s do that.¡± She scoots and he scoots until their shoulders press. Again, she¡¯s reminded of how big he is. And again, she¡¯s reminded of how close she is to a boy.


    Back home, she had Ben, of course. But she was never as close with him as she¡¯s been with Liam in the short time they¡¯ve known each other. He helped her walk, and they were close the whole time. True. Except there¡¯s something more intimate about settling down, sharing a blanket between them.


    It¡¯s a very, very good thing they¡¯re too shy to do more than stare off into space.


    ¡°You know, it was actually cold in my house when I came through that portal.¡±


    Cora tenses up. She¡¯s afraid to breathe, afraid for a rush of apologies to rush out her mouth.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never been a believer in the supernatural. Or I wasn¡¯t, before everything went to hell. To me, there was the whole world, and that was it. That type of shit, I thought it only happened in movies. Man. Imagine my surprise when I found it.¡±


    The spell breaks. She takes shallow breaths so he can¡¯t hear her gasp for air. ¡°Found what?¡±


    Liam turns to look at her. Under his scrutinizing eyes, Cora feels weak. But she maintains eye contact with him, wanting to hear his story. Absorb it, and relive it, and store it forever.


    ¡°I don¡¯t really know how to explain. But since you¡¯re here, then maybe you saw the same thing. The air warping like you see it over a desert. All these colorful threads weaving into and out of existence.¡± He breaks eye contact, setting his head back against the tree. ¡°Did you see anything like that?¡±


    A flash of light. A feeling of gravity turned upside down, her entire being unraveled into atoms, then reassembled on the other side. Too quick to register. Nothing like he¡¯s talking about.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± she says. Forgive me, Liam. She has to pinch herself to ignore the revulsion in her gut. ¡°And after that, did you feel weightless? And then go into¡­¡± Cora¡¯s head pounds. A ghost of a memory drifts into the forefront of her mind, and it¡¯s wrong. An aberration, an impossibility. Physics-wise it makes no sense. It strains the limits of her consciousness. ¡°Shapes.¡± She chokes out the word, nauseous. ¡°You remember?¡±


    Liam winces. ¡°God, it¡¯s like remembering a nightmare. It really happened? The whole¡­¡± He waves his hands and winces again. ¡°My fingers broke off. That sounds stupid, but did something like that happen to you?¡±


    ¡°Please, don¡¯t remind me.¡± Cora screws her eyes shut and massages her temple. The pain splits down to her ear. She massages the base as well, biting on her lip, hard enough to draw traces of blood.


    Compared to the splitting headache, the pain is nothing. Liam watches her silently, stuck in that perpetual frown.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine,¡± she mutters, offering a smile that twists into a grimace as a fresh pulse of pain batters the side of her skull. ¡°Give it a minute.¡±


    ¡°We have some aspirin.¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Cora drags her fingers through her hair. She tugs on strands, and the relief is immediate, a different type of pain to distract her. ¡°Sorry, I mean it can¡¯t be taken on an empty stomach. It¡¯ll screw me up worse.¡±


    Liam finally looks away. ¡°Oh.¡±


    Jealousy flares up inside her. How does he get to remember the void and its unnatural geometry and shake off the dizzying madness of it? She¡¯s left reeling, forced to leave her mind blank and hope her thoughts don¡¯t bounce back.


    Slowly, too slowly, the pain ebbs. Liam is transfixed by a yellowish rock near his feet. The forest rustles, and the cold nips at her head and neck.


    About as normal as things can get.


    ¡°It¡¯s gone,¡± Cora says, sighing. ¡°So you got teleported here for no reason?¡±


    He nods. ¡°Same as you.¡± Little does he know. ¡°I¡¯ve been wondering if other people came here. Like us.¡±


    Her mood sours. She turns away and stares at the ground, gnawing on her lip. ¡°You¡¯re here. I¡¯m here. We haven¡¯t seen any evidence of anybody else.¡±


    ¡°What about your friend? You mentioned her before.¡±


    Yeah, what about your friend, huh? Mari says. Tell him everything. Don¡¯t hold back. Don¡¯t lie like you always do for once.


    Every cell in Cora¡¯s body wants to wither and die. She sucks in a deep breath and holds it. She can¡¯t¨Cshe can¡¯t¨Cturn around, because he¡¯ll see the guilt scrawled over her face and know what she¡¯s done.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Instead, she digs her nails into her knee, where he can¡¯t tell how much it hurts, how much it fucking hurts, repeating those events. A full day hasn¡¯t even passed. And yet.


    And yet, it haunts her, a specter looming over her shoulder.


    Her slung hand¡¯s knuckles ache. She hit Mari hard. The blow had produced a sharp crack Cora can¡¯t ever forget. Accompanying it, the spray of blood, and the heartbroken screams.


    Cora is a monster.


    ¡°We were fighting,¡± she says. ¡°Over something stupid. I-I thought I was right, and she thought she was right, and she actually was, but we kept arguing and then she punched me and I punched her hard and we started fighting for real until¨C¡± Her voice cracks. She takes deep, ragged breaths. ¡°Until I saw the air change. But it was too late. It came out of nowhere. I was trying to pull away from her when everything changed.¡±


    Whatever apprehension she has being next to Liam is abandoned when he lays an arm over her. She leans on his shoulder.


    ¡°That whole fight was stupid. Fuck. I wish I could tell her I¡¯m sorry,¡± Cora says. She shudders and she bunches up the blanket in her hand, pressing the balled-up fabric against her eyes.


    ¡°Cora.¡±


    She curls deeper into herself. ¡°I just want her to be okay.¡±


    Her throat aches and it¡¯s hard to breathe and she heaves as her actions catch up to her. So much time wasted. She should¡¯ve thrown the box away. Leave it to somebody else, make it their problem. Or she should¡¯ve buried it so deep it would be lost to history.


    I ruined everything.


    For once, the Mari-apparition doesn¡¯t sound gloating or cruel. Yes, you did.


    Liam rubs her back. It¡¯s so intimate, so caring, and it relieves some of the stress that¡¯s been compounding since the box opened. She sobs and digs her fingers into the blanket until they hurt and her nails feel like they¡¯re going to tear off.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry. You have no idea how it hurts hearing that," Liam says quietly. He continues his methodical massaging. She lets him. ¡°You¡¯re going to see her again."


    She sniffles. She picks up her head, glaring at him through tear-ridden eyes. ¡°H-how can you be so sure? I don¡¯t even know if she came with me.¡±


    No evidence of others. No evidence of Mari, though by logic she should¡¯ve come, too. Then again, the box broke physics on a fundamental level.


    Logic means nothing to its power.


    ¡°See, that¡¯s the thing. I¡¯m not. Sometimes I¡¯m wrong. A lot of times, actually.¡±


    ¡°Jeez, that¡¯s comforting,¡± she says, both giggling a little and sobbing, so the result comes out more of a hiccup.


    ¡°What I¡¯m trying to say is that life has a funny way of making things work. There doesn¡¯t have to be an explanation or anything. It just does. And something in my chest, my stomach, whatever, is telling me you¡¯ll see your friend again.¡±


    His words make little sense at all. Not in a million years will she believe what he said. But it''s the fact that Liam is trying, anyway, that takes the edge off her grief.


    ¡°Even if we found each other, I don''t think she ever wants to see me.¡± Mari''s bloodied face, her amber pupils darkened with heartbreak and pent-up rage, is a sight Cora''s committed to memory.


    ¡°You guys sound like you''re best friends.¡±


    They were until they weren''t. Where did the line cut off? It''s hard to tell. Mari always tried her best to lift Cora''s spirits up, and she sometimes felt better hanging out with her.


    One thing is for certain. Last year was when their decline began. When Cora went out to that stupid party with Mari, they hopped into that van and arrived at the abandoned mineshaft.


    The memories of that night are a blur. But the aftermath is a scar on her psyche. It was the main reason she barely slept. There were always more pressing matters in her head she had to answer, or otherwise the events would catch up to her and finish strangling her.


    ¡°We used to be close¡­ we are.¡± Another lie. A year and a half of acting like a jerk took its toll. The fight was the spark in the powder keg that blew their friendship apart.


    Liam doesn''t need to know, though.


    ¡°If you''re really sorry about what happened, I''m betting she''d forgive you.¡±


    If only it were that easy. Mari is the type of person who''d instantly forgive and want to fix things.


    But Cora pushed things too far, for too long. Mari''s kindness and patience got stretched thinner and thinner until it snapped.


    It was the one and only time Cora had heard her shouting at the front door. Hurling curses that she never used. Slamming her fist repeatedly into the door, demanding that Cora open up.


    Jabbing her finger into her face when she opened the door. From there, everything fell apart.


    ¡°I hope,¡± Cora says, because that¡¯s all she can do. Hope.


    ¡°If it helps, I¡¯m here for you.¡±


    ¡°We kind of have no choice. You know, we promised each other that.¡± She rubs her eyes and flashes the traces of a smile at him. ¡°Thanks. I feel¡­¡±


    Better is the wrong word to use. Her chest is tight and her stomach hurts. But her thoughts don¡¯t lash at her anymore. Her mistakes recede into the background of a sense of calm that hadn¡¯t been there before.


    ¡°Not bad.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± he says. ¡°We will get out of this shitty situation, and we will go home.¡±


    His set jaw, the glint in his eye, tells her everything she needs to know.


    Liam stops rubbing her back. She hugs her knees to her chest, careful to keep her slung arm separate. His arm drapes over her shoulder again, and she¡¯s grateful.


    Warmth blooms within her. Not just from the blanket and Liam¡¯s body radiating heat of its own. Not from any crush she might be developing for him, because she isn¡¯t.


    It¡¯s the friendship, the companionship, that he gives her. She didn¡¯t realize how much she craved it. Back home, Mari fulfilled that role, but it was never enough, because Cora had the box and had to do more research or prepare supplies or simulate scenarios. Nothing Mari could give matched the thrill of exploring the box and its powers bit by bit.


    Cora still has the box, and still has to do more research, but she¡¯ll never repeat the same stupid mistakes again.


    They¡¯re silent for a while. Liam¡¯s breathing grows even. His eyes close and don¡¯t open again. Cora tries closing her eyes and relaxing her body, but the mental tiredness isn¡¯t there.


    Physically, she¡¯s worn out, exhausted, aching, bruised. She feels even more drained than when they first sat down. She had been nodding off then, but she hadn¡¯t been thinking about Mari.


    Like she is now. The negative thoughts escaped through her tears. The emotional storm inside her chest died down as she tried to nod off.


    But Mari is still there, lingering in her mind. Still. Expressionless. Cora checks on Liam. His head is tilted to the side, lips parted open, a snore rumbling from deep inside his chest.


    He¡¯d pulled back his arm earlier and left it by his side. The back of his hand rests on her right leg, the pocket where she keeps her phone. Inch by agonizing inch, she shifts her weight to the left until she slips her phone out.


    She buries her head under the blanket, drawing her feet in so the warm air doesn¡¯t escape through a gap. The screen lights up with a startling glare.


    She recoils, sliding the brightness bar back until her eyes adjust.


    Cora¡¯s gallery is a crazy blend of artwork, schoolwork, family, nature, and Mari. She starts from the bottom, scrolling through years of history compacted into the last link to home she has.


    She smiles at a picture taken two years ago. Mari had driven them twenty miles to the beach on a school day. In the selfie, they¡¯re standing waist-deep in clear water, Mari sticking her tongue out and Cora playfully grimacing.


    A few weeks¡¯ later worth of photos, she smiles again at Mari¡¯s artwork, a composite of loops and swirls intricately connected into an abstract piece of art for her art class. Cora smiles again as the following picture shows her poor attempt at proper art, ending at a stick figure posed for a mock-fight against Mari¡¯s much more detailed knight.


    So many other places flash by. The movies. The mall. Their favorite ice cream shop. Even a circus that had traveled near the city. So many other places appear, names and dates long forgotten, but in every single picture it¡¯s her and Mari, either striking ridiculous poses or smiling widely, so painfully ignorant about what would happen soon.


    Two months later, she jumps to the timestamp of that fateful day. The few pictures she has were taken before they traveled to the mineshaft. Mari, a can of coke pressed to her lips, her mischievous eyes drinking in the camera flash. Cora, her mouth stuffed full with gummy bears, the dimples she used to be conscious of standing out in full view.


    Cora¡¯s eyes tear up. She can¡¯t keep looking. She knows what comes next, and it¡¯s still every bit as painful as the days after what happened.


    She needs to remind herself why she¡¯s here. Why she pushes so hard to live and fix her mistakes.


    A month passes between that photo and the next, a screenshot of a news article talking about the incident. Another screenshot, and another, and dense walls of text with no actual photos until six months ago, when Mari dragged Cora to a bowling alley with Ben and some people she didn¡¯t know that well.


    In it, they''re posing in front of the score screen, Mari''s name highlighted in yellow as the winner. But Cora has no dimpled grin. Just a tiny smile next to Mari, who has bags under her eyes. Neither of their eyes match their smiles.


    The other pictures are the same. No point. They might be smiling in those, even, but gone are the carefree grins they shared.


    Cora powers off the screen. She rubs her eyes. They sting and they burn, but she has no more tears left to give.


    When did all that fun turn into a painful mockery?


    Muffled by sheer distance, a scream breaks the silence.


    She bolts upright, alert. Through her blurry vision, she scans the forest for any clue of where it might¡¯ve come from. The wind stirs up. The rustling of leaves is all she hears until she isn¡¯t sure if she even heard a scream.


    Classic hallucinations, she thinks bitterly, hitching the blanket up over her knees. Hearing Mari¡¯s voice is one thing, but hearing phantom noises, too?


    Another scream rises above the rustling leaves. Somewhere to their right, behind them.


    The creatures had howled. Their howls rung out, clearly animalistic, like wolves. The scream is nothing like a howl. Cora won¡¯t take any chances, though.


    Better wake Liam. But when she turns toward him, his eyes are alert, and his knife pokes through the side of the blanket.


    "Huh?" she says.


    ¡°You said it yourself. The closer we get to the mountains, the more likely it is we¡¯ll come across more of those things.¡±


    Cora wants to agree. When the scream sounds again, the familiar heavy dread snakes into her stomach. She wants to believe her own words, she really does.


    Why do the screams sound eerily human?


    ¡°Don¡¯t think about it.¡±


    Cora¡¯s already on her feet. Liam¡¯s hand shoots out and grabs her non-broken wrist.


    ¡°Let me go!¡± Cora says, yanking her arm back. His grip refuses to relent. ¡°Liam, let me go. Now.¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°We don¡¯t know what that thing could be.¡±


    She glares at him. ¡°It¡¯s not a thing. It¡¯s a person.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but I¡¯m staying in front of you. The moment things go bad, hide. I¡¯ll take care of everything else.¡±


    The screaming continues. Higher-pitched. Female. Human-like.


    No, it can¡¯t be. Cora doesn¡¯t dare hope.


    Doesn¡¯t dare hope that it¡¯s her.


    Mari. Mari, who screams again, who with every scream Cora can imagine her fleeing a horde of disgusting creatures snapping at her heels.


    ¡°Hurry!¡± she says. Liam goes in front of her, silent on his feet, his knife held out.


    She can barely walk, let alone run. Everything hurts too much. She feels like a rusted machine coming back to life, joints creaking, gait uneven. While she drapes the blanket over her shoulders, he stalks ahead. The screaming sounds even closer. It has to be her.


    Cora grits her teeth. Why is Mari screaming? It has to be a pack of the creatures. Or she touched a purple tree. Or something else altogether.


    They have no idea what they¡¯re getting into. But it¡¯s Mari. It has to be her. Adrenaline pumps through Cora''s arteries. The aches and pains dull. She will do anything to save her, damn whatever danger there may be.


    The next scream is close enough that she can hear how hoarse it is. ¡°Mari!¡± Cora cries out, rushing forward. The cut on her leg lights up, but she ignores the pain and breaks into a run.


    Liam¡¯s fingers brush her arm. He stumbles on a root and trips, falling to a knee. ¡°Cora, wait!¡±


    She brushes past several trees. Breaks into a sprint for a few seconds. Another turn and a few steps away¨C


    Cora sees her. Barely a shadow, more of a smudge, leaning against a brown tree, hair falling down like a curtain around her head. Tall, slender, with her head slumped and her arms crossed over her chest.


    Cora¡¯s heart feels like it¡¯s going to burst. She hears Liam¡¯s heavy footfalls behind her.


    It¡¯s her.


    Mari.


    ¡°Mari!¡±


    She picks her head up. Two purple rings of light pierce through the darkness where her eyes would be.


    Fear prickles the back of Cora¡¯s neck. ¡°Mari?¡±


    One word that hurts her more than anything else. ¡°No.¡± In a flash, they lunge at her, hands outstretched, claws shooting out of their fingers.


    Cora plants her heel into the ground and pushes herself aside. At the moment the person is suspended mid-lunge, about to pivot and rake her, Liam descends on them like an eagle.


    His elbow strikes the back of their head. They collapse, claws retracting, head smashing into the ground.


    Over in an instant.


    Cora stares at the fallen body.


    ¡°They spoke.¡± Somehow, the news doesn¡¯t surprise her. Or shock her. After everything she¡¯s seen, she expected it. Not like this, though. Not when she thought it was her.


    Liam sheathes his knife. He, too, stares at the person, hands balled up into fists, planted on his hips. ¡°This world gets weirder and weirder.¡±


    Cora¡¯s numb to the pain rushing down her leg and jolting up her arm from her wrist.


    Because Mari is still missing.

 8 - NotHer

    ¡°Shit, she¡¯s injured. The back of her head¡¯s bleeding. Shit.¡±


    ¡°Use my jacket. Put pressure on it.¡±


    ¡°Hey, do you hear that? Oh my God. It''s coming back.¡±


    ¡°Go get the others. Get them out of here.¡±


    ***


    Mari isn¡¯t here.


    Mari isn¡¯t here.


    This isn¡¯t her.


    The thoughts cut into Cora¡¯s heart, even as she limps behind Liam, bracing herself against the dull throbs and aches of her creaky muscles. She¡¯s treated to a full view of his back and the person draped over his shoulder. A girl, if she had pointy ears, a longer head, and armor-like plates on her scalp sprouting glossy black hair.


    Liam powers his way through the forest, maintaining a constant speed despite the extra weight dragging him down. Cora struggles to keep pace, stopping often to massage her bruised, scabbed-over shin.


    He doesn¡¯t turn around to see if she¡¯s following, and nor does she want him to.


    God, she¡¯s stupid. For thinking getting Mari back would be that easy. For ignoring Liam and almost getting herself killed.


    Stupid, stupid, Cora, you¡¯ve always been like that, Mari taunts, smug despite being a brain echo. Can¡¯t you listen to others? Like me.


    Cora clenches her hand until every bone hurts. You¡¯re not real! The real Mari isn¡¯t here. But Liam is. And she ignored him. Forced him to act, putting his life on the line alongside hers.


    Small wonder his shoulders are drawn back and he towers at his full height. No slouch or interruption to his stride. She pictures the frown lines on his face, the set jaw and narrowed eyes she saw too often with Mari.


    Disappointment.


    They reach the tiny clearing where they¡¯d rested before Cora took off. Gently, Liam deposits the girl against the same tree he¡¯d leaned against. Her head lolls to the side. When she wakes¨Cif she wakes¨Cshe¡¯ll have one nasty sore neck.


    Good. The thought comes unbidden before Cora can suppress it. She studies the girl. She¡¯s wearing a stained black uniform, sleeves reaching to her wrists and leggings down to her ankles, baggy and wrinkled. A few sizes too big.


    A red crescent moon is stitched on the sleeve, and again on her back, though the red midsection is pressed to the bark.


    Cora glances at the canopy. From her position, the vegetation is too thick, but she easily pictures the eerie red moon hanging above the world.


    Perfect match.


    The girl¡¯s face is bloodied and bruised.  Her matted black hair is chopped, some sections longer than others. Her ebony skin looks sickly in the weak moonlight.


    She was on the run. It¡¯s the only explanation Cora can produce, but more than that, it means whatever she ran from could come here.


    To them.


    Ding, ding, ding! Mari says.


    Liam probes over the girl¡¯s arms, frowning. ¡°Help me.¡±


    Cora scowls. He¡¯s mad at her, that much is obvious. She might as well stop trying to pretend that everything¡¯s okay. ¡°With what?¡±


    ¡°Keep her sitting up while I tie her hands.¡±


    There¡¯s something about handling the girl while she¡¯s unconscious that rubs Cora wrong as she pulls the girl free from the tree. With her leg and arm keeping the girl upright, Cora watches Liam take the damp cloth from her backpack and wrap it around the girl¡¯s hands.


    Scratched up and calloused, she notices. A long cut winds from her pinkie finger¡¯s first knuckle to the wrist. Unlike Cora¡¯s leg, this cut is scabbed over, some sections fallen off, revealing a long, pale scar.


    The girl groans. Liam freezes, seconds away from finishing the knot. Another low, guttural groan later, the girl¡¯s head lolls to the side again, chin pressed into her shoulder.


    ¡°She went through hell,¡± Liam comments as he finishes the knot. He leans over the girl, forehead creased in worry. ¡°You can¡¯t tell, but her wrists are too bony.¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s not like us. Maybe it runs in her species.¡±


    He holds back a grimace. Still, his nose crinkles and he shoots her a quick glare. ¡°Tell me, do you know any non-human species back home that are this bony?¡± He rolls up the girl¡¯s sleeves. Cora blanches at the criss-crossing grid of dried cuts marking both of the girl¡¯s skinny wrists.


    The bones, they¡¯re human enough, but the bone protrudes, all knobby, skin stretched tight, dried cuts set at even intervals. They form a grid pattern, not unlike a waffle maker or chain-link fence.


    Cora can¡¯t stop staring. ¡°Oh.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s that, too. She got these somewhere else. That might be why she¡¯s here. She fought and ran away, or something bad happened to her and she snapped, fled here.¡±


    The girl must¡¯ve been so afraid. And then Cora blunders into sight like an idiot, and of course the girl lashed out. Self-defense. She¡¯d been through unspeakable horror and assumed Cora meant to hurt her.


    The girl had been screaming, too. Either somebody injured her or she injured herself.


    Or maybe the girl was venting her frustrations, her grief, her rage.


    Suddenly, Cora feels a lot smaller and insignificant. A jerk. More than a jerk, judging by how violently the girl responded.


    It was supposed to be Mari. And it isn¡¯t. And it won¡¯t be, at least for a good while, as far as Cora can tell. They have other pressing matters. Like the complete stranger who is not human, and yet human in so many aspects, knocked out and a few days away from death.


    ¡°Her eyes glowed right before she attacked me,¡± Cora says.


    ¡°Glowed?¡±


    ¡°Her pupils, I think. They glowed purple, and then her claws came out.¡±


    She bites her lip as she stares at the crisscrossing wounds. She wonders what the girl hides under the layers of fabric. If what they¡¯ll find will make Cora¡¯s own injuries look tame in comparison.


    ¡°Better keep that in mind, then.¡±


    ¡°When she wakes up, what are you gonna do?¡±


    Liam heaves a great sigh. His eyes never leave the girl. Her chest rises and falls. It¡¯s subtle, but Cora hears a rattling noise as well. ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    The girl¡¯s eyelids flutter. Under the skin, her eyeballs rove around. Cora backs away and Liam crouches into a defensive stance, one hand on the handle of his knife.


    Her eyes never open.


    ¡°Dreaming?¡± Cora says. She vaguely remembers her psychology class talking about the REM stages. Eyeball movements were part of the stage where dreaming occurred.


    Whatever irritation he holds toward her vanishes. His shoulders droop. Suddenly, he looks like he¡¯s crawled miles through the dense underbrush. The bags under his eyes speak volumes about just how long they¡¯ve stayed awake.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ***


    Callista slams her fist into the nearest wall. It caves beneath the force of the blow, cracks spider webbing from the impact, brickwork shattering and chunks spraying out.


    ¡°We can¡¯t leave without him!¡± she shouts, the thrumming of power in her body amplifying her voice until it bounces off the remaining brick walls.


    Rhodes, seasoned from too many instances of her bad temper, keeps well away from the room, positioned at the doorway. His dark eyes level on hers.


    ¡°We can¡¯t go back.¡± He¡¯s a good actor. Callista hadn¡¯t spent years protected in his basement due to sheer luck. His mannerisms, down to his micro-expressions, are under his complete control. ¡°He understood the risks.¡±


    To the outside world, he is as normal as the Transients want their people to be. Smile and wave. Show no fear. Show indifference to the Transients patrolling the streets day and night for their own ¡°safety.¡±


    And yet, the tremor in his voice betrays years of calculated placidity. The tension between them is drawn-out, and she hates it. Hates what they¡¯ve become, what she¡¯s become. What the Transients made them become.


    Because Ravi is bleeding, unconscious, wrists and ankles pinned under bands of clay. Four Transients guard him. The others are scouring the badlands, working their way into the abandoned Mestessite communities on the weathered slopes.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    ¡°We still have to do something,¡± she hisses.


    ¡°Yes. Leave, while we have time.¡±


    Boots scrape on rock outside. Callista presses her lips tight and slams her back into the nearest wall, away from the musty sunlight seeping through the gaping hole she left.


    Rhodes dematerializes. From his head downward, a translucent veil ripples like a silky sheet, and he too melts into the walls. Not even a glimmer exposes him.


    Moments later, the sunlight vanishes. She holds her breath, straining to listen to the sound of somebody clambering through the hole, boots thumping in the same room they¡¯re hiding in.


    The Transient runs a hand over the remains of a crib. He pauses by a shocked tuft of fur, what remains of a stuffed bear, half of its stuffing torn out. Whatever Mestessite baby loved it is long gone.


    He mumbles something. Too low to understand, but she thinks she catches a hint of disdain. Something about weakness. His gloved hand guides him along the brick walls. He touches the cracks, mumbling to himself. He strolls past Rhodes, or where she thinks Rhodes is.


    Then he pivots and heads toward Callista. She ducks behind the wall, gathering wisps of energy from the sun-baked roof and outside sand. She weaves their power into her body, fortifying herself, muscles compacting and tissues temporarily strengthening.


    That¡¯s all Transients are. Enslavers of worlds, conquerors and tyrants, sitting on a throne built out of untold trillions of suffering people spread out all over the grid.


    This one is no different. They¡¯re all the same. She wouldn¡¯t be surprised if this Transient was part of the military force that conquered the Mestessines and enslaved the survivors for refusing to join their Empire.


    She¡¯s going to rip this Transient apart, like she did to the ones that tried to stop her.


    ¡°I see you.¡±


    That¡¯s the only warning she gets before she hears the unmistakable roar of fire. Plumes of fire shatter the wall and slam into her. She transfers some strength into her legs and leaps across the room, breaking through a window and landing outside.


    Immediately, sand worms its way through her feet, sucking her down. She growls and tries to push away, but the sand is quick, and strong, its suction burying her to her knees.


    She spots the second Transient, eyes blazing blue, burying her. The first stomps toward her, flames blowing out the window. They curl over her head, where she would¡¯ve been if the sand hadn¡¯t sucked her down.


    ¡°Callista, catch!¡±


    From another house, Rhodes tosses a brick. She snatches it mid-air and crushes it to rubble, takes a handful, and throws it at the second Transient. The suction stops, sand slackening, as a new wall of compacted sand erupts between the Transient and the projectiles.


    Too late¨Cbrick punches through the sand and through his body. He jerks like a puppet, limbs twisting and chest heaving, body armor caved in, before he drops to the sand, twitching, bleeding out.


    The first Transient breaks through the window, flames whirling around his lithe figure, but she¡¯s ready. She throws the remaining pieces of brick at him.


    He collapses in a twitching, bloodied ruin of flesh. Rhodes materializes and stabs him with his knife.


    ¡°We need to go,¡± he says, before dematerializing again and dragging her away from the body. ¡°Now.¡±


    ¡°Ravi¡¯s out there and he needs our help,¡± she growls.


    ¡°We can¡¯t go back. You¡¯re going to kill yourself if you keep pushing your gift like that. Do you want to be gridshocked?¡±


    ¡°That won¡¯t happen.¡±


    ¡°Then why are your muscles still out of proportion?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t have to look to know. Her arms and shoulders are bulging, and her thighs and calves are, too, while her abdomen is normal-sized. Only because she refuses to dissipate the energy she withdrew.


    ¡°Ravi¨C¡±


    ¡°Is gone.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Quitting was never an option. Even as Callista¡¯s pushing herself to her limits, she¡¯s piecing together a rough map of the abandoned neighborhood and a route toward Ravi they can take without exposing themselves too much.


    ¡°Rhodes, if you distract them, I can take them out. It¡¯ll be quick. I¡¯m a good thrower.¡±


    ¡°Callista.¡± She doesn¡¯t have to see him to know the hesitance, the disapproval.


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it myself.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t lose you, too.¡± The voice is raw, choked out more than anything. His arms materialize as they wrap around her chest. She sprawls to the ground, trying to break his grip, but she¡¯s held up by the disembodied hands and the translucent rippling contour of the body they¡¯re attached to.


    ¡°Let me go!¡± Callista snarls, bucking wildly. Rhodes¡¯s grip tightens, as if he¡¯s the one with the gift of strength and she is nothing more than an angry child.


    ¡°I can¡¯t let you kill yourself. He¡¯s gone. We knew the risks. We knew what would happen when we ran away.¡±


    ¡°But we can fight them off. They¡¯re not as strong as they pretend to be.¡±


    Rhodes¡¯s body spasms. He drops her, gasping. His body materializes. And so, too, does the glistening shaft of a metal arrow sticking out of his back.


    ¡°Rhodes!¡± she screams, but the sounds don¡¯t register in her ears. Neither does his ragged cry of pain. A second arrow impales itself on his suddenly outstretched arm. Over where her heart is.


    She scoops him over her shoulder and throws herself into the nearest building. A third arrow whizzes past her ear, impaling itself on the door. She slams it shut and runs deeper into the house, depositing Rhodes on a ratty couch.


    ¡°I can fix this, I promise, you¡¯ll be okay,¡± Callista says, resisting the tearful burning of her eyes. She wipes away the moisture and hesitates, fingers paused over the arrow sticking out his back. ¡°Did it¡­ Are you¡­¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to die.¡± Rhodes screws his eyes shut and curls into himself. ¡°It hit my heart, or lungs, I don¡¯t know.¡±


    ¡°There has to be a way. Something, anything. I can carry you!¡±


    He groans. ¡°I¡¯ll only slow you down. You have to leave me.¡± Callista shakes her head, balling her hands into fists, but he presses a hand to her lips, smiling weakly. ¡°If you can make it out, that¡¯s enough for me. We knew the risks. If at least one of us makes it out, then we beat them.¡±


    ¡°Rhodes¨C¡±


    ¡°Callie.¡± Despite his bleeding wounds, he manages to keep his voice soft, kind, level. ¡°Do it. You have the rest of your life to live, don¡¯t you? Don¡¯t waste it on me. Go.¡±


    She claps her hands to her mouth. ¡°I love you,¡± she chokes out. Her vision is blurry. Yet, she can tell his eyes are glazing over, his life leaching out drop by drop, dribbling into the couch.


    She grits her teeth, pressing her forehead to his.


    ¡°Go.¡±


    His voice is tinny, barely a whisper, the last she¡¯ll ever hear from him. It still comes out like the crack of thunder, like he poured every bit of himself into that final command. I love you, he might have said in the echo.


    The world flashes white, retinas bleaching out.


    Then nothing.


    ***


    The girl¡¯s screams pierce through the silence.


    Cora stands. The girl screams and thrashes against her bindings. Purple peers through her half-lidded eyes as she strains against the cloth binding. Threads snap under her bulging muscles, animated life where there had been nothing but skin and bones before.


    Liam crouches into a fighting stance, knife held out, waiting. The girl bashes the back of her head into the tree. Rather than concuss her, wood sprays everywhere, embedding into surrounding trees like tiny daggers.


    ¡°I¡¯ll kill you all!¡± she howls, tearing the cloth like tissue paper.


    He lunges, knife slicing through the air. She snarls, one hand pushing his arm aside, the other slamming into his chest. He flies several feet back, crashing into a tree, toppling down.


    He doesn¡¯t get back up.


    Cora stares at his slumped form. Stares at the heaving, hulking girl, whose eyes are ringed purple and who definitely didn¡¯t have the size and mass of a professional bodybuilder before.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Cora shouts, pouring every trace of strength she can find into her shout. The girl pauses, those purple-ringed pupils of her dilating and contracting. Repeating over and over.


    Predator. And Cora will be the prey. Her heart thunders. ¡°We don¡¯t want to hurt you,¡± she says, gesturing at her half-opened backpack, medical supplies peeking out of the rumpled top. ¡°You tried to attack us, and we thought it was better if we talked to you first. Not like this, though.¡±


    ¡°He tried to kill me.¡±


    ¡°He was defending me from you. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Cora¡¯s voice wavers. ¡°You¡¯ve been through a lot, haven¡¯t you? Lost and alone.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t patronize me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not. But I haven¡¯t seen other people except him, and I know we were both lost and alone before we found each other. I¡¯m guessing you are, too.¡±


    The girl makes no move to attack. She doesn¡¯t back down, though. They¡¯re stuck in a staring contest, her unnatural purple eyes triggering some ancient instinct to flee. Cora gulps and holds her ground, because she can¡¯t be weak.


    ¡°Why? Why are you acting like this?¡± The girl flexes her hands. Claws protrude, gleaming black. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you kill me while you had the chance?¡±


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you kill me after taking my friend out?¡± Liam is still unresponsive, but his chest is moving. Oh, thank goodness. ¡°I¡¯m not exactly in fighting shape.¡±


    The girl narrows her eyes. ¡°Stop mimicking me.¡±


    Cora sighs. ¡°I thought you were another friend I had.¡± She rubs her sling, thumb tracing over the edge so it bites into the skin. ¡°But you weren¡¯t. Then you tried to attack me and my friend knocked out. We wanted to help you because you¡­¡± Cora finally breaks eye-contact. She gestures at the backpack, then at her arm. ¡°You looked like you needed help. Like us.¡±


    What would Mari say, seeing this new version of Cora? She might say she¡¯s putting up a mask. Which Cora might as well be doing, but damn if she isn¡¯t trying her best to be authentic about it and adopt it as part of her identity.


    ¡°I don¡¯t need help. I can keep myself alive with my gift and do whatever I want with it,¡± the girl says. The conviction isn¡¯t there, though.


    For the first time, the purple in her pupils dulls.


    Cora offers her hand out. ¡°Please,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s okay to accept help. I used to be like you. I thought I knew what I was doing, but I made a lot of mistakes.¡±


    More than you know, Mari says.


    ¡°I want to get to know you. I want to help you.¡±


    ¡°Fuck,¡± the girl says. The purple fades completely. What¡¯s left is the darkness of the night, the darkest corners of a poorly lit room, the forest canopy itself with the slightest hint of dried brown leaves.


    ¡°That¡¯s all I¡¯m good for, right?¡± Cora glances at the girl. ¡°I act without thinking. You only tried to help, and I¡­ and I¨C¡± The girl shouts and places a hand on the nearest tree.


    It¡¯s a purple one, and the sizzling starts before her pupils flash purple and she crushes a handful of tree bark into powder.


    ¡°I fucked up!¡± She swings her fist into the fist-sized cavity. The muffled thump leaves gouges deeper into the wood, but the girl shakes her hand as well, bits of wood falling off her bloodied knuckles.


    ¡°Stop,¡± Cora says, wincing at the second blow. The purple in the girl¡¯s eyes goes out, though, so she recoils, shaking her hand while tears stream down her face.


    ¡°They¡¯re gone,¡± she chokes out. ¡°Ravi¡­ Rhodes¡­ I left them to die. I¡¯m a monster.¡±


    ¡°What would¡¯ve happened if you didn¡¯t leave them?¡±


    The girl stares at her bloodied knuckles, rotating her hands and holding them up to a shaft of moonlight. ¡°Then I might¡¯ve been able to save them. Even if it was almost impossible.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not a monster.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t know me! You don¡¯t know what happened!¡±


    ¡°If you wanted to go back, but you couldn¡¯t, then that doesn¡¯t make you a monster. It''s not your fault.¡±


    The girl stares at the hole she blew out of the trunk. She retracts her claws and flexes her hands. Her sleeves droop, and Cora glimpses the criss-crossing scars on her bony wrists.


    ¡°How can you be so nice when I attacked you and your friend?¡±


    Liam groans, one arm drifting over his chest. That¡¯s a good sign. The girl traces a finger over her bloodied knuckles. Some of the blood smears on the back of her hand. The rest stains her fingers bright red, but she doesn¡¯t seem to care, running them over the wounds again and again.


    ¡°I want to help,¡± she says. ¡°You look like you need it, and besides, I care.¡± Care! Sure, Mari says, but Cora tunes her out. Not real, just a product of her trauma, though she¡¯s starting to get concerned about how frequent the voice is getting. ¡°I don¡¯t know about Liam, though. Liam?¡±


    Upon hearing his name, he staggers to his feet, spreading his hand wide over his sternum. He winces, testing different areas of his chest with two fingers.


    ¡°That will leave one hell of a bruise,¡± he says casually, like he hasn¡¯t just been struck with the type of strength that can crush trees into powder. ¡°You¡¯re strong, alright. Yes, I want to help, too. We¡¯re all in this together.¡±


    The girl recoils. Briefly, her pupils glow before Cora shakes her head and the light dies down.


    ¡°Meet my friend, Liam. Liam, meet¡­?¡±


    The girl sniffles. Her eyes look bloodshot more than anything, like she hasn¡¯t slept well the past week or two.


    ¡°Callista.¡± She presses her bloodied hand to her uniform, over her collarbones. A salute, if Cora had to guess. Or a greeting. ¡°My name is Callista cio rei Tersanova.¡±

 9 - StandBy

    ¡°We need you to tell us everything that happened.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna believe anything I tell you. I told them, they didn¡¯t believe me.¡±


    ¡°Take your time. This is a judgment-free zone. We understand if you can¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°No, not that. It¡¯s just¡­ I learned half an hour ago that they never made it out.¡±


    ***


    Callista is quiet after Liam finishes cleaning and bandaging her wounds.


    Those she allowed him to clean, at least, the superficial ones. She refused to pull back her sleeves and pants legs. Liam had insisted on checking, but she claimed there was nothing to treat, that everything was fine.


    Cora pays special attention to Callista¡¯s wince, the momentary tensing of muscles in her neck, as she adjusts her posture, straightening against the tree trunk, to the left of Cora. Liam sandwiches her at her right, though he¡¯s lost in concentration, eyes closed, lips occasionally twitching.


    If Cora thought her sling was bad enough, Callista¡¯s bandaged wrists are worse. She can¡¯t bend them at all. Cora tries to pass one end of the blanket to her. It takes four tries, and a little growl developing at the back of Callista¡¯s throat, before she grabs the blanket and stretches it out.


    Cora offers the other end to Liam. Once more, he scoots over until their bodies are pressed together. If sharing the blanket together had been a tight, awkward fit before, now it is mortifying, bodies smushed together to spare a little extra space for Callista.


    She sits apart, though their shoulders are nearly brushing. Good thing the blanket just manages to cover each of their laps. It¡¯s the three of them shielded by a single blanket against hypothermia.


    Or in Cora¡¯s case, sandwiched between two furnaces of warmth.


    With the wind picking up and lashing out at everything, Cora tucks her knees into her chest. Liam¡¯s feet poke out from the bottom of the blanket, head tossed back, eyes closed, like he''s sunbathing. Callista¡¯s teeth chatter. Her head is turned away. Her curtain of hair sways with the breeze stirring up, revealing her trembling jawline and deep set frown.


    Cora nudges her shoulder. No easy task, with her sling, knees, and blanket giving her right arm little room to maneuver. ¡°Callista?¡±


    She stiffens. Her voice barely rises above a whisper. ¡°I just want to go home.¡±


    A dagger buries itself into Cora¡¯s heart. Twists and slashes through the arteries and veins until her chest aches. Liam stops breathing. He nudges her foot, twice.


    Better get moving quick. Or are you going to wallow in your own self-pity again?


    For once, the Mari-hallucination is right. Cora shuts her eyes and opens them. The world is still cold, impenetrable, and eerie. Even the red moon vanished, plunging them in shadows, just enough moonlight to make out vague shapes a few feet out.


    ¡°Me too,¡± she says, softly.


    More than any of them know. Except me, Mari hisses, and Cora ignores the stray thought. Of course Mari knows, but the voice is not Mari, and Mari isn¡¯t here.


    Callista is.


    Cora drops her hand from Callista¡¯s shoulder, runs along her sleeved arm, and takes her hand. Finally, her head swivels toward her. Her eyes are tearing up, glistening in the faint moonlight.


    ¡°I need to tell both of you why I¡¯m here.¡±


    ¡°What? Why?¡±


    Callista slips her hand away. Pained, Cora draws her arm back to her side, only to feel Liam catch her by the elbow, fingers squeezing a warning message.


    ¡°Because we¡¯re not alone.¡±


    Callista¡¯s pupils flash purple. Cora yelps, lurching back, half-clambering over his leg. He tenses, all coiled muscle and lethal patience, brimming with lethal energy beneath his stony face, draping an arm protectively over her.


    Observing. Calculating.


    ¡°Careful,¡± Liam says. His voice comes out more like a rumble, the warning before earthquakes topple cities or volcanoes erupt in violent glory.


    ¡°Sorry. It helps with the stress. I¡¯m sorry,¡± Callista squeaks. A blink later, the light fades. ¡°I ran a lot. They won¡¯t catch up to me anytime soon, I promise.¡± She sighs and stares off into the gloom again. ¡°The forest is big, very big, but we¡¯re surrounded by mountains. If we stay here, then they¡¯ll reach me eventually.¡±


    How does she know? But Liam beats Cora to the next question.


    ¡°Who are they?¡± His knife¡¯s handle brushes against her elbow. He¡¯s interesting, Mari says, a note of respect in her imaginary voice. He deserves better than you.


    Cora struggles between keeping Liam from pouncing on Callista and keeping her thoughts in check. Shut up! Go away! Shut up!


    How can he not trust Callista? He treated her wounds. She''d flinched and whimpered the entire time, on more than one occasion jerking her hand away, though she kept her eyes from lighting up.


    And yet, Cora understands.


    Don¡¯t trust the girl that almost killed them. Common sense, really, something that slipped through her mind, melted to goo by the painful fact Mari almost became real, not just a critical voice echoing from ear to ear.


    ¡°Hunters.¡± Callista must read the murderous intent in Liam¡¯s posture, because she scoots well outside the blanket¡¯s cocoon, arms shaking. ¡°Transients.¡±


    ¡°Transients?¡±


    ¡°Yes, those monsters. I¡¯m sorry, I should¡¯ve told you the first chance I had, but I was so scared.¡± Callista curls into herself, hair hiding her face. ¡°I don¡¯t want to go back to them.¡±


    Transients.


    Monsters. Of the type so terrifying Callista braved the wilderness, the purple trees, and mutant creatures, rather than face the Transients. Whoever they are, Cora immediately hates them. Callista is a wreck of a girl, clearly devoured of life, left to struggle to survive paying little thought to much else.


    No surprise she attacked Cora, then. She worms herself off Liam¡¯s leg and stretches her good hand out, threading her fingers through Callista¡¯s own. She stares, then joins her palm together, hands clasped and a silent pact forged between them.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± Cora says. No, nothing¡¯s ever okay, ever, is it? Cora ignores the Mari-hallucination. ¡°Tell us everything.¡±


    ***


    ¡°-then Rhodes got shot and it¡¯s all my fault because I couldn¡¯t do enough for him and Ravi and then I ran.¡±


    Callista bares her teeth. The sound that comes out sounds like a low growl, or maybe a pent-up cry of frustration, forced through teeth clenched so tightly the muscle in her jaw pops out.


    Yet, no light rings her pupils. Instead, her eyes glaze over and her shoulders hunch until Cora thinks they might¡¯ve dislocated.


    Like a puppet with its strings cut. There is no script Callista follows. No painted emotions or calculated actions to gain Cora''s and Liam¡¯s sympathy. This is the real her, broken and washed out in shades of grief, a shivering shadow of the girl she might''ve once been.


    Who she could¡¯ve been.


    Too familiar to Cora, being in another place, another time, after the incident and before the box¡¯s discovery. She stares at the blanket, running her fingers over the threaded edges. Wrapping a loose thread around her finger until the circulation cuts off.


    ¡°I ran away," Callista whispers. ¡°I ran and ran until I found a node. It should¡¯ve been impossible, and I know you probably don¡¯t believe me, but it¡¯s true. An Arcego-honest miracle. It¡¯s how I got¨C¡± She hiccups, then shakes her head. ¡°How I got here.¡±


    Cora¡¯s head spins at the slew of new words. Endralova. Callista comes from a world called Endralova. Transients. The people who hurt her, and are hunting her down. The Mestessines. Another world, where she fought. Arcego. That word, no idea. Node. A portal?


    Once, Cora would¡¯ve spent hours interrogating Callista about details of her world, jotting down names and facts, eagerly waiting to compile them into an online document or spreadsheet for later reference.


    This version of Cora is haunted by voices in her head and a conscience that clings to her every action. Every word. She¡¯s made too many mistakes, and the ultimate one doomed her to another world alongside Liam.


    No more mistakes. Blood is roaring in her ears. Her heart beats furiously, a gong hammering through her chest.


    How, how people, no matter how alien, can be so cruel makes her blood boil.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Liam shifts. ¡°Callista¨C¡±


    ¡°Please, stop. Don¡¯t say anything. I need a few moments.¡± Callista¡¯s face is pale, drained of the emotional fury that consumed her as she spoke about the moments leading up to her fight. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°We got lucky,¡± he whispers in Cora¡¯s ear.


    She nods slowly. ¡°We¡¯ll have to deal with those people eventually. They¡¯re still chasing Callista.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not people.¡± His nostrils flare, lips pressed tight. ¡°They¡¯re fucking monsters.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. But I don¡¯t think we can avoid them forever.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re right, but I left them far behind. They set up camp around sunset. None of them can fly or run as fast as me, but they have my scent. They think I¡¯ll starve and collapse eventually.¡±


    Cora and Liam share a look.


    ¡°Sunset?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Yes. I don¡¯t know how long the nights last here. That¡¯s why I didn¡¯t stop running.¡± She runs her fingers over her bandaged wrists. ¡°Until you found me.¡±


    ¡°So they won¡¯t search for you until sunrise?¡±


    ¡°They won¡¯t, but I want to run as far as I can before they wake.¡±


    Cora offers her hand to her. Instead, Callista grabs her wrist and pulls her into a hug.


    ¡°My arm,¡± Cora says, raising the splint. Callista leaves a space between it and her body and rests her head on Cora¡¯s shoulder.


    The whole set-up is intimate. Closer than Cora would dare get to almost anybody. There is only one person in the world¨Cboth worlds, she reminds herself grimly¨Cwho ever got this close to her.


    Callista, while her embrace is rougher, squeezing a little too hard, reminds her of Mari. Right proportions. Right warmth.


    Cora closes her eyes. For a second, she can almost imagine it¡¯s her.


    Then Callista pulls away, and Cora is left with Mari¡¯s fading presence. Callista is not her. They¡¯re two different people, but damn if that hug didn¡¯t remind her of Mari¡¯s.


    ¡°We¡¯re gonna get out of this place,¡± Cora says. There won¡¯t be a moment where she¡¯ll go back on her word. Her jaw sets. She won¡¯t repeat the same mistakes again. ¡°And then¡­¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll figure it out as we go,¡± Liam says. He crosses his arms and snuggles deeper into the blankets.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Callista chokes out, sounding like it had been Cora who squeezed the breath out of her. ¡°I¡¯m glad I met both of you. And I¡¯m sorry I attacked you.¡± She beckons Liam to come closer.


    ¡°All good,¡± he says. Slowly, he leans forward, his head passing over Cora¡¯s legs. Callista gives him a hug, too. Cora snorts at the mild confusion and pleasure on his face.


    ¡°We need to rest,¡± she says. ¡°Me and Liam are tired. We¡¯ve been walking for a while.¡±


    Callista bites her lip, but yanks the blanket up. It covers her from the neck down, the tips of her feet sticking out at the other end. ¡°Okay.¡±


    The uncertainty remains. She clearly wants to bolt, but the fact she stays speaks volumes about how lonely she¡¯s been.


    Plus, Cora doesn¡¯t mind sharing blanket space with her, too. On some deeper instinctual level, she still thinks it¡¯s Mari who¡¯s snuggled beside her, even when Cora repeats to herself that this isn¡¯t her.


    But you want it to be, don¡¯t you? Wait until Callista finds out what you did to your best friend.


    Cora forces herself to relax. You¡¯re not real. Leave me alone. Wherever the real Mari is, Cora hopes it¡¯s somewhere safe, warm, and with people as friendly as Liam and Callista.


    The last thought drifting through her sleepy mind is why Callista is able to speak fluent English at all.


    ***


    Screaming. Of the kind where the voice cracks and the screaming is high-pitched, shrill. Where Cora¡¯s eyes fly open and she¡¯s on her feet before she comprehends what¡¯s going on.


    She forgets where she is, though. When she looks around and finds nothing but trees, she nearly adds to the screaming a few feet away.


    Until Liam rises next to her and she remembers what happened. That Cora doomed them to a hostile world. He grabs her by the elbow and moves her back so he partially shields her.


    Callista, kicking and thrashing, releases a drawn-out shriek that hurts Cora¡¯s ears. One of her hands¨Cbigger than the other, attached to an arm whose muscle bulges through the uniform sleeve Cora is sure was slack before¨Cswings wildly.


    They take a few steps back. Through Callista¡¯s shut eyelids, purple light spills through the slits. Her other hand arches, claws coming out. They rake gouges into the dirt.


    ¡°Callista!¡± Cora shouts.


    Callista growls and swipes at the air. ¡°I¡¯ll kill you!¡± she screams.


    ¡°Callista!¡± Liam booms out. She stops thrashing for a second. ¡°Wake up!¡±


    Her eyes snap open. There¡¯s a saying somewhere out there that in life-or-death situations, life flashes before the eyes. Cora doesn¡¯t feel any of it. A familiar weight punches through her stomach. Her knees buckle as the same terror she felt at the mercy of the creatures paralyzes her.


    It is Liam, with his quick thinking and uncanny way of being statuesque during danger, who tackles her out of the way. Her wrist burns and a thread of pain aches deep inside her right leg, twisting under their weight.


    Callista propels herself forward with all the quiet grace of an elephant. She punches the air where they¡¯d been a split moment ago and glances around. Her glowing eyes pass over Cora and Liam as if they don¡¯t exist.


    As if the real enemies were hiding in the shadows, waiting to ambush them. Cora checks around. The shadows aren¡¯t disproportionate. But Callista swings at a tree a few feet away.


    Bloody gauze and wood fragments spray out of the gouged hole. A few pieces impale Cora¡¯s thigh, her hip, her shoulder. One grazes her cheek, the sting bringing tears to her eyes. Liam groans, shrinking away.


    She shoves herself upright, grunting. ¡°Stop!¡± She grabs Callista¡¯s arm and pulls her away from the tree.


    Bad idea. Her arm feels like rock. Both muscular and bony in all the wrong places. She jerks her arm forward. The force is tremendous. Stronger than any machine back home. Cora¡¯s thrown forward, clinging onto Callista¡¯s arm for dear life.


    She snaps her arm back before Cora is sure of her footing.


    Cora doesn¡¯t just get whiplash. She goes flying. She hits the tree where she¡¯d rested her back against much harder than she should. Muscles in her back shriek in protest.


    She gasps, doubles over, then falls onto her good side, the side without the sling twisted up to her neck. Her ears ring, head pounding like somebody took a jackhammer to her skull. The world registers through amorphous blobs and degrees of lightness.


    Whatever she makes out through her squinted eyes. Hot liquid runs down the back of her thigh. She grits her teeth, ignoring the tight band of muscle cramping under her jaw.


    ¡°Get her,¡± she mumbles. Her voice sounds muffled to her ears. She coughs, shuddering. ¡°I¡¯m fine. Wake her up.¡±


    Liam looks torn between helping her and helping the girl who is about to rampage through the forest, but he nods. That¡¯s enough.


    Cora probes at each place where wooden shrapnel drove into her. The ones in her hip and shoulder pop out before she tests the wounds. Her face stings, but the wood left shallow marks. Not wet, thankfully.


    Her thigh, though¡­ only when she feels the back is when her fingers come away sticky. Wet warmth oozes from the place where the wood pierced her jeans. It sticks out of her leg, half an inch long and thicker than her thumb.


    She¡¯s afraid to remove it. It¡¯s not big, but the wood might be an inch deep into her thigh. Maybe more. The skin gives a twinge in protest when she shifts so her legs curl into her chest while she¡¯s sideways.


    ¡°No! You¡¯re okay!¡±


    Cora whips her head up. Liam¡¯s hands are planted on Callista¡¯s shoulders. Her slack-jawed expression does little to calm Cora¡¯s nerves, but at least she isn¡¯t thrashing anymore. Just quivering a little.


    ¡°They¡¯re here¨Cstop, I need to fight them, please,¡± Callista whimpers.


    ¡°We¡¯re safe, okay? There¡¯s nothing that will hurt us here.¡± Fascinated, Cora watches as Liam guides Callista over to the tree where Cora had slammed into. Rather than slam him into the tree, Callista relaxes in Liam¡¯s hold.


    He picks up the blanket and drapes it over her. Her eyes flutter. The piercing purple light dies, leaving twin dark crescents that widen when she notices Cora.


    ¡°Cora?¡± Callista asks.


    She manages a weak wave before she screws her eyes shut from a fresh wave of pain radiating from her wrist.


    ¡°I did it again, I¡¯m sorry, I-I didn¡¯t mean it¨C¡±


    "I know."


    ¡°Shit, you¡¯re injured,¡± Liam says.


    ¡°''Tis but a scratch." Cora flashes a pained smile. He doesn¡¯t crack a smile back. ¡°Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood. Some of the wood got me here.¡± She twists her body, exposing the back of her bloodied thigh to him. ¡°I don¡¯t know how deep it went.¡±


    Callista sets down the bottle of cleaning alcohol and some gauze. Warmth seeps into Cora''s thundering heart.


    "Thanks,¡± Cora says. She shuts her eyes and rides out another wave of vertigo. The world swims around her. Her senses mash into a giant glob of icky feelings.


    It¡¯s like somebody threw her into a blender and set it at the highest power. Cora nearly hurls. She shudders and tries to sit upright, to quell her stomach¡¯s rebellion against her attempts to wrangle the nausea down.


    ¡°Wait. Cora,¡± Liam starts, but she can¡¯t focus on anything except how dizzy she¡¯s getting.


    Sitting up doesn¡¯t work. She feels the burning in her throat before she retches, doubling over. She heaves and gags and spews out whatever¡¯s left in her stomach until it¡¯s empty and her throat is on fire.


    Then the next feeling she registers is the raw, thumping pain behind her ears, every pulse hammering fiery nails into her skull.


    ¡°Fuck!¡±


    She reaches up to cover the back of her head with a splayed hand, but her arm¡¯s twisted under her body, scraping against the ground as she tries to reach up. For a moment, she feels cold air blow on her broken wrist.


    That¡¯s not supposed to happen. Somehow, her injured hand comes out of the sling, and her wrist bends a fraction before knives sever her tendons and salt pours on her nerves.


    She can¡¯t help it. Cora is the one who is screaming now, thrashing wildly, eyes tearing up. Callista¡¯s strong grip¨Cor Liam¡¯s, hard to tell whose calloused hands land on her elbows¨Cstraighten her into a sitting position. Another pair of hands holds her by the shoulders.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay. It¡¯s okay,¡± Callista says. Cora stops screaming. How quickly circumstances change. Minutes ago, it had been the other way around.


    ¡°Give me the water. She needs to rehydrate,¡± Liam says. He sounds calm, too calm, despite her and Callista losing their shit. Another mask, one Cora eagerly welcomes.


    ¡°Ibuprofen,¡± Cora coughs out. She lurches, but nothing comes out this time.


    ¡°You can¡¯t take that on an empty stomach. Fuck, we don¡¯t have any food.¡±


    ¡°Granola bar.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Bottom of the front pocket. Tucked inside a mesh pocket there.¡± Cora groans, wishing that the world can steady itself instead of distorting like she took one too many mushrooms. ¡°Promethazine, if you have that.¡±


    She hears the crinkling of a wrapper. The granola bar is a green blur in Liam¡¯s hand. ¡°What¡¯s prometh-whatever?¡±


    ¡°Promethazine. I think it''s a prescription.¡±


    Some of her research finally pays off.


    Cora sinks into Callista¡¯s arms. She¡¯s sitting behind her, keeping Cora''s back straight, working her gauze-wrapped arm back into the sling, gently. ¡°Thanks,¡± Cora says, shuddering as her esophagus threatens to spasm.


    ¡°Don¡¯t-I¡¯m just doing what¡¯s right. Especially after what I did to you.¡±


    Another pang of warmth seeps into Cora¡¯s heart. ¡°Thanks, anyway.¡±


    ¡°I opened it for you. Here.¡± Liam¡¯s fingertips brush against hers as she takes a bar. She nibbles on the corners first, then works her way down the middle until half of the bar is gone.


    Her stomach grumbles. How long has it been since she¡¯s eaten? At the same time the vertigo twists her perspective and leaves her dizzy, her hunger multiplies until it punches through the dizziness and leaves a ravenous monster that demands to eat.


    And she does. The rest of the granola bar disappears in seconds. The second bar that¡¯d come packaged with the first vanishes, too, leaving nothing but crumbles that rattle inside the clenched wrapper in her hand.


    ¡°Here¡¯s the ibuprofen,¡± Liam says. She drops the wrapper. Two pills slip into her hand. ¡°And there¡¯s a bottle of promethazine half-full. Enough, I¡¯m guessing.¡±


    Cora takes the water bottle Callista brought over and holds a pill, leaving the other on her lap.


    She swallows the first easily. And the second.


    It¡¯s so easy to pretend it''s Mari whose warm comfort is keeping Cora upright.

 10 - MeraTensity

    ¡°Cora¡­¡±


    ¡°Go away.¡±


    ¡°Cora, I just wanted to talk to you about¨C¡±


    ¡°Fuck that. It¡¯s too late. You weren¡¯t there. I saw them. They¡¯re never coming back!¡±


    ***


    Her dreams are restless. Several times throughout the long night, Cora jolts awake, gasping, heart slamming into her chest. Details blur, shapes melting into the shadows. Liam and Callista sit at either side of her. Her head is lulling, eyes closed, while he¡¯s turned away from her, head tossed back into the tree.


    Most of Cora¡¯s vertigo is gone. It¡¯s on the fourth time jolting awake that Cora resolves to stay awake and keep watch.


    No use. The promethazine works its magic on her brain, and soon, she dozes off again, slipping into a restless scoured land of nightmares and paralysis-inducing hallucinations.


    When Cora opens her eyes again, her vertigo vanishes. Sharp pains in her wounds and broken wrist dull into manageable throbs, save for her aching feet and bruised flanks, punishment after being thrown around too many times.


    She winces, probing at her ribs. Pain lashes at her, traveling down her flanks. It¡¯s much, much better than she expected. Is she dreaming? Even back home, she never woke up feeling this well-rested, alert and fully conscious and brimming with the exciting potential of a new day.


    She checks on the others. Callista snores softly, curled into a ball. A strand of hair blows outward with every breath exhaled. Liam is stretched out, head slumped away from her, and most shockingly, his left arm lies on Cora''s leg. Palm up, at least. Cora resists the urge to smack his shoulder and glare at him until he apologizes, no matter how sleepy he is. For the first time, he looks at peace with himself, all the worry wiped from his face.


    Sometime in the nebulous stretch of time they spent asleep, Callista wrapped the blanket around herself. Liam is completely exposed and Cora is at the fringes of the cold.


    Or what should be the cold. Her nose isn¡¯t numb. Her eyes are not shriveled husks. She licks her chapped lips. Her throat is clenched tight, mouth dry, instincts begging to quench her thirst.


    She hooks her foot around her backpack¡¯s straps and drags it over. It yields more easily than she expected, lighter somehow.


    Cora rummages through each pocket. The contents are the same, maybe a little strewn about from constant travel. Then she gets to the main pocket. The box is still there in all its untarnished painful existence. The pain still runs deep, stabbing through her organs, her greatest mistake.


    Really? You seemed so proud of it not too long ago.


    Damn it. Cora screws her eyes shut and materializes a mental image of the Mari-apparition, shredding it into pieces. You can¡¯t get rid of your sins, the Mari-apparition taunts.


    Cora clenches her teeth and plunges her hand into her backpack. The box doesn¡¯t change her into a frog, or make her waltz back to the crashed machinery, or teleport her into a bad horror remake or something insane. It¡¯s just a normal box.


    She reaches deeper than expected, plastic bottles rattling from vibrations, before she grabs a full water bottle. Her stomach somersaults. She runs a quick count, frowning. Seven filled bottles left, including the two snuggled inside her backpack¡¯s bottle holders.


    They had ten last time they ran count. Cora scans around herself. A bottle dangles from Callista¡¯s limp fingers, empty. Another is crushed under Liam¡¯s leg. A third rolled under a neighboring bush, gaudy packaging popping out from stacks of needles.


    ¡°Shit, shit,¡± Cora whispers. She plucks Callista¡¯s bottle first. Her eyes flutter, head drooping a fraction of a degree. Immediately, Cora freezes like a turtle on rail tracks while a train barrels toward her. She holds her breath, praying with every fiber of her being that those eyes don¡¯t reopen and reveal purple scythes.


    Instead, Callista moans briefly before dozing off. A bit of drool trickles down the corner of her lips.


    Liam proves much easier. Cora pulls out the bottle from underneath him and he doesn¡¯t stir at all. She stretches to roll the third bottle toward her, comes up a few inches short, and gives up, stuffing both freed bottles back into her backpack.


    They need to move soon.


    ¡°Liam,¡± she says softly. She shakes him by the shoulder. ¡°Li-am.¡±


    ¡°Stop, I just want to sleep,¡± Liam mumbles, turning away from her. He swats at her gently and fails, arm dropping to his side. ¡°Now I can¡¯t sleep. Fuck.¡±


    She sighs in relief. ¡°Sorry, I had to. We have seven water bottles left, and I¡¯m gonna drink one of them.¡±


    It takes longer than she likes for him to rouse to an acceptable level of awareness. His eyes are bloodshot, bags heavy under his eyes. ¡°Wait, what?¡±


    ¡°You didn¡¯t sleep well?¡±


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t.¡± He drags a hand over his face, exhaling. ¡°Somebody had to watch out for us.¡±


    Cora wants to shrink until he can¡¯t see the shame coloring her cheeks. ¡°I¡¯m sorry for waking you up.¡±


    He stifles a yawn. ¡°You¡¯re fine. We need to get moving. Those bottles won¡¯t last us past today.¡±


    By today, she knows he means until they collapse from exhaustion, bleary-eyed and stumbling blindly, burrowing under the blanket to welcome the comfort of the sleeping abyss.


    ¡°Cora?¡±


    She looks up from her backpack. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    Liam produces a sickly orange bottle from his pocket. Prescription medication. Promethazine. She shakes her head before he says anything.


    ¡°I feel great, actually. Really awake.¡±


    He unzips her backpack and drops the promethazine inside. ¡°That came out weirdly optimistic.¡±


    Cora pretends to drop her jaw in shock. ¡°What? I can¡¯t have a good morning after a shitty night?¡±


    It should concern her that she''s growing used to profanity. The old her would be livid. After the incident, swear words reminded her too much of what happened. They felt as insulting as the rest of the words showered upon her, saying that it wasn¡¯t her fault.


    You weren¡¯t there! She¡¯d wanted to scream in their disgustingly pitying faces. I was, but none of you believe me!


    But now? Those memories are just that. Memories. They can¡¯t wound her here, in an alien dimension, where she has her own problems to sort through. She is here, and she is now.


    And for some reason, she feels more alive than ever since that terrible night so long ago.


    ¡°I thought you died when she threw you.¡± He presses his lips tight, casting a glare at Callista. Then he softens, reluctantly withdrawing into an expressionless shell of himself, save for his haunted eyes.


    That explains why he looks like somebody ordered him to shoot his own dog. ¡°Oh. Well, I¡¯m not dead. Hurray, me.¡± She flashes a smile, then grimaces as her bruises throb, fists hammering her flank.


    ¡°Are you sure you¡¯re okay?¡±


    Cora can¡¯t help but roll her eyes. This world really is changing her. ¡°I''m fine. I said the same thing yesterday, I know.¡± She raises her hand and claps it to her chest. ¡°But I''m feeling good today. Ready to go.¡±


    ¡°Huh.¡± He still doesn¡¯t look convinced, but he grunts in acknowledgement. Not approval. She can tell by his squared shoulders, the subtle tension of his muscles. ¡°You know how I helped you walk?¡±


    She trails her hand over the back of her thigh. Under her fingers, the bandage feels like a cancerous lump. The edges are stained rust red rather than a cherry hue.


    Small miracle she didn¡¯t bleed out overnight. Then again, plenty of small miracles have kept her alive.


    ¡°Where are you going with this?¡±


    ¡°I can carry you. Piggyback ride. You know. If you can¡¯t walk anymore.¡±


    She can¡¯t help but grin. ¡°Are you being shy?¡±


    He glares at her. ¡°After everything we''ve seen, you think I''m being shy?¡±


    ¡°I think you''re being shy.¡±


    ¡°I think you¡¯re mistaken.¡±


    ¡°Please, stop flirting,¡± Callista moans. Cora is about to retort that she barely knows Liam when she notices the purple highlights in Callista''s hair.


    Why hadn''t Cora noticed yesterday?


    Then it dawns on her. The oppressive darkness retreated during her last bit of sleep. The gloom is a hazy gray, erasing shadows from neighboring trees, expanding depth. She can see much farther than before, like her sleep removed imaginary cataracts.


    Everything appears in high-quality definition. The many cuts on Liam¡¯s face, for instance. Or the patchwork of blood on Cora¡¯s clothes. Or the back of Callista¡¯s head, where a section of hair was haphazardly chopped off, leaving a blob of matted hair glued to her skull.


    ¡°Sunrise,¡± Cora says.


    Callista looks around, shoulders hunching. Her pupils don¡¯t light up, though. She grimaces and touches her cheek. Pauses, reconsiders. One of her eyes lights up, and then the other, like a malfunctioning LED strip light.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Cora can¡¯t stop staring at her, fascinated by the timed pulses between each blossom of light, starting as pinpricks of light and unfolding like rose petals fanning out, edges bleeding into each other.


    Her stomach still churns, her primal instincts screaming at her to leave, that this is not an ordinary person. That this strong being could snap her bones and punch a hole through her chest.


    The conscious, more inquisitive part of her marvels over Callista¡¯s magic. Real magic, right there in the flesh. Everybody back home would go ballistic if Callista showed up. She¡¯d make international news, become living proof that maybe people can be something more.


    Cora shakes her head. Callista isn¡¯t a specimen to be studied. She¡¯s a living, breathing, person of flesh and blood, like her. A friend, if Cora wants to call her companionship that.


    They have to iron out their differences, sure, but Callista proved herself already. She could¡¯ve killed them all with her herculean strength, bound or not.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± Liam asks. He, like Cora, stares at Callista.


    She blinks slowly. Her pupils return to normal. She wipes a hand over her face, rubbing at her sunken eyes. ¡°I tried¨CI needed to see if¨Csorry, sorry. Give me a second.¡± She massages her temples next, scrunching her eyes shut. ¡°My head hurts. I can¡¯t think normally. I thought if I used my gift, it¡¯d go away like it does for some people, but I can¡¯t. It just made it worse.¡±


    ¡°Then don¡¯t. Rest, drink some water, do what you need to do. I get it.¡± Cora probes at her flanks, grimacing. ¡°I¡¯m not doing too good either.¡±


    ¡°Or me,¡± Liam drawls, showing off his forearm. Even through the fabric of his long sleeve, the contours of a hastily wrapped bandage shows through. He looks at Callista. ¡°What¡¯s up with that bruise on your face?¡±


    Cora can¡¯t believe she missed it. Mottled purple, it stretches from the bottom outer corner of Callista¡¯s eye to her jaw. She wants to blame the low light¨Chuman eyes are notoriously terrible in the dark¨Cbut maybe she didn¡¯t pay enough attention.


    You¡¯re doing it again already? Typical, the Mari-apparition says.


    Cora is dragging together another mental construction to shred when Callista distracts her. She touches her jaw, then winces, teeth flashing briefly.


    ¡°Did I almost get gridshocked?¡±


    Cora has no idea what to say, so she shrugs and hopes Callista keeps talking.


    ¡°My gift is different from yours. You can understand languages anytime, anywhere, forever, and you don¡¯t have to think about it.¡± As she speaks, she sounds bitter. Or jealous. Tired, maybe.


    Cora frowns. What is Callista going on about?


    ¡°My gift takes and takes. I have to concentrate, and it drains me every time I use it.¡± Liam picks up on the connotations first, jerking his chin forward. Callista raises a hand, bowing her head. ¡°Yes, I knew what I was doing, and no, I was not thinking correctly. I thought I was in a nightmare. I¡¯m a walking disaster, I understand.¡± She huffs and rubs her temples again, glaring at her feet. ¡°I don¡¯t blame you because I¡¯ve fucked up so many times.¡± She works her jaw open and closed, rubbing at her eyes again. She clenches her hands, slamming them down. Little clouds of dirt puff around her. ¡°Sometimes I wonder if somebody else deserves my gift more¨C¡±


    ¡°Callista.¡±


    It¡¯s the same tone Mari used on Cora when she promised to go to the mall and ended up locking herself in her room while Mari waited outside, her disappointment and hurt palpable even through the door.


    On some underlying layer, Cora understands Callista¡¯s pain. The loss, the despair, the utter loneliness that creeps until she¡¯s talking to herself long after reasonable sleeping hours, wondering how things could be different if she¡¯d done something different.


    She is painfully familiar with that feeling.


    ¡°It¡¯s not your fault.¡±


    Cora told her that once. A second time doesn¡¯t hurt.


    Callista wipes her hands off on her pants. ¡°I could¡¯ve saved them, though. I could¡¯ve. It might¡¯ve been almost impossible, but there was still a chance. You¡¯d save him, wouldn¡¯t you?¡± She gestures toward Liam.


    He makes eye contact with Cora. He would, without a shadow of a doubt. He¡¯d done it once, throwing himself like a fish before dozens of sharks.


    ¡°I would,¡± he says, and she gets her answer.


    If he got captured by those monsters, the Transients, Cora knows, in a truth buried deep inside her, that she¡¯d fight to save him. They barely know each other. Based on logic alone, running would be wiser.


    But she is not a creature of logic. She is a messy creature built of hormones and emotions and half-baked ideas, governed by impulses and contradictions, and she would fight for him until the end.


    ¡°Me too.¡±


    Callista gulps. ¡°But Rhodes knew better. The odds favored us if we ran. Then he got shot because of me. I killed him. I should¡¯ve listened to him and left Ravi. And now, because I hesitated, because I was too stupid, they¡¯re both dead. Because of me!¡±


    There is no roar. No flash of her eyes or bulging of her muscles or sudden screams. Callista, spent and defeated, whimpers, hanging her head low, limp as a doll.


    ¡°Hey, if Rhodes wanted you to run, then you did the right thing. You lived. That¡¯s all that mattered to him until the end,¡± Liam says, landing a hand on Callista¡¯s trembling shoulder. She sniffles and says nothing. He squeezes, then leans over Cora¡¯s lap, giving Callista a one-armed hug. ¡°We¡¯ll get through this together.¡±


    ¡°We will,¡± Cora agrees. ¡°We¡¯ll get through this mess, okay?¡±


    One wrong step and everything comes crashing down. But it¡¯s not the fear Callista will snap and hurt or kill them. Yes, she hurt them once already, but that was accidental. Callista is a good person at heart.


    It¡¯s the trust that Callista places in them. In Cora. She wants to be like how Mari was, providing comfort and protection. Callista needs it, just like Cora needed it, even when she pretended everything was okay and the box would solve all her problems.


    Callista looks at them with tear-stained eyes. Cora¡¯s chest constricts. The pressure builds, a bomb preparing to explode in nuclear fury. ¡°We¡¯ll get through this. Through everything,¡± she says, more firmly.


    If only she¡¯d said that to Mari.


    If only, the Mari-apparition whispers, voice brimming with sadness.


    ¡°I promise.¡±


    ***


    As this world¡¯s sun breaches the unseen horizon, the forest comes alive.


    Shadows reel and retreat into shells of burnt sienna and molten silver, glittering amethysts and suave lavenders encompassing the trees. Mushroom and arrow-head canopies alike glow shades of green. The first shafts of sunlight trickles through leaves.


    And with it, warmth. It¡¯s delicious. Cora stops more than once to bask in pools of sunlight, almost crying in sweet relief. The sunlight is her armor against the occasional gust of wind, carrying icy remnants of the winds that buffeted them throughout the night.


    Liam, despite his ragged exterior and constant yawns, perks up as they push deeper into the forest. Like before, he supports Cora¡¯s weight, the two of them matching each other¡¯s stride. Callista is quiet, constantly checking over her shoulder.


    Then, the brook swells. Lapping water churns over miniature boulders. What used to be a few feet wide at most becomes a dozen. The water loses its lilac tint, crystal-clear like the water sloshing inside their remaining three bottles, one for each.


    Which need to be filled somehow. No way does Cora trust the water, but it¡¯s comforting to know it¡¯s there.


    ¡°It¡¯s peaceful,¡± Callista says once they decide to rest.


    ¡°Too peaceful,¡± Liam mutters, wringing his hands. ¡°I don¡¯t like it. Not one bit.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s better than finding the Transients.¡±


    Cora wriggles off her backpack. This time, she¡¯d volunteered to carry despite Liam¡¯s protests. ¡°How far back do you think they are?¡±


    Callista chews on her lip. ¡°I ran a lot. Very far, I¡¯d say.¡±


    ¡°And you said they couldn¡¯t catch up?¡±


    ¡°I promise they can¡¯t. They had no gifts of swiftness, flight, teleportation, or strength, or I would¡¯ve been captured easily.¡±


    Cora and Liam share a look. It¡¯s not like in the movies. She has no idea what¡¯s going on through his mind. But she can tell he¡¯s about to ask something very, very stupid.


    She breaks their brief silence. ¡°Oh, okay. Good. We have time, then.¡±


    Don¡¯t you always want to learn more? Mari says.


    Nobody can know about Earth. It feels weird calling her planet that, like calling her parents by their first names. But it¡¯s common sense. Wherever here is, it¡¯s not home. Else magic would be everywhere. Wait, why am I responding to a hallucination?


    ¡°Mmm. We could leave in fifteen minutes. Does your phone have any charge?¡± Liam asks.


    A timer. Cora nods and thumbs through her lock screen, setting a fifteen minute alarm. ¡°Ready.¡±


    Callista stalks off toward the nearest set of trees, scanning back and forth. Liam sits and fidgets with his knife, twirling and stabbing randomly at the air with it. The edge is stained dark with blood, but he doesn¡¯t rinse it off in the stream.


    By the time her alarm chimes, they¡¯re stiff with tension. Callista works her fingers and fidgets. Liam is a nervous wreck, biting his cuticles, one hand kept on the sheath of his knife at all times.


    Cora recognizes it now. His overt cautiousness, the way his eyes dart around his surroundings like he¡¯s been possessed, running his hands through his hair enough times she wonders how he isn¡¯t bald.


    He does it again.


    The mask came off.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Callista thankfully takes the lead, scrutinizing Liam like he sprouted a tentacle from his forehead. He pauses, hands threaded through his hair, tufts comically sticking out. ¡°If you don¡¯t trust me, I understand.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that.¡± He glances at Cora. She shrugs, because how is she supposed to read Liam¡¯s mind?


    ¡°The Transients won¡¯t come this quickly. They may send scouts, though. Scouts can¡¯t hurt us, believe me, but I can hurt them.¡± She flexes her hands to prove her point. No light flaring inside her pupils.


    ¡°It¡¯s not that. None of that nonsense.¡± Liam drops his hands to his sides. ¡°I can¡¯t keep doing this.¡±


    Cora stares at him. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Pretending that we¡¯re like her. We have to tell her. About where we came from.¡±


    Cora stares at him until her eyes burn. Until the painful dryness forces her to blink, and then she stares at him again, uncomprehending. ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know shit. We know nothing. The sooner we learn, the better. It¡¯ll help us.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know. But¨C¡±


    He pinches the bridge of his nose, then exhales loudly. ¡°You¡¯re still having doubts?¡±


    Cora feels her face flush. She trembles with the desire to shake him back and forth like a maraca.


    ¡°We can¡¯t give out information like that! Sure, maybe we¡¯ll get hurt, but at least everybody back home will stay safe. Nobody finds out, nobody knows, and nobody gets hurt.¡±


    ¡°I won¡¯t betray either of you,¡± Callista says quietly.


    ¡°Well, it''s too late anyway, isn''t it? The cat''s out of the bag,¡± Liam says.


    ¡°Because of you.¡± Cora scowls. She softens when she meets Callista¡¯s timid gaze. It reminds her too much of Mari. ¡°Don¡¯t take it personally. We¡¯ve been on guard since we got here.¡±


    ¡°No, it¡¯s understandable. You¡¯re far from Magaram and the allied worlds, and you don¡¯t want to reveal secrets about your world.¡±


    Salvation. A thin thread of rope that Cora latches onto. She bites her lip as she looks at Liam. His face hardens and he gives the slightest shake of his head.


    ¡°Don¡¯t¨C¡± Cora says, just as Liam turns toward Callista.


    ¡°We aren¡¯t from Magaram.¡± Every word that comes out of Liam¡¯s mouth punches her in the gut. ¡°We come from a world called Earth.¡±


    ¡°Earth.¡± Callista mouths the word without saying it, puzzled. ¡°Err-th?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Like that. We know nothing like you do.¡±


    ¡°Nothing?¡± Callista smooths out her hair. With her immobile wrists, though, all she achieves is untangling the worst of the knots. ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of Earth, and I know a lot of worlds. Do you know about the grid?¡± A head shake. ¡°Is that a yes or no?¡±


    ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Parity?¡± Another shake. ¡°The Empire, anything at all?¡± Another shake. ¡°Enuscent? Arcego? Marpei?¡± Upon saying that last word, Callista grimaces.


    ¡°We have no idea what any of those words mean,¡± Cora says, resigned.


    ¡°Wait. Did you say the Empire?¡± Liam¡¯s eyes boggle out of his head. ¡°What type of fantasy bullshit are we in?¡±


    Callista stares at him, dead serious. His grin drops and he frowns. ¡°You¡¯re serious, then.¡±


    ¡°The Empire. The Transients never gave it a name. It just is. Everybody knows what it is. Nobody names it. It¡¯s too big to be given something as simple as a name. And it wants to capture me.¡±

 11 - DeepFlow

    ¡°You want to go back to the mine? But I thought it was behind us.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s important. I need this. Please. For my sake.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Do you wanna hang out at the mall after? I saw a cute shirt at Hollister.¡±


    ¡°No, I¡¯ll pass. We can go out tomorrow, though.¡±


    ***


    The Empire.


    Big, bad, and entrenched into most of the grid. Marpei rules the Empire through unimaginable strength. The grid is a collection of two thousand, four hundred and eighty worlds. The Alliance are the six remaining worlds resisting the inevitable. Magaram included. Callista¡¯s own words, not Cora¡¯s.


    Arcego, a founding member of the Empire, was a peacemaker as powerful as Marpei before he died in an unknown calamity called the Unbinding. Many worlds were cut off from the grid and succumbed to chaos. Those left, Marpei and the Transients conquered, including Callista¡¯s home world, Endralova.


    Short answer, it¡¯s the exact type of situation Cora expects from a bland fantasy novel.


    ¡°This sounds like a bunch of bullshit,¡± Liam whispers to her. Callista strayed somewhere ahead, audible through branches snapping beneath her footfalls, or bushes uprooted and thrown aside to clear a path.


    ¡°Why would she lie? What would she get out of it?¡± Cora scrunches her nose, feeling a tickling deep inside her nostril. ¡°You remember what we found. That fight that happened.¡±


    He purses his lips and stares ahead. ¡°It¡¯s crazy to believe, though. Are we supposed to be heroes or something?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t start with that.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m serious.¡± Liam gnaws on his lip. He runs a hand through his stiff hair, fingers untangling several knots. ¡°What, do we get powers? Are we going to go on some crazy journey? Talk to an old wizard, or wait, fight some bad people, go through some drama, and then beat the Empire, call it a day?¡±


    ¡°I broke my wrist. I¡¯m not going anywhere for a few months.¡± Cora frowns and shudders at the fading sensation of a sneeze that never came. ¡°Maybe you¡¯re supposed to be the hero. You saved me.¡± Then, in a quieter voice, she adds, ¡°And Callista, too.¡±


    ¡°Well, better start calling me Superman.¡±


    Cora snorts. Embarrassed, she ducks her head away, but succeeds in breaking down into giggles. ¡°Never in a million years.¡±


    Callista emerges from a newly cleared path. Her muscles are half disproportionate, eyes glowing a faint purple. Cora suppresses a shudder, doing her best to keep a neutral face. ¡°We¡¯ll have to start climbing uphill. Cora, are you fine walking?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, Liam¡¯s been helping me.¡± She smiles innocently at him, trying not to focus on Callista, her magical strength displayed as twin flames dancing in her pupils. ¡°Of course, if I get tired, you did promise you¡¯d carry me.¡±


    Somehow, despite having fought creatures worse than any animal back home, despite facing down Callista, he blushes, his cheeks coloring the slightest red.


    ¡°Let¡¯s just keep walking.¡±


    ***


    Cora¡¯s cheeks ache. She touches them, surprised to find herself grinning.


    Because this, after all the painful travel, after all the cuts and bruises from constantly stumbling because she actually doesn¡¯t want Liam carrying her like a little girl, after all the shit she¡¯s put up through since getting dumped into this world, is the best thing she¡¯s ever seen.


    The forest cuts off again, but it follows a rocky riverbank, stretching for miles on either side until fine mist hides further view. The stream, having grown steadily bigger, connects to this massive, roaring, stream that she can safely call a river.


    On the other side, a meadow comes alive in the cool breeze, flowers rustling and single trees swaying, their golden leaves glittering. The mountains stand proudly in the background. Their snow-capped peaks pierce through the underbellies of swollen clouds, darkened with the promise of rain soon.


    ¡°Are we dreaming?¡± Liam says, feet crunching on the gravel bank. He makes his way down the riverbank and stands a few feet from where the water froths and churns. A fine spray coats him, but he doesn¡¯t move. Instead, he closes his eyes and stretches his arms out, tilting his head back. ¡°This is awesome.¡±


    Callista lifts a large rock from the riverbank. ¡°Do you want to see something interesting?¡± She turns to Liam, who hasn¡¯t moved from his spot, so she turns to Cora, the barest flicker of light dancing inside her pupils.


    Something in Cora''s unconscious reflexes¨Cnose scrunching up, maybe, her grin dropping, or the subtle way she steps back¨Cmust ring alarms to Callista, because her eyes stop glowing and her arm drops to her side.


    "Never mind. Forget what I said.¡±


    Cora swallows the thick lump in her throat and musters a weak wave. ¡°No, do whatever you¡¯re gonna show me. It¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    There¡¯s no forgetting the deep-rooted terror squirming inside her whenever she glimpses even a hint of light in Callista¡¯s eyes. It was an accident. Just like how opening the box was an accident, and Mari was never supposed to be there.


    She still got hurt, though, and there¡¯s no forgetting Cora herself getting hurt, either. But maybe she can heal.


    ¡°Yeah¡­ yeah. Are you gonna use your power¨C¡±


    ¡°Gift.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Use your gift, to uh, throw it as far as you can?¡±


    Callista frowns. ¡°Where¡¯s the fun in that? Pick a target. Anything.¡±


    ¡°The mountains,¡± Liam says, planting his hands on his hips. His hair is tousled, and something about the asymmetry makes Cora itch to plaster it down with some water. ¡°They¡¯re big, but you¡¯ll never hit them.¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    Callista¡¯s eyes blaze a fiery purple. Her arms, shoulders, and chest thicken. Within a few seconds, the change is complete, and she holds the pebble in one thick, veiny hand.


    Cora¡¯s jaw drops at the sudden transformation. In an instant, she rivals Liam¡¯s size, and he¡¯s big. Callista pulls her arm back, muscles throbbing, face set in concentration.


    And the pebble doesn¡¯t just go flying. It leaves her hand with the force of a cannonball, an artillery shell, a missile. A thunderous clap reverberates down to Cora¡¯s bones. The pebble becomes a speck faster than she can blink.


    Moments after, a tiny plume of snow erupts near the lower boundary of the snow-capped mountain. Up close, the plume must be as big as a two-story house, maybe even bigger, if she can see it at such a great distance.


    ¡°Oh my God¡­¡± Cora breathes out. She stares at this veiny, muscular, girl who didn¡¯t so much as blink when she threw the pebble at several times the speed of sound.


    ¡°What the fuck!¡± Liam exclaims, slack-jawed. ¡°You¡¯ve been holding back this whole time. Last night¨C¡±


    Callista clutches at her arm, the muscles throbbing. Cramp. If the muscle wavered in size and writhed like a rat soaked in poison. She gasps and doubles over, heaving.


    ¡°You told me you know nothing about gifts. Well.¡± She massages the jumping muscles, her eyes scrunched up in pain. ¡°If we push ourselves too much, it hurts us.¡±


    Cora¡¯s frozen at the sight of the girl half-shrunken back to her normal size. Only her muscular arm remains, limp at her side. ¡°Then why did you do that?¡±


    ¡°I wanted to show my gift to both of you. So you¡¯d understand why the Transients are after me.¡±


    ¡°You can kill them,¡± Liam says, wringing his hands. ¡°Just throw a bunch of rocks at them. They won¡¯t know what hit them.¡±


    Cora forgot Callista had shoved him like a rag doll. He hasn¡¯t complained about any bruises or potential cracked ribs. Maybe the push hadn¡¯t been so bad.


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not that easy. You don¡¯t know anything.¡± Callista continues massaging her cramping arm, biting down on her lip. Liam steps forward, hands half raised from his sides.


    ¡°Is there something I can do to help? A massage, maybe?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t need help.¡± She pushes her fingers into her bicep, working it with smooth circular motions. Slowly, the muscle shrinks, proportional to the rest of her deflating arm.


    Liam shakes his head. ¡°Cora tried to tell me the same thing.¡±


    She shrinks under Callista¡¯s gaze. ¡°In my defense, I wasn¡¯t thinking straight.¡±


    ¡°My point exactly.¡± Liam turns toward Callista. ¡°You aren¡¯t, either.¡± He offers his hand, such a simple gesture that tells Cora everything. He trusts Callista.


    She flattens her palm over the side of her twitchy arm. ¡°Massage the back and front at the same time. It¡¯s what Rhodes did.¡± She sucks in a breath and shudders. ¡°Sorry, I shouldn¡¯t be talking. Thank you.¡±


    Liam stays silent. He tends to her arm, eyebrows knitted together like he¡¯s doing neurosurgery.


    ¡°I know it hurt you, but that throw was the coolest thing I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± Cora says.


    Callista swipes her bangs to the side. She offers the barest of smiles. ¡°What I did was idiotic. It was impulsive. But thank you.¡±


    ***


    ¡°This is a nice camping spot,¡± Cora announces once they settle several miles upstream.


    Near the river, a new forest protrudes like shaggy spikes stabbing through the sloping terrain. Evergreens jockey for exclusive access to the water, clear enough that she can count each grain of sand at the bottom of the riverbed.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I liked sleeping next to the purple trees,¡± Liam says.


    Callista presses her lips thin. ¡°I used to camp when I was a little girl. My dad liked to take us fishing sometimes. He always picked different places.¡± She paces down the length of the stony riverbank, glancing at the roaring water. ¡°This is a very good camping spot.¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    ¡°It looks safe.¡± Liam spreads his arms wide. ¡°At least we¡¯ll know if something tries to ambush us.¡±


    ¡°The creatures,¡± Cora says, grimacing.


    Callista breaks her trance. Whatever memories that seemed to plague her are all but gone when she frowns. ¡°Creatures?¡±


    ¡°Mutated monsters. Terrifying.¡±


    It¡¯s all too-easy remembering the claws raking her side, their weight crushing the breath out of her, their rancid breath and folded faces and howling that¡­


    Cora pinches herself, gently, using her fingertips rather than nails. Pain has a way of sobering the mind whenever things get out of hand. Too much pain, and the opposite happens, fragments struggling to piece themselves together.


    Like when she lay on the dirt, broken and bleeding, seconds from death when Liam swooped in like a superhero, his blanket flowing behind him like a cape.


    Which she now wears. And feels unworthy to wear. Because the person who owns it is strong, invincible in the face of danger, and she¡¯s nothing.


    She resists the urge to undo the knot and throw Liam¡¯s blanket back at him.


    Stop it.


    A long, pent-up cry of frustration works its way up her throat. It is a hot, vile thing taking residence in her vocal cords, about to explode.


    Liam seems to recognize what¡¯s happening, because he bends over and drapes an arm over her shoulder, hand lightly squeezing.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± he says, softly. For a second, she almost believes him. He carries an aura of trust and respect that she¡¯d be hard pressed not to cave into.


    ¡°I¡¯m broken, Liam,¡± she snaps, ripping her eyes away and moving back. ¡°I can¡¯t forget what they almost did to me.¡± Her hand grazes the side bandage, a lump under her skin-tight shirt. ¡°Actually, what they did. If you weren¡¯t there¡­¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡± Liam¡¯s arms go to his sides and he turns his palms up, taking a step toward her. She studies his feet, how they¡¯re angled to take another unwelcome step.


    ¡°You don¡¯t know me,¡± she hisses. The words burn like acid on her tongue. She claps her hand over her mouth, but the damage is done. He shrinks back, stuffing his hands into his pockets, turning away.


    ¡°You¡¯re right. I don¡¯t know you. But I know you¡¯re not broken.¡±


    The old flame reignites. She huffs, squaring her shoulders. ¡°I am. Look at me.¡± She waves her bandaged arm and pats the side bandage. ¡°I can¡¯t even think about them because they scare the shit out of me. God, that¡¯s why it¡¯s not gonna be okay. We¡¯re stuck here and¨C¡±


    It¡¯s all your fault. Mari sounds smug. Tell him, Cora. Tell him about your crimes.


    ¡°There¡¯s no going back. This is our reality now.¡± She scowls, eyes tearing up. She hugs her arms to her chest. Her voice feels tight, barely more than a squeak. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you can be so calm.¡±


    ¡°One of us had to be strong,¡± Liam says. ¡°And frankly, it helped us.¡± He smiles, reaching up to wipe something away from the corner of his eye. Cora looks up. A bead of water trickles down his cheek.


    They¡¯re too far from the river. She recoils in horror at how selfish she is. Never bothering to ask how Liam is doing.


    For how long? Three days total? Fighting, bleeding, talking, bonding?


    Like she did with Mari. Her eyes widen.


    It¡¯s all my fault.


    Liam¡¯s smile drops, and he suddenly ages a decade. His shoulders drop. His proud posture breaks, and he sags forward. His eyes are cast downward and his frown deepens.


    ¡°Heh. Frankly, I¡¯m not doing too well either.¡±


    ¡°I''m sorry, I''m so sorry,¡± Cora says, rushing forward and hugging him with the one functioning arm she has. ¡°I''m so fucking selfish. That''s why me and my friend were fighting right before I ended up here. I¨CI was too selfish and didn''t care enough about her. And I''m doing the same to you.¡±


    ¡°It''s fine,¡± he says, but he lifts his arms and hugs her back, grunting. ¡°I should''ve worded myself better. I know you''re not broken, because I''ve seen some fucked-up shit in my life, and broken people are beyond all hope. But you¡¯re hurt. I want to help.¡±


    ¡°Me too. You deserve better.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t happen again.¡± Liam''s body goes rigid, and in that second she wonders what exactly is Liam''s story. ¡°Those monsters hurt you. I promise you that next time, I''ll keep you safe.¡±


    ¡°Liam.¡±


    ¡°Yes?¡±


    ¡°My arm.¡±


    Somewhere in the heat of the moment¨Cshe swears she does not have a crush on him¨Cthey''d closed the remaining gap between them, and Cora''s injured arm is smothered between them.


    At the corner of her eye, Cora catches Callista staring at them.


    ¡°I thought it was cute,¡± Callista says, looking away.


    ¡°You¡¯re unbearable,¡± Liam says, but while he might¡¯ve meant it the first time they met Callista, now his voice sounds light-hearted.


    Cora rubs her slung arm, palm spread wide over her forearm. ¡°If you¡¯re wondering, we met each other when we came here. Never knew each other before.¡±


    ¡°I still think it¡¯s cute.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, okay.¡± But she lifts her head and smiles. The ghostly tendrils of her terror recede into the abyss. They¡¯ll come back to torment her, she knows. ¡°I feel better already.¡± She hugs Liam again, the impulse overbearing. ¡°Thanks.¡± She gestures to Callista to come over, which she does, clasping her hands behind her. ¡°You too.¡±


    ***


    Cora stares into the churning waters. Logically, she knows the riverbed is a foot below the surface, but as she lowers her foot into the water, it feels like she¡¯s plunging into the abyss.


    It¡¯s the soft sediments caressing the bottom of her feet that convince her otherwise. She wiggles her toes into the sediment, savoring the silky sensation.


    Dried blood from the southern end of her jagged cut dissolves into the water. The churning waters quickly take the hazy cloud of red away. Goosebumps ripple over her skin, but the sheer relief that her exhausted legs feel makes up for the freezing conditions.


    ¡°Cold?¡± Liam says right behind her.


    ¡°Gah!¡± Cora whips around and glares at him. ¡°Could you at least let me know you¡¯re sneaking up on me?¡±


    ¡°That kind of defeats the purpose, though.¡±


    She scoops a handful of water and throws it at him. His arms shoot up and he turns away, water droplets splattering his neck and clothes.


    ¡°Let me know next time,¡± she warns, submerging her hand again.


    ¡°Fine, fine.¡± He doesn¡¯t sit so much as collapse next to her, like his legs turned to paper. His head hangs back and his lips part open, eyes closed.


    ¡°Are you uh¡­ dead?¡± Cora says.


    Liam lazily opens one eye and focuses on her. ¡°Brains.¡±


    She can¡¯t help the squeak of laughter from forcing itself up her throat. She turns away, cheeks flushed. ¡°Goddamnit. You¡¯re not funny.¡±


    ¡°Sure didn¡¯t seem like it.¡± He smacks his lips. ¡°I am funny.¡±


    She shakes her head. ¡°You''re delusional. No.¡±


    ¡°Totally am.¡±


    ¡°Nope.¡±


    This type of silence that befalls them isn¡¯t awkward or tense like the silences that came before. For once, she feels a sense of communion with him, a comfortableness shared with only two people back home, and one of them is probably stranded on some world and the other¡­


    It¡¯s not fair to compare Ben to Liam. But in half a week, Cora¡¯s gotten closer to Liam than she ever approached with Ben. Maybe it¡¯s because Mari was always there, and Ben had his own things to do. Maybe it¡¯s because Cora went through hell and back with her, and now with Liam, but not Ben.


    Either way, she craves the peaceful silence, where even her thoughts have fallen silent.


    ¡°That water you threw at me felt cold,¡± Liam says sometime later, when Cora¡¯s feet have numbed and he is sprawled on the ground, arms tucked behind his head. ¡°How can you stand it?¡±


    ¡°I got used to it. It actually feels nice now. The sun¡¯s warming up my body and the water¡¯s cooling it down at the same time.¡±


    ¡°Mmm.¡± He turns onto his side, facing her. His bangs fall low over his face. ¡°How are you going to dry your feet, though?¡±


    ¡°The sun? Wind? It shouldn¡¯t take that long. And we¡¯re gonna have sunlight for a while.¡±


    Liam sucks in a deep breath and pushes himself to a cross-legged position.


    ¡°Okay, you convinced me.¡±


    Before she can ask what she convinced him for, he unties his laces and kicks off his shoes. One of them flips upside-down and lands on a puddle, splashing his sock.


    This time, Cora lets loose the laugh that hadn¡¯t quite come out earlier. He scowls and plucks the shoe away, water dripping from its dangling laces. ¡°You¡¯re unbearable, too, by the way.¡±


    She freezes, returning to that day when Mari slammed her into the wall.


    ¡°You¡¯re unbearable!¡± she screamed into her face, her words burbling acid.


    ¡°I was trying to do something important!¡±


    ¡°Fuck that! And fuck you! You used me, you sick¡­ ugh. Argh!¡± Mari¡¯s fist slammed into the wall. Cora jumped, her lips drawing back in a snarl, all those months of brewing bitterness surging to the surface.


    ¡°Leave me alone. I¡¯m trying to do something important right now and you just don¡¯t wanna listen!¡±


    Cora¡¯s lips and tongue coordinate before her mind whirrs up to speed. ¡°Thank you, thank you.¡±


    He peels off his socks and throws them behind him. A second later, she hears the splash of his feet entering the cold water, followed by a gasp hissed between clenched teeth, but she doesn¡¯t see it happen.


    Mari takes his place and she¡¯s furious. Her dark brown eyes glow, her face twisted into a grimace, a caricature of the caring friend Cora once knew.


    You thought I would let you forget, huh? The Mari-apparition scowls. She flips her middle fingers out and spits. Fuck you. You ruined my life.


    Cora reels, slapping her hand over her chest, feeling like the twisted apparition ripped the oxygen out of her body.


    Light-headed, she shakes her head and rubs her temple. Before she knows it, Liam¡¯s familiar bulk scoots next to her. Not touching, but the distance could be a million worlds for all she cares, because she¡¯s been reminded of the damage she¡¯s done.


    The lies she told. The truth that pricks Cora¡¯s insides and holds her heart in a noose. There¡¯s a friendly bond between him and her. But it¡¯s built on a tower of lies.


    ¡°Hey, are you okay?¡±


    God, how badly Cora wants to tell him. She shouldn¡¯t be eyeing his knife strapped to his side, or his muscular bulk, or his blood splattered clothes. She should be eyeing his warm, friendly eyes, the bangs swept over most of the upper left side of his face, telling him that she¡¯s doing fine, that she hasn¡¯t been pushing her torturous thoughts down since arriving here.


    I can¡¯t do this anymore.


    Approximately three days ago, Cora punched Mari.


    Approximately two to three days ago, Cora learned she trapped Liam in this hellish world.


    Cora offers her hand to him.


    ¡°Please,¡± she says, catching her lip between her teeth.


    He reaches out, hesitates. That¡¯s enough. She tucks her hand under her armpit and turns away. ¡°If you don¡¯t want me here, that¡¯s fine. Just tell me and I¡¯ll leave you alone.¡±


    She can hear the hurt in his tone, hear how the cadence of every word wavers. Like Mari. Damn the dense cloud crushing Cora¡¯s insides.


    ¡°I have something to tell you,¡± she says quietly, barely audible over the rush of the river.


    ¡°Then why are you acting weird? Just tell me. You know I don¡¯t judge.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I know, but¨C¡±


    ¡°I brought elikanders!¡± Callista shouts. They whip around at her arrival, carrying three squat, bulbous, pale disfigurements in her arms. She gently deposits them before patting the biggest one.


    ¡°Elikanders?¡± Liam says.


    ¡°The best fruit in the grid. You must try it. It¡¯s food for the soul.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll tell you later,¡± Cora says, but Liam already got up, back turned to her, heading toward Callista. Cora pulls out her legs, dripping wet. The sunlight feels glorious as it heats them up.


    She pushes herself to her feet, wincing when she takes a step to balance herself and several pebbles dig into her heel. The short walk to Callista might as well be miles. By the time Cora sits cross-legged next to her, the bottoms of her feet hurt like hell.


    ¡°You start from here and go here,¡± Callista instructs, using a claw to draw a line from the apex of the elikander to the base. ¡°Then use your fingers and then do this.¡±


    As she separates the halves, dark green liquid oozes from the cracks. Flecks of purple glitter inside the gel-like liquid. Then with a thunderous crack, the rind splits and the elikander¡¯s insides are exposed.


    Splotches of royal purple creep into the pale green flesh. More gel oozes from pores within the fleshy part, coating the halves in a glistening layer.


    ¡°That¡¯s the second coolest thing I¡¯ve ever seen,¡± Cora says, trailing her fingers over the gel. It¡¯s like hand sanitizer. It wets her fingertips and dries before she tastes it.


    ¡°Is it safe?¡± Liam says, staring at the two halves of his elikander.


    ¡°Parity fixed it. Don¡¯t worry about it. Anybody can eat it.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s parity?¡±


    ¡°It changes the stuff that makes things up to fit whatever world they¡¯re in. Like you and me. Our bodies changed to adapt here.¡±


    Apparently, it¡¯s enough to convince him. He dips his fingers into the ooze and sniffs it. Cora does the same, surprised at how citrusy the aroma is. She dips her index finger into the ooze and tastes it.


    ¡°Oh. Wow,¡± she says, eyebrows rising. ¡°That tastes delicious.¡±


    Liam¡¯s eyes widen, too. ¡°You¡¯re right. Callista, did you find more?¡±


    ¡°I found a whole patch out by the forest. It¡¯s enough until we¡¯re recovered and able to move again.¡±


    ¡°Won¡¯t the Transients reach us?¡±


    ¡°They are far, far away. We have time.¡±


    And yet, Cora is on a timer.


    Because bit by bit, she¡¯s losing her sanity.

 12 - TersaNova

    ¡°So a thrift shop? You wanted to go here?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an antiques store... No! It¡¯s closed.¡±


    ¡°On the bright side, the theater¡¯s open. Let me guess, you don¡¯t want to go.¡±


    ¡°I bet twenty dollars that you won¡¯t watch that new horror movie with me.¡±


    ***


    A day turns into two, then three, and the sun still blazes like a supernova.


    Its glacial pace across the sky screws Cora¡¯s perception. She checks her phone too many times to count, watching the minutes tick by, then hours, yet the sun shifts a fraction of a degree.


    They sleep in shifts. Cora is the first, followed by Callista, then finally Liam. Between sleeping periods, they navigate their way upstream, nearing the mountains. Foraging for elikanders. Boiling their water inside the plastic bottles.


    Cora is proud of that idea. But the water is acrid, tainted yellow, and the plastic ends up charred and warped. Callista doesn¡¯t complain, and Liam is stoic, never once flinching every time he downs a bottle.


    After the fourth ¡°day¡± spent trekking through stretches of weeds brushing their knees, they thin out, replaced with gravel bunched up against the shoreline. The skies thin, too, as the sun wearily sinks into the horizon, reluctant to relinquish its hold to the great, bloodied eyeball peeking over the opposite side. Great, bloody streaks are painted through clouds, drenched in darkness as the sun creeps lower and lower.


    By silent agreement, they finish boiling their water and extinguish the flames. The embers are still glowing when Cora passes the blanket to Liam and Callista.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take first watch,¡± Cora volunteers.


    ¡°Say no more,¡± Liam says, and he¡¯s out moments after his head thumps on his makeshift pillow of needles and dirt.


    With Liam¡¯s blanket to buffer their bodies against the coming chill, all three are shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg. Liam¡¯s sandwiched in the middle, but his bulk takes up most of the blanket, and Cora wants to let both of them sleep, so Callista takes up the rest.


    Technically, Cora could scoot closer to Liam, but he¡¯s all gross and sweaty and unlike last time, the cold isn¡¯t yet creeping into her bones.


    Also, because he¡¯ll hate her after she tells the truth.


    What would she have done without him? She plays with the strip of gauze dangling off her wrist. Over the last few days, the throbbing pain has reduced to a manageable ache, if she doesn¡¯t think too hard about it.


    What couldn¡¯t she have done without him? His feet poke out the blanket, with socks, his shoes placed neatly aside. Tufts of hair and a glimpse of forehead emerge at the other end, but his face is hidden.


    Good. Cora can¡¯t bear seeing the face of the boy she can¡¯t stop lying to. Maybe at the beginning she should¡¯ve told them. Gotten that grotesque, convulsing weight out of her chest into the open, and finished off her guilt. But every day that passes bonds them closer and closer, and it¡¯ll only hurt more when she tells him.


    She stares at him a few more seconds, gnawing on her lip.


    Maybe she is still a little like her old self.


    Now you¡¯re realizing that? Mari¡¯s voice echoes and echoes until it loops into shrill dissonance. Cora winces, clapping her hands over her ears. The effect breaks, and she¡¯s left alone with the crackling embers, faint wind, and dull roar of the river.


    She flops onto her back. The stars are bizarre, some bunched into spiral galaxies, others spread out like lanterns on paper boats drifting through the cosmic ocean. Constellations foreign to her slowly emerge. Then again, she wasn¡¯t the biggest stargazer back home, but they¡¯re probably different.


    However, even she can tell the red moon is the most bizarre of all.


    Especially the winding, puckered scar near the southern pole. Even at such a great distance, the disrupted terrain and craters along the galactic wound send a sense of foreboding. Of what exactly, Cora can¡¯t pinpoint, but it¡¯s the same feeling she felt back at the old battlefield.


    Against all precaution, she tucks her knees to her chest and settles her phone on her thighs. She checks the battery. 16%. Good enough.


    The metal objects look worse than Cora remembers. Metal chunks and the carapace at the center create the buried semblance of a flying airplane. A UFO, saucer-shaped. She scoffs at that idea. Real aliens are so much more human. Callista is living proof of that.


    The obelisk captures her attention. Even the best modern phone camera can¡¯t fully capture every detail, especially at night. It¡¯s like a pencil stick stabbed through a styrofoam plate. The nearest metal chunks lean away. Blown away through incredible force, maybe.


    She stares at the image until her eyes dry up and it hurts to blink.


    ¡°What are you?¡± she whispers, staring at the pixelated definition.


    ¡°A Transient warship.¡±


    Cora squeaks, whirling around. Her phone slides off her legs, landing with a muffled thump on the ground. Callista raises her hands. Her eyes don¡¯t glow, at least.


    ¡°Callista!¡± Cora picks up her phone and blows off the dirt. ¡°You scared me.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Callista says, clasping her hands before her. She keeps a respectful distance, shoulders hunched, eyes downcast. ¡°I can¡¯t sleep. And I wanted to know what you were looking at.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine, but please don¡¯t scare me like that next time.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡±


    Cora scrolls back to the image of the battlefield. ¡°You said this was what? A Transient warship?¡±


    She hears a deep intake of breath. Then a sigh, like Callista¡¯s been burdened with something unimaginable.


    ¡°Yes. They destroy towns and cities that rebel. They burn crops and ruin lands so they can¡¯t grow crops. What else do I mean?¡± Briefly¨Cand just briefly, so fast Cora wonders if she imagines it¨CCallista¡¯s pupils glow.


    Cora flinches. Callista shakes her head, reaching out to her, then withdraws her arm to her side. ¡°I can¡¯t help it. I¡¯m sorry,¡± she whispers.


    Cora pries her fingers from her palm. She can still feel the indents in her palm where she¡¯d dug her nails in. ¡°Stop. It¡¯s not your fault.¡± She shrugs, like the sight of those glowing eyes didn¡¯t nearly send her into a heart attack. ¡°I can¡¯t relate to what you went through, but I understand. It¡¯s okay.¡±


    ¡°And I¡¯m thankful you can¡¯t relate. The Transients are brutal to the worlds they conquer.¡±


    ¡°They fight back, though.¡± Cora stares at the grainy image of the downed warship. ¡°You said they rebel. They win sometimes, right?¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re a good citizen, they won¡¯t hurt you,¡± Callista mutters. She extends her index finger¡¯s claw and inspects it. ¡°That¡¯s what my parents said. Figures, since they worked for those monsters.¡±


    Whatever frail peace Cora gathered is being dashed into pieces. ¡°Were they forced to?¡±


    The response she gets is a bout of dry laughter. Callista grins, retracting her claw, planting her hands on her lap. ¡°If they were, I wonder why they had a big house. Lots of food. Lots of garden space, security, walls, everything a person could dream of.¡± Her eyes glaze over. ¡°I wasn¡¯t blind. I saw what happened to my people. They suffered so much. One time, I saw a starving little boy get beaten because he stole some bread from the local baker. And you know what my mom said?¡±


    Cora doesn¡¯t speak. Callista continues, picking up after the pause, the deliberate invitation for Cora to ask what, what did her mom ask? But she knows the answer already.


    ¡°She said she respected the Transients for putting ¡®the animals¡¯ in their place.¡± Callista gags, clenching her hands. Her claws protract. ¡°If you¡¯re wondering about my dad, I think he hated them at first, but piece by piece he became a shell. He was nothing like the dad I grew up with.¡±


    Callista retracts her claws and turns away. Cora stares at her in horror. ¡°But anyway, they¡¯re gone now. They were murdered in the Purge with everybody else I ever loved.¡±


    Deafening silence. Cora shakes, sick to her stomach. She flexes her hand. She can¡¯t think of anything to say. Maybe there¡¯s nothing to say. Maybe all she needs to do is to be there, like how Mari was there for her, or like how Liam is there for her.


    Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    Fuck that. Was that part of the Mari-hallucination, or Cora¡¯s own crumbling mind?


    Actions speak louder than words, but words can change worlds. That lesson is etched deep into Cora¡¯s weary bones.


    The hard part, though, is picking the right set of words. And she is currently a desert of words, grasping at blanks.


    ¡°Callista.¡±


    Say something! Cora¡¯s own thoughts. But it dredges up uncomfortable memories of how horrible Cora is at comforting people. Maybe it¡¯ll always be a part of her. Mari is gone because of her actions, after all.


    People don¡¯t change in days. Who is she deluding? She¡¯ll screw up what to say, Callista will clam up, and she¡¯ll never trust Cora with anything personal again.


    She deserves better than you, you know that? Mari¡¯s remark scathes her. Cora is trapped between two worlds, listening to the old, or maneuvering into the new.


    But people change. I¡¯m trying. And, in a quieter thought that barely brushes conscious thought, she adds, And if you give me a chance, I¡¯ll try for you, too.


    Cora gulps and lets the hurt soften her tone. ¡°Callista¨C¡±


    ¡°Is it bad that even though my parents were bad people, I still miss them?¡±


    Cora reels. This is wrong. This is all wrong. Callista had broken down when she told her story, and Cora had felt her pain through her words. But the pain in her question is magnified tenfold, a hammer slamming into Cora¡¯s chest.


    Callista¡¯s eyes are robbed of power, and her body is still, shoulders hunched. The look of someone defeated. Someone who had their future beaten and stolen.


    Maybe there¡¯s nothing to say because Cora misses her parents a lot. Her loving, misunderstanding parents. But she can safely say they¡¯re safe back home, probably grieving her sudden disappearance, but alive.


    Callista, though¡­


    Cora surges forward and hugs Callista. Like a rag doll, her head drops onto her shoulder and the first sob breaks through, the blow of the impact leaving Cora staggering. She closes her eyes and hugs Callista tighter.


    ¡°They loved you, didn¡¯t they?¡± Cora¡¯s eyes moisten.


    ¡°They¡¯re the reason why I¡¯m here. They knew about the Purge and saved me.¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s okay.¡± Cora rests her chin on Callista¡¯s shoulder, squeezing her tight. ¡°It¡¯s okay. They¡¯ll live on in your memories. And you can do the good they never could.¡±


    In another world, another time, her friends would¡¯ve called the line cheesy. Even Mari would¡¯ve poked fun at her. But Callista, she shudders and sniffles in response, drowning another sob in Cora¡¯s shirt.


    ¡°I won¡¯t forget them.¡±


    ***


    A day turns into two, then three, and the moon still gleams like a polished ruby.


    Their pace slows to a creep. The temperature plummets. Icy winds envelop them the higher they climb the mountain. The river is massive, disgorging untold millions of gallons of water, an ever-present roar Cora can never seem to get used to.


    On the second day, Callista spits out the last of her boiled water and drinks from the river itself. Liam stops and stares at her, then at the bottle in his hands, by now warped and stained a terrible yellow.


    ¡°Don¡¯t even think about it,¡± Cora says, stepping past him. ¡°Callista!¡± The river drowns her voice. She steps closer and calls out again. ¡°Callista!¡±


    She wipes off her lips and offers the filled water bottle to her. ¡°It tastes great!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, and it might have a bunch of diseases!¡±


    On the third day, or night, Cora guesses, Liam drinks from the river after Callista wakes up energetic and well-rested. They spend the final stretch of the long night foraging for elikanders while Cora boils yet more water.


    Several bottles crumple beneath the heat, their plastic charred and twisted beyond recognition. Cora gags down the water, sure that the chemicals will someday kill her, but the alternative is succumbing to alien diseases, Callista¡¯s reminder about parity still fresh in her mind.


    They eat. They forage. They explore. They walk. Sometimes they talk. More often than not, they lapse into amiable silence, interrupted by Liam¡¯s occasional sarcastic remark or Callista¡¯s wistful recollections of her times spent camping with her dad.


    Liam must¡¯ve noticed a change between her and Cora, how they¡¯re together more often than not, or how Cora prefers to ask Callista for help rather than him. His banter dies down and he becomes a skulking shadow, lingering at the edge of Cora¡¯s consciousness.


    But she can¡¯t talk to him without being reminded of the lie their friendship is built upon.


    The days pass by quicker than she expects. On the second day¨Cnight¨Cher battery dies, and her solar charger charges her phone to just above 90% before it dies, emptied of life.


    Cora obsessively checks the time. The hours don¡¯t match the emptiness of the night, the world consumed by the moon¡¯s bloodied sight, the gloom and lumpy clouds blocking the view of the starlit sky.


    The date changes, too. Almost two weeks since she arrived here. Since she hurt Mari.


    Sometimes, when Cora is sure Liam and Callista are sleeping, she slips the box out of her backpack and holds it. No amount of desperate pleading returns her back home. The box is empty, empty, empty, nothing like the object brimming with magical potential she experimented with.


    On the fourth night, rather than hold the box again, she enters a staring contest with the moon, and loses.


    Her eyes tear up. She scowls and rubs at her eyes. They don¡¯t stop watering, even as she scrubs at them with the heel of her hand and trembles violently, wracked by the cold.


    How long until she can go home?


    Of course, the moon stares her down, mocking.


    After she wakes Callista up, she sleeps, one moment lapsing into a restless void, the next bathing in sunlight. Cora gasps and pulls the blanket over her head, but the sunlight still paints the back of her eyelids a hazy rose.


    Something tickles the back of her ear. ¡°Co-ra.¡±


    ¡°Holy fuck!¡± She madly scrambles to put as much distance between her and Liam as possible. Which isn¡¯t much, because somewhere in the middle of her sleep her leg fell asleep, and her leg tingles with pins and needles.


    ¡°That was uncalled for,¡± Callista says, somewhere behind Cora. She rubs her eyes and breaks off bits of that annoying crusty material in her tear ducts.


    ¡°What? She did the same to me.¡± Liam clears his throat. ¡°And we don¡¯t have much time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna kill you,¡± Cora growls, holding her hand up to shield from the sunrise.


    ¡°Not if the creatures get to us first.¡±


    Cora swears her heart stops beating.


    ¡°Creatures?¡±


    Howls pierce through the river¡¯s roar. Sharp, cutting like knives, turning her arms and legs into jelly. She whimpers, then gnaws on her bottom lip, hoping neither of them heard her.


    A lone howl carries across the river and slides between the crashing waves on rock and the roar of static in her ears.


    Every inch of her skin tingles with instinctive terror. That howl sounds deeper. Louder. Smoother.


    ¡°I¡¯ve heard that before,¡± Callista says, but her words are lost on Cora as she curls up, eyes widened.


    ¡°The creatures,¡± she squeaks out, shrinking beneath the blanket. She hates that she can¡¯t get up. Not just because her leg is next to useless at the moment.


    The mutants will finish what they started. It doesn¡¯t matter that Callista acts as backup. More and more will come like before and they¡¯ll attack and attack until they¡¯re too tired to fight and then¨C


    Metal slides on leather as Liam removes his knife. ¡°You¡¯ve heard that howl? It sounded different from the others. Do you know what they look like?¡±


    ¡°No. You told me they¡¯re deformed. Dangerous creatures, correct?¡± Callista turns around, tilting her head. ¡°I hear it again. It sounds closer.¡±


    Cora doesn¡¯t, but she believes her. She lets out a shaky breath. ¡°We need to go.¡±


    ¡°I know. But we need information first,¡± Liam says. He paces back and forth, twirling the knife. He raises his head and squints against the sun. ¡°I don¡¯t see them. They might stick to the woods.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s bullshit.¡± Cora glances at each of them. Liam is doing a good job concealing his nervousness. Callista looks concerned, like Cora is the one they should worry about. ¡°They¡¯ll come after us, you know it.¡±


    ¡°Then they¡¯ll deal with me.¡± His face hardens. So, too, does his voice, deep and unwavering. ¡°And Callista?¡±


    She dips her head. ¡°We¡¯re together now, no?¡±


    Liam offers his hand to Cora. She stares, uncomprehending.


    ¡°Together.¡±


    She clasps it. She squeezes, staring into the darkened depths of his eyes.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know if I can help,¡± she whispers. Her hand is clammy. Liam doesn¡¯t seem to mind, instead nodding seriously.


    ¡°If we need to run, promise me you will. I¡¯ve seen people freeze up before.¡±


    A distant part of herself tickles her brain. ¡°Is that offer for a piggyback ride still open?¡±


    He stares at her for a second, slack-jawed. Then the slightest hint of rose colors his cheeks, and he pulls away like she¡¯s made of acid, grabbing his hand to his chest.


    ¡°Yes. Always.¡± He glances at Callista. She offers a wave. ¡°I mean of course.¡±


    The howls intensify. They interlap with screeches and hoots. New additions to the monsters hunting them. They sound wrong, nothing like the nature documentaries showed, more like audio played from a broken record player.


    Cora touches her bandaged side. Her wound is healing nicely, filling in with scar tissue. Then her arms, and a spot on her cheek, places where the mutants attacked her, since then healed.


    It¡¯ll be different from before, she thinks, running her tongue over her teeth. We¡¯re better prepared. It¡¯s daytime.


    They¡¯re better prepared. You¡¯re nothing but a leech, the Mari-hallucination seethes. Cora recoils. She¡¯d almost forgotten her hallucination existed, how Mari used to sound like.


    ¡°They¡¯re coming,¡± Callista says, quietly.


    Liam hoists Cora onto her feet. She wobbles, knees shaking, legs like noodles, her leg still awash with the residual traces of prickling needles. ¡°Pack everything up.¡± She starts toward her backpack. Bouncing around inside her pocket, the porcelain shard makes itself known. ¡°If they try to ambush us, we¡¯ll kill them.¡±


    She will let nothing, nothing, stop her from finding Mari.


    Even if it kills Cora.

 13 - EverLay

    ¡°Cora, Mari told me you¡¯ve been acting weird. I want to know why.¡±


    ¡°Everything¡¯s fine. I promise, this is just how I like to keep my room, okay?¡±


    ¡°Hey, what¡¯s that? Woah, what was that?¡±


    ¡°I dunno. Probably just you.¡±


    ***


    They don¡¯t stop coming.


    Hundreds of slimy masses flood the plains like disgorged matter spewing out a sewer pipe. Howls, screeches, and hoots reach a crashing crescendo, drowning out the river, drowning out Cora¡¯s half-anguished whimpers as the three of them hunker near the woods.


    Their side of the woods, at least. A mile, maybe two miles, of tangled weeds, bushy shrubs, and the occasional stunted tree separates them from the last patch of forest, the place they¡¯d camped yesterday.


    Except every gap between the distant trees bristles gray. Hordes of mutants keep coming. Their stampede kicks up clouds of hazy dust. The crushing wave of animalistic frenzy becomes one, a force of reeking, slobbering, murderous animals charging toward them.


    Cora recoils from the gruesome sight. So much for her newfound confidence. She can¡¯t breathe. Her lungs are close to bursting, but that doesn¡¯t matter when the mutants are minutes away at most.


    ¡°We should be moving,¡± she whispers, struggling to keep her breathing steady. Her heart pounds. Her hands are clammy. She can¡¯t stop staring at the mutants. ¡°There¡¯s no way this plan will work. There¡¯s too many.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be okay,¡± Callista says, squeezing Cora¡¯s shoulder. ¡°You saved me. Now let me save you.¡±


    Too many. Impossibly many. Within the horde, new variants emerge. Several dozen lanky quadrupedal mutants bound over the rest. Long strides and high leaps push them to the front of the horde. Their skin is a pallid gray, their limbs possessing too many joints, curling like a spider and jumping like a grasshopper. Far behind, slabs of wet muscle drag themselves forward. Multi-segmented, they contract like worms, their great masses shuddering with the sheer effort of moving their bodies. Other mutants part around them, some the familiar slobbering horned freaks of nature that leave Cora shuddering, others less distinct, such as horse-like mutants with six legs, galloping between smaller mutants, or squid-like octopus beings clinging to the striders, slabs, and horse-creatures, arms and suckered tentacles dangling behind.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be okay, you mean,¡± Liam says. His throat bobs. He holds his knife out, muscles tensed, teeth gritted. He sweeps back his bangs and scowls. ¡°Listen. I appreciate you thinking that highly of us, but we are human. We won¡¯t be okay.¡±


    ¡°Humans with gifts of languages. Perhaps both of you have other unseen gifts.¡±


    Liam grimaces. ¡°That just adds fuel to the fire, you know? We got caught up in the wrong place at the wrong time.¡± Several fingers pry loose from his knife¡¯s handle and tap it. The blade swipes at nothing, bobbing to a mental beat only he understands. ¡°Right, Cora?¡±


    Please, stop! Her mental pleas fall on deaf, ignorant ears. She shudders, hoping they think it¡¯s just her fried nerves, squirming and twisting before the rampaging horde of creatures.


    ¡°Yeah. But I, um,¡± she chokes out, biting on her tongue. Stupid traitor tongue. She switches gears, hardening her heart to the Mari-apparition endlessly laughing at her. Best left unfelt. ¡°I won¡¯t be able to do anything.¡±


    ¡°Keeping watch is just as important,¡± Callista says. She points at the nearest tree, a sturdy, thick gray tree, massive branches reaching high toward the sky. ¡°Up there, they won¡¯t reach you. You¡¯ll have the best view, too. Liam, you know what to do. If some creatures break past the barrages, remove the threat.¡±


    ¡°Nice way of saying to gut them.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m trying to keep calm, okay?¡± There. A crack in Callista¡¯s armor. She licks her lips, protracting and retracting her claws, flexing her hands. ¡°It¡¯s what me and the others used to do. It¡¯s what we should¡¯ve done when we were ambushed in the Mestessines.¡± Her jaw sets. She looks at each of them, raising her head. ¡°I won¡¯t make that same mistake again.¡±


    Liam nods. He traces his finger over the blunt edge of his knife, then licks his lips like Callista did. ¡°Passing big rocks. I¡¯m okay with that. But Cora, here.¡± He offers her the knife handle-first. ¡°Insurance, just in case.¡±


    She ogles at it. ¡°You¡¯re going to need it when-¡±


    ¡°Yes, I know, but pass it to me when we¡¯re ready. I don¡¯t want you to feel unprotected. That¡¯s all.¡±


    He neglects to mention that between him and Callista, they¡¯re her sword, armor, and shield. Cora forces herself to reach out with a shaky hand and take it. It feels so much heavier than she expects, its heft dragging her arm down.


    ¡°Let¡¯s hurry, then,¡± she says, spying her reflection on the flat metal surface.


    Callista helps her onto her shoulders. The experience is surreal, resting on bony shoulders that should lack the strength to keep Cora up. She wasn¡¯t fat before arriving on this world, and her diet since is a joke, but five foot eight of bones and associated tissues is still a substantial weight.


    She towers over Liam for once, who glances at the rolling tide of gray monsters before sprinting toward the nearest set of rocks. His knife is gripped tightly in her fist, aimed away from Callista. She tenses and crouches.


    ¡°Prepare yourself,¡± she grunts, before her body suddenly thickens. Several inches of musculature bulge from her scrawny body. She squats, wraps her arms around Cora¡¯s legs, and jumps.


    Cora chokes on her own spit, scream buried at the back of her throat. Wind whips her face, her eyes sink into their sockets, and her upper half flops like a noodle, but suddenly they¡¯re clinging to the tree. Callista¡¯s claws puncture through the bark, boots dug into a crevice between a large branch and the even larger trunk.


    ¡°Go,¡± she huffs, purple light spilling through her squinted eyes.


    Cora awkwardly untangles from Callista¡¯s arms and wobbles onto her bottom, straddling the branch. It overlooks a good portion of the forest floor and a wedge of the plains themselves. The mutants are a wave of stampeding gray, kicking up distant clouds of dirt and dust.


    The plan is risky, a half-baked mangling of ideas bounced between the three of them. To run is to die. Cora repeats the line to herself, wiping off her sweaty fingers on her shirt. Callista is the artillery, harnessing immense strength to catapult scores of crushed rocks at several times the speed of sound. Liam is the protector and assistant, delivering rocks and shielding her. Cora is the general, commanding the battlefield and dismantling traps and ambushes alike.


    It¡¯s simple, in theory. But the mutants are too many. Their stampede is a deafening roar of frenzied madness. To stay is to die. For once, her hallucinations don¡¯t torment her, the seed of doubt instead implanted by Cora¡¯s own mind. A good thing, because she would¡¯ve passed out otherwise, pushed over that frail line of sanity.


    To run is to die. To stay is to die.


    Callista reaches out with a bare hand. Claws retracted. Pupils dark, their inner fire extinguished. ¡°You¡¯re shaking,¡± she says. Cora realizes her entire body is wracked in shivers.


    ¡°Am I?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll be okay.¡±


    Gently, Callista pats Cora¡¯s hand. She goes a step further and slides her fingers into hers. ¡°It wasn¡¯t supposed to be like this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry?¡±


    Cora almost backs off. Almost rejects Callista¡¯s hand and shakes her away, almost turns her back to her, almost spouts off some nonsense about focusing on the plan.


    The old Cora would¡¯ve done it. Heck, the her from a week ago would¡¯ve. But Callista is like family now. A close friend.


    Most importantly, she isn¡¯t him.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    Her tension releases. Cora sighs, and with it goes away weeks of pent-up stress. ¡°I¨CI made a mistake. A few weeks ago, but it was more than a mistake. I hurt people. More than you¡¯d think.¡± Cora pulls her lips into the barest semblance of a smile. It doesn¡¯t reach her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ve been trying so hard to be a better person. I promised myself that. I promised that to the people I hurt. But I just can¡¯t¨C¡± She grimaces and slams her palm on the branch. The bark is rough, just enough to scratch her skin, distracting her from focusing on Liam¡¯s distant profile hauling rocks. ¡°I can¡¯t keep that promise. I can, and I should, but I¡¯m scared what will happen if I do.¡±


    Callista soaks everything in with a neutral face. She glances down and raises her eyebrows. ¡°Him?¡±


    Cora¡¯s face burns in shame. She bows her head and lets her hair dangle loose, blocking Callista. ¡°Yes.¡±


    ¡°He respects you. He likes you. I¡¯m certain he thinks otherwise about how you feel.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not that. It¡¯s about the box.¡±


    Callista clears her throat. ¡°Did you throw it at him? Hurt him, before? He doesn¡¯t seem like he resents you.¡±


    ¡°Hurry up!¡± Liam bellows. He tosses two rocks the size of his head onto a new hill of rocks and debris.


    ¡°Tell me when this is over,¡± Callista says, patting Cora¡¯s shoulder. She steadies her breath, refusing to move her head. ¡°For now, focus on your role, as I must mine.¡±


    A whoosh of displaced air later, Callista drops to the ground. Cora¡¯s terror snaps and lashes at her, churning her guts and skittering up her sides. She touches her broken wrist, shielded behind layers of gauze and cloth.


    Liam deserves so much better. And he¡¯s going to fight, and maybe die, in a world that doesn¡¯t deserve him. ¡°It¡¯ll all be okay,¡± she whispers, clutching her arm to her chest. ¡°We¡¯ll be okay.¡±


    Between Liam and Callista, they build a fortress of rocks and boulders, some unearthed from underground, cracked at their tops where Callista had pulled from. Cora scans between trees, past them, behind her, and the plains themselves.


    Except something is wrong. The air is too quiet. The bristling, thunderous horde of mutants don¡¯t get any closer. ¡°They stopped,¡± Cora squeaks, her throat going dry. She gulps, but the little saliva she musters isn¡¯t enough to stop her throat from tightening. ¡°Guys, why did they stop?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re organizing,¡± Liam says. He dusts off his shirt and tosses several rocks into the fortress. ¡°Freaky fucks. They don¡¯t have anywhere to go. The forest is too thick on our left and the river¡¯s to our right.¡± He squints. His lips draw back and he clenches his teeth, eyes shining wild. ¡°Oh fuck. What the hell is that?¡±


    Emerging from the horde like a shiny piece of candy wrapper, a slim, tall figure waves its arms. Mutants still wherever the figure¡¯s arms lead. Armor plates slide between chest and arms, clanging even at such a great distance away. Fractals of clashing colors leave ghostly afterimages whenever Cora blinks.


    ¡°It¡¯s controlling them.¡± Callista pulverizes two rocks in her hands. She rears backward, eyes flashing. ¡°That Transient. I¡¯m going to pulverize it.¡±


    Cora shakes her head, locked on a distant second figure. ¡°Wait!¡±


    Callista stops, her teeth bared in a grimace. Muscles ripple beneath her clothes. ¡°The Transient needs to die.¡±


    But she never gets the chance to finish the job. The second figure catapults over the mutants, a short and lithe figure leaping on the backs of mutants, dimmer and dirtier than the armored Transient.


    Then the figure slams into the Transient. Metal clangs, flashing brightly, before both the Transient and the mystery figure crash to the ground. A brief struggle ensues, each grappling the other, metal flashing and the second figure drawing back an arm. Then the Transient drops, and the second figure sprints.


    Several mutants break formation and leap onto their back. The figure flails, kicks, and shouts, slamming an elbow into one mutant creature¡¯s side, kicking a squid-octopus creature off another mutant creature, rushing forward.


    The shouts, the body shape, they¡¯re awfully familiar, the tone sounds just right¡­


    A mutant swipes at their legs. The figure screams, slamming their hand onto the mutant¡¯s horns, kicking at the downed squid-octopus creature lashing out with its tentacles.


    Hides rupture. Horns buckle. Tentacles tear free. For just a second, each mutant is composed of shapes fragmented by bloody canyons carved across their bloated bodies.


    Then both mutants pop.


    Like party balloons filled with gelatin. Chunks of grisly meat, fragments of bone, and coils of organs spray the plains. A fine blue mist of sprayed arterial blood coats the air. Two pinpricks of copper light pierce through the curtain, the rest of the figure obscured.


    ¡°Holy shit,¡± Liam breathes out, frozen in place. ¡°It just looked at us. It noticed us.¡±


    Callista¡¯s face is pale. She rears her arm back, clutching a fistful of rocks. ¡°I don¡¯t¨CI¡¯ve never seen a gift like that. We can¡¯t let that Transient any closer.¡±


    ¡°Wait!¡± Cora swallows down her doubt when Callista glares at her. She won¡¯t do anything to her, but she¡¯s still intimidating, and Cora remembers how easily Callista threw her that night. ¡°Trust me. Please, just trust me.¡± Cora draws in a shuddering breath and raises her head. ¡°Mari!¡±


    Her throat aches. Her vocal cords are set aflame. No human should scream so loudly, so deafeningly that Liam winces and Callista grimaces.


    The figure sprints toward them. Beneath their thundering footfalls, dirt sprays the mutants charging after. But then the figure waves a hand. A hello. Cora starts tearing up, cheeks hurting from her wide grin. It can¡¯t be her. It is. It isn¡¯t.


    It is.


    The figure whirls around and touches three mutants, with both arms and a leg. They fracture and detonate, coating the figure in flesh and blood, dripping off their body, plumes of blood engulfing them, but coppery lights slice through the bloody mess and seem aimed straight at Cora.


    ¡°That is not your friend,¡± Liam says.


    ¡°CORA!¡±


    Like the boom of thunder on a stormy night, or the crackling of fireworks on New Year, or a burst of missile strikes during a grueling war, Mari¡¯s voice sends a shiver of fear and awe down Cora¡¯s spine. Distant, yet loud and clear. It echoes around them, within them, pain and love and fear and hope seeping into their pores, their surroundings, rustling trees and knocking a few rocks off the fortress of rocks.


    Liam drops the rocks by his feet and trembles. He grits his teeth, head bowed. ¡°Didn¡¯t you say you last fought with her? What if¨C¡±


    ¡°No!¡± Cora stares at Mari. ¡°She¡¯s not that type of person.¡± Though her stomach squirms when Mari surges across the plains, uninhibited.


    She was once a normal human like Cora. A few inches shorter, with wavy brown hair and star earrings. Now, she looks like a goddess, coated in the entrails of mutants she detonated with a thought, speeding the final distance between her and the forest.


    Mari¡¯s hair flows behind her in a smooth wave. Her eyes flash and she picks up speed. She¡¯s beautiful. Cora claps her hand over her mouth and shivers, wondering what they¡¯ll say to each other, if Mari will bother hearing the rush of apologies Cora offers.


    Mari cries out. Suddenly, she falls face-first, arms spread out too late to catch her fall. She slides several feet, ripping up the grass and weeds, leaving behind a channel of bare earth and scraps of clothes.


    She doesn¡¯t move.


    Her arm is bent at an awkward angle. Wrenched back from its socket, sticking out like a bird''s wing. Cora stares, and stares, because it can¡¯t be real. No, it can¡¯t be. Then Mari¡¯s body rises. Cora hopes that she¡¯s getting up, she¡¯s fine, a fall like that won¡¯t hurt her and she¡¯ll reach the forest, but her body is limp, carried by an invisible force.


    The air waves and peels back. Two armored figures and a horse-like mutant stand beside her. The figures drape Mari over the mutant¡¯s back, face-up. Cora doesn¡¯t need binoculars to see the smear of red that Mari¡¯s front became.


    ¡°Fuck!¡± Callista doesn¡¯t wait for Cora¡¯s desperate plea to stop a third time. She throws the crushed rocks straight at the Transients. Suddenly, a wall of blue light flashes into existence, catching the rocks, disintegrating them, before falling invisible again.


    ¡°They were going to ambush us while invisible,¡± Liam says, eyes widened in horror. ¡°If it wasn¡¯t for your friend¨Cfuck. Fuck me.¡± He turns and spits on the ground. ¡°Fuck. Callista, we need to go. This is beyond us. Even you.¡±


    Callista throws several handfuls at the Transients. The wall flashes twice, and the rocks are pulverized into atomic dust. ¡°Their gift of shield won¡¯t last forever. We have to break them.¡±


    ¡°We won¡¯t last forever either. We have to fall back.¡±


    ¡°Fall back to where! They¡¯ll chase us like rats. We have the most advantages here.¡± Callista turns toward the plains. ¡°We have to stay.¡±


    Cora¡¯s throat is on fire. Everything is on fire. She can¡¯t see, can¡¯t hear, can only drown in the tears that come rushing out of her, burning hot paths down her cheeks, every cell in her body quaking.


    ¡°But Mari! Y-you¡¯re gonna hurt her¨C¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s gone and she¡¯s not coming back!¡± Callista shouts back. Cora recoils, her friend¡¯s voice lashing at her. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. They take and they take and they take,¡± Callista says. Voice soft. So soft Cora almost doesn¡¯t catch her next words. ¡°Their whole world needs to die.¡±


    Cora goes limp. Staring at her useless body that could¡¯ve made it off the tree, helped Mari finish her sprint. But no. Cora abandoned her, again.


    The horde of mutants resumes their stampede. In moments, they reach Mari and the Transients, parting around them like water. Boom after boom echoes as Callista throws fistfuls of rocks at the incoming horde. This time, the wall is far behind them, and scores of mutants turn into blue mist, buckling and tripping the other mutants.


    One of the lanky, quadrupedal mutants reaches the forest line. It tenses to leap at Callista when Liam slams into the creature. ¡°Get my knife!¡± he grunts, wrestling the creature down. Cora tosses it down. Somehow, he catches it by the handle and drives his arm down, severing tendons and driving the blade into its skull.


    Why did it have to be this way?


    Despite Callista¡¯s best efforts, the horde is approaching, a rolling tsunami of gray, writhing flesh. Cut and ruptured and severed, bleeding and falling and dying, the mutants rush despite barrages of rocks slamming into and through their fleshy bodies. Mari and the Transients are gone, hidden behind the hundreds of mutants eagerly advancing.


    In the dying echoes of Mari''s screams, replayed over and over until it becomes shrill feedback in Cora''s head, she adds her own.

 14 - UniVariant

    ¡°Okay, Cora, this isn¡¯t funny anymore.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°You spend so much time here. I¡¯m worried about you. Your parents, too.¡±


    ¡°This¨Cit¡¯s important, okay? I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m not in the mood to talk right now.¡±


    ***


    It¡¯s not fair.


    Beneath her, Liam is a hurricane of blades and fists ripping through the mutants that slip through Callista¡¯s barrages. Skulls, stomachs, and legs meet Liam¡¯s knife, in and out before the body finishes dropping. Callista throws clumps of rocks at several times the speed of sound, the air booming, her muscles shuddering beneath the might of her power. The smaller mutants vanish, reduced to scraps of meat clinging to bone, while the bigger mutants are torn to shreds, stumbling several paces before collapsing, twitching as blue blood pools around them.


    Cora¡¯s throat is raw from screaming directions. Left, right, up, down¨Cmutants converge from every angle, sometimes in groups, sometimes as individuals big and strong enough to count as two.


    Every time, Liam strikes them down, or Callista punches through several feet of tissue. And the blood. So much blood. So much pulped meat and torn organs spills onto the forest floor. The stench of death leaves Cora¡¯s head spinning. Howls, hoots, and screeches scrape her eardrums raw.


    But despite their best efforts, her friends are not invincible. Liam tries to dodge a mutant¡¯s claw, but it rakes his hip, ripping the fabric and leaving behind a jagged mess of red. Callista¡¯s scars pop open, and blood trickles down her arms onto the rocks she hurls into the writhing mass of mutants.


    It¡¯s a battle they¡¯re losing.


    Cora stares at the carnage. Some distant corner of her mind calls out warnings, but she stares at the horizon, the place Mari had charged so freely, so strongly, until she was cut down.


    Now, the slab-like mutants curl like tongues in her place, long and wet, dragging their colossal weights toward the forest. Hundreds of squid-mutants cling to their sides or tops, arms and tentacles limp.


    Cora¡¯s insides are as mushed up as the mutant Callista splatters on a tree. Her heart hurts more than Liam dicing up mutants.


    She should be down there, bleeding and fighting, covering them. Instead, she sits high in a tree like a princess, spared the worst of the assault, stuck watching her friends get worn down, hurt, and hurt again, pain hidden by grunts and grimaces.


    Useless. Useless! Mari¡¯s wrath storms into Cora¡¯s mind. She doubles over, spent, unable to watch her two friends die because she¡¯s nothing. Get the fuck up! Do something, coward!


    ¡°I-I can¡¯t,¡± Cora whispers, hoarse. She holds her trembling fingers up to see. ¡°My wrist is broken. I can¡¯t get down from here.¡± Cora curls into herself. ¡°I¡¯m a coward. A stupid, stupid coward who doesn¡¯t deserve any of this.¡±


    Liam shouts something undecipherable, smashing his fist into a mutant¡¯s oval head. Several surge into close quarters, howling and hooting, throwing themselves into his outstretched blade. Except a single, ferret-shaped mass breaks from the trees and darts at him.


    Cora opens her mouth to scream. ¡°Liam, behind you!¡±


    Five feet of lean mass pounces on his back. Its forelimbs claw through his shirt. Liam cries out, slamming his elbow into the ferret-thing, but it squirms past his arm and bites his shoulder.


    ¡°Liam!¡±


    Callista knocks the mutant off him. He staggers, pressing his hand to his shoulder, eyes widened. His knife clatters to the ground. Trickles of bright red blood paint his fingers red.


    He grimaces. ¡°Fuck,¡± he spits out, clenching his fist. The ferret-thing slinks around Callista¡¯s ankles, curls into a tight ball, and explodes into action. It is a frenzy of teeth and claws, swiping at Liam, who weaves and punches at a body that contorts at impossible angles, dodging his blows, while wrapping around his outstretched arm and biting his forearm.


    Callista can¡¯t help. She hurls fistfuls of rocks at the horde, trampling the forest, scampering up trees and launching themselves like guided missiles at her. ¡°A little help!¡± Liam smashes his elbow over the ferret-creature¡¯s back. It cracks, caving in at a right angle, a dying hiss escaping the paralyzed creature, before he kicks it away.


    Panting, bloodied, he reaches for his knife. His lips peel back in a snarl. His eyes are pinpricks, teeth clenched, neck muscles taut. ¡°We can¡¯t,¡± he heaves, gripping the knife and holding it, outstretched. Briefly, his eyes meet Cora¡¯s, safe on her tree branch. ¡°There¡¯s nowhere to go.¡±


    Right before her eyes, he crumbles into his true image. A boy she doomed to die in another world, for her. Cora gags, the nature of her true self worming and squirming and tightening like a noose around her neck. She sobs, clapping her hand over her mouth, hating that she hasn¡¯t changed at all.


    Weeks of walking, talking, bleeding, crying, weren¡¯t enough to change her. This is all my fault. She silently screams, teeth grating against each other, hard enough that pain shoots up her jaw, eyes scrunched shut to block out the reality of what she¡¯s done.


    It¡¯s all your fault, you stupid coward. Mari¡¯s voice, cruel and hateful. Cora whimpers, shuddering at Liam¡¯s grunts of pain and Callista¡¯s thunderclaps of supersonic projectiles hurled at the mutants.


    It¡¯s all my fault.


    You¡¯re a monster. You steal, you lie, you hurt your friends¨Cwhen will it end? Huh?


    ¡°I tried. I promise,¡± Cora whispers, snorting back the freely running mucus leaking out her nose.


    You didn¡¯t try at all. You kept lying to yourself that you were becoming a better person when they did all the work. They¡¯re the ones fighting to keep you and them alive. They¡¯re the ones who foraged for food, who tested the water first, who carried you if you were tired. And what did you do?


    ¡°Stop,¡± Cora whimpers, stabbing her nails into her palm. ¡°Stop, just leave me alone!¡±


    You doomed them! You doomed him! You doomed her! All because you¡¯re too selfish. And you doomed me, too. You killed me.


    Cora¡¯s head pounds. Blood, blood everywhere, dribbles down tree trunks, crashes in waves against the torn bodies, seeps from Callista¡¯s scars and leaks down Liam¡¯s shoulder.


    Screams, howls, half-maddened shouts, and wails deafen her. Her ears ring endlessly. Her vision distorts with tears. Blood, so much blood, cakes the world.


    Bodies rupture under Newtonian forces. Bodies shut down when brains cease to function. Bodies cave beneath exerted pressure, delivered through punches and jabs that snap bones and rupture organs. Bodies tire under extended duress, the cells fatiguing and collapse becoming imminent.


    It was a matter of time.


    Callista convulses, her throwing arm twisting behind her back. She manages to cry out in agony before she collapses, frothing at the mouth. The horde snaps like a rubber band. Mutants are spit out, and they pile directly on Callista.


    Liam carves his way through several mutants, working toward her, when a horse-mutant slams into his side. He goes flying, hitting the side of a tree with a dull thud, before more mutants pounce on him.


    You killed me. You killed them. And now you¡¯re next. Oh, this will be glorious. An eye for an eye, but the creatures don¡¯t care. At least you¡¯ll be good for something in the end.


    Cora removes the porcelain shard, runs her thumb over its edge, looks down at the clearing below, at Liam, and jumps.


    She wishes she could scream. Then maybe the pain might be more bearable. She slams feet-first on a mutant, breaking its back. Her footing slips and she crashes hard onto the ground, beside Liam. He clutches his knife and stares at her with horror.


    ¡°Why?¡± he mouths, eyes moist.


    ¡°We fight together.¡± She loosens her hold on the shard and grabs his hand, squeezing it. ¡°Until the end.¡±


    Immediately, mutants swarm her, saliva burning her neck, arms, and face. Claws rip through her clothes. Teeth scrape her skin. She stabs and stabs and stabs and stabs and stabs.


    Heads slam into her flanks. Horns cut her stomach. Hooved feet crush her own. She¡¯s a slave under adrenaline, reduced to a machine, stabbing and getting hurt and crying and dying.


    A bright, blinding pain strikes her chest. She collapses, breath knocked out of her. She thought only cartoons showed stars floating above one¡¯s head, but they float before her, more pinpricks of light than anything she can pin down.


    Six feet of oily, intestine-like mutant stares back at her. It bares its teeth, sharp and lethal, and claws at her chest. Cora screams, but it comes out as a feeble hiss. The gashes leave blazing trails of fire, cuts blossoming open on her chest, skin torn beneath the mutant¡¯s relentless clawing toward her thundering heart. She swings at the creature, porcelain shard dragging through its hide, but a single swipe of its claws cuts the back of her hand. She drops the shard, her hand on fire.


    Cora tastes iron on her lips, blood gushing down her face. Her vision is spotty. Several mutants stand on her legs, gnawing at her hips, calves, feet. She can¡¯t even scream. She can¡¯t move at all, pinned under by too much weight, crushing and suffocating. Her chest is breaking open beneath the relentless assault of the intestine-like mutant.


    Cora sobs. ¡°Help!¡±


    Help? After everything you¡¯ve done? Suspended in time and space, caught between degrees of agony, sprouting from Cora¡¯s cuts, scrapes, and open wounds, the Mari-apparition manifests.


    Five-foot-six of uninterrupted visual hallucination blooms to life. She looks exactly like Cora remembers her from that final day, hunched over, hair thrown over her face, trembling with barely suppressed rage.


    Except her clothes are torn, clawed away. Red seeps through the ragged remains. One wrist is horribly bent, the other criss-crossed with claw marks. Her flanks, stomach, hips, thighs, calves¨Cevery part of her body is bleeding.


    She throws her head back, hair snapping backwards.


    And it¡¯s Cora. Throat bruised, cheeks cut, nose bleeding, eyes sunken. She looks back at herself, but her eyes narrow into a glare, arms crossing over her chest, broken wrist and all.


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


    This is you. Pathetic. A weak piece of shit who can¡¯t treat her friends right. The shape changes, curves subtly filling in, hair shortening, face narrowing. This is Mari. The friend who put up with your shit even though she deserved much better.


    Shoulders broaden, hair fizzles to a cropped length, legs and torso lengthen, nose broadens somewhat. This is Liam. The friend who loves you, and you¡¯re too egotistical to pretend to realize that.


    Shoulders narrow, a few inches are shaved off, hair darkens and lengthens, skull reshapes itself a little. This is Callista. A far better fighter than you, and somebody who isn¡¯t scared to do what¡¯s needed, even if she¡¯ll get hurt or worse.


    ¡°That¡¯s not true! You¡¯re not real!¡±


    Am I? Instantly, Cora¡¯s face stares back at her, eyes bloodshot, brow furrowed. Get your shit together. You think I¡¯m a hallucination?


    ¡°You-you are.¡± How can Cora speak, pinned under so many mutants, seconds from becoming shredded meat? ¡°You¡¯re not real. You¡¯re just a response to my stress.¡±


    Is that what your research told you? Still doing everything wrong? Okay.


    A pressurized thunderclap of air pops her ears. The pain snaps over her all at once, thousands of needles jammed into her skin. She silently shrieks, pawing uselessly at the claws raking her chest bloody.


    ¡°Stop!¡± The Mari-apparition unfurls from shafts of stray sunlight. Its back is turned to Cora. Somehow, the world is put on pause, not a single mote of dust drifting into the sunlight. ¡°You¡¯re real, I believe you, okay?¡± She sobs, pinned beneath the mutants, staring at her bloodied body. ¡°You¡¯re real.¡±


    We came to an agreement? Good. I didn¡¯t want this, and you don¡¯t want this, but we have to compensate. If you want to live, obey me. The hallucination¨Cwhatever it is¨Cfloats to the nearest mutant and taps it. The image shivers, coated in a golden layer slipped over it, rippling like a disturbed pond. Give me your body. Give me control, and you will live.


    ¡°Wh-what?¡±


    Cora¡¯s ears pop. The pain punches into her, like salt on exposed nerves. The mutant crushing her, clawing at her chest, folds into itself. Limbs retract into its elongated mass. Skin shrivels and crumples like a ball of paper. Muscles atrophy, bones snap, fat is devoured.


    A second, maybe two, and the mutant is a crumpled ball of desiccated tissues, bouncing on her stomach before rolling aside.


    Another pause. The apparition drifts over the next set of mutants, positioned near Cora¡¯s legs, cut and bloodied. Give me your body, and you will live.


    The words draw a chill down Cora¡¯s spine. The apparition¡¯s back is still turned to her, but something tells her she doesn¡¯t want to see the front. That maybe there will be nothing but an abyss.


    Her head throbs. Rectangles, trapezoids, cones, pyramids, and more shapes pulse on the edge of the awareness, born of her body, cast adrift in a sea of nothing. Is the apparition a ghost? Something that latched onto Cora the moment she traveled via the box?


    She sniffles and reaches to brush at her eyes, free of the mutant. Does it matter? It all happened so quickly. So easily. A gift, like Mari had shown, but the force crushed the mutant inward rather than blow it apart. Her friends are dying. Cora is dying.


    She has no choice.


    ¡°What do I do?¡±


    Slowly, too slowly, the apparition¡¯s face turns. The corners of a grin appear first. A shark¡¯s grin, lips stretched back too high, nearly touching its ears, sharp teeth flashing bright beneath blue eyes.


    Let me in.


    And it makes perfect sense. The instructions come naturally to her. All it requires is a flicker of thought, a relaxation of the mind, and acceptance that her body will not be hers to command, but the apparition¡¯s. The conditions don¡¯t state when her body will be her own again, but it doesn¡¯t matter because her friends are dying and she has no choice and if she doesn¡¯t do this then she¡¯ll die knowing she failed her friends and her family and herself because she was too much of a selfish brat not to do the right thing and surrender herself for the greater good¨C


    ¡°No.¡± Cora stares at the hallucination that is not a hallucination. Its grin drops. She shudders, nauseous at the blank slate replacing its face, writhing with oily masses oozing darkness like drops of blood.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what the fuck you are.¡± She gulps, then bares her teeth at it, coupled with a glare. It takes every ounce of willpower to keep herself from collapsing into sobs. ¡°But if I die, then I¡¯ll die knowing I tried.¡±


    Liam and Callista beg to disagree.


    She lurches at the apparition. Her legs arrest her momentum, mutants pinning her legs down, frozen masses stronger than steel. ¡°You don¡¯t get to call them that!¡±


    Oh, I do. What a waste.


    The air claps under the stress of resumed time. The stench of blood and death stuffs her bloody nose, her legs are getting turned to raw meat, her chest is a massive, throbbing wave of pain, her wrist is a runaway nuclear reactor, and her cuts and bruises throb simultaneously, drawing a hiss through gritted teeth.


    Air scrapes her lungs. She sucks in a mouthful of putrid stench before her head swims. Colors blur, glitching at the edges, bleeding into other objects. The howls, screeches, and hoots crash into themselves, shockwaves of deafening noise distorting the world like putty.


    Her eyes sting. The apparition¡¯s work? But the mutants claw at her legs. More mutants drop from trees and bound toward her. The pile of mutants writhes over Liam and Callista.


    Then, she feels it.


    A tingling that runs deeper than her bones, tapping into a curtain of non-reality Cora¡¯s self extends to, an itch she can¡¯t scratch. Non-reality bends her metaphysical self into something new. Pain stabs into her stomach, liver, kidneys, and hips.


    She¡¯s trapped between an airless scream and paralyzing agony as her vision becomes spotty and the real world loses coherency. Pain is nothing compared to the crippling congregation of unearthly disturbance her metaphysical self experiences. A million types of torture could never penetrate so deeply, so uniquely, exploiting every aspect of her existence and crippling them with agonizing fiery strikes.


    Cora convulses, little more than a puppet dragged behind a train on gravel tracks. Shapes split and recombine. Shadows rotate into and beyond existence. Colors become sour tastes spat into whistles ringing forever and ever and ever. She screams, but can¡¯t, vocal cords terribly injured, so it manifests as every inch of skin prickling and a dizzying smelly mix of old peppers and cheese.


    The whistles plunge into throaty rumbles, the sliding of rock against rock, dull thuds and scrapes and the blinding hot grind of friction enveloping her.


    She has the feeling a great, terrible mass turns its smoldering gaze on her. Observation reduces her to individual atoms. She¡¯s flayed open, inspected, approved, somehow.


    Heat worms around rocks, snakes past submerged half-molten continental sheets, narrows through packed metamorphic rock, and reaches her as a puff of warm air.


    Hello there


    Crystal clear, crackling like embers hours after the fire is put out, a new voice tickles her awareness. It¡¯s alien, reconstructed by her subconscious out of perceived senses bizarre and wrong. Distortions in electromagnetic fields talk to her. Loops of electricity crackle miles below. Heat, compressed at incredible pressures, shifts like blobs over each other.


    Then, Cora understands.


    There are threads of energy, barely a whisper above the feedback of the entire planet. It¡¯s alive, its presence too vast, too unwieldy to comprehend. A composite of fluctuating energy too tangled to parse out. Somehow, Cora gets the impression that the planet is angry.


    Intrusion


    Her fingers twitch of their own accord. Both metaphysical hands grasp the searing heat of those threads, broken wrist and all. She yanks on them. Gears shift behind reality, cogs rusted and abused, missing pieces, creaking in pain, falling out of place, but they work.


    Cora slips back into reality. Her vision is streaked with blood, her limbs tremble, her jaw is locked into a clenched position, her muscles are tensed, her lungs squeeze every ounce of oxygen out of the air. She pictures every mutant, their locations, her friend¡¯s locations. Her heart pounds. The last face she remembers is Mari¡¯s before she opens her metaphysical hands.


    The threads snap back into position.


    The earth shudders. Trees crack at their bases. A deep rumble emerges from the ground, a subsonic vibration that rattles her bones and stuns the mutants. They pause, heads tilted, scrambling for purchase on ground that rapidly splinters like wood crushed under a hydraulic press.


    Cora doesn¡¯t know how. But she stays still as the planet shudders beneath this grave violation of reality. Its crust, or at least around her, fractures into a million pieces.


    Mutants stumble. Feet, legs, and ankles break as the ground lurches. Trees snap at their bases and drop like dominoes, crashing into neighboring trees, the blows snapping their bases and momentum knocking those trees down.


    But it¡¯ll never be enough. The mutants are too many, their animalistic frenzy undeterred by pain. Suddenly, she remembers the clearing, the stone obelisk that pierced through what Callista called a Transient warship.


    Maybe it¡¯ll work.


    Her subconscious implants its desires into her metaphysical self. She strums the threads like strings on a guitar, harmonic vibrations that transcend between realms of existence.


    Suddenly, Cora¡¯s blinded by terracotta on all sides. The mutants fall silent. Trees creak in the distance, toppling each other down. The sudden peace is so abrupt she half-expects the Mari-apparition to manifest itself. It never comes, its absence somehow more noticeable.


    She sucks in a deep breath, then coughs out blood. Everything hurts. Everything burns. She¡¯s a patchwork of blood and bruises, scrapes and cuts. Her chest is torn, bloodied and raw, a mess of tissue and muscle.


    Some tiny voice at the back of her head screams about infection and antibiotics. Shock and trauma. Rattling out a list of injuries it memorized during long nights spent browsing medical sites.


    But she¡¯s alive.


    ¡°Wow,¡± Cora chokes out, clapping a hand over her mouth. Frightened by the wall of terracotta entrapping her. It¡¯s smooth, featureless, save for a hole at the top exposing a sliver of sky.


    Her stomach feels tight. She gags and lurches her head aside, spitting out stringy bile. There¡¯s nothing left to give but tears. She heaves for breath, splayed on her back, watching the edge of a mahogany cloud drift by before disappearing beyond the edge of the hole.


    Cracks appear along the terracotta walls. Moments later, chunks break off, crumbling to dust. Her temporary refuge dismantles itself until a circle remains at the foundations. The beyond makes itself clear.


    The mutants are seized upward, almost like they¡¯re going to pounce on her, but she catches the glistening tips of rock splitting their abdomens apart. Several are crushed against sturdier trees, or bisected, ribs caved or split beneath diagonal pillars of rock. Branches hang with intestines disgorged from ruined stomachs, torn by thorny rocks sprouted from the pillars.


    Many trees are down, great mushroom canopies forming towering shields of leaves and tightly weaved branches. The ground looks like a cracked eggshell. The fractures extend toward the plains, blotted out.


    Hundreds¨Cmaybe thousands¨Cof dead mutants dangle from a spine of erupted spikes running along the forest edge. The biggest mutants, the slabs of wet muscle, cast vast shadows above the wall of death, speared high into the sky by several rock spikes.


    Cora stares.


    And stares.


    And stares.


    She stares at her shaking hands. Her cut forearms. Her cut stomach, her grazed hips, her clawed chest, her scraped knees, her bloody legs. Human. Or maybe once human, before the box performed magic and gave her this.


    She did this. Already, the fine details are fast fading, leaving behind a hardened pit deep in her stomach, and the haunting reminder of that vast entity that supplied a fraction of its resources to help her fight back.


    And she did.


    She won.


    They¡¯re dead. But Liam and Callista¡­ Cora struggles to her feet. It takes several attempts to find her balance, several more to stumble toward the last place she remembers seeing them.


    She finds Liam first, back pressed to a tree, holding his knife inches from a spike that speared through two mutants, entrails wrapped around the stone core. His eyes rove to find her.


    He drops his knife, open-mouthed. ¡°Cora¡­¡±


    She croaks, rubbing her throat. ¡°Liam.¡± She sniffles, hiccups, then turns away, pressing her knuckles to her mouth. The apparition was wrong. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re okay.¡±


    ¡°Your eyes are glowing. You did all this, didn¡¯t you?¡± He turns his gaze downward, brow furrowing, a dimly horrified expression replacing his shocked reverence. ¡°Oh my God.¡± He grimaces, struggling to stand. ¡°You need medical treatment right now.¡±


    ¡°But Callista¨C¡±


    As if on cue, a nearby rock spike cracks. The top half tumbles aside, crashing into several more. A slender arm retreats back to its owner, one very, very puffed-up Callista, clothes torn, hair tossed about her head in a messy mane.


    Cora smiles¨Cthe apparition was wrong. Whatever that thing was, it¡¯s long gone, vanquished back to whatever corner of her mind it came from. ¡°Callista!¡±


    She jerks her gaze upward. ¡°Cora!¡± She approaches, then pauses beside Liam, staring at her. Like Cora sprouted wings. Or like she just performed a miracle. ¡°Are you okay? I¡¯m sorry, that is a stupid question, but your insides, your organs, your¡­ other self. You killed everything. It must¡¯ve hurt.¡±


    Cora sways. She can feel blood oozing out of her ears. Her mouth tastes of iron. Deep inside, several organs produce stabbing sensations, and others radiate slow pulses of pain.


    ¡°Not the Transients,¡± she rasps. ¡°They¡¯re probably still out there. I need¡­ I need¡­¡± A wave of vertigo flips the world upside down.


    She doesn¡¯t get the third word past her lips before reality folds into itself and she collapses.

 15 - CorBreak

    ¡°Don¡¯t wanna listen? You used me! You lied to me! You made me think we could fix this!¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re the one who took me to the fucking mine!¡±


    ¡°You asked me to go there. I took you to the party! Know what? I¡¯m tired of your shit.¡±


    ¡°Then leave! Why the fuck are you here? Hey, back off¨C¡±


    ***


    Once, in the murky early years of her childhood, Cora hit her head. Hard. Her memories are in tatters now, but from what she pieced together over the years, she had ridden her new bike. It was decorated white and pink, coming with a plush seat, tassels dangling from the handles, and a basket at the front. It was her dream come true. She absolutely loved it, squealing over her gift as her parents smiled.


    Then Mari had shown up with a gap-toothed grin, riding circles around Cora in a sleek frame of matte black and steel gray, saying Cora¡¯s bike wasn¡¯t as cool. Then Cora grew mad and challenged her to a race. Her mom was supervising, and she approved, so long as they wore protection.


    Clad in elbow and knee pads, wearing a vest, and mounting a helmet onto her tiny head, Cora took off. Mari made it look easy, even with the awkward protection, coasting past her, tinkling her bell along the way. Cora only got more mad, of course. She shouted and said she¡¯d beat Mari to the end of the street.


    Maybe that was the biggest mistake of all. Her clumsy feet pedaled furiously until her legs burned and she caught up. It all seemed so long, so fast, even though it must¡¯ve been a block at most. Until she hit a rock on the road. Until the bike jerked sideways and she flew out, sailing a few lethal feet and bashing her head on the curb.


    Later, Mari said Cora had stood, swayed on her feet, waved a hello to her, and collapsed. Cora doesn¡¯t remember any of it. She does remember her throbbing skull, the sound of a gurney squeaking on porcelain floors, doctors rushing over her, taking measurements, checking her vitals, harried voices turning into inaudible slush in her injured head.


    Then the days dragged by. Turned into weeks. The world was a kaleidoscope of blurry movements, ringing bells in her ears, and nausea. Mari visited, and so did Ben and a few other friends, but when they were away, Cora bawled into her pillows, hating the constant pain throbbing in her skull, her slurred speech, her dizziness, her concentration problems.


    She had it easy back then.


    Maybe if she hadn''t hit her head so hard, things would''ve never spiraled out of control years later.


    ¡°How long?¡± a man pants, somewhere behind her. Beneath her? Cora¡¯s arms and legs twitch. She tries to scream, but can¡¯t remember why, only that she¡­ she needed to do something.


    Her head pounds. Her mouth is dry. Her cheeks hurt. Her tongue is bleeding, aching and sore when she brushes it against her teeth. Exhaustion drags her eyelids down, erasing her view of a world distorted out of shape.


    ¡°It passed.¡± Somebody clears their throat. ¡°Cora?¡±


    She blinks. And promptly lurches and vomits out globs of fleshy matter, dotted red, spit and bile stringing from her slack lips. An earlier meal, from¡­ from... She groans, shuddering as her senses flip and her head throbs.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay, Cora, you¡¯ll be okay. You had a seizure, but it¡¯s over now.¡±


    Liam. The thought filters through abused brain tissue. She screws her eyes shut and shudders. ¡°What¡­ I was going to¡­¡± Cora gags again, stomach convulsing, purging what little remains of the elikanders.


    A warm hand grips her arm. ¡°Take your time.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry you have to put up with us. You¡¯ve done enough for a lifetime,¡± Callista says. It takes Cora a minute of gathering the broken pieces of herself and gluing them back together to realize they¡¯re carrying her. Sideways. Callista holds her upper torso, Liam her lower. They¡¯re covered in cuts, scratches, bruises, bouncing back from the verge of death¨Cand they¡¯re carrying her.


    ¡°Put me down,¡± Cora rasps.


    ¡°Cora, we can carry you for hours. Well, Callista can.¡±


    ¡°Put. Me. Down.¡± Her eyes snap open. She gags, head spinning as she views the world sideways. Trees look like logs stacked on each other. She bounces in their arms, nauseated and helpless, festering in her own filth and blood. ¡°I can still fight. The Transients are somewhere out there, I know it. They have to be.¡±


    ¡°Cora. Wherever they are, they won¡¯t follow. You scared them off, probably.¡±


    ¡°They got away!¡±


    Callista stops. ¡°Do you want to die?¡±


    ¡°I¨C¡±


    ¡°Because you are not invincible. We are not invincible. We are nothing like Marpei. Keep pushing, and you¡¯ll end up gridshocked, and then what?¡± Callista practically spits out the last sentence. ¡°You¡¯ll die.¡±


    Liam clears his throat. ¡°That¡¯s a little harsh.¡±


    ¡°She almost died. I can¡¯t believe we¡¯re having this conversation. Ugh.¡± Never once does she let go. Cora can feel the trembles wracking Callista¡¯s battered frame, the sticky blood of her wrists, the exhaustion of her labored breathing.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Cora says quietly. ¡°I didn¡¯t think right.¡±


    ¡°Are you kidding me? You saved us all. I¡¯m venting. Ignore me.¡± Callista resumes her walk, and Liam follows. Cora bobs gently in their arms, her stomach not so uneasy like before. ¡°Oh Arcego, I thought we were done.¡± Cora tilts her head back. Callista¡¯s eyes are misty, flexing the slightest strobes of purple within her pupils. ¡°You have a very special gift.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t do anything. Something else did. It¡¯s like I knew what to do already,¡± Cora mumbles, letting her head droop back down. ¡°But it didn¡¯t work and then I had to push myself a little more to make the spikes. It felt horrible.¡±


    She retches again. The trembles come again, but not as badly as before, the aftershocks of an earthquake possessing a magnitude great enough to burst earth and soul asunder. Between the pain, the deep, throbbing aches, the nausea, and her screwed-up eyes and ears, it¡¯s a miracle she doesn¡¯t black out. But something is pumping adrenaline into her system, jolting her awareness like a line of coke, making her twitchy and eager to get on her feet.


    ¡°I need¡­ I need¡­¡± Cora grits her teeth, parsing through the last memory before she had a seizure.


    ¡°Shit, Callista, she¡¯s about to have another one.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s different. Cora, what do you need?¡±


    The answer comes to her like a flash of lightning, burning her retinas out. She half-shrieks, half-moans, choking past the dread slamming into her, squirming to free herself, get on her feet, and move, move, move.


    ¡°Where¡¯s the backpack?¡±


    A halting breath. Shared glances between Callista and Liam. Do you know? Callista¡¯s raised eyebrows suggest. Liam shakes his head, eyes wide.


    ¡°I left it in a nearby tree,¡± Callista says slowly, taking great care to avoid Cora¡¯s panicked gaze. ¡°Cradled between three branches.¡±


    Cora squeaks, shaking, finally paying her debt of accumulated stresses and countless restless nights. The one thing she needs more than anything else on the planet. The one thing that has any hope of returning them home.


    ¡°We have to go back.¡±


    She¡¯s the little girl on the hospital bed again, rendered powerless by her own body and mind, left to watch other children get to leave while she stays behind. Move! Do something! Stop being weak! But Cora¡¯s demands can¡¯t stop her nausea and pain any more than she can move the moon.


    Sensations can¡¯t be controlled, not fully.


    But she still has control over herself. And maybe, just maybe, she¡¯ll sneak a glance at Mari, or the Transients, or both.


    Cora hates them. The planet, the vast buried entity, whatever that whirling mass of super-heated rock and magnetic anomalies was, agreed. It lent her the keys to moving that metaphorical system of rusted gears. She used them once, she can use them again. She shakes with grief and rage, but Callista must confuse it with desperation, because she cradles Cora¡¯s head and sweeps her bangs back.


    ¡°Liam, do you think you can hold her while I fetch the backpack?¡±


    He claps a hand over his chest. ¡°Let me do it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be in danger. I can defend myself.¡± Callista¡¯s eyes flare the tiniest amount, amounting to static electricity crackling to life and vanishing.


    ¡°You¡¯re a lot more hurt than me, and you said something about being gridshocked.¡± He squints at her. ¡°You¡¯ll push yourself too far.¡±


    She barks out a laugh, hollow and dry. Her smile fails to meet her sunken eyes. ¡°Fair. The tree might¡¯ve been knocked down. It was the one closest to the pile of rocks you made. If it¡¯s still standing, don¡¯t climb it. Tell me and I¡¯ll do it.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Both heads turn toward Cora. She holds their gazes for a moment and frowns. ¡°We go back together.¡±


    Liam is the first to frown back. ¡°Cora, we can¡¯t. It¡¯s not safe.¡±


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s stopping them from chasing us down. If they could control that many mutants, they could bring more. It doesn¡¯t matter if we start moving right now, or five hours later. They¡¯ll reach us either way.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll still give us time to rest and heal,¡± Callista says.


    ¡°We can get that anyway. If we go back, it¡¯ll take what, five minutes? Ten? We¡¯re a team now. We protect each other.¡± Cora raises a trembling arm, cut and crusted with blood, and brushes her knuckles against Liam¡¯s arm, then Callista¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯ll protect both of you if something happens.¡±


    Callista bows her head. ¡°You can¡¯t push yourself after having a seizure like that. You¡¯ll die.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t care! Please, let me do something for once. I can protect both of you, I know it. I don¡¯t care if I get hurt. I don¡¯t want to see you two get hurt like that ever again.¡± Cora scowls and drops her head, scrunching her eyes shut, pretending that they can¡¯t see her crying. ¡°Together. Please.¡±


    This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    She doesn¡¯t hear any objections or agreements. By silent confirmation, Liam and Callista hold Cora like a delicate statue, and together they move. She doesn¡¯t need to open her eyes to know they¡¯re returning for the backpack.


    The box.


    The thing Callista is confused by, the thing Liam has no idea cast him into this alien hellscape of mutated horrors and extreme weather. The thing that Cora locked herself in her room for. Studied for. Once, bled for. Fought for.


    The apparition must¡¯ve sprung like an unwelcome parasite and lodged into her brain folds the moment the lid split open. How long had it been there, biding its time, waiting for the perfect host to manipulate and trick into surrendering its body?


    Countless tests run on the box and its magical properties never indicated that an intelligence was behind its workings. The occasional odd reading did appear, like a violation of Faraday¡¯s law, or time dilation desynchronizing two clocks placed a foot and ten feet from its edge, respectively.


    What could a real, unknowable, alien metaphysical entity want with control over a human body, much less one near the bottom of the physical health spectrum?


    Whatever it meant by that, Cora is glad she rejected it.


    Maybe exposure to the box will awaken it, somehow. Refill the gaping absence left behind in her mind, a nonmaterial wound she probes over, lamenting the loss of something she hadn¡¯t noticed for weeks until it disappeared.


    They pass the splintered remnants of trees, snapped like toothpicks, leaning into other sturdier trees that endured the miniature earthquake. The first of the dead mutants appears through gaps in the canopy. Bodies seized upwards, impaled by towering spikes of hardened soil and compacted rock.


    Soon, the stench of death clogs her nostrils. Cora crinkles her nose at the iron aftertaste left in her mouth. Several mutants are splattered against the trees still standing¨CCallista¡¯s handiwork¨Cor crushed against them by several pillars.


    More and more mutants appear, disemboweled, impaled, torn apart, or cut into ribbons, organs and tissues bursting out of their decimated bodies. Liam and Callista take great pains to avoid the worst of the puddles of blood and flesh. Their faces are tight with concentration as they navigate around spikes and pillars, step over puddles of filth, and steer clear of bodies heaped into mounds.


    Cora did all that, and more, out beyond into the fields. They haven¡¯t reached the epicenter, the place she broke reality, but she catches glimpses of the wall of suspended death between branches and through leaves. Continuous blobs of dark matter indicate the mutant slabs she raised high into the sky, a monument to her viciousness. Movements flit within the tangled mess of trees. She squints, only to realize the wind is stirring branches, carrying the stench of those colossal mutants toward them.


    Come and get me! The gory display shows. I¡¯ll do worse next time!


    The box gave Cora that potential. And maybe it gave Mari the power she had used to cross the plains, too, and detonate the mutants by touch. The box also unleashed that parasite into Cora¡¯s mind, and that parasite had crumpled a mutant into desiccated matter to show it had powers.


    Gifts, like Callista calls them. The parasite killed a mutant without Cora¡¯s permission. It froze time and talked to Cora. It didn¡¯t need Cora for any of that.


    Her head pounds. The logic is messy. Interaction with the physical world without a physical body. Mind over matter. Then why ask for her body?


    Or, more importantly, did Mari get a parasite, too?


    ¡°It¡¯s still there,¡± Callista says. ¡°Liam, hold her while I get it.¡±


    Cora switches hands, and now she¡¯s held against Liam¡¯s chest, broad and muscular, streaked with blood and cut in several places. His breaths are like a furnace, hot and simmering, heart an engine powering him.


    Callista crouches, adjusts infinitesimally small muscles in her legs and back, and springs like a grasshopper. She barrels through branches and leaves, breaking them, a blur of motion unfolding at the top. Moments later, she clambers down the many branches. Near the lowest point, she tenses and jumps.


    Her landing is less than spectacular. She loses her balance and stumbles forward, but she¡¯s wearing the backpack, miraculously unscathed. ¡°We leave now,¡± she says.


    Leaves rustle overhead. But it can¡¯t be the wind, because none of the other leaves react at all. Cora connects the dots and clenches her hand. ¡°Trap!¡±


    Too late. The air peels back. Clad in pearlescent armor, tall and broad, three figures drop from the canopy. They plummet like stones a few feet away, spraying dirt around them, armor plates clanging together.


    Callista is quicker. The dirt hasn¡¯t finished settling before she grapples the nearest Transient to the ground. The others react too slowly, materializing a greasy barrier shining like soap bubbles, casting flames at her.


    A quick jerk of her hands snaps the armor like plastic. She breaks both arms, grabs its helmeted head, presses both hands together, and crumples the metal inward at the temples.


    The Transient dies quickly and silently, thrashing against a girl with immeasurable strength.


    She leaps back from the flames, actually growling, lips peeled back in a snarl, claws glinting. The barrier finishes forming and wraps around her like cling film. She lashes at the barrier, but somehow her movements are slowed, constricted, strength reduced to nothing.


    ¡°Cease resisting in the name of the Empire,¡± the flame-casting Transient bellows, turning toward Cora and Liam.


    ¡°Do you want to end up like your friend?¡± Liam sidesteps a jet of flame aimed at his core. ¡°You¡¯ll have to try harder.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not him,¡± the barrier-casting Transient says. Its voice is metallic, bereft of any tones, flat and emotionless.


    The back of Cora¡¯s neck tingles. The heightened anticipation of a lightning strike, a shift in ambience, the slightest idea that this interaction is too reckless, too tame compared to the monsters that commanded the hordes of mutants.


    Liam reels, hurling a fist at nothing, only for his stomach to sink several inches deep under a fist-sized indent. He crumples. Callista is stuck wrestling the barrier out of her skin.


    Leaving Cora alone. Exposed. The tingling worsens, a rash that enters her nape and travels down her spinal cord, sending electrical signals to every neuron in her body. Her arms and legs move of their own accord. Against her agony, she lurches aside, hitting the ground on her chest and belly, igniting her wounds, just as a simmering figure rams its fist through the space her head had occupied seconds ago.


    A flicker of recognition, consonance between herself and the planet, an adjustment of the threads composing all of reality, and she channels years of pain into a crystalline spike.


    Somehow, the semi-translucent Transient pivots on its feet, dodging the blow. But that¡¯s only the first step. As Cora convulses, a prisoner in her own body, tendrils snap from the glittering spike and ram through each Transient.


    Four bodies, two translucent, two visible, cave beneath the rocky protrusions. She twists and branches off their spiky tips, shredding organs, snapping bones, burying them deep into where she thinks their hearts are.


    One by one, they stagger and drop. Except the semi-translucent Transient. Its massive gauntlet grips the rocky tentacle and snaps it. The hole in its chest spits out fragments of rock, coated in red, before torn flesh at the edges puckers up, knitting itself together.


    ¡°I see,¡± it says. The voice is deep, not unlike the rumbling of the planet¡¯s confusion.


    Not quiet


    Cora shudders. Her vision washes red. She hiccups, and spits out red.


    Need more


    But she can¡¯t. Her metaphysical self grasps at threads with broken fingers. Cracked wrists. Pulverized bones, flayed nerves, torn muscles, and bleeding eyes that can¡¯t see what she¡¯s doing.


    Slowly, the Transient lumbers toward her. Its massive outline fills her failing sight. Its other hand, thick and bare, cups her chin.


    ¡°Green and blue and brown and gold,¡± it murmurs. It withdraws its hand and glances behind it. ¡°How long?¡±


    Cora fumbles her tongue, slapping it against her teeth, swallowing blood and mucus. ¡°What?¡±


    Slowly, the Transient crouches so its armored head is level with her. An orb of air simmers and peels back to its shoulders like a hood. A masked face, framed gold, surface like marble, stares back at her. Protrusions of gold rise from the top of its helmet, forming a crown, if a crown bent inward into the tight arc of an obsidian crest like a Roman helmet, bisecting its helmet.


    ¡°How long?¡± it repeats, frozen still.


    ¡°Cora!¡± Callista whips at the edge of her sight. She cradles a very familiar object to her chest, keeping a wide distance from the armored Transient.


    Cora opens her mouth to scream, but what comes out is a choked gurgle, a desperate shake of her head. ¡°Stop! No!¡±


    Callista stops. She locks her gaze on the hulking monstrosity looming over Cora.


    ¡°What is that?¡± It points its normal hand at the box.


    Cora¡¯s ruined metaphysical sight can make out something new. The box is alive again. Churning with potential. Fields of coruscating colors weave around its central axis.


    The apparition must¡¯ve filled it somehow, acted as a catalyst for the reaction that sent Cora, Mari, and Liam here. The abyss in Cora¡¯s mind calls to it, begs her to open and release its awesome potential.


    And if the apparition is responsible¨C


    ¡°Let her go, and you can find out,¡± Callista says slowly, inching towards them. One hand next to the lid, ready to flip it open and throw it. ¡°Liam, are you doing alright?¡±


    A groan in response. ¡°You try getting hit like that.¡±


    ¡°Stay behind me.¡±


    ¡°What is that?¡± Voice hard as iron. The Transient turns away from Cora and tenses. ¡°Tell me. Now.¡±


    ¡°Let her go.¡±


    The Transient bolts. Nothing in this world can possibly stop something so lethally fast. It¡¯s a streak against the bloody ground, a bullet racing to connect with a thunderclap of armored strength. But Callista tucks the box under one arm and leaves a crater where she stands, legs straining against her pants, scooping up Liam with her free hand, and reaching Cora at the same time the Transient whirls and raises one gauntleted fist.


    ¡°I¡¯ll open it!¡± Cora¡¯s voice rings loud and clear. The Transient pauses. ¡°If I open it, we¡¯ll all die.¡± She swallows the lump in her throat and gingerly accepts the box from Callista, dangling her fingernails into the crack between the lid and the rest of the box.


    It¡¯s so warm, pulsating slow waves of energy that trickle into the void left in her mind. Her metaphysical self drools over the energy teeming within such a small thing. She almost flips the lid open and lets the light consume them all¨Cbut Callista¡¯s terrified face and Liam¡¯s apprehension roots her to sanity.


    Her friends. Her rescuers.


    They deserve so much better.


    ¡°You do not lie.¡± The Transient lowers its fist and retreats several steps. ¡°What is that?¡±


    ¡°Something bad. Really, really bad.¡± Cora trembles. ¡°I¡¯m sorry I never told you, Liam.¡±


    ¡°Cora?¡±


    Betrayal. Heart-break. She bites her lip and risks eye contact with Liam. ¡°I wanted to tell you, I promise. I tried. But then I couldn¡¯t do it. I¡¯m sorry.¡± Damn the crack at the end of her sentence. She sniffles and readjusts the box so it¡¯s draped over her lap. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    She stares at her feet. ¡°I¡¯m the reason you¡¯re here.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Liam stares at her like she just admitted to murdering a baby. ¡°You didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I did! I did it because I¡¯m stupid and selfish and keep hurting others to help myself!¡± Cora digs her fingernails into the crack. A fraction open, and its sweet energy drifts beyond, tantalizingly filling the void in her mind, mending her metaphysical wounds, giving her structure. Purpose. Desire. ¡°I fought with my friend, the girl you saw, Mari, yeah. We fought because of this stupid thing. Because I kept treating her like trash even though she tried to help me. But everything went wrong and then it opened. And then I came here. And then I found you.¡±


    ¡°A node inside that?¡± A portal, but apparently it¡¯s shocking to Callista. She, too, takes several steps back, though she keeps a hand on Liam¡¯s back. ¡°Why didn¡¯t you tell us earlier?¡±


    Liam is silent. Dead silent, face set like stone, lips pressed thin. Cora ignores him and focuses on the Transient looming nearby. It could try to rush at them. But there¡¯s a fifty-fifty chance she¡¯ll open the box, and then release that sweet, delectable source of thrumming power.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she admits, slumping her shoulders.


    ¡°A node, inside of the box.¡± The Transient raises its gauntlet again. ¡°Marpei may find this curious.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t think about it,¡± Callista hisses, but she may as well be speaking to a wall.


    Several translucent figures break their invisibility. Hands reach for her. Armor plate contours ripple as they slide over each other. The armored Transient bolts toward them, gauntlet closed into a fist, aimed straight at her.


    Cora throws herself into Liam¡¯s chest at the same moment she musters the last of her strength and jerks the lid open.


    Blinding, white-hot light washes over them all. Laughter echoes until it becomes shrill feedback. Ghostly hands reach at her, but she streaks across a plane of fractured colors and blurry shapes, tangential to the void enclosed within, somehow.


    Her mind strains. The void fills and gets filled again and ruptures and weaves itself into her blood vessels. She is incorporeal, set alight, screaming, torn apart and reconfigured and disassembled into her constituent atoms.


    Something else screams alongside her, too. A different voice, a familiar one, a certain parasite Cora thought had vanished.


    It didn''t activate the box.


    But it¡¯s too late.

 Interlude 1

    ¡°I¡¯m not going.¡±


    ¡°Come on, don¡¯t say that.¡± Mari takes Cora¡¯s hand. She tries not to laugh at the pout her best friend is making. ¡°I promise you, this is gonna be fun.¡±


    ¡°It better not be like last time.¡± Kevin¡¯s party¡­ Well, he''s Kevin. Nice, quiet. She thought he¡¯d be a completely changed person outside of his button-up shirt and slacks.


    But no. The only people from the school who showed up were her and Mari. That would¡¯ve been fine on its own, but Kevin had a few of his friends over. They looked interesting until he and them talked about Dungeons and Dragons for hours. Completely ignoring the two girls who bothered appearing.


    Lame. As. Hell.


    Mari frowns. ¡°Okay, fine, last time was pretty lame. But this will be cool. I swear.¡±


    ¡°Uh huh.¡± Cora glares at her. ¡°You¡¯re so dead if it¡¯s just as bad.¡±


    ¡°Have I ever been wrong before?¡± Mari claps a hand over Cora¡¯s mouth before she can answer. ¡°Don¡¯t answer that. The point is that this one¡¯s different. They¡¯ll actually have a real party.¡±


    Mari¡¯s face twists into a grimace and she pulls her hand away. ¡°Ew, did you just lick my hand?¡±


    ¡°Like I said.¡± Cora narrows her eyes. ¡°If it¡¯s lame, you¡¯re dead.¡±


    Mari grins. It¡¯s the same devilish look whenever she¡¯s about to do something¡­ well, devilish. ¡°You¡¯re going to so pay for that.¡± She lunges and wipes her hand off on Cora¡¯s sleeve. She makes a face and tries to push Mari away, but that encourages her to wrestle Cora to the ground.


    ¡°Hey! That¡¯s not fair!¡± she whines, pawing at Mari¡¯s hands.


    She sticks her tongue out. ¡°You should¡¯ve expected that.¡±


    Cora gains the upper hand. She pins Mari down, much to her disbelief as she struggles to get up from under Cora¡¯s weight. ¡°What do you want to watch tonight?¡±


    ¡°Ugh. You¡¯re the worst.¡± Cora lets Mari go. She stands and crosses her arms, huffing. ¡°That new Netflix show looks good.¡±


    ¡°Okay, let¡¯s watch it.¡±


    ***


    Turns out the party isn¡¯t so bad after all. After Cora finishes taking a million selfies with Mari, they roast marshmallows over a bonfire and chat up several red-faced guys who clearly drank a little too much.


    Not that it doesn¡¯t matter. Their jokes make her and Mari laugh so hard Cora¡¯s struggling to catch her breath minutes later.


    ¡°Alternative milk,¡± Mari wheezes. Her eyes are brimming with tears. ¡°Like what¨C¡± She howls with laughter, doubling over, slamming her fist into the dirt.


    ¡°That¡¯s the stupidest thing I¡¯ve ever heard.¡± Cora wipes the tears from her eyes and brushes her bangs back. ¡°Does he still buy off that guy?¡±


    Jose¨Cwhom, Cora notes, Mari wraps a loose arm around¨Cflashes a pearlescent grin. ¡°Joe told him about a year after.¡±


    Joe takes a sip out of his flask. ¡°I felt bad. Dude was paying double for glorified almond milk. What can I say?¡±


    ¡°Have you heard about alternate water? It gives you extra hydration,¡± Cora says, dropping her voice low.


    The whole group cracks up.


    ¡°Want some?¡± Joe says, offering his flask to her. She shakes her head, and he shrugs, taking another sip. ¡°Suit yourself.¡±


    ¡°Our parents would kill us,¡± Mari says.


    ¡°Try it. You only live once.¡± Jose smiles devilishly. Mari giggles, snaking her arm around his waist. ¡°Drinking is fun. Watch.¡± He cracks open a new can of beer and chugs it in one gulp. He must be a seasoned veteran, because when he sets the can down, it sounds hollow.


    ¡°Don¡¯t listen to him. Don¡¯t live for that cheap shit. It doesn¡¯t count for nothing,¡± Joe says. Liquid sloshes inside his flask as he waves it around. ¡°This, though? It¡¯s Merlot. It¡¯s a lot better.¡±


    ¡°Liar, liar.¡± Jose taps his finger on the can, clucking his tongue. ¡°You can¡¯t go wrong with beer.¡±


    ¡°You mean alternate wine?¡±


    Cora chokes on her grape soda. Bubbles fizz into her nose, and she half-chokes, half-gasps with laughter, all while soda dribbles down her lip. Despite this, Joe passes a napkin to her. She wipes the soda off, flashing him a smile.


    Suddenly a garbled version of MONTERO belts out, coming beneath Jose¡¯s crumpled jacket tossed on the table. ¡°Time to go,¡± he mutters, snatching his jacket and shrugging into it. He stops his beaten phone¡¯s alarm and offers a hand to Mari. ¡°Shall we?¡±


    ¡°Please, you¡¯re too kind,¡± she says, taking it.


    ¡°You¡¯re leaving without me?¡± Cora says, her smile dropping. ¡°Where?¡±


    Mari bites her bottom lip, glancing away. ¡°I didn¡¯t want you to come because we¡¯re all going to be stupid. And I know you¡¯re not into¡­ risks.¡±


    Stupid. Code word for going off to explore buildings older than their parents, or doing some dangerous challenge, or skirting with police.


    Cora gets it. But the fact she wasn¡¯t warned still stings. And what is she supposed to do if the three of them¨Cthe only people she¡¯s talked to the whole party¨Care gone?


    ¡°You can take my car,¡± Mari blurts out, then shrinks away from Cora¡¯s withering glare.


    ¡°We¡¯re headed to the old mine. The one out by that haunted field or whatever,¡± Joe says. He shoves himself to his feet, grunting. ¡°Hey, you wanna come along? We have room for one more.¡±


    Cora hides the stab of betrayal behind a determined nod. ¡°Sure. How long will it take?¡±


    ¡°Most of the night, if you¡¯re cool with that.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m down.¡± She glares at Mari again, who does her best to pretend that Cora doesn¡¯t exist. Whatever. Not like it¡¯s the first time she goes off on her own and leaves Cora to herself. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡±


    ***


    Cora¡¯s seen her fair share of messiness. Her mom sometimes brought her along to housekeeping in houses with shredded cushions, dried juice stains, mold-spotted peeling walls, and other wilder horrors, but Jose¡¯s van?


    It¡¯s scary.


    Even he makes a face as he shoves hamburger wrappers and dented beer cans off the back seat. They join the crumbs, crumpled papers, and a pizza box squished on the carpet floor.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Cora says when Jose wipes his hands on his jeans and points a thumbs-up. She has to squeeze next to Mari to avoid the wet stain on the cushion.


    Not to mention how the smell of beer itself is a pungent reminder of who is driving. With a great lurch, Jose heaves himself onto the driver¡¯s seat. White-knuckled, he clings to the steering wheel for support to adjust his weight.


    He can¡¯t drive. But Cora keeps her lips sealed. He scoots over to the middle. Joe joins him on the passenger side, riding shotgun. Then who¡¯s driving?


    The driver¡¯s door slams open. A tall, muscular blond girl climbs onto the driver¡¯s seat. Built like a volleyball player, hair tied back into a ponytail, she oozes confidence, quick and sharp in her movements. ¡°The keys,¡± she says, a frown etched on her forehead.


    ¡°Holy shit, Sally. Jeez. You got no chill,¡± Jose says. He fishes in his pocket and tosses a set of keys to the girl. Moments later, the engine rumbles to life. The van vibrates under Cora¡¯s seat.


    Sally smirks. ¡°Somebody has to be the adult around here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m older than you.¡±


    ¡°Then you should know that DUIs are very, very bad.¡±


    Jose smiles a wide grin, leaning back into the middle seat, crossing his arms behind his head. ¡°True that.¡±


    The van¡¯s headlights wash across the grassy field. Grills, coolers, and beer cans glint like miniature stars. Several people look up from a poker game and wave, only to knock the flimsy table aside and spill chips and cards onto the grass.


    Sally rolls down the windows and leans out. ¡°Are those pocket aces pre-flop? What a hero fold!¡± Several middle fingers flick out, but she returns to the wheel and rolls down the window.


    ¡°You¡¯re evil,¡± Mari says, the first words she¡¯s spoken since her betrayal.


    ¡°Thanks!¡±


    Gravel crunches under the tires as they move onto the road. Beyond the endless fields of sweet corn, the city¡¯s skyscrapers blaze like rectangular diamonds. Being so far out from the city and suburbs, though, darkness cloaks the roads and masks the many potholes that jostle them from side to side.


    ¡°My baby is dying,¡± Jose moans, arms spread over the dashboard.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine,¡± Sally says, just as the van hits another pothole and it briefly lurches aside. Cora holds back a yelp of surprise when her thigh presses into the wet spot.


    ¡°Drive more slowly, you lunatic,¡± Joe says. He wipes a dark liquid off his chin.


    ¡°The gas station closes at twelve, you stupid fuck,¡± Sally fires back.


    They exchange barbs back and forth while Cora stews in her disgust that her thigh is firmly over the wet spot and Mari is glued to her, so scooting over isn¡¯t an option.


    If only she¡¯d said that she was going to leave. Well, now they¡¯re stuck together. From the corner of her eye, Cora catches Mari gazing out the window, chin on her palm.


    There¡¯s nothing to see but the faint silhouettes of trees and the occasional house or barn. She doubts Mari is enjoying what little scenery presents itself. Or maybe she sat on a wet spot and she¡¯s trying her best to focus on anything but the discomfort.


    Maybe.


    Several potholes later, Cora spots the pinnacle of civilization: a gas station. She heaves a sigh of relief when they pull up next to the single working pump. The lights are on inside the store, but already the place is barren, the cashier packing away stray items on the counter. Cora checks her phone. Fifteen minutes until midnight.


    ¡°Gas duty,¡± Sally says. She turns off the ignition and hops out of the van. Joe opens the door and tries to hop out, but he must¡¯ve drank too much because he misses his landing completely, falling sideways into a bush, flailing.


    Cora laughs, clapping a hand over her mouth. Jose chuckles, then explodes into a roar of laughter, stepping out of the van and offering a hand to Joe.


    She raises her eyebrows at him, and he avoids her imploring smirk, choosing to walk toward the front doors. ¡°You didn¡¯t see that!¡± he calls over his shoulder.


    Jose peeks inside the van. ¡°You guys don¡¯t want anything? Snacks? Drinks? They have a restroom here.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m good, thanks.¡± All around them are fields of sweet corn, miles of country road, and the single gas station rising like a ghost from the mid-20th century. ¡°Is this really the last gas station before we get there?¡±


    ¡°Yup. Hey, not sure if you need to pee? Trust me, it''s better to have no regrets.¡±


    Maybe that¡¯s why there¡¯s a wet spot. Cora scrunches up her nose, shuddering. ¡°No, it¡¯s just we¡¯re so far out from you know. Civilization. But it¡¯s fine.¡±


    ¡°No problem. You, Mari?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m fine. Thanks, though.¡±


    Jose shrugs and lumbers after Joe, who sways and bumps into shelves, snatching bags of Cheetos and Doritos, while the middle-aged cashier stands rigidly behind the counter, eyeing him. Sally is pumping gas, leaving Cora and Mari.


    It shouldn¡¯t have to be awkward. They¡¯ve been there for each other since fourth grade. But Cora can¡¯t get over the fact Mari didn¡¯t even consider if she wanted to tag along. People change. Cora looks at her best friend, only to find her looking back.


    ¡°Awkward¡­¡± they say simultaneously.


    Mari is the first to break. She huffs and moves a lock of hair behind Cora¡¯s ear. ¡°You should totally cut that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s part of my look,¡± Cora defends. ¡°Without it, I¡¯d look like you.¡± She scrunches up her face, only to receive a smack to the shoulder.


    ¡°Gorgeous, you mean. Here, I¡¯ll do it for you.¡± Mari takes the lock of hair between two fingers and pretends to cut it. She purses her lips and sighs, letting the lock of hair drop. Her shoulders droop. ¡°I¡¯m a jerk.¡±


    Cora glares at her. ¡°Yeah, you are. You were gonna leave me.¡±


    ¡°I know.¡± Before Cora butts in, Mari raises her hands and hangs her head. ¡°And I know I¡¯ve done it before, and just because you¡¯ve told me before you didn¡¯t want to come doesn¡¯t mean I should¡¯ve ignored you this time.¡± Mari drops her head on Cora¡¯s shoulder. In a quieter voice, she adds, ¡°I promise I won¡¯t do it again.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    Mari squeezes her hand. ¡°Also, I might¡¯ve drank my first beer.¡±


    Cora pulls away, putting on her worst grimace, holding Mari by the shoulders while she stares back impassively. ¡°Ugh. You¡¯re so¨C¡± Annoying. Loyal. Questionable. Trustworthy. Sneaky. Lovable. She grins and snatches an unopened can of beer, shaking it. ¡°You gotta tell me how it was.¡±


    ***


    Gravel spits out under the van¡¯s tires as Sally finally pulls up to a decrepit, crumbling guard post. Beyond the twin streaks of light blazing out the headlights, the mine entrance is barely visible, built out of splintered wood and soot-streaked bricks. Around it, tire marks betray the parking spots of past visitors, though nobody is here.


    Heaped against the entrance are every kind of bottle brand imaginable. There¡¯s even a name called Duckhorn, with a cursive Merlot scrawled beneath it, though the bottle is worn by time, the letters almost gone save for the barest imprints on the yellowed labeling.


    ¡°Wicked,¡± Joe says, half-stumbling out of the van. Jose follows, not doing too much better himself, having to hold on to the door to stabilize his footing.


    ¡°You two are idiots,¡± Sally says, shaking her head.


    Jose blows a kiss. ¡°I love you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, whatever. You love everybody.¡±


    When Cora clambers out of the van, her eyes water. Instead of beer and mold, it smells like crap and piss, worse than those public portables at the fair.


    Sally sucks in a deep breath, then laughs, planting her hands on her hips. ¡°You¡¯ll get used to it,¡± she says. ¡°Nothing like some fresh air after driving in that van¡¯s stink. Isn¡¯t that right, Jose?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t forget. Fuck you,¡± Joe says. He kicks the faded bottle of Merlot. It clinks against other bottles, shoved deeper into the gaping maw that is the mine entrance.


    Sally scoffs. ¡°You were almost blackout drunk. I saved you.¡±


    ¡°You still haven¡¯t paid me.¡±


    ¡°And I won¡¯t, because after all the favors I¡¯ve pulled for you, this is the least you can do. Let it go.¡±


    ¡°Fine.¡± He skulks down to the entrance, kicking bottles aside. ¡°Do you have that cheap shit, at least?¡±


    Mumbling, Sally says, ¡°You goddamn alcoholic.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Nothing!¡±


    Jose goes to the back of the van and opens both doors. Glass shards glint in the grass as the cabin light spills out the back. Groaning, he hugs the cooler and sets it down. The lid jostles, exposing silver cans of some off-brand beer and a few bottles of water.


    ¡°I thought you forgot,¡± Sally says, snatching a bottle out of the cooler. Ice water dribbles down her hand as she unscrews the cap and drains half the water. ¡°Mmm. Water. Very healthy.¡±


    Cora squints. Near Joe, at the periphery of the rear van lights, something rectangular fades into the darkness. He must think she¡¯s looking at the entrance, because he stops and raps his knuckles on the beat-up entrance, then jerks his thumb toward the entrance.


    ¡°Trust me, you¡¯ll have a blast. We¡¯re chill. No deadbeats or anything.¡±


    Cora furrows her brow. ¡°Yeah, but¡­¡±


    ¡°But what?¡±


    ¡°Why is there a bed there?¡±


    Then he spots it. The others do, too. They spot a stained, beat-up mattress that has seen better days, draped with tattered blankets and a pillow whose stuffings partially spill out. Beside it, a propane burner leans to one side, missing the propane tank itself. A wooden box is propped up on a pile of mangy clothes on the mattress, lid cracked the slightest bit. Light flickers within it, little more than the flash of static electricity. Cora blinks, and the image is gone, nothing more than an afterimage.


    Maybe she shouldn¡¯t be staying up so late.


    ¡°A hobo?¡± Mari says.


    Sally frowns. ¡°Looks like it. Weird, though. I¡¯ve been coming here for years and I¡¯ve never seen one.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s risky as fuck,¡± Joe says.


    ¡°Let¡¯s do it.¡± Everybody stares at Jose. He shrugs, palms turned upward. ¡°What? We already drove here.¡±


    ¡°You mean I drove us here.¡± Sally paces toward the mattress, then stops, inspecting the few items they left behind. ¡°The hobo¡¯s probably exploring inside. Or they went to the Spritz.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s that?¡± Cora asks.


    ¡°Before you ask, no, Joe named it, not me.¡± Cora has no idea what she¡¯s talking about, but Sally continues. ¡°It¡¯s a chamber inside the mine, at the right. It connects to the outside, so if the worst happens we won¡¯t get trapped or anything, but that area is a pain in the ass to go through.¡± She points at a tangle of torn fencing and dense vegetation past it. ¡°I don¡¯t think we should be here, though.¡±


    ¡°I agree. For once.¡± Joe kicks bottles out of his way. He stares into the darkness, but there¡¯s no sign that the hobo is there. ¡°Most homeless people are chill. One guy tried to stab Jose, and our friend Marty tripped him.¡±


    ¡°That was funny as fuck,¡± Jose giggles, cracking open a new can of beer. He tosses his head back, can to his lips.


    ¡°Point is, some of them are crazy. I wouldn¡¯t risk it.¡±


    Cora doesn¡¯t have the level of excitement Mari has whenever they do something new. It¡¯s always been that way¨Cshe chooses where to go, and Cora follows. This time, she cradles her curiosity and lets it soar.


    It¡¯s almost too easy.


    ¡°I want to see the Spritz,¡± Cora says.


    Mari scratches her head. ¡°Uh, you sure?¡±


    ¡°Like Jose said. We didn¡¯t come here for nothing.¡±


    Mari can probably pry apart Cora¡¯s lies as easily breathing or blinking. Expose her to the group, call out her false confidence, and Cora would cave. But she nods, glancing at the yawning, pitch-black entrance.


    Thank you, Cora voices silently.


    ¡°Three to two,¡± Cora says. ¡°Unless both of you want to stay here?¡±


    Sally narrows her eyes. In the dim lighting, they look like a submerged snake¡¯s, ready to lunge. ¡°Ugh, democracy is a joke.¡± But she turns toward the entrance and gestures over her shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s go, then.¡±


    ¡°I knew you¡¯d listen,¡± Jose says, clapping a hand on her shoulder. Instead of lashing out, she punches his shoulder and takes up the front end of the cooler.


    ¡°If you weren¡¯t so nice all the damn time, I¡¯d strangle you.¡± She flicks her middle finger out at Joe. ¡°And you¡­ I can¡¯t believe we¡¯re agreeing on something for once. Ha! What a joke.¡± She faces Cora and Mari. ¡°You two, you¡¯re chill. Thanks for not being like Joe.¡±


    ¡°Hey!¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Mari says, while Cora flashes a thumbs-up.


    Joe¡¯s flashlight cuts swathes of darkness into ribbons. The torrent of light punches through cobwebs and dangling plant roots alike, ending at a bend where corroded rail tracks descend off to the left.


    No hobo. Then again, the mine is huge, or so Jose said during the last leg of their drive.


    Joe goes in first, stumbling down the tracks, with Sally and Jose in tow, and Cora and Mari at the back. Inside the tunnel, the air is pungent and musty, worse than a barn, making her gag. To their right, just like Sally said, a cut in the rock opens up to a pit.


    The Spritz is built of bands of gray and white stone encircling the pit. At the top, grass blades peek out, haloed by the moon higher still. Off to the side, a valley cut into the stone wall leads to a tangle of shrub land and overgrown trees, amassed into a living wall of green tied together with what suspiciously looks like poison ivy.


    No hobo here either. Cora frowns. More bottles litter the ground, along with burnt scraps of paper, cigarette butts, empty bags of chips, even what looks like a used condom¨Cshe jumps when a loud crinkle echoes out.


    Mari raises her foot, dripping with beer, while a crushed can bleeds out from its opening. ¡°What the fuck!¡± she exclaims, undoing her laces, probing over her wet shoe.


    ¡°Damn,¡± Joe comments. Cora thinks he¡¯s responding to Mari, but he plucks something dark off the jumble of bottles. ¡°Somebody left their wallet here.¡±


    He trains his flashlight on it. Expertly, he opens the wallet one-handed and flips a flap up. A blue card glitters inside a clear pouch. Framed off to the side is the image of an old man with a knotted beard, gray and faded, cheeks drooping, wrinkles etched into his forehead and corners of his pale lips.


    Joe inspects it for a few more seconds. ¡°Huh.¡±


    ¡°Is it the hobo?¡± Cora says.


    ¡°Could be. I don¡¯t know. This guy was born in¡­ 1961. Old as fuck.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s probably the hobo.¡± She wrings her hands, biting her bottom lip, glancing back at the mineshaft entrance. ¡°But where is he?¡±


    Jose turns on his phone¡¯s flashlight and trains it under his chin, so his face stands out in exaggerated shadows. ¡°He might¡¯ve¡­ disappeared. Legends say that old Billy¡¯s ghost will fuck you up if you show disrespect.¡±


    Sally glares at him, but Cora puts on her most serious face, crossing her arms. ¡°Not me.¡±


    ¡°You dare disrespect old Billy?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, because I can beat a ghost any day.¡± She flips her hair over her shoulder. She giggles, shaking her head. ¡°Ghosts aren¡¯t real, anyway.¡±


    Joe is quiet, flipping the wallet open and closed while he drums his fingers on his flask, fingertips dancing over the cap. ¡°No, it¡¯s true. This place is haunted. Some guy called Billy died deep in the mines like ten years ago. Then some other guy died out in the fields two or three years ago for no reason. He just dropped dead. Both made it on the local news and everything.¡±


    Sally pinches the bridge of her nose, grimacing. ¡°You remember Jessie?¡±


    Joe makes a face. ¡°You mean that girl who ate all the chips?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, my friend. Last year she went down there with some people. She swears that there was something there. ''Sally, there was a shadow chasing us, it was the scariest thing I''ve ever seen.''¡± Sally gestures at the mineshaft. ¡°It¡¯s stupid. Ignore them. There¡¯s a lot of old, dangerous shit in there. Some leftover chemicals got into their heads.¡±


    A scream, high and shrill, tears through the silence. A little girl¡¯s scream. It sounds distant but clear, raw and in agony. Cora squeaks out in surprise. Mari recoils. Joe drops the wallet. Jose¡¯s eyes widen. Sally is the only one who appears unfazed, statuesque, lips pressed tight. Another scream follows, long and drawn out.


    Quieter, as if the source went further away. Or is dying.


    By the time the last scream trails off, Cora¡¯s pulse is roaring in her ears. She doesn¡¯t realize she¡¯s holding onto Mari¡¯s shoulders until she gently pries Cora¡¯s fingers off.


    She twitches, nursing her hands to her chest. Cora does the same, struggling to keep her breathing steady, to stop herself from rushing into the mineshaft and help that girl.


    ¡°What the fuck,¡± Jose mutters. ¡°The hobo. Do you think¨C¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t even mention it,¡± Sally says, gritting her teeth. She brims with violence, shifting her weight from foot to foot, assuming a boxer¡¯s stance.


    But Joe¡¯s face is pale. He pockets his flask and the wallet, takes a few steps back from the opening, and shudders. Whatever drunk happiness fueled him has vanished, leaving a trembling wreck in his place.


    ¡°Oh hell no,¡± he says, drilling his eyes into the mineshaft.


    ¡°It¡¯s a fucking little girl in there!¡± Sally explodes, turning her fury on him. He shrinks beneath her looming glare. ¡°God fucking damnit! Ghosts aren¡¯t real! Get your shit together!¡±


    ¡°Seriously, Joe, I thought you were better than that.¡± Jose hitches his shorts up. He takes a deep breath, then exhales, combing his fingers through his hair. ¡°Fuck. That¡¯s seriously fucked up.¡±


    Joe, despite being leveled to a crisp, manages to gather enough of his dignity to nod and step beside Sally. ¡°Shit. I¡¯m sorry. That hobo¡¯s going to get hell.¡±


    Sally turns back to Cora and Mari. ¡°You two can wait by the van. We¡¯ll be back in ten minutes, tops.¡± Then, in a quieter voice, she adds, ¡°Call 911 as well.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m coming with you,¡± Cora says.


    ¡°Same,¡± Mari adds. They share a nod of approval.


    Joe drags his palms down his jeans and takes a swig out of his flask. Cora wishes she could sip out of it, if only to quell her nausea and spine-tingling dread. ¡°Just a warning, it¡¯s filthy in there. There¡¯s lots of spiders and rats and other shit. Seriously, just stay in the van. We¡¯re the ones who brought you guys here.¡±


    ¡°We chose to come here. We can help. I want to help.¡±


    All partial truths, because really Cora is terrified out of her mind. She doesn¡¯t even want to imagine what¡¯s happening to the little girl. The scream replays over and over in her head, looping to images she can¡¯t help but imagine.


    The hobo has to be there.


    And the poor little girl¡­


    ¡°Fine. Call 911,¡± Sally says. Mari beats Cora to the call, raising her phone to her ear, gnawing on her cuticles as the line connects and a man starts the call.


    Thirty minutes. That¡¯s all they get until the police and first responders arrive.


    ***


    Sally falls in step beside Joe. ¡°Follow the flashlight, don¡¯t go off the tracks. These parts get dangerous.¡±


    Cora is no stranger to danger. Mari¡¯s antics have dragged her from the slimy pits of a questionable museum attraction out in Nowheresville, USA, to hiking deep in the woods while sunset hid paths they had to double back and find.


    But this is different. The little girl¡¯s screams still cling to her like the cobwebs stretching from floor to ceiling. Cora takes in the curved walls, crevices, pits, and torn tracks, wondering how much more they have to endure until they stumble upon the grisly scene.


    Joe trains his flashlight ahead. Sally brought her own from the van, and she sweeps it across the mineshaft at maximum brightness. Spiders skitter back into the dark. Beetles and roaches scurry beneath twisted rail tracks or into cracks in the walls. Several worms slink back into the disturbed ground.


    Worse than the bugs, though, is the chill that runs over her skin. Long gone is the warmth of the night that enveloped her like a blanket. Sally runs her flashlight over the walls, ceiling, and floor, eyes narrowed, muscles tensed.


    She doesn¡¯t seem to care about how compact the mineshaft becomes. The cobwebs are little more than nuisances to her. One sweep of her arm clears them away. She pushes everybody onward, deeper into the mine, though careful to avoid the sharp rails and few spiders that defy the light¡¯s assault.


    Joe sweeps his flashlight, too, covering areas that Sally¡¯s doesn''t. Something glints inside a crack up ahead. They¡¯re numerous, byproducts of the mine¡¯s age. But in the time it takes for the flashlight to move on to the next interesting thing, Cora steps toward the crack.


    ¡°Hey, wait.¡±


    Sally turns around, pointing her flashlight down. ¡°What?¡±


    It gives just enough light to make out the source of the glint. A ring, she thinks, but there¡¯s something attached to it. She gestures at it. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    Joe lights up the crack.


    Mari screams first.


    The ragged remains of a finger is jammed into the crack. Blood dribbles from the stump onto the terracotta-colored walls, still glistening red. Another finger, a thick thumb worn with age, is jammed into a neighboring crack, snapped backwards, bone peeking through bloodied tissues.


    Cora screams next. Jose turns around and empties his stomach, while Joe stares at it, mouth gaping open, and Sally¡­ she¡¯s pointing her flashlight elsewhere. Back in the direction they came from.


    The air is all wrong. The floor is the ceiling and the ceiling is the floor. Cora¡¯s eyes water from a searing haze seeping from the walls. Silhouetted within the haze, suspended by its limbs like a crude marionette, the bloody, broken, bitten corpse of the hobo leers at them. Both of his eyes were ripped out of their sockets. One of them is an empty cavity, but the other eyeball dangles by glistening strands on his split cheekbone.


    ¡°Holy shit!¡±


    Cora doesn¡¯t know who said it. It doesn¡¯t matter. Both flashlights flicker, their lights dimming.


    The haze cleaves apart. The corpse shudders and spits out a glob of black matter that sucks in the light, dimming the flashlights further. Ethereal haze and black matter funnel upward into a spindly, many-legged, impossibly thin composite of outlined shadow. It scuttles forward. In the absence of any face, white teeth shine.


    The flashlights die. A little girl¡¯s screams echo off the walls, deafening Cora, squealing and desperate, loudest behind them, while too many legs patter on the ground.


    Cora¡¯s sprinting before her mind catches up.


    The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Somebody¡¯s elbow hits Cora¡¯s ribs. Her elbow hits another person¡¯s ribs, but the pain and guilt cower in the monster''s presence, chasing after them. Screeches echo off the tunnel walls and deafen her.


    Her heart pounds madly. She struggles to fill her lungs with precious air. Somebody locks their arm around her elbow and drags her aside. She screams, slamming the heel of her hand into whatever body part she can hit.


    ¡°Come on!¡± Sally hisses.


    They stumble over rails. Metal cuts Cora¡¯s ankles and snatches on her jeans, raking her shins. More than once, cobwebs stick to Cora¡¯s head and shoulders. Something crawls on her neck. Sally¡¯s tight grip keeps her going.


    It isn¡¯t until she suddenly stops that Cora can breathe again.


    She sobs, clapping a hand over her mouth when another screech reaches them. She huddles against Sally, whose hands dig into her shoulders as they hug each other, silent save for their heavy panting.


    The screeches grow louder, almost like a steam train barrelling right past them. Crackling static accompanies it, and a dull roar that makes the ground and walls shake.


    Bits of rock chip off and hit her cheek. Cora bites down on her lip and curls into Sally, powerless to stop the supernatural force descending upon them.


    I¡¯m going to die and end up like that old man.


    She silently screams, wails, begs for forgiveness for whatever she¡¯s being punished for. Nobody hears her outside her own head, of course. Not even Sally, whose chin presses on top of her head, locks of hair tickling the back of Cora¡¯s neck.


    Gradually, the rumbling quiets. The crackling static fades to a hiss, and then a high-pitched squeal, then nothing. Their ears pop. Neither of them move until the sounds are long gone.


    ¡°We made it,¡± Cora whispers, struggling to keep her sobs at bay. ¡°That thing¡¯s gone.¡±


    Sally stays quiet. Her labored breathing is the single response that comes out of her. ¡°Sally?¡±


    Cora wrestles her way out from under Sally, arms straining to keep her weight aloft. She deposits her into a sitting position against the wall. Cora feels around her body until she touches cool metal.


    A click later, the flashlight blazes to life, highlighting the worst of Cora¡¯s fears.


    Sally is limp and bloody, eyes closed and cheeks flushed purple with bruises. There¡¯s a gash bleeding near her ear, and several cuts by her chin. Parts of her hair are matted with blood to her scalp. Her ponytail came undone during the stomach-churning escape, and the rest of it hangs like a dirty curtain.


    A gust of wind blows Cora¡¯s hair aside. She hears the footsteps too late. She shrieks and dives over Sally, baring the flashlight on the incoming threat, gasping when she realizes it¡¯s just Joe, wide-eyed and caked in dirt.


    ¡°What the hell are you doing? Get the fuck out of here!¡±


    Cora¡¯s eyes sting. She takes Sally¡¯s hands in her own, refusing to wrench her attention away. ¡°It¡¯s Sally. She¨Cshe¡¯s not moving.¡±


    ¡°Did that thing get her? Is she okay?¡± Joe drops to one knee next to her. He presses two fingers to her neck.


    ¡°I-I don¡¯t know.¡± Cora squeezes Sally¡¯s hand, hoping with every fiber in her being that she¡¯ll be okay. ¡°Shit, oh my God. Sally, please, wake up! Sally!¡±


    Finally, one eyelid peels open. ¡°Wh¡¯f h¡¯pnd.¡± Her lips change shape, but what comes out sounds more like an infant blowing raspberries. She blinks out of sync. One of her eyes is bloodshot, the other hidden behind bruises swelling her facial tissue. ¡°Mmph!¡±


    Joe touches the back of Sally¡¯s head. He frowns, then freezes, his arm shaking. ¡°Shit, she¡¯s injured. The back of her head¡¯s bleeding. Shit.¡±


    Cora shrugs off her jacket and hands it to him. ¡°Use my jacket. Put pressure on it.¡±


    A deep rumble reaches them. The ground vibrates under her feet, jarring her bones, awakening injuries Cora wasn¡¯t aware she had. ¡°Hey, do you hear that?¡± She rubs her forearms. The chill is coming back, and the heavy pressure in the air that followed whatever flew past her and Sally. ¡°Oh my God. It¡¯s coming back.¡±


    ¡°Go get the others. Get them out of here.¡± Joe cradles Sally¡¯s head and grits his teeth. ¡°I gave them my flashlight and told them to run. They probably ran for the exit. But if they didn¡¯t, get them out of here.¡±


    ¡°No. We¡¯re gonna come back and help both of you.¡± Cora can¡¯t stop her voice from wavering. Can¡¯t stop her body from betraying the nauseous mix of terror and grief. ¡°I promise. I swear.¡±


    Joe pats her shoulder. ¡°Stay safe.¡±


    ¡°You too.¡±


    In moments, she¡¯s soaring down the tunnel. Her feet ache, and pulse, and throb, but they carry her at a heavy sprint. She coughs as dust fills her lungs. Swats away cobwebs that snare in her face and hair.


    Somewhere behind her, terrible screeches seem to chase her as she flees toward the outside world, free of monsters, a place where the group was supposed to relax, crack some jokes.


    Before she knows it, the faint glow of the exit appears. She heaves and clears the barrier into the world. Never has she been glad to see the night sky and stars, the garbage and broken bottles that glint in the moonlight.


    Jose is curled into a ball, retching. Beyond his shuddering bulk, leaning against the van, Mari is gnawing on her cuticles. She raises her head and gasps.


    Cora¡¯s enveloped by two strong arms that squeeze what little oxygen Cora has left out of her. She doesn¡¯t care¨Cshe finally cries and collapses into Mari, clutching her. Cora drinks in the scent of perfume that she¡¯d spritzed on Mari¡¯s shirt, her comforting warmth, the promise of safety and friendship.


    Mari is her remaining anchor of sanity. Her beacon of hope that everything will be okay.


    ¡°Call 911 again,¡± Cora whimpers, pulling away from her. ¡°Tell them to hurry up.¡±


    Mari chokes back a sob. ¡°Fifteen minutes. I already tried. What a fucking mess. I can¡¯t believe¡­ it¡¯s so¡­ I don¡¯t know! Shit.¡± She rubs her eyes and glances at the mine entrance. ¡°Where¡¯s Joe? And Sally?¡±


    ¡°Sally¡¯s hurt. We have to back and help them¨C¡±


    There¡¯s a loud crash, and another rumble that shakes the ground. The van breaks out into a wail, rising in pitch before suddenly dropping and starting again.


    ¡°The keys. Jose, the keys!¡± Mari shouts. He manages to slide his spare set from his pocket and toss them at her before retching again. She snatches them mid-air and silences the alarm. The ground shudders. This time, it pitches forward, a rolling wave of kinetic madness. Cora stumbles and crashes into the side of the van.


    Mari grits her teeth, draping an arm over Cora. Jose retches once more, doubled over. The air hangs heavy. A distant roar grows in intensity, the crashing of an ocean straining against the shoreline, or monstrous energy swelling out of the cracks of the mineshaft, straining to be unleashed upon the world. Rocks tumble down the hill. The entrance cracks. The wooden beams splinter.


    Moments later, the ceiling collapses.


    It¡¯s over in seconds. The structure snaps. Just like that, the hill collapses into the mineshaft. Plants, dirt, and rocks stuff the entrance. Off to the side, other sections of the hills collapse, including the area where the Spritz had been.


    ¡°No¡­¡± Mari claps her hands over her mouth. She stares at the ruins of the mine.


    ¡°No!¡± Cora peels away from the van and lurches forward. She scoops handfuls of dirt and throws them aside. ¡°They¡¯re still in there!¡±


    She doesn¡¯t know how long she spends there, breaking her fingernails, clawing toward the two people she promised to help. She keeps going until the haunting wail of police sirens and an ambulance echoes across the hills and fields. Into the clearing, into their ears, short two people who might as well be a universe away for how useless Cora is.


    She heaves, slamming her fists into the wall of dirt.


    They were there, until they weren¡¯t.


    Gone, in the blink of an eye.


    ***


    She had hoped that the rescue effort succeeded. That she wasn¡¯t called to the police HQ to listen, but to see Joe and Sally walk into the waiting room, alive and untouched.


    Hours later, she stuffs her cold, bandaged hands between her legs, staring down at the piece of paper that is a declaration of truth. An admission, irrefutable, that Cora¡¯s hopes hadn¡¯t panned out.


    Of course they didn¡¯t. She can¡¯t cry. Not here, not now, not when she has to find out what happened. What was found, if anything was found at all.


    The woman in the gray suit taps her pen on the mahogany desk. Her coils of hair are glossy, untouched, and they frame a heart-shaped face worn with creases.


    At odds with Cora¡¯s bruised, scabbed face, hair shorn in one place where a rock clipped it, and her hands. Skin torn away where the rock had cut into her palms. Several fingernails broken, and a gash on the back of her hand where yet another rock had clipped her.


    And Sally had protected her. Thrown herself over her, knowing that the monster¨Cwhatever that thing is¨Cwas bearing down on them. Cora gulps, but the tight knot remains.


    ¡°We need you to tell us everything that happened.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not gonna believe anything I tell you. I told them, they didn¡¯t believe me.¡± A monster? A murderous monster? Seeping out of the walls with the body of an old man? Symptoms of shock. Post-traumatic stress disorder. Potential drug-induced hallucinations.


    They refused to believe. They said she was grieving, or processing things the way somebody gone mad would, remembering things that didn¡¯t really happen.


    Sally was dying because of that monster. Still, they didn¡¯t listen. That monster tricked a homeless man and devoured him. They didn¡¯t listen, either. They didn¡¯t say what they discovered after hauling rubble out of the mine for days.


    Only, ¡°Tell us what happened.¡±


    ¡°Take your time. This is a judgment-free zone. We understand if you can¡¯t.¡±


    Cora scowls. She wipes her sleeve over her eyes, dries up the corners and musters a glare that devolves into casting her eyes down, shoulders hunched. ¡°No, not that. It¡¯s just¡­ I learned half an hour ago that they never made it out.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°You know what?¡± Cora rises to her full height, which isn¡¯t much compared to the taller woman. Still, Cora draws back her shoulders and scowls. ¡°I¡¯m done here. If you don¡¯t want to believe me, fine. But I know what I saw. These cuts¨C¡± She gestures wildly at her face. ¡°I got them because of that thing. I¡¯m tired. I¡¯m going home.¡±


    At least the woman has the empathy to leave her alone. Cora wants to go home and scream into her pillow until she physically can¡¯t.


    Everybody stares at her as she exits the building. Nobody dares stop her. She steps into a world cast in monochrome. Raindrops splatter on the sidewalk. Thunder breaks out in the distance. Wind whips her hair around and leaves her cuts stinging in the cold¡¯s wake.


    The world is exactly the way she remembers it. The roads are immaculate. She passes the pothole her dad curses about every time they have to take that one road out of their neighborhood.


    Then, there¡¯s the side street looping into itself in a cul-de-sac. The cookie-cutter houses pushing into each other¡¯s spaces. Her house, two stories tall, centered behind the loop.


    And of course, another staple in her house: Mari. She¡¯s rocking back and forth on the hammock swinging chair, knees hugged to her chest. Only when Cora enters the driveway does she lift her head and give a timid wave.


    ¡°Cora¡­¡±


    She huffs and storms up the stairs. ¡°Go away.¡±


    ¡°Cora, I just wanted to talk to you about¨C¡±


    She slams her bandaged fist down on the railing. What comes out is more of a muffled thunk than the bang she expected, but Mari cringes. ¡°Fuck that. It¡¯s too late.¡± Cora stares at the gap between the porch and the house. In between that dark gap must exist a whole ecosystem. She imagines that¡¯s how the mine was.


    Isolated, at least in the deeper parts, with its very own apex predator at the top of the food chain. If that predator was a nightmarish force matching nothing she ever learned about.


    Sally and Joe¡­ she winces. She has to rub her eyes to stop them from tearing up again.


    ¡°You weren¡¯t there. I saw them. They¡¯re never coming back!¡±


    Mari stops rocking. She stands up and moves toward the mesh door. ¡°If you need me, just tell me.¡± She squeezes Cora¡¯s shoulder as she descends the steps out into the street.


    ¡°Wait, Mari,¡± Cora calls out. She whips around, hand fixing her hair behind her ear. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. You can come inside. We can work things out. Maybe help each other?¡±


    Mari offers a hint of a smile, shadowed by the frown lines etched into her forehead. ¡°Okay.¡±


    ***


    Cora¡¯s fingers shake as they waltz across the keyboard. Page after page of the mine incident pop up. Local news channels, mostly. A few bigger outlets, too, though the story there is verbatim what other major outlets reported on.


    But that¡¯s not what caught her attention. On some derelict internet forum, somebody made a post about what happened that night. Like usual, the information was sourced from one of the stupid news articles, and like usual, missing some pieces of information.


    Instead of Jose¡¯s van, they arrived in Sally¡¯s pickup truck. Instead of reporting a murdered man and a real monster lurking inside the mineshafts, the story was five drunk teens dared each other to enter the mine.


    What surprises her is the anonymous user who bothered commenting at all. The comment sends chills into Cora¡¯s core.


    Re: What REALLY happened in the recent mine collapse incident?


    Anonymous user, February 9, 20##, 03:32:09 a.m.


    Don¡¯t believe anything the media is saying. I was part of the investigative task force assembled to search for the missing teenagers. They assigned me to mark anything that could corroborate the official story as evidence. There was a presumably homeless person¡¯s belongings by the collapsed entrance. It was there where I had my first, and only, paranormal encounter. There was a bed, propane tank, clothes, and a box. Upon tagging the box, I saw a land wreathed in flames, and a dark shadow jumping from horizon to horizon.


    After letting go, I quickly finished tagging the rest and discovered I had burn wounds on my fingertips, the same hand that I tagged the box with. I explained the situation to my supervisor, but he blamed my wounds on propane igniting. To this day, I¡¯m certain that a supernatural force was there that night, and may have had something to do with why the missing teenagers were never recovered.


    Re: What REALLY happened in the recent mine collapse incident?


    arcing_thunder, February 10, 20##, 09:31:01 p.m.


    @anon no offense but you should read nosleep stories and creepypasta and learn how to structure a story


    Re: What REALLY happened in the recent mine collapse incident?


    Anonymous user, February 11, 01:58:31 a.m.


    @arcing_thunder It¡¯s true.


    Cora stares at the screen until the text blurs into indecipherable gibberish. Those details are too specific. She remembers the homeless man¡¯s belongings. There had been a box next to the propane tank.


    The lid had been cracked open. She¡¯d glanced over it back then, but that detail sticks out to her. Upon tagging the box, I saw a land wreathed in flames, and a dark shadow jumping from horizon to horizon. Coincidence, maybe.


    Or not. She types into the search box ¡°mine collapse¡± and ¡°box.¡± The same thread appears first on the list, and after that more repetitive news articles.


    That''s the single place that mentioned anything beyond the ¡°official narrative.¡± Her pulse quickens. She takes a picture of the comment and bookmarks the site.


    A box?


    That can¡¯t be it. But the commentator wrote about details that nobody else should know. She clicks on the name. Nothing registers.


    Her disappointment is short-lived. She needs an account. If she can¡¯t contact whoever was there during the rescue operation, then maybe they can contact her.


    Cracking her fingers, she starts sifting through webpages to reach the new user page.


    ***


    Mari¡¯s voice crackles through the phone speaker. Cora adjusts the volume and presses it to her ear. ¡°You want to go back to the mine? But I thought it was behind us.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s important.¡± With her free hand, she twists a lock of hair around her finger. ¡°I need this. Please. For my sake.¡±


    ¡°Okay. Do you wanna hang out at the mall after? I saw a cute shirt at Hollister.¡±


    Two months. Sixty-three days since they narrowly escaped a monster and a collapse. Mari¡¯s bouncing back quicker than Cora expects, gradually gluing together the pieces that fell apart that day.


    Cora, though, sees images flash in the corners of her eyes whenever she¡¯s alone. Monsters with peeling skin and serrated claws. Gusts of chilly wind and vibrations that crawl over her skin. Shadows that dart whenever she lifts her head from the computer and squints at the analog timer she sets for herself whenever she¡¯s diving deeper into paranormal topics.


    Hollister is so normal. She needs it. She wants it. But research awaits.


    ¡°No, I¡¯ll pass. We can go out tomorrow, though.¡±


    Through the phone, Cora can practically sense the disappointment radiating off Mari. She¡¯s probably scrunching up her nose, the way she does whenever she¡¯s frustrated. ¡°Okay, fine. What time do you want to go to the mine?¡±


    ¡°Whenever you¡¯re free. But we should hurry before it¡¯s night.¡±


    ¡°Got it.¡±


    ¡°I can¡¯t thank you enough. Thank¨C¡±


    Cora stares at the call ended screen. Mari¡¯s trying her best, she knows. She was the one who thought of new things to do, new places to visit, and Cora always tagged along.


    It was just the two of them. Still are the two of them. But she¡¯s aware of the rift forming between them. Is it her fault for shooting down practically every attempt Mari makes to get her to come out of the house? Mari¡¯s fault for leaving her to drown in her thoughts instead of listening?


    Together. We¡¯re not doing it alone, we¡¯re doing it together.


    They did. It worked out for a month, maybe a week on top of that, where they stuck to each other and took staggering steps toward the finish line of not being depressed as fuck and living like normal people.


    Mari cleared the finish line weeks ago. Cora¡¯s still floundering behind, dragged down by the visions and nightmares and seeing Joe and Sally in their final moments.


    I was there!


    And now she¡¯s not.


    Easy as that.


    The question of the box remains. Its whereabouts, and what horrors remain trapped inside.


    What she¡¯ll do with it once she finds it, she doesn¡¯t know. That¡¯s why she has so much time to find it. Test it. Trace its origins, mark down details, photograph and take video of it.


    She allows herself a rare smile. It¡¯s like Pandora¡¯s box. She doesn¡¯t expect to find anything at the mine, but it doesn¡¯t have to be the box or any item. What she wants to see are the environmental changes. The anonymous user said he¡¯d awoken with abnormally low body temperatures for weeks after the simple act of tagging the box.


    What other marks on the environment did the box leave? Ghostly imprints? Weird shapes? Mutated animals? Whatever.


    Then she can focus on finding out what happened to the box. But first, baby steps.


    ***


    Out of all the places in the world, they locked away the incomprehensible power of a universe inside a thrift shop.


    Not even a luxurious one. Its roof shingles look like a hurricane away from taking flight. Mold creeps along the stucco wall. A chipped bell hangs behind the smudged glass door. Graffiti marks are spread over the adjacent wall. A dumpster sits flush with the building, and it reeks.


    Mari plugs her nose and glares at Cora. ¡°You made me come all the way here for this?¡±


    She fans the air and takes a few steps back from the front door. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°A thrift shop? You wanted to go here?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s an antiques store¡­¡± Cora squints at the golden lettering under the store name. Closed Sunday. That wasn¡¯t what the Google search told her. She presses her fingers to the glass. ¡°No! It¡¯s closed.¡±


    Mari types for a few seconds. She grins and shows her phone to Cora. ¡°On the bright side, the theater¡¯s open.¡±


    Frowning, she pores over the list of movies available. Garbage, average, maybe that one¡¯s interesting. The last movie on the list catches her attention.


    ¡°Let me guess, you don¡¯t want to go,¡± Mari says, pocketing her phone.


    ¡°I bet twenty dollars that you won¡¯t watch that new horror movie with me.¡±


    She stares at her, suspicious. ¡°Since when¨C¡±


    ¡°Since today.¡± Cora takes Mari¡¯s hands and drags her toward her car. ¡°Movie. Now.¡±


    ***


    Against the backdrop of the waning sun, Cora stumbles out of the theater, head spinning, palms clammy. It¡¯s too bright out. She keeps her head ducked low and follows the sidewalk winding around the entire mall.


    No matter how much she begs, she knows Mari will refuse to drive tomorrow back to this place. It¡¯s over ten miles away, and even if they¡¯re trying to bond, she¡¯ll suggest somewhere else.


    Cora feels guilty. She left the movie halfway through. Mari hadn¡¯t questioned her, instead obsessing over the vampire that admittedly was pretty hot.


    One look back at the theater tells her everything.


    This will be worth it.


    Trees provide snatches of relief from the sun¡¯s searing might. Even as it sinks lower and lower into its cradle, the rays sting, and the baked paths radiate heat slithering over Cora¡¯s ankles.


    She¡¯s a sweaty mess by the time she passes the strip mall they drove past first. Several storefronts ahead, to the right¨Cthere. A Chick-Fil-A, also closed. There¡¯s a skip via the drive-thru, then the smelly dumpster.


    The thrift shop is so unremarkable. Bordering on decrepit, really, but who would guess that inside it is the strangest, most powerful object in the world.


    She only knew the scope of its power after she¡¯d returned to the mine. Mari had fussed over getting her shoes dirty and blabbered about how Cora needed to move on. She had focused on the imprint.


    A snake with legs that darted into the thick vegetation when Mari parked. Glass creeping up an old tree, although she accidentally discovered it when she threw a pinecone to test if anything felt off.


    A patch of purple soil. A bug that looked like a cross between a butterfly and some spiny shelled creature, dead in a bush. Mismatched rocks close to the mine entrance. Cora had lingered there, allowing herself to cry, just a little, before Mari hugged her and they trudged beyond it.


    At the site where the mattress had been, a weed sprouted that had silvery pink leaves and a golden trunk. That, even Mari noticed. She chalked it up to some rare species of plant that blew into the area, but Cora knew better.


    It all tied back to the box.


    Cora¡¯s no exception. She fingers the bobby pins in her pocket, then glances at the front door, padlocked. Google told her this type of lock should be easy to pick.


    She glances around. The parking lots are bare stretches of asphalt, littered with leaves, closed in by trees whose leafy tops hide her from the ascending hill where the mall is.


    ¡°Okay, you got this,¡± she murmurs, drying her fingers on her jeans. ¡°Easy.¡±


    Minutes later, Cora gasps as she pushes the final pin up. Her fingers burn. Her back hurts. Sweat trickles down her forehead, stinging her eyes, but the padlock falls away, and the door¡¯s open.


    She slips inside. The interior is surprisingly comfortable, sporting a wood finish and ceiling lights behind frosted glass. Racks of clothes are bunched up to one side of the store. To the right, paintings and old electronics sit on shelves or lie against them. At the very back, bookshelves take up nearly the whole wall.


    She goes from wall to wall, checking every space. There¡¯s more than enough garbage that makes her nose crinkle up. A few boxes sit among them, but they¡¯re metallic.


    Her hopes deflate. She checks the bookshelves, the clothing aisles, the furniture section, getting closer to the corner opposite of the entrance, where the bookshelves and furniture section clash.


    There¡¯s a glass table and a rocking chair beside it. Shelves hang in the corner, littered with picture frames and paperback books and vases.


    She checked everything.


    The box isn¡¯t here.


    ¡°Come on!¡± Cora paces back to the entrance where the cashier is at. Glass displays create a rhombus where the cashiers would be, leaving a gap in the corner where they can come and enter.


    She hadn¡¯t taken more than a cursory glance at each section, because the only things worth protecting are precious china, jewelry, and video games.


    But buried beneath heaps of jewelry, the box practically glitters in the shadows.


    Cora presses her hands to the cool glass. It¡¯s there, she can practically feel its power thrumming through the glass, promises of something incredible that can¡¯t be matched anywhere else in the world.


    So close, and yet so far. A blinking red light in the corner of her eye catches her attention. Several security cameras are mounted at the entrance, and several more in the back.


    Shit.


    They captured her face, her actions, her height, her clothes¨Ceverything. Probably backed up some place on the Internet where people like her can¡¯t destroy the evidence.


    ¡°Not like I¡¯m gonna be here forever, right?¡± she murmurs, rapping her fingers on the glass. ¡°Oh, well.¡± Her fingers close around an umbrella handle. The bottom is steel-capped, and it¡¯s folded, so she jabs the metal end into the glass.


    It shatters far more easily than she expected. Shards bounce off her jeans and shoes. Cora tenses, braced for the squeal of the alarm, preparing to snatch the box and run, but it never comes.


    She hesitates, hovering her hands over the box. ¡°Moment of truth,¡± she whispers, then picks it up.


    It is humming. Warm like a living thing, humming in her hands, the swirls on the wooden exterior brighten by several degrees. She rotates it, checking the bottom and back side. The same pattern is spread out, swirls and ribbons of gentle, pulsating light.


    The lid should be easy to crack open. Yet her fingers freeze when she touches it. Her racing thoughts slow to a creeping chill, starting at the base of her skull and traveling down to her feet.


    What is she doing here?


    The box¨C


    As suddenly as the wave of vertigo hits her, she leaves the box on top of the glass case and grabs onto the corner. Pain cuts through the vertigo and nausea, and she yanks her hand back. Blood wells from her palm, dripping on the ground.


    The box lights up the glass shards like a chandelier, tainted red with Cora¡¯s blood oozing freely.


    She has to get it out.


    Her body is not her own. She rips a blouse out of a clothes hanger and wraps it around her hand. It hurts, and her hand feels too wet, too warm, but the blouse stops the bleeding somewhat, a fashionable bandage.


    The box dims. Cora picks up the box and steps over the shards. The front security camera watches her with a cold, unblinking stare. It blinks red, and back to a glassy black, where it doesn¡¯t change color.


    Outside, a wave of humidity engulfs her. She struggles to suck in a breath, receiving air thick enough to choke her and the damp, earthy smell of wet earth.


    Thunder booms in the distance. Lightning crackles across clouds, menacingly gray. Gone is the sun that bathed the world in stifling heat. Gone is the mall, hidden behind a curtain of rain that pours in droves.


    Some distant instinct drives her forward. Beyond the edge of the shop¡¯s protruding ceiling, the world is drowning. Water streams down the parking lot, parting around trees, flooding a canal that rapidly approaches a river.


    Cora checks her phone. Two hours have passed. Half an hour ago, Mari sent six messages. The movie is three hours long, and Cora left somewhere what she thinks is the middle.


    It might be finished, it might be close to finishing. ¡°How?¡± Cora says in disbelief. She must¡¯ve spent fifteen minutes at most searching. Two hours borders on impossible.


    Then she remembers. She holds unimaginable power in her hands, and she¡¯s bleeding, wet, and trembling. One fuck-up and she might end up like the old man from the mine, or worse.


    What is she thinking? The box belongs elsewhere, to scientists or the government. Part of her still can¡¯t believe that the box exists at all.


    But it¡¯s in her hands. There¡¯s no denying the feeling of smooth wood, the faint strobes of light within the grains, the constant humming of power under her fingertips.


    Mari¡¯s car is somewhere out there, beyond the hazy curtain of rain. She parked near the entrance to the food court. Cora hesitates, looking back at the front door, chain and padlock dangling.


    Nobody will catch her when she¡¯s gone.


    ***


    One might expect the testing of a real, magical object, to happen in a magical setting. Bookshelves stuffed with ancient books, grimoires heaped on vast wooden desks, plush carpet to cushion the feet, creepy paintings of old people hung on old walls, a statue or two, a foreign skull, a fountain pen, a candle mounted on a silver plate, cats, heavy incense, and arcane writing written on parchment and yellowed papers to complete the set-up.


    Cora has none of those luxuries. She couldn¡¯t care less, though.


    Revolutionary. Scientist. Pioneer. Maybe a witch, if the Puritans found out. She grins from ear to ear, scribbling down the latest experimental results, hand aching, fingertips numb.


    Loops of messy script sprawl across the journal page. One page, two, three¨Cshe flips and writes, erases and annotates, punches numbers into her calculator and invokes half-remembered mathematical and scientific principles, combined with some quick Googling, to work out her theories.


    She teaches herself Faraday¡¯s law. Lenz¡¯s law. The basics of electromagnetism, just enough to realize that the box emits a constantly changing magnetic field of its own, inducing electricity in stationary loops of wire.


    Forever. And ever. And ever. A miniature version of Earth¡¯s magnetic field, but forever. She measures it using an ammeter. The readings change second by second, hour past hour. Several weeks into her set-up, Cora still can¡¯t figure out any patterns in the data.


    Her eyes burn. Her hand cramps. Her legs are jittery from gulping a large cup of coffee. This is real magic, and she reserved a spot for it on her bedstand, with a sticky note plastered at the top that reads, DO NOT TOUCH!


    Her security could be tighter, sure. She could get out more, too, hang out with Mari or eat dinner with her parents.


    But it¡¯s all so mundane. None of it is real magic.


    Real magic that she intends to study, and maybe even use.


    Cora plugs her headphones into her laptop and loses herself in the punchy beats, quick vocals, and bass of rock and metal throbbing through the speakers. Her hand dances across the page, circling numbers and underlining annotations, drawing lines from one side of a page to another.


    Clocks age slower within a two-foot bubble radius around the box. Objects she weighs on her precision balance weigh less, sometimes by as much as 50%. Last week, she¡¯d tested her weight beside the box, and within seconds she felt lighter, somehow, like her bones became hollow and she shed a good thirty pounds.


    Iron fillings slither like snakes, never content with following a static magnetic field. Ink smears over paper. Flames combust green, yet are cool to the touch. Plants lose their green, then wither and die, unless she takes them outside, where they regain their color and liven up.


    Something to do with chlorophyll and absorption of green light, Cora notes.


    She¡¯s too busy jamming to the music blasting through her headphones to notice the door creaking open. Not until somebody taps her shoulder.


    ¡°What!¡± She whirls around, ready to yell at her parents to please knock, when she realizes who entered. She purses her lips and pauses her playlist, takes off her headphones, and slings them around her neck.


    ¡°Ben?¡± Cora splutters, face reddening. She flips her notebook closed and sets her pencil down. ¡°Why are you here?¡± She pushes past him and steps into the hallway, scanning down its length. ¡°Mari?¡±


    Mousy-haired, spectacle-rimmed, pallid Ben shakes his head. ¡°She, uh, left. I don¡¯t know why.¡±


    Cora sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. ¡°Okay, that¡¯s fine, whatever. But why are you here?¡±


    Something akin to defiance sparks in his icy blue eyes. Weird, to see his eyebrows furrow like that, weirder still for his pale lips to twist into irritation. ¡°Because of this?¡± He waves his arms around. ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re doing here, but we¡¯re worried about you.¡±


    ¡°Worried?¡±


    ¡°Cora, Mari told me you¡¯ve been acting weird. I want to know why.¡±


    She stares at him. ¡°Everything¡¯s fine.¡± She follows Ben¡¯s gaze to her copper loops, her precision balance, and her loose leaf notes she forgot to stuff into her journal. Beyond a pile of candy wrappers and energy drink cans, a heap of clothes rises like a mountain over her bed. She bristles, putting herself between her mess and his judging sight. ¡°I promise, this is just how I like to keep my room, okay?¡±


    His eyes shift a fraction of a degree. ¡°Hey, what¡¯s that?¡± He points at the box. Cora bites on her tongue the moment she realizes it¡¯s going through one of its relapses. The moment it throbs a golden wave, iridescent and slow to encapsulate its wooden grains. A whorl of light diffuses from the top and seeps into wooden grains, an action potential unlocking channels of magic and coloring each grain a blazing gold. The effect lasts a few seconds, briefly outshining her desk lamp, before fading.


    ¡°Woah, what was that?¡±


    Cora shrugs. ¡°I dunno. Probably just you.¡±


    He stares at the box again, but just as she theorized, his eyes glaze over, synapses erasing and reforming beneath a magical influence. ¡°Wait, what?¡±


    ¡°You just stopped talking. Are you okay?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. I feel funny.¡± Ben touches his forehead, as if expecting the skin to peel off and skull to cave under his probing finger. ¡°I think I¡¯m getting a headache. I knew I should¡¯ve eaten breakfast.¡±


    Cora grabs him by the shoulder and gently steers him toward the door. ¡°It¡¯s okay. We can talk later.¡± Once she passes the door, she shuts it, then leads him to her kitchen. ¡°Want to grab anything before you go?¡±


    ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll take a granola bar.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t relax until he¡¯s out the door. Once she closes the front door and locks it, she slumps against it, hugging her knees to her chest. Her trembles are getting worse. Too many sleepless nights and close brushes to discovering the truth is tanking her health.


    Or maybe she¡¯s becoming a monster.


    ***


    ¡°Cora?¡± Mari¡¯s voice has never sounded so timid. Robbed of its strength, its conviction, reduced to a plea. ¡°Can I come in?¡±


    Cora stifles a groan. She stretches, cracking her spine, before turning the knob and finding Mari with her arms crossed. In the deadly heat of summer, she¡¯s wearing denim shorts, a crop top, and a pair of Converse. In the chilled quarters of her room, Cora wears a set of baggy pajamas, a hair clip to keep her bangs out of her face, and that¡¯s it. Her toes sink into her plush carpet. Not even socks.


    Mari scowls. ¡°Okay, Cora, this isn¡¯t funny anymore.¡±


    Cora yawns, then stuffs her fist into her mouth, forcing the rest downward. ¡°What are you talking about?¡±


    ¡°You spend so much time here.¡± Mari gnaws on her lip. She reaches out, then hesitates, eyes glistening. ¡°I¡¯m worried about you. Your parents, too.¡±


    ¡°This¨Cit¡¯s important, okay?¡± Cora takes a step back into the cool comfort of her room. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. I¡¯m not in the mood to talk right now.¡±


    ¡°Cora!¡±


    ¡°Maybe later. I don¡¯t feel like talking.¡±


    Mari glares at her, but her eyes are tearing up. She clenches her hands into fists and chokes out a single sob before storming down the hallway toward the front door.


    Too far. Cora pinches herself. She¡¯s gone too far. ¡°Mari, wait!¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to talk anymore, fine.¡± She huffs and yanks the door open. One hand rises to wipe at her eyes. ¡°I¡¯m not in the mood to talk right now.¡±


    ¡°Wait, Mari, I¡¯m sorry¨C¡±


    But the last image Cora gets to see is her smoldering grief before she slams the door shut behind her.


    This time, Cora stays rooted to her spot until she hears Mari¡¯s car rumble to life and pull out of the driveway. She slams the gas and roars into the street, leaving behind the echo of her sob.


    For the first time in months, long after the mine collapsed, long after she thought the box healed her wounds, Cora cries.


    ***


    Cora¡¯s burning her bridges left and right with gasoline and a match. One survives. It¡¯s built out of steel and reinforced concrete, only the fire burns so hot and so bright the steel warps, and she¡¯s on fire herself.


    Her insides roil with disgust. She stares down at the best friend she once had, this artifact of a bygone era.


    ¡°You¡¯re unbearable!¡± Mari screams into Cora¡¯s face, her words burbling acid.


    ¡°This is important! Why do you think I didn¡¯t tell you before? Because you would¡¯ve ruined all of my work!¡±


    ¡°Fuck that! And fuck you! You used me, you sick¡­ ugh. Argh!¡± Mari¡¯s fist slams into the wall. Cora jumps, her lips drawing back in a snarl, all those months of brewing bitterness surging to the surface.


    ¡°It¡¯s important and you just don¡¯t wanna listen!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t wanna listen?¡± Mari flicks her middle finger out. ¡°Fuck you! You used me! You lied to me!¡± Her voice cracks. She scowls and trembles with barely suppressed rage, eyes burning holes into Cora¡¯s own. ¡°You made me think we had a chance at being normal again!¡±


    Cora blinks away the stinging sensation building on her eyes. Mari really should¡¯ve left her alone. ¡°You¡¯re the one who took me to the fucking mine!¡±


    ¡°You chose to go. I took you to the party! I offered my fucking car to you!¡± Mari glares at her, and Cora glares back. She juts her chin out, the same way she always does, to let Mari know that no, there is no winning this argument. Mari suddenly goes still. ¡°Know what? I¡¯m tired of your shit.¡±


    Cora growls, ¡°Then leave! Why the fuck are you here?¡± Mari squares her shoulders. She grits her teeth, hand clenching into a fist. ¡°Hey, back off¨C¡±


    Mari swings her fist into the wall. Cora puts herself between the box and Mari. The bridge is melting. It eats through her hands and coats her nerves in liquid agony. ¡°You can still help me. It¡¯s not too late.¡±


    ¡°Help?¡± Mari laughs, the notes shrill. ¡°After everything? You left me!¡± Her face is red, teeth bared. ¡°All for this stupid thing that¡¯s just a fucking fantasy you¡¯ve deluded yourself into believing!¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fucking real!¡± Now Cora looms over Mari. She takes several steps until her back is against the wall, cowering under Cora¡¯s heaving body. ¡°I had to do this. Don¡¯t you get it? It¡¯s real. Fucking. Magic.¡±


    ¡°No shit it¡¯s real!¡± Mari moves forward, and it¡¯s Cora¡¯s turn to retreat, locking eyes with her. ¡°What do you think it¡¯ll get you? You could¡¯ve told me about it. You could¡¯ve told Ben. You could¡¯ve told your parents. You think it¡¯ll fix what happened that night, right? Well, guess what. They¡¯re never coming back.¡±


    Cora can¡¯t help it. She laughs, dry and bitter, sick of herself, sick of this world, so limited and constricted, obeying rules that only lead to hardships and misery. ¡°I didn¡¯t do this for them.¡±


    Mari stops. She licks her lips and glares at her. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I know what it does now. It can take me to different worlds.¡±


    For the briefest of moments, Mari sinks back to her peaceful spirit, renouncing her frown, softening her scowl. Then she moves.


    Cora''s head snaps back before her reeling mind can comprehend the situation. Her cheek pulses painfully. Mari¡¯s face fills up her vision, glaring and angry.


    ¡°You selfish, evil, stupid, cruel piece of shit. You were going to leave and never come back? That¡¯s why you treated me like shit?¡±


    Cora¡¯s head jerks aside. Knuckles slam into her cheek, stunning her. ¡°Fuck you!¡± Mari is tearing up again. She raises her trembling fist again, fully crying now, cheeks stained wet. ¡°Fuck you!¡±


    Cora doesn''t mean it. She swears. Her fingers curl and she swings with her body weight behind it.


    Crack.


    Mari stumbles backward. Blood dribbles down her lip, gushing from a nose that¡¯s no longer neatly symmetrical, askew and rapidly swelling where Cora¡¯s knuckles struck. Cora stares at her shaking hand, and she opens her mouth, but nothing comes out except a whimper and an apology that doesn''t make it past the first syllable before Mari slams her into the wall.


    ¡°You monster,¡± she seethes, before turning away and collapsing over Cora¡¯s bed, touching her face. Her blanket is stained red. Cora¡¯s fingers are red. She unzips her backpack and cleans off her hand on a cloth she carries inside it.


    ¡°You made me do this,¡± she chokes out. She has to breathe out the last syllable, throat tight, flexing her hand and unable to pull her eyes away from Mari, broken and defeated, touching her nose as blood drips, drips, drips past her fingers. ¡°I didn¡¯t want to hurt you.¡±


    Mari raises her head and lunges.


    Cora is too slow. She raises her arms and slides into a defensive stance, but she barely shifts her legs when Mari slams her head into her chest. Cora staggers, breath knocked out of her, flailing for purchase before Mari slams her into the ground.


    ¡°Fuck you!¡± she wails, battering her fists on Cora¡¯s chest. ¡°Fuck you!¡±


    She lurches and shoves Mari backward. Her back connects with the bed stand, knocking the box out of position. ¡°No!¡± Cora pushes past Mari and races to catch the box, teetering at the edge of the bed stand. Mari wraps her arms around Cora¡¯s waist and tackles her.


    ¡°I¡¯m sick of you!¡±


    Cora is too far. She can¡¯t reach. ¡°Mari, the box!¡±


    Too late.


    It tilts, brighter than a star, and plummets a short, momentous distance to her carpet.


    One thud. A cessation in movement. Momentum sending the box forward. Its lid yawning wide open, pointed straight at them, blazing with light and color, raw potential that doesn¡¯t hesitate to claim them.


    The last thing Cora remembers is being squished against Mari before the ocean of light that follows drowns out their screams.

 16 - Antara

    ¡°I just wanna¨C¡±


    ¡°If you do what I say, this will end soon.¡±


    ¡°Come on, it''ll be quick!"


    ¡°Not now. I need you to answer a few questions.¡±


    ***


    Pain.


    Its existence has governed Cora¡¯s every waking moment since the box spat her out like some regurgitated toxin. Day and night, night and day, there hasn¡¯t been a moment where she isn¡¯t plagued by aches, throbs, and stabs.


    Pain.


    It drives her forward, the pain of loss and want, once her leash leading her across the vast, merciless forest, hoping for a breakthrough, only to realize she understands nothing.


    Pain.


    It¡¯s her collar, her chains, her cuffs. She can¡¯t think without the pleading of her broken body, begging for care, for rest she can¡¯t afford.


    Pain.


    It throbs and it dulls and it brightens and it dims and it becomes her.


    Her body rejects her. Reality rejects her. The apparition rejects her.


    Pain welcomes her.


    Consciousness whirls and slams into her pounding skull at the speed of pain. Her ringing ears register faint screams, but it can¡¯t be her, because her vocal cords are torn, and she can¡¯t manage more than a wispy hiss. Cora coughs and spits out blood, along with globs of mucus and the few contents her ravaged stomach disgorged into her throat.


    For a long moment, she hovers at the edge of lucidity, wracked with trembles. Did she die? Was everything just a sickening dream?


    But then she realizes she¡¯s standing on ground soft beneath her feet. The air is warm, reminding her of summers spent lounging by the ocean, basking in sunlight, absorbing the sea breezes caressing her face.


    This world cradles her broken body. It soothes her with gentle shafts of sunlight streaming through¡­ through¡­ Cora rubs her eyes. Blinks away residues of blood tainting her sight.


    For a moment, she¡¯s lost in the beauty of this world.


    Beneath the shadow of a mushroom big enough to blot out the sky, dangling from the concave space of its reddish, white-spotted cap, massive folds of vibrating tissues shed purple mist. Light twinkles within the mist, brightening as each puff of mist sinks toward the forest floor.


    Oh, but it¡¯s not a forest, is it?


    Millions of mushrooms crowd every available inch of ground. Long mushrooms, fat mushrooms, tall mushrooms, and squat mushrooms grow into each other. Within the darker shadows near the base of the colossal mushroom, thousands of fist-sized mushrooms glow blues and purples. Tree-like mushrooms spread further out into the distance, near the rim of the colossal mushroom cap, branches curving upward into ends budding tiny, bright pink spores.


    Gold, purple, and blue hazes drift everywhere. The smell of faint cinnamon brings her back to simpler times, safer times, when she curled up on the couch with Mari and watched silly cartoon shows.


    They all had their own worlds. Their own landscapes. Picturesque dreams she dreamt of late at night, curled around Mari, imagining them becoming explorers, visiting all those strange, fantastic lands and bringing back stories of endless wonder.


    What happened? Mari is supposed to be here. Cora touches her cheeks. An ugly sob forms deep in her throat. Her lip quivers.


    Useless. Liar. Selfish.


    She welcomes the pain and curls into herself. Doing the right thing¡­ she hiccups. Mari always took charge. Whatever she did, Cora usually followed, because everything Mari did seemed perfect. She reflected that in her academics, her extracurriculars, her sports, while Cora was the loner trailing behind her shadow.


    And it was okay, because Mari was the best friend anybody could ask for. Until Cora dared rebel against the status quo. Until she dared push herself to her limits to trace the box, research it, and experiment on it, by sacrificing everything and everyone around her.


    Nothing but disaster. Betrayal and heartbreak. She can¡¯t do anything right. Everything she touches unravels.


    And now, Liam and Callista are missing.


    Cora¡¯s stomach is lead as she heaves herself onto legs made of jelly and limps in a wide circle. She tackled Liam, and he had slammed into Callista, so why aren¡¯t they together?


    Cora clenches her teeth. She refuses. She¡¯ll break every bone and bleed every last drop if it means she¡¯ll find them.


    Faint screams start again. She pauses, glancing at the biggest mushrooms swaying in a gentle wind. Another brief scream draws out, but she¡¯d recognize that voice anywhere.


    Far, far above, enveloped within puffs of purple particles, a tiny figure clings to the side of the skyscraper-sized stalk. One arm waves at her.


    Callista?


    Cora waves back, wincing as her shoulder muscles protest. Callista starts a slow descent down the stalk, using her boots and claws to dig handholds and footholds. Within minutes, she¡¯s halfway down the stalk, close enough to hear her panting.


    ¡°Liam is over there!¡±


    Even with the amplified power of her magic, her voice comes out tinny against the perpetual ringing in Cora¡¯s ears. She follows Callista¡¯s outstretched arm toward several tall, fat mushrooms, bigger than houses.


    Sure enough, a second figure sits at the edge of a giant mushroom, waving back. The drop is vast, with nothing to cushion his fall save for a carpet of tiny brown mushrooms.


    Even Callista can¡¯t hope to jump that height. Maybe she could climb the stalk, but then the cap would block her. And if it¡¯s anything like the mushy mushrooms back home, the moment she tries to climb along its underside or punch her way to the top, the surface will crack and Liam will fall.


    Cora plunges into her metaphysical self.


    The box¡¯s limitless energy healed most of her wounds, but her bones are still fractured, muscles strained, ligaments sprained. She¡¯s both in that intangible realm and in reality, aware that her body is convulsing. Her shackles of pain are gone, though. She¡¯s free to move and touch what she needs to manipulate the earth.


    But where the gears should be, there¡¯s nothing usable. She roves her metaphysical eyes over the ground. The systems are there in their mechanical glory, but inert, refusing to respond even as she bangs her fists on their rusted structures.


    ¡°Move!¡± she cries out, digging her fingernails into the gears. ¡°Move!¡±


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    The system rejects her, and she¡¯s spat out of her body, out of the realm, back into the real world.


    Cora twitches, every muscle set aflame, spit drooling out of her slack lips, fingers jammed into her palms. Never mind her broken wrist¨Cits agony can¡¯t compare to the dozens of simultaneous cramps that seize her.


    She lays there, a twitching mass of raw flesh, for what feels like hours, dragging at her sanity. What is sanity nowadays? Sanity requires a baseline level of normalcy defined by human standards, and she¡¯s anything but human, invoking magic at the cost of her body.


    Her back arches. She drools into the carpet of mushrooms, insensible, eyes glazed over as the last of her cramps passes. Maybe she is still human. Humans feel guilt and regret, don¡¯t they?


    Footsteps thud behind her. With the flourish that Callista always carries herself with, she crouches beside Cora, silent save for her heavy panting. Cora cries, letting Callista cradle her like a baby. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re okay,¡± she sobs, shivering violently. ¡°Liam needs you more than me.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t say that. You¡¯ve done enough for us.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve done nothing. I¡¯m a failure. I¡¯m a traitor. I could¡¯ve saved her and I didn¡¯t.¡±


    To that, Callista doesn¡¯t answer immediately, rubbing Cora¡¯s back, tucking her close to herself. ¡°You didn¡¯t know you had the gift of earth until you almost died.¡±


    ¡°Exactly!¡± Cora sobs again, wailing like the big, useless baby she is to everybody. ¡°I¡¯m a traitor! She might¡¯ve died and it didn¡¯t make me learn how to do all that. Only when I almost died did I learn how to do that.¡± She snorts back her mucus. ¡°I want to be a better person, but I can¡¯t. I fuck everything up.¡±


    Callista rubs Cora¡¯s shoulders. ¡°That is not true.¡±


    ¡°It is! I¨C¡±


    ¡°You are the sum of your actions. And as far as I know, you saved our lives. Does that not count?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡±


    ¡°Cora. Look at me.¡± She does, compelled by Callista¡¯s stern tone, only to recoil away from her blazing purple eyes. ¡°Do you understand? We would not be here if you hadn¡¯t sacrificed yourself to save us. We would be digesting in the bowels of those creatures. Because of you, we have another chance.¡±


    Cora nods, teary-eyed.


    ¡°Say it. You are not a traitor.¡±


    ¡°But Mari¨C¡±


    ¡°Say it.¡± Callista¡¯s grip tightens ever so slightly. She cups Cora¡¯s chin and glances into her eyes. ¡°Or I will make you.¡±


    Cora¡¯s heart jumps to her throat. ¡°I am not a traitor.¡± She gulps and nods, palms clammy, mouth dry, as Callista bows her head in acknowledgement and gently separates from Cora.


    ¡°What was that?¡± She can¡¯t bring herself to look at Callista again. She hunches her shoulders and picks at a broken mushroom, rolling its stalk between her thumb and index finger.


    Callista licks her lips, crossing her arms. ¡°Don¡¯t think too hard about it.¡± Callista turns toward the series of staggered mushrooms, the tallest on which Liam is standing on, his giant frame reduced to an ant. ¡°Liam, are you ready?¡±


    He waves his arms. Cora swears he flashes a thumbs-up.


    Before Callista generates enough muscular force to blow a crater into the mushroom field, Cora grabs her by the shoulder. ¡°Wait.¡±


    Wasted potential throbs down her legs and spasms her muscles. She grimaces, standing strong even as her body rejects her power. ¡°What happened?¡±


    ¡°Can you reach?¡± Cora cranes her neck up to estimate the distance. Too high. If Callista fails, the drop alone might kill her, magically enhanced muscles or not.


    ¡°I¡¯ll climb it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I was worrying about.¡± Who knows how many mushrooms Cora toppled after weeks of heavy rain, flattening them beneath her feet, or throwing pine cones at each one that sprouted overnight. ¡°Mushrooms are delicate.¡±


    ¡°Mushrooms? Delicate?¡± Callista squints, turning around. Then she focuses on their feet, and the many mushrooms quashed into mushy pulp.


    ¡°Do you not have mushrooms back in your world?¡±


    ¡°In Endralova?¡± For a moment, Callista wavers, her eyes briefly flickering, biceps shortening. ¡°I don¡¯t know what mushrooms are. These are mushrooms?¡±


    ¡°Everything here is mushrooms.¡± It might be her imagination, but Cora swears that beyond the finger-like fungi reaching out of the ground, tree-like organisms, and rolling hills dotted with tiny mushrooms, several faint dome-shaped outlines consume the horizon. More mushrooms? ¡°They¡¯re kind of like plants, but not plants. They¡¯re not as strong.¡±


    ¡°If I climb it, it¡¯ll break.¡± Callista chews on her bottom lip. Suddenly, she snaps her head toward Liam and releases a fresh wave of magical potential altering her muscles and thickening them. ¡°Liam, jump! I¡¯ll catch you.¡±


    He peeks his head over the edge and shakes his head. ¡°You¡¯re insane.¡±


    Cora dredges up years of physics lessons, distilled into the late night academic papers she pored over, mixing scraps of information into an approximate understanding of the natural laws.


    So much for physics. Einstein would have rolled over in his grave if he found out that the box bent space-time in ways no star ever could.


    But one idea leads to another, and she rapidly integrates those lessons into Callista¡¯s plan, and suddenly she understands.


    ¡°The whiplash will kill him,¡± she says, screwing her eyes shut as pain stabs into her eye sockets. ¡°You can probably catch him, but he¡¯ll decelerate so fast he¡¯ll die.¡±


    ¡°Decelerate?¡± Callista is hesitant, glancing at the towering mushroom again.


    ¡°He¡¯ll get flattened into a pancake.¡± Callista still has a blank look, so Cora gestures at the ground and slams her palm on a mushroom. It splits beneath her hand and spreads out. ¡°He¡¯ll end up like that. You can catch me, though. I can help.¡±


    ¡°Cora, no.¡±


    But Callista¡¯s disapproval falls on bleeding ears. Cora slips through cracks in that metaphysical realm and claims control over her ethereal self. The wounds are worse, registering as faint twinges on some level of existence beyond mere physical flesh.


    She reaches for the gears. They¡¯re red-hot to the touch, searing her fingertips, metal molten. She hisses and retreats, clutching her burnt and peeling fingers to her chest.


    She did it once, she can do it again.


    Cora jams both hands into the gearwork. Heat cooks her hands. One by one, her fingers burn off, or nerves shut down, or bones wither away. She slaps uselessly at the gears with her cauterized stumps for wrists, only for the flames to melt deeper, exposing her radius and ulna arm bones.


    ¡°Come on!¡± she howls, jamming her feet into the gears. She manages to move them the tiniest fraction of a degree before flames race up her body. A warm, heavy feeling settles on her, and several sharp jabs of pain follow that quickly turn painless.


    ¡°Come on!¡±


    The flames lap at her throat. She slams her head into the gears, only for the metal to stick to her skull and burn a path into her brain. The heat is starting to settle as a dull ache, throbbing everywhere. Warmth concentrates and envelops her, burning brighter and hotter, refusing to let her go even as she stumbles away from the gears, set ablaze.


    She snaps back into reality screaming and thrashing.


    ¡°Cora!¡±


    Callista¡¯s voice booms like an artillery shot. Cora convulses against arms and legs made of steel. She can¡¯t feel anything except pain, magnified a hundred-fold, claiming every nerve in her body.


    Around them, sections of earth shudder and rise, short-lived pillars and spikes that quickly collapse into mounds of dirt. Mushrooms are uprooted, their mycelium networks tangled around cores of levitating dirt that spear upward into the colossal mushroom cap. Holes tear open far above, the great fleshy folds torn, bleeding gusts of purple mist.


    Liam, however, leaps from core to core, like a video game character racing toward the final boss. Several times, he missteps and falls, only to be caught on several pillars that crumble seconds after.


    Cora¡¯s screams reduce to nothing but a hiss of air. She chokes on her own blood, spitting out the sinking taste of iron, only to cough and lurch again. Callista holds her, tilting her whenever she coughs up blood, shouting a string of undecipherable words.


    She breaks beneath the pain. No human should ever endure such extreme agony. Several times, she blacks out, only to regain consciousness vomiting and choking on her own bodily fluids.


    The cycle repeats. She wants to die. She wants to live. She wants to die, sink into that crushing oblivion, where she¡¯ll be free. She wants to plunge back into that metaphysical realm to spare her from the agony, but her ruined mind grasps at a blank wall, like it never existed in the first place.


    Sometime later, as the earth quiets and mushrooms rain around them, Cora stops convulsing. Words are exchanged between Liam and Callista. They carry her, or try to, only to lose their grip as burst blood vessels leave her slick and hard to carry.


    Cora moans, silently crying, cowering under the pain stabbing into her skull all at once.


    ¡°She¡¯s dying, do you¨C¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t just¨C¡±


    ¡°Then what do we do?¡±


    Then they fall quiet. They loom over the pitiful, twitchy mess she¡¯s made of herself. Her bowels and bladder failed. She stinks of piss, shit, and blood, smeared in her own fluids, broken on a fundamental level that throbs deep in her core, beyond her ruined body. Into that ethereal plane, the ether, the place she went too far, for too long.


    Are they going to leave her?


    Something changes. The sound of others, intruders, enemies, approaches from everywhere, their footfalls heavy. Aches stab her organs. Several shriek when she weakly pokes at the source of the aches.


    The Transients came for them after all, and she¡¯s dying.


    The shouts of alarm and danger that follow blur into shrieking feedback. Within the confines of Cora¡¯s hemorrhaged brain tissue, a certain presence stretches its awareness and grazes her cheek.


    The parasite carries its own weight, its own field of gravity, and Cora can¡¯t do anything but get drawn in and listen, focusing her dimming awareness on it.


    In a rasping voice that slithers across neurons, it speaks.


    Do you need me?

 17 - Elem

    ¡°I didn¡¯t do it.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s bullshit!¡±


    ¡°I swear, I dunno what you¡¯re talking about. Jaze always gets me the best dope.¡±


    ¡°Wrong answer.¡±


    ***


    Trapped in a cage of pain of her own making, all bodily control shunted off, festering in her own filth, Cora is so much less than the girl that defied the parasite¡¯s demands.


    The shouts abruptly stop. The air chills to a standstill. She can move, but barely just, whimpering as she cradles her broken wrist, shrinking beneath the eyes of an entity that hovers an arm¡¯s length away.


    Shadows blur the edges of its profile. For the moment, it¡¯s a ghost, trailing on the edges of her worst fears, a gaunt specter of her guilt manifested into a physical entity.


    It doesn¡¯t help that its back is hunched over, head bowed, arms bent at just the wrong angles to suggest serious injuries. Its face is turned away, obscured behind a veil of black, reinforced with a hoodie drawn tight over its head. The only indicator it¡¯s still human is the shriveled pinky finger poking out of the heavy folds of its black dress.


    ¡°I need you,¡± Cora whispers, struggling to keep herself from splintering into pieces. The parasite is still. ¡°But I don¡¯t want you.¡±


    Slowly, too slowly, it turns. A stranger¡¯s face stares back, impassive. A sharp nose, high cheekbones, and sunken eye bags frame a pair of the bluest, clearest eyes she¡¯s ever seen. They twinkle like ice crystals suspended in syrupy darkness.


    You will let me in, it¨Cshe¨Csays, her voice cool and low. And then you will rest.


    ¡°I can still fight.¡± But beyond the sphere of influence the parasite exerts, the outside world is a bloody smear of details. Vague blobs define the newcomers, the soldiers Cora is certain have come to fight them. No matter how hard she squints, the resolution is the same, a static image on a screen she knows is how her biological eyes saw them the moment the parasite answered.


    Please. Be realistic. Your allies are surrounded, you are at near death, and if they capture you before you slip from this cruel existence, oh¡­ She smiles, a twist of her lips that reeks of smug superiority. You will regret not killing yourself first.


    ¡°What are you?¡±


    I am me, and I am here.


    Cora works her jaw, then spits out a glob of bloody mucus. ¡°Did you live in the box the whole time?¡±


    Does a bear shit in the woods and pick up eager colonists? The parasite steps forward and strokes Cora¡¯s hair. She reaches to push her off, but finds her arms locked to her chest, tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, silently seething as the parasite fawns over her. You are quite bright, but quite short-sighted as well. Have you ever known what a comb is?


    Her tongue releases, and she spits out, ¡°Shut the fuck up. You try living like I did with nothing for weeks!¡±


    You had something. Do Liam and Callista not count?


    ¡°Don¡¯t say their names!¡±


    I can say their names whenever and wherever I want. The parasite lowers her slender arm. Manicured hands cup Cora¡¯s chin, tilting her head up to meet the parasite¡¯s blazing blue eyes. I see.


    Cora scowls, jerking her head away. Her heart pounds, throat tight, as she remembers Callista¡¯s stern expression. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    Letting you know that I, too, care about you in more ways than one. The parasite floats away, rotating sideways, clasping her hands behind her back. You will let me in, and you will rest.


    ¡°I told you, I don¡¯t want¨C¡±


    Cora¡¯s ears pop. She gets one second of precious warning to brace herself before she slumps into an agonized stupor.


    Several people shuffle by her fallen body. Liam and Callista? Shouts reach her, indecipherable, punctuated with angry outbursts from other sources, some higher-pitched, others low and gravelly, deep enough to cut through the feedback.


    Cora tries to reach into the ether, only to be shot back into her skull, bouncing around the confines of distorted sanity, eyes rolling to the back of her head. She shudders. Her broken wrist flops uselessly, weeks of steady progress snapped in hours. Her other hand twitches, unresponsive, the tendons set aflame and her muscles too sore to defy gravity.


    She can¡¯t see. Can¡¯t hear. Can¡¯t do anything, trapped in crippling pain, left to die choking on her own blood.


    The sounds stop. The parasite materializes over her raked chest, floating face-down, arms poised at her sides. Black sleeves rustle the edges of her wounds, prompting her to gasp, biting hard on her tongue. Those cold orbs of ice stare impassively at her.


    It¡¯s time.


    ¡°No!¡± Cora tears up. A heavy congestion settles inside her ruined insides. Somehow, in this slice of frozen time, she musters enough force to sit up and slam her good hand into the parasite¡¯s face. ¡°No! I don¡¯t care! I did it once, I can do it again!¡±


    Don¡¯t deny reality, Cora.


    ¡°Why are you acting like that!¡± she screams, swinging her fist at the parasite¡¯s nose. She disappears and reappears when Cora swings her arm back. ¡°Why are you¡­ oh.¡±


    Maybe the parasite comprehended human psychology in the short time it inhabited her brain. Cora had endured weeks of relentless verbal abuse, chalking it to trauma, to hallucinations born out of the desperate need to convince herself Mari was okay. Cora was torn down, laid bare for the world to see, and scooped up when she needed help, only to reject the parasite in the end.


    It failed.


    ¡°Fool me once, shame on you.¡± Cora giggles, a mad stream of clarity erasing her doubts, as the pieces crash together. ¡°Fool me twice, shame on me.¡± She snorts and spits out more bloody mucus. ¡°You can¡¯t do anything at all, can you? You¡¯re in my head, but I¡¯m in control, not you.¡±


    The parasite is still, eyes blank, lips settled into a straight line.


    ¡°You haven¡¯t tortured me because you can¡¯t, can you? The only thing you can do is emotional manipulation.¡± Cora grins, panting, as she races to catch her breath. ¡°I don¡¯t know how you stop time like this, or how you killed that mutant, but you can¡¯t hurt me. I know you can¡¯t.¡±


    She gets no warning this time.


    Shouts of alarm drown her thoughts out. Pain punches into her like a bullet, traveling from head to toe. It steals her breath away, her focus, drowns her smug happiness and encapsulates every cell, clawing at her nerve connections.


    Then everything freezes. The world glazes over. She gasps, curling into a tight ball, tears watering her eyes. She gets just enough time to inhale a single breath before time resumes and pain slams into her again.


    Pause. Pain. Pause. Pain. Pause. Pain.


    In the slices of frozen time, she screams. In the slices of reality, stuttering forward like a badly burnt cinema film, she thrashes. She¡¯s yanked in a tug-of-war between two pockets of existence, breaking apart, flaying open atom by atom, soaking in salty water and being thrown into a fire.


    Over. And over. And over. And over.


    Cora laughs. She cries. She groans. She sobs. The periods grow shorter, until the pain strikes her all at once like a whip, hundreds of times per second, but lagging just enough to hurt the same¨C


    Every. Single. Time.


    Her thoughts disassemble. She rides a tsunami of blinding agony down into the winding streets of her neighborhood. Her mom pours rubbing alcohol on her skinned knee. Mari rubs Cora¡¯s knotted shoulders, jabbing her thumbs into the bunched-up muscles that ache at the slightest change of air. Cora runs the tap to wash away the bloody mess welling from her bitten tongue. Her dad smears ointment on the back of her hand where her spilled coffee burned her.


    Pain, her oldest friend. It¡¯s always been there, waiting for its turn to greet her, hasn¡¯t it?


    Her brain betrays her. It takes trillions of action potentials and registers it into that horrible, twisting, piercing sensation that invades her and makes her scream anew.


    The intervals shorten, the lashes worsen. In real reality, Cora detects that somebody picks her broken, twitchy, self up. In fake reality, she hears the awful screech of gloating laughter, and glimpses icy eyes winking at her.


    It is worse than hell. Worse than that distorted abyss, because at least there she could pretend to not exist, and dissolve into the background of the stifling darkness. Instead, she is stretched apart and thrust onto prickly spears of absolute reality and tangential reality, broken and re-broken, begging to pass out, but the constant switches resets her awareness, dragging the spears through bones and organs.


    ¡°Stop!¡± She squeezes the word out through many intervals. ¡°Stop!¡±


    Suddenly, the pain dulls. The shouts quiet. She lingers in a haze of half-lucidity, unable to do anything other than curl her fingers and remember she has a body.


    Cora crawls, broken wrist and all, toward the figure dressed in black. A soft hand reaches and scratches her head. She collapses at their feet, sobbing, as she embraces the soft tenderness of normality, to exist without being in constant agony.


    ¡°Please,¡± she wheezes, shaking. ¡°Please.¡±


    You know what you must do.


    ¡°I¨CI¡­¡±


    It lasts less than a moment. Time resumes, and then the subsequent shock of agony smashes into her, coupled with the rending pain of her ethereal counterpart that stabs deeper than any knife.


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    Time pauses. Cora shakes her head and presses her forehead to the figure¡¯s legs. ¡°Stop! I¡¯ll do it. Just make it stop.¡±


    She was never strong.


    Maybe this is the best decision in the end, if it means Liam and Callista will live to see another day.


    ¡°Please.¡± Cora screws her eyes shut and clenches her hands. ¡°I let you in.¡±


    No.


    Cold water pours on her. She looks up at a face hidden behind writhing shadows. A smug smile twists the parasite¡¯s lips upward, flashing pearlescent teeth.


    I am not at your calling. I choose the terms, I choose the time, and this time, I say no.


    ¡°Please!¡± Cora drags herself up the parasite¡¯s body. She clutches at its garments like a mountaineer hiking up an impossibly steep mountain. ¡°I don¡¯t want to¨C¡±


    She falls.


    Light and noise consumes her. She¡¯s shredded apart, sandwiched between realities, as they flicker and blur. Lash after lash of agony splits her open. She can¡¯t breathe. Her lungs are stiff with blood. She can¡¯t think, drowning in pain, pain, consuming her identity, invading her, killing her.


    Her vision throbs black. Sweet, sweet relief. Hands pass her to somebody else. Cora drools, head twisted back, arms and legs tangled together.


    Time pauses. The parasite unfurls from her twisted legs and bows, sweeping its arms out wide.


    ¡°Please,¡± Cora whimpers, dragging herself toward the parasite again. Bone pokes out of her swollen wrist. She heaves, coughs, and reaches toward the parasite. ¡°Stop. Stop.¡±


    What if I want to keep doing this, forever until you die?


    Forever, torn apart, reconfigured, torn apart. A cycle without end. Perpetually dragged between two realities, neuronal signals refreshed anew, cursed to live a life at a variable frame rate, doomed to succumb to the mad desires of an interdimensional parasite, forever and ever without end.


    She sees blinding white. ¡°No!¡± Howling, screaming, kicking, swinging, she throws herself at the parasite. She disintegrates just as Cora reaches it, but she imagines grabbing onto its frilly dress and slamming her down.


    It works. The parasite is caught mid-disintegration, a loosely held cloud of particles, solid near the waistline, where Cora grabs on and tackles the parasite to the ground.


    ¡°No!¡± Cora roars, connecting her fist to the parasite¡¯s cheek. Surprisingly, she flinches, blue eyes briefly scrunching shut. ¡°I won¡¯t let you!¡±


    Time resumes. Pain explodes like the brutality of a grenade. She convulses, vomiting blood, the taste of iron heavy on her bitten tongue. The world yanks beneath her like a blanket and unfurls around her in a static embrace of incoherent madness.


    The parasite stands triumphantly over her twitching body, hands on her hips, sleeves stained dark with Cora¡¯s blood leaking out of every orifice, out of her wounds, out of her bruising skin.


    You can¡¯t control me.


    ¡°Maybe not. But you can¡¯t do anything. Not really.¡± Cora pushes herself several inches off the ground before she collapses, rolls over onto her back, and pants, staring at the sky of another uncaring world. ¡°Maybe you wanted to, before, but you got stuck in my head and now you can¡¯t get out.¡± She coughs. ¡°Because you realized that even if you possessed me¨C¡± She spits that last word out, letting her grimace speak for itself. ¡°You¡¯d push me too far, and then I¡¯d die. We¡¯d die. You¡¯re torturing me because if I pass out, I might never wake up. And neither will you.¡±


    Cora senses something new. A disturbance in frozen reality, like a ripple across a lake, rushing straight at her. To catapult her with a slam of kinetic energy out of this static pocket of existence into her real self.


    The action is simple, really. She imagines the disturbance splitting, passing her, and continuing toward infinity.


    The parasite lunges. Too late, too slow. Cora growls and redirects the disturbance to capture both of them, gathers that kinetic energy into a tight spear, and thrusts it into the pocket reality¡¯s seams. Cracks spider web across the glazed surface. She heaves the spear into the weakest point and the surface collapses. Like a cracked hull in a stormy ocean, reality rushes to claim them.


    You can¡¯t!


    ¡°I will do anything it takes to fix everything. If I ever see you again, I will. Kill. You.¡±


    The process completes.


    One final lash of pain leaves her insensible. She touches Callista¡¯s arm before she convulses and welcomes unconsciousness.


    ***


    This world, to her surprise, is more than just a pretty painting splashed with eye-popping color.


    Cora¡¯s hearing is the first to come back through a series of clicks and pops as structures settle deep in her ears. A tinny ringing echoes at the edges of perception, but it pales next to the furious burbling of water somewhere.


    Her vision comes next, piecing together walls of neutral colors, flat gray and smooth beige that remind her of a doctor¡¯s office. Several paintings, glazed over in abstract patterns of rectangles and curved lines, are hung opposite a mounted board stuffed with hundreds of papers, pinned to the pinkish cork.


    Swelling out of a corner like a pustule, bloated and glistening white, is a burbling pot of stew. Mushrooms simmer beneath a mat of red flakes. Coals glow beneath the pot, but the flames bleed blue and green, licking up the sides.


    But that¡¯s nothing compared to the person cooking the stew.


    Purple swirls sweep across porcelain white skin. Or maybe it¡¯s the other way around. Beady eyes set deep into a dome-shaped face stare back at her. Twisting, root-like tendrils whip out from beefy arms, curling around several handles and stirring the stew. A hardened cap of shriveled flesh protrudes from its broad skull.


    A mushroom person, live before her, wearing overalls.


    Anybody else would panic, maybe scream for a second or two, and throw blankets at the alien figure stirring mushroom stew like it was a normal day.


    Not Cora. She laughs at the absurdity of her dream, before her abdomen feels like it¡¯s splitting in two, and her ribs throb in protest.


    ¡°Ow!¡± She clutches at her stomach, only to realize her left arm is slung over her chest, and her right is so heavily bandaged she paws uselessly at her stomach.


    ¡°Relax,¡± the mushroom person intonates. It sounds nasally, though where a mouth should be, hardened sections of flesh decorates its face like scales. ¡°You must be mindful of your wounds. Were it not for the quick thinking of your friends, you very well may have expired in the Reslan Moviche.¡±


    ¡°The what?¡±


    But her head pounds. Cora sinks back into her pillows, trembling, shoving down the urge to vomit all over the floor. Is this not a dream? There were things that happened, important things, Cora thinks, but the harder she struggles to remember, the further the details slip, until she can¡¯t remember anymore.


    Several tendrils finish stirring the pot and remove three wooden spoons. Simultaneously, more pass a bowl onto a small table, and yet another produces a large spoon and dips it into the steaming stew.


    ¡°Eat,¡± the mushroom person says, dumping several spoonfuls into the bowl. A bit of liquid spills out, which a tendril easily wipes off the table. ¡°Be mindful of the burning temperatures.¡±


    They push the table until it¡¯s beside her bed. A tiny spoon accompanies it. Cora reaches to grab it, but her fingers are wrapped in gauze, and her left arm is a non-starter.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she says, face burning, as the mushroom person picks up the spoon and dips it into the bowl. It wouldn¡¯t hurt to encourage the dream. Whatever it is, this in-between reality her exhausted brain invented to cope with the pain. ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Eporsa. And yours?¡±


    ¡°Cora. Thank you. Did you do all this?¡± She does her best to sweep her arms over herself. Her legs peek out from the blankets, and they too are wrapped in bandages, down to her feet. The thickest bandages are wrapped over her chest, pressed tight like a vest.


    ¡°It was I and my several companions who raced to save you, yes.¡±


    Save. It tickles at her memories. She scrunches up her nose, closing her eyes briefly, pushing past the headache and grasping at memories that break at the slightest touch.


    Eporsa offers a steaming spoonful of stew. A single mushroom takes residence inside the hollow cavity, dripping purple liquid. Several red flakes are stuck to the shriveled cap. Cora eyes the mushroom especially, cherry red despite boiling inside that pot.


    ¡°Will it kill me?¡± Eporsa stares at her blankly. Or at least as blankly as a pair of beady eyes can. ¡°It¡¯s food, yes, I know, but parity changes things. It might kill me.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t feel tempted to test the dream-logic of eating imaginary poisonous food.


    ¡°Your friends have eaten our dishes many times, and they are healthy still.¡±


    Liam. Callista. Their names are there one second, gone the next. Cora¡¯s heart races. Her hands are clammy. This is starting to feel too real.


    It can¡¯t be real. They¡¯d been in danger, but something happened to Cora, something bad, and she left her friends alone. She failed them, she thinks.


    ¡°I want you to tell me something. Am I dreaming?¡±


    ¡°Dreaming?¡± Eporsa rotates an arm, and several tendrils squirm around. ¡°You have been unconscious for over three days. We did not know if you would survive for much longer.¡±


    ¡°We made it out?¡± Cora can¡¯t help the wetness that moistens her eyes. The tightness of her throat. The stuffiness of her nose. ¡°We¡¯re okay?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    Everything comes rushing back.


    She spent three days veering on the edge of death, recovering from breaking her body to break the world. Those three days she spent hiding from the parasite and its corroding influence, and was spared the worst of the pain.


    She remembers distant voices calling her name, the cool glass of cups pressed to her lips, the precious liquid called water she drank before lapsing back into unconsciousness.


    It¡¯s real. They¡¯re alive.


    Her body feels like one giant bruise, as if a hammer whacked her front and back. She can¡¯t move, or else pain stabs into her muscles. She can¡¯t even blink without the surfaces of her eyeballs aching.


    ¡°I should¡¯ve died. I went too far,¡± she mumbles. Eporsa offers the spoon again, and she relents, opening her mouth.


    It¡¯s quick and simple. She closes her mouth and chews on the mushroom. The texture is rubbery, hard to break apart, but the taste is strong and meaty, the flakes taste like regular spices, and the viscous liquid tastes of broth.


    Her stomach grumbles. Her parched throat demands water. Cora nods toward the soup, and Eporsa feeds her another spoonful, this time with two mushrooms, which she eagerly accepts.


    ¡°Yes,¡± Eporsa says. ¡°You suffered ruptured organs, sprained muscles, torn ligaments, ocular damage, auditory damage, a severe concussion, a broken wrist, numerous bite wounds, many minor injuries, and that grievous chest wound.¡± Cora receives a third spoonful of the savory mushroom stew. ¡°We healed the worst of your wounds and internal injuries. Your friend Liam provided his best knowledge of Magaraman anatomy to assist us, but unfortunately we could not fully heal your ears, nor remove the scarring process.¡±


    That explains the faint, hollow ringing noise. ¡°Oh.¡± After the fourth spoonful, Cora smacks her lips and looks down at her bandaged self. No part of her made it out unscathed, it seems. Between weeks of accumulated scrapes and cuts, the mutants, and breaking herself along the planes of reality, it¡¯s a miracle she can move at all.


    She braces for the parasite¡¯s interjection of an insult, or time pausing again just for the parasite to torture her again. But she knows how to counter its influence. And maybe someday, how to kill it for good.


    When the inevitable doesn¡¯t come¨Cnot even a faint stirring in her thoughts, or an insult pointed her way¨CCora relaxes.


    ¡°Did anyone get hurt?¡±


    Eporsa pauses, tendrils waving around. ¡°Several soldiers were struck by falling debris. Your handiwork?¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to. I wanted to help Liam off a giant mushroom.¡± Cora swallows the fifth spoonful and hums to herself to drown out that ringing noise. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Do not apologize. You were under duress. Do you want water?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± While Eporsa produces a pitcher and opens a tap, Cora turns toward the source of the room¡¯s light. Not the pot of stew, whose flames are dwindling, but to the floor-to-ceiling window behind her.


    She gasps and stares at this new world.


    Far below a steep hill, past a network of roads and solitary buildings, past fields of scrubby gray moss stretched and segmented into rectangles, a city of mushrooms and steel crawls on a cliff. Buildings cluster around five colossal mushrooms, casting vast shadows over large swathes of the city. Glass and steel spirals upward in the spaces between mushrooms, scraping the bottom of cotton-candy clouds.


    Beyond the cliff, a lapis bay gleams reddish from the red orb suspended high in the sky. Hundreds of boats glint off the coast. They range from paper-mache look-alikes to container ships, drifting lazily while bearing hundreds of colorful crates stacked on top. Several ships sit further away, arranged into a tight formation, gleaming polished metal.


    Warships?


    ¡°This is the city of Cenari,¡± Eporsa says. ¡°Here is your water.¡± Tendrils raise the cup to Cora¡¯s lips, and she drinks greedily, refusing to breathe until the cup is empty.


    ¡°It¡¯s beautiful.¡± Cora glances back at the sprawling city. ¡°Are Transients here?¡±


    ¡°They have not breached our nodes for over five hundred years. You are safe.¡±


    The last doubt vanishes. That was all she needed to hear. She slumps into her pillows, accepting spoonful after spoonful of stew. Where some dribbles on her lips, Eporsa wipes the messes off gently with a cloth.


    ¡°There is something I must tell you, though.¡±


    Cora¡¯s stomach hardens to lead. She gnaws on her lip and trembles. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°After you recover enough to live without assistance, the governor of Cenari wishes to hold a private audience with you.¡±


    ¡°Wait, what?¡± Cora glances back at the city. ¡°Why?¡±


    For the first time, Eporsa hesitates, root-like tendrils briefly stilling, head tilting to one side. ¡°He says it concerns matters about a box.¡±

 18 - Noveron

    ¡°Please, sir, stop.¡±


    ¡°When will I be good?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯ll take months.¡±


    ¡°Okay. I need¨C¡±


    ***


    Days drag into weeks.


    The daily visits help, of course. Cora can¡¯t help but smile every time the door creaks open and it¡¯s not a doctor or physical therapist, but Callista, fresh out of the shower, bouncing with a spring to her step as she closes the distance between them in a heartbeat.


    They talk. They laugh. They unwind. Once, even, they cry, curled into each other, though Callista is mindful of Cora¡¯s fragile body and her slung arm.


    Liam appears several times. Sometimes with her, other times alone. But his visits are few and far between, and when he does appear, he¡¯s withdrawn, murmuring basic questions and answers, avoiding her imploring gaze.


    He helped save her, but now he wants nothing to do with her. Not that she blames him. If she was in his shoes, she¡¯d hate herself, too.


    Behind the veil of pleasantries and guided recovery, though, the urge to leave has built at the back of her mind. The first night, she stared out the window for hours at the twinkling city far below, knowing the governor was waiting for her, that finally, she¡¯d get some answers and maybe, just maybe, find a way home.


    Weeks later, she¡¯s antsy, dreaming of home, a world so far and yet so close to her heart. She wants more. She wants to go home, she wants to visit the city, she wants to fix her mistakes.


    Yet the days she paces the corridors, sticking to her recovery regimen, she overhears too many conversations. Soldiers, newly returned from war, recount harrowing tales of Transient incursions into contested territory on some far-off world called Uklut. The few times she is brave enough to ask, the answers she receives chill her.


    If the Transients capture Uklut, the Empire will turn its incinerating gaze onto Muschia next.


    The forest feels like a dream long since forgotten. Something she could talk about to the soldiers and they¡¯d chalk it up to an overactive imagination, because why not? They¡¯re the ones who have seen the worst in war, limbs shorn off, organs ruptured, while delivering exacting blows at the Transients. Cora is a nobody compared to them.


    It¡¯d be too easy to wake up each day and brush off those weeks spent scraping for survival as a horrific nightmare, but like the soldiers, her body bears the physical proof no magic can erase.


    Puckered scar tissue runs down her chest. Faint scar lines mark her arms and hands. The bite wounds healed over nicely enough, leaving a faded patch of pale tissue where olive skin had been before. Apparently, a stray claw or branch had cut an arc into her cheekbone, so now she has a crescent scar framing the bottom-left corner of her left eye.


    ¡°It¡¯s nice,¡± Callista said the third night, after Cora freaked out over how big the scar was.


    ¡°But it¡¯s gonna be there forever!¡±


    ¡°So? It¡¯s a part of who you are. Never forget that. It suits you, actually.¡±


    And maybe it does. Maybe that¡¯s why she catches Cenarians glancing at her whenever she walks outside her room, soldiers included. It¡¯s proof that she, too, is a victim of the Empire, even if indirect.


    She hobbles at first, requiring Eporsa¡¯s supervision and a walker fashioned out of mushroom stalks tightly bound with expertly tied knots. It¡¯s embarrassing, it¡¯s slow, it¡¯s awkward with one functioning hand and Eporsa¡¯s steady hand¨Ctendrils¨Cand she shrinks beneath the many imploring gazes turned her way.


    But she gets better. She upgrades to a cane, and true to her desires, she receives a cane with a black, shriveled mushroom pounded into the stick. She takes the desiccated white mushroom flesh packaged beside her cane, cuts the flesh into a circle, and pins it to the mushroom. She uses the Cenarian analogue of a fountain pen and traces an 8 into the middle.


    Her handiwork is shaky¨Cafter all, her dominant hand is wrapped to her chest¨Cbut it gets the message across to the one person she hoped would understand. Everybody else looks at her quizzically, kind enough to leave her alone.


    He doesn¡¯t.


    ¡°An 8-ball?¡± Liam offers a rare smile and coughs out what sounds like a laugh, but his voice is so hoarse he clears his throat and stops. ¡°What, are you going to grift the Cenarians? Planning to offer unearthly attractions for all to see? I think they¡¯ll give you a run for your money.¡±


    Cora beams at him. ¡°You get the reference!¡±


    He shrugs. ¡°Just saying, when there¡¯s no cops around, anything¡¯s legal.¡± He leans in, scans to either side of him, and says, ¡°You know, if the grid has over two thousand worlds, could that mean that maybe there are infinite worlds, and on those infinite worlds¨C¡±


    ¡°Nope. I don¡¯t want to hear it.¡±


    ¡°But you¨C¡±


    ¡°Out. Out!¡± She half-heartedly swings her cane at him, and he easily dodges, always quick on his feet. Just like they dodge the uncomfortable truth that drove a wedge between them.


    They¡¯re putting on an act. Some things certainly haven¡¯t changed. They swat at each other; they talk about the food, and they reminisce about missing elikanders, which apparently have to be shipped across two worlds before arriving a mushy mess at Cenari¡¯s doorstep.


    Liam leaves soon after, and despite it being the most interaction she¡¯s gotten out of him in weeks, Cora is left chewing on her thoughts about why they haven¡¯t talked about what she did.


    Maybe she should forget it ever happened, start over anew.


    Certainly, she feels like a completely different person when she glances at the mirror and startles at the sight. Hair drawn back into a ponytail, eye bags faded, lips soft, eyes bright and alert, back straight, it feels more like a stranger staring back. She¡¯s put on some weight, too, smoothing over her knobby joints and protruding ribs, even rounding out her chest a bit.


    Though she blushes after checking herself out and realizing that she was thinking of Callista the whole time.


    Past the reflection, flipped and intruding into another reality, her metaphysical self is unresponsive. The one time Cora tried to explain her other wounds to Eporsa, he had his assistants consult books dredged from the densely packed basement library, but no written accounts hinted at anything like her condition.


    Even Callista is left confused when Cora rambles about her other self.


    ¡°So you don¡¯t have another you?¡± Cora asks.


    ¡°Am I supposed to?¡± Callista plants her feet on the window and throws her head back. Her upper half dangles off the edge of the bed, head flipped upside down to see Cora seated at her chair, tugging at her sling.


    ¡°Am I not supposed to?¡±


    ¡°No?¡±


    Cora bites her lip. ¡°Then what do you feel when your eyes get all glowy?¡±


    ¡°All glowy.¡± Cora waits for Callista to continue, but she looks at her expectantly. ¡°Why are you looking at me like that? I don¡¯t feel anything unless I push myself too far. In that aspect I¡¯d consider it like running. You subconsciously know what your limits are.¡±


    ¡°You could¡¯ve just told me that, you jerk.¡± Cora fakes a kick toward Callista¡¯s arm, but her eyes flash, and she easily grabs Cora¡¯s ankle.


    ¡°Do you see? That was instinctive for me.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, but I wasn¡¯t going to kick you!¡±


    ¡°Of course you weren¡¯t.¡± Callista flips onto her stomach while keeping her grip on her ankle. Cora grumbles and does her best to keep her attention on her sling, on its coarseness rubbing her shoulder raw despite the cushioning, because Callista is still holding onto her foot and she¡¯s posing like that.


    She doesn¡¯t even realize how she looks at that moment. Back home, she¡¯d easily trend on Instagram, no filters needed, and not for being a sapient non-human person.


    ¡°Maybe your experiences are connected to that entity in your head.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s a parasite.¡± Cora sours at the reminder that an alien consciousness is enfolded within her brain tissues, and she can¡¯t get rid of it.


    Oh, she¡¯s tried. Several times, she concentrated hard enough to leave her dizzy, clinging to her pillows while the world swayed around her. Eporsa had no explanations, either, and she left it as a simple hallucination, at least in their eyes.


    She hadn¡¯t heard anything from it, not a single thought or twitch of awareness. No shock of time pausing, or hollow cavity gnawing at her brain. Maybe it took her threat seriously. She hopes it did.


    ¡°Has it done anything else¨C¡± Callista releases her leg and claps a hand over her mouth. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m so sorry, Cora.¡± Too late to stop the torrent of memories from crashing into Cora.


    And then Cora breaks down, and Callista carries her to her bed, before she breaks down, too, apologizing and saying she wants to put everything behind them, that the past doesn¡¯t have to define their future.


    But Cora can¡¯t, because Mari is still out there.


    Cora pushes herself to her limits¨Cunder Espora¡¯s directions and Callista¡¯s caution, of course¨Cfor her best friend, stranded on another world, captured by the worst kind of monsters infesting the grid. She refuses to believe Mari died. She¡¯s too damn stubborn to give up.


    Three weeks after the Cenarians took her in, Cora clears the last hospital floor and arrives, panting, at Eporsa¡¯s door, knocking until her knuckles turn red.


    ¡°Eporsa!¡±


    The door creaks open. Eporsa is seated at his desk, like usual, writing in four journals simultaneously. He lifts his tendrils from two of them and offers his characteristic greeting, a twirling of his tendrils and a bend of his arm, head craned to glimpse her from the side.


    ¡°Yes, Cora?¡±


    His voice, as she learned from constant physical therapy sessions, reverberates from tiny, gill-like openings fluttering at the base of his head. Their biology never ceases to amaze her, these people that sprouted from a long, ancestral lineage of sentient mushrooms.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready.¡± She presses her hand to her chest. Her heart beats hard enough to throb through her breastbone. ¡°I can talk to the governor now.¡±


    ¡°You completed your instructed session?¡±


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    ¡°Yeah, I did, and I came here to prove it,¡± she pants, bending over. A tiny ache stabs beneath her ribs. ¡°Oh, God, sorry, give me a moment.¡±


    ¡°Yes, you are ready. I will inform the governor, then. After, I will inform you on which date you may speak to him.¡±


    Cora almost squeals¨Calmost. She barely has enough dignity left as it is. Instead, she grins and does something she should¡¯ve offered on the first day when Eporsa mentioned saving her: she offers a fist-bump.


    ¡°What are you doing, Cora?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s something my people do back on Magaram.¡± The half-lie slips out easily enough. It¡¯s one born out of necessity this time. ¡°We close our hands like this and go boop.¡± She mimes bumping her good fist to her left hand, but not actually touching, because her wrist bones still ache.


    Eporsa stops scribbling in the other journals. He raises both arms, and his root-tendrils curl into rough approximations of her fists. Cora fist-bumps the first and leans so her slung hand can pretend to fist-bump the second.


    ¡°Just like that,¡± she says, grinning again. It¡¯s been so long since she¡¯s felt this ecstatic that she practically trembles with excitement. She can run a marathon, punch holes into the walls, jump over tables, do anything.


    Eporsa mimics a thumbs-up, another gesture that she taught him a few days ago. ¡°Thank you. Do you need anything?¡±


    ¡°Nope. What are you writing, if you don¡¯t mind me asking?¡±


    ¡°Medical records. Patient cases. It is very tedious. Would you like to see?¡±


    Cora scrunches her nose. ¡°No, thank you. I already had enough of that back home. Boring work, I mean. Good luck with that!¡±


    ¡°There is nothing good about this.¡±


    She laughs, and then waves him goodbye, gently shutting the door. She bounces down the corridors and flies down the stairs. Sweat and blinding sunlight stings her eyes as she emerges onto the courtyard, the place the hospital, its two wings, and a towering chain-link fence enclose.


    Beyond the gentle dip past the gate, she knows a road winds between mountains of rock, then branches off into a jumble of roads and rails, lights and buildings, squat and ugly. Past that plateau is another drop, where the city proper thrives.


    From the courtyard¡¯s view, however, all Cora sees are Cenari''s five mushroom caps, three bright red and bearing white spots like freckles, one gleaming purple, and another dark gray streaked with blue. At night, that mushroom glows like a second sun, its blue streaks oozing light that bleeds out into a halo of light.


    Oh, and the food. Her mouth waters. Half of the courtyard, the part snug against the main building and both wings, consists of concentric stone rings and a cobblestone walkway bisecting them. Exotic plants and mushrooms thrive in each layer, colorful explosions of growth that never fail to give her goosebumps.


    The other half is an open cafeteria. Circular tables span its length in neat rows, and foldable chairs are set up like petals bursting from flowers, seven per table. Off to the side, three massive tables host dozens of food items, ranging from sauteed mushrooms to mushroom stew to mushroom sandwiches to glazed mushroom dessert.


    Okay, everything is mushrooms, but the varieties of dishes the Cenarians cook make her forget they¡¯re mushrooms at all.


    ¡°Cora!¡±


    Callista waves from a table hugging the fence. Cora waves back, before turning and ordering anything and everything. The cook is kind enough to stack her food vertically like a game of Tetris, slotting dishes into each other while somehow maintaining it on a single plate. She thanks them and slowly, but surely, makes her way toward Callista.


    ¡°That is monstrous,¡± Callista says once Cora sets her plate down. ¡°Where is your knife and fork?¡±


    ¡°Hey! We ate with our hands for weeks.¡±


    ¡°Yes, because we had no other choice.¡± Callista shakes her head, another Earthly gesture she seemed to have picked up, and waves her away. ¡°You are not eating all of that with your hands.¡±


    ¡°Hand,¡± Cora corrects, and Callista swats at her, slow enough that Cora easily dodges it. She snatches a fork from the nearest table and waves it in front of Callista. ¡°Is that better?¡±


    ¡°Is it supposed to be?¡±


    ¡°I swear, I¡¯m gonna¨C¡±


    Cora pauses, mushroom brushing her parted lips, as she spots Liam exiting the botanical gardens. Golden spores and pollen dusts his dark hair. There¡¯s an aura of healthiness, of completeness, that he radiates. His skin is practically glowing. Sure, she¡¯s seen and talked to him a few times since she showed off her cane, but he looks like months have passed, not weeks.


    He stretches, flexing his massive arms and shoulders, then stretches his toned legs, reaching to touch his toes. Callista follows Cora¡¯s stunned gaze and sighs.


    ¡°Show-off,¡± she mumbles. She lifts her chin. ¡°Hey, what are you doing?¡± If he hears, he doesn¡¯t acknowledge them. Callista¡¯s pupils spark purple, and Cora gets a personal view of her friend¡¯s throat muscles enlarging. ¡°Liam!¡±


    Several Cenarians glance their way, but thankfully return to their business, burying tendrils into soups and peeling back facial tissues to shovel mushrooms into narrow mouths.


    He finally looks up. ¡°What?¡±


    Callista glowers at him. ¡°What do you mean, what? I haven¡¯t seen you in three days and we live together!¡±


    ¡°Different lives, different schedules.¡± He shrugs, and the movement is so casual Cora might¡¯ve dispelled the queasiness squirming in her stomach and invite him over.


    Might¡¯ve.


    Because this isn¡¯t him. It can¡¯t be him, the same boy who withdrew into himself, and except for that one time they talked, looked sullen and serious. Callista had told her, too, about Liam¡¯s odd habits, his tendency to go unnoticed or arrive late to sleep, and in the moments they were in their apartment, not talk much.


    ¡°We have a seat for you,¡± Cora says, patting the chair beside her. ¡°If you want.¡±


    His expression flickers. He remains silent for a moment, eyes clouding in thought. ¡°I¡¯m not hungry, but I¡¯ll sit down.¡±


    Callista hones in on Liam. He sits down with a heavy groan, avoiding her burning stare. If he cares at all, he hides it well with a poker face.


    ¡°Well?¡±


    Civilization is bringing out their true selves, Cora notices. Starvation and threat of constant death in the forest banded them together. They learned to cope in a hostile world, learned to depend on each other, learned about each other more in a shorter time than any normal person would dare.


    Cushioned by constant supplies of food, embraced within spacious rooms and soft beds, protected by a world actively hostile to Transients, they¡¯re free to sprout and grow.


    Callista is confrontational. She doesn¡¯t hesitate to act first, and doesn¡¯t hesitate to call others out, including herself if she makes mistakes. She¡¯s gone from cautious and resentful of herself to bold and confident. How she used to be, probably.


    Liam is withdrawn. Sometimes he makes witty comments, other times he¡¯s a shell of himself, responding with only the barest answers. Back in the forest he¡¯d been like Callista is now, but after Cora told the truth about the box, he withdrew.


    It¡¯s all her fault, isn¡¯t it?


    She gnaws on her bottom lip. It¡¯s a bad habit, one that¡¯s led to scraping her lip raw, but she can¡¯t help it. The pain grounds her, reminds her that she still has so much left to do.


    Like talk to him about the damn box.


    ¡°Well what?¡±


    Callista pinches the bridge of her nose. ¡°Different lives. I understand. The problem is that you¡¯ve been avoiding us.¡±


    There. A crack in his polished exterior, his eyes blinking a little too quickly, his eyebrows sinking a little too low. ¡°I¡¯ve been busy. Really busy. I¡¯m trying to learn about Cenari so if something bad happens, we can be one step ahead.¡±


    ¡°I understand. But you could¡¯ve invited me.¡± She gestures at Cora. ¡°You could¡¯ve come with me to visit her and talk about anything. We wouldn¡¯t have cared if you wanted to stay quiet. Your company would¡¯ve been enough.¡±


    Liam combs his hair back. The bits of pollen and spores float off, drifting toward other tables. ¡°There¡¯s a reason why I didn¡¯t.¡±


    The air chills. Cora remains still as Callista tears into him. ¡°So none of that meant anything, then?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not¨C¡±


    ¡°You can¡¯t pretend it never happened.¡±


    He stills. Slowly, too slowly, he glances at Cora, then back at Callista, lips twisting into a grimace. He slams his elbows on the table and grabs the sides of his head, screwing his eyes shut. A long, steady stream of air blows out of his nose.


    ¡°Talk about it later,¡± he mumbles.


    Her plate is cold. Cora stabs at the mushrooms again, but her appetite is gone. ¡°Pretend what never happened? Everything before we got here?¡±


    Now it¡¯s Callista¡¯s turn to bury her face into her hands. She drags her fingers down her face. ¡°No, not that. I don¡¯t think any of us can pretend those things never happened.¡±


    Liam nods. ¡°It¡¯s something else. Forget about it, Cora.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s his choice.¡± Callista scowls and stuffs mushrooms into her mouth.


    Cora stares at her inert food that had been steaming minutes ago. She chews and swallows the first mushrooms, but they taste cold and dead, and add to the lump building in her throat.


    ¡°Do you want some of my food?¡± Small miracle her voice doesn¡¯t shake. So close to him and his sulking expression, she gets the impression he hates her for what she¡¯s done.


    ¡°You need to eat, though.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t feel that hungry anymore. You can have some.¡± Cora pushes the plate toward him. He eyes the bigger, narrow mushrooms stacked on top, and plucks two by their stems before their caps crunch in his teeth like jalape?os.


    It shouldn¡¯t have to be this way. Why can¡¯t she just talk to him about the box? Why can¡¯t he? He knows, she knows, so it¡¯s not a secret anymore. She hurt him, betrayed his trust, and reaped the consequences. It can¡¯t be this way. They¡¯ve been through too much already to just¡­ fall apart.


    Why does she always have to be selfish and hurt the people she loves?


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he says between mouthfuls, throat bobbing as he swallows.


    Cora pokes at a mixture of diced mushrooms and red strips of plant matter smeared with a yellowish sauce on a strip of unraveled mushroom flesh. Callista reaches across and touches the back of Cora¡¯s hand.


    Are you okay? Her eyes seem to suggest, her frown cut deep.


    Maybe, she mentally responds, squeezing her hand before eating more.


    They eat in silence. Cora eventually regains her appetite, and she devours the rest of the plate, though she leaves the narrow mushrooms for Liam to munch on. Callista clears her plate as well, licking her lips when she finishes, and gets a second plate.


    While she¡¯s gone, Liam leans forward and lowers his voice to almost a whisper. ¡°There¡¯s a Transient here.¡±


    Cora almost spits out the last mushroom. She barely manages to choke it down before glaring at him, but like usual, he adopts another mask, becoming an unwavering statue.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± she hisses. ¡°Like, seriously, what the fuck!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d rather nobody overhear us.¡± He leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest. ¡°This world is part of the Alliance that fights the Transients, but a few weeks ago I started tracking one here.¡±


    She shakes. ¡°Cenari?¡±


    ¡°Here. The hospital. I can¡¯t explain it. I was searching the basement for historical archives about which worlds are good and which are bad. Then out of nowhere, a Transient walks past. But here¡¯s the weird thing. It did something to my head and I forgot it existed. I couldn¡¯t even see it. I didn¡¯t realize until¡­ maybe it¡¯s easier if I show you.¡±


    His gray eyes gleam. The light is just there, a smidge escaping his pupils and streaking across his irises, and then a new, alien thought worms its way to the surface. It¡¯s not unlike the parasite¡¯s corrosive influence, toxic and wrong, so she squirms in her chair and fights off the influence.


    She banishes it by remembering how she countered the parasite through redirecting its own power, but not before she gets an impression of an armored figure waving a hand lazily at her and shutting off her senses to its existence, leaving bare concrete corridors, endless stuffed shelves, and the drowning silence surrounding her.


    ¡°What the fuck!¡±


    He quickly glances at either side before clasping his hand over hers. ¡°The Transient gave me or woke up my gift somehow. But it doesn¡¯t know. I¡¯ve tracked it throughout the hospital, but it always goes to a random room and shuts itself off for hours. Nobody else cares. I don¡¯t think they know it¡¯s there.¡± He withdraws his hand and curls it into a fist. ¡°Except me.¡±


    ¡°How did you¨C¡±


    Callista sits down. She takes one look at Liam and his glowing eyes before double-taking. ¡°This is absurd.¡±


    ¡°I told neither of you because I thought I was compromised. I had no idea how to control my gift until yesterday.¡± In the literal blink of an eye, the light dims and dies, and he¡¯s back to normal. ¡°There¡¯s a Transient in the hospital, and nobody notices it except me.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Just great.¡± Callista ducks her head and eats a forkful of mushrooms. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°Yes. I was about to tell both of you, but then you had to interrupt me.¡±


    ¡°Then it¡¯s part of the reason, then. Am I wrong?¡±


    To Cora¡¯s surprise, he doesn¡¯t argue.


    ¡°Liam, please never do that again.¡± Cora combs her mind for any signs of corrosive influence until she¡¯s satisfied she¡¯s well and truly alone in her own skull. ¡°Like, ever. Please.¡±


    He nods. ¡°I promise. I won¡¯t do that to anybody unless they ask. I never expected to have actual magic, though.¡± That explains why he appeared so confident and relaxed earlier. At least he gets to control his gift, however he does it, whenever he wants, wherever he wants, forever.


    Cora wants to be happy for him. If there¡¯s anybody who deserves magic, it¡¯s him. Yet she claws at her unresponsive metaphysical self, its absence a painful reminder of the power that had felt so right.


    Liam frowns. ¡°There¡¯s a Transient in the hospital. With us. The only foreign refugees.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I¡¯m aware,¡± Callista says. ¡°The Cenarians are Transient enemies. They¡¯re at war in Uklut, but the Alliance still controls those nodes, and any Transient on Muschia would¡¯ve been imprisoned or executed long ago.¡±


    He coughs. ¡°Should¡¯ve.¡±


    Or maybe there is a traitor among the Cenarians, after all. Cora¡¯s met a lot of friendly people, but she hasn¡¯t met everybody, and new patients cycle in and out daily.


    Anything¡¯s possible, though the possibility of it being somebody she greets and knows sours her stomach.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna need you two soon.¡± They turn toward her. Cora straightens her back. ¡°I¡¯m ready to talk to the governor, and I don¡¯t want to go alone.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll go with you,¡± Callista says, while Liam raps his fingers on the table.


    ¡°I have to stay. Otherwise I¡¯ll lose track of the Transient.¡±


    Callista opens her mouth, closes it, and shakes her head, hair swishing from side to side. ¡°Talk about it later.¡±


    He nods.


    A Transient, tentative traitors, potential answers to the box, and a gift of mind influencing that belongs to the close friend-turned-awkward-friendship. If there¡¯s something the forest had, it was brute simplicity. Eat, sleep, and fight.


    Maybe civilization isn¡¯t their salvation. Maybe all it does is trade one problem for another.

 19 - Weranos

    ¡°Yes, like that, excellent.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m going to fall. I don¡¯t like feeling this weak.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been bed bound for weeks. It¡¯ll take you a few months to recover.¡±


    ¡°The stretching was bad enough.¡±


    ***


    Eporsa gives her three days to prepare. Seventy-two hours of Earth time, eighty-four of Muschia time, if Cora tracked the time on her phone correctly.


    Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. If there¡¯s anything she should be a master at, it¡¯s patience. Except she can¡¯t sleep the next two nights.


    Oh, she tries. She burrows into her blankets and faces the city in her bundled cocoon of blankets, closing her eyes and letting herself go limp. Except a tingling spreads at the base of her neck like somebody''s watching her, and she flips the blanket off, opening her eyes, only to meet a room of gloomy darkness, absent of conspicuous, Transient-shaped shadows.


    By day, she stumbles down the corridors, bleary-eyed. She talks to the patients, listens to a few soldiers recall heroic deeds, and stuffs herself full of mushrooms, but the old tiredness and paranoia is still there. She can¡¯t even look at anybody without hesitating. Several ask her if she¡¯s okay, and she says yes, because why wouldn¡¯t she?


    She¡¯s well-fed. She¡¯s clean. The city is footing the bill for her and her friends. She should be well-rested, trusting, and healthy.


    Should be.


    Damn Liam and his revelation. He could be lying through his teeth for all she knows, but she trusts him, and besides, that memory that slipped into her head¡­ she can¡¯t stop thinking about it. One of those monsters lurks among the people nourishing her.


    Cora is no stranger to those feelings, of course. She hadn¡¯t been able to sleep much the week after she broke into the thrift shop and stole the box. She¡¯d stayed up for nights on end running countless experiments, collecting data, and trying to parse out a meaning to no effect, if only to at least forget that the police could be prowling the streets to arrest her. Plus, the scientific method was a suggestion, not a principle to follow, and thus with the cocktail of fear and ignorance she recklessly delved into her research, foregoing sleep and nourishment to find out what the next big thing was.


    But all of that pales to the knowledge that any night, a monster could break into her room and kill her. It¡¯d be easy, too, since her metaphysical self is unresponsive and Cora can¡¯t grasp control over the tiniest dirt particle.


    So on the third and final night before the meeting, Cora sinks into her mattress and drags her blankets over her head. If she can¡¯t see the Transient, it can¡¯t see her. The thought is hilarious, somehow, and she quietly giggles to herself.


    Good thing Callista isn¡¯t here.


    Or maybe not. She had offered to stay over, and said she¡¯d sleep just fine on the floor or the chair. It¡¯d give her a faster reaction time. But Cora shot down the offer, saying they had to stick to their normal routines, or the Transient might react.


    Yeah, that was a dumb assumption, and because of it she¡¯s a paranoid mess jumping at her own shadows instead of cuddling with¡­ she shakes her head. Better not to dwell on yet more of her smoldering mistakes.


    Cora flips on her side and curls into a tight ball, scrolling through her phone. The photo gallery stays open a grand total of thirty seconds before her heart nearly bursts from the painful memories and she closes the app.


    Shockingly, she never deleted the default apps that came with her phone. Several are offline puzzle games. Yes! Fuel for her boredom. She clicks on a random block game, swipes past the instructions, and completely fails. She rubs her eyes, adjusting to the glare of her screen and the tiny, multi-colored blocks pasted onto a grid. Another fail. She drags blocks into the grid, fails, fails again, and finally closes the app in frustration.


    Boredom and darkness provide little stimuli for her racing brain to appreciate. She constantly taps her foot, gnaws on her cheek, and runs her fingers over her screen protector, trailing her nails down the edges.


    Dreams. She needs dreams. Cora pockets her phone and lies still, closing her eyes, waiting for the gravitic lurch of sleep to drag her into an eclectic wonderland of dreams and nightmares.


    At last, it does, and she plunges into a distorted echo of home.


    ***


    The morning is simple enough.


    She slips into her original clothes, the t-shirt and jeans that the Cenarians kindly stitched back together. At breakfast, she joins an alert Callista and grumpy Liam, who twice lapses into a nap. The second time, he nearly face-plants into the table, but Callista catches him, and he mumbles his gratitude before swirling his soup around.


    ¡°Are you okay?¡± Cora asks, shoveling cereal into her mouth. Cenari¡¯s version of milk is sweeter and thicker, coating the dried mushrooms in just the right way that her taste buds sing in delight.


    ¡°I kept watch all night. For you,¡± he groans, rubbing at his eyes. ¡°I had to make sure nothing would happen. I still have to.¡±


    Callista pats his shoulder. ¡°Maybe I was wrong.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t want to talk about it.¡±


    Cora lets their mysterious issue go and continues eating until her stomach stops grumbling. She looks across the courtyard and waves at Eporsa, whose tendrils wave several hellos at each of them.


    ¡°Are you ready?¡± he intones, glancing at each of them.


    ¡°I¡¯m staying,¡± Liam says.


    ¡°Yes, I forgot. My apologies. May I ask why?¡±


    ¡°I slept badly. I can barely walk as it is.¡±


    ¡°Ah. Well. If you want a quick burst of energy, look no further than our beverages.¡± Eporsa points at the third table, which hosts eight liquid dispensers and mounds of paper cups stacked beside each one. ¡°Parity should give the same energetic properties to you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll check it out soon. Just need to finish eating.¡±


    ¡°You told me it was a private meeting between Cora and the governor, right?¡± Callista says. She cracks a breakfast bar in half and shoves it into her mouth.


    ¡°Ultimately, yes. You and I will have to wait outside the chamber room until they finish.¡±


    She swallows. ¡°Did the governor ask for anything?¡±


    Eporsa pauses, tendrils stilling, the cue Cora knows that he¡¯s remembering specific memories. Patients and soldiers do the same, too, whenever they tell her about their life stories.


    ¡°He requested a private conversation only about a box, whatever it may mean. Nothing more.¡±


    Cora tilts the bowl and slurps the last of the sweet liquid. It¡¯s incredible how many mushrooms she¡¯s eaten, and how many dishes the Cenarians make with them. She never gets bored by the flavors ever. Every day tastes unique.


    ¡°Who else is coming again?¡± she asks.


    ¡°Four guards. Resma, Aspa, Tere, and Obuch. I believe you¨C¡±


    ¡°Yes!¡± Cora¡¯s face burns when Callista stares at her incredulously and then grins. Liam is being Liam, wallowing in tiredness, eyes drooping shut again. ¡°Sorry. Sorry¡­¡± Cora can¡¯t contain her own smile, though. ¡°I like Resma. He¡¯s really nice. Aspa is nice, too, but I don¡¯t know her that well.¡±


    If there¡¯s one good thing Cora¡¯s physical therapy gave her¨Capart from stronger muscles and a steadfast recovery¨Cit¡¯s the odd assortment of friendships from seeing people regularly.


    There are the soldiers and their war stories, of course. She knows at least fifteen, maybe a few extra if she concentrates hard enough to remember all the names. Normal patients cycle in and out, but she¡¯s befriended several longer-term patients.


    Then there are the guards. Those entrusted to patrol the corridors and catch any intruders, foreign or domestic. They¡¯re part of the reason Cora leaves her room so often, because so many of them are friendly beneath the plates of armor, and because their presence means the hospital is safe, a feeling so jarring it took several days for Eporsa to convince her to leave the confines of her room.


    ¡°I met Tere and Obuch. I suspect you will take a liking to them, too.¡± Eporsa turns and starts toward the main section of the hospital, the part hidden behind the concentric rings of gardens. ¡°We will wait in the lobby for you.¡±


    ¡°Okay, don¡¯t worry,¡± Cora says, and he lumbers into the garden.


    Callista smiles warmly again. ¡°It¡¯s good to see you like this.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡± Cora¡¯s face burns again. Callista turns toward Liam and frowns. ¡°Master spy, are you conscious?¡±


    ¡°Fuck off,¡± he groans, waving an arm at her.


    ¡°How are you supposed to keep watch like this?¡±


    ¡°I will. I just need a quick¡­¡± He lapses into silence, eyes fluttering closed. He nuzzles his head into his arms draped on the table and immediately starts snoring.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    ¡°It¡¯s always the same with him,¡± Callista complains, standing and walking toward the third table, the one crowded with beverages.


    Then Liam cracks open an eye and locks on Cora. ¡°I¡¯m not really sleepy.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I can tell,¡± Cora snorts, shaking her head. A few of her bangs float over her eyes. She really needs a haircut, but the Cenarians don¡¯t even have hair. Maybe with the scissors she brought from home¡­


    ¡°I haven¡¯t been able to sleep that well. I guess I got used to it, or my gift changed my brain so I don¡¯t need sleep.¡± He pokes at his bowl of soup, cold and still. ¡°Which is useful for tracking the Transient.¡±


    ¡°How do you know where it is all the time?¡±


    ¡°Magic.¡± Cora scowls, and he smiles. ¡°I have a very distant link to it. It¡¯s like a phone notification. If it changes rooms, I¡¯ll know.¡±


    She glances around them. What would a hidden Transient look like, anyway? Liam can see it in its entirety, apparently, but for normal eyes like hers, what would she see? ¡°And it hasn¡¯t done the same back to you?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think so?¡± He stirs his soup and grudgingly lifts a spoonful to his slack lips. ¡°I think I¡¯d be able to tell. You don¡¯t just forget something like that.¡±


    She purses her lips and nods. The wrongness, the violation, the ickiness of another consciousness breaking into her mind. It¡¯s something she¡¯ll never forget. Especially since the parasite is lodged into her mind and she can¡¯t get rid of the sensation of fullness its presence causes.


    ¡°You¡¯ll be okay here?¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡±


    Callista returns with three steaming cups of mocha liquid. She sets one down in front of Liam, who¡¯s pretend-snoring, much to Cora¡¯s amusement, and sets the other two down together.


    ¡°Okay, quit the act,¡± Callista huffs, flicking Liam on the ear. He rises and scowls, rubbing his ear.


    ¡°I¡¯ve done nothing.¡±


    ¡°Exactly. And soon you¡¯ll be doing something, so you may as well do it with as much energy as possible.¡± Within a few days, their dynamic went from estranged to friendly. Cora can¡¯t make sense out of it, but apparently they can, because he accepts the drink and sips out of it.


    His eyes shoot wide open. ¡°That tastes great, actually.¡±


    ¡°I know, right?¡± Cora sips out of her cup. The taste is perfect. She continues sipping even as the liquid sloshes around the cup and burns her tongue. ¡°Everything they make tastes amazing.¡±


    ¡°They called it a warm mushroom¡¯s brew,¡± Callista says. She tastes the drink and hums, pleased.


    ¡°Will you be okay there?¡±


    That¡¯s the last thing Cora expects to hear from him. ¡°Yeah? Why wouldn¡¯t I be?¡±


    ¡°Somebody¡¯s colluding with the Transient. I wanted you to remember that.¡±


    She nearly spits out the drink. She forces herself to swallow and set the cup down. The taste is delicious, and she has no reason to doubt the chefs¨Cafter all, they¡¯ve kept her fed for weeks¨Cbut she can¡¯t bring herself to drink again.


    The Cenarians are friendly. They could¡¯ve captured them, interrogated them, or killed them the first few days. They could¡¯ve turned them away, or refused to heal them, or ignored them.


    ¡°I¡¯ll be fine.¡±


    Except Cora doesn¡¯t believe herself anymore.


    ***


    Resma is the first to wave his tendrils around after Cora crosses the entrance, curling them into a fist for her to bump.


    ¡°Good morning, Cora,¡± he intones. He adjusts the plate of red armor covering his chest. ¡°Do you appreciate my fashion?¡±


    She smiles. ¡°It really brings out the swirls on your shoulders. How was your morning?¡±


    ¡°Rotations, keeping watch, the usual activities. Ah, allow me to introduce you to my friends. You know Aspa, I believe?¡±


    Aspa wears a plate of blue armor. She curls her tendrils into a fist, which Cora fist-bumps as well. ¡°Hi, Aspa,¡± she says.


    ¡°Hello.¡±


    ¡°This is Tere.¡± Tere, unlike the other three, is clad head to toe in armored plates. They clang against each other as they lift their arm and several tendrils offer a hesitant shake. ¡°Tere cannot vocalize. She asks if you are meeting the governor with that stain on your shirt.¡±


    By instinct, Cora glances down, finding nothing, only to hear a metallic chortle from deep within the metal carapace. Their tendrils twist and bend at odd angles, and Resma rapidly interprets, beady eyes soaking in the frantic movements.


    ¡°Tere says she is sorry. And that she¡­¡± Tere¡¯s tendrils form loops and wave rapidly. ¡°Is lying and is actually not sorry. Ha!¡±


    The last one remaining is Obuch. They wear normal armor like Resma and Aspa, except plated gray, and a chain necklace hangs from their neck. Their mushroom cap, unlike the rest, is narrower, like a pointy hat emerging from their spotted scalp.


    ¡°This is Obuch. He is the undisputed master of sarcasm, though Aspa may challenge his status soon.¡±


    ¡°I would do no such thing,¡± Aspa protests, waving her tendrils around.


    ¡°No, you would beat me,¡± Obuch says quietly. ¡°You have much talent and I lack all. I am jealous of you.¡±


    Cora grins. ¡°I disagree.¡±


    The other two remaining people are Eporsa and Callista, and both of them look terribly out of place, awkwardly shoved into one corner of the entrance room while Cora and the guards take up the center.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Callista looks like she¡¯s testing the water in a pool full of sharks. Eporsa offers his characteristic waving of his tendrils, oddly subdued compared to the confident doctor that sweeps into any room with an aura that demands respect.


    Resma bows his head, the characteristic Cenarian signal of I screwed up please don¡¯t be mad. ¡°My apologies, doctor. We may set out.¡± His eyes twinkle, and he straightens his back. ¡°Ah, Callista, do you want a rematch?¡±


    ¡°Rematch?¡± Cora says, at the same time Callista grins and offers her hand.


    ¡°Not today, you lousy cheater. Maybe after we escort Cora, if you¡¯d be willing by then.¡±


    ¡°I would not mind soaking in the glory of a second win.¡±


    ¡°Save your banter for after,¡± Eporsa intones, and the guards fall quiet. Callista grunts and scowls at Resma, who offers a brief wave of his tendrils. The guards assume positions around him and Cora, except Callista, who lingers at the edge of the group. ¡°We will begin, then.¡±


    The walk starts at the entrance, descends several slopes, crosses the jumble of railroad tracks, misshapen buildings, and roads, descends once more into a valley cut into rock, and finally opens up to the edge of Cenari itself.


    From afar, the city of Duproseis resembled a child¡¯s mad dreams, shacks and huts stacked beside stone and steel buildings beneath the five mushrooms. The skyscrapers completed the look, too sleek and modern to belong in a fantasy world, impaling the city¡¯s underbelly and soaring toward open skies.


    From within, Cora is immediately thrust into a labyrinth of streets, dirt and paved, clean and littered with trash. Passersby hurry down the winding streets. Signs spin on their poles, names melting mid-sentence to match whatever direction they point at. Children scamper down sidewalks, kicking what looks like the fantasy version of a soccer ball down the slopes, shrieking and pushing each other. A few cheat by manipulating wind currents or downright levitating the ball toward their feet, and other children bend stone to bounce the ball at angles or summon wisps of flames that push the ball forward.


    So many alien faces glance over her. Some are flat-faced, others rounded; Some have beaks, some have three or more eyes. One citizen has none. Tails, claws, feathers, scales, and more mix into a blur she quickly loses track of. Her attention bounces from person to person and soon, her eyes glaze over.


    It¡¯s like the city back home. Completely mundane, if one ignored the variety of people and their gifts freely expressed in public.


    Cora passes cafes, restaurants, supermarkets, and convenience stores. Vendors shout at her to check their produce, guaranteeing their freshness from Magaram or Lorden or whatever world they¡¯re selling from. Stalls set along busy roads promise cures to aging, disease, and mental illness, waving vials of neon liquids that radiate like tiny stars.


    ¡°We are nearly there,¡± Eporsa intones, sidestepping several children barreling forward, one of them wreathed in water that somehow doesn¡¯t soak into their clothes.


    ¡°Do you want anything?¡± Resma points his tendrils at several stalls. ¡°There is plenty of food, plenty of games, or other things that may interest you.¡±


    Cora loves the wildness of the city, yet her stomach squirms at the prospect of meeting the governor. They¡¯re going to talk about the box. The object that changed her and Liam¡¯s lives forever, for better or for worse. The object that some Cenarian soldiers recognized and passed the message along to their superiors.


    ¡°Nope. Maybe after we¡¯re done?¡±


    ¡°Sure.¡±


    Tere waves her tendrils in frantic patterns. Several shapes come out of her wild twitches, and Cora¡¯s head hurts, the memory of the abyss doing its best to crush her into nothingness.


    ¡°Tere says she would like to teach you several board games, if you want.¡± Several twists later, Resma speaks again. ¡°She says do not worry. The governor is a fair leader. You will be okay.¡±


    Well. That certainly does little to help Cora¡¯s anxiety. She nods and gulps. They turn a final corner and reach a broad street gently sloping upward. Nestled between two of the giant mushrooms, far, far, below, is an emerald palace.


    Jade pillars support a vast, mushroom-like dome that caps dozens of stories of a narrower base. Crowds are even thicker there, congregating like ants, blotting out the lower stories of the palace. Behind it, a few towers curl toward the sky like clawed fingers, but neither the palace nor towers reach the mind-boggling proportions of the other skyscrapers that scrape between the giant mushrooms.


    Tree-like mushrooms line either side of the road. Countless stalls are packed into the spaces between mushrooms, and thousands of people are crammed into every square inch, jostling each other for passage toward the palace, or buying off the vendors.


    There are no gifts active, however. Everybody just acts normal. The guards, though, wince as they cross some invisible threshold. Eporsa recoils. Callista grimaces, sinking her fingers into her stomach.


    ¡°There is nothing quite like entering the governor¡¯s grounds,¡± Obuch says, and the others are too queasy to respond.


    Apart from a faint tickling stirring at the base of her stomach, Cora feels nothing. ¡°Huh? Why are you guys acting like that?¡±


    Aspa¡¯s tendrils wave aimlessly. ¡°Permissions are turned off. Gifts cannot be used here.¡±


    ¡°Several commanders have gifts of nullification. Their influence extends to cover the governor¡¯s grounds,¡± Eporsa intones, sounding miserable. ¡°With the incurable effect of temporary nausea.¡±


    ¡°We will get through it,¡± Resma groans.


    ¡°Wait.¡± Callista turns toward Cora and extends a hand. ¡°You didn¡¯t feel anything?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m kind of fucked up, remember?¡± She still can¡¯t reach toward her metaphysical self. It remains wounded and sealed behind an impenetrable barrier her nails glance over.


    ¡°I¡¯ve never heard of somebody like you. Huh.¡±


    The sea of people part around a vehicle that looks straight out of a sci-fi movie. Rounded edges, bands of steel, and flat panes of glass wrap around a bulk of glossy black metal, stretched into a teardrop shape, tail end pointed away. The pod is suspended several feet over the ground, and no matter how hard Cora squints, she can¡¯t make out any wheels.


    ¡°Thank Arcego,¡± Aspa says. ¡°Travel in style.¡±


    The pod glides past the crowd and continues down the winding length of the street before drifting to a stop several feet away. Panels fold and slide into the steel bands. Glass retracts into the black metal bulk. Two people sit inside, one a Cenarian wearing glittering gold armor, the other an octopus creature tapping complex patterns into the metal.


    ¡°Is this real?¡± Cora asks. Cenari and its people contrast so much against the forest and its horrors that she wonders if she bled out after pushing her gift too far, suffering vivid hallucinations.


    Maybe it¡¯s the parasite influencing her broken mind, and really she is dying a slow death. Everything is too good to be true here. The last few weeks¨Ca month, almost¨Chave passed by so smoothly she finds it hard to believe she¡¯s here.


    ¡°Welcome aboard,¡± the Cenarian pilot intonates, and despite Cora¡¯s mix of dread and incredulity, she laughs and steps aboard first.

 20 - Terchio

    ¡°Should we walk you back to your room?¡±


    ¡°No, no, I need to finish this. For my sake.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll be okay.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    ***


    The pod deposits them at the palace entrance. Calling it that is an understatement, because the entrance is huge, bigger than three houses jammed side-to-side. Statues of Cenarians line the outside walls, housed inside alcoves. Alien writing is inscribed onto the pillars themselves, bold and daring, searing with light confidently displayed for all visitors to see.


    Inside, hundreds of sconces suffuse a golden glow on gray and soft green walls. Three car-sized chandeliers dangle around a stone statue of a Cenarian, larger than life, posed with an arm raised over its head and its tendrils holding a shield. Off to the sides, several corridors snake around the length of the palace before disappearing at tight corners. Thousands of bookshelves line the atrium walls on each floor. Metal railings separate balconies and bookshelves from the hundreds of feet of open space above the first floor. The floors and bookshelves continue upward and upward in a dizzying spiral until the final floor ends beneath the ceiling, bearing a marble-engraved crescent symbol with two lines cutting horizontally across.


    Congress, the Supreme Court, and the White House have nothing on Cenarian architecture. No Earthly architecture does. Maybe there is such a building back home, but could it compare against the physics-defying spiraling architecture of a civilization with magic?


    ¡°It¡¯s so big,¡± Cora says, lost within the elegant details. Massive paintings are mounted beside pedestals of miniature Cenarian busts. Gold trim brushes against the gray walls and ends at green walls, where silver continues. Reddish brown chairs and tables surround the statue and cluster beneath the towering bookshelves. The pattern is replicated for every floor above until they¡¯re too high to make out any details. ¡°And beautiful. It just keeps going and going.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad you think so,¡± their escort, Paranes, says. Unlike most, Paranes is a short, furry, blend of dog and raccoon. His striped tail curls behind him like a raccoon¡¯s, and his ears are perked up like a dog¡¯s. She itches to pet his head and squeal, but Callista is there, and it¡¯d be embarrassing to him. ¡°The governor¡¯s palace is a place of pride for Cenarians. It may be small compared to the capital, but it doesn¡¯t diminish its significance.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re saying this is small?¡± She gestures at everything. ¡°You¡¯re joking, right?¡± She cranes her head all the way back to spot the crescent and double line symbol. ¡°That is way too tall.¡±


    Resma chuckles. ¡°Someday, if time permits, and funds permit, I will take you to see the capital. I never stop being surprised every time I return home.¡±


    Paranes perks up. ¡°Another Estrenian? What district did you live in?¡±


    ¡°Polpara. Your accent reminds me of¡­¡± Resma¡¯s tendrils twirl. ¡°Edris?¡±


    ¡°Wow, that was impressive! I thought my accent faded after so many years of work here.¡± Paranes flicks his tail and folds his ears so they¡¯re halfway raised.


    ¡°It has, but you still pronounce the vowels sharply. I suppose some things last with you for life.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I suppose, though I feel like I¡¯ve lived a lifetime here,¡± Paranes says, ears perking up again. ¡°If anybody wants to, I can provide a tour of the palace grounds while Cora speaks to the governor.¡±


    ¡°That would be ideal,¡± Eporsa intones. ¡°I have come into this room to consult with local administrators, but never explored beyond.¡± He wrings his tendrils together and unwinds them. ¡°Are you allowed to, though?¡±


    ¡°I have full permissions,¡± Paranes boasts, raising his head. ¡°But first, Cora?¡±


    She steps forward like a woman before the gallows. Everybody''s watching her. She has to act steady and confident like she does at the hospital. It should be like visiting a new patient or soldier. Cora knows how to introduce herself, how to listen, and how to manage conversations.


    But it¡¯s the box! She¡¯s so close to finding out things her research never told her. Maybe who made it, where it came from, why it exists, anything at all. The true meat of the truth rather than the scraps of discarded flesh she had to be content to gnaw on.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± she says, even as her heart beats furiously.


    ¡°I meant if you would like a tour after you finish.¡± Paranes creases his eyes. ¡°The choice is yours.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯d like a tour, thank you.¡±


    ¡°In that case, since you¡¯re ready, follow me.¡± He turns toward the rest of the group. ¡°The rest of you may wait in the atrium. If you need restrooms or are hungry, a worker will attend to you shortly and you may request what you need. I won¡¯t take long.¡±


    Cora waves an awkward goodbye, and the guards wave back. Eporsa offers a fist-bump, and she fist-bumps back. Last is Callista, and for her she opens her arm and quickly hugs her.


    ¡°What was that?¡± Callista says quietly, though her lips quirk into a smile.


    ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it,¡± Cora huffs, and pivots on her feet before her burning face betrays her.


    The walk lasts several minutes. Paranes escorts her past several hallways, each a variation of the atrium. They don¡¯t share a word, but Cora doesn¡¯t think she can say anything without blabbering. Her insides twist and squirm. Her heart rate spikes. She wipes off her sweaty hand on her jeans, yet the moisture builds in seconds.


    She¡¯s so close. She practically vibrates in equal parts excitement and apprehension. What if she needed to bring the box? What if she needed Liam to act as a back-up witness?


    On second thought, maybe it was better for him to stay. She can¡¯t imagine what he must be feeling about the box.


    They descend into the bowels of a rustic floor, decorations sparse and bookshelves lacking. Doorways lead to empty rooms, or offices that look like they haven¡¯t seen a good cleaning in years. After a few more convoluted turns, the corridor yawns wide open and they step into a metal box suspended over darkness.


    ¡°Brace your legs,¡± Paranes warns, bending his own.


    Cora follows his example, but gulps and stares upward at the shaft of darkness. Cables stretch into the abyss. There might be a smudge of light far, far above, or it might be the dulled glare of a cable.


    ¡°Are we going up?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± He cements his tail on the ground, acting like a third leg. ¡°For reasons I¡¯d rather not disclose, this is the only elevator to the Cap. I¡¯ll try my best to make our trip run smoothly.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re going to move this thing?¡± But she shouldn¡¯t be surprised. She¡¯s seen crazier things.


    ¡°Ready.¡± And then Paranes¡¯s eyes glow vermillion. Metal groans around them. The platform jerks, the barred walls bend, and Cora nearly wets herself.


    Then the metal lurches upward. She stumbles and holds onto the metal bars comprising the walls, wind whipping her hair back and grit into her eyes. She screws them shut, legs buckling as the acceleration threatens to slam her to the ground.


    ¡°There,¡± Paranes says, at the same time the platform slows and stops at a new corridor. He pops open the door and gestures with a clawed, furry paw. Or hand. It¡¯s hard to tell in the dark. ¡°You may signal to me at any time at the Cap, and I will respond as soon as I can. I will warn you that you may be¡­¡± He flicks his tail around. ¡°You¡¯ll see. Best of luck, Cora.¡±


    That is totally not suspicious. ¡°See you, Paranes,¡± she says, taking the first step onto the corridor floor. She turns and waves a goodbye at him, whose ears perk up and his tail wags, before his eyes glow and the box drops back into the abyssal depths.


    She stands at the mouth of a corridor lit by rings built into the brick walls. Like hollowed-out polka dots, they dot the ceiling, walls, and floor, though several long since died, leaving behind empty carcasses of metal and thick glass.


    She ventures carefully down the corridor. The air chills. Her skin prickles. The corridor seems to go on forever, paradoxically, lights and brick reduced to a smear at the end. She walks until her feet ache, until her heart slams into her chest, until her light panting echoes down the corridor forever.


    She should be worried. Paranes escorted her to a corridor that somehow stretches to infinity and left nonchalantly. When she turns back around, the abyssal elevator shaft is gone, and yet more corridor stretches in that direction.


    But Cora has seen worse. Cenari makes sense for all the wrong reasons, and even a month¡¯s worth of change and recovery inside its protective bubble failed to fully integrate into her thought processes. It did teach her some things, though. Magic, gifts, are common. If Eporsa, Callista, and everybody else hadn¡¯t lied, gifts are ubiquitous across all worlds.


    So a corridor stretching to infinity is normal. There are no mutant creatures hunting her down, no Transients fighting her, no gusts of freezing wind that turn her into an icicle. Sure, it¡¯s cold, but that¡¯s different from freezing.


    A test, then. Maybe this is the governor¡¯s way to screen threats. She drags her hand along the rings and bricks. The light rings are warm, and buzz against her hand, their illumination unwavering. The bricks are just that¨Cbricks, rough and solid to the touch, unyielding beneath pressure.


    If she stands on her toes and stretches her arm, she can graze the ceiling. She brushes solid stone and nothing else, cool to the touch. The floor is a checkered pattern of varying shades of gray and rings of light set into some of them. She walks toward a dead ring and touches it, and like the rest, is cold to the touch.


    She follows the corridor for a few minutes, trying each surface with her hand, or tapping her foot on the rings. Nothing gives, nothing changes, except the pattern the rings are laid out in.


    A message or cypher?


    Cora squints. The details sharpen, but there is no broad stroke of genius clearing away her doubts. She unfocuses her eyes, and the result is worse, an incoherent mess of details.


    ¡°What the heck,¡± she mumbles, breath puffing out. It¡¯s getting colder, but all the walking is keeping her nice and warm. She rears back and punches the wall. Hissing, she shakes her hand and nurses it to her chest, knuckles grazed bloody.


    Paranes did say he¡¯d come at her request.


    ¡°Okay, Paranes, don¡¯t let me down.¡± Cora raises her head and bellows. ¡°Paranes!¡±


    Of course, the natural result is a reverberating echo of herself, going forever and ever. She winces and ducks her head.


    He¡¯ll come eventually. All she has to do is wait.


    Less than a minute later, her teeth chatter. She starts walking again.


    It could be a trap. Maybe they don¡¯t trust her. Maybe whoever opens the box becomes a monster, and they decided the best way to dispose of her was to trap her in an infinite corridor, doomed to grace its bare floors.


    ¡°Is anybody there?¡±


    Nobody responds. She¡¯s not surprised, but the lack of response still makes her nervous. What if they trapped her? What if she can¡¯t get out, ever, because they fear her somehow?


    But they could¡¯ve just killed her since the start. The logic doesn¡¯t fit. It has to be a test, but if it is, she¡¯s failing every step.


    Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    Unless¡­ Cora shakes her head. The parasite is too risky, too dangerous, and absolutely stupid to try summoning. Can she even do that? Every violation of her mind happened through the parasite¡¯s own will. It¡¯s lodged like a piece of meat stuck between two teeth in her mind, and she can¡¯t budge it at all.


    No, it¡¯s a dumb idea. Its power might crack through the illusion or physical corridor or whatever abomination the infinite corridor is, but no.


    The answer slams into her all at once, and she shudders at the sheer simplicity of it. The walls are brick. The ceiling is stone. The floor is stone. The rings of light are made of metal and glass, but if she tried hard enough, she¡¯s sure she could impose the gears of terrestrial reality on them, too.


    That is, if she hadn¡¯t pushed her metaphysical self to metaphysical death first.


    ¡°I figured it out.¡± She looks around, and nobody responds. Nothing shifts out of place, but she knows that she¡¯s right. ¡°You¡¯re testing my gift to see if I¡¯ll break out. Well, I hate to tell you this, but I can¡¯t.¡±


    Permissions are enabled.


    The words come from everywhere. She recoils, raising her arm to fend off an invader that isn¡¯t there. Not in the way that matters. The three words echo until they fade away.


    ¡°I can¡¯t. I pushed myself too far and destroyed something, I think. I can¡¯t use my gift again.¡±


    That is impossible. Try.


    Cora shudders. ¡°I am!¡± She scrabbles to access that metaphysical plane, slip into her metaphysical self, and set the gears into motion. She hits a blank wall dividing reality from unreality. ¡°I tried, but I can¡¯t.¡±


    Try.


    A shudder runs through the corridor. One by one, the rings of light flicker and die. Glass bends and cracks beneath the crushing pressure of cylindrical stone pillars emerging. Only one light remains, and she¡¯s standing right over it. It casts just enough light to produce a halo. Within the gloom, the bricks, ceiling, and floor writhe like carpets of snakes. Slowly, the ceiling bends low, the floor rises, and the walls close in.


    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡±


    Try.


    ¡°This is an illusion, right? I can¡¯t do anything. Trust me.¡±


    Try.


    An illusion that feels very real. An illusion that left very real scrapes on her knuckles. The ceiling presses on her head, and she¡¯s forced into a crouch, resting on the balls of her sore feet. The walls are narrowing, too. She can¡¯t stretch horizontally, the distance not quite enough to lie down in.


    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡±


    Cora shivers. It¡¯s just an illusion. The parasite tortured her with illusions. This is nothing different, cast by another, something she can get out of if she pushes in just the right direction.


    She redirected the energy only inside her own head, because at the end the parasite operates off her own biofeedback. Reaching outward is different, because the energy comes from elsewhere, and as soon as she tries to detect the energy moving the corridor, she fails.


    ¡°Stop!¡±


    She heaves. She unfolds and lies down vertically. Less than a foot of space separates her head from the encroaching ceiling. Inches of space remain at either side of her. She gulps and swallows a shaky breath that dies in her throat.


    ¡°If you¡¯re trying to scare me, congrats, it worked.¡± Cora pants. She trembles, curling her hand into a fist, futilely pushing against the encroaching stone. ¡°It worked! Get me out of here.¡±


    Try.


    The bricks brush against her arms and legs. She crosses her legs and drapes her arm over her chest. ¡°Paranes!¡± The ceiling is close enough she can see the tiny pits and bumps on the stone. Then, it touches her nose, squishing it a little. She feels a heavy force press into her chest. ¡°Paranes! Help!¡±


    It¡¯s just an illusion. It¡¯s just an illusion. It¡¯s just an illusion.


    Her hips start to ache. The stone mercilessly presses inward, and there¡¯s nothing she can do to stop it. Her nose slowly but surely is bending beneath the ceiling. It¡¯ll have to break.


    ¡°Paranes!¡±


    Paranes will not reach you in time. Try.


    ¡°I can¡¯t!¡± she shrieks, her eyes tearing up. ¡°I can¡¯t!¡±


    A shift measured in millimeters later, her nose breaks. The pain is sharp and lances into her face. She screams.


    ¡°Help! Help! Help!¡±


    Her hips ache. Her shoulders are starting to be crushed inward. Her chest is aching, too, ribs gently protesting the immense weight on top of them. She shrieks and claws at her metaphysical self. The unreality rejects her desperate attempts and she¡¯s thrust back into her body.


    ¡°Please! Stop!¡±


    Deep within the folds of her brain tissue, a familiar, unwelcome presence stirs. It doesn¡¯t suspend time or turn its cruel attention toward her. If she didn¡¯t know better, she¡¯d think the parasite didn¡¯t care at all.


    It does something to the intangible wall of reality and unreality, weakens its structural integrity. Just enough for Cora to find a weakness and pour her remaining strength into it.


    The parasite fades into memory, but its lasting influence allows her to


    Break


    Through


    And


    Move.


    Cora fights a current shoving her back into normal reality. She dives, twists, and inserts herself into the corpse of her metaphysical self. Her other body sustained wounds that would kill normal humans in seconds back in normal reality. Bones are shattered. Muscles are torn. Ligaments are snapped. Hands and feet are missing. She¡¯s missing ears and an eye, the other bloodshot and rheumy, vision clouded. Her chest is caved in, gashes gouged into her abdomen, legs bruised and mottled gray. Patches of skin are cooked, others peeling off. Clumps of hair fall to the ground as she moves her head.


    And it hurts. It shouldn¡¯t hurt, but the damage is so vast and extensive it pierces deeper than any neuron. A dull ache envelops her, the pain of loss, of want for something more than... this.


    Yet the gears remain inert. All she has to do is put them into motion, and insert will and intent.


    Cora has two out of three finished. She¡¯s willing to turn the gears and stop the corridors from crushing her into paste, but the gears don¡¯t budge. She smashes a fractured elbow into the nearest gear and a deep throb pulses.


    Her throat is a bloody ruin. Words come out in a wet gargle. Move! She tries her other elbow and wedges it between two gears, pushing. Her shoulder aches, a bone slips, and her arm flops uselessly at her side. Another slow, deep throb envelops her.


    Please! The current wraps around her and tries to carry her back out. She clings to what remains of her metaphysical self, pleading to whatever cruel god or gods are out there to save her. Or let her save herself.


    Just one more time. Of course, the world deigns to remain silent. She nudges her knee into a gear, and the metal bites into her sloughing skin and muscles. Bone, still solidly attached to the rest of her peeling body, slips between two gears. The next throb nearly knocks her unconscious. Through squinted eyes and a defiant scream hissed out a lipless mouth, she shifts a gear just enough and superimposes her will on it.


    Move. Destroy. Find.


    Her subconscious operates the rest. Cora is shunted out of the metaphysical plane into her very real body, and nearly blacks out from the very real pain.


    Weeks of progress are unbound in an instant. Pores over her skin pop open. Skin peels away. The underlying muscle throbs, and she twitches, arms bending at odd angles, legs locking into a tight knot. But beyond her, stone and brick ripples outward, as if the architecture is convulsing, attempting to expel a foreign toxin.


    Except she latches on. She directs the massive surge of energy to her will, to free herself from the caged-in box about to crush her. She shoves the pillars back into their rings. Bricks slot back into the walls. The floor flattens out, and the ceiling rises.


    But Cora wants more than that. She wants to prove to herself that she can still fight. That what happened was real, but not irreversible. That she can find and rescue Mari, then go home, even if it¡¯ll take a lifetime.


    And that if push comes to shove, Cora won¡¯t hesitate to destroy anybody who gets in her way.


    She shunts the remaining energy to every crack in the corridor. The effect is instant¨Cthousands of bricks break free and pulverize themselves into dust. The rings shatter. Crevices split the floor open. Cracks rocket across the ceiling, and sections break off, falling toward the floor.


    Something else registers at the edge of her awareness. Another room, vast and dome-shaped, encloses the formerly sealed corridor. Several people shout at each other, summoning shields to block the spread of the cracks as they reach the room.


    It¡¯s too late. They wanted to kill her. Vaguely, she¡¯s aware that her friends are somewhere far below her. Then she realizes they can run. It¡¯s not like they won¡¯t be warned from the palace shivering in anticipation.


    It feels euphoric controlling so much, for so little. Her body is failing and wounds are opening everywhere, sure, but the strength that courses through her metaphysical fingertips is vast. The rush of power is addicting. With a flicker of thought and a few convulsions, she breaks past the shields and rushes up the dome.


    It is so vast and so delicate, built using principles of engineering and affixed into place by dozens of miracle materials smashed together through genius invention and magic. Cora consumes its entirety and revels in how simple it would be to shift another gear and grip the dome, shattering it like an egg in her metaphysical fist, and reducing the people inside into mush.


    But that¡¯s too much effort for her failing body. She¡¯s only human, and she¡¯s starting to realize that her metaphysical self is connected to her real self, injuries included. If she wants to save Mari, Cora has to live, and if she has to live, she has to let go.


    Reluctantly, she releases her grip on the dome. The shivering stops. The foundations creak as the materials settle back into place. People shout and summon more shields. They clump together like soap bubbles around the corridor, which she realizes stretches at most twenty feet before ending at a stairwell.


    Or at least, it had stretched just shy of twenty feet. The walls and ceiling are currently heaps of powder on a gutted floor. The stairwell is a suggestion of itself, the bottom half blown off, the stone beneath carved out.


    Did she do all that?


    Cora looks around. She blew a crater where the corridor used to be. Compared to the dome, the crater is tiny, but it¡¯s deep enough that light slants at an angle and strikes the upper half of the far wall. Most of the crater is plunged into shadow, including her, while lit faces peer over the edge, hesitant behind their shields.


    ¡°Stand down,¡± someone shouts. A crown of electricity dances around their head. ¡°Do not summon your gift again, or you will be shot.¡±


    Cora grimaces. She wipes at her nose. Her fingers come away sticky. ¡°What is this, a bad cop show?¡±


    ¡°Stand down!¡±


    ¡°How can somebody stand down? On your head?¡± She¡¯s woozy. She can barely stand, having to lean against a crater wall, while her vision swims. And yet, she relishes the attention. That rush of power¡­ nothing compares to that. She was so close to crushing the dome like an eggshell. ¡°You wanted to kill me!¡±


    ¡°You were never in danger.¡±


    A new voice. High, trilling. Cora immediately hates it. The new arrival positions herself before all the soldiers. A Cenarian, fitted in a flowing red garment that sweeps around their legs. Unlike the rest, their mushroom cap is missing a section on the side, and puckered scars run down their face. Four of them, long and thin. Sparkling emerald eyes gaze back rather than the usual beady black eyes Cenarians have.


    Oh. That¡¯s because they hold a shield of her own, except it covers them from head to foot, and wraps around them like plastic wrap. Their garment moves of its own free will, flowing around their stocky figure. Another gift, then?


    ¡°I almost died,¡± Cora snarls. Her throat hurts from screaming. ¡°You broke my nose.¡±


    ¡°That was a direct consequence of your reckless rampage. We never meant to harm you. It was a test designed to measure the extent of your purported gift. My soldiers had told me of your immense potential, but well¡­¡±


    So that¡¯s the governor. Nothing else needs to be said on that, at least.


    ¡°I was informed about the loss of your gift. I had never heard of a case like yours, so I designed this test to evoke a response. Of course, to ensure a maximum response, we used several gifts of illusions to convince you that you were in a life-threatening situation.¡± The governor pauses, glancing over the crater. At the cracks that spiderweb beyond the rim and run up the arches supporting the vast dome. ¡°What we weren¡¯t expecting was the sudden magnitude you escalated by. It shouldn¡¯t be possible, not by normal grid standards. But I have a working hypothesis.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re not even gonna apologize?¡± Cora works her jaw and spits out a glob of bloody mucus. Her stomach is a bottomless pit yearning for more, to feel that awesome surge of power and control. Her heart aches, because she can¡¯t get to live a normal life. ¡°After doing that?¡±


    ¡°I will not apologize, because if we hadn¡¯t tested you here first, you may have wiped Cenari off the coastline.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    The governor raises an arm. His tendrils writhe, and his garment follows, slipping around his shoulders. ¡°You aren¡¯t alone, are you?¡±


    Cora does her best to remain still. ¡°What do you mean?¡±


    ¡°You came to speak with me about the box.¡± Now it¡¯s the soldiers¡¯ turn to look confused, glancing at the governor, who also remains still. Even the garment lies limp across his broad shoulders. ¡°Something I do know is the attachment of an entity to the main user. Given sufficient time, the entity possesses the user and is driven to insanity.¡±


    ¡°You know.¡± Finally. Another who understands. Cora almost cries with relief, almost chooses to forget what happened and talk one-on-one with the governor.


    Almost.


    A faint nagging bothers her. The parasite¡¯s influence? Cora combs her mind, but the energy is constant, belonging to her and her only. ¡°But you said you weren¡¯t expecting this magnitude of damage.¡±


    ¡°Yes, we weren¡¯t. But well¡­¡± The governor¡¯s garment flows around their torso. ¡°Not enough is known about the entities that possess users. All the knowledge I have is anecdotal, at best. One theme they have is that the entity never helps a user. Ever. I hypothesized that a contradiction in internal matters diminishes a gift¡¯s response, but if there is synchrony, then theoretically the response should be maximal. And well.¡±


    ¡°You weren¡¯t worried about me? I was in the hospital for almost a month.¡±


    ¡°Yes, I was aware. I observed at a distance. The doctors there told me daily updates on your condition. Unlike every other user I am aware of, you recovered fairly well. When I heard of the loss of your gift, I had to determine if it was true. Which is why I tested you to gain data before a potential catastrophe could occur.¡±


    That makes sense. Then again, Cora is too exhausted to parse out the details and form a logical conclusion. All she hears is that the governor sounds too much like a scientist rather than a politician, and he knows about the box and the parasite. A necessary evil she has to tolerate, if it means she finally gets answers.


    ¡°I hate that thing. I hate having it in my head,¡± she says. ¡°It¡¯s always there and I can¡¯t get rid of it.¡±


    The governor straightens his back. ¡°Allow my healers to mend you. And then, we may talk in private.¡±

 21 - Anarei

    ¡°Rosalind¡¯s the best.¡±


    ¡°Hey.¡±


    ¡°Hi to you too. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    ¡°Liam. And yours?¡±


    ***


    Ashen light eclipses the summit of the colossal dome. Panes of glass stretch beyond any sane imagination, wrap around trunks of metal thicker than buildings, catch the light, and refract it into a band of colors. Ripples simmer in the ceiling, wisps of colors suspended within the arching carapace of metal, wood, and stone.


    To Cora¡¯s metaphysical senses, the dome had felt like an eggshell, fragile beneath the touch of a power no mortal should possess. She expected the structure to be thin, wafer-like.


    Not the sight that steals her breath away. The vastness of the interior ceiling spans from horizon to horizon, impossibly large. Each section of glass must be bigger than a house. Hundreds wrap around a core of metal on the ceiling, where the arches converge, and between where the colorful wisps hover.


    Too bad parts of the dome cracked under the weight of her observation. A few panes are fractured, and the refracted colors blur into a vague mist. The walls at the far end are cracked. Rifts opened up on the floor, branching away from the crater.


    All of this Cora takes in as she writhes on the platform, surrounded by several of the governor¡¯s best healers. Their tendrils trail over her skin and impart a tickling sensation that seals her wounds and soothes her muscles. Her internal pangs cease to exist. Her head clears. She can breathe again. She feels over her body and touches bruises that are rapidly fading.


    Wait. She bends her left wrist. Apart from a few faint crackles, the movement is effortless. She rotates her hand and splays her fingers, rotates her wrist, and flops it back and forth.


    ¡°Oh my God,¡± Cora gasps, touching her bone. She circles her fingers around her wrist and bends it. ¡°I¡­¡± She wants to hate the governor and his workers. They trapped and tested her inside that wretched corridor. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    A healer offers a friendly writhing of her tendrils. ¡°The fragments were set. All they needed was encouragement.¡±


    ¡°You did a good job following the hospital¡¯s directives,¡± another healer says. ¡°Not many do.¡±


    ¡°Enough. The governor is waiting for you.¡± The source of the husky voice, a massive Cenarian built like a tree, points their arm at the lone room in the middle of the dome, an ugly box that offers nothing beyond a nondescript door.


    ¡°You¡¯re a jerk,¡± Cora says. She can¡¯t stop touching her wrist, still shocked at how light and free it feels, though she glares at the guard when she passes by.


    ¡°I¡¯m just following orders.¡±


    She closes the gap between herself and the room. Pausing before the dark door, she gnaws on her lip. What is she going to say? She wants to scream at the governor for trapping her. She wants to question him. She wants to go home.


    Find Mari. Go home. Those are the only things she needs, and everything else is optional. Whatever may come, in whatever shape or form, she won¡¯t hesitate. Gone is the Cora that fought Mari and doomed them to another world.


    A month of nurturing, of self-care, of kindness and safety, has shown Cora that reality is not cruel and uncaring.


    Mari. Home.


    Cora opens the door and comes face-to-face with a sprawling new world.


    A castle floats far above a sparkling blue lake. Rolling plains of bright green stretch off toward infinity. Barely more than smudges against a palette of blues and muted greens, several fortresses hover miles above the land. They gently rotate, and colorful light coruscates from a translucent curtain draped over this world, fluttering with the swaying of the fortresses, producing chains of color that burst like fireworks across the sky.


    She glances back at the dome, the crater she blew into the foundations, and the healers and soldiers looking at her expectantly.


    ¡°What is this?¡± she asks.


    ¡°The Marlus-Cenari node, intra-Muschia network,¡± the nearest soldier says. ¡°Marlus is the governor¡¯s residence.¡±


    ¡°I thought this was the governor¡¯s residence.¡± Cora sweeps her arms. ¡°Everything. This place is huge. And you¡¯re telling me that¡¯s not enough?¡±


    ¡°It is, but Marlus was necessary.¡±


    Of course. The prolonged war against the Empire, which the soldiers back at the hospital made it seem dragged into a bloody stalemate for decades, each side delivering glancing blows on Uklut.


    ¡°So what do I do? Do I just¡­ go?¡±


    ¡°Yes. Don¡¯t forget to hold on to the railings. The wind may throw you around.¡±


    Railings? Then she notices the long series of interlocked hexagons leading from the doorway toward the castle. Railings stick out of the outer hexagon edges, zig-zagging toward the castle as well. Hundreds of floating rocks drift around the castle in a lazy orbit. A few approach the bridge, but suddenly change course and drift away.


    ¡°There¡¯s no way this is real.¡± Cora takes a step back, then another, until the doorway looks like it had wallpaper plastered over it. ¡°No way. This place doesn¡¯t feel real. Nothing makes sense. How is that there? Why is there only one elevator that goes here? Where are the stairs? Why is everything so big and empty?¡±


    Her gift had given her a glimpse of the structure. Hollow, empty within, little more than a vast cavern supported by the dome¡¯s hardened materials. Unlike the base, packed with details too rich for her to read, the dome was just that¨Ca dome.


    Her eyes fall on the coruscating lights, the glass panels, the intricate carvings on the ceiling, and the sprawling vastness of the floor, with the crater punched off to the side, and the single room and the doorway that apparently leads elsewhere.


    It¡¯s surreal. It¡¯s unreal. If the Cenarians worried about Transia, why create this? A superstructure that serves no purpose. A single doorway that leads to the governor¡¯s residence. Where are the guards, the reinforced barriers, the sniper nests, the people?


    ¡°It was the will of Arcego,¡± a guard says, shuffling forward. ¡°And our ancestors followed his divine plan.¡±


    Arcego. One of the founding members of the Empire. The peaceful one, Callista said, the one everyone trusted before that thing called the Unbinding happened and he died and the worlds fractured, leaving behind an intact, colossal structure of power Marpei easily commanded.


    ¡°How long ago was this place built?¡±


    ¡°We don¡¯t know.¡±


    So maybe there was a point to shaping the palace into this weird, paradoxical structure. Cora glances back at the doorway and bites her lip. ¡°Hold on to the railway.¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡± Another guard flourishes his tendrils and removes a wrinkly, black fruit from within his armor plates. ¡°Here. For the nausea.¡±


    ¡°Nausea?¡± But she takes the fruit, surprised at how squishy it is under her grip. Her left hand grips it. Without pain. She can¡¯t get over finally using her dominant hand again.


    ¡°And the vertigo. You are not the first to speak to the governor. We¡¯ve made improvements. Good luck, Cora.¡±


    And with that, the guards and healers watch. It feels like standing in front of a cult, their beady eyes set deep behind wrinkled faces. She rolls the fruit around before turning and marching toward the doorway.


    Its seams brighten at her approach. The image shifts downward toward an outcrop jutting out the side of a steep, striated cliff. Two massive metal poles stab through the outcrop, and from the edge the bridge begins, off toward the floating castle.


    It reminds her too much of her final moments in the void, barrelling into the square that held a blurry image of the forest. She gulps, inches from crossing the threshold.


    Is it safe? The Cenarians seem nonchalant about it.


    Here I go.


    Static crackles along Cora¡¯s skin. Something wet and slimy pushes her back with malformed hands, desperate to keep her where she belongs, to maintain a semblance of order when everything else has slipped into insanity.


    Cora pushes back. The slimy wetness gives under her direct intent and flees, leaving behind a sticky residue that silences the static electricity and leaves her feeling cold.


    Oh.


    The doorway failed to give perspective to just how big and how deep this part of the world goes. The cliff drops at a near-vertical angle. Its surface is pockmarked with holes and scratches, plunging into the bottom of the world. The bottom is distant and hazy, just a few unidentifiable shapes swimming in a soup of murky fog.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    The bridge itself sways gently, while wind gusts whip at her face and blow grit into her eyes. She blinks furiously, reaching with one hand to shield her eyes, the other to rub out the particles.


    Hundreds of yards separate her from the castle. There¡¯s no way she can make it across. She turns back toward the doorway, but it¡¯s gone. A rectangle etched into the gray stone is all that remains.


    Crossing it is, then.


    Cora tests her foot on the first hexagonal panel. It holds firm. She stomps on it, and a faint shudder runs across the bridge. She grabs the railing and it holds, too. Against the yawning chasm, the bridge looks so pitifully small, like a second-grade construction project built with matchsticks and Elmer¡¯s glue.


    This is what the governor and his entrusted Cenarians take? Her stomach flutters as she takes the second step and entrusts her life to the bridge.


    Luckily, it doesn¡¯t snap and fling her into the abyss.


    She sets off at a slow walk, trailing her hands along the railings, pausing when wind gusts blow into the side of the bridge and it sways, resuming after the wind dies down and the bridge feels like rock.


    Once she¡¯s certain she won¡¯t plummet to her certain doom, she looks around. She¡¯s right at the center of the field of floating rocks, and witnessing them personally is something no movie or TV show could ever hope to capture. Forget the panoramic shots of fantasy and sci-fi worlds. The base of her neck prickles, and a pleasurable tingle travels down her spine, while she breathes in the actual, real fantasy world she¡¯s a part of.


    She feels free. Released from the chains binding her to her worldly problems. Out here, beneath the watchful eye of the Muschian sun, blessed by a soothing warmth that protects her against the vicious gusts of wind, she feels happy.


    Cora could stay here forever, suspended in paradise.


    But reality awaits. Clouds seal the sun away, the rocks drift behind the castle, and the wind gusts worsen, pummeling at her, rocking the bridge. She¡¯s forced to move on, though she remembers how magical that moment felt. It¡¯s something she should¡¯ve shared with Mari.


    Mari.


    Cora refuses to cry. It¡¯s only going to hurt, but the pressure builds, her eyes itching as wetness overcomes them. The box. You¡¯re gonna talk to the governor, calm down! She sniffles and releases her iron-clad grip on the railings.


    Miraculously, she manages the rest of the journey more or less intact, save for her stomach swooping and throat tightening as she shoves down her nausea. The fruit helps, pleasantly sweet. Or maybe it¡¯s a placebo effect, but it doesn¡¯t matter, because then she crosses the castle¡¯s main gate and a different type of dread settles over her head.


    Unlike the mushroom-shaped building back at Cenari, the castle is bustling with activity. Dozens of Cenarians patrol the castle walls. Several peek out oval windows set into the stone, before vanishing back into lightless corridors. She crosses the threshold from the pitch black expanse of metal supporting the castle into a hallway that puts most castles to shame.


    Endless carpet cushions her feet. Busts and statues of Cenarians pose within alcoves, glittering under sconces set into the walls. Rich burgundy drapery swoops down and hides deeper corridors. Crowds of people cross or linger in the hallway, chatting and twirling tendrils and posing before artists rapidly sketching their profiles.


    All of them, however, pause and stare at her. Cora gulps. She offers a timid wave, shrinking beneath their suspicious stares. ¡°Hi?¡± Why are there so many people? How are there so many? There¡¯s no way everybody took that bridge. ¡°I came here because the governor wants to talk with me.¡±


    ¡°Say no more,¡± a Cenarian clad in green robes says. ¡°Follow me.¡±


    She can feel their stares burning into the back of her neck. She resists the urge to glance backward, even after they enter a new corridor and the chatter resumes. A short walk away, the corridor ends at what she can only call a throne room. Just like the rest of the palace, it¡¯s richly decorated, though there are no crowns or banners or scepters. Just the crescent and double line symbol set above the throne, inlaid with gold, and glittering between two sconces.


    The throne itself is a squat and ugly metal frame, a misshapen thing that looks like it got partially melted and then had an amateur attempt to repair an armrest and part of a leg before giving up.


    The governor is seated on top, draped from neck to feet in that red garment. His eyes are dull black this time, though they glow the faintest green when the escort leaves and shuts the double doors behind them.


    ¡°Cora,¡± he acknowledges, making no move at all.


    ¡°Governor,¡± she responds. She glares at him, and he gazes back impassively, with not a single tendril betraying any emotion. ¡°I¡¯m still angry at you for what you did.¡±


    ¡°It was necessary. I explained to you why.¡±


    ¡°Maybe it was, but it was still wrong!¡±


    ¡°A small crime to protect a bigger good is not wrong.¡± The governor finally shifts a few tendrils, and they wrap around the remaining armrest. His garment slithers around his neck. ¡°Do you not agree?¡±


    That¡¯s the argument the utilitarians use, don¡¯t they? Cora is about to lay waste to the governor, before an old bit of knowledge surfaces. Different cultures mean different morals. Alien cultures mean alien morals. If utilitarianism is their way of thinking, and all these years they¡¯ve survived the Empire¡¯s crushing forces, does that mean maybe the governor is justified in his point of view?


    The thinking hurts. It brings back whispers of a not-so-distant past where she once excelled at school, being the type of student to raise her hand every class and score at the top of every test.


    She needs those brains if she wants answers. The governor is not my enemy. But there¡¯s no forgetting how it felt being crushed to paste within rock, even if they were illusions. The governor might do worse. Much worse.


    ¡°The box,¡± Cora says, and the governor tilts his head and waves a few tendrils.


    ¡°Yes, the box. I suppose you still have it?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s back at Cenari somewhere. I don¡¯t know exactly.¡± Callista had told her to say that. The Cenarians may be kind, but somebody is working with the Transient.


    ¡°I see.¡± The governor¡¯s garment flows around his torso. Folds ripple and snap backward into themselves. He trails several tendrils along the rustling fabric. ¡°You worry about the entity, don¡¯t you? If it had possessed you already, we wouldn¡¯t be here having this conversation.¡±


    ¡°Tell me everything you know.¡±


    ¡°Ah, of course, it¡¯s why you¡¯re here. I don¡¯t have much to say, really.¡±


    He has a lot to say. Cora might not be the most socially adept, but even she can read him feigning ignorance. Cenarian body language isn¡¯t too different from a human¡¯s. ¡°Where did the box come from?¡±


    The governor¡¯s eyes twinkle. ¡°A better question you should ask is why it exists.¡±


    ¡°Where does it come from, and why does it exist?¡±


    He reaches into the whirling living fabric and produces a thin book. Its edges are eaten away, the bindings peeling off, the title letters faded into obscurity. Cora can¡¯t read what¡¯s left of it, anyway. His tendrils lift the book, flip the pages, and slip between them, acting like temporary bookmarks.


    ¡°The first entry,¡± he says, flipping it open. The writing is ancient and faded. Surprisingly, the chapter had been printed, though the ink is smudged in some areas and the paper is curled and yellow. ¡°The first appearance of the Transient gateway. Two hundred fifty-three years after the Unbinding. Year 198 post founding of the Empire. The gateway is deployed on the Transient homeworld to punch paths into the grid, circumventing the need for nodes. However, due to user error and the rejection of reality, the first user, a certain character called Maronet, is eventually driven to insanity and torches three Transient cities before Marpei¡¯s elite soldiers kill him.¡±


    Printed boldly beneath the floral text is a faded image of a Transient wearing a complete set of armor. An obsidian oval mask covers his features. Flames wreathe his figure and travel down his arms like snakes. Beside him is a nondescript box, lid yawning open, and waves of light flooding the vicinity.


    ¡°After Maronet was put down, the gateway disappeared for a few centuries.¡± The governor flips to the next page. Most of it is charred, bits flaking off despite his gentle hold.


    ¡°Year 455 post founding of the Empire. The gateway reappeared in one of the Transient core worlds, Duelium. Not much is known. The user, unnamed, split a continental plate in half before Marpei¡¯s elite soldiers subdued them. Rumored to have escaped before dying under the influence of another.¡±


    The picture is nearly gone. Half of a leg remains, covered in baggy clothing. He flips to the next entry. The page is glossy, the letters embellished, and has a picture of a bird-like person levitating globs of water.


    ¡°Year 712 post founding of the Empire. The gateway reappeared somewhere on a recently conquered world, Esse. The user, Arlo, evaporated Esse¡¯s oceans and successfully fought off Marpei¡¯s elite soldiers before he was betrayed by a close ally.¡±


    ¡°Wow. What the fuck,¡± Cora breathes out, looking down at her own hands. Is that what she¡¯s fated to become? The parasite¡¯s puppet, committing unspeakable acts of horror, wielding the power to end entire civilizations?


    ¡°I hope you forgive us for our precautions,¡± the governor says, and for once, he actually sounds sorry.


    Burn cities? Split continents? Evaporate the fucking ocean? The Cenarians¡¯ test was laughably small compared to what could¡¯ve happened. Tame, even. Then again, they worked under the belief she lost her gift somehow, and wanted to push her buttons to see if she¡¯d been lying.


    But they¡¯d come so close to dying. Everyone. She can¡¯t imagine the disaster that would¡¯ve happened if she clenched her metaphorical fist and cracked the dome under her grip. Not to mention the node, trapped inside. If she¡¯d broken into the node¡¯s room, what would¡¯ve happened?


    ¡°So the box is an old Transient weapon that went wrong and caused a bunch of disasters,¡± Cora says.


    ¡°That is the basic summary, yes. There are a few more entries of worlds devastated by people who interacted with the gateway box. The last event happened over three hundred years ago. Ever since, no record has been found.¡± The governor stares at her. ¡°Until now.¡±


    ¡°I wasn¡¯t expecting that.¡± Cora feels queasy. There¡¯s no way she¡¯d do something that horrible. Those people were monsters, but maybe they¡¯d been like her once, not knowing any better until the parasite¨Cor other parasites¨Ctricked them into giving up control of their bodies.


    ¡°Trust me, I wish it was a different truth.¡±


    ¡°What about the parasite? Where does that come into play? How does the box work? Can it be destroyed?¡±


    The governor closes the book and slips it back into the rustling fabric. It swallows it and flows up his back. ¡°I don¡¯t know how the gateway works, and I don¡¯t know if the box itself can be destroyed. If you bring it to us, we may figure out a way to put an end to the cycle. The entity, though, I believe we can extract it and kill it.¡±


    Kill it.


    Cora clenches her hands. ¡°And why am I supposed to trust anything you say?¡±


    ¡°There is nothing to lie to you about, for one thing,¡± the governor responds. ¡°You have an entity inside your head that has historically devastated worlds. If we were the Transients, we would¡¯ve killed you the moment we learned about your interaction with the gateway. But I want to do this the proper way, by learning with you. I know you¡¯re suffering. We know you¡¯re suffering. Let us help you.¡±


    Cora wrings her hands. She bites her bottom lip and curls her toes. The parasite hasn¡¯t bothered her recently. In fact, all it¡¯s been is an uncomfortable weight lodged in her mind, something she¡¯s conscious over and constantly picking at, but otherwise harmless.


    But she still remembers the slow, grinding horror of being dragged between realities. Her pain receptors constantly activating, her body broken as she channeled energies no mortal should possess. And on the other side, the governor ordered her to be crushed between the stones, even if it was just an illusion.


    Pick your poison.


    That thought was not her own.


    Cora snarls and unclenches her hands. ¡°Fine,¡± she says, offering her hand. The governor stares at it, puzzled, then slowly grasps her hand with a few tendrils. ¡°Can you get rid of it?¡±


    ¡°I believe we can, while maintaining the proper barriers in case the worst comes to happen. There are similar procedures for Transients that hijack our soldiers.¡±


    She hates herself for putting her trust in the man who left her nearly dead. ¡°I¡¯ll do it. Let¡¯s get rid of it, then.¡±

 22 - Res

    ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°For what?¡±


    ¡°Being here. With me.¡±


    ¡°Why wouldn¡¯t I be?¡±


    ***


    ¡°You what?¡±


    Cora flinches at the sharp bite in Callista¡¯s tone. ¡°I had to!¡±


    ¡°No, you didn¡¯t. You can¡¯t trust a word that man says. He trapped you, tested you, and you decided the best choice was to trust him?¡± Callista unfurls at the end of Cora¡¯s bed and stares at the ceiling, dragging her hands through her hair. ¡°He put you into a corner you had no way out of. That was a bad move. Even for you.¡±


    ¡°Maybe if you were there you¡¯d understand!¡± Cora¡¯s voice cracks. She scowls and turns away. ¡°You don¡¯t know what it¡¯s like having that thing in my head. I can feel it there every single second I¡¯m awake and I hate there¡¯s nothing I can do about it.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°Apology accepted,¡± Cora grunts, and she throws herself onto her back, staring up at the ceiling. Callista¡¯s hand crosses a vast gulf of wrinkled bed sheets and touches Cora¡¯s fingers.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Callista sounds so¡­ afraid. Her voice softened by the blow she dealt Cora. She snakes her fingers over hers and squeezes her hand.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have a choice.¡± She does have a choice, though, and the choice is to tackle the issue herself, delving deep into the complex chemistry of her own brain and purging the parasite on her own. Except if she fails, she¡¯ll be possessed and destroy Muschia.


    Callista traces a thumb over the back of Cora¡¯s hand. ¡°Whatever you choose, I¡¯ll support you through it. Even if I disagree about trusting the governor.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the thing. I don¡¯t trust him. Not enough. But I trust him to get rid of the parasite.¡± Cora sighs and gnaws on the inside of her cheek. ¡°I don¡¯t know what to do.¡± Her eyes trace the swirls of stone and packed mushroom flesh holding the ceiling. If each swirl represents a world, then the random specks of dead matter represent her, completely and utterly lost, trapped with a parasite that has the power to end worlds. ¡°What I don¡¯t get is why he was so, I don¡¯t know, nonchalant about it? He told me about all these worlds people like me destroyed before. Esse? Duelium? Do you know those worlds?¡±


    Callista tenses. ¡°Disobey, and the Empire will reduce your world to nothing.¡±


    ¡°Callista?¡±


    She grimaces and sits up. Her hand slips away, and she tucks it to her chest. Her sleek, black hair falls over her shoulders. ¡°They¡¯re old stories my parents used to tell so I¡¯d behave. Esse and Duelium, they¡¯re a few of the worlds that fought until the bitter end. At least, that¡¯s what they said.¡±


    ¡°The governor told me people that used the gateway destroyed them. Duelium¡¯s continent got split in half. Esse¡¯s oceans were evaporated by some guy called Arlo.¡±


    ¡°Really?¡± Callista stares at her with an expression of pure curiosity. ¡°They sounded like stories when I was little. You don¡¯t look like you¡¯ll end the world.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not supposed to be me.¡± Cora clenches her hands. ¡°It¡¯s supposed to be the parasite. It almost tricked me back in the forest. When I thought I was gonna die, it came, and I almost said yes.¡±


    ¡°Cora. It¡¯s okay,¡± Callista says, before Cora realizes she¡¯s shaking.


    ¡°Oh,¡± she mutters, failing to hide her trembles. She¡¯s shivering worse than she had the first night in the forest, buffeted by icy winds. ¡°Yeah. It¡¯s okay.¡± Callista takes her hand again, and this time she doesn¡¯t let go. The pressing weight of her presence grounds Cora. Reminds her that she¡¯s not alone. ¡°Same goes to you, you know. You don¡¯t get to act strong and not let it all out.¡±


    ¡°Then who will hold me?¡±


    ¡°I will, you idiot.¡± Cora sniffles and lightly smacks her shoulder. ¡°We can hold each other.¡±


    ¡°And we will both fall.¡± But Callista scoots closer, and Cora sits up and closes the gap, sitting shoulder to shoulder, hand to hand. ¡°If the governor hurts you in any way, I will kill him.¡±


    ¡°Callista!¡± Cora hisses, glancing around. The walls could be paper thin for all she knows. Or thick but hollow enough to encourage sounds into other rooms.


    ¡°You won¡¯t stop me.¡±


    Cora wouldn¡¯t even dream of it. ¡°You can¡¯t do something like that. They¡¯ve been helping us since we got here. They could¡¯ve killed us or imprisoned us. But they accepted us.¡±


    ¡°One thing I learned is that people who think they¡¯re right are the most dangerous.¡± Callista¡¯s nose flares. She softens when she looks at Cora, though her jaw is set, and her lips are pressed tight. ¡°Like the governor. They don¡¯t care if they hurt anybody. All that matters is that they¡¯re proven right.¡±


    There¡¯s a lot of personal history behind that Cora doesn¡¯t dare poke to light. ¡°He won¡¯t hurt me again.¡±


    ¡°Did he tell you?¡±


    ¡°I assumed he wouldn¡¯t¡­ oh.¡± She is terrible at navigating conversations. If Mari was in her place, she¡¯d be quick to push the governor to listen to her demands. ¡°He never said anything about that.¡±


    ¡°Well, we have time until his preparations are ready. Promise me you¡¯ll consider the risks before you listen to him.¡±


    Callista¡¯s eyes flare the slightest purple, and she leans forward. Cora suddenly freezes, transfixed by the slow, burning light of her irises, then her lips.


    ¡°What are you doing?¡± she squeaks out.


    Callista blinks, and the light extinguishes. ¡°I can¡¯t help it. I¡­¡± In a stunning, rare display of vulnerability, Callista is speechless, caught between the truth of what she was about to do and a lie she might desperately concoct.


    She reacts in the way only she would.


    ¡°I am not going to take advantage of you,¡± she says, straight-faced and serious. She sits straight and folds her hands in her lap. ¡°I won¡¯t do anything irresponsible without your permission. I promise you that, too.¡± Cora raises her eyebrows, and Callista quickly presses her finger to Cora¡¯s lips. ¡°Except the governor or anybody who tries to hurt you. I will kill them.¡±


    She gulps. Callista is right there, and all it¡¯d take is to push away her finger and just¡­ What does Cora want, anyway? Her heart is a furnace, heating up her extremities, scalding her face. She aches to let her body follow its burning desires, touch Callista, and¨Cshe shakes her head, pushing Callista¡¯s hand away.


    Mari had always pushed her buttons about not just liking guys. Maybe Cora had been caught looking at places she shouldn¡¯t have a few times, but she always brushed it off and blamed her wandering mind. Not like she wasn¡¯t used to dissociating a lot.


    Yet, the closer she gets to Callista, the more she wants her. She wants to grapple Callista to the ground. She itches to smother her in affection with her two functioning arms¨Ctwo! She yearns to close the remaining distance and turn their bodies into one.


    But she can¡¯t.


    She won¡¯t.


    There¡¯s somebody else they forgot about.


    ¡°I¡¯m gonna talk to Liam,¡± Cora says, drawing her shoulders back. She pushes herself off her bed and twists her back, vertebrae popping. ¡°I¡¯m not gonna flake out, I swear. Maybe when we get back we can¡­ you know¡­¡± Callista stares at her blankly, and Cora sighs and tosses her arms up in exasperation. ¡°Don¡¯t play dumb. You have my full permission. After I talk to Liam.¡±


    Callista perks up and smiles. ¡°Perhaps there are other ways you can end my world.¡±


    ¡°You jerk, don¡¯t joke about that!¡± Cora, with a smile of her own, shoves Callista, and she accepts the transfer of momentum and is sent sprawling on the bed. ¡°Where¡¯s Liam?¡±


    Callista huffs and blows strands of hair from her lips. ¡°I think he¡¯s on the second or third floor in the other hospital wing. Are you going to talk to him about the box?¡±


    ¡°I have to.¡± Cora pats her pockets, makes sure her phone and solar charger are there, and turns toward the door. ¡°You can stay here if you want.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m hungry.¡± Callista pushes herself effortlessly off the bed onto her feet, no gift needed. She rolls on the balls of her feet and crosses the distance to the door in two bounding leaps. ¡°Good luck, though. There¡¯s a reason why he doesn¡¯t want to talk to you a lot. And no, before you ask, it¡¯s not for the reason you think it is. It¡¯s his reason to tell.¡±


    Callista opens the door and steps outside. She waits until Cora crosses the threshold before closing it, and Cora quickly locks the door.


    ¡°Why can¡¯t you tell me?¡± Cora says as they walk toward the nearest stairwell.


    ¡°As I said, it¡¯s not up to me to decide.¡± They start the long descent down toward the near-bottom. Their voices echo over and over until it becomes a dull whine mimicking Cora¡¯s tinnitus. ¡°I personally understand why he doesn¡¯t want to, but I don¡¯t accept his logic.¡±


    Cora grips the hand rails. The cold metal bites into her warm fingers. ¡°Did I hurt him badly?¡±


    ¡°You did. In more ways than one, I may add. It was wrong for you to not tell him.¡±


    ¡°I was scared he¡¯d leave me or do something worse. Then when I got to know him better, I just didn¡¯t want to ruin the friendship we had, you know?¡± The lettering posted on each sign dwindles. One of the few things Cora learned from the Allied language was numbers, and the squiggly symbol is the equivalent of a 4. ¡°It was stupid. I just wish I wasn¡¯t such a coward.¡±


    ¡°Better late than never.¡± The next hospital floor opens up. Callista squeezes Cora¡¯s shoulder. ¡°Good luck.¡±


    ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Callista¡¯s footsteps fade during the last few stories of her descent, and Cora enters the corridor. Several guards patrolling the hallways wriggle a characteristic Cenarian greeting, and Cora waves back. It takes a minute to reach the end of the hallway and cross the vast length of the main building. Normal sounds resume, and life bursts around her. Patients sit on long couches and chat, nurses scramble to escort patients on wheelchairs and gurneys into neighboring rooms, doctors scribble down notes on sleek journals while they go from room to room, and hospital staff maintain order at the big ring near the center, handling the paperwork. Apparently, even paperwork strangles alien worlds.


    Cora waves at them as she passes and most wave back. Soon, she leaves the glow and warmth of the main building and descends into the gloomy depths of the second hospital wing, reserved for more serious injuries. Nearly every door is closed, and the nurses and doctors that frequent the hallways are dead silent. Cora nods in acknowledgement, and they wave their tendrils in return. This side of the hospital is dead quiet, and except for required medical personnel or the occasional curious adventurer like herself, never sees any meaningful activity.


    Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Why would Liam be here? Unless the Transient wanted some peace and quiet to itself. Maintaining an illusion forever can¡¯t be an easy thing to do. Then again, she can¡¯t imagine how a gift like that works, whether it takes the same toll on the body as manipulating the earth like putty does.


    To her disappointment, Liam is nowhere to be seen. She takes the nearest stairwell down into the second floor, but before she takes the first step, a dark shadow lunges at her.


    She squeaks and swings a fist at the shadow. Expert hands catch her flimsy punch and immobilize her. ¡°What are you doing here?¡± Liam hisses, glancing at the hallway. ¡°I¡¯m staking this room out because the Transient is there.¡±


    ¡°I need to talk to you,¡± Cora says.


    ¡°Can you do it later? I¡¯m currently busy.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re always busy, aren¡¯t you?¡± Cora plants her hands on her hips and glares at him. ¡°We talk outside.¡± He turns away and stalks back toward his hiding spot, a little recess in the wall plunged into shadows behind and beside the rising stairs. She storms up to him and grabs his arm. ¡°Now.¡±


    He looks at her hand. Her left hand. ¡°I¡¯m still not used to seeing you without a cast.¡±


    ¡°Now.¡±


    Cora¡¯s tone is sharp. Angry. She squeezes his forearm, and he relents, peeling away from his hiding location. ¡°Fine.¡±


    Like a chastised puppy, she drags him to the first floor, out a little-used back door, into the combed wilderness behind the hospital. Even here, scores of people linger, talking or walking or inhaling mysterious substances that suspiciously come in a white powder form inside cloth bags. Cora storms past them all, no longer pulling Liam¡¯s arm. He falls in step behind her.


    Together, they plunge into the first true depths of wilderness. Tufts of purple grass and hordes of tiny mushrooms claim some beaten, meandering flagstones. Beneath their boots, however, the mushrooms are reduced to paste, and the grass is bent and crushed. The mushrooms thicken, and their broad caps blot out most sunlight. A few trees sprout among clumps of mushrooms, but their trunks are thin, their canopies sprouting past the tallest mushrooms, leaves unfurled and soaking in glorious sunlight.


    After a bit of walking, when she can¡¯t hear any murmurs except leaves brushing against mushroom caps, she stops.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    Cora can¡¯t let the next words out. They don¡¯t feel right, they don¡¯t feel meaningful, they don¡¯t express how much she regrets dragging him into her mess.


    ¡°For taking me here?¡± Liam raises an eyebrow and pats the nearest mushroom. The stalk is firm, unyielding beneath his muscular touch. ¡°I can be kind of a jerk sometimes. I guess I had it coming.¡±


    ¡°No! No, you¡¯re not a jerk.¡± Cora inhales and exhales. ¡°I¡¯m the jerk. I wanted to talk to you about lying to you about why you were here.¡±


    ¡°Oh. Well.¡±


    He crosses his arms, face blank.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, Liam,¡± she tries, and she shakes her head. Why won¡¯t the right words come out? ¡°I¡¯m so stupid. I shouldn¡¯t have done this at all. I probably just sound stupid or something to you, right?¡± He doesn¡¯t respond. ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s what I thought. Fuck. I guess that can¡¯t be forgiven. It¡¯s just, agh, I don¡¯t know, there¡¯s so many things I wanted to say but I don¡¯t know how to say them because I¡¯m scared I¡¯m gonna make our friendship worse. And I am, right?¡± Once more, he remains silent, silently looking at her. ¡°It feels stupid just saying I¡¯m sorry. Ugh. Let¡¯s just go back.¡±


    ¡°Want to talk it out?¡± He lifts his head and slowly lowers himself to the ground. He leans against the mushroom stalk, exhaling slowly.


    ¡°Of course I want to talk it out. I just don¡¯t know how.¡± Cora joins him, slumping against the mushroom stalk, until she¡¯s sitting beside him. Nearly shoulder to shoulder. Reminiscent of the forest when they had only each other for company.


    ¡°Hey, it¡¯s okay,¡± he says earnestly. His voice is low, soft. ¡°It happened. It¡¯s over and done.¡±


    ¡°But it can¡¯t end like this. I hurt you, Liam.¡±


    He glances away. ¡°You have no idea how wrong you are.¡±


    ¡°I hurt you, and I¡¯m still hurting you somehow, right? Callista told me you were avoiding me for a reason. I wanted to let you know that I don¡¯t want anything bad between us. I know I fucked up, I know I should¡¯ve told you about the box sooner, but I was scared you were gonna leave me.¡±


    ¡°I would¡¯ve never left you.¡± His jaw sets, and a vein pulses dangerously near his neck. ¡°I said I¡¯d keep you safe, and I did. I still will. You lying to me doesn¡¯t change that. In fact¡­¡± He threads his fingers together and sets his hands on his lap. ¡°I don¡¯t care. You saved me.¡±


    Cora tosses her head up and counts the individual spots beneath the mushroom cap. ¡°I dragged you here. You didn¡¯t have to deal with any of this.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m glad I did.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    He sighs, and his shoulders slump. The weight of the world reduces, and she¡¯s presented with a Liam she¡¯s never seen before. Soft, vulnerable. He drags his hands over his face and leaves them there.


    ¡°I¡¯m not talking about the forest.¡± Quietly, he lowers his hands, and exposes his pink eyes. Traces of wetness cling to his eyelashes. The slow welling of tears are about to fall, shed for pain deeper than anything she can comprehend, something that broke his statuesque invincibility and scraped his strength away. ¡°I¡¯m talking about before. My old life. You saved me.¡±


    Cora gnaws on her lip as he continues. ¡°I wasn¡¯t doing too well. Not at all.¡± He barely chokes out the last few words before he purses his lips and wipes at his eyes. ¡°I was going to¨Cgoing to kill myself.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t hesitate to snake her arm around him and pull him close. He lets her, choosing to rest his head on her shoulder. On the inside, she¡¯s screaming endlessly, shocked that he had been suicidal, depressed because he had almost followed through, angry because he¡¯s probably been hurting for so long that she misinterpreted his recent distance and took him for granted like the selfish person she is.


    ¡°I almost did it. That¡¯s why I had the knife.¡± He stares at the ground. ¡°I was so close. I had the tip over my heart right here.¡± His rough, calloused fingers pull down the hem of his shirt and points out a tiny scar about the size of a pinhead. ¡°I gave myself no time to prepare. I didn¡¯t want to spend another second alive. The world back home was unfair, still is unfair. But maybe God or whatever exists above our heads gave me another chance. Because why did the color lights pop into existence right there, right next to me, right when I was about to finish the job?¡±


    ¡°Liam.¡± Cora holds him tight.


    ¡°When I came to the forest, I thought I did it. I thought I was in hell. Parts of my bathroom came with me, but I didn¡¯t care. I thought I was dead. A few animals attacked me and I killed them, but it felt so real. I couldn¡¯t believe it.¡±


    ¡°Until you met me,¡± she says, trying not to cry.


    ¡°Until I met you.¡± He traces an image of the box on dirt. ¡°Then everything else happened and I had to focus on you instead of just myself. Believe it or not, you saved me.¡±


    ¡°Liam.¡± She squeezes him again, and he reaches up to hug her. They hold each other for a few moments, sharing the silence through labored breaths. ¡°How¡­ how are you now?¡±


    ¡°It still hurts, you know. Which brings me to the reason me and Callista fought over. She thinks it¡¯s unfair, but she doesn¡¯t understand what I see. The reason I wanted to kill myself is because¡­¡± He hiccups, and in a fit of frustration, wipes at his eyes again, drying his fingers off on his pants. ¡°Is because the only person who ever gave a shit about me, the only person who cared about me, who I loved more than anyone¡­¡± Liam snarls and slams his fists into the dirt. ¡°Died.¡±


    ¡°No¡­¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t want to talk to you because you remind me so, so much of her.¡± His voice is tight, teeth clenched. He grabs his legs and doesn¡¯t let go. ¡°You had no idea, and I didn¡¯t want to burden you. I guess both of us are liars, then, huh?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°No! Don¡¯t fucking apologize. She died, and I accepted it the moment I saved you and realized no matter what I thought, you would never replace her.¡± Liam sobs, and his chest convulses, lips drawing back in a pained grimace. ¡°I miss her so fucking much. It¡¯s not fair that she was chosen to die and I got to live. It¡¯s not fair. It¡¯s not fucking fair. How could an angel like her suffer so much, and a demon like me get away with everything?¡±


    Cora holds him tight. She aches to hold him tighter, let him know that he¡¯s anything but a demon. Instead, he growls, and his eyes flash mercury. That¡¯s all the warning she gets before the forest drops away and a new world ferociously slams into existence.


    The scenes melt and regenerate. A small boy steals from stores and hides in alleyways. A boy hugs a grizzled old man. The boy grows taller, broader, more muscular, and savvier, exchanging hidden products with people of all ages and appearances, for wads of money that he pockets. Several times, the teenage boy brandishes a pistol to scare off people bigger than him, and on more than one occasion beats people into submission when they refuse to pay or look like they¡¯re about to fight.


    Customers, she realizes. Drugs. A life of crime spent loitering near areas starved of economic life, swapping drugs for money, and reporting back to the grizzled old man, who nods in appreciation and pats the boy¡¯s head.


    A dirtier version of present-day Liam confronts a skeletal man. Lips shout wordless obscenities, and they fight, but Liam quickly overwhelms his opponent in a fit of blinding rage that distorts the illusion and suddenly snaps it forward. Several gunshots later, the man slumps, dead, and Liam collapses, bleeding out.


    Clean, polished, sterile, he awakens in a hospital. Weeks pass, and he recovers his strength, filling out his starved frame, engaging in physical therapy.


    Then she appears. A girl with hair that blazes like living flames, cascading down her back, talking to him. They start physical therapy together. They talk to each other. They help each other.


    They fall in love.


    So many events flit by in the blink of an eye. Eventually, they move into an apartment together. Things look great. Until the girl is hospitalized again. Something is wrong. She¡¯s weakened, frail, fighting off a disease that ravages her from the inside. Liam is at her side the entire time.


    Then the worst happens. She slips away while he looks on helplessly.


    Blinding bursts of white explode across the scene. The walls are melting. Liam is despairing, reduced to his worst instincts, daring the world to fight him. He surrenders, positions himself in the bathroom, and prepares his knife.


    So close. Colored light bursts anew beside him, blazing potential. A new life. A new start. The hand of another touches several points in reality, and decides that he is perfect to accept into the portal.


    Electric blue eyes manifest out of the colored lights first. The outline of a shadow appears, then fills out three-dimensionally. An aquiline nose, raised cheekbones, and eye bags follow. Locks of wavy brown hair sprout from the scalp and hang over the shoulders. Pouty lips redden. The jaw sharpens, and the chin narrows. A scattering of freckles dust across the cheeks and nose bridge.


    The result is so pretty it hurts to look at. The parasite smiles, flashing pearlescent teeth. Cora.


    She hisses and slams her mental awareness into the connection. The parasite sidesteps her attempt and smiles again, head raising ever-so-slightly.


    You¡¯re being played for a fool.


    ¡°Fuck off!¡± Cora rages, sweeping her awareness and capturing the parasite¡¯s influence. ¡°I told you if you¡¯d ever appear again, I¡¯d kill you.¡±


    And you won¡¯t. Who am I? Am I an angel or a devil? Am I a destroyer of worlds or a hero?


    ¡°I know the stories.¡± Cora attempts to sever the connection, and it rebounds, shielded by Liam¡¯s continuous streaming of his gift. ¡°The governor told me about things like you. Or was it you who did all of that?¡±


    The parasite wraps herself around Cora. She shudders violently, recoiling at the slimy wetness of a hand grabbing her arm. The last event of the box¡¯s appearance was not over three hundred years ago. Her voice slithers into her ear canals and toys with her eardrums. In fact, the box¡¯s last appearance was thirty-six years ago.


    Suddenly, the parasite leaps away and lands within the wisps of color floating above the illusion of Liam¡¯s toilet. Take good care of him now.


    And with a popping in Cora¡¯s ears, the scene collapses and Liam sags into Cora¡¯s arms.


    Her chest aches. She gasps for breath, feeling the world swoop underneath her, feeling a constricting pressure threatening to crush her from the inside. Liam silently cries, wiping at his eyes every few moments, burying his face in between his raised knees.


    ¡°It was never your fault,¡± Cora says after several minutes, struggling to keep her heart rate below two hundred. She shakes, but this time it¡¯s not about her, like she¡¯s so used to thinking. He needs her more than she needs herself. ¡°It was horrible and unfair, but it was never your fault.¡±


    ¡°It should¡¯ve been me,¡± he whispers.


    ¡°If it was you, then how would she have felt if you were gone?¡±


    He doesn¡¯t answer.


    ¡°I¡¯m here for you.¡± If the parasite doesn¡¯t claim her body first. If something horrible doesn¡¯t happen to her while testing her reawakened gift to manipulate the earth. ¡°I¡¯ll always be here for you. Callista, too. You don¡¯t have to be alone. We¡¯re your friends. We can be family.¡±


    She squeaks in surprise as he turns and crushes her in an embrace. His head drops onto her shoulder. ¡°Do you promise?¡±


    ¡°I promise. I swear that we¡¯ll stay together.¡±


    ¡°But I don¡¯t want to go back to Earth.¡± Cora stills. Liam lets her go and folds his hands over his lap. ¡°Being here is nice. The people understand me. They accept me. They¡¯re better than the people back on Earth.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s great. I¡¯m glad you feel better here. So you won¡¯t come?¡±


    ¡°I accepted that the moment the Cenarians helped us. If you figure out how the box works, then maybe you can open a portal from here to Earth.¡± He wipes away the remnants of tears under his eyes. ¡°But I can¡¯t go back. I hope you understand.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Why does it hurt to hear him say it? She should be happy for him. He found his purpose and stride in life again, and that¡¯s supposed to be good.


    ¡°When we get back, we¡¯re going to get Callista and we¡¯re going to capture the Transient.¡± Bit by bit, he regains his strength. He¡¯s more relaxed than before, like he freed himself from a crushing weight. ¡°And then, we¡¯re going to interrogate the Transient until we get answers. I¡¯ll help you get home, Cora.¡±


    But she isn¡¯t sure if she wants to return home anymore. She can¡¯t imagine a life without Liam or Callista. They¡¯re close friends, almost to the same degree Cora was close to Mari. No, Cora can¡¯t leave, not yet, not when Mari is still out there and there¡¯s still so much to be learned and done.


    Starting with whether something happened thirty-six years ago.


    In the background, high-pitched laughter echoes on and on.

 23 - Sidra

    ¡°Yes! 3-0. You lose.¡±


    ¡°No way that¡¯s fair.¡±


    ¡°Now you have to do it.¡±


    ¡°Seriously? Huh, I can¡¯t get up. I think I need to finish my physical therapy first.¡±


    ***


    By proximity alone, they comfort each other in the way no words can. I¡¯m your family, Cora communicates with a squeeze of his shoulder and a smile. I know, his warm touch of her wrist indicates. They venture out of the forest side by side¨Cno longer is she leading him, nor him leading her. They¡¯re a team, pure and simple, better than they were those nights plunged into darkness, scrabbling for warmth against each other, going off gut instincts and a faint hope that things would not remain static.


    When other passersby take notice, she offers her characteristic wave with her left hand this time, and tendrils wave back. Apparently she¡¯s been making quite the impression on local culture. Liam offers his characteristic nod and the locals nod back in respect.


    Little do they know what¡¯s about to happen. Cora holds her head high as they step into the hospital¡¯s shadow, slinking along the edge like bandits until they find the side exit she dragged him through.


    ¡°Are you ready?¡± he says, grabbing the door handle. ¡°That Transient can trick you. It plays the worst kinds of mind games.¡±


    ¡°Probably.¡±


    He frowns. ¡°Hey, if you can¡¯t, just stay with the guards. We¡¯ll do the rest.¡±


    ¡°I can. Why don¡¯t we tell them? They¡¯re good people.¡± Cora places her hand over her chest and stands straight. ¡°They protect. They help. They¡¯re friendly.¡±


    ¡°We can¡¯t let anybody know there¡¯s a Transient here. Think about it. Either we cause a riot or a spy warns the Transient to leave.¡±


    ¡°Or we get the help we need. It¡¯s a Transient. They¡¯re monsters. You remember how they fought.¡±


    Subconsciously, her attention slips into the cracks between realities and moves a flayed knee. Her metaphysical self is still there, but badly wounded, though parts regenerated from the governor¡¯s healers healing her.


    Like a dam, the delicate tissues in her nose break and she feels the icky trickle of warmth trail down her lip.


    ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± Cora says before he protests. She quickly swipes her nose using her t-shirt collar. ¡°Okay, we¡¯ll leave the guards out. Let¡¯s get Callista.¡±


    They check the cafeteria first, but she¡¯s not there. Cora waves at a few guards passing by, and they wave back. Liam doesn¡¯t bother to nod, instead choosing to sprint up the nearest staircase two steps at a time, leaving her far behind.


    ¡°That¡¯s not fair!¡± she says, reaching the third floor while he reaches the fourth.


    ¡°Get faster!¡±


    It¡¯s good to hear him be so happy. Cora smiles. Released from the weight of his past, having two friends to back him up, he probably feels good in a way he hasn¡¯t felt since his girlfriend died.


    When she reaches the final floor, she finds him leaning against the stairwell, arms crossed over his chest. His head is tilted aside, bangs covering his eyes, lips pursed and eyes closed.


    ¡°Oh, please, you look ridiculous,¡± she scoffs, swatting his arm as she passes him by.


    ¡°Wait, what? I fell asleep.¡±


    ¡°Sure, whatever you say.¡±


    They go down the corridor and end up at their apartment. He removes a key and unlocks the door, then ushers Cora inside. The last time she stepped foot inside, the furnishings were barren, walls stripped of color, floor empty of furniture.


    That all changed. Sometime after her last visit, they had their walls painted a soft green to complement the dark granite floor. Several potted plants are posted near the windows, sporting gray curtains and a refreshed trim. A lone couch takes up half the living room directly ahead, snug against the right wall, and several mushroom-shaped coffee tables carry lamps on their squashed tops. Two doors lie snug to their left, and an open bathroom door to their right.


    Callista pauses mid-brush, frozen before the bathroom mirror, comb disentangling her long hair, and slams the door shut in their faces.


    ¡°That was rude,¡± Liam says, and the door shudders in response.


    ¡°You guys did a really great job making this place comfy.¡± Cora runs her fingers along the walls and marvels at how smooth they feel. ¡°You guys didn¡¯t have to pay?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re unemployed,¡± he says, barking out a laugh. ¡°The hospital gave us these things for free. They don¡¯t have charities like back home. The Cenarians just like to look out for anybody they find needs help. Not like back home.¡± A blood vessel twitches dangerously in his neck. ¡°That''s why I want to stay here.¡±


    ¡°What will you do, then?¡±


    He throws himself on the couch and props his feet up on the coffee table. ¡°I¡¯ve been gardening recently.¡±


    She sits beside him, opting to cross one leg over the other. ¡°That¡¯s why you came out of the garden when I saw you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not much of a garden,¡± he says, laughing again. ¡°Mushrooms aren¡¯t like plants, not really. They don¡¯t need dirt. They need a good substrate for growth.¡± He starts counting out his fingers. ¡°Wood, straw, dirt, as long as it has what it needs, it¡¯ll use that to grow. Here¡¯s the cool part, though. The big mushrooms, the ones that cover the whole city? He told me that they grow using ambient magic.¡±


    ¡°Magic mushrooms,¡± Cora breathes, lifting her eyebrows.


    ¡°Those exist, too.¡± Liam smiles and tosses his head back against the couch pillows, closing his eyes. ¡°Every time a Cenarian uses a gift, the big mushrooms absorb traces of that energy. Theoretically, as long as the city exists, the mushroom will keep growing.¡±


    ¡°Forever?¡±


    ¡°The gardener told me the biggest mushrooms are at the capital because it¡¯s the oldest. He said they¡¯re so big there are entire ecosystems thriving under their caps. I want to visit there someday, once this is all over.¡±


    She does, too. She wants to see all the worlds, without fear of the Transients chasing her, without fear for her friends. She wants Mari at her side, and Liam, and Callista, and all the guards, soldiers, and permanent hospital residents to see all the worlds with her, to participate in a grand tour of the multiverse.


    ¡°I¡¯d like to join you, too.¡±


    If only her heart didn¡¯t ache to go back home with Mari.


    The bathroom door opens, and Callista steps out barefoot, combing the last knots away. ¡°Hi, Cora.¡± She turns toward Liam and she softens. ¡°Did you tell her?¡±


    ¡°I told her everything.¡±


    Callista wordlessly approaches him, bends low, and hugs him. ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re still here.¡±


    ¡°So am I.¡± He pats her back, and they separate. ¡°We came here because we need your help to take out the Transient.¡±


    ¡°Done.¡± She works her hair into a bun. ¡°Lead me straight to it and I¡¯ll kill it.¡±


    Liam shakes his head. ¡°We need it alive for intel.¡±


    ¡°And it has a gift of mind control or whatever it does like Liam¡¯s.¡± Cora sighs and throws her arms up. ¡°Except it¡¯s probably way better at using its gift than he is. No offense.¡±


    ¡°None taken.¡±


    Callista finishes tying her bun and stands by the windows, caressing a plant leaf between thumb and index finger. ¡°We need information, but to get information we need it to be conscious, and if it¡¯s conscious it can and will use its gift.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Liam answers.


    ¡°Information about what, exactly? Apart from why it¡¯s here.¡±


    ¡°Information about who is working with it.¡± He removes his feet from the table and stretches. ¡°Why it didn¡¯t kill us from the start. When it came here. More information about the box, if possible. I don¡¯t trust a word the governor says.¡±


    ¡°That makes two of us,¡± Callista says, staring out the window, face haloed by soft sunlight.


    ¡°Hey, Callista, did something happen thirty-six years ago?¡± Cora scrunches her eyebrows and stares at the carpeted floor. ¡°Or around that time historically speaking?¡±


    ¡°No? The Empire might¡¯ve conquered a world or two, but I don¡¯t remember anything special from my history lessons.¡± Callista turns and makes eye contact. ¡°What is this about?¡±


    ¡°Nothing, just a hunch I had. Never mind.¡± Both of them look at her like she¡¯s crazy, and she blushes, shrugging her shoulders. ¡°Can¡¯t I ask something completely random?¡±


    ¡°Be honest.¡±


    Cora sighs. ¡°The parasite came while I was talking to him and told me the box last appeared thirty-six years ago. And you know, every time it appeared before, the people who used it ended up destroying a lot. That¡¯s why.¡±


    ¡°The parasite came and you didn¡¯t tell me?¡± Liam sounds hurt, and already Cora realizes she¡¯s falling into old habits again, choosing to hide her ills and mistakes in the hopes nobody will bother her, or worse, reject her.


    ¡°You were hurting,¡± she says lamely, and grabs his hand. She squeezes lightly. ¡°And it can¡¯t do anything. The only reason it told me anything is because I let it.¡±


    Callista frowns. ¡°That¡¯s a dangerous game you¡¯re playing.¡±


    ¡°I have it under control. Mostly.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯ll worry about it later,¡± Liam says. He pats her hand and stands, towering at his full height. ¡°And it¡¯s okay, Cora, I understand. Just don¡¯t hide things like that next time, alright?¡±


    ¡°Okay.¡±


    ¡°We still haven¡¯t figured out how to subdue the Transient,¡± Callista says, face twisting in disgust. ¡°I still opt to rip it apart.¡±


    ¡°I think I can access its mind and search it. But we have to knock it unconscious first.¡± Liam combs his hair back with his fingers and starts toward the door.


    ¡°And if it tries to mind control me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think it¡¯s possible, but I¡¯ll cover you either way. Our gifts should cancel out.¡±


    ¡°Good. I love the uncertainty. Sounds like a good plan to me either way,¡± Callista says, cracking her knuckles.


    Cora clears her throat. ¡°Aren¡¯t you worried it¡¯ll do the same back to you?¡± She glances at him, and he shakes his head.


    ¡°Not if it¡¯s unconscious,¡± Callista says. ¡°There won¡¯t be anybody home when Liam breaks in. He¡¯ll have access for himself. Can you change its mind or cripple it?¡±


    He grimaces and shakes his head. ¡°The most I can do is feed images to the person I connect to, and search for thoughts and memories if they¡¯re willing or unconscious. Other than that, nothing else.¡±


    ¡°Wait. How did you figure all that out?¡± Cora glances at him again, and he matches her in stride, glancing back coolly.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ¡°The Cenarians helped me figure it out. They have a few specialists with gifts of mentality. That¡¯s what they call it, anyway. They helped me get better so I wouldn¡¯t accidentally hurt someone.¡±


    But you almost hurt me. Did Liam not remember his outburst, his gift flashing memories of his deepest sorrows in front of Cora¡¯s face? The parasite seized control, too, using the energy his gift diverted and consumed, riding the metaphysical current to shield itself against her wrath.


    The confrontation with the Transient could devolve very quickly, very fast.


    ¡°Ready?¡± he says, and Callista nods. Cora nods, too, feeling sick to her stomach. She needs the parasite to give more information, to see if it¡¯ll match anything that comes from the Transient. The worst that could happen is the parasite refuses to leave, but all she needs to do is ask Liam to stop, and he¡¯ll listen.


    Simple.


    They race down the corridor and descend several flights of stairs. Several nurses stare at them curiously, their tendrils waving aimlessly. Liam leads Cora and Callista on a long route to the second hospital wing, covering a blocky U-shape, passing the busy administrative center and plunging them back into sickly shadows. They pass the staircase Cora remembers Liam had camped in, pass a few more doors, and arrive near the end of the hallway, where a stifling silence takes hold. This part of the building is eclipsed in shadow, its lone ground to ceiling window mostly blocked by a large mushroom cap.


    He raises a hand to his lips and then points at the second to last door from the window. Cora can¡¯t read the alien floral script etched on the door, but apparently it doesn¡¯t matter, because Liam looks confident that¡¯s the room where the Transient is hiding.


    Callista steps up to the door and grabs the handle. Liam checks the hallways, signals to go ahead, and the only warning anybody gets is the faint ring of lavender blazing in her eyes before she shoves her hand forward.


    The bolt mechanisms crack. Wood splinters, folding under incredible pressure. The door is nearly ripped off its hinges, letting out a brief squeal of torture, slamming into the wall. Liam moves in first, eyes ablaze, pointing his arm at the bedroom.


    ¡°It¡¯s in here,¡± he growls. He massages his temples and staggers. ¡°Gah, it¡¯s so strong.¡±


    Callista doesn¡¯t waste a second punching the bedroom door down. Pulverized wood grains puff into the air. She moves in like a missile and sweeps a clawed hand at a dim figure perched atop its bed in the corner.


    ¡°Why?¡± it says. He says. The voice sounds worn with age. The Transient is so much frailer and thinner than Cora expects. Clothes hang from his wasted frame. He¡¯s stooped low, back arched, neck bent at an uncomfortable angle.


    Beneath the armor, Transients are reptilian, apparently, donning sleek green and blue scales that cover the entire body. A scaleless, pale yellow section of flesh starts somewhere near its stomach and ends at its throat. A crown of scales wrap around the base of its head and run up from the back of the head to the scalp. Ridges of hardened flesh mark the very top. Its face is angular, jaw jutting out a little like a baby crocodile, lips dark, eyes squinty. Vertical pupils gleam liquid gold.


    Suddenly, Callista stops, jerking her head back and raising her arms.


    ¡°Where am I?¡± she says, pitch rising high. ¡°What is that? Go away!¡± She suddenly screams and throws a punch at the air, eyes bleeding purple light, muscles bulging and tensed. ¡°Where am I!¡±


    Liam staggers into the bedroom, clutching his head. ¡°I can¡¯t fight it off!¡± he roars, slamming into the doorway. His head is knocked back from the impact, and he collapses, twitching on the ground.


    Everything happens in less than ten seconds. Cora is paralyzed, staring at the Transient¡¯s golden pupils, and he stares back, unfazed.


    ¡°I¡¯ve waited weeks for you to come,¡± he says. Callista is sobbing. She falls to her knees and swats at the air, claws ripping open parts of a monster nobody but her can see. Liam groans, his eyes burning silver, clutching his head.


    ¡°Leave them alone,¡± Cora says, baring her teeth.


    ¡°It¡¯s not up to me, Cora.¡±


    ¡°How do you know my¨C¡±


    The air ripples, and a massive forearm slams into the side of her head. She¡¯s sent flying, striking the wall and crumpling to the ground. Her ear rings madly. She blinks, and the world spins on a diagonal axis, colors flashing in and out.


    Like a thick, toxic sludge, the corrosive influence of another creeps up the base of her skull. She¡¯s powerless to stop it from effortlessly wrapping its tentacles around her brain and strangling her mind.


    ¡°Sleep,¡± another voice tells her. A second Transient¡¯s feet stand at the edge of her failing vision. The first Transient partially melts, then draws back his fleshy goop, thickening and broadening. The ridges on his head sprout outward and fuse into a mushroom cap. His clawed fingers become tendrils. His scales melt into skin and bleach themselves. Swirls of purple lick his sides. Within ten seconds, the Transient becomes a Cenarian.


    ¡°No!¡± Cora shrieks, reaching into the metaphysical plane. But there are no gears. No slabs of earth, refined or otherwise, to call upon. The tentacles constrict, and she loses her motor control, arms and legs becoming no more than jelly.


    ¡°She¡¯s a handful, I¡¯ll give her that,¡± the second Transient says, gruff.


    ¡°They said we can¡¯t kill her.¡±


    ¡°I know what they said, you stupid fuck.¡± He reaches and touches her forehead with two meaty fingers. ¡°Sleep.¡±


    No.


    A whirlwind of intoxicating potential and devious corruption unfurls. Her blue eyes come first, and within seconds manifests the rest of her body. Prim, proper, and clinically detached, the parasite stands a head shorter than the massive Transient, yet holds its smoldering gaze with an icy look of her own.


    I refuse.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± The second Transient lands a solid blow on the parasite, and his fist sails through her chest. ¡°What the fuck are you?¡±


    Am I an angel or the devil? A hero or a destroyer of worlds?


    She laughs, and the sound duplicates and stretches into deafening shrillness. The Transient changes tactics, leaping backward toward the shapeshifter, releasing his control over Liam and Callista. A wall of something barricades around the parasite, and she blinks curiously, testing the barriers of its invisible prison with quick jabs of her palms.


    You forgot to check your flank!


    Too late. The shapeshifter steps forward and lifts a meaty arm, melting and reforming into a circular shield, when Callista pounces and grabs him by the arm. She suddenly stops, twists on her heels, and slams the shapeshifter over her shoulder. His massive body strikes the floor with a sickening crack. Cracks spider web around his splattered body, shatters the windows, and tear down the walls.


    Liam turns toward the mind controller and releases a bright burst of silver. The Transient shudders, falling to one knee. ¡°It¡¯s her, isn¡¯t it?¡± Callista advances and grabs him by the neck. He offers little resistance, pinned to the ground. ¡°You fucked up big time.¡±


    ¡°Shut up!¡± Callista delivers a swift kick to his abdomen, and his ribs snap like twigs, organs turned to mush.


    The parasite steps through the barrier and touches Cora¡¯s arm. She gags, jerking it away, but a cool, firm hand cups her chin and forces her to look at the pulped ruin of the mind controller.


    You and I. Learn.


    She hates the parasite, but the Transient hurt her and her friends, and he¡¯s part of the group of monsters that took Mari. Yes, the Transient is worse. She storms toward him and the parasite follows, clinging to her shoulders. She shudders, but doesn¡¯t push away those cold fingers, either.


    The Transient squirms beneath Callista¡¯s foot planted firmly on his ruined chest. He gurgles weakly, staring at Cora, haloed by the parasite looming over her shoulder.


    ¡°You hurt me and my friends,¡± she says, gritting her teeth. She curls her hands into fists and snarls. ¡°Your Empire has hurt so many people. Some of you attacked me and my friends in another world, and kidnapped one of my closest friends. We never did anything to you. You attacked first, and we almost died because the Transients are a bunch of monsters, apparently.¡±


    Yes. The parasite unfurls and positions herself over the Transient. She taps his forehead with an index finger. This will be fun.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know why you¡¯re here, or who sent you, but we will find out. And they¡¯re going to pay like you and your friend did.¡±


    He hisses. The sound is weak, trailing at the edge of lucidity.


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s¡­¡±


    The parasite reacts. Her icy blue eyes contain the unfathomable profoundness of a glacier floating over an abyss. Suddenly, she feels so much bigger and scarier than Cora ever expected the parasite to be. Traces of her magical light travel down her fingers and into his skull. Moments later, he thrashes, choking on his own blood, bursting from his holes for ears, slits for a nose, and mouth, coating his head in dull purple.


    Liam reacts first. He shouts and throws a vase at the parasite, but the vase sails through her chest.


    ¡°Who are you?¡±


    A sickly sweet smile spreads over her angelically beautiful features. The parasite blows a kiss and vanishes with a sharp pop. Cora can feel the presence lodged in her mind, yet she can¡¯t dislodge it, much less damage it.


    Callista lifts her foot and stares at the Transient with a mix of fascination and disgust. She kicks its skull one final time and scowls.


    ¡°Liam, why did you do that?¡±


    He stares blankly at the spot the parasite had appeared in. ¡°That¡¯s the parasite?¡± He works his jaw and stares at Cora next. ¡°You¡¯ve been dealing with¡­ what the fuck. What the fuck. It just killed the Transient somehow even though you said it can¡¯t do anything.¡±


    Callista freezes. ¡°The parasite?¡±


    ¡°Holy shit. Holy fuck. It¡¯s been able to do that the whole time and none of us knew.¡±


    ¡°It has something to do with using gifts of mentality,¡± Cora says. She shudders and pushes her hair back over her ears. Whoever controlled the mutants back in the forest had to have used a mental gift to command. The parasite had killed that mutant without needing permission because its mind had been forced open by that gift. ¡°Oh my God. The parasite could¡¯ve killed you and she didn¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Liam blanches. ¡°Maybe the governor was right. Holy fuck.¡±


    ¡°We lost our source of intel,¡± Callista says, probing at the shapeshifter¡¯s body with the tip of her boot.


    ¡°You don¡¯t care about the fact that the parasite can kill me whenever I use my gift or worse?¡±


    ¡°Yes, I do care. But there¡¯s nothing we can do about it, can we? Cora is our friend, and clearly she has enough control that the parasite hasn¡¯t killed us all. We have other things to worry about.¡±


    A sickening squelch comes from the pulverized mass of the shapeshifter. Cora jumps. Liam steps back. Blobs of flesh quiver on its limbs and retreat toward its rapidly slimming torso. Beads of blood slide over the ruined floor, drawn toward the rapidly regenerating torso.


    Callista doesn¡¯t hesitate, slamming her palm into the center of mass. The still-forming tissue splits and sprays the remaining walls in bloody viscera.


    ¡°Wait!¡± The new voice warbles, tinged with desperation. ¡°I won¡¯t attack. I promise my life on Marpei and the core worlds.¡±


    ¡°And you expect us to believe you?¡± Cora says.


    ¡°I had no choice. If you¡¯d let me regenerate¨C¡±


    Callista sweeps her palm out and splatters the wall. Almost immediately, goblets of bloodied tissue lump and crawl back toward the reforming Transient.


    ¡°Please!¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not lying,¡± Liam says, folding his arms. He scowls and makes no attempt to hide his disdain.


    ¡°Are you sure?¡± Callista moves to coat the walls with the Transient¡¯s organs, but Liam grabs her arm and shakes his head.


    ¡°I¡¯m sure.¡±


    Cora shudders at the revolting sight of a body piecing itself together. Broken bits of flesh bump into each other and fuse into larger chunks that quiver and race toward the main body. The legs are formed first, muscular and scaly, followed by arms, a head, and finally, a sealed abdomen with all the proper organs fixed into place.


    The Transient is youthful, his worn face replaced by a sharp, streamlined one, skin firm and taut, scales hardened and shining a mesmerizing blue. The only thing that remains the same are the piercing, intelligent vertical pupils, crackling gold. He stands tall and proud, bearing rippling musculature that rivals Greek sculptures.


    ¡°How did you know my name?¡± Cora says, keeping her voice cold and emotionless. She¡¯s one moment away from skewering him with the shattered porcelain tiles, damaged metaphysical self or no.


    ¡°We talked a lot.¡± He pats his scaly leg, flexing his calves. ¡°You had that walker first, remember? Then you made that cane, which is pretty fashionable, I must say. Then you didn¡¯t need the cane. Even though I wasn¡¯t supposed to care, I guess I did.¡±


    She takes a step back. ¡°Who were you?¡±


    ¡°A wounded soldier from Uklut,¡± he says, and he deflates, staring off to the side. ¡°I am a soldier, and I was wounded in Uklut, but I am not a soldier from your side.¡±


    Callista protracts her claws and glares at him with the brightest purple eyes Cora¡¯s seen. She avoids the blinding light, but the Transient stares right back with a golden fire of his own.


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to fight. Not if I can help it.¡±


    ¡°Are we supposed to believe that?¡± Liam holds his knife to the Transient¡¯s throat. He briefly looks down and returns to his staring contest with Callista, who looks angrier and angrier by the second, baring her teeth.


    ¡°Whether or not you decide to believe me is your choice. I¡¯m telling the truth. We were pushed back from our positions and they left me and Keiro.¡± He points at the crippled, bloodied, body. ¡°Instead of killing us, they captured us and told us if we wanted to live, we had to obey.¡±


    ¡°Transients don¡¯t surrender,¡± Callista growls.


    ¡°We¡¯re people, too!¡± His outburst makes her flinch. Liam digs the tip of his knife into the Transient¡¯s throat, and Cora is ready to turn the gears of reality and pulp him. ¡°Is it wrong I wanted to live?¡±


    Callista pushes Liam¡¯s hand aside and grabs the Transient by the throat. ¡°Tell that to everybody you¡¯ve ever hurt.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve never killed anybody!¡±


    ¡°You were going to kill us.¡±


    ¡°That was Keiro. Please. I am¨Cwas¨Ca conscript from Durs Aenes. It¡¯s a fringe world. I can¡¯t just say no to conscription. Do you have any idea what they do to traitors?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a coward. A piece of shit, genocidal, imperial monster who¡¯s just the same as everybody else.¡±


    She slams him to the ground. His fiery golden eyes extinguish and he pushes futilely against a near-unstoppable force. ¡°Please. Believe me. I don¡¯t want to fight.¡±


    Cora doesn¡¯t know what compels her to move. Maybe she sees echoes of a victim of the Empire. Maybe the Transient does have a gift of mentality, and managed to convince her to feel sympathetic. It feels wrong that they¡¯re practically going to torture him for the sake of a few answers. It is wrong.


    Cora grabs Callista by the shoulder. ¡°Don¡¯t hurt him.¡±


    Callista screams in frustration and kicks the nearest chair. She sends it toppling, crashing into the wall, leaving an impact crater.


    ¡°Why are you taking his side?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not lying,¡± Liam says softly. His eyes crease. He glances at the Transient and looks conflicted, stuck between a searing mask of hatred and apprehension, hesitation. ¡°I¡¯d know. He¡¯s not lying.¡±


    Callista lets him go. She turns her back to both of them and storms out of the room, her footsteps thundering and cracking what remains of the floor.


    Cora gnaws on her bottom lip. This was the last thing she expected. They should be invading his mind and searching for answers. They should apologize to Callista.


    ¡°What¡¯s your name?¡± Liam asks.


    ¡°Raezu lir Mohaven. I have gifts of transmutation and regeneration.¡±


    ¡°Who sent you and Keiro here?¡±


    Raezu points out the window. Most of the city is hidden, but a few sprawling suburbs are visible, hidden behind and beneath clumps of giant mushrooms. ¡°I didn¡¯t learn all of their names. One of them is called Vespen, and they gave us our contracts somewhere over there.¡±


    Cora crosses her arms. ¡°And how did you manage to hide here for weeks?¡±


    ¡°A doctor helped me. His name is Eporsa.¡±

 24 - Serga

    ¡°Time¡¯s up. I have a few special songs to request.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not much of a request, is it?¡±


    ¡°Nope!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t bully me.¡±


    ***


    ¡°E-Eporsa?¡±


    Cora¡¯s whole world falls apart. A sickly, ugly feeling twists inside her chest and strangles her. She grates her teeth and jams her finger into Raezu¡¯s head.


    ¡°You¡¯re lying! You did that to bother us, didn¡¯t you? It¡¯s the only way you can affect us since your partner is dead and we¡¯re ready to kill you.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not lying.¡± Raezu gestures at Liam. ¡°He can tell you.¡±


    He shakes his head. ¡°He¡¯s not lying. Eporsa did¡­¡± His eyebrows crease. ¡°Eporsa did shelter them. He was their contact inside the hospital.¡±


    ¡°It can¡¯t be. Eporsa helped all of us. He wouldn¡¯t do something like that.¡± Cora takes a deep breath, then exhales, counting out the seconds mentally. ¡°I want you to tell me why you and that piece of shit over there stayed here. You better not lie, or I¡¯ll impale you.¡±


    ¡°We were told to spy on you. Keiro¡¯s job is¨Cwas¨Crunning tallies of any slips you may have had. He scanned Callista¡¯s mind several times and made her forget the encounters.¡±


    Cora snarls and sweeps shards of porcelain with her foot. Her logic tells her there¡¯s little point in tearing apart the monster. He¡¯ll regenerate, he¡¯ll babble about anything to deflect her wrath, he¡¯ll retaliate somehow. Her emotions, though, betray her. They betray everything that she stands for.


    Somehow, she feels sorry for Raezu. Sympathetic.


    ¡°It¡¯s not worth it,¡± Liam says, but that does little to calm her fury. If she¡¯d had Callista¡¯s strength, she¡¯d rip Raezu apart in a heartbeat. ¡°Cora.¡±


    His stern tone snaps her to attention. She releases control of her metaphysical self and crosses her arms. ¡°Fine. Whatever. Let me guess. And then Keiro tried to do the same to Liam and it backfired.¡±


    ¡°We never expected him to develop a gift of his own. That should be impossible. You¡¯re either born with them or not at all. That¡¯s when we realized the assignment wasn¡¯t just meant to risk our capture, torture, and execution.¡±


    ¡°Your assignment?¡± Liam¡¯s tone hardens. ¡°You said you were given a contract. Elaborate on that.¡±


    Raezu stares off blankly into space. ¡°Like I said, they wanted us to spy on Cora. They didn¡¯t say why. They just told us to do it, and we had no other choice, because otherwise we¡¯d be discovered and captured. We thought it was a prolonged suicide mission just to spite us. Pair two Transients with the perfect gifts to hide and place them inside one of the most well-defended parts of the city. That¡¯d make a great comedy for the Allies, wouldn¡¯t it?¡±


    Cora struggles to keep her breathing steady. ¡°And to get you in and get you the resources you needed, they gave you Eporsa.¡±


    ¡°Yes. He helped us a lot. More than he should¡¯ve, I think, but I didn¡¯t complain.¡±


    ¡°You said you¡¯d been expecting us.¡±


    ¡°After Liam received his gift, we knew it was a matter of time before all of you discovered us. We couldn¡¯t leave because the hospital is too heavily patrolled at the ground entrance. We stopped our monitoring and waited.¡±


    Liam cracks his knuckles. ¡°Wait. If you were sent here to spy on Cora, then who were you sending the information to?¡±


    She doesn¡¯t want to hear it, but Raezu confirms the dreadful suspicion that¡¯s been growing since the moment Liam confirmed he wasn¡¯t lying. ¡°Eporsa, of course. He¡¯s the one who provided us food here while we waited.¡±


    Cora slumps against the wall, holding her head. A headache threatens to build near her temples. ¡°So, Eporsa, huh?¡± She drags her hands down her face and stares at the ceiling, letting her arms go limp at her sides. ¡°I can¡¯t believe it. I just can¡¯t. He¡¯s not lying, right, Liam?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s not lying.¡± With a huff, he adds, ¡°Unfortunately.¡±


    ¡°Then we have to break into his office. We have to see what¡¯s all the data he¡¯s been getting about¡­ me.¡± She feels sick. Nauseous. Eporsa probably collected all types of physical information and stored it. She hadn¡¯t questioned the routine weight measurements, the physical exercise regimens, or the cognitive tests. Those are the types of things doctors back home do, and clearly medicine is a universal concept.


    Eporsa had her full faith and trust and he broke it.


    ¡°May I accompany you?¡±


    They stare at Raezu. He sheepishly raises his arms in surrender. ¡°I mean what I said. I can disguise myself well enough. Give me a moment and I can return to being a Cenarian accompanying you.¡±


    ¡°That is just¨CLiam, no!¡± Cora exclaims, as he strokes his chin in deep thought. ¡°You can¡¯t be serious. He¡¯s a Transient, for fuck¡¯s sake.¡±


    ¡°We have to, don¡¯t we?


    She gnaws on her bottom lip. Already, the skin is raw after the governor¡¯s healers healed her, and tingles of pain shoot beneath her teeth. ¡°How are we gonna control him?¡±


    ¡°I hold power over his mind.¡± Liam waggles his fingers, and Raezu shrinks back, his beady eyes glinting silver from Liam¡¯s glowing own. ¡°If he tries anything, I¡¯ll know.¡±


    ¡°What about Callista?¡±


    ¡°I never left.¡± Cora jumps. Callista pops into the remains of the room and hardens her face. ¡°I don¡¯t want to believe that Eporsa is capable of treason, so I will ask you a question, and you better answer it right or I¡¯ll splatter your brains on the wall.¡±


    Raezu flinches, though he blinks and opens his mouth. ¡°What is it?¡±


    ¡°Did Keiro influence Eporsa¡¯s mind to aid you both?¡±


    ¡°No. The doctor was loyal from the start.¡±


    Liam frowns. ¡°He¡¯s not lying.¡±


    Callista sighs and throws her hair over her shoulders. ¡°Then that leaves one choice, then.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s on our floor level in this hospital wing. I¡¯ve been there a few times,¡± Cora says. Her stomach is hollow. Her hands shake as she pushes back a stray lock of hair. ¡°What if he¡¯s there?¡±


    ¡°The only thing we can do,¡± Liam says quietly.


    ¡°The information we gave him was through written pages,¡± Raezu says. ¡°They¡¯re in my drawer.¡±


    Callista yanks the bedstand¡¯s drawer out and grabs a tattered brown journal. They¡¯re similar to the ones Eporsa has, though this journal is particularly beaten, missing a sizable chunk of papers at the top, and stained dark with some unidentifiable fluid.


    ¡°Open it,¡± Cora says, voice strangled. Callista does, and the first sight that greets them are pages of a sprawling alien language. Quick sketches made at the margins resemble head-shots of her, though tiny words are scrawled beside her head, and labeled lines lead to where her eyes would be.


    ¡°Day twenty-nine. Cora showed a lot of progress recovering from her old injuries. She was bright and alert without any sign of insanity we were told to watch for. Today, she listened to many veteran war stories and showed remarkable empathy. I told her one of my own war stories, and she empathized with me, too. She then went on to tell us a story about the loss of a few friends and the emotional hardships that followed after an accident claimed their lives¨C¡±


    ¡°Stop.¡± Cora grimaces and stares at the floor, trying her best to stay calm, stay rational, to not seize control over the shattered porcelain and shredding Raezu to ribbons. The last thing she wants to hear is a retelling of what happened in the mine.


    ¡°Are you doing okay, Cora?¡± Callista¡¯s voice is soft. She reaches out and Cora gladly takes her hand, threading her fingers together.


    ¡°I should be asking if both of you are okay. Both of you looked like you were being tortured.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s hard to describe what it felt like, but yes, it was.¡± Liam clenches and unclenches his hands. ¡°But we¡¯re here. We¡¯re okay now. The question is if you are.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to think about it right now.¡±


    Cora doesn¡¯t want to think about anything. She wants to throw herself back in bed and pass out, then wake up and find everything returned back to normal, and the confrontation with the Transients was nothing more than a bad dream. She wants to hug Liam and go gardening with him, joke with the guards, listen to war stories, and be alone with Callista.


    ¡°But we have to break into his office,¡± she says, echoing her own thoughts.


    ¡°Am I allowed to transform now?¡± Damn it. She¡¯d almost forgotten about Raezu. He rises and pats his arms. ¡°It¡¯ll be quick.¡±


    ¡°Go,¡± Callista grunts, and his eyes blaze gold. Flesh sloughs off his torso and balloons. His face squishes, his scalp grows outward, his arms thicken, and his legs follow suit. Scales melt back into skin and skin hardens like a real Cenarian¡¯s. The mushroom cap finishes growing, a stout, yet very much real, mimic of a mushroom cap. Purple swirls lick his torso and reach toward his shoulders. Thick feet plod on the floor. Apart from the lack of clothes, Raezu is indistinguishable from any Cenarian wandering the hospital grounds.


    ¡°My clothes are in that other drawer,¡± he says from the flapping slits at the base of his neck. ¡°The coveralls should be enough.¡±


    ¡°How long can you hold that form?¡± Liam asks.


    ¡°Around four hours before I lose integrity and revert to myself. It should be more than enough.¡±


    By silent agreement, they line up by the door, with Callista leading the front. Raezu is next, Liam stands beside him, and Cora stands at the back, dreading the confrontation to come.


    Eporsa had her trust and he broke it. Some part of her still wants to believe it¡¯s all a big misunderstanding and he did it to protect her. Another part of her wonders about the governor and if he might be connected.


    This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    He probably is.


    It¡¯s so hard to trust any of her thoughts anymore. The parasite is quiet for now, or at least it gives the impression that it¡¯s quiet. But that doesn¡¯t mean she¡¯s not exerting her influence otherwise, like making Cora question why the parasite said the box last appeared thirty-six years ago.


    The parasite would know, wouldn¡¯t she? The hallways are clear. A few nurses give them cursory glances, but somehow, the brief fight failed to attract any attention. Callista leads her unconventional posse up the first of many flights of stairs, their footsteps echoing in the cramped space.


    The parasite is linked to the box. She comes out of it like a curse and latches onto the person that uses it. Cora grips the railings and pushes her bangs back. For some reason, the parasite keeps taking the form of a girl Cora¡¯s never seen before. Identifying as a she?


    A nurse pauses and watches their group curiously on the next floor. Callista offers a palm over her chest, the standard Cenarian gesture of respect, and the nurse returns it in kind. From the corner of her eye, Cora notices the nurse stare at them a moment too long to be comfortable, but still the nurse descends the stairs.


    The parasite is an alien consciousness packaged into a form Cora can comprehend. Something that comes from the box and attaches to users, then either convinces them to surrender their bodies or slowly embeds herself into the user until it¡¯s too late to fight her off.


    Of course, Cora¡¯s ignoring the fact that the parasite could be lying. The parasite is probably lying. But it¡¯s such a specific thing to lie about. She could¡¯ve lied about the worlds that were destroyed, or about the box, or fed answers Cora needed to hear.


    So many other possibilities, and the parasite focused on that specific fact.


    Thirty-six years ago.


    ¡°Stay behind me,¡± Callista warns. They exit onto the final floor. At the far end of the hospital wing is the sharp turn into the main building, and a few hospital staff mopping the floors. They don¡¯t pay any attention to the four of them, paused before Eporsa¡¯s door, hesitating at the boundary between a comfortable old existence and a new, more dangerous world.


    One well-timed blow of Callista¡¯s hand will break that barrier. There''d be no going back. Cora stuffs her hands into her pockets as she watches Callista place her palm over the handle. Her eyes flare purple, her arm thickens, and she shatters the final barrier.


    Sickly hospital light trickles into the room. The door yawns wide open, exposing Eporsa¡¯s wide desk and numerous sheafs of papers stacked on either side. Between the mountains of papers, a few journals are displayed, one with the pages wide open, showing a rough sketch of a Cenarian¡¯s organs and scribblings beside it.


    Otherwise, his office is empty. Callista eases the door closed and raises the blinds. Daylight breaks into the room. Motes of dust swirl within shafts of sunlight. Several bookshelves sit flush against two walls, holding folders, journals, binders, and textbooks. Twin sconces mirror each other at opposite sides of the room, though their lights are dead.


    His chair, large and cushioned, sits off to the side. Raezu eases it toward the desk and plops down. The chair briefly complains, its legs squeaking against the porcelain floor, before his body slims and he becomes a Transient again.


    ¡°I had to,¡± he says, answering the rest of their incredulous looks. ¡°The bigger the form I take, the more it taxes me. I needed a break.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t deserve a break,¡± Callista huffs, though she doesn¡¯t move him.


    ¡°We gave him a small journal and some pages with the data. Wherever he put the data may be where he has other information about Cora.¡±


    Liam gets to work immediately, pulling out binders and folders and setting them before Raezu. He scans the material Liam gives him and digs around the desk for more journals and papers. Callista focuses on the other bookshelf and thumbs through packets of paper stuffed into folders.


    Cora, mostly, stands next to the window, rubbing her wrist, absorbing the scenery outside. Miles and miles of mushrooms extend off into the distance. If she squints, she can just make out a hazy speck on the horizon, floating amidst clumps of cotton candy clouds.


    ¡°I think I found something,¡± Callista says. She pulls out a yellowed page and holds it up for everyone to see. The text is composed of hundreds of loops and swirls. ¡°This references c-nodes. It¡¯s a technical explanation of how the Allies and the Empire maintain their nodes.¡±


    She flips the page around, and on the back is a detailed picture of the most bizarre structure Cora¡¯s ever seen. A circular platform spans the bottom. Two more circles hover above the platform at opposite ends. A crane-like machine is positioned at one side of the platform and extends several tri-pronged arms toward the skies, seemingly for no reason. Grooves are etched into the platform and circles, and the grooves on the circles are bright, while the platform¡¯s grooves are dark.


    Scribbled in the margins is the same alien handwriting. It¡¯s a dense, scratchy composition of loops and swirls, though they mesh into each other while the front doesn¡¯t.


    ¡°Pass me the journal over there,¡± Callista says, and Raezu complies. She flips it open to the anatomy page with the displayed organs and alien writing beside it. ¡°Yes, it¡¯s a match. It¡¯s his handwriting. Eporsa was writing notes about nodes.¡±


    ¡°Why would a doctor need to do that?¡± Liam says. He pulls out several folders and mindlessly thumbs over the pages.


    ¡°What do the notes say?¡± Cora says quietly, continuing to stare out the window.


    ¡°They don¡¯t make a lot of sense. They talk about using a conduit to activate nodes. He wrote about massive energy inefficiencies in the current designs and mass limitations. The rest is about materials, ley lines, operating capabilities, and other technical nonsense I don¡¯t understand. It¡¯s all regurgitated stuff from the front page.¡±


    ¡°Nodes are machines?¡± Cora turns back to the rest of them.


    ¡°They¡¯re called c-nodes.¡± Raezu makes good on his unspoken promise to remain calm. He clacks his teeth and pores over several papers before discarding them aside. ¡°At least in the Empire, that¡¯s what they¡¯re called. The machines, I mean. Nodes are the gateways themselves between worlds.¡±


    ¡°Well, Eporsa here wrote about nodes. Not c-nodes.¡± Callista scrunches her nose and flips the page, eyes rapidly scanning the page. She frowns. ¡°Only the front talks about c-nodes.¡±


    Cora¡¯s blood chills. Gateways? Somewhere within the confines of her mind, the parasite stirs and encourages her. ¡°So Eporsa¡¯s writing about the gateways and how they need a¡­ a conduit?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what that means, either, I¡¯m afraid.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Liam squares his jaw and pushes several folders back into their spaces on the bookshelf. ¡°If the gift of language or whatever bullshit that¡¯s working didn¡¯t mess up the translation, a conduit is something that transfers something. Like a pipe acts like a conduit for water, for example.¡±


    ¡°A transfer of power to activate nodes to circumvent the need for c-nodes,¡± Callista mutters. Her eyes go wide. ¡°An object that can transfer massive amounts of energy to activate nodes. He calls it a conduit.¡±


    A conduit. What else fits that criteria? A limitless source of energy, transferred through a single object, capable of managing nodes¨Cportals, really¨Cwithout requiring complex machinery and the crushing vice of thermodynamics.


    The box.


    The parasite¡¯s voice slithers into her consciousness. Cora shudders and clamps down on the connection, silencing it. The box. The thing she spent months agonizing over, trying to figure out its secrets. Evidently, despite having it on her nightstand, on another world, in another time, somebody else drew parallels to it.


    The governor knows.


    He¡¯s the one who had that book that mentioned the box. The text may be a bunch of garbage for all she knows, but the drawings very much showed the box in its plain glory and the light that bursts out of it when activated and opened. If Eporsa himself wrote about another way to open portals, and if the governor or other higher powers sought that other way to open portals, and three foreigners mysteriously appeared smack in Cenari without being near one of those bizarre machines called c-nodes¡­


    Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no. Cora digs her nails into her palms and tenses her muscles.


    ¡°We still don¡¯t know everything,¡± Callista says, setting the paper on the windowsill and holding Cora¡¯s shoulder while she starts shaking uncontrollably.


    ¡°I told him we still had it,¡± she says, fingers turning white. The pain in her palms does little to distract from the horrible, stupid mistake she made. ¡°He knows we have it. He knows.¡±


    Raezu turns around and holds up a sheaf of papers stuffed into one of the folders Liam pulled out. His other hand holds a journal. ¡°I found Cora¡¯s information. Both medical and what we observed.¡± His eyes crinkle when they land on her. ¡°There¡¯s nothing here that tells me why they chose you. Why did he choose you? You¡¯re nothing special. You¡¯re just another Magaraman. No offense.¡±


    ¡°Keep reading. You might¡¯ve missed something,¡± Callista says, and he silences himself and continues reading. She holds Cora by the shoulders and looks at her eyes. ¡°You¡¯ve done nothing wrong. We don¡¯t know if he¡¯s even aware of anything else. We¡¯ll figure it out, okay?¡±


    She nods, and Callista releases her hold. They won¡¯t figure anything out because the governor knows. He holds control over the city. The city once seemed so friendly, but she realizes that it¡¯s overrun with guards.


    Guards that could, with the right words, be commanded to fight.


    Callista joins Raezu in sorting out the papers and reading through them. Cora leans against the windowsill and sighs, pushing her bangs back. ¡°Tough spot,¡± Liam says, flipping past pages of random anatomy. ¡°I knew we shouldn¡¯t have trusted that bastard.¡±


    ¡°We still don¡¯t know if he¡¯s connected to all of this.¡± Cora gestures at the endless amounts of papers. ¡°There might be other people working with Eporsa and the governor was kept out of the loop.¡±


    A stray sheet of paper catches her attention. It¡¯s buried beneath a mound of journals heaped on a shelf, dusty and cracked with age. The corner peeks out just enough to reveal a bold line stretching deeper.


    Cora tugs on the paper until she slips it off. ¡°What the fuck¡­¡± The bold line connects to another diagram of the machines called c-nodes, but another element was hastily added at the side. A stick figure, with two arms and two legs, kneels at the edge of the platform while wavy lines go from the figure to the grooves on the platform. Where the floating circles should be, pencil marks are scribbled above the platform, and a vaguely diamond-shaped sketch is positioned over the platform. Like the other papers, lines of stray alien language are scrawled beside the c-node.


    ¡°Hey, Callista,¡± she says, her voice meek. ¡°What does this say?¡±


    She leaves Raezu reading over the notes and does a double-take at seeing the paper in Cora¡¯s hands. ¡°That is strange. It talks about the results of an experiment¡­ I can¡¯t read that.¡±


    ¡°Allow me,¡± Raezu offers, rising from the chair. Never mind that he¡¯s a Transient and their supposed mortal enemy. Cora mutely offers the page to him, and his scales flex and press into each other, eyes scrunching. ¡°Thirty-six years ago.¡±


    The door crashes inward. Raezu plasters himself against the wall and immediately starts melting. Liam jumps and turns toward the entrance, his eyes glowing silver. Callista storms forward and holds her arms up, light flashing in her eyes. Cora stares at the page held in her trembling hands. The figure is nothing more than a stick figure, but she keeps replaying what Raezu said, even as she hears shouts and the distant rumble of an inevitable fight.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t what you think it is,¡± a familiar voice says. She peels her eyes away and stares at the doorway, where a group of guards are standing at attention. Resma is leading the front, and his tendrils are droopy, mushroom cap sagging. Obuch is standing near the back of the group. Aspa and Tere are nowhere to be seen, though the guards standing together aren¡¯t many. The hospital is vast, after all.


    ¡°Resma.¡± Cora lets the paper drift onto the floor. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Believe me, we tried. We had to get information from you because we had no choice. Do you know how dangerous the box and its inhabitant is? You appeared blindly in the city and we had to prepare for the worst.¡±


    She clenches her hands. White-hot fury slams adrenaline into her body. ¡°The governor told me everything.¡±


    ¡°Not everything.¡± Resma straightens his armor plate and stands taller. His tendrils gain a little life, wiggling aimlessly. ¡°We had to keep you misled because of her.¡±


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°You know who,¡± Resma says quietly.


    ¡°Enough of this bullshit. Why the fuck are you here?¡± Liam snaps, raising his knife.


    ¡°We came for the box and for Cora.¡± Resma recoils at Callista¡¯s sudden break in movement, though she simply positions herself in front of Cora. ¡°You found our spies and killed them,¡± he says carefully. ¡°You found Eporsa¡¯s office and the reason why we need the box. Now, we have to purge her before she controls you, Cora.¡±


    ¡°Like hell I believe that,¡± she snarls. ¡°You lied to me! All of you lied! And you expect me to believe that¡¯s true?¡±


    ¡°It is true,¡± Obuch says warily. The guards part to allow him to step forward, standing beside Resma. ¡°For once, I am not sarcastic about this. We misled you because we feared if she knew, she¡¯d control your body and break free. We arrived here with the best firepower we could muster because we feared the worst. But you are still in control, Cora. Help us by allowing us to purge her before the worst comes to happen. Help us by telling us where the box is.¡±


    ¡°No.¡± Cora clenches her teeth and glares at Resma. Good, the parasite purrs, and it only adds to the mounting fury leaving Cora a shaking mess. ¡°I don¡¯t trust any of you.¡±


    He shakes his tendrils and adjusts his armor plate. ¡°Then we have to assume that she has influenced your mind too much for us to let you walk free.¡±


    ¡°We will get out of the city and never see each other again,¡± Callista says. ¡°We don¡¯t have to fight.¡±


    ¡°If you tell us where the box is, both you and Liam are free to go. Our concerns lie with Cora.¡±


    ¡°Let all of us go.¡±


    Resma slowly twists his tendrils together. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, but that¡¯s not possible.¡±


    ¡°Then you¡¯ll have to capture us first,¡± Cora says, and she slips into her metaphysical self and turns the first gear of reality.

 25 - Eslevom

    ¡°I thought you said you needed physical therapy.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re my new therapist.¡±


    ¡°I want you.¡±


    ¡°I love you.¡±


    ***


    The earth fits her like a snug glove. Easy to bend, easy to control, with nothing more than her metaphysical hands and a little imagination.


    She nudges the gear a couple of millimeters. The transfer of awareness is immediate, and she gasps, nearly overwhelmed at having a new sense added instantly. Vaguely, she registers Resma charging forward, wielding dual knives. Callista explodes into action and slams a leg into his shins, sending him sprawling. Liam brings the nearest guards to their knees, clutching at their heads while he grimaces against the backlash of his power, eyes pulsing silver.


    The porcelain hums beneath Cora¡¯s metaphysical fingers. Unlike the earth, the porcelain is scant, only an inch thick at most on both sides, sandwiching looser materials she can¡¯t directly control. If she rips the porcelain out to fight, the floor will collapse, and they¡¯ll plummet into the floor below. Too much risk.


    Cora cracks off slivers of porcelain. They rise, wobble, and suddenly spear toward Resma. He ducks Callista¡¯s punch and sweeps his arm down. Several slivers are struck down, but two pierce his thigh, and another clangs off his armor.


    He groans, bracing his weight on his good leg. ¡°We don¡¯t want to hurt you,¡± he grunts, blocking another one of Callista¡¯s swings. ¡°You¡¯re not the real target. Let us help you, and then we can provide anything you and your friends desire while you remain here as our guests.¡±


    ¡°I trusted you, Resma,¡± Cora says. She cracks the floor and frees more slivers of porcelain. They float mid-air, orienting their sharpest points at him. Several slivers waver as her focus slips. ¡°I don¡¯t want to hurt you more.¡±


    ¡°Then we can stop the fighting. There¡¯s little point. Let us help.¡±


    ¡°Like you helped me?¡±


    The voice, deep and ominous, emerges from beside him. A hulking, alien figure steps out of the wall. Its carapace flushes deep blue, bordering on black. Two scythe-like arms extend from its front. Four multi-jointed limbs protrude from its torso, armored and lethally sharp. Green membranes flutter between pieces of its carapace, releasing puffs of spores that catch the daylight and sparkle.


    Molten gold swishes beneath the armored bones shielding its deep-set eyes like a hood. ¡°Do you think I forgot?¡±


    ¡°You fought for them,¡± Resma spits out, backing away from both Callista and Raezu until his back meets a bookshelf. ¡°Don¡¯t fool yourself into thinking you can redeem your actions. They told me about what you did to that camp of our soldiers while they slept. They showed me the pictures.¡±


    ¡°I had no choice.¡± Raezu raises an arm and directs the sharp end at Resma. ¡°Much like you and the rest forced me to obey.¡±


    Several guards break past the doorway and fire searing bolts of fire, light, and electricity at Raezu. He snaps forward like a rubber band and tears into the guards, cutting through flesh with ease. His fluttering membranes twist and release clouds of hazy spores that envelop the guards and leave them writhing.


    Callista seizes the moment to strike. Resma blocks two hits and returns a jab that sends her flying back. ¡°Please,¡± Resma says, grunting as her next kick buckles his leg¡¯s armor. ¡°We can still make a deal.¡±


    ¡°Too late for that,¡± she sneers. She slams her fist into his chest plate. He¡¯s sent flying out the door, smacking with a thunderclap of metal against the wall before he slumps against the wall, his eyes dimming.


    ¡°We need to get out,¡± Liam says, stumbling into Callista. She props him up as he blinks and extinguishes the silver light of his power. The parasite fades, though it squirms under Cora¡¯s scorching attention.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± she says, turning a gear a fraction of the way and cracking the porcelain floor further. Tens of shards hover several feet into the air. With a simple command, exercised through her metaphysical self, the shards fall into a lazy orbit around her, their sharp points aimed forward. ¡°Raezu!¡±


    He bisects a guard and lifts a scythe-like arm, dripping a purplish milky liquid. ¡°There are more. Let me go first. You showed me that not all the Allies are monsters.¡±


    ¡°Transients are the monsters,¡± Callista says, but her voice falls quiet when he prods at a mutilated corpse, slashed into ribbons.


    ¡°We have to stay together,¡± Liam grunts, raising his knife. ¡°We have to get down. Callista, you can break the windows and get us out, can¡¯t you?¡±


    She shakes her head and protracts her claws. She looks almost feral, unleashed like a werewolf, teeth bared, hair flowing in a glorious mane of glossy black behind her muscular shoulders, arms raised and claws glinting black in the daylight.


    ¡°That¡¯s a drop none of us will come back from. Except you.¡± She glances distastefully at Raezu, but he ignores her, poised at the edge of the yawning doorway. Curt shouts and sounds of boots mobilizing outside blast into their ears.


    It¡¯s almost too calm. The guards should be dumping their gifts into the tight room, or tearing down walls to reach the office, or demanding their surrender in their loud, nasally voices.


    Cora freezes. ¡°Where¡¯s Obuch?¡±


    Long, rope-like tendrils wrap around her arms and chest. She can¡¯t even scream out a warning before she¡¯s lurched off her feet and past the doorway. Soldiers¨Cnot guards, those let the soldiers pass¨Cstream out of the stairwells and set up defenses at the ends of each corridor. Yet more storm towards the room Raezu and her friends are in.


    ¡°You forgot about what I can do!¡± Cora shouts, and shatters the floor. Hundreds of shards join the storm of lethal sharpness orbiting her. Their tips turn serrated, their edges angular, their aerodynamic efficiency increased. Guards raise shields like the Transients had back in the forest, a curtain of invisibility that ripples when the shards strike their boundary.


    Yet she peels the hospital floors like an apple, making them stumble right into the shards she wedges into their heels.


    Howls and screeches deafen her. Obuch, still invisible, releases his tendrils, and Cora immediately stabs the air where he should be. Dozens of shards swipe randomly, spraying three hundred sixty degrees around her.


    ¡°You can still make the right choice,¡± a disembodied voice says above her before tendrils snatch her and squish her against Obuch¡¯s dense, hardened abdomen as he flies. She shrieks, commanding the shards to graze the ceiling and spear like missiles toward him.


    Several guards raise their arms and cast pulses of something that steals her control away. The shards drop lifelessly, shattering on the remains of the floor. Behind her, several guards smash into the wall, coating them in blood.


    Raezu emerges first, his anvil-shaped head scraping the ceiling. He makes eye contact with Cora the moment before the positioned guards open fire, twisting tendrils of combined energy that surge into a blinding, suffocating stream of condensed light. It crashes into him and disintegrates his head, limbs, and eats away at most of his torso before the onslaught stops and his cooked remains drop to the floor.


    Her heart twinges at his death. That could¡¯ve easily been Liam or Callista, and he chose to go first, enemy or not.


    But without him¡­


    Oh, no.


    Obuch lurches into the main hospital corridor, clearing the sharp corner, and the last thing she sees are the soldiers storming the room.


    ¡°No!¡±


    Cora twists another gear and rips the porcelain beneath them. With a quick twist of her metaphysical fingers, she directs spikes of porcelain upward, straight at Obuch.


    Soldiers shoot down the spikes, but she thrusts her awareness into the ceiling, the compact rock making it up, and ruptures the ceiling. Several spikes connect with soft flesh, and suddenly the weightless sensation stops.


    Obuch plummets and crashes onto the floor. Cora slams on the ground, banging her elbow and knocking her head against a wall.


    The spikes drop lifelessly. Her head aches, her vision swims, and her ears ring endlessly. She crawls a few feet before collapsing on her side, dry-heaving, muscles contracting and tissues rupturing as her awareness slips back into her own body and she suffers the consequences of her power.


    Foreign tendrils wrestle her arms behind her back and tie them together. They stuff a balled-up cloth into her mouth and tie a knot behind her head. More tendrils bind her ankles together, the rope scraping her skin raw as she tries to rip her way free. A blindfold is tied over her eyes, and then she truly panics, writhing against her restraints, sobbing like the crazy girl she is.


    Her head pounds. Her heart feels like it¡¯s going to explode. She can barely breathe from the blood dripping out her nose, and her mouth is gagged, and she can¡¯t breathe.


    She can¡¯t breathe. She screams into the gag, biting down hard, while somebody presses a cloth down on her nose. She slips back into her metaphysical self and reaches for the ceiling, but finds somebody else beat her to the gears, their shadowy profile resting tendrils on the ones she needs and keeping them beyond reach.


    Consciousness rushes back to her flailing body, and she¡¯s losing it fast. Her chest burns. Cora can¡¯t breathe, can¡¯t breathe! Tears trickle down her cheeks. She shrieks and strains against tendrils keeping her immobilized while she¡¯s starved of air, precious air that she needs she needs air she needs¨C


    Air!


    I need air!


    The parasite breaks free. Twin eyes expressing the cold depths of a million oceans blaze to life before Cora¡¯s blindfolded eyes. A heart-shaped face fills the outline, then a sharp nose, high cheekbones, pouty lips, and a scattering of freckles more varied than the stars.


    The parasite is every bit as pretty and relaxed as Cora is screaming and panicking. It takes a minute to catch her dimensional breath and calm just enough to open her mouth without shrieking.


    You need help, and I can provide that help.


    Her words do little to help Cora. She shakes and takes in her rope restraints, the cloth pressed over her nose, the blood that¡¯s blocking her breathing and drowning her in her own blood.


    ¡°I¡¯m not¨CI¡¯ll never give you my body,¡± she croaks, glaring at the parasite. ¡°I¡¯d rather die than let you kill everybody.¡±


    After what you¡¯ve seen, after being captured and choked to unconsciousness, you dare think I do what I do mindlessly, like some machine? The parasite shakes her head. Her wavy hair bounces over her shoulders. I thought you learned.


    ¡°I¡¯m tired of all this cryptic bullshit,¡± Cora seethes. ¡°I¡¯m tired of being treated like trash. I thought I could trust them. They¡¯re the same as you. Complete, untrustable assholes. Evil people. Caring only for themselves.¡±


    Then we are two sides of the same coin, no?


    She stares off into the darkness, defeated. ¡°What does that mean?¡±


    You tire of the cryptic bullshit. So you went out and consulted sources that flipped your world-view and drove you to rage.


    ¡°What the fuck are you talking about?¡±


    I did not tell you everything because you had no reason to trust me. I hated you, you know. The parasite on her back. Her hair falls like a curtain. Her lips part and she releases a slow, heavy sigh, chest deflating and palms turning upward. You were so stupid and weak. So na?ve. You blamed yourself for everything and I hated it because I heard every thought you had. I felt every emotion you felt. I hated you because you were a weak, sniveling, pathetic excuse for a girl who thought she could conquer the world. Once you had the rug ripped right under your sorry little feet, you faltered. And I hated you for it. It was disgusting how you kept mourning the loss of your friendship, when you got everything you could ask for. You had the new beginning you always wanted, and instead of appreciating the fucking miracles you were given, you spent weeks destroying yourself, always mourning what could¡¯ve been instead of focusing on what would¡¯ve happened after.


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Cora stares at the parasite. ¡°Wait¡­ you mean¨C¡±


    I was there from the beginning, honey. Her lips part wide into a shark¡¯s grin, though Cora glimpses one side. The parasite raises an arm and lets it flop onto her chest. From the moment your sorry little behind arrived at the mine. I was there. She turns her head and flashes a smile, though it doesn¡¯t reach her eyes. They twinkle with smug superiority instead. Every thought, every dream, every ambition and failure you experienced, I was there. I watched you obsess over the box, and you were proving my choice right every day. Before you had that ridiculous fight, I respected you. You had ambition. You had intelligence. I picked you because unlike everybody else in that sorry little party, even your Mari, you reminded me of myself. You lacked purpose in life, and you wandered with a meaningless existence, but you carried those glorious seeds that you sowed after you discovered the box.


    ¡°No¡­ I¨CI¡¯m nothing like you,¡± Cora whispers, shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯re a monster. You destroyed all those worlds. You¡¯re fucking evil. You were going to trick me and steal my body.¡± She drops her gaze and focuses on an area of pitch blackness. ¡°I¡¯d never do that.¡±


    Even after what they did to you?


    The parasite¡¯s voice is as cold and unyielding as steel. Cora shivers.


    Think, Cora. Remember that ambition that drove you to research the box. So much of what you did was ultimately useless, but you learned something important from the rest, didn¡¯t you?


    ¡°I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about.¡±


    You do know. You learned the moment you saw the doctor¡¯s diagrams. Cora suspected it. That seemingly endless well of power had to have had a source. She never found it, but that¡¯s because the source existed inside her the whole time. Not the box. The box was just a vessel, a conduit. With the parasite wrestled under control, that means the source is Cora. Which means the network of Cenarians that conspired to bring her to the governor want her alive. Yes. Good girl. It¡¯s the reason I encouraged you to investigate a little more. It always ties back to the box in the end, no matter what you try.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t encourage shit! We were going to fight the Transients anyway, and when Liam suggested it I thought it¡¯d be better to do it right then and there.¡±


    You don¡¯t understand. Without that seed of doubt, you would¡¯ve come up with an excuse to wait. You would¡¯ve claimed it was for his health, or to wait and plan, and then you¡¯d delay the inevitable. You would¡¯ve never found the doctor¡¯s office, and you would¡¯ve never been here. You would¡¯ve been in the governor¡¯s palace instead, blindly following his procedure.


    Cora shakes her head. ¡°That¡¯s not true.¡±


    Don¡¯t lie to yourself, Cora. I¡¯m integrated with you, and I know when you¡¯re lying.


    Fuck. Fuck. She starts hyperventilating again, eyes growing moist, chest constricting. Her heart hammers against her sore ribs. The parasite¡¯s rooted far, far deeper than she ever expected. There¡¯s no privacy. There¡¯s nothing at all she can do to block it. She¡¯ll always be there, wedged into Cora¡¯s mind like a leech, sucking out her life and experiences, tasting them for herself.


    Don¡¯t act so surprised. You felt or knew nothing until I told you.


    ¡°And now I can¡¯t forget!¡± Cora can barely speak. Her throat is tight. She wants to vomit again, purging her stomach and her mind of the parasite¡¯s influence. It¡¯s entrenched into her. ¡°Why? Why did you do this to me? Why are you doing this?¡±


    That is the first intelligent question you¡¯ve asked since I integrated myself into you. Why, indeed? The parasite floats onto her feet. She turns on her heels and paces further away, reducing her outline to a fraction of her actual height. Am I an angel or a devil? A hero or a destroyer of worlds?


    ¡°Shut the fuck up!¡± Cora screeches. She shakes. ¡°I want nothing to do with you! Nothing! You¡¯re the stupid reason why they¡¯re after me!¡±


    Oh, honey.


    ¡°Shut the fuck up! Answer the stupid question!¡±


    I did not tell you everything there is to know because I wanted you to find out and experience what I experienced thirty-six years ago. I wanted you to experience the betrayal of the Muschians.


    Cora¡¯s anger snuffs out. She stares at the dim profile of the parasite, whose back is turned, arms clasped behind her back.


    We are two sides of the same coin, Cora.


    And then the bubble bursts.


    Cold dread drowns her failing lungs. Burning white anger fights back, rushing past her bloodstream and seeping into every cell composing her entire being.


    Cora howls, straining against her bonds. Skin chafes and burns beneath the taut rope. Muscles cramp beneath her tremendous strain. She wrenches her head away and gasps before the cloth clamps over her nose, but she pulls and pulls and pulls.


    Her muffled hearing catches a series of shouts and then the quick discharge of numerous gifts bombarding some unknown assailant. Screams follow, and chunks of flesh thump on the ground. The tendrils pressing the cloth down suddenly disappear, and somebody cuts the ropes free.


    She rips off her blindfold and undoes the knot before throwing the gag onto the floor. The light is bright and startling. It takes her several moments to realize that the figure looming over her is none other than Raezu, newly regenerated, flicking off streams of pale blood clinging to his scythe arms.


    ¡°Raezu?¡±


    He lowers his anvil-shaped head. ¡°Liam and Callista are trapped. They need our help.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Her head throbs at the memory of the parasite. That¡¯s a lot of unpacking she¡¯ll have to do later, though she curdles at the reminder that the parasite has been there since the start. That it¡¯s always been there. But more important matters await. ¡°Why are you helping us?¡±


    ¡°You saved me from my bindings. So now I save you.¡±


    He sounds too similar to Callista. She spoke similar words back in the forest, though the circumstances had been different, and she¡¯d originally only attacked out of paranoia, fear, and self-defense.


    Too disgustingly similar to Callista. Cora shouldn¡¯t empathize with the Transient that spied on her and participated in the sick network of Cenarians aiming to capture her.


    But she does, and she resigns herself to the fact he¡¯ll be there.


    Cora glances at the bodies and snarls. ¡°Then let¡¯s go.¡±


    The hallways are slick with the same pale blood of the Cenarians. Bodies are heaped against the walls, diced open, organs protruding through slit body cavities and heads lolling where lethal blades had nearly decapitated them. A few times, she kicks lifeless mushroom heads aside, and her resolve weakens.


    The gruesome display is sickening. Nauseating. The stench of death sneaks past her clotted nose and makes her recoil. It¡¯s so much death. These people spent their lives trying to capture her.


    Maybe they thought she was a world-ending threat. Maybe the people who want to capture her lied to the guards and soldiers, convincing them that she had to be captured at any cost.


    Cora had impaled their heels with porcelain shards, and then she¡¯d only reinforced their beliefs, proving them right that she is the monster they set out to stop.


    She feels sick.


    Distant shouts grow clearer as they approach the stairwell. Back to back, Cora finds Liam and Callista trading blows with the swarms of soldiers rushing up the stairwell. Several times, his knife slashes open Cenarian faces, only for armored root-balls of fists to swing and narrowly miss his chest. Callista shoves soldiers back, denting armor where her hands connect, and slicing open exposed flesh where she drags her claws.


    They¡¯re both panting, chests heaving, eyes frenzied. Callista notices Cora first, her expression lighting up, giving a soldier a fraction of a second to close the gap and shove her back. She¡¯s sent sprawling on the floor, seconds before the Cenarians rush up the stairs and descend on Liam like wolves.


    ¡°Stop!¡± Cora bellows, dipping her awareness into her metaphysical self. The figure is still there, blocking her access, but she stomps her foot down and elbows it out of the way. Her nails scrape against gears and twist them.


    Immediately, her sprawling awareness returns, and it encompasses the entire hospital. She¡¯s dimly aware of the hundreds of feet pounding the hospital floors, rushing toward her location. She¡¯s just barely aware of the hundreds more waiting outside, generating shields and enclosing the entire hospital in several layers of glimmering protection.


    But that¡¯s not what matters at the moment. She rips the handrails out of the walls and bends them at ninety-degree angles, then shoves them between Liam and the soldiers and yanks.


    The bars propel themselves backwards, and soldiers are thrown backwards by the sudden change in momentum, crashing down the stairs. The unlucky few caught by the handrails are bisected against the walls, the handrails blowing chunks out of the walls.


    ¡°You¡¯re not going to capture any of us!¡± She twists the handrails and snaps them into foot-long segments. ¡°You¡¯re not going to hurt me or my friends ever again!¡±


    Dozens of segments spear downward and impale the soldiers stupid enough to attempt a resistance. Their bodies go flying, pinned to the walls, losing tons of blood that splatters out the puncture wounds and drips into a rapidly growing river flowing down the stairs.


    ¡°You did better than I ever could,¡± Raezu says, unfurling his arms. ¡°I lost a lot of body segments, but there were plenty of meals to fuel my transformations.¡±


    Cora ignores the implications of his statement. ¡°There¡¯s a lot more coming to us. I don¡¯t think they¡¯ll stop until they capture us.¡±


    ¡°Those lousy bastards,¡± Callista snarls, and Liam grabs her shoulder, furrowing his eyebrows.


    ¡°We have to fight smart. Our best bet is getting the fuck out of here and into the woods.¡± He scrunches his nose and toes at a nearby body, slowly oozing fluids. ¡°Scratch that. It¡¯s our only choice.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re here,¡± Cora says, moments before the first soldiers appear at the far end of the hallway.


    ¡°They¡¯ll never stop.¡± Raezu positions himself before everybody else, raising his scythe arms, and unfurling his legs into a crouching stance. ¡°It was like this in Uklut. The Muschian division of the Allies fought ferociously, no matter how many of their numbers were cut down, until they achieved their objectives.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we¡¯ll need to worry,¡± Cora says. She thrusts her full self into her metaphysical body and pours every last bit of strength into turning as many gears as she can. Her bones shatter, fingers split, muscles tear, ligaments snap, and nerves flay, but the system is set into motion.


    Somewhere deep beneath the hospital, Cora seizes control over a vast chunk of land.


    Torrents of information flood her tiny, insignificant skull. The overflow is almost too much to handle, straining her consciousness to the edge of its limits, losing her sense of who she is and what she¡¯s observing. The observed takes the property of the observer, and the observer becomes the observed.


    Unity. Duality. Boundaries blur. A twitch of her fingers may as well be a quake in the bedrock. The gentle pulsing of groundwater against earth particles is indistinguishable from the rush of adrenaline sustaining her heart at over two hundred beats per minute.


    She is everything, and she is nothing. Even the vast mycelium networks entrenched into the earth can¡¯t hope to spread into the impossible enormity of the planet. Rock goes deeper and deeper, plunging past her zone of awareness, and it scares her. She still bleeds, and she still seizes on the floor, but if she had no physical body to constrain her, Cora can¡¯t imagine how much further still her awareness could go.


    She could try to push herself farther, encroach upon the earth beneath Cenari.


    Too much. Too much! Her metaphysical self jerks back burning fingers. While she lives, her limits will hold her back. She can be stronger than any sentient on any planet, and she can fight against the Empire, but it will never be enough.


    The parasite laughs, though it sounds strained and sad. All that poor facsimile of mocking glee shreds Cora¡¯s metaphysical eardrums. She lurches back into reality, real reality, trembling with wasted potential energy. She can feel it threatening to blast her cells into puree. The power is too much for her feeble, failing body. It has to go somewhere, but she can¡¯t aim it at the floor, it¡¯s too much, nor at the soldiers, the power will blast straight through and collapse the hospital.


    The soldiers launch a blinding assault of heat, light, and sound. Callista and Liam rush into the stairwell behind Raezu, who spreads his arms to cover the worst of the blast. The rest hide behind their armor, the cowards, while he and Cora stand out in the open, ready to fight the world.


    Armor. Metal. The creation of metal is a fine process, extracting the base elements from mountains of rock. Cora controls the earth. The earth includes the trace elements that compose the earth and form the metal protecting the guards.


    Her awareness shrinks to the atomic level. She can feel it more than see it, the tightly woven patterns of elemental atoms interlocked into the illusion of metal.


    Because that¡¯s what it is. An illusion, at least to her power.


    A slight adjustment of a gear, and the brimming power flows out of her body and jumps into their armor. She twists the molecules like putty, breaking their bonds, and the armor changes, rippling and wavering. The metal becomes something else entirely, but it¡¯s not enough. She needs to hurt the guards, kill them, before they capture her. So she reaches into the mess of molecules and combines the pieces into something better, something stronger, something nobody in the world will be prepared to witness.


    Except for the fathomless icy eyes watching a miracle unfold.


    Cora¡¯s ultimate creation, her ultimate power, the power to


    Unbind.


    Something must be wrong, because the air plummets tens of degrees. Liam raises an arm toward her, his breath puffing out in white clouds. ¡°Cora¨C¡±


    Callista grabs Liam by the waist, twists on her heels, and shatters the stairwell¡¯s window. She leaps out, holding him to her chest, but she¡¯s too slow. Everybody is too slow. The armor condenses, the atoms within smash into each other and reach a higher density, and the excess energy has nowhere to go but out.


    The soldiers are engulfed in a storm of blinding white light.


    Cora doesn¡¯t get the chance to snap back into her body before the unbinding completes and the power of the atom and her rage incarnate unleashes their fury.

 26 - Roveim

    ¡°How¨Cwhat is this? Alex, what is this?¡±


    You first.¡±


    Alex¡­¡±


    ¡°Tada!¡±


    ***


    Somewhere deep beneath the hospital, a throb of subconscious awareness rattles the bedrock. Fissures split open. Thousands of tons of rock compact into a monolithic slab. Deeper forces push the slab upwards, and the surrounding rock squeezes inward, pushing the slab further still.


    The reaction continues, the squeezing and compressing of rock, until the slab shoots toward the surface. Like a cork popped out of a wine bottle, the slab breaks past the surface. Clouds of dirt spray outward. A horrible crack and a dimming of light is all the remaining hospital inhabitants get before the slab pierces the side of the hospital and cleaves it in half.


    A nuclear heartbeat of unimaginable power throbs, and light blasts the slab. Rock disintegrates and rapidly regenerates, replaced by the ground spitting out the slab higher still. Several floors start to collapse, starting from the top, while the slab continues its race toward the skies.


    Sections of rock flake off the rising slab and cocoon the core source of its new life. As the first sentient people scream and perish beneath debris, or try to escape the crumbling, desecrated corpse of the formerly life-giving hospital, while the floors continue collapsing and waves of endless energy blast the remains of the hospital, the protected core source stirs.


    Cora awakens to stifling darkness and oppressive heat. A muffled roar shakes her surroundings. She blindly reaches out and touches rock, warm to the touch. Her limbs hurt. Her head feels stuffed with cotton. Blood dribbles freely from her nose, her ears, and ruptured tissues along her abdomen, but that¡¯s the least of her worries.


    Relentless assaults of coruscating energy lash at the rock and crack sections of the compact exterior. Blasts of pressurized air snap chunks off. Outside, the piercing screams of hundreds of tortured souls rise above the static roar.


    Each and every one of those people¡¯s deaths are all her fault.


    Cora staggers, nauseous and dizzy. Her awareness slips sideways and she becomes dimly aware of the lack of hospital touching her protected cocoon. To her spatial senses, she¡¯s floating in a void.


    An abyss. She collapses to the ground and heaves. Bile burns her throat, and stringy mouthfuls of drool droops from her split bottom lip.


    Those weren¡¯t her thoughts. For the brief moment she¡¯d manipulated atoms like putty and smashed them together, an alien joy had seized her. She¡¯d watched herself fuse new elements, felt the plummeting temperature and frost beneath her boots.


    Her greatest creation. Her ultimate power.


    Icy blue eyes twinkle at the edge of her periphery. The parasite purses her lips and blows a mock kiss. The power of unbinding.


    Cora lurches. Her stomach spasms, and her back arches, vertebrae crackling. She clenches her hands and shudders while her muscles cramp and her lungs hurt. Her chest aches. Her heart blasts against her ribcage.


    ¡°What did¨Cwhat did you make me do?¡± she rasps, shutting her eyes. Losing herself amidst the cries, the screams, the rumble of the hospital¡¯s collapse, and the quieting stillness of her consequences. The smashing of atoms. The special, dramatic flair of rage applied over the reaction that made it all possible. ¡°What the fuck did you make me do!¡±


    You did this. You. To Cora¡¯s disgust, the parasite sounds almost proud. She claps her hands and strides toward the opposite side of Cora¡¯s vision. After so much waiting, you¡¯re proving my choice right. I thought you were a lost case. But you have the gift. It means I¡¯m right.


    ¡°What are you talking about!¡± Cora shrieks, her vision blurring. She scrubs at her eyes and growls in frustration. She bunches up the fabric of her pants in her hands, grip tight, heart rate spiking.


    Oh, don¡¯t be so melodramatic. I hate how stupid it makes you look.


    Cora listens to the fading echoes of the dying. The hospital¡¯s rumbling is quiet. Her cocoon of rock is still holding strong, though the outside is peeling off in layers, exposing more exotic layers of sandwiched materials that resisted the equivalent of a star. She doesn¡¯t want to look any further past the emptiness surrounding her. The hospital should be there, but the emptiness just continues, a vast gulf of nothingness where just minutes ago there had been something.


    ¡°It¡¯s all my fault,¡± she squeaks out, burying her fingers into her hair. ¡°I killed everybody.¡±


    Affirmations require careful observations.


    Cora shakes as she feels the last vestiges of power exit her body. The remnant of her strength holds her cocoon together and grants her just enough awareness to register every inch of her protective shell.


    ¡°They were right about me. About¡­¡± She scrubs at her eyes again and curls into a ball. ¡°About you. About us.¡±


    You have the greatest gift the grid has ever witnessed.


    ¡°You¡¯re not an entity the way I think you are, right?¡± Cora can barely speak. Her throat is swollen and painful. She feels sick and ugly. Inside her shell of sandwiched rock layers, the silence is screaming at her, a harsh, grating feedback that cuts out to be replaced by the screams, so many screams, she¡¯d heard.


    Can still hear. A few screams rise at the edge of perception. They¡¯re so low she could pretend they¡¯re part of the hallucinations, a brain ghost haunting her.


    But they¡¯re not. She killed so many people. The events of the past few hours catch up to her and she gasps for air, hyperventilating. ¡°Oh my God,¡± she whispers, digging her fingers into the cracks on the floor. ¡°What did I do? What did I do?¡±


    What you had to do. What you have to keep doing until your enemies are dead.


    ¡°You¡¯re not an entity the way I think you are,¡± Cora repeats, struggling to breathe. She chokes out the next few words before sucking in deep breaths. ¡°You were just like me. You found the box and opened it thirty-six years ago.¡±


    Your timeline is off, but yes, we are two sides of the same coin. The parasite crouches beside her and stretches her palm out. Small, dainty fingers reach toward her, and Cora lets her grab her hand, lying limp and useless at her side. You are so pathetically weak. But that can change.


    ¡°You¡¯re a monster,¡± Cora says, though she can¡¯t muster any force behind the words. Because she¡¯s a monster, too.


    Monsters of a feather flock together.


    ¡°No!¡± She jerks her hand away and moves as far as she can from the parasite. ¡°I¡¯m nothing like you, you fucking monster. You tortured me. You tried to use me. You almost tricked me into giving you my body, so what, you could control me and have a second chance to live?¡±


    It¡¯s not that simple, Cora.


    ¡°Wait. Why am I talking to you?¡± Cora laughs hysterically and tests the connections allowing the parasite to thrive. To project itself outward into her vision. ¡°I don¡¯t have to listen to you.¡±


    Yet you put up with me for so long that I almost forgot you promised to destroy me if I ever made an appearance again.


    ¡°I am¨C¡±


    Not. The parasite brushes her hair back and flicks her hand. Loops of color lash out and catch Cora around the wrist, though she feels nothing. You can¡¯t go back to live whatever lie you want to believe. You have the gift of unbinding, and that makes you the inheritor of a vast legacy.


    ¡°Legacy?¡± She makes no effort to sever the connection. She can¡¯t, anyway. The energy passing through the air is rich and deep, providing currents of safety that the parasite can nestle herself into and resist Cora¡¯s prying fingers.


    You have the founder¡¯s powers now. All of them.


    ¡°What?¡± Cora sniffles and balls her hands up. She swallows a glob of mucus that leaves an icky trail down the back of her throat. ¡°That sounds like a bunch of fantasy bullshit you¡¯re making up to let me guard down. Again.¡±


    The screams peter out. Muffled silence takes its place, and with it the memories of the first screams repeat, shrill and dissonant. She winces and massages her temples, but it¡¯s no use. The agonizing sounds loop forever and ever and¨C


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    You have Arcego¡¯s power.


    The screams stop.


    ¡°The guy Callista said founded the Empire? The same guy who died and let Marpei ruin all the worlds?¡±


    It can¡¯t be real. Vaguely, Cora registers foreign powers assailing her cocoon. Temperature swings and concentrated blasts of different materials chip away at her shell. Shouts seep through the cracks and tickle her ears. Whatever the survivors are doing, they¡¯re doing a poor job.


    He was a god. But even gods are not invincible.


    The parasite frowns and runs her hands through her hair. To Cora, it¡¯s like her hands phased through her head, but the effect quickly corrects and the parasite appears three-dimensionally again.


    ¡°You said I have all of his powers?¡±


    You should. His powers¨C The parasite flickers. For a second, Cora glimpses the inner workings of a being much vaster than she could ever imagine. An oily darkness engulfs entire planets. Tendrils reach and caress their surfaces, carving rifts across continental plates and swishing oceans around like tap water.


    At the tip of one of those vast tendrils, a facsimile of the parasite dangles like a puppet, arms and legs flopping around like rubber. The tendril contracts, and the parasite waves, before Cora snaps back and the parasite returns, face contorted into an agonized expression.


    They¡¯re split.


    Cora blinks and tries to make sense of what she just saw. ¡°What the fuck was¨C¡±


    You inherited his strongest gift. But the rest, they¡¯re split into¨C


    The parasite¡¯s influence fizzles out. But not just visually. Deep inside her brain, the entombed presence hardens and goes still. Cora probes at the parasite¡¯s paralyzed influence. Nothing.


    The first shafts of light break into her cocoon. Outside, the streams of directed gifts are relentless, wearing down each layer. Cora slips into her metaphysical self, but the wounds are too severe, and her senses are too clouded.


    There¡¯s something else out there emitting pulses of blinding energy that slick the gears and steal their potential. The pulses lash at her battered metaphysical body. She raises her head and glimpses a pillar of light branching across the sky and planting its roots in the soil-less ground.


    Too bright. She gasps and finds herself face-to-face with a new window blasted inches away.


    Wind whips into the cocoon, stealing her breath away. Below, among the smoldering ruins of the hospital, dozens of armored Cenarians direct their gifts at her. Water, fire, electricity, chunks of rock, and other weapons strike at the shell. She sidesteps a blast of particles that heats the neighboring rock to a dangerous red.


    ¡°Are you him?¡±


    Cora jumps. A shadow peels away from the inner walls and shifts into Raezu¡¯s Transient body. She starts shaking again, her breaths harder to come by. He doesn¡¯t mold his arms into scythes or grow into his lethal predatory body. He does nothing at all. Dull gold eyes look at her expectantly, awaiting a response she knows doesn¡¯t matter.


    Yet, she has to know. ¡°Did you¨Cdid you hear everything?¡±


    Raezu keeps his composure steady. ¡°Who were you talking to?¡±


    ¡°Are you still loyal to the Empire?¡±


    A few seconds pass. More light streams into the cocoon. Chunks of rock continue to break off, crashing with thunderous slams onto the ground far below. The air reeks of burnt ozone and charred wood.


    ¡°No,¡± Raezu finally says, and he leans against the rock. ¡°They forced me to fight a war of conquest. The recruiters told me we were bringing peace and justice to the fringe worlds.¡± He bares his teeth. ¡°If you really are him, then I will be glad to serve at your side.¡±


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± She can¡¯t have her would-be captor switch sides so quickly. It¡¯s impossible, it shouldn¡¯t happen, he¡¯s her enemy. She can¡¯t trust him.


    Yet they¡¯re alone, sealed within a shell she made to withstand the power of the atom. And rather than maim or kill her, he¡¯s choosing to talk to her. ¡°Do you even believe what I said?¡± Cora can¡¯t help the squeak in her voice. She doesn¡¯t want to believe it, either.


    ¡°All I had to do was look around.¡±


    The shell groans. Cracks splinter toward the opposite wall behind them. In moments, the Cenarians will crack her last shield like an egg and spill its contents on the frenzied tendrils of their soldiers.


    She killed so many people. What will they see her as, if not a monster? She inherited her gifts from a former god, and rather than do good, she struck down their people like they were nothing. Who wouldn¡¯t be whipped into a ferocious rage and want to execute the mass murderer hiding inside her little shell of glued rock and torment?


    ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to do it,¡± she gasps, shaking while the opposite side begins to crack open. Wind whips into the interior and whistles in her ruined ears. ¡°I swear, it wasn¡¯t me, I¡¯d never do something like this.¡±


    Raezu¡¯s body starts to shapeshift, turning into an indistinguishable blob below his neck. ¡°Was it the person you were talking to? This entity?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she whispers, wind gusts drowning her response.


    The rock cracks. Both halves split asunder. For a moment, she¡¯s suspended in midair, hanging above the soldiers like the false god she is. Raezu glues himself to one of the falling halves and shapeshifts to match the rock. Cora gets one precious second to scream before plummeting the short, lethal distance to the ground.


    Chunky arms and interlaced tendrils cushion her fall. No sooner does her momentum stop that her arms are wrenched behind her back, bound together. Another cloth is stuffed into her mouth and her bloody drool soaks into the white fabric. Her feet are then bound together, though this time they wrap rope around her thighs, too.


    They make quick and effective work of putting her down before several soldiers project shields around her. A single soldier carries her like she¡¯s nothing, holding her across their chest with both arms.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    Cora would recognize that voice anywhere. She trembles and furiously blinks away her tears. Aspa, poor Aspa, is cradling her like a baby, gentle to keep her tendrils around her torso and legs to balance the pressure.


    ¡°I know you can¡¯t respond. I don¡¯t know if I want you to respond.¡± Soldiers bark orders and Aspa starts moving. Their escorts follow, layering shields over each other and enclosing the two of them. ¡°Look at what you did. Why?¡±


    They stop at the edge of the path descending into the city. Aspa turns and forces Cora to witness the damage she wrought, the calamity the governor warned her led to the sundering of worlds.


    Piles of rubble created miniature hills that release plumes of acrid smoke curling high into the bruised sky. The land is shattered, filled with miniature canyons that various soldiers are careful to navigate around. At the centerpiece of the mantlepiece, however, a monolithic slab pierces through the earth and past the heaps of smoking rubble, looming so high she can¡¯t see the end.


    A monument to her sick actions.


    It reminds her too much of the stone obelisk that pierced an alien machine and grounded it. At the time, she couldn¡¯t imagine how deadly the fight must¡¯ve been, or all the blood spilled at the hands of an insanely powerful magician.


    Now she knows. Maybe the parasite had pierced the ship herself. But Cora will never know, because the parasite¡¯s entombed presence is silent and she won¡¯t get to live long enough to talk to her again, anyway.


    ¡°Liam and Callista are alive,¡± Aspa says quietly. ¡°They will be tried in a military tribunal, and I do not expect the council will look on them favorably.¡±


    More muffled shouts breach the shield barriers, and she starts moving again, matching the pace of the soldiers surrounding them. Every face is turned away, though a couple of flinty eyes glance her way and they narrow, tendrils stilling, bodies tensing for a fight.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand why you didn¡¯t trust us to help you. We could¡¯ve captured the Transients ourselves. You didn¡¯t have to kill them by killing everyone.¡±


    Cora shakes her head and utters a guttural whine. Did they not tell her everything? Does she not know that Resma, Obuch, and other guards threatened Cora and her friends first?


    Aspa glances at Cora¡¯s desperate face and winces, beady eyes snapping toward some distant target. ¡°You could¡¯ve trusted us.¡±


    I¡¯m sorry, she wants to scream, but can¡¯t muster the strength.


    From the direction of the city, several blips in the sky rapidly approach. Their size swells until she realizes they¡¯re more of the pod-shaped machines. They glide to a smooth stop at the edge of the path. The largest takes the center, while four more position themselves around the center pod like silent sentinels.


    Just this morning, she and the others had been escorted inside them into the palace. They¡¯d been welcomed and embraced with open arms. Then the governor trapped her. Then she learned about the box¡¯s destructive nature. Then she learned about Liam¡¯s past and his struggle to live. Then they faced off against the Transients, raided Eporsa¡¯s office, fought, and Cora murdered everybody.


    It¡¯s too much. Over the span of a Cenarian day, the truth of her easy life shattered and now she¡¯s going to die.


    Panels retract into the metal bands supporting the teardrop-shaped pod. Glass slides down. Several soldiers storm out of the center pod and grab Cora, then toss her into the pod like the useless waste of flesh she is.


    She curls into herself and struggles to keep her eyes from tearing up. The floor is so cold, chilling her face and bare arms. The soldiers return to their seats around her and train their attention on her. She whines softly as the pod encloses itself and levitates upward, then glides toward the distant mushroom cap of the palace.


    It couldn¡¯t have been more than twelve hours ago that she first visited the palace. How did so much happen in so little time? Her stomach is a churning pit of dread. She clenches her teeth and compresses the cloth between her teeth. At least this time they left her able to see, though there¡¯s nothing she can do.


    Was this how Mari felt when the Transients took her away? Alone, afraid, at the mercy of monsters who wanted her for purposes beyond any sane person¡¯s imagination?


    What about Liam and Callista? Aspa said they¡¯d face a military tribunal. What will happen to them?


    Cora scrabbles uselessly at her metaphysical self. There¡¯s nothing worth moving that can hope to turn one of the near-insurmountable gears. She only gets a brief respite from her real body¡¯s wounds and discomfort before ethereal reality spits her back out.


    The palace looms overhead. Rather than descend toward the entrance, the pod glides toward the dome. A tiny rectangle opens near the bottom. The pod gently eases its way inside the entrance, its surroundings plunging into darkness before sconces light up and bathe the hangar in a warm glow.


    Panels and glass retreat into the metal bands. The soldiers pick her up and carry her outside, where more await, their faces hidden behind helmets.


    ¡°Do you have the sedative?¡± one of the soldiers carrying her says.


    Sedative? Cora writhes, buckling to free herself from her captor¡¯s arms. Tendrils squeeze against her limbs and bite into her skin. She screams, a muffled noise that startles the nearest soldiers and prompts them to raise shields.


    They won¡¯t do anything! She kicks the nearest soldier. The next moment, she¡¯s laid on her back, pinned in place by several soldiers. A gurney squeaks toward her, with a bag of clear liquid sloshing around on a pole and a thin, metal needle.


    The doctor behind the gurney is none other than Eporsa.


    Cora growls. She grinds her metaphysical self¡¯s bones against the gears and prompts the tiniest of movements. Just enough to give her a fraction of the power to ram a spike through his head.


    He hurries and starts probing at her arm, probably searching for suitable veins. She concentrates her willpower on the floor, gathering bits of rock together to explode into a spike and ram through his eye and spear his brain.


    Suddenly, shields layer themselves over the ground the same moment she summons the spike. Its lethally sharp point snaps, and the rest of the spike grinds against the shields, sparking and fizzling, the invisible barriers holding strong.


    No! No!


    She can¡¯t move. Eporsa moves a cold, metal needle over her arm and plunges the tip into her flesh.


    The world fades soon after that.

 27 - Mitra

    ¡°Liam?¡±


    ¡°Alex.¡±


    ¡°Told you. Are you gonna stay?¡±


    ¡°Of course I am. Goddamnit, fuck. I¡¯m not leaving your side, ever.¡±


    ***


    Cora gasps, her lungs raw and aching. Her eyelids pry open. Crusts of dried blood break off, falling to the floor. She¡¯s on her knees, doubled over, arms stretched behind her back, wearing cuffs linked to chains that connect to rings bolted to the floor. A metal collar is wrapped around her neck, and a similar chain trails to the ground. She can move, but just a little, before the chains go taut.


    Several layers of shields surround her. The air warps under their concentrated energies, thick enough that beyond her little bubble, she can¡¯t make out any sharp details. But the location is clear enough.


    A vast, circular metal platform is rooted inside a warehouse-like structure. Off to the side, the crane stands silent, extending its tri-pronged arm into the sky. Above her head is a floating metal circle, and mirroring it at the opposite end of the platform is another floating circle, though the layers of shields blur its outline into a gray haze.


    She clenches her teeth, heart hammering, stomach twisting. The slow, crawling tendrils of dread creep up her spine and leave her tense. ¡°What is this?¡±


    ¡°The answer to your problem,¡± the governor says. A blurry figure steps closer. The details sharpen. It is him, wearing that piece of fabric like a scarf, tied into a knot at the base of his neck. ¡°It didn¡¯t have to be this way.¡±


    ¡°Let me go!¡±


    Cora shakes. What are they going to do to her? She strains against her restraints. The metal bites into her wrists and neck.


    ¡°You¡¯re too dangerous, Cora.¡± The governor¡¯s scarf flutters around his torso. He leans in and waves several tendrils mid-air, beady eyes fixated on the rhythmic movements. ¡°I hope you find it in your heart to forgive us. We have no choice but to purge the entity before it controls you.¡±


    ¡°It won¡¯t control me!¡± Gasping, teary-eyed, she shrieks and yanks against her restraints. She slips into her metaphysical body, but it¡¯s ruined, and there¡¯s no way she¡¯ll dare push herself further.


    ¡°Are the preparations made?¡±


    ¡°Yes, sir,¡± a worker says. The governor¡¯s tendrils retract into his arm and he straightens.


    ¡°The asset?¡±


    ¡°Secure.¡±


    ¡°Wait.¡± All eyes turn toward Cora. She hangs her head and lets her hair hide her face. ¡°What if we worked out a deal?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re too dangerous to assume we can negotiate safely,¡± the governor responds. His piece of fluttering fabric rests on his shoulders, a makeshift cape that flutters as he paces the circumference of the shields enclosing her. ¡°Truly, I am sorry things had to end this way. You should understand more than anybody else why we chose this route.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re all monsters,¡± Cora wheezes, voice cracking. She can barely breathe through the tightness in her throat. Wrapped around her throat. It can¡¯t end like this, not here, not now, not when she has so much to do.


    The governor turns back to his workers. ¡°Is the box secured?¡±


    ¡°Secure.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have the box.¡± Cora raises her chin defiantly and stares at the face of the man responsible for everything. ¡°Only I know.¡± That was a precaution Callista decided was necessary. The fewer people that knew its whereabouts, the better. At the end, they decided even Callista shouldn¡¯t know, and Cora alone hid it. ¡°And I will never, ever tell you.¡±


    ¡°You already did.¡±


    She doesn¡¯t remember telling them anything. Briefly, she wonders why her lungs hurt so much, every gasp of air setting her insides on fire, and why it hurts to talk. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Enough. Begin the process.¡±


    Suddenly, she becomes aware of the heavy weight jabbing into her head. A crown of sharpened metal sits on her head, with several wires stretching outside the spherical barrier and feeding into alien machinery that resembles a blend of an exposed car engine and computer circuitry.


    Coils of metal crackle with electricity. That¡¯s all the warning she gets before a current shoots straight into her body and brain.


    Cora screams. Her muscles seize and writhe at the electrons pelting her neurons. Her breath is stolen away. Every inch of her body tingles and burns. The current burns deep inside her, driving spikes of agony through her insides, skewering vital organs, tearing apart her body.


    She screams and screams until the electricity cuts off and the governor looms over her convulsing body.


    A few pulses of healing magic correct her heartbeat and heals damaged nerves. She groans and slumps forward, hands limp, eyes fluttering closed.


    ¡°We know you¡¯re there,¡± the governor says. His voice is quiet, measured, and calm. His footsteps echo as he paces around her again. ¡°You can¡¯t hope to hide inside her forever. Above everything else, you prioritize your survival, do you not?¡±


    Nobody responds. Cora is vaguely aware he might be talking to the parasite, but her embedded presence hasn¡¯t reacted since she claimed Arcego¡¯s powers were split.


    ¡°You guided her here to strike at us, did you not?¡± The governor¡¯s footsteps pause. His piece of fabric flutters and rustles. ¡°You were always so impatient.¡± He laughs, and the sound echoes forever and ever inside the warehouse. ¡°We are not going to repeat the same mistake. Believe me when I say that we will give you a more dignified death. Let go. This is not your fight anymore.¡±


    ¡°Please¡­¡± Cora sobs. She shakes. She¡¯s so hurt and bruised that she¡¯s not sure she can take another jolt of electricity without losing her sanity. ¡°Stop. She¡¯s not there. Something happened to her.¡±


    ¡°Defending the entity now, aren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Shut the fuck up!¡± She winces at the pain spearing her throat. ¡°Please, she¡¯s not there. I¨CI¡¯m not lying to you. I swear. I promise. She¡¯s not there.¡±


    The governor stands silently, letting his fabric wrap around his head like a balaclava. His tendrils stiffen. ¡°Resume the process.¡±


    ¡°No!¡±


    Cora screams again. The electricity tears through her perception of herself, through her perception of reality. It shreds any coherent thought she has left. She writhes and shrieks and spits and cries as the electricity damages her organs and the gifts of healing repair the damage just as fast.


    The pain is worse than anything she¡¯s ever experienced. Worse than the parasite¡¯s temporal torture. Worse than the forest, worse than the heartbreak of losing Mari, worse than the homesickness.


    She wants it to end. But it doesn¡¯t. The chains cut into her skin. The skin on her neck is scraped raw and bloody as she writhes and contorts. Her eyes roll to the back of her head and blood gushes out of her ears, nose, and mouth. The wounds are healed and reopened, healed and reopened, in a vicious cycle of never-ending agonizing torture.


    Stop!


    Stop!


    Stop!


    I give you control!


    The world pauses. Loops of electricity are suspended mid-air, traveling down the lengths of her chains and wires, headed straight toward her. The governor is turned away, fabric hiding sight of his face. The outlines of soldiers are hazy, though some of them are turned away too, tendrils limp at their sides.


    Sparks of life blossom within the loops. Blue eyes materialize first. Soon, the rest of the parasite appears, though with a few changes. Her eyes are half-lidded, with heavy eye bags beneath. Her nose is crooked. Her lips are chapped, freckles dull, and manicured hair chopped haphazardly. Her shoulders are hunched forward, arms dangling at her sides.


    Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    The parasite reminds Cora too much of herself the first few days after she escaped the forest.


    Chapped lips part open to speak. It¡¯s too late.


    ¡°What are you talking about?¡± Cora croaks out. Even suspended in time, her throat aches.


    The rest of his gifts are split among five.


    ¡°Five?¡±


    You, Liam, and Mari have the majority. The gift of unbinding rests with you, so you¡¯re still the strongest. But there¡¯s two more. It should¡¯ve been impossible, but they did it.


    ¡°Stop with the cryptic bullshit and just tell me.¡± Cora is at the edge of her sanity. She wants to cry and break down until there¡¯s nothing left to give. ¡°Just fucking tell me.¡± Her voice quivers. ¡°Please.¡±


    I visited each person while the aftershocks of your power permitted me. Liam is fine. Mari is inside an impenetrable fortress orbiting Transia, the Empire¡¯s homeworld. But the last two¡­ do you remember the mine collapse?


    Suddenly, her pain vanishes. ¡°No, it can¡¯t be, they¨C¡±


    The creature that attacked you and your friends came from the box, but I don¡¯t know what it was. It must¡¯ve come from beyond any reality we know. Its existence destabilized local reality and opened a node that saved your friends before they were crushed.


    ¡°You¡¯re lying.¡± Cora tears up again. Her lip quivers. ¡°Stop that. That¡¯s just cruel.¡±


    Sally and Joe are in Magaram.


    Magaram. The Allied world so many others think she and Liam came from. The world that Callista thought they came from. A world full of humans just like her, locked into a perpetual fight of desperation against an unstoppable force. The wounded soldiers told her stories. They spoke about how there was a stalemate on Uklut because it¡¯s the only world that can access the Allied worlds.


    Once nodes are opened, they can never be closed. And so the Empire fights to wipe out any Allied presence on Uklut and control the node.


    But the Magaramans deliver the most firepower, the soldiers said. Wherever their forces go, whatever Transient military bases or fortresses the Magaramans encroach upon, they destroy.


    The soldiers said they¡¯d started a counteroffensive in recent months. The Magaramans had invented new battle strategies, struck more strongly than ever, and stomped out Transient influences.


    ¡°Are they fighting for Magaram?¡±


    The parasite is quiet. She threads her fingers behind her back and stares off into space, her eyes glazing over, their churning oceans stilling into a glimmer.


    They are. And they learned what the Cenarians are doing to you. She flexes her hands and combs her tattered hair. They know you¡¯re here.


    The words chill Cora. "It doesn''t matter. But I''m glad they''re alive." She looks down at herself, chained and bleeding, locked beneath the tyranny of a governor who thinks what he¡¯s doing is best. And what for? To use her as a weapon against the Transients?


    ¡°Why can¡¯t I give you control?¡± She does her best to keep her voice steady. Still, the shivers are there, traveling down her limbs and ending at her hands and feet. She sags and feels the cold, timeless weight of her frozen shackles put pressure on her. She hates this. Hates everything. The parasite is a monster, coming in a different shape and form than the governor and the people he commands. ¡°You tortured me for it before.¡±


    I did it because I was jealous.


    The parasite floats above Cora¡¯s head. She rotates herself and hangs upside-down. Her hair stays up, somehow, hovering over her shoulders. Her eyes, though, glow just the tiniest bit.


    Cora frowns. ¡°There¡¯s nothing special about me.¡±


    Says every bullshit hero ever. I know you inside and out, and I know you want to save your friends and go back home. Before Cora can interject, the parasite presses a finger to her lips and rotates on her back. She crosses one leg over the other and throws her head back. And I hate you for it. I¡¯m jealous because you¡¯re alive, and I¡¯m not. You have your friends, and mine died for something that only killed me in the end. You still have a chance, and I don¡¯t.


    The parasite huffs. Her airless breath pushes back stray locks of hair. She crosses her arms and turns away. The worst thing is watching you barrel toward the same mistakes I did. You¡¯re indecisive. You let others push you around. You deluded yourself into thinking you¡¯re your own independent person, that you make your choices, that you have the power to define yourself. Bullshit. You¡¯ve had moments where you¡¯ve proven me wrong, but you¡¯ve had more moments proving me right. You need to do more. Stop being afraid. Stop wanting to go back home.


    Cora tugs on her shackles. They hold firm, applying gentle pressure to her wrists and neck. ¡°And what if I just want to go home with my friends?¡±


    At the rate you¡¯re headed, there won¡¯t be any friends left. Blue crackles and haloes the parasite¡¯s head. She still doesn¡¯t turn around, though she hugs her knees to her chest. You can¡¯t let the Empire exist as long as you live. Your friends can help you, but you need to find them and combine your powers if you want to destroy the Transients and kill Marpei. Otherwise, one day, she¡¯ll breach reality and attack Earth.


    Marpei. The other god, the goddess who controlled the Empire after Arcego died. She¡¯s the reason for the wounded soldiers Cora talked to, the amputees and those wounded severely enough that gifts of healing alone can¡¯t repair the damage.


    ¡°But I¡¯m going to die.¡± Cora swallows. Her throat is tightening again. ¡°Stop deflecting. I get it. We have to fight. I have to fight. All those people are counting on me to save them, but I can¡¯t even save myself.¡± She drops her gaze to the floor and grits her teeth. ¡°Why can¡¯t I give you control?¡±


    They wanted me to come out. And I did. And when we end this conversation, they¡¯ll try to rip me out of you. The parasite rotates until she¡¯s facing Cora. Her face is weary, sagging, tired. The face of a person who¡¯s seen too many indescribable horrors to ever forget. The face of a person who once carried the responsibility of worlds on her shoulders and failed. Then they will torture you until you use one of your gifts. Then they¡¯ll destroy parts of your brain until you¡¯re reacting involuntarily and you provide them infinite power while your gift exists and you live.


    ¡°What the fuck?¡± Cora squeaks out. She knew Eporsa¡¯s sketches called for some sort of energy and battery source to power the c-nodes, but like that? She starts hyperventilating, straining against the restraints that will never break. ¡°They wouldn¡¯t, I¡¯ve done nothing to them, nothing!¡±


    I need you to stop being afraid. Do more. You have no idea how much is left, waiting to be tapped upon. You inherited the power of a god. Near-infinity divided by five is still almost infinity. Stop holding back.


    Cora starts tearing up again. ¡°I destroyed the hospital. I killed all those people for no reason. I already stopped holding back and it¡¯s not enough.¡±


    Listen to me. When we end this conversation, they¡¯ll stop torturing you. They¡¯ll deal with me. But while they¡¯re trying to remove me, I¡¯ll show you my story. And then you¡¯ll understand.


    ¡°Understand what?¡± The parasite smiles. Cora shudders and strains against her bindings again. It¡¯s useless, just like she¡¯ll be the moment the agonizing current of electricity torches through her body.


    Am I an angel or a devil? A hero or a destroyer of worlds? The parasite lands on her feet. Moments later, her features smoothen, and she¡¯s every bit as cold and pretty as the first time Cora saw her. Being a monster depends on who¡¯s telling the story.


    Time unpauses, the parasite flickers away, and Cora is thrust into a world of agony.


    She convulses for several seconds before the current dies. Gasping, she hangs her head, twitching while the healers repair the cellular damage. Her brain aches. Her thoughts are slow and foggy, coming at the edge of her awareness before dropping away entirely. Several pulses of well-timed healing magic soothe the brain damage and clear her head.


    The embedded presence of the parasite is gone. It floats at the cusp of freedom, teetering at the edge of her mind, a tiny star against the vast backdrop of her subconsciousness.


    Yet another presence transcends material reality to pluck the star out. A hand made of articulated metal reaches into her mind and pinches the star beneath two heavy, clumsy fingers. Far below, Cora is powerless, rooted to the ocean of her consciousness lapping against the hand snatching the only source of light guiding her ship.


    The star twinkles and then turns into a supernova.


    The hand is burned away, reduced to ashes that Cora absorbs and quickly forgets. Streaks of blazing energy rush across the vast chasm of her subconscious and burrows into the deepest machinery that makes her her.


    A quick jolt of pain later, Cora slumps against her restraints as the parasite reaches what Cora would consider her soul and fuses. New memories form. Synapses fire and wire together, encoding another life into her own. Beyond the physical, her metaphysical self stirs, guided toward the distant beacon of shining light and its branching roots by a suggestion that is not her own.


    She is here and now and she is everywhere. She is the energy in motion, the suggestion of potential, the harbinger of things to come. She is the champion of the people, an explorer and a fighter, the promise of a future brighter and better.


    The warehouse and the alien machinery of the c-node drops away. The panicked soldiers and stern face of the governor melt into a new environment. No longer is Cora bound to her chains, but free, and changed.


    The first thing she feels is the plummeting temperature. Crips white surrounds her.


    Her nails are painted blue. Her skin is paler. Her arms and legs feel weaker and skinnier. She¡¯s wearing a skirt and a crop top, both which bare her body to the cold, infernal winds lashing at her. Her long hair is wet and stuck to the nape of her neck and shoulders, quickly freezing in place. Her sandals do nothing to stop the snow from rushing over her feet and numbing them.


    She¡¯s cold, alone, and so, so afraid. Her tears freeze to her cheeks. Clutched to her chest is the box, dull and lifeless. Around her, wind howls and claws at her. Mounds of snow rise everywhere around her. Swirls of violet streak across the dark sky. Mountain caps rise like armored plates in the far horizon, jutting out of a spine of mountain ridges and scattering of spiny trees that fade behind a flurry of snowflakes.


    Near some of those trees, however, pinpricks of light offer a glimpse of life. Warm. Safe.


    Cora¡¯s new home.


    No, not Cora, her thoughts chide. Cora is another person. You¡¯re Cora, but right now, you¡¯re not Cora. Does that make sense? You¡¯re me forty-eight years ago. You¡¯re fifteen years old. You have another name here, my name.


    Kena.